WHAT IS SHE LIKE?
"So sweet a face, such angel grace,
In all that land had never been."
HELEN found her reception a most trying ordeal. She was very cordially
welcomed by the General, who instantly came forward to meet her, and
escorted her towards Mrs. Creery; she ran the gauntlet of two groups
of men who were standing on the tennis-ground, ostensibly discussing
the recent mail, but naturally watching the new arrival, who was the
cynosure of every eye, as she passed by; and approached a row of seats
on which the ladies—a still more formidable phalanx—were seated in
state. Mrs. Creery (who occupied the social throne in the shape of a
stuffed arm-chair) now rose majestically, and, like Cedric the Saxon,
advanced two steps, saying in her most dulcet company voice, "Very
glad you have come, Miss Denis; I am _charmed_ to welcome you to Port
Blair!"
Helen blushed vividly. Was this august, this almost regal, individual,
the same who had questioned, exhorted, and warned her, a few hours
previously? She could scarcely believe it! But this was merely her
ignorance. That visit had been made in a private capacity, here Mrs.
Creery was in a public and responsible position—that of chief lady of
the station.
She now took Helen's hand in hers, and proceeded to present her to her
immediate circle.
"Mrs. Caggett, let me introduce Miss Denis."
Mrs. Caggett rose, made a kind of plunge, intended for a curtsey, and
subsided again, muttering incoherently.
"Miss Denis, Mrs. Graham. Mrs. Graham is our musician. She sings and
plays most beautifully!"
Mrs. Graham, who was a pretty brunette, with lovely teeth, shook hands
with Helen, and smiled significantly, as much as to say, "You must not
mind Mrs. Creery."
"Miss Denis, Mrs. King.—Mrs. King has a nice little girl, and lives at
Viper."
"Miss Denis, Mrs. Logan, our authoress." Poor Mrs. Logan blushed till
the tears came into her eyes, and said,—
"Oh, Mrs. Creery, _please_ don't."
"Nonsense, nonsense! Miss Denis, she has written the _sweetest_
poetry—one really exquisite ode, called, let me see, 'The Lifer's
Lament,' and numbers of charming sonnets! You must get her to read them
to you, some day."
Alas for Mrs. Logan! who in a moment of foolish expansiveness had
mentioned her small poems (under the seal of secrecy) to another lady,
and had, to her horror, "awoke and found herself famous!"
"Mrs. Manners, Miss Denis," and she paused, as if deliberating on what
she could possibly say for Mrs. Manners.
"Please don't mind about _me_, Mrs. Creery," exclaimed that lady. "You
know that I neither play, nor sing, nor write poetry."
Mrs. Manners was a sprightly person, regarded by Mrs. Creery with
suspicion and dislike, and she now glowered on her menacingly.
"I am very glad to see Miss Denis, and I hope she will overlook my
numerous deficiencies!" quoth Mrs. Manners unabashed.
All the ladies had now been, as it were, "told off," excepting Miss
Caggett, who approached and squeezed Helen's fingers, and looked up in
her face, and said,—
"So _thankful_, dear, that you have come! It's so wretched for me,
being the only girl in the settlement. You can't think how I have been
looking forward to _this_," another squeeze.
Miss Lizzie Caggett was small in person (and mind) and had a very
pretty little figure, black hair, bright, reddish-brown eyes, an ugly
nose, and an almost lipless mouth, garnished with beautiful teeth.
She had been born in India, had had three years at school in England,
and been "out" for a considerable number of seasons. She danced like
a sylph, talked Hindostani like a native (and it was whispered that
she gossipped with her ayah in that language), dressed extravagantly,
was as lively as a French-woman, and sufficiently nice-looking to be
considered a beauty—where she was the only unmarried lady among fifty
men.
She had a shrewd eye to the main chance, and never allowed her feelings
to betray her, save, alas! in the case of James Quentin!
He, from sheer lack of something to do, had been wont to spend his
idle hours in Miss Caggett's society. She was amusing and lively, and
said such deliciously spiteful things of other women, and told capital
stories, accompanied by vehement gesticulation with her tiny hands. She
had also a nice little voice,—and it came to pass that they sang duets
together, and walked on the pier by moonlight alone!
Mr. Quentin meant nothing, of course, and at first Lizzie quite
understood this, but by degrees her strong foothold of common sense
slipped away from under her feet, and she fell desperately in love with
the blue-eyed gay deceiver, and naturally tried to convince herself
that it was mutual! She steeled herself to see him pay a little
attention to the rising sun—Miss Helen Denis—they would _all_ do
that, but when the novelty had worn off, things would right themselves,
and fall back into their old places—meaning that Mr. Quentin would
fall back into his, _i.e._, at her side. Mrs. Creery had previously
broken the news to her that "Helen Denis was nice-looking, and
beautifully dressed," but she was by no means prepared for the face and
figure she beheld coming up the walk; and James Quentin in attendance
_already_,—actually before she was twenty-four hours on the island!
However, she made a brave struggle, and bit her lips, and clenched her
small hands, and broke into a smile. She had made up her mind to be
the bosom friend (outwardly), and, if possible, the confidante of this
tall, shy-looking Denis girl!
After all, who could expect her to be pleased, to see a young and
pretty rival monopolizing every one's attention, and thrusting her into
the background?
When all the introductions had been effected, a game of tennis was got
up, and a number of little Andamanese boys, in white tunics and scarlet
caps, came forward from some lurking-place, to field the balls, and the
settlement band, which was stationed at the end of the plateau, struck
up their latest waltz, and presently the entertainment was in full
swing. Every one played tennis, even Mrs. Creery, who was old or young
as it suited her at the moment—old enough to ask questions, to give
advice, and to lay down the law, and to be treated with unquestioning
deference and deep respect; sufficiently young to waltz, to wear sailor
hats, and to disport herself at tennis. Helen had been the championess
player at Miss Twigg's, and played well. Lizzie Caggett's sharp eyes
noted this, and after a little while she challenged her to a single set
there and then.
Vainly did Helen decline to pick up the gauntlet, vainly did she beg
to be excused; Mrs. Creery threw the weight of her authority into the
scale, and the match was to come off immediately.
"A capital idea, a match between the two girls," she remarked to the
General; "there will just be time for it before tea."
Before Helen could realize her position, a ball was thrust into her
hand, a crowd had gathered around, and she alone stood _vis-à-vis_ to
Lizzie Caggett on the tennis-ground. It was one thing to play in Miss
Twigg's back-garden, with no spectators but Miss Twigg's girls, but
quite another affair when one of the principals in a contest, before
forty complete strangers, and pitted against a determined-looking
antagonist, who knew every inch of the courts, and was firmly resolved
to try conclusions with this brilliant visitor!
And so the match began, the assembled bystanders watching each game
intently, and hanging expectant on the issue of each stroke. The
excitement grew intense, for the ladies were well-matched, the play
was brilliant, and the games hard fought. Helen served well, and had
a longer reach of arm than her challenger, but the other played with
an energy, a vivacity, and if one might say so, a spitefulness,—as if
the issue of the contest was a matter of life and death. She scored
the first game, Helen the second and third, and during a rally in the
latter, the new arrival was loudly clapped. This incited Miss Caggett
to extraordinary exertions. She played with redoubled fire, her teeth
were set, her eyes gleamed across the net, she served as though in
hopes that she would strike her opponent in the face; she flitted up
and down her court, springing and bounding, like a panther in a cage!
Her style was by no means graceful, but it was effectual. During
the last two games she wearied out Helen, with her quick, untiring
onslaught, playing the final, and conquering game, with an exuberance
of force that was almost fierce! When it was over, she threw down her
bat and clapped her hands, and cried,—
"Oh, I knew I could beat you." This was not, strictly speaking, polite,
but her triumph was so great, she really could not refrain from this
little song of victory. In her own heart, she had made a kind of test
of the match, and told herself that, if she conquered the new-comer in
_this_, she would be invincible in other things as well!
After this exciting struggle, tea and refreshments were served in a
rustic summer-house. Mrs. Creery's dog Nip—who had occupied his
mistress's chair as deputy, and eyed the cake and bread and butter with
demure rascality,—was now called upon to vacate his place, whilst his
owner dispensed tea and coffee, and servants carried round cakes and
ices. As Helen was partaking of one of the latter, her late antagonist
accosted her and said,—
"Come and take a turn with me, dear. All the men are having 'pegs,' and
I do so want to have a chat with you.
"Well, now," taking her arm affectionately, "tell me what you think of
the place?"
"I think it is beautiful," returned Helen with enthusiasm. "I've never
seen anything like it. Of course I've seen very little of the world,
and am not a good judge, but I scarcely think that any scenery could
surpass it," glancing over towards Mount Harriet as she spoke, and
dreamily watching the peacocks sailing homewards.
This speech was a disappointment to Miss Caggett, who was in hopes that
she would have called it an "unearthly, outlandish, savage hole, a
gaol!" And then she would have imparted this opinion to the settlement
at large,—and such an opinion would have scored a point against Miss
Helen.
"Oh," she replied, "you won't think it delightful always. It's
frightful in the monsoons, that is in the rains, you know. And how do
you like the people?"
"I scarcely know them yet."
"Well, at least you know Mr. Quentin," eyeing her sharply.
"Yes, I have known him an _hour_," she replied with a laugh.
"He is nice enough," speaking with assumed nonchalance, "but as you can
see, awfully conceited, isn't he?"
Helen did not fall into the trap; if she had, Miss Caggett would have
lost no time in giving Apollo the benefit of Miss Denis's impressions
with regard to him!
She only said, "Is he?" and, leaning her elbows on the wooden railing
that fenced in the edge of the cliff, looked down upon the sea.
"A great many men are here from Aberdeen and the out-stations,"
proceeded Miss Caggett with a backward jerk of her head, "but they did
not come over altogether to see _you_."
"I should hope not indeed," returned Helen, reddening.
"No, the mail is in, so they kill two birds with one stone," continued
the other, coolly. "They are not a bad set, though they may seem rough
and unpolished to you, don't they?"
"Really, I am no judge; I have scarcely ever spoken to a gentleman in
my life."
"Gracious!" ejaculated Miss Caggett. "You weren't in a convent?"
"No; but what amounted to the same thing, I spent all my holidays at
school."
"Oh, _how_ slow for you! Well, you will find this rather a change.
There is Dr. Malone, an Irishman, and very amusing; he has any amount
of impudence, and has thought of a lovely name for Mrs. Creery—Mrs.
Query—isn't it splendid? We all call her that, for she never stops
asking questions, and we all have to answer them whether we like it or
not—all but one; there is one person she never gets anything out of,
he is too close even for her, and clever—I grant him that,—much as I
detest him!"
"And who is this clever man that baffles Mrs. Creery?"
"A Mr. Lisle, a genteel loafer, a hanger-on of Mr. Quentin's; he
actually has not got the money to pay his passage back to Calcutta, and
so he is obliged to stay. His manners are odious, polite to rudeness,
if you know what that means? and he has eyes that seem to look down
into your inmost thoughts, and laugh at what they see there! I hate
him, though he is extremely anxious to be civil to me, and, in fact, I
don't mind telling you in confidence that he is a great _admirer_ of
mine,—but it's by no means mutual. Whatever you do, have nothing to
say to him. I need not tell you, that _I_ never speak to him!"
"We cannot permit you two young ladies to monopolize each other in this
fashion," said the General, approaching with a telescope in his hand.
"Would you like to look at some of the islands through this glass,
Miss Denis? I can introduce you to several this fine clear evening.
Havelock looks quite close!"
"It seems to be very large," she said, after a long struggle with the
focus.
"Well, yes, it is; we will take you there some day in the _Enterprise_
if you like. The _Enterprise_ is the station steamer."
"Thank you, I should like it very much indeed, if it is _safe_—I mean,
if the people are safe," she replied rather anxiously.
"Oh! you will see very little of the natives. They are a curious set;
it is almost impossible to get at them, or to tame them."
"Have you ever tried?"
"Yes; we once had a young fellow from Havelock, as it happened; we
showed him every kindness, gave him the best of food, loaded him with
beads and every old tall hat on the island, but it was all of _no_ use;
he just fretted like a bird in a cage, and regularly pined away of home
sickness.—He used to sit all day long, gazing, gazing over the sea in
the direction of his home, and one morning when they went to see him,
they found him sitting in his usual attitude, his face turned towards
Havelock—quite dead!"
"Poor, poor fellow!" said Helen, with tears in her eyes; "how _could_
you be so cruel, how could you have had the heart to keep him?"
"My dear young lady, it was not a matter of heart, but of duty."
Mr. Quentin's quick ear caught the significant word _heart_. Surely the
General was never going to enter the lists against him, although he was
unmarried and eligible beyond dispute? Leaning his elbows on the rail
at the other side of Miss Denis, he resolved to make a third—welcome
or otherwise—and said,—
"You are talking of the natives, sir? They are certainly most
mysterious aborigines, for they do not resemble the Hindoos on
one side, nor the Malays on the other. They are more like stunted
niggers—you never see a man above five feet, some not more than four."
"Niggers, yes," replied the General; "there is some idea that they
are descendants of the cargo of a slaver that was wrecked among these
islands; other people think that they hail from New Guinea."
"They have very odd customs, have they not?" asked Helen.
"Yes," replied the General; "their mode of sepulture, for instance, is
peculiar. When a man dies, they simply put his body up a tree."
("Whence the slang term 'up a tree,' I suppose," muttered Mr. Quentin,
_sotto voce_.)
"And when the fowls of the air have picked his bones, they remove the
remains, and present his skull to the widow, who wears it round her
neck, slung to a string."
"But will freely part with it at any time," added Dr. Malone, who had
now joined the group, "aye, even in the early days of her affliction,
in consideration of a bottle of rum."
"And pray what about the _men_?" inquired Helen, jealous for her sex.
"Oh, their tastes are comparatively simple," responded the doctor;
"they are all a prey to a devouring passion for—you will never guess
what—_tall hats_! I believe some firm in Calcutta drives a brisk trade
with this place and the Nicobars, bartering old tiles for cocoa-nuts.
When a chief dies, he can have no nobler monument in the eyes of his
survivors than a pile of tall hats impaled above his grave. They are
almost the only article they care about, and I suppose they have an
idea that it endows them with dignity and height; besides the hat, a
few rags, and a necklace of human finger-bones, and their costume is
complete."
"They have another weakness," put in the General—"dogs. We get rid of
all the barrack curs in that way."
"What! to _eat_?" almost screamed Miss Denis.
"No, no; they are very much prized—merely to look at. I wish to
goodness we could export that brute of Mrs. Creery's!"
"She would far sooner be exported herself!" said Dr. Malone. "What was
his last feat, sir?"
"I wish I could believe that it _was_ his last," returned the General
angrily. "The other day, when Mrs. Creery was dining up at my place,
she unfortunately shut him up in the drawing-room, and for sheer spite
at missing the meal, he tore up a valuable fur rug, gutted the seats of
two chairs, and ate the best part of the last army list! Yes, you may
laugh, Miss Denis, and it certainly sounds very funny—but you don't
know Nip."
"No, but _I_ do," cried Dr. Malone. "He lies down and feigns death
if he sees a larger dog coming in the distance, and will murder any
unfortunate pup of half his size; some dogs have a sense of chivalry,
generosity, gratitude, but he is a _brute_!"
"Yes," chimed in Mr. Quentin, "if things are not going to his liking,
he adjourns to Creery's dressing-room, and devours a couple of pairs
of boots; that is to say, tears and gnaws them to pieces, just to mark
his sense of injury. If they only disagreed with him!—but they don't,
and Creery can't even have the poor satisfaction of licking him; for
whenever Nip sees him arming himself with a stick, he at once fastens
on his leg, believing the first blow to be half the battle!"
"A portrait from life!" exclaimed Dr. Malone. "I wish I might be
allowed a shot at him at 100 yards!"
"I wish you might; and if you do get the chance, I'll wink at it,"
returned the General; "he is an insufferable nuisance—a savage, mean,
mischievous, lazy, cowardly——"
"Now, now, General," cried Nip's mistress, coming across the grass in
a swinging walk, her arms dangling loosely at her sides, "what is all
this wonderful laughing about? and who are you abusing—man, woman,
or child? It's seldom that you say a word against any one! Come, who
is it? Shall I guess who is mischievous, lazy, and _mean_? Now really
you might let _me_ into the secret, when it's known to Miss Denis.
Can it be any one in Ross? Dear me!"—with sudden animation,—"I have
it!—it's——"
Of course she was just about to exclaim "Mr. Lisle," when the General
hastily interrupted her, saying, "We were not talking scandal; it was
merely a little joke of ours"—looking appealingly at Dr. Malone and
Helen, who were choking with suppressed laughter—indeed the very
railings behind the former were shaking dangerously,—"it was only
a miserable jest, Mrs. Creery," reiterated the General, nervously
(seeing that her mind was bent on dragging the secret from his bosom),
"that was all, really, you know. And, by-the-way," lowering his
voice, and speaking confidentially, "I wanted to consult you about
something—about getting up a little dinner for Miss Denis."
To be consulted, and by the General, was much to Mrs. Creery's mind,
so she immediately walked aside with him, prepared to give her whole
attention to the discussion. It now was nearly eight o'clock, and
people were leaving. Helen was escorted to her own door by Dr. Malone
and Mr. Quentin, Colonel Denis once more bringing up the rear, but
this time he had a companion—Miss Caggett. Mr. Quentin lingered below
the steps of the verandah, and squeezed Helen's fingers as he took a
very reluctant leave of her. He half hoped that he would have been
earnestly requested to honour them with his company at dinner, but this
hope was doomed to disappointment, he was dismissed by Colonel Denis
with a careless nod! Later on, as Helen sat alone in the verandah, and
looked out over the sea, recalling the scenes of this most wonderful,
eventful day, and dwelling on all the new faces she had seen and the
strange things she had heard, it is an extraordinary, but veracious
fact, that—with the perversity common to her sex—she cast more than
one thought to a man she had been twice warned against in the same
afternoon, in short, Mr. Quentin's pauper-friend, Gilbert Lisle.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Mr. Quentin had been rowed over to Aberdeen, had climbed the
hill in capital spirits, and with a healthy appetite; and had found
his companion already at home, reposing in an arm-chair in front of
the bungalow, smoking. He fully expected to be severely cross-examined
about his visit, and on the subject of Miss Denis, and was prepared to
enter into the fullest details, and to paint the lady in the richest
tints, but, alas! a disappointment awaited him. Lisle never once
referred to Ross—much less to the young lady. He had had a big take of
fish, and had caught three bottle-nosed sharks off the Red Buoy—bait,
hooks, and nets engrossed his mind entirely.
Mr. Quentin was seriously affronted. Was ever such callousness known?
could such indifference be matched? Indifference that would not even
take the trouble to ask such a simple question as "What is she like?"