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JAN AND HER JOB
[Illustration: "But surely," said Peter, "I _am_ your job--part of it,
anyway."]
JAN AND HER JOB
BY
L. ALLEN HARKER
AUTHOR OF "A ROMANCE OF THE NURSERY"; "MISS ESPERANCE AND MR. WYCHERLY";
"MR. WYCHERLY'S WARDS"; "THE FFOLLIOTS OF REDMARLEY," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1917
Copyright, 1917, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
***
Published March, 1917
TO
F. R. P.
"_Chary of praise and prodigal of counsel--
Who but thou?_"
R. L. S.
_CONTENTS_
CHAPTER PAGE
I. JAN 1
II. JAN'S MAIL 13
III. BOMBAY 19
IV. THE BEGINNING OF THE JOB 39
V. THE CHILDREN 52
VI. THE SHADOW BEFORE 62
VII. THE HUMAN TOUCH 78
VIII. THE END OF THE DREAM 91
IX. MEG 97
X. PLANS 124
XI. THE STATE OF PETER 139
XII. "THE BEST-LAID SCHEMES" 149
XIII. THE WHEELS OF CHANCE 162
XIV. PERPLEXITIES 173
XV. WREN'S END 184
XVI. "THE BLUDGEONINGS OF CHANCE" 201
XVII. "THOUGH AN HOST SHOULD ENCAMP AGAINST
ME" 212
XVIII. MEG AND CAPTAIN MIDDLETON 220
XIX. THE YOUNG IDEA 240
XX. "ONE WAY OF LOVE" 252
XXI. ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE 261
XXII. THE ENCAMPMENT 276
XXIII. TACTICS 287
XXIV. "THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID" 303
XXV. A DEMONSTRATION IN FORCE 325
XXVI. IN WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLE SPEAK THEIR MINDS 339
XXVII. AUGUST, 1914 351
_ILLUSTRATIONS_
"But surely," said Peter, "I _am_ your job--part of it,
anyway" _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
"It would make it easier for both of us if you'd face it,
my dear" 66
He washed his small sister with thoroughness and despatch,
pointing out ... that he "went into all the
corners" 156
William rushed out to welcome the strangers. Two ...
nice children 188
JAN AND HER JOB
CHAPTER I
JAN
She was something of a puzzle to the other passengers. They couldn't
quite place her. She came on board the P. and O. at Marseilles. Being
Christmas week the boat was not crowded, and she had a cabin to herself
on the spar deck, so there was no "stable-companion" to find out
anything about her.
The sharp-eyed Australian lady, who sat opposite her at the Purser's
table, decided that she was not married, or even engaged, as she wore no
rings of any kind. Besides, her name, "Miss Janet Ross," figured in the
dinner-list and was plainly painted on her deck-chair. At meals she sat
beside the Purser, and seemed more or less under his wing. People at her
table decided that she couldn't be going out as a governess or she would
hardly be travelling first class, and yet she did not look of the sort
who globe-trot all by themselves.
Rather tall, slender without being thin, she moved well. Her ringless
hands were smooth and prettily shaped, so were her slim feet, and always
singularly well-shod.
Perhaps her chief outward characteristic was that she looked
delightfully fresh and clean. Her fair skin helped to this effect, and
the trim suitability of her clothes accentuated it. And yet there was
nothing challenging or particularly noticeable in her personality.
Her face, fresh-coloured and unlined, was rather round. Her eyes
well-opened and blue-grey, long-sighted and extremely honest. Her hair,
thick and naturally wavy, had been what hairdressers call "mid-brown,"
but was now frankly grey, especially round the temples; and the grey
hair puzzled people, so that opinions differed widely regarding her age.
The five box-wallahs (gentlemen engaged in commercial pursuits are so
named in the East to distinguish them from the Heaven-Born in the
various services that govern India), who, with the Australian lady, sat
opposite to her at table, decided that she was really young and
prematurely grey. Between the courses they diligently took stock of her.
The Australian lady disagreed with them. She declared Miss Ross to be
middle-aged, to look younger than she was. In this the Australian lady
was quite sincere. She could not conceive of any _young_ woman
neglecting the many legitimate means that existed of combating this most
distressing semblance--if semblance it was--of age.
The Australian lady set her down as a well-preserved forty at least.
Mr. Frewellen, the oldest and crossest and greediest of the five
box-wallahs, declared that he would lay fifteen rupees to five annas
that she was under thirty; that her eyes were sad, and it was probably
trouble that had turned her hair. At his time of life, he could tell a
young woman when he saw one. No painted old harridan could deceive
_him_. After all, if Miss Ross _had_ grey hair, she had plenty of it,
and it was her own. But Mr. Frewellen, who sat directly opposite her,
was prejudiced in her favour, for she always let him take her roll if it
was browner than his own. He also took her knife if it happened to be
sharper than the one he had, and he insisted on her listening to his
incessant grumbling as to the food, the service, the temperature, and
the general imbecility and baseness of his fellow-creatures.
Like the Ancient Mariner, he held her with his glittering spectacles.
Miss Ross trembled before his diatribes. He spoke in a loud and rumbling
voice, and made derogatory remarks about the other passengers as they
passed to their respective tables. She would thankfully have changed
hers, but that it might have seemed ungrateful to the Purser, into whose
charge she had been given by friends; and the Purser had been most kind
and attentive.
The Australian lady was sure that the Purser knew more about Miss Ross
than he would acknowledge--which he did. But when tackled by one
passenger about another, he was discreet or otherwise in direct ratio to
what he considered was the discretion of the questioner. And he was a
pretty shrewd judge of character. He had infinite opportunities of so
judging. A sea-voyage lays bare many secrets and shows up human nature
at its starkest.
Janet Ross did not seek to make friends, but kindly people who spoke to
her found her pleasant and not in the least disposed to be mysterious
when questioned, though she never volunteered any information about
herself. She was a good listener, and about the middle of any voyage
that is a quality supplying a felt want. Mankind in general finds his
own doings very interesting, and takes great pleasure in recounting the
same. Even the most energetic young passenger cannot play deck-quoits
all day, and mixed cricket matches are too heating to last long once
Aden is left behind. A great many people found it pleasant to drop into
a chair beside the quiet lady, who was always politely interested in
their remarks. She looked so cool and restful in her white frock and
shady hat. She did _not_ buy a solar topee at Port Said, for though this
was her first voyage she had not, it seemed, started quite unwarned.
In the middle of the Indian Ocean she suddenly found favour in the eyes
of Sir Langham Sykes, and when that was the case Sir Langham proclaimed
his preference to the whole ship. No one who attracted his notice could
remain in obscurity. When he was not eating he was talking, generally
about himself, though he was also fond of asking questions.
A short, stout man with a red face, little fierce blue eyes, a booming
voice, noisy laugh and a truculent, domineering manner, Sir Langham
made his presence felt wherever he was.
It was "her shape," as he called it, that first attracted his attention
to Miss Ross, as he watched her walking briskly round and round the
hurricane-deck for her morning constitutional.
"That woman moves well," he remarked to his neighbour; "wonder if she's
goin' out to be married. Nice-looking woman and pleasant, no frills
about her--sort that would be kind in illness."
And Sir Langham sighed. He couldn't take any exercise just then, for his
last attack of gout had been very severe, and his left foot was still
swathed and slippered.
There was a dance that night on the hurricane-deck, and Sir Langham,
while watching the dancers, talked at the top of his voice with the more
important lady passengers. On such occasions he claimed close intimacy
with the Reigning House, and at all times of day one heard such
sentences as, "And _I_ said to the Princess Henrietta," with a full
account of what he did say. And the things he declared he said, and the
stories he told, certainly suggested a doubt as to whether the ladies of
our Royal Family are quite as strait-laced as the ordinary public is led
to believe. But then one had only Sir Langham's word for it. There was
no possibility of questioning the Princess.
Presently Sir Langham got tired of trying to drown the band--it was such
a noisy band--and he hobbled down the companion on to the almost
deserted deck. Right up in the stern he spied Miss Ross, quite alone,
sitting under an electric light absorbed in a book. Beside her was an
empty chair with a comfortable leg-rest. Sir Langham never made any
bones about interrupting people. It would not, to him, have seemed
possible that a woman could prefer any form of literature to the charm
of his conversation. So with a series of grunts he lowered himself into
it, arranged his foot upon the rest, and, without asking permission, lit
a cigar.
"Don't you care for dancin'?" he asked.
She closed her book. "Oh, yes," she said, "but I don't know many men on
board, and there are such a lot of young people who do know one another.
It's pretty to watch them; but the night is pretty, too, don't you
think? The stars all seem so near compared to what they do at home."
"I've seen too many Eastern nights to take much stock in 'em now," he
said in a disparaging voice. "I take it this is all new to you--first
voyage, eh?"
"Yes, I've never been a long voyage before."
"Goin' to India, I suppose. You'd have started sooner if you'd been
goin' for the winter to Australia. Now what are you goin' to India
_for_?"
"To stay with my sister."
"Married sister?"
"Yes."
"Older than you, then, of course."
"No, younger."
"Much younger?"
"Three years."
"Is she like you?"
"Not in the least. She is a beautiful person."
"Been married long?"
"Between five and six years. I'm to take her home at the end of the cold
weather."
"Any kids?"
"Two."
"And you haven't been out before?"
"No; this is my first visit."
"She's been home, I suppose?"
"Yes, once."
"Is her husband in the Army?"
"No."
Had Sir Langham been an observant person he would have noted that her
very brief replies did not exactly encourage further questions. But his
idea of conversation was either a monologue or a means of obtaining
information, so he instantly demanded, "What does her husband do?"
The impulse of the moment urged her to reply, "What possible business is
it of yours _what_ he does?" But well-bred people do not yield to these
impulses, so she answered quietly, "He's in the P.W.D."
"Not a bad service, not a bad service, though not equal to the I.C.S.
They've had rather a scandal in it lately. Didn't you see about it in
the papers just before we left?"
At that moment Sir Langham was very carefully flicking the ash from the
end of his cigar, otherwise he might have observed that as he spoke his
companion flushed. A wave of warm colour surged over her face and bare
neck and receded again, leaving her very pale. Her hands closed over the
book lying in her lap, as if glad to hold on to something, and their
knuckles were white against the tan.
"Didn't you see it?" he repeated. "Some chap been found to have taken
bribes over contracts in a native state. Regular rumpus there's been.
Quite right, too; we sahibs must have clean hands. No dealing with brown
people if you haven't clean hands--can't have rupees sticking to 'em in
any Government transactions. Expect you'll hear all about it when you
get out there--makes a great sensation in any service does that sort of
thing. I don't remember the name of the chap--perhaps they didn't give
it--do you?"
"I didn't see anything about it," she said quietly. "I was very busy
just before I left, and hardly looked at a paper."
"Where is your sister?"
"In Bombay."
"Oh, got a billet there, has he? Expect you'll like Bombay; cheery
place, in the cold weather, but not a patch on Calcutta, to my mind. I
hear the Governor and his wife do the thing in style--hospitable, you
know; got private means, as people in that position always ought to
have."
"I don't suppose I shall go out at all," she said. "My sister is ill,
and I've got to look after her. Directly she is strong enough to travel
I shall bring her home."
"Oh, you _must_ see something of the social life of the place while
you're there. D'you know what I thought? I thought you were goin' out to
get married, and"--he continued gallantly--"I thought he was a deuced
lucky chap."
She smiled and shook her head. She was not looking at Sir Langham, but
at the long, white, moonlit pathway of foam left in the wake of the
ship.
"I say," he went on confidentially, "what's your Christian name? I'm
certain they don't call you Janet. Is it Nettie, now? I bet it's
Nettie!"
"My _family_," said Miss Ross somewhat coldly, "call me Jan."
"Nice little name," he exclaimed, "but more like a boy's. Now, I never
got a pet name. I started Langham, and Langham I've stopped, and I
flatter myself I've made the name known and respected."
He wanted her to look at him, and leaned towards her: "Look here, Miss
Ross, I'm goin' to ask you a funny question, and it's not one you can
ask most women--but you're a puzzle. You've got a face like a child, and
yet you're as grey as a badger. What _is_ your age?"
"I shall be twenty-eight in March."
She looked at him then, and her grey eyes were so full of amusement
that, incredulous as he usually was as to other people's statements, he
knew that she was speaking the truth.
"Then why the devil don't you _do_ something _to_ it?" he demanded.
She laughed. "I couldn't be bothered. And it might turn green, or
something. I don't mind it. It began when I was twenty-three."
"_I_ don't mind it either," Sir Langham declared magnanimously; "but
it's misleading."
"I'm sorry," she said demurely. "I wouldn't mislead anyone for the
world."
"Now, what age should you think _I_ am? But I suppose you know--that's
the worst of being a public character; when one gets nearly a column in
_Who's Who_, everybody knows all about one. That's the penalty of
celebrity."
"Do you mind people knowing your age?"
"Not I! Nor anything else about me. _I've_ never done anything to be
ashamed of. Quite the other way, I can assure you."
"How pleasant that must be," she said quietly.
Sir Langham turned and looked suspiciously at her; but her face was
guileless and calm, with no trace of raillery, her eyes still fixed on
the long bright track of foam.
"I suppose you, now," he muttered hoarsely, "always sleep well, go off
directly you turn in--eh?"
Her quiet eyes met his; little and fierce and truculent, but behind
their rather bloodshot boldness there lurked something else, and with a
sudden pang of pity she knew that it was fear, and that Sir Langham
dreaded the night.
"As a rule I do," she said gently; "but of course I've known what it is
to be sleepless, and it's horrid."
"It's hell," said Sir Langham, "and I'm in it every night this voyage,
for I've knocked off morphia and opiates--they were playing the deuce
with my constitution, and I've strength of mind for anything when I
fairly take hold. But it's awful. When d'you suppose natural sleep will
come back?"
She knew that he did not lack physical courage, that he had fearlessly
faced great dangers in many outposts of the world; but the demon of
insomnia had got a hold of Sir Langham, and he dreaded the night
unspeakably. At that moment there was something pathetic about the
little, boastful, filibustering man.
"I think you will sleep to-night," she said confidently, "especially if
you go to bed early."
She half rose as she spoke, but he put his hand on her arm and pressed
her down in her chair again.
"Don't go yet," he cried. "Keep on tellin' me I'll sleep, and then
perhaps I shall. You look as if you could will people to do things.
You're that quiet sort. Will me, there's a good girl. Tell me again I'll
sleep to-night."
It was getting late; the music had stopped and the dancers had
disappeared. Miss Ross did not feel over comfortable alone with Sir
Langham so far away from everybody else. Especially as she saw he was
excited and nervous. Had he been drinking? she wondered. But she
remembered that he had proclaimed far and wide that, because of his
gout, he'd made a vow to touch no form of "alcoholic liquor" on the
voyage, except on Christmas and New Year's Day. It was six days since
Christmas, and already Aden was left behind. No, it was just sheer
nervous excitement, and if she could do him any good....
"I feel sure you will sleep to-night," she said soothingly, "if you will
do as I tell you."
"I'll do any mortal thing. I've got a deck-cabin to myself. Will you
keep willin' me when you turn in?"
"Go to bed now," she said firmly. "Undress quickly, and then think about
nothing ... and I'll do the rest."
"You will, you promise?"
"Yes, but you must keep your mind a perfect blank, or I can't do
anything."
She stood up tall and straight. The moonlight caught her grey hair and
burnished it to an aureole of silver.
With many grunts Sir Langham pulled himself out of his chair. "No
smokin'-room, eh?"
"Good night," Miss Ross said firmly, and left him.
"Don't forget to ask your sister's husband about that chap in the
P.W.D.," he called after her. "He's sure to know all about it. What's
his name?--your brother-in-law, I mean."
But Miss Ross had disappeared.
"Now how the devil," he muttered, "am I to make my mind, _my_ mind, a
perfect blank?"
Two hours later Sir Langham's snores grievously disturbed the occupants
of adjacent cabins.
In hers, Miss Ross sat by the open porthole reading and re-reading the
mail that had reached her at Aden.