IF SHE WILL, SHE WILL.
/It/ would be pleasant to state that the shock Eveleen had received
turned her in one hour into a normal wife, and that feminine intuition
taught her to care for her husband in his weakness without jarring him
by too great eagerness, but it would not be in accordance with the
facts. Perhaps the ladies who disliked her were justified in saying
that she was unwomanly. At any rate, the truth remains that she was
absolutely incapable of realising that there are times--and a good
many of them--when the soul of a sick person yearns for nothing on
earth but to be let alone. She could not let Richard alone. If she was
not doing some totally unnecessary and undesired thing for him, she
was thinking of something to do, and if she could not think of any
thing, she was asking him to suggest something. His bearer knew
exactly how to make him comfortable in bed, but it would have been
asking too much of Eveleen to expect her to believe this. She was
quite certain she could arrange things more to his taste than any one
else, and she arranged them complacently to _her_ taste, only to see a
possible improvement in less than five minutes, and to proceed to make
it. Richard’s hours were passed in undergoing a continual series of
experiments--each of which had to be talked about beforehand,
discussed while it was in progress, and made the subject of mutual
congratulation when it was over, until the next inspiration dawned on
Eveleen’s mind. He could not quite decide whether the talking made it
worse or better. It added the tortures of anticipation to those of
realisation, certainly, but it might have been worse if he had been
seized upon without warning. He was too weak to protest, too weary to
be sarcastic, though he derived not merely bodily satisfaction, but a
glimmering of amusement, from the air of portentous patience with
which his bearer would take any and every opportunity of the Beebee’s
absence to reverse each and all of her arrangements, and make his
master comfortable in his own way. Perhaps it was as well that
Eveleen’s inventive brain provided her with so many new and infallible
ideas for the better treatment of the sick, since she could never be
quite sure that the arrangement she found in force on her return might
not have been her own latest experiment but one, and not the bearer’s
at all. Her satisfaction in having her husband all to herself, and
being able to do everything for him--she told him so perpetually--was
so complete that Richard had not the heart to disturb it, and
sufferance being the badge of the bearer’s tribe, he refrained
likewise. The surgeon was the only person whose authority she
acknowledged--to a certain extent,--and he knew better than to wound
her, and probably provoke a scene, by throwing doubts on her capacity
as a nurse. What he did, and earned thereby the patient’s sincerest
gratitude, was to insist on her taking regular exercise--or in the
enthusiasm of her self-sacrifice she would have forsworn even her
beloved rides. The doctor used to detect, or so he imagined, a faint
smile in the eyes of the man on the bed when he took upon himself,
with friendly violence, to propel Mrs Ambrose from the sick-room.
“Just a short ride, my dear madam, beside your good brother’s
palkee”--for the surgeons had fulfilled Brian’s darkest anticipations
by condemning him to a recumbent position and no riding for a week at
least--“to cheer him up and give you a little change of scene.
Otherwise”--darkly--“we shall have you unable to resume your kind care
of Ambrose to-morrow, and what would become of him then?” with, it is
to be feared, a perceptible wink directed towards the patient.
Richard’s constitution--mental as well as physical--must have been a
good one, for he succeeded in surviving not merely his own imprudence
on the day of the battle, but his wife’s nursing after it, and in
arriving at the point when the surgeon said cheerfully, “Now we ought
to see some improvement every day!” But the forecast was not
justified. There was no relapse, but also no further improvement. The
patient remained in the same state day after day--unwilling or unable
to attempt exertion of any kind, still asking merely to be let alone.
It was only natural that Eveleen should become impatient. Her active
mind had run ahead of reality so far as to picture him convalescent
and established out of doors in the shade, with herself fetching and
carrying for him and anticipating his slightest wish. The trifling
drawback that there was no shade out of doors did not at first suggest
itself to her. The hot weather was coming on fast, and the emerald
greenery which had made the country round Qadirabad such a refreshing
sight to Indian eyes was growing brown and parched. Happily the
Residency had been built to suit the climate, with thick walls and
heavy chunamed verandahs, and an abundant supply of the mud-brick
ventilators evolved by local talent--erected on the roof to catch
every breath of air, and convey it in the form of wind down a kind of
chimney into each room, accompanied by a disproportionate quantity of
dust. But even in the Residency Eveleen gasped for breath behind the
close-drawn blinds, and felt that life was only worth living when
night and darkness made it possible to move about again outside,
though only to find that all her favourite leafy spots were sere and
dry. Then--probably by force of contrast--the thought of Bab-us-Sahel
and the sea suggested itself to her, and instantly her mind was made
up that a trip to Bab-us-Sahel was what Richard needed to restore him
to health. Of course he would never shake off his lassitude here, with
the hot breath of the desert blasting the vegetation and burning
everything up. A voyage down the river--peacefully floating onwards
night and day, drawing nearer each hour to real sea-breezes--that was
what would cure him, and he must and should have it. She said
so--without a thought of encountering opposition--to Brian, just
promoted to a gentle ride morning and evening instead of the
humiliating palkee, and was astonished and wounded to find that he did
not agree with her.
“Can’t you leave the poor fellow alone?” he demanded. “Sure he only
wants not to be teased and worried.”
“But who teases and worries him, I’d like to know? It’s rousing he
wants--any one could see that.”
“Ask the doctor, can’t you? and see what he’ll tell you.”
“I will not. Don’t I know what my own husband wants better than any
doctor?”
“But Ambrose don’t want to go to Bab-us-Sahel.”
“Does he not, indeed?” triumphantly. “I asked him would he like it,
and he said he would greatly.”
“I wonder did he even know what you were talking about? Plenty of
times I don’t believe he’s so much as listening.”
“Y’are very polite, indeed! I know better.”
“But see here, Evie, the floods will be coming down any day now, and
you wouldn’t be safe in any country boat--only a steamer, and you know
there ain’t one to spare.”
“Sure that’s the very reason we ought start at once--to make the
voyage before the floods begin. They don’t come till a full fortnight
after this--I was asking about it this morning--and that’ll give us
oceans of time.”
“You can never tell. They would as likely have begun a fortnight
ago--only they have not. Anybody will tell you there’s no reckoning on
’em.”
“Well, I can’t help that----” with a sudden shifting of her ground. “I
tell you we are going.”
“You can’t go without getting leave. Even if the doctor would let you,
Ambrose is on the staff, and you can’t go carrying him off to t’other
end of nowhere without a word to the General.”
“Sure I’ll write and ask him. Will that satisfy you?”
“Will you wait for the answer? Nonsense, Evie! y’are behaving like a
bit of a child. Look now what I’ll do for you. I’ll go see the General
and tell him all about it. He’ll be at Khanpur--or maybe even on his
way back here, and I suppose you will take what he says from his own
mouth. If he thinks it safe you will go, and if not, you stay here
like a rational being. You can trust him. Is that settled now?”
“I’ll be quite satisfied if I once see the General and settle it with
him,” agreed Eveleen--which was not quite the explicit pledge Brian
would have exacted had he been giving his full mind to the matter. But
Brian was uncomfortably conscious of ulterior motives in his
opposition to the plan. He was arguing quite as much for his own
benefit as Richard’s. The General would give him leave to escort his
sister and the invalid to Bab-us-Sahel, he was sure--only too readily,
indeed, for he did not want to go. He wanted to be back at his proper
work--not leaving Stewart and Frederick Lennox to win all sorts of
laurels without him. Khanpur had fallen without a blow--Khemistan is
full of Khanpurs, but this was Kamal-ud-din’s pleasure-capital on the
edge of the desert, quite distinct from his grim fortress of Umarganj
in its deepest depths. The inhabitants met the Bahadar Jang with
acclamations, and testified the utmost gratitude to him for delivering
them from the Arabit tyranny, but they could only hand over the shell
without the kernel. Kamal-ud-din, with his baggage and the remains of
his army, had escaped into the desert, presumably to Umarganj, and Sir
Harry settled down, with what patience he could command--which was
very little--to wait at Khanpur while his subordinates continued the
pursuit. It was not etiquette for him to move against Umarganj in
person, lest so great a potentate should incur the disgrace of a check
before a small desert fort, and he was beginning to pay some attention
to Indian opinion, which he had despised so heartily when he landed.
But he learned to wish that he had disregarded it on this occasion,
for Kamal-ud-din contrived marvellously to baffle his pursuers. He was
heard of in many places--now far ahead of his enemies, then at the
spot they had just left, and at this time there was a rumour that he
had managed to elude the troops altogether, and break back towards the
river. With the hot weather and the inundations close at hand, this
was a serious matter, and Brian anticipated a regular drive--a
combined effort to put an end once and for all to the young Khan’s
power for mischief. Little wonder, then, that Eveleen’s insistence on
the trip to Bab-us-Sahel failed to meet with sympathy.
Being anxious to get back to active service at the earliest possible
moment, Brian had obeyed orders so virtuously with regard to his
wound, that the surgeons were quite glad to have an opportunity for
rewarding him. His request was so modest--merely to ride out to
Khanpur with a supply convoy, which must necessarily travel slowly and
by night, pay his respects there to the General, and return, thus at
once testing his strength and increasing it, and the doctors sped him
joyfully. So did Eveleen. He felt bitterly afterwards that he ought to
have extorted a promise from her that she would make no move until his
return, but it is probable that at the time she had no thought of
anticipating it. According to her wont, she was entirely convinced
that things were going to happen as she wished, and referred to
Brian’s mission as though the General was merely to be informed
politely of the proposed journey instead of being asked to permit it.
Brian found this trying, and ventured to point out the misconception,
whereupon she faced round upon him with flashing eyes.
“D’ye tell me Sir Harry would have the heart to keep Ambrose here sick
when a month or so at Bab-us-Sahel would set him up entirely? It’s
yourself is making the difficulty, Brian, and if you say any more I’ll
know you don’t want us to go.”
This was precisely the case, but it seemed rather heartless to admit
it to an affectionate wife torn with anxiety for her husband, and
Brian said no more. His disobliging attitude rankled in Eveleen’s mind
for a while after he started, but as so often happens, it was
opportunity that provided the impulse to action. She was sitting with
Richard as usual, and after a night largely sleepless by reason of the
heat, was dozing in her chair--not restfully, but spasmodically. She
was too tired even to resent actively the fact that the bearer had
seized upon the chance of doing something for his master, and was
remaking the bed--if it could be called making when there was so
little to make. He was talking, too, and Richard was answering
drowsily, or rather acquiescing, at due intervals. It was something
about a Parsee trader whose business required his immediate presence
at Bombay. He had secured boats and a guard of armed men for the
voyage down the river to Bab-us-Sahel, but though he was intensely
anxious to get there before the floods began, he was horribly afraid
of the wild tribes plundering on the banks, and would give anything
for the countenance and protection of European fellow-travellers. By
Richard’s murmured assents, the information evidently conveyed nothing
to him, but Eveleen was wide awake by this time, and sat up suddenly.
“How did you hear this Firozji would like to take European passengers
in his boat, bearer?” she asked--in Persian which was very much of the
“station” order, but which long practice enabled Abdul Qaiyam readily
to understand. But he did not seem very clear about his answer. The
matter had been talked about among the servants. They might have heard
of it from Mr Firozji’s servants--he did not know. Eveleen suspected
at once that her desire to go down the river had been discussed--as
everything was discussed--by the servants, who were always at hand to
see and hear, and that one of them knew sufficient of Mr Firozji’s
affairs to conceive the idea of bringing the two parties together in
return for a tip from the Parsee, and possibly another from herself.
But to quarrel with the means by which her wish might be attained
would indeed be to look a gift-horse in the mouth, and she questioned
the bearer further, finding him better informed than his previous
vagueness might have suggested. To secure the escort of Europeans, Mr
Firozji would be willing to give up to them his own large and
comfortable boat, occupying a smaller one himself, and his servants
would undertake catering and cooking, so that only personal attendants
need be taken. This clinched the matter. Eveleen bade Abdul Qaiyam
summon Mr Firozji to wait upon her as soon as possible, and then
turned her attention to the not unimportant detail of getting the
doctor’s leave for the move. She met the poor man with shock tactics.
“Such a wonderful chance!” she cried triumphantly when he came in on
his evening visit--“splendid, I’d say, only the General hates the word
so. You know the way I have been longing and wishing to get Ambrose
down the river, but there wouldn’t be any boats going?”
It was the first the surgeon had been told of it officially, but he
also had servants, and they also talked. Therefore he was able to
answer with truth, “I have heard of it, certainly.”
“Well, and now here’s the very thing--old Firozji in the Bazar going
down with more boats than he wants, all in a hurry to avoid the
floods, don’t you know. He’ll be glad of European passengers, we’ll be
glad to travel with him, so did y’ever hear anything nicer?”
“I am not surprised at his welcoming European fellow-travellers, but I
doubt your finding him the safest of company. He’s afraid of the
Codgers, of course.”
These were the Kajias, the wildest of the wild tribes of Lower
Khemistan, who in the mouth of the British troops naturally became the
Codgers, and their Khan the King of the Codgers. The Kajias it was who
had been so bold as to raid the outlying houses of Bab-us-Sahel, and
Sir Henry had sent the Khan a stern reproof and orders to come in and
surrender. Eveleen laughed as she thought of it.
“And the Codgers will be afraid of us. Sure the General has put terror
upon them--so that’s all right. After these two victories no one would
dare touch a European.”
“I trust you may be correct. But----”
“Ah, then, don’t _but_ at me! Be good and kind like yourself, and help
me to make my _bandobast_ in time.”
“Why, when do you want to go?”
“I haven’t seen Firozji yet, but the way the bearer spoke I’d say he
would start to-night if he could--and what could be better? I
mean”--she explained kindly--“that Ambrose won’t have the worry of
looking forward. He’ll wake up out of this drowsy state and find
himself on the beautiful cool water, and he _will_ be pleased!”
“There’s something in that,” said the surgeon meditatively, and went
and looked at Richard, in whose eyes he caught a fleeting gleam of
recognition, which passed as quickly as it came. “But I fear you won’t
find it particularly cool on the river. The glare from the sand and
the water will be precious trying, after the shade here. You don’t
know what it means to be cooped up in a small boat in the hot weather,
with nothing but a mat roof between you and the sun, and no
possibility of finding even a rock or a tree to shelter you.”
“But it won’t be for very long,” cheerfully. “And _nothing_ could be
hotter than ’tis here.”
The surgeon was well aware of the contrary, but Eveleen looked so
tired and washed-out that he could not bring himself to dash her
hopes. He remembered another objection, however. “But what about
getting leave? You can’t spirit away the General’s political assistant
without asking him.”
“Why, now, what could be better?” she cried joyfully. “My brother has
gone to see Sir Harry and get leave for this very trip, only I never
thought we’d find a passage so easily. Sir Harry can’t refuse, and
Brian must come on after and overtake us.”
“Or fetch you back, if Sir Harry should refuse.”
“He will not, I’ll answer for him. ’Twould be as much as to say he
didn’t wish Ambrose would get better.”
“I have no doubt you would tell him so, ma’am. And you ain’t afraid of
the responsibility of looking after your husband with no doctor at
hand?”
“Why, what can doctors do for him?” ungratefully. “Ah, now”--realising
what she had said,--“you know what I mean. You have done all you
can--you said so,--and here he lies in this state, and you can get him
no further. You’ll tell me what I’ll do if he seems worse, and I’ll do
it. Why would I be frightened at all?”
“I don’t see that the voyage can do him any harm so long as you ain’t
shipwrecked or attacked by the Codgers,” said the surgeon dubiously;
“and at Bab-us-Sahel you will be able to turn him over to Gibbons. But
for pity’s sake don’t go and get marooned on a sandbank, or besieged
in some barren spot on the shore without a bit of shade, till your
brother comes and rescues you. I can’t answer for Ambrose if he’s
exposed to the sun again, remember. The heat is bad enough; you will
have to keep the bearer pouring water over him most of the day in any
case, I expect.”
“I will, I will; and if we have to be besieged I’ll be sure to pick
out a _shikargah_ or some other nice place. And you will see about a
pass for us, if one’s wanted, like the angel that y’are, and see that
no one would try to stop us, will you not?”
“But I would gladly keep you back myself until your brother was here
to take charge of you, if I didn’t know it would mean that you would
probably be prevented from going at all. Hang it, ma’am! I wish you
had sent me a chit to tell me what you wanted. How is a man to
consider things coolly with a flood of blarney pouring on his head?”
“But sure I don’t want you to consider things--only to do them,” said
Eveleen innocently, and he went off laughing. That morning it would
have seemed absurd that she should actually find her wishes fulfilled
by the evening, but so it happened. Mr Firozji, a short elderly man,
who contrived somehow to be both stout and wizened at the same time,
was evidently waiting outside for the doctor to go. He was very rich,
very timid, and so grateful for the prospect of having Major and Mrs
Ambrose as fellow-passengers that he would have promised almost
anything to secure them, and Eveleen had to insist that they should
pay their share of the boat hire and other expenses.
“’Twould be a fine joke against Ambrose to save his pocket by putting
him under an obligation to a black man, but I won’t be teasing him
when he’s so ill,” she said virtuously to herself. “Though Firozji
would maybe think it only fair to pay for the protection of our
presence,” she added a little ruefully. “It’s well I’m not timid, for
it looks as if my courage would have to do the whole party.”
It was not the first time in her life that she had felt nervous over
the fulfilment of one of her impulsive wishes, but she had never had
the feeling quite so strongly as to-night. Abdul Qaiyam and Ketty had
it too, for they both enquired anxiously if she was not going to wait
for the young Sahib. She was obliged to be very firm and cheerful with
them over the process of packing, realising that they would not be
sorry if they could manage to delay things till the opportunity was
lost. Despite the heat, she flew about from the sick-room to her own
room and then to the verandah, deciding what must be taken, and seeing
with her own eyes that it was packed. Abdul Qaiyam would never let his
master go short, she knew--if Richard suffered it would be through
forgetfulness, not malice,--but she had an idea that she herself might
find various things lacking that were indispensable to comfort unless
she looked after them herself. Richard remained in the same lethargic
state until the servants lifted him to carry him down to the boat.
Then there came another of those brief flashes of full consciousness,
and he looked disturbed--even protesting. Eveleen had a moment of
terror lest her plan should fall through even now. She bent over him
and smiled into his face.
“Off to Bab-us-Sahel!” she said brightly. “Do y’all the good in the
world!”
He seemed to try to say something, but in the effort the drowsiness
came over him again, and she was guiltily conscious that she was glad.
Once get him safely on board, and he might regain command of his
senses as soon as he liked. He was certain to make a fuss--especially
about her not waiting for Brian’s return--but she would point out
triumphantly that his return to consciousness was the best possible
proof of the wisdom of her action. The surgeon came to see them on
board, and gave anxious directions as to what was to be done if
various things happened, and she listened and did her best to label
them and stow them away in the proper compartments of her mind. A
number of friends were waiting to see them off, for the sudden journey
had given every one the idea that Richard had had a serious relapse,
and the only chance of saving his life was to take him at once to
Bab-us-Sahel, regardless alike of the unpropitious season and the
dangers of the way. They were very quiet and sympathetic as he was
carried down the path, but a certain revulsion of feeling was
perceptible when Eveleen followed. Ambrose looked no worse than he had
done for days, and Mrs Ambrose certainly had not the look of strain
that the situation demanded. Just a little anxious, no doubt, as any
woman is when she is trying to remember whether she has got everything
before starting on a journey, but with a look of something like
triumph as well. The condolences and good wishes fell rather flat, and
as they returned up the cliff by torchlight the ladies told their
husbands that either Mrs Ambrose was trying to get rid of the Major by
carrying him off away from medical aid, or she was going down the
river for some purpose of her own, regardless of the effect on him.
The chill of disapproval made itself felt, and Eveleen was conscious
of depression of spirits. The boat was as comfortable as had been
promised, their possessions were easily arranged so as to leave ample
room for moving about, and one or two suggestions which the doctor
made for the invalid’s comfort were instantly carried out. Yet she did
not feel happy. The surgeon’s last remark had been that they ought to
have a guard of soldiers--he was certain the General would have sent
one had he been there,--and anyhow, where were these armed servants of
Firozji’s? Mr Firozji explained anxiously that a boat had gone to
fetch them, and they would catch up the party below the camp, and the
doctor said he hoped it was all right, but his tone was doubtful.
Eveleen remembered it when the boatful of guards joined the other two.
They were armed, certainly--to the teeth, but they were a wild-looking
set, more like outlaws from the hills than the servants of a
law-abiding elderly merchant. But had Mr Firozji said they were his
servants? She could not remember that he had, and it looked very much
as though he had selected his guardians from among the masterless men
who had been left without occupation by the defeat of the Khans. If
she had guessed that he had carried one of the root principles of
Indian housekeeping so far as to guard against trouble from the Kajias
by going to some trouble to obtain members of the tribe as his escort,
she would have been still more uneasy, but she told herself that it
was too late to turn back now, and she must hope for the best. She
took out Richard’s pistols, and made sure that they were loaded, and
determined to sleep with them under her pillow and a supply of
ammunition within reach of her hand. After all, Brian ought to catch
them up in two days at most--less if he took a fast boat and kept the
crew up to their work. It did not occur to her that Brian might be in
no hurry to get back from Khanpur. He was a man of many friends, and
there was plenty to hear from all of them, and he had no particular
objection to leaving Eveleen to cool her heels at Qadirabad, as he
believed, for a day or two. The longer his return was delayed, the
more likely was she to have some new plan in her head--completely
ousting the Bab-us-Sahel one,--or the floods might even have begun,
and the journey be out of the question.
The surgeon’s warning came back to Eveleen many times in the course of
the next day, and when evening came she would readily have confessed
that at the Residency she had not known what heat was. In her
anticipations, the voyage had offered all the advantages of a steamer
except its speed, coupled with the absence of smoke and smell, and the
delight of being near the water. But she found that with the greater
speed of the steamer went the pleasant sensation of moving air, and
that the long hot hours when there was no breeze to fill the sails,
and the river-current seemed incredibly slow, provided a new form of
torture--such as might be experienced by a speck of dross on the
mirror-like surface of a huge cauldron of molten metal. Even Richard
was conscious of it, as she could not but see. He did not recognise
her--not even her voice when she spoke to him,--but he gasped feebly,
with now and then a pitiful little moan. The fear gripped her that he
might die before her eyes, and with threats and bribes she induced one
of the boatmen and a servant of Mr Firozji’s to keep the roof of the
cabin continually wet with buckets of water, while Abdul Qaiyam
performed the same service for his master beneath it. It was no light
task, for the heat seemed to dry things at once, and leave them even
drier than before; but she threw all her energy into the business of
keeping the men at their work, and when evening came her husband was a
little easier. She had a moment to rest, and to notice what she had
not done before--the threatening look of the sky. Mr Firozji, in a
quavering voice which sounded absurdly small for his substantial bulk,
opined that they were going to have a thunderstorm, and Eveleen did
not need him to tell her that if this extended far up the river, it
would mean that the dreaded inundation would begin at once. Other
people realised this as well, for the lazy boatmen began to work with
some appearance of energy, and the headman of the guards came into Mr
Firozji’s boat to urge some course of action upon him, which he
refused, though with a fluttering politeness which betrayed alarm.
Since there was still no breeze, it was necessary to pole the boats
along, as this wide unsheltered channel was not a safe place in which
to be caught by the storm; and the boatmen poled to such good purpose
that before the rapid darkness fell, the flotilla was moored under the
lee of an island--or rather sandbank--which promised some protection
from wind and current.