THE SHINING EAST.
A very busy time followed upon Cecil’s decision. Her agreement with
the Pasha had to be signed at once, before Denarien Bey left London,
though it was not to come into force until she reached Baghdad. It was
an imposing document, written in French, Arabic, and Turkish, with an
English translation thoughtfully appended, and Denarien Bey signed it
on the Pasha’s behalf, Lady Haigh adding her signature as a witness.
Two lawyers and several interpreters assisted in drawing up the deed,
and the extraordinary stipulations considered necessary by one party
and the other became a subject of mirth for both. When this legal
business was ended, Cecil went down to Whitcliffe for her farewells,
and found that her prospective departure had cast such a glamour over
her in the eyes of the younger children, that they regarded her with a
mixture of awe and envy delightful to behold. She was early informed
that she was expected to see and describe in full both Noah’s Ark and
the Tower of Babel; while the mere mention of Nineveh, Babylon, and
the Euphrates filled the youthful minds with an expectant wonder,
which would have been surprised by no result of her prospective
travels, however astounding.
Mrs Anstruther was chiefly concerned as to the fate of a box of plain
and fancy needlework, the fruit of the labours of the St Barnabas’
working-party during the past winter, which was destined for Mrs
Yehudi, the wife of a Jewish missionary labouring at Baghdad among his
own people,[02] and which Cecil was requested to deliver in person.
It was so delightful to think that Cecil would be able to write her a
special account of Dr and Mrs Yehudi’s work, to be read aloud at the
working-party, said Mrs Anstruther, who believed fervently in her
step-daughter, and thought that she was the most wonderful young woman
in the world. Perhaps it was this very faith which made her, in
Cecil’s present state of mind, appear unsympathetic, for her
imagination was vivid, and ran riot among the gorgeous possibilities
of the situation, having been nourished principally on a careful study
of the ‘Arabian Nights,’ which Mrs Anstruther regarded as a sort of
introductory guide-book to modern Baghdad.
Taken altogether, the last few weeks at Whitcliffe were so
heart-breaking that Cecil was almost relieved when the day arrived for
her departure. She had still ten days or so to spend in London in
getting her outfit, and her father was to come up to see her off, but
this must be the final farewell to Mrs Anstruther and the children.
Cecil could almost have gone down on her knees to beg to be allowed to
stay, if that would have done any good, so utterly desolate and lonely
did she feel in view of the prospect which lay before her; but the
remembrance of Miss Arbuthnot’s strictures came over her, and helped
her to depart without quite breaking down. But it was very hard, and
when once the train was fairly on its way she withdrew into her corner
and cried. What were all the splendours and potentialities of her
future position compared with the row of tear-stained faces she had
seen on the platform, as she leaned out to get the last sight of the
station? Through all her wanderings that picture would remain
imprinted on her mind, its comic elements unperceived, and all
appearing as saddest earnest. Other people, whose attention was
attracted by the family group, laughed to behold Mr Anstruther
forcibly restraining Patsy and Terry, whose paroxysms of grief
threatened to land them on the rails, while Fitz stood by, with his
hands deep in his pockets, trying hard to whistle, and thereby prove
his manhood. Eily, Norah, and Geraldine, wiping their eyes vigorously
with abnormally dirty pocket-handkerchiefs, did not detract from the
moving effect of the scene upon a disinterested bystander, nor did Mrs
Anstruther, who had little Loey in her arms, and wiped her eyes upon
his jacket. Indeed, a cynical passenger in Cecil’s own compartment, on
hearing the tempest of wails and sobs which heralded the departure of
the train, remarked that the members of that family were evidently
trying to compete against the railway-whistle, and that they stood an
excellent chance of success. He had only jumped in as the train moved
off, and did not guess Cecil’s relationship to the family in question,
but his wife nudged him fiercely and frowningly, and he said no more.
During her ten days in London Cecil had little time to give to grief.
It was an incessant rush from shop to stores, and from stores to shop,
a whirl of choosing things, and being fitted, and packing and
superintending. She had not only her own things to get, but an
assortment of the best and newest books and teaching appliances for
her future schoolroom at Baghdad. For this she had _carte blanche_
from the Pasha, and was further empowered to order a certain number of
books on educational subjects to be sent out to her every year. Cecil
had always (except at the moment of teaching her young brothers and
sisters) felt a pride and pleasure in her profession as teacher, and
she hailed with joy this proof of the high estimation in which his
Excellency also held her office. Miss Arbuthnot luxuriated as much as
she did in the newest educational inventions, but it was with an
unselfish, altruistic delight, for the governors of the South Central
High School had no mind for experiments, and preferred to wait until a
new idea was several years old before adopting it.
At last all was ready, and books and maps and school furniture were
safely packed and sent on board ship in company with Cecil’s own
modest outfit. It had been arranged that she was to adopt a
modification of the native costume when at Baghdad, so as to avoid as
far as possible shocking the susceptibilities of the Moslems in the
Palace, and her personal luggage was therefore comparatively small in
bulk; still, it represented a good deal of care and thought, and Cecil
and Miss Arbuthnot heaved sighs of relief when it was off their minds.
The next business was the farewell to the old School, where the girls
and governesses, most of whom knew Cecil well, and nearly all of whom
regarded her with admiring envy, entertained her at supper, and
presented her with an elaborate dressing-case, in returning thanks for
which she so nearly broke down that Miss Arbuthnot had to finish the
speech for her.
This was on the very last evening before her departure, and the next
day her father came up by the first train from Whitcliffe, and Lady
Haigh gave her up to him until three o’clock. If Cecil had been
inclined to think that she had caused more disappointment than joy to
her father, she was undeceived by those last few hours spent alone
with him, when he allowed a corner of the veil of reserve which
usually shrouded his inner feelings to lift, and let her see something
of what she really was to him. To poor Mr Anstruther, however, on
looking back on it, the interview did not seem to have been at all
satisfactory, for he had been thinking for days past of things he
ought to say to his daughter, and after it he was continually
remembering others which he ought to have said, none of which had
occurred to him at the time. As it was, he gave her many pieces of
advice as to her behaviour, her occupations, her influence over her
pupil, her Sundays, and so on, interspersed with periods of sorrowful
silence, which were far more eloquent than his abrupt and painful
counsels. Thus the time passed as they walked up and down the Thames
Embankment together, or sat down and pretended to admire the
flower-beds, and then they made their way slowly to the place where
they were to meet Lady Haigh. Miss Arbuthnot had heroically denied
herself the last sight of her pupil that she and her father might be
alone together as long as possible, and thus Cecil had no one but Mr
Anstruther to think of as she leant out of the carriage window for a
last look at his tall spare figure and lined face. It was the last
look for five years, and five such years!--too much to have faced if
she had known what they were to bring.
It seemed to Cecil afterwards that Lady Haigh must have talked on
quietly and continuously, without making a pause or expecting an
answer, from the time they left the hotel until they reached the
docks. It was kindly intended, no doubt, that Cecil might have time to
cry a little and recover herself, but as a means of conveying
information it was a failure. Lady Haigh told Cecil all about the
captain and officers of the steamer by which they were to travel, and
by which she herself had returned to England. She also remarked that
her own Syrian maid had gone on board already with the luggage and
would give Cecil any assistance she might need during the earlier part
of the voyage, since the attendant who had been specially engaged for
her would not join them until they reached Egypt. They were to break
their journey at Alexandria and pay a visit of a week or two to Cairo,
where a married sister of Lady Haigh’s was living, whose husband
occupied a prominent post in the _entourage_ of the then Khedive. Here
also they were to be joined by a cousin of Lady Haigh’s, who had just
been appointed surgeon of the hospital attached to the British
Residency at Baghdad, and who was to escort them during the rest of
their journey. By means of this one-sided conversation the chasm
caused by the actual parting was bridged, and Lady Haigh beguiled the
time of dropping down the Thames and settling their cabin with similar
pieces of information, while, when they were once fairly at sea, Cecil
was too ill to be able to think of any but strictly personal miseries.
For once the agents’ rose-coloured forecast of the voyage proved to be
correct. The steamer did not meet with bad weather, nor did her
engines break down, and she accomplished the distance in rather less
than the average time, but Lady Haigh refused to listen to Cecil’s
plea for a day or two in Alexandria, and insisted on hurrying on at
once to Cairo.
“My dear,” she said, “all this”--with a contemptuous wave of her hand
towards the fine houses on either side of the broad street through
which they were driving--“all this is modern, European, French,
tasteless! You want to enjoy your first sight of Eastern life, you
say? Very well, then thank me for taking you at once where you will
really see it, and not this wretched half-imitation.”
“But the sky! the palm-trees! the people! the colours, Lady Haigh!”
cried Cecil in an ecstasy.
“Nonsense, my dear--nothing to what you will see at Cairo!” and Cecil
was forced to be content.
A short railway journey brought them to Cairo, and they found Mr
Boleyn, Lady Haigh’s brother-in-law, waiting to meet them. They drove
to his house in a luxurious carriage, with running footmen and a
magnificent coachman, and Cecil left the talk to her two companions,
and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the new pictures which met her
eye on every side. It seemed to her that she would have liked that
drive to go on for ever, and she was genuinely sorry, tired though she
was, to reach the Boleyns’ house, although she ought to have felt more
sympathy for Lady Haigh, who had not seen her sister for over twenty
years. It seemed to Cecil, however, that both ladies would have
acquiesced cheerfully in an even longer separation, for they could not
forget the time when Lady Haigh had been a clever and irrepressible
younger sister, and Mrs Boleyn had felt it her duty systematically to
snub her. Life in the tropics had not suited the elder sister as well
as it had the younger, and Mrs Boleyn was tall and gaunt and withered,
with a tendency to exult over Lady Haigh, because she (Mrs Boleyn) had
always said that Elma would soon be tired of her studies and her talk
about Women’s Rights, and would marry like other people.
“But she didn’t say that at all, my dear,” Lady Haigh confided to
Cecil when they were going to their rooms. “What she always said was
that I should never get a husband because of my ridiculous notions.”
These ancient hostilities were renewed at dinner over the mention of
Dr Egerton, the gentleman who was to escort the travellers for the
rest of their way.
“Charlie has not arrived yet, I see,” Lady Haigh said pleasantly, as
they sat down to the table.
“No, and he is not likely to arrive, so far as I can tell,” said Mrs
Boleyn. “The temptations of Port Said have probably been too much for
him. What good you expect a feather-pated rattlebrain like that to do
at Baghdad, I don’t know! I don’t consider that you have done yourself
at all a good turn, Elma, in inducing Dugald to get him appointed
there.”
“Charlie is a good fellow, and I want him to have a chance at last,”
said Lady Haigh, stoutly. “He has been unfortunate in his superiors
hitherto.”
“I consider that his superiors have been extremely unfortunate in
him,” said Mrs Boleyn, with crushing calmness.
“Well, we shall see,” said Lady Haigh, peaceably. “I hope to do what I
can to smooth his path, and Dugald will make allowances which another
man would not, perhaps.”
“I call it a very foolish and ill-advised thing to bring him to
Baghdad,” persisted Mrs Boleyn; but as her sister did not accept the
challenge, the matter dropped.
Mr Boleyn ate his dinner industriously without taking any notice of
the little dispute, and Cecil felt that his plan was the wisest, after
she had received two or three snubs from his wife in the course of the
evening for injudiciously endeavouring to change the subject of the
conversation when it seemed to be verging upon dangerous ground. Mrs
Boleyn’s manner and appearance did not tend to recommend her opinions
to the casual observer, and Cecil espoused Lady Haigh’s side of the
case so warmly in her own mind that she really did not need the
further assurance which her friend gave her when they went to their
rooms that night, and she found herself summoned to Lady Haigh’s
balcony for a talk.
“I really can’t let you go to bed, Cecil, without putting you right
about poor Charlie Egerton. You mustn’t let Helena prejudice you
against him, for she has a way of finding something unpleasant to say
about every one. I think you know me well enough by this time, my dear
child, to be sure that I should not be likely to countenance anything
really unsatisfactory or wrong; but the fact is that, as I said,
Charlie has been unfortunate. He is very clever, and a most delightful
fellow, but he and his superiors always manage to rub one another the
wrong way. I daresay he is very eccentric, and likes to mix with the
natives more than Englishmen in the East generally do, but several
great men have done the same, and it is only a matter of taste, after
all, not a crime. He is very outspoken, too, and perhaps too much
disposed to be hail-fellow-well-met with every one he comes across. I
verily believe that if he met the Viceroy himself”--Lady Haigh spoke
with bated breath--“out for a walk, he would enter into conversation
quite coolly and offer him a cigar, just as if he was a man of his own
standing. If the Viceroy was a nice sensible sort of man and took it
all as it was meant, it would be all right, but if he was angry and
tried to snub him, Charlie would be very much hurt, perhaps indignant,
and would probably let him know it. You can imagine how a man of this
sort comes into collision with some of our stiff-and-starched
officials. They can’t understand a surgeon, with not so very many
years’ service, trying it on with them in that way, and they consider
it impudence; so they snub him, and that produces a coldness. Then
Charlie comes across some abuse, or some piece of official neglect
which he thinks it his duty to expose, and I should fear, my dear,
that, remembering the past, he doesn’t do it as tenderly as he might.
Then there are reports and complaints and censures, and finally Dr
Egerton is requested to resign. This has happened two or three times.”
“A good man, no doubt, but perhaps not a very wise one,” was Cecil’s
comment.
“That’s just it, my dear--as good as gold, but with no worldly wisdom
whatever. Well, I have got Sir Dugald to use his influence to get him
this post at Baghdad, and I only hope he may keep it. But now I see
Marta glaring at me like a reproachful ghost for keeping her up so
long, so I must send you away, Cecil. To-morrow night you also will
have begun to learn what a tyrant a confidential maid may become.”
Cecil laughed, and said she meant to enjoy her last evening of
freedom, which she did by writing a long letter to her father, and
describing to him all that she had seen since her landing at
Alexandria. Consequently, she overslept herself the next morning and
did not wake until Marta brought her in a cup of tea, and informed her
that her maid had come and was waiting to see her.
“I didn’t know that Eastern people got up so early in the morning
now,” said Cecil to herself as she dressed. “I thought they were
always about half a day late, but I suppose this is a unique
specimen.”
“Come, Cecil,” said Lady Haigh, tapping at her door, “don’t you want
to speak to your maid? She has been waiting quite a long time.” And
Cecil hurried through her toilet obediently, and, coming out of her
room, found a tall, severe-looking elderly Syrian woman talking to her
friend.
“Her name is Khartûm,” said Lady Haigh, turning to Cecil, “but she is
always called Um Yusuf--mother of Joseph, that is. It is the custom in
Syria, you know. She has been a widow a good many years, and her son
is a soldier in the Turkish army. Her last situation was at
Constantinople, where she was nurse to the children of Lord Calne, the
late Ambassador, so she knows a good deal about the ins and outs of
Court life, and will be able to give you all the needed hints as to
etiquette, and so on. Of course I shall always be glad to tell you
anything; but then you will not have me continually at hand, and
really good manners in Turkey are a very complicated business.”
In fact, Um Yusuf’s duties were those of a duenna quite as much as a
maid, and she was well fitted in appearance for the post. She wore the
long black silk mantle of the respectable Egyptian woman, which
enveloped her from head to foot, and Lady Haigh commended the costume
as exceedingly sensible and responsible-looking.
“You will have to accompany Miss Anstruther everywhere,” she said to
the maid; “and I am sure I can depend upon you to help her with your
experience whenever she feels puzzled.”
“She too young,” said Um Yusuf, bending her black brows on Cecil for
the first time. We spare the reader the good woman’s pronunciation,
while preserving her eccentric grammatical style. “Why she not stay
home and get married? Tahir Pasha’s daughter have governess, old lady
with spectacles, not like this. Azim Bey very bad boy. Laugh at
Mademoiselle Antaza.”
“That is cheering news for you, Cecil,” said Lady Haigh, laughing;
“but I don’t think you’ll be frightened. Miss Anstruther knows
something about naughty boys, Um Yusuf. She has four brothers at
home.”
“English bad boy not like Toork bad boy,” said the imperturbable Um
Yusuf; “Azim Bey wicked boy, read bad books, go do bad things. My
cousin in Baghdad tell me all about him.”
“A boy of ten who reads bad books!” cried Lady Haigh. “I didn’t know I
was bringing you to face such a monster of juvenile depravity, Cecil.
These Eastern children are very precocious, I know, but I never
thought of this particular form of wickedness. Well, my dear, I think
you will conquer him if any one can. But now it is breakfast-time, and
we are going to the bazaars afterwards with the dragoman, so we must
not be late. You can go to your sister Marta, Um Yusuf, and she will
show you the way about the house. She can tell you all you want to
know, too, so you need not trouble to try to read Miss Anstruther’s
letters.”