AFTER ALL----
But Christmas Eve passed on, the new agreement was brought and
signed, and still Charlie did not come. The other young men looked at
one another and laughed when they found that he had not appeared, and
one or two betrayed symptoms of an inclination to take his place and
monopolise Cecil. But they had no chance, as they were ready to
acknowledge ruefully at night; for even if Miss Anstruther had been
willing to let herself be monopolised, Lady Haigh would not have
allowed it. She was very particular in keeping the conversation
general in the drawing-room that evening, and in checking any tendency
towards confidential talks. Captain Rossiter did once by a bold stroke
succeed in getting Cecil to linger at the piano, trying over the
accompaniment of a new song which had just reached him from England;
but before he could guide the conversation round to anything more
interesting than key-notes and sharps, Lady Haigh moved over to a
chair close to the instrument, and the rest of the company followed.
Cecil did not sleep much that night. She had made definitely the
momentous decision which had been confronting her for so long, and had
signed away her liberty for three years more, but it was not the
thought of this that kept her awake. She had heard Charlie Egerton’s
love declared, though not by himself, and the recollection made her
heart beat fast. Even if (and she was not quite so sure about this as
she had been a little while ago)--even if she did not love him, she
could not but feel touched both by his affection and his constancy.
But why had he not come back? Why, after declaring so openly his
intention of returning, had he lingered until after she had bound
herself to remain in Baghdad? What had detained him? Had anything
happened to involve him in one of the border disputes which were
continually occurring between the Arab tribes, or had the spell of the
old wandering life regained its power over him? If it were really the
latter, Cecil felt that he might as well spare himself the trouble of
coming back at all, so far as she was concerned. Ever since she had
first met him she had deliberately thrown her influence into the scale
against his nomadic tastes, trying to induce him to settle down
steadily, and do his best, by persistent attention to duty, to
counteract the effects of his earlier erratic proceedings. It was a
pity, she had felt sometimes, that a man whose nature revelled in the
unusual and the unconventional should be guided so strenuously into
the beaten track, where another, with natural gifts of a far less
remarkable order, would have filled his place with much more
satisfaction to himself and to his superiors.
But it was all for Charlie’s own good. It must be to his advantage to
be held back from sacrificing all his prospects to the impulse of a
moment, and Lady Haigh had been unremitting in impressing upon Cecil
that whereas an eccentric, harum-scarum genius might do a great deal
in the way of contributions to inexact science, the Indian Government,
and indeed all governments, preferred the steady man who could be
trusted to keep in the line marked out for him. Almost unconsciously
Cecil had been setting this as a kind of test for Charlie in her own
mind, watching, with an interest which she believed was wholly ethical
and impersonal, his two years’ struggle to stick to his work and avoid
quarrelling with Sir Dugald. Hence she had come to the rather
one-sided conclusion that she would certainly have no more to do with
him if his efforts failed, while discreetly leaving a blank as to what
was to happen if they were crowned with success. But in any case, if
he could forget all that he had said, and the importance of haste, at
such a time as this, and linger among the Bakhtiaris or the Hajar, it
would be evident that his love was as little to be depended upon as
his persistence in any walk of life had formerly been.
It was not wounded pride which actuated Cecil as she reasoned out this
conclusion with herself, nor was it lack of sympathy with Charlie in
the trials and worries of his uninteresting post at Baghdad. It was
simply that she felt the lack of stability in his character, and the
need there was for correcting it, and that she had a traitor on her
own side to crush, in the shape of the unreasoning attraction towards
Eastern and simpler modes of life which sometimes possessed herself.
With Charlie this feeling was a passion, but in her it came only very
occasionally into collision with her habitual fixedness of purpose and
invariable caution. Still, the very knowledge of the existence of this
tendency in herself made her harder upon Charlie, and more determined
to guide him in the safe middle path of daily duty steadily
performed,--just as we are all prone to correct with greater
willingness the faults we perceive in ourselves which are at variance
with our general character,--and she felt, as she reviewed her conduct
and advice mentally that night, that she could not reproach herself
with what she had done. But she had now something else to
consider--namely, what she was going to do--although the circumstances
seemed so uncertain that she felt herself justified in leaving the
matter open. Suppose Charlie had been unavoidably detained after all,
and that he returned within the next few days, would he speak to her
still, now that his speaking would come too late? She could not doubt
for a moment that he would, but when he did, what would he say? Yes,
and what would she say? These questions ran in her mind all night, in
spite of the wise procrastination she had exercised in determining to
leave the matter undecided.
“I really wish,” she said pettishly to herself, when she saw in the
morning her pale face and tired eyes reflected in the glass--“I really
wish now that he would stay away until to-morrow, so that I could get
back to the Palace and be safe with Azim Bey without having to go
through all this.” And so much worried and perturbed did she feel at
the moment that she believed she meant what she said.
The morning passed quietly. The party from the Residency rode over to
the Mission-house to join in the English service in the room which
served Dr Yehudi as a church, and which was decorated with
palm-branches and quaint devices arranged by the school-children, who
mustered afterwards to receive good advice and sweetmeats from Sir
Dugald, and presents from Lady Haigh and Cecil. Then the horses were
brought up again, and the visitors rode home, refusing to tax the
scanty resources of the Mission party by staying to lunch. At the
Residency the meal was despatched in haste, for all the members of the
British colony in Baghdad were expected to join in the Christmas
dinner that evening, and such a prospect necessitated a good deal of
preparation. Sir Dugald retired to his office to escape from the
bustle, and such of his subordinates as did not follow his example
found themselves impressed into Lady Haigh’s service for the purpose
of moving furniture, hanging up draperies, and otherwise altering the
appearance of the principal rooms. Cecil undertook the decoration of
the dinner-table, much to the indignation of the Indian butler, who
considered that he knew far more about dinner-parties than the Miss
Sahiba, and Lady Haigh superintended everything, driving white-clothed
servants before her in agitated troops.
It was in the midst of all this turmoil that Charlie came home. Lady
Haigh heard him ride into the courtyard, and flew to greet him.
“O, my dear boy!” she cried, as he dismounted and came to meet her,
“why didn’t you come before? You are too late.”
“She has signed the agreement, then?” he asked, quickly. Lady Haigh
nodded, and he went on. “I thought as much. Thanks to that abominable
child, I believe (for you know his mother was one of the Hajar), I
have been detained in their tents for a week. They persisted that they
were at war with the Fazz, and that I could not go on except at the
risk of my life, and they kept me a regular prisoner. Twice I tried to
get away, and each time they brought me back. Yesterday I managed to
get hold of my revolvers, which they had hidden away, and we very
nearly had a big fight. I threatened to shoot them all if they would
not let me go, and at last they consented to disgorge the horses and
my things, and my boy Hanna and I came on at once. We parted company
this morning. He was to come on gently with the luggage, while I rode
hard, and now it is too late after all.”
“My poor dear boy!” cried Lady Haigh, the tears rising in her
sympathetic eyes. “I did my best for you, really, but you see I could
not plead as you would have done, could I? But you shall speak to her
yourself. Leave it to me, and I will make an opportunity for you, only
it must be when there is no one about, that people may not begin to
talk.”
“Thank you, Cousin Elma. It’s something like a condemned criminal’s
last interview with his friends, to give me one talk with her before
three years’ separation.”
“You were always inclined to be discontented, Charlie,” said Lady
Haigh, reprovingly. “Be thankful for what you can get, and now go and
make yourself respectable.”
He laughed, and betook himself in the direction of his own quarters.
Cecil, at work in the dining-room, heard his steps on the floor of the
verandah, and went on with her task of piling up crystallised fruits
on the dessert-dishes with trembling fingers. Perhaps he would not see
her as he passed. But he did. A casual glance into the room showed him
that she was standing there, and he went no farther. An insane impulse
seized her to run away when he came in, but she stood her ground,
though looking and feeling miserably guilty. Charlie caught both her
hands in his, and stood gazing into her flushed face with a look
before which her eyes fell. Then, almost before Farideh, the slipshod
handmaiden who was supposed to be assisting in the festive
preparations, had time to profit by the little distraction to the
extent of surreptitiously conveying an apricot to her mouth, he
recollected himself, and loosing his hold of Cecil’s hands, asked
eagerly--
“You will let me speak to you in private some time or other?”
“Yes,” faltered Cecil, and he went out, while she, suddenly
discovering Farideh’s part in the little scene which had just been
enacted, taxed her with her guilt, and proceeded to give her a severe
scolding in somewhat imperfect Arabic, though her lips would quiver
sometimes with a smile in the sternest passages.
Lady Haigh was very mysterious that evening. She would not let Cecil
go to dress for dinner until she herself could come too, and then she
accompanied her to her room, where they found the two maids, Um Yusuf
and Marta, gazing in speechless admiration at the contents of a great
box they had just unpacked. With tender care they had laid on the bed
a beautiful evening dress of soft, clinging white stuff, with borders
of golden embroidery in a classic pattern, and now they were gently
handling a white and gold cloak to match, and a fan of white feathers
with a golden mount.
“My Christmas present to you, dear,” said Lady Haigh, kissing Cecil.
“I flatter myself I know what suits you, and I see my London
dressmaker has carried out my directions exactly. Let me see how you
look in it.”
“O, Lady Haigh, you are too good!” gasped Cecil, fingering the
delicate fabric with intense delight.
“Nonsense, Cecil! Do you think I didn’t know that you decided not to
order out a new evening dress from home, because you wanted to send
Fitz the money to get a camera with? I’m glad you like it, dear. If
you are so very pleased, show it by looking nice in the dress, and by
being kind to poor Charlie.”
The last sentence was in a lower tone, but Cecil shook with mirth; the
idea of being bribed with a new dress to be kind to Charlie seemed so
ridiculous. The thought suddenly came to her of the uncontrollable
delight with which her little Irish stepmother would have viewed the
whole scene, more especially the part which concerned the unexpected
rewarding of her kindness to Fitz, and it was with difficulty that she
restrained herself from bursting into a peal of laughter. It did not
take long to array her in the wonderful white-and-gold dress, and even
the sedate Um Yusuf, as she clasped the folds upon the shoulder with
Azim Bey’s brooch as a finish, was moved into uttering words of
admiration. Lady Haigh and Marta were no whit behind in their praise,
and Cecil herself, on looking into the glass, felt that she could
scarcely recognise the gorgeous vision there reflected.
Lady Haigh was also arrayed suitably to the greatness of the occasion,
and she and Cecil now donned their cloaks in preparation for crossing
the court, and rustled down to the great drawing-room, where Sir
Dugald was waiting with a long-suffering expression, his subordinates
hovering in the background and looking depressed. Lady Haigh cast a
last glance around to see that all was right, and then, satisfied that
the great room, with its fretted ceiling and walls inlaid with mirrors
set in beautiful mosaic of many-coloured marbles and gilded arabesque
work, was looking its best, took her place beside Sir Dugald with a
sigh of complacency. The guests soon began to arrive in their most
imposing attire, and the assembly became a miniature court. It was not
so difficult as usual, Cecil thought, to realise that one was in the
city of the Khalifs, now that the splendours of the place were
properly revealed by the aid of many wax-lights, and the rooms, at
other times empty and silent, were gay with bright costumes and
gorgeous Eastern draperies. But when the move into the dining-room was
made, the illusion was spoilt, for all was Anglo-Indian, and the
punkah, useless to-night, and the silent Hindu servants, though they
might at first seem to give an air of oriental stateliness to the
proceedings, were after all as alien to the old Baghdad as to older
Babylon. Cecil felt honestly grieved by the innovations years had
brought, and she had ample time to lament over them, for her neighbour
at the table was a stout and bald-headed elderly merchant, who devoted
himself to curry and other red-hot compounds with a singleness of
purpose which left him no opportunity for conversation. Opposite to
her Charlie was doing the agreeable to the wife of the American
Consul, a faded but still vivacious lady, who was talking shrilly of
Boston. The few Americans in Baghdad had united with their English
kinsfolk to-night in celebrating the old home festival, and the
English would fraternise with them in like manner when Thanksgiving
Day came round.
The meal was a long one, for all the usual Christmas fare was _de
rigueur_, as were the orthodox Christmas customs, while there were a
number of toasts to be drunk at the close; but it was over at last,
and the gentlemen were not long in following the ladies into the
drawing-room. A number of other people who had only been invited to
the reception after the dinner-party now came dropping in, and Cecil
found herself seized upon by her friend Mrs Hagopidan, the lady in
whose defence she had broken a lance with Charlie not long after her
arrival in Baghdad. Myrta Hagopidan was a lively little person, an
Armenian by race, a native of British India by birth, and an
Englishwoman by aspiration. As schoolgirls she and Cecil had adored
the same governess, the lady who had been Cecil’s form-mistress at the
South Central having gone to India to take charge of the Poonah High
School, as has been already mentioned, and this bond of union drew
them very close together, although Mrs Hagopidan was pleased to affect
the ultra-smart in dress and conversation, and had a weakness for
talking about her “frocks,” for which, by the way, Worth was sometimes
responsible. She came rustling up now in a magnificent and utterly
indescribable costume of various shimmering hues, and demanded that
Cecil should take her up to the roof to see the view.
“I’ve never seen the city by moonlight from here,” she said, “and
Captain Rossiter has been telling me that it’s quite too awfully
sweet. Take me up to the best place, for I daren’t go roaming about
Sir Dugald’s house alone without his leave, and I’m much too
frightened to ask for it. Put on a shawl or coat or something, for
it’s quite chilly.”
And linking her arm in Cecil’s, Mrs Hagopidan drew her into the
cloakroom, whence she extracted a wonderful little wrap of her own,
all iridescent brocade and ostrich feathers, and then waited while
Cecil hunted for her white-and-gold cloak. Her little dark face looked
so mischievous and arch and winning, framed in the folds of her hood,
that Cecil kissed her there and then, at which Mrs Hagopidan laughed
until all her ostrich-feathers nodded wildly.
“Don’t!” she cried, pushing Cecil away. “I don’t want to make any one
jealous; I’m simply an amiable and kind-hearted friend. There! that’s
your cloak, isn’t it? Put it on and come along.”
They hurried up the steps together, Mrs Hagopidan continuing to talk
incessantly, so that Cecil was nearly exhausted before they had
reached the top, and was obliged to stop to laugh.
“Lazy thing!” cried her companion. “You are stopping too soon. Only
two or three steps more, and I’m dying to see what is to be seen. Come
on. Why, there’s some one here!”
A dark figure confronted them as they reached the top of the stairs,
and Cecil almost screamed, but she saw immediately who it was.
“Myrta, you wretch!” she cried, “you have brought me here on false
pretences.”
“Don’t excite yourself, my dear,” said Mrs Hagopidan, swiftly
descending the stairs to the landing, and sitting down on the lowest
step. “I said I was a kind and amiable friend, and I’m going to be. No
one shall interrupt you, I promise, and if any one tries to pass, it
will be over my body. Now, Dr Egerton, use your opportunity. Go over
to the other side of the roof, and I shan’t hear. You may count on me
to keep a good look-out.”
“I don’t like being entrapped, Dr Egerton,” said Cecil. “I think I
will ask you to take me back to Lady Haigh.”
“I don’t think you will,” said Charlie, quickly, “when you remember
how long I have been waiting for this talk with you, and how hard it
has been for me to get back here even now. I can trust you not to keep
me longer in suspense. Whatever my fate is, at least you will let me
know it at once.”
This was reasonable enough, and Cecil could not withstand the appeal
to her sense of fairness. She walked across to the other side of the
roof, and sat down upon the wide parapet, looking at the shadowy
garden beneath, and at the river beyond, its broad surface flecked
with many wavering lights. Behind was the courtyard, partially
illuminated by the beams from the lighted windows of the drawing-room,
and farther still the town, with its winding, badly-lighted streets,
and its ghostly minarets and palm-trees. The strains of music floated
up to her, mingled with the more distant sounds of the city, but no
human being was visible anywhere, and it seemed as if the world held
only herself and Charlie. He was standing beside her, apparently
finding some difficulty in framing what he wanted to say.
“I’ve longed to speak to you for years,” he burst out at last, “and
now that I have the opportunity I feel ashamed to use it, because I
know my speaking to you at all must seem to you such arrant cheek. I
have thought about it pretty often in the last week, and upon my word!
I can’t think of any conceivable earthly reason why you should marry
me, except that I love you.”
He stopped, and then went on somewhat more freely.
“Cousin Elma has told you how I wanted to speak to you two years ago,
and why I didn’t. That’s the reason, Cecil. It was because I loved
you, and I didn’t want to get you into trouble, and I have learned to
love you more and more since. I do love you, dear, and I have tried to
be a better man for your sake. I can’t talk much about that sort of
thing, you know, but I do see things more in the way you do than when
we first met. But I can’t say it as I should like,” he broke off
despairingly. “Whatever I say seems only to show me more and more how
utterly presumptuous I am. I know I could never hope that you could
care for me as I care for you, because I am such a wretched failure of
a fellow, but if you could love me just a little--if you could take me
on--well, just as a sort of pupil, you know--but I don’t mean that at
all. Will you marry me, Cecil?”
“And if I say no?” asked Cecil, looking away over the river.
“Now you are trying me, to see what I shall say,” he said. “You know,
if I said what I feel, it would be that I should throw up this place
at once and go off into the desert with the Arabs; and I know that
what you would like me to say would be that I should go on here
working steadily, as if nothing had happened. Well, dear, I will try,
but it will be awfully hard.”
Cecil was touched to the heart. “Oh, Charlie, my poor boy!” she cried,
impulsively, and put her hands into his. He took them doubtfully, not
daring to accept the happy omen the action suggested.
“Cecil, is it really--do you mean yes?” he asked, with bated breath.
“Yes, I do,” said Cecil, hurriedly. “I have been a horrid,
calculating, conceited wretch. I’ve looked down on you, and laughed at
you, and never thought how much better you were than I was all the
time. I wish I was more worthy of you, Charlie.”
“You? of me?” he asked. “Cecil, dear, don’t laugh at me now. You
really mean that you can love me? I don’t want you to marry me out of
pity, or anything that would make you unhappy. I can stand anything
rather than that.”
“But I do mean yes,” murmured Cecil, brokenly.
“But you are crying,” he said, with a man’s usual tact in such
matters.
“I’m not,” said Cecil, indignantly. “Well, I suppose I’m homesick. No,
it’s not that. It’s because I have been wanting you so much all this
time, and you have come back at last.”
“Please God, you shall never regret my coming back, dear,” he said,
gently, and drew her head down on his shoulder, where she cried
bitterly, to her own great astonishment and his alarm. It was not at
first that she could explain to him the mental conflict and strain of
the past few months, but she was able to assure him that her tears did
not spring from regret for the promise she had just given, and they
sat there on the parapet talking for a long time. Engrossed in each
other, they did not notice a long line of torch-bearers and horsemen
approaching the Residency from the direction of the Palace, and they
were struck with surprise when Mrs Hagopidan appeared suddenly at the
top of the steps, and looking studiously the wrong way, cried in a
thrilling whisper--
“Dr Egerton, you must go down at once. Azim Bey is at the door, and
Sir Dugald was asking for you. If you don’t put in an appearance,
there’ll be trouble. Do go at once.”
“That abominable child!” cried Charlie, and obeyed.