There was one subject alone on which Miss Wenaston and her housekeeper
disagreed. It had nothing to do with the management of the house. It
was marriage.
Mrs. Hulver having entered the bonds of matrimony three times
considered that she was entitled to speak with authority on the
condition of wifehood and widowhood.
Eola Wenaston was twenty-seven years of age and unmarried. When Mrs.
Hulver had reached that number of years she had been a wife for a
decade, and had entered upon her first period of widowhood. Although a
British father had done much to form her character, her Eurasian mother
had instilled certain opinions to which she firmly adhered. One fixed
belief, as strong as any article of her faith, was that every woman
ought to be married. It was the duty of relatives and guardians to
forward that end; it was even still more the duty of the woman herself
to attract and secure the best husband available without immodesty.
Miss Wenaston she found sadly wanting in self-help. Dr. Wenaston, her
brother, was a very busy and sometimes overworked man. He did his best
in Mrs. Hulver's opinion when he invited men to his house. His
efforts, conscious or unconscious--Mrs. Hulver was not sure which--were
not supported as they should have been by his sister. She made no
attempt to attract in dress or manner. She was content to wear the
same dinner-dress that served when she and her brother were alone; and
she did not hesitate to allow Dr. Wenaston to absorb all the
conversation if he chose, remaining silent through the dinner and
perhaps through the whole evening as well. This was altogether a
mistake, as Mrs. Hulver tried in vain to point out more than once.
Eola listened in perfect good nature, but her replies were not
encouraging, and the housekeeper was vaguely conscious that she was
being kept in her place. She persevered however, and never lost an
opportunity of putting in a word as far as she dared; but she always
felt that there was a barrier that she might not pass.
A certain Major Ellingham appeared at Chirapore on his way to a
shooting expedition in the Western Ghats. He was entertained by Dr.
Wenaston for a week while the camping preparations were made. Mrs.
Hulver devoted her attention to the catering; and with the assistance
of Ramachetty and the cook sent in such meals as elicited the guest's
warm approval. In the evening as she sat in her wicker-chair by the
open door of her sitting-room, she smiled as she heard the strains of
the piano, and Ellingham's fine baritone in "Love's old sweet song," or
some such melody.
Nothing came of it, however; and the guest departed as heart-whole as
he left Eola herself. Mrs. Hulver's even temperament was ruffled by a
wave of annoyance as she thought of the enhanced bazaar account and all
the trouble she had been put to in devising dainty cooking. One
morning she ventured to suggest to Miss Wenaston that Major Ellingham
would make a good husband. Eola agreed readily enough.
"Probably he will pick up some nice girl by and by, when his head is
less full of shooting big game," she said indifferently.
"He is not the man to care for a young girl, miss. I take it from his
appearance and general bearing that when he makes his choice, it will
fall on a lady with some experience of the world, like yourself and
about your own age."
Eola laughed outright and Mrs. Hulver was hurt. A joke she could
understand, but ridicule was like a red hot iron, and she shrank into
herself. Eola saw that her mirth gave offence, and she hastened to
soothe and make amends.
"You need have no fear, Mrs. Hulver. He doesn't take my fancy, nor do
I take his; so there is no likelihood of your losing me."
"It's not that, miss, which troubles me," the housekeeper explained.
"Gladly would I see you go as I went myself to the arms of a husband.
It's the proper place for every right-minded woman. As William----"
Eola interrupted her with another laugh that she found impossible to
repress.
"You and I don't agree on the subject of marriage and never shall. I
am single and you were very much married----"
Mrs. Hulver bridled and broke in upon her speech with some indignation.
"Indeed, miss! I was no more married than I ought to have been. To
have been less married with my three husbands wouldn't have been
respectable. And I am sure it has helped me along; I should have been
a poor thing without it. As William--that was my second--used to say:
'Humble wedlock is better than proud singleness. Marriage is like a
good pair of boots to a woman. It will carry her through fair weather
and foul. If the boots wear out before their time the best thing to do
is to get another pair.' He talked like that when I was hesitating
about taking him. It was not the man himself that made me doubt but
the way he leaned. It was all towards truth and honesty."
"You are truthful and honest, Mrs. Hulver," protested Eola. "Don't say
you are not or you won't be doing yourself justice."
"I have always shrunk from lies and thieving," admitted Mrs. Hulver.
"I never could stoop to low conduct of any kind. But there is truth
and truth. As William--that was my third--used to say when I gave him
a talking to: 'Lay it on mild, me dear. Truth is like a mustard
plaster. It may be very good for the patient but you've got to be
careful how you apply it or you may hurt your best friend more than a
little.' What troubled me was whether I could live up to the standard
of my second."
"You might have been happier if you had not married him," said Eola,
with a twinkle in her eye, as she controlled her lips.
"I couldn't have been happy alone with nothing to live up to and no one
to tend. I chanced it and found it quite easy. All I had to be
careful about was to prevent anything from coming to his knowledge that
was not up to his mark. I soon got used to keeping things smooth; and
there was never a married man happier than my second."
The thought of her success as William the second's wife restored her
tranquillity of mind, and she left Eola to go about her duties in her
usual contented frame of mind.
An Assistant Resident was the next person who all unconsciously
fluttered Mrs. Hulver's hopes, raising them with regard to Eola only to
dash them to the ground again. It so happened that a man came to act
for six months whilst the permanent Assistant Resident was away on
leave. He was unmarried, musical, and a great reader. Inclination and
compatability of tastes often brought him to the college either to
discuss new writers with Dr. Wenaston, or to try over new music with
Eola.
Once more Mrs. Hulver concentrated her attention and energy on culinary
matters. She had not been the chosen partner of three husbands without
discovering how great a factor the food question is in the life of a
man. She was able to quote from the sayings of all three on the
subject. The Assistant Resident ate such dinners at the college house
as he never forgot; but the way to his heart in his case was not
through the stomach. Over the music and books he made a certain amount
of progress; and had he seen any response to encourage him, he might
have fallen into the belief that Eola was the one desirable woman in
the world for him; but there was no such encouragement. At the end of
six months he went away; and it was Mrs. Hulver's heart, not Eola's,
that sank in despair.
"Mr. Fressenden will miss you and the Doctor, miss," remarked Mrs.
Hulver, austerely, the morning after his departure. "You have been
very hospitable to him."
"I daresay he will," was the indifferent reply.
"He should get married. An Assistant Resident has to receive a lot of
company; and a house without a woman at the head makes a poor show."
"Our present Assistant has a very nice wife."
"It's a wonder that Mr. Fressenden doesn't follow his example."
"He will find a wife in time," replied Eola, as she added up the column
of figures given her by the butler that morning. "I make it half an
anna less than Ramachetty. I must go over it again."
"He had better not be too long about finding a wife," continued Mrs.
Hulver, determined not to let the subject drop till she had had her
say. "If a man waits too long he ages in looks and manners, and he is
not taken for himself. He may think that he is, for God deals out
vanity with a liberal hand when a boy is born. But with a middle-aged
man there are other considerations at the back of a woman's mind
besides love; like houses, for instance." She broke off shortly with a
little laugh. "It tells on both sides for that matter. If
William--that was my first--hadn't had a little property behind him, my
mother would never have chosen him for her daughter with his dark
complexion."
"Was he very much darker? After all I think Ramachetty is right, and
that it is my mistake not his."
"He was quite four shades darker than me; some people might have said
it was five; but that was his age. Being older than me he showed it
more."
"Yes, the butler has added it up correctly," said Eola, laying down her
pen. "You were telling me about your first husband. It must have been
a drawback to have had him darker than yourself."
"I am not so sure, miss, that it wasn't an advantage. William knew
that he was blacker than me by several shades, and that I was his
superior in European descent. Both his parents were Eurasians. With
me it was only on one side, my mother's. That being so he never dared
to cheek me or speak disrespectfully as country-born people are apt to
do when they lose their tempers. It's a very powerful thing in our
sex, is the tongue. I'm sure I don't know what we poor women would do
without it. As William--that was my third--used to say: 'The tongue is
a wonderful thing, Maria, me dear! It may be as sweet as sugar; or
sharp as a lime; or as stinging as red pepper.' He used to add that
the devil himself loosened Eve's tongue for her when she took the
apple, knowing that she would have no chance with ould Adam unless she
had that advantage."
Yet a third prospective husband, in Mrs. Hulver's opinion, appeared in
the person of an executive engineer in the service of Government. He
was highly favoured by the housekeeper since Delaine, her first
husband, had been a subordinate in that same service. With renewed
hope she flung herself into the campaign, and left nothing undone in
the commissariat department that might propitiate and lead on a
faltering suitor.
It was all to no purpose. He departed like the other two without
speaking; and Mrs. Hulver in her vexation could not refrain from
unburdening herself on the subject at the first opportunity.
"When a man in the Public Works Department gets to be an executive
engineer he ought to have a wife. Mr. Fearing is just throwing away
his opportunities by keeping single. He seems such a nice gentleman,
too. There ought to be no difficulty."
"Except that perhaps marriage has no attraction for him," suggested
Eola.
Mrs. Hulver stared at her in sheer unbelief. The man or woman sound in
mind and body who did not desire marriage in the abstract was
unthinkable. Choice was another matter; many an individual deferred
making his choice for reasons that might be good or indifferent, but
were sufficient all the same. It was impossible in her opinion that
any one could look upon the estate of matrimony as undesirable.
"Begging your pardon, miss, if I may be so bold as to say so, I don't
think either you or your brother know much about marriage. Your minds
have not been brought to bear upon it. As William--that was my
second--used to say: 'Thoughts are like guns; they are no use until
they are trained on an object.' You haven't had an occasion to train
yours yet on to marriage. Now in my case they've been trained all my
life on matrimony, and I can speak with knowledge and experience. If a
man tells you that he doesn't want to get married, you may take it that
either he can't get the woman he wants, or he hasn't made his choice.
If a girl tells you that she doesn't want to get married--" Mrs.
Hulver actually panted with indignation at the mere thought of
it--"She's--she's--well! she's a liar--at least she is in this country."
Eola's light laugh was the only reply to such an assertion, and Mrs.
Hulver took herself off to her sanctum at the back of the house with
the nearest approach to wrath in her placid good nature she was capable
of feeling.
Then Bernard Alderbury appeared on the scene, causing Mrs. Hulver doubt
and perturbation of mind. He was a vigorous worker in the ranks of one
of the large Church of England missionary societies, a strenuous parson
who held a charmed life against the many evils prowling in his field of
labour. He seemed immune to the effects of bad water, coarse food,
poisonous mosquitoes and a tropical sun. His exemption was not
obtained by disregard of the conditions of Indian life up-country. On
the contrary he observed the greatest care in safe-guarding himself by
the use of such appliances as science provided. He took the minimum
risk and the maximum care and forethought. Aided by a magnificent
constitution and an endless store of confidence and hope that killed
depression, he preserved the health and good spirits so essential to
his particular work.
Wenaston and Alderbury were old college friends. When the missionary
spirit threw its mantle over the latter, Wenaston, by no means an
irreligious man, did his best to persuade the other from--as he put
it--throwing himself away on the colonies and hiding his light under a
bushel. A man of his abilities and private means should have different
aspirations.
Alderbury received the advice in his light-hearted manner, and assured
his friend that going to India as a missionary would prove his own
salvation and keep him out of the morasses of modern thought and
controversy.
"I must fight some one," said Alderbury. "I don't want civil war; I
want an enemy outside the pale of Mother Church. Hinduism seems to me
the very thing, a noble and worthy foe; an ancient faith, a marvellous
system of philosophy with a crafty degenerate priesthood. Doesn't the
mere thought of it stir your blood and make you tingle to be up and
fighting? Grafting upon the obsolete creed something infinitely
better, a glorious oriental Christ, soul-satisfying and sufficient, Who
will lift India's millions into a fresher and purer atmosphere of life
and thought."
Wenaston glanced at the shining eyes turned upon him in enthusiasm as
he would have looked at the symptoms of an obscure disease. It was a
thing he could neither understand nor account for; but some instinct
made him hold his peace. If the man was right, well and good; if he
proved wrong, he would find it out for himself. He forbore to comment
or to combat the new resolve. Alderbury pursued the course he had
mapped out for himself, and in due time went to India.
Wenaston continued the student and developed into the school-master.
When a vacancy occurred in the college of Chirapore he was asked if he
would accept it. Until that moment he had not thought of going to the
East. His sister, who had a great desire to see India, added her
weight to inclination, and he decided to take the appointment.
Once more the two friends met, and Alderbury rejoiced in the renewal of
their intimacy; for among other facts he learned that none pressed more
heavily upon him than the loneliness of the missionary's life, its
isolation and the complete absence of congenial companionship. Under
the circumstances it was not to be wondered at that he never lost an
opportunity in his missionary itineration of spending a few days with
the Doctor and his sister. It was a little out of his way, but that
did not matter. The holiday was the more complete since there was no
duty within reach. The missions he superintended were in British
territory, beyond the borders of the native state. He would have
established work of some sort in Chirapore, but he was not encouraged
to do so by his society nor by the Government of the State. The
society already had more than enough irons in the fire with an open
field in British India clamouring for yet more workers. But Alderbury
could never visit his friend without casting envious glances at the big
classes of boys assembled in the college hall. He would dearly have
liked a free hand on the platforms of the classrooms; however this was
not permissible. One of the conditions attached to the appointment of
Principal was that there should be no attempt at proselytising; a
condition to which Wenaston easily subscribed, since he had not even a
spark of missionary enthusiasm.
Eola was of her brother's way of thinking. She too looked at
Alderbury's work with something like detached curiosity. His energy,
his whole-hearted desire to see India Christianised, his indefatigable
and unceasing sacrifice of self, appealed to the instinctive
hero-worship that is implanted in every woman's breast; but though she
could wonder and admire and was insensibly drawn by his personality,
she could not understand the fascination that held him to his chosen
profession.
As for Mrs. Hulver she had her own reasons for disapproving of his
visits, and it had nothing to do with his missionary zeal.
Nevertheless she did not fail to provide a table worthy of her master's
position. The food was substantial rather than recherche, nourishing
rather than dainty. She had formed some fixed opinions upon the
subject of missionaries generally; they were deeply rooted and
unalterable. As a class missionaries required feeding up; their
wardrobes needed the services of the dirzee to mend and patch and darn.
She was puzzled more than a little when she found that Alderbury paid
no particular attention to the food, and ate sparingly, with a distinct
inclination towards daintiness. As for his wardrobe it was in better
condition in some respects and needed less attention than the Doctor's.
Not a sock required darning; not a coat needed stitching; and what was
more, his clothes were not only new and none the worse for wear, but
they were of the best and finest description. The pay of a missionary
was known to be of narrow proportions, leaving no margin for luxury.
It did not seem fit and proper in her eyes that he should be better
dressed than his host. That he possessed anything besides his salary
did not enter Mrs. Hulver's head; because if he had private means he
never would have come to India as a missionary; he would have adopted
the military service and been an officer in the army.
Alderbury came and went at his own convenience, never announcing his
proposed visit by more than a day or two, and never prolonging it
beyond the two or three nights, which gave him at least one complete
day's rest, so essential sometimes to the worker for whom Sunday is the
busiest day of the week. How intensely the man enjoyed that day his
hosts had little suspicion. Whether he discussed the latest theory in
science or religion with Wenaston, or the latest novel with Eola, it
was all pure happiness unclouded by a single anxiety.
Mrs. Hulver was the only person who was disturbed. The laughter of the
happy trio awoke no sympathetic joy in her. She was relieved when she
heard only the low tone of the masculine voices, indicating that Miss
Wenaston was taking no part in the conversation. It was fortunate for
her peace of mind that she could not see Eola's eyes dwelling on the
long figure extended in the cane lounge placed between her own easy
chair and her brother's; nor how she watched him when, carried away by
excitement, he pulled himself forward and even sprang to his feet the
better to emphasise what he had to say. As he stood before them,
speaking to the Doctor, but often turning his deepset eyes upon Eola,
the girl thought of St. Paul. By what mysterious force was he driven?
What fire was it that kindled in his eyes as he talked and made him
look different from any other man she had known? The Indian world as
she knew it was very peaceful; the people of the native State of
Chirakul were notorious for their content and for the absence of all
sedition and unrest. Yet to hear him talk one might be brought to the
belief that it was not a peaceful model native state, but an enemy's
land, a field for a deadly battle with a worthy foe.
Alderbury passed out of their little world as suddenly as he came in,
leaving them slumberous and quiescent. Eola missed him, but Mrs.
Hulver indulged in a sigh of relief. Much as she desired to see Eola
married she drew a rigid line at missionaries. Not that missionaries
should be debarred from marriage. On the contrary, a wife was more
needful in the mission house than anywhere else. But the missionary's
wife belonged, in her opinion, to quite another class. She did not
know where the wives were bred. They were endowed with many admirable
virtues, and were eminently suited to be helpers to their worthy
husbands in proselytising among the heathen; but of one thing she was
sure; there was a wide difference between them and Miss Wenaston.
Their rambling bungalows had a certain amount of plain solid comfort
about them; and they made the best of the country fare that their
limited salaries obliged them to buy, but there was nothing dainty in
either dress or food or furniture.
The large compounds in which their dwellings were placed contained
outbuildings where the natives gathered for instruction; both bungalow
and compound were haunted with mild-looking converts in white muslin;
their happy faces an indication that Christianity and the pastoral
supervision of the missionary agreed with them.
On the other hand who ever heard of a missionary's wife being invited
to the Presidency town to take a share in social festivities? Who ever
saw, asked Mrs. Hulver, with raised eyebrows, "a missionary's lady" at
a race meet or at a Government House ball? Miss Wenaston belonged to
the class that welcomed Viceroys and figured at races and balls. Thus
it happened that after some of these flying visits Mrs. Hulver had
remarks to make.
"Missionaries are very good sort of people in their way. I often
wonder how they can keep it up."
"Keep what up?" asked Eola, mystified.
"Their spirits and their belief that they are doing these natives good."
"Of course they are doing good, Mrs. Hulver," said Eola, as if she were
slightly shocked. The half-formed doubt occasionally slipped unbidden
into her own mind but she had never put it into words.
"I didn't say that they were not doing good. I left it open. As
William--that was my first--used to say when the native overseers had
too big a grasp on the profits: 'You can't wash a crow white nor expect
anything of him but a croak.' It's the thought of the millions and
millions of heathen in India that is apt to stagger one. It's like
trying to empty a tank with a teaspoon. However, as William--that was
my second--used to say when I was down-hearted about the way anything
was going: 'You lay your brick and lay it sound and leave the rest to
others. No man ever built a church steeple all by himself and yet old
England is full of churches and steeples.' Anyway, I shouldn't like to
be a missionary's wife. I could dress up to it; I could feed up to it;
but I couldn't stand the converts trapesing through the compound and
hanging about the verandahs. I shouldn't feel as if the house belonged
to me."
"Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary to have them there," suggested Eola,
who read between the lines with secret amusement.
"Oh! yes, it would; it's their reward; their right," replied Mrs.
Hulver with conviction. "Any lady that's suitable to be a missionary's
wife makes no objection; but she must be, so to speak, born to it.
It's not a job that would suit you, miss. As William--that was my
third--said when he heard that the Chaplain was going to marry the
Colonel's daughter: 'If the church mouse takes the field mouse to wife
there'll be a difference of opinion about the mode of living.' You
could never put up with mission ways."
"You never did any mission work, I suppose," said Eola, turning the
conversation from a subject she was not prepared to discuss with her
housekeeper.
"No miss; but my husband William--that was my second--he tried his hand
at it once, only once. He saw some of the canteen servants doing pujah
to a stone image that stood under a tree behind the canteen. He went
up to them in the middle of the pujah and said: 'Boys, you're all going
to hell that way.' One of them that served the Presbyterian minister
spoke up and said: 'No sar! It's the Roman Catholics that are going to
hell, not us!' William walked away without another word; and when I
asked him about it, he said that missionary work wasn't his job, and
that he would leave it to those who knew more about it than he did."
"It was very good of him to make the attempt."
Mrs. Hulver looked pleased at the praise and approbation of the
departed William the second.
"He was a right-minded man about everything, loyal to his God and his
King; and he was the father of my only child."