Alderbury had been travelling over his district. As superintending
missionary his presence was urgently needed in half a dozen places at
once as a rule, not to teach his converts hymns, but to govern their
temporal business and to guide their spiritual affairs, to encourage
the faint-hearted and to shake the pastoral staff, metaphorically
speaking, in the faces of those who showed signs of the old Adam. They
received his ministrations with admirable meekness and adored him all
the more for his reproof or praise. He loved his people in return, but
that fact did not blind him to their weaknesses.
He journeyed in a country cart; not a luxuriously fitted bullock coach
such as conveyed Pantulu and his wife to their destination, but a
veritable springless vehicle of the country with a hood of matting of
the roughest description. At the bottom was laid a mattress. Between
the driver, who sat on the same plane with his feet on the pole, and
the mattress were piled the boxes and baskets containing the
necessaries of life required on the itinerating picnic. They formed a
kind of screen between the driver and the occupant of the cart. The
back of the hood was curtained with a piece of calico thick enough to
keep out the sun. The most comfortable position for the traveller
whether journeying by night or day was to lie down at full length with
his head towards the driver.
Alderbury usually travelled by night for various reasons. It was
cooler; it saved time; it was far more comfortable than sleeping at a
village school-house, where nothing but a mat was provided. In this
way he arrived at his destination soon after sunrise ready to begin the
day's work of inspection, services, surplice duties, pastoral visits
and interviews with the native agents.
It was just nine days since Ananda had disappeared. Wenaston wrote to
the missionary after Sooba's visit of inquiry and told him of the
intrusion; he asked him to come on his way back and stay for a couple
of nights or more if he could spare the time. He thought something
should be done in the way of inquiry after the welfare of the convert,
even though he had definitely refused help on a former occasion. The
letter followed Alderbury out into the district, and found him just in
time to allow of his carrying out Wenaston's suggestion.
From long practice in constant travelling Alderbury had learned to
sleep fairly well in the cart, in spite of its jolts and jerks and the
strange utterances of the driver when he occasionally woke up and spoke
to his cattle. On the morning when he intended to arrive at Chirapore
he roused himself before dawn; and sitting up as well as he could he
dressed himself with more care than usual. He knew who would be
waiting for him in the trellised verandah with its mantle of blue
ipomea. In fancy he could see the tea-table laid out and the early tea
ready, a rack of crisp toast and the boiled eggs.
There had been a shower in the night, and the air was fresh and cool.
He jumped out at the back of the cart, without stopping the slowly
moving cattle, and strode forward with a superabundance of that
vitality which never seemed to fail him. The earth smelt sweet of
growing vegetation, and the rain had laid the dust and washed the
foliage. Here and there the scent from clusters of newly-opened
blossom on the roadside trees permeated the air. On either side of the
way spread cultivated fields and patches of garden, for the town was
not far off, unconfined by any visible boundary. Pomegranate bushes
showed vivid spots of manderin scarlet where the flower promised fruit.
All kinds of birds twittered and whistled and chirrupped in bush and
tree. Noisiest of all were the barbets that never ceased their
monotonous call.
Alderbury's eye lingered over every detail with an inborn joyousness
that put him in sympathy with all living creatures. The last mail from
England had brought him news that might change the current of his life
and bring him into new and wider fields. It would mean harder work
than ever; heavier responsibilities; greater liabilities that would
leave him if anything poorer rather than richer; but he was ready for
all and everything if---- Ah, that little if! there was so much behind
it. Prudence tried to reason and urged objections that were half true
and unproven. Was she sufficiently in sympathy with his work, with his
aims? Would she be a help? It would be fatal if she drew away and
separated her interests from his. The more he doubted the more blindly
he loved and desired; the more eager he was to know his fate.
The pale rays of the sun shot up above the horizon on the east, and the
white sheets of mist lying on the fields seemed to shiver and shrink as
the merciless sun-god sent forth his heralds to give warning of his
approach. Long-legged natives wrapped in rough black blankets strode
towards their tasks on the land, their brains still slumberous and
their bodies still inert with sleep. The cows and buffaloes followed
the herdsman to the town, stopping before the doors where the milk was
awaited for the early morning coffee. Leisurely and without haste
India awoke to its daily round free from the fever and fuss that marks
the day in the west.
Alderbury had the road to himself except for a municipal cart that
passed now and then with the load gathered from the streets in the
night. Behind him rumbled his own conveyance which he was out-walking
rapidly. The cattle had done the journey well, and he was earlier than
he dared to hope; yet for all that his walk, was quick and impetuous as
though he were drawn towards his goal in spite of himself.
He arrived at the first house on the outskirts of the town. It was the
one in which Pantulu's family lived. The household was astir and a
group of men stood in the verandah preparing to go out on their various
errands and duties. From the midst burst Sooba who recognised the
missionary although the latter was not acquainted with Pantulu's
brother.
"May I have a word with you, sir," asked Sooba.
"With pleasure," replied Alderbury in some surprise. He had no
adherents in Chirapore nor in the State, and for the moment he had
forgotten Ananda's existence. "What can I do for you?"
"I wish to ask you a few questions about my nephew," said Sooba.
"Yes; but tell me first who is your nephew?"
As he spoke Alderbury looked up at the house and suddenly remembered
the visit he had paid.
"Of course, I recollect now. This is where Ananda lives. How is he?
I hope he is well."
Sooba glanced at the Englishman suspiciously, trying to hide his
distrust under a forced smile.
"My nephew sought your assistance some days ago, sir."
"I think you are mistaken. I offered help but he refused it. Since
that time I have neither seen nor heard of him, except the fact
mentioned by Dr. Wenaston in a letter, that he had left his home and
that you were under the impression that he had gone to the college. It
was extremely kind of the Principal to allow you to go through his
private rooms. I am not sure that I should have been so obliging."
Alderbury's voice had unconsciously assumed a tone of reproof, and
Sooba writhed inwardly under it.
"Dr. Wenaston could not refuse, since a refusal would have been a tacit
acknowledgment that he was harbouring a Christian and breaking his
covenant with the Maharajah."
"Not at all," replied Alderbury sharply. He did not like the manner of
the man. "You took a great liberty. It was sufficient for all
purposes that he assured you Ananda was not there. What made you think
that your nephew had gone to him for help?"
"The gardener gave me a hint that some one had arrived the night
before," said Sooba sullenly.
"The gardener! Ah, the man owes his mistress a grudge. The
housekeeper caught him stealing her roses. So that was how he took his
revenge, and you were foolish enough to be made the instrument."
"The gardener was right in saying that a visitor had arrived in the
night. The woman's son, a sick soldier, came in by the mail. I saw
him lying in her room drunk."
"Where do you suppose your nephew has gone?" asked Alderbury not
choosing to discuss Mrs. Hulver with the man.
"That is what I expect you to tell me, since he has been so foolish as
to break his caste and join a religion that is acceptable to the
pariahs and panchamas only."
"Sorry I can't oblige you; good morning," said Alderbury, checking his
rising anger with difficulty.
Sooba was left standing in the road. His eyes followed the athletic
form of the Englishman with no good will. He believed Alderbury when
he declared his ignorance of Ananda's movements, because the drowning
theory commended itself for various reasons, and because he had already
ascertained that his nephew was not at the mission station. Ananda
ought to be at the bottom of the well; every circumstance pointed to
it. At the same time seeing the missionary on the road he thought it
was a good opportunity of speaking to him. At the back of his subtle
mind was the hope that, in a chance conversation of the kind, he might
be able to offer him some slight about which he could brag afterwards
to his friends. It was not necessary that Alderbury should notice and
resent any discourtesy; it was sufficient that it should be shown; and
it would go towards compensating the ill-conditioned man for the
treatment he had received from Mrs. Hulver.
Alderbury knowing the Oriental suspected something of the kind, and his
suspicion was confirmed as soon as Christianity was mentioned. He put
an end to the interview abruptly leaving Sooba with a sense of failure
that did not tend to smooth matters for him.
The bullocks, recognising that they were not far off their halting
place, put on a spurt and caught up the pedestrian, who dived into the
cart from the back and sat cross-legged on his mattress until, with
much jangling of bells, sighing and snorting of cattle, and creaking of
cart-wheels, he arrived under the portico of the college house. The
welcome he so confidently anticipated struck no note of disappointment.
Three hours later breakfast was over and Wenaston had departed to take
up his duties in the college. Eola was interviewing Mrs. Hulver and
settling the housekeeping programme for the day. She was inclined to
be absent-minded, her thoughts wandering to such an extent that she was
guilty of ordering two joints instead of one. Mrs. Hulver regarded
this lapse of memory with suspicion and recalled her young mistress to
the subject somewhat sharply.
"Mr. Alderbury has a dainty appetite more suitable to a bishop than a
missionary. He doesn't want two joints," she remarked.
"Dear me! did I order two?" asked Eola in some confusion.
"Yes, miss; you asked for a boiled hump of beef and a roast saddle of
mutton. The saddle you shall have to-morrow. The hump is for to-night
as it has been quite long enough in pickle. That with the fish and
entrees will more than satisfy Mr. Alderbury. I don't hold with a
daintiness above your station. As William--that was my second--used to
say: 'A private can't expect captain's grub, and a captain mustn't look
for general's fare, else there'll be proud stomachs.'"
"Have you ever seen a bishop?" asked Eola, feeling vaguely that she
must throw off suspicion and show an interest in Mrs. Hulver's
conversation.
"Yes, miss, of course I have! Wasn't I confirmed by one? He was tall
and solemn and had a thin grey beard. He reminded me somehow--it
wasn't his legs--of a picture in my father's big family bible of the
goat that was sent out by the Children of Israel into the wilderness."
"The scape-goat that had to bear the sins of the people," said Eola,
her eyes wandering through the house to the front verandah where she
could see her guest in the distance absorbed in his letters.
"Yes, miss. The bishop was just like the picture. Hadn't he got to
bear the sins of his people? and a very serious business it was too.
When he confirmed me he gave me clean sheets and started me afresh; he
took my sins on him. I shouldn't like to be a bishop considering all
he has to bear and wear. The gaiters and the tights would be enough to
put one off the job, even though the apron does lend a little decency
to the style. As William--that was my third--used to say: 'All are not
saints who go to church, or bishops and padres would have an easy time
of it.'"
During this speech Eola's attention again wandered. Mr. Alderbury was
still busy with his letters. As soon as he had finished reading his
correspondence she intended joining him.
"Then that's all for this morning," she said, as Mrs. Hulver came to an
end of her dissertation on church dignitaries.
"You haven't ordered the pudding, miss."
She made the announcement in the same manner in which she might have
said, "You haven't said your prayers, miss."
"I'm so sorry. What has cook brought? Green mangoes? Yes; they will
do nicely stewed; and a custard pudding."
"Custard pudding!" repeated Mrs. Hulver with disdain. "It's the
pudding Mr. Alderbury gets every other day of his life! and him with
the tastes of a bishop!"
"Then I leave it to you, Mrs. Hulver. Now let me finish with the
accounts."
Mrs. Hulver was more vigilant than ever this morning over Ramachetty's
charges. Miss Wenaston was clearly not fit for the matutinal crossing
of swords with the sharp-witted butler, and it was the housekeeper's
duty to intervene and protect.
"As William--that was my third--used to say: 'It's fatal to go into
action unless you've got your wits about you and your guns are in good
order,'" remarked Mrs. Hulver when she had checked the butler for the
third time.
Eola did not see the point of her remark and Mrs. Hulver made no
attempt to explain. The bazaar account book was closed with relief,
and the butler and cook dismissed.
"How is young William getting on?" asked Eola, preparatory to
dismissing her housekeeper as well.
"He is nearly well, though I can't get the colour of his eye down
altogether. What his colonel will say to him to-morrow I don't know.
He will have to be told the truth if he asks about the black eye."
"He may not make any inquiries if he finds young William"--by common
consent the adjective had been given to distinguish the son from the
three Williams of the former generation--"doing his work properly."
"There are colonels and colonels, miss. Some can put on the blinkers
when they think fit. Others shy and jib at everything that comes
within sight. Fortunately young William's complexion helps a bit, and
the black eye doesn't show as it would if he were as fair as his
father."
"Then you think of sending him back to-morrow."
"His leave will be up by that time."
"I must tell my brother. He said he would speak to him about the
canteen and fighting."
"It would do him good, miss; but to tell the truth I've said pretty
nearly all there is to be said and I haven't sounded cease firing yet."
"I hope the scolding has not been overdone," said Eola, a wave of pity
for young William passing through her as she thought of the lectures
the anxious mother had already given to her erring son.
"No fear, miss. It's my chance and I haven't spared him. I shan't see
young William for some time to come. I've let him have it broadside,
in the front and in the rear. As William--that was my third, and he
was a gunner--used to say, 'Don't spare powder and shot if you want to
produce a lasting impression on the enemy.' There's one thing I want
to ask you, miss. Is Mr. Alderbury going on from here by his carts or
by train?"
"By motor; the carts are to leave early to-morrow morning or to-night.
The motor will be wanted after lunch to-morrow. The chauffeur must
spend the night at the mission bungalow and return the next day."
"Then nothing will be needed for Mr. Alderbury's tiffin basket,"
remarked Mrs. Hulver as though dismissing the subject since it did not
concern her any further.
Eola caught sight of her guest pacing to and fro in the verandah and
she turned away to join him. Mrs. Hulver followed her.
"I should be glad if you could spare me to-morrow for half a day. I
should like to go to the station with young William and see him off.
He will leave by an early train so as to get in in time to report
himself before six."
"By all means take as much time as you like."
"Would you like to come and speak a word to young William, miss?"
"No, please not; I really have nothing to say."
"It would do him good if you just said as before; 'Let it be----'"
Eola interrupted her hastily.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Hulver; I am sure that more than enough has been said.
Young William will be glad to get away."
"Then the Doctor will come and talk to him."
"Is it necessary? Don't you think he might be let off any further
scolding?"
"Well, miss; he has yet to face the sergeant and perhaps the colonel.
So it isn't done with yet; and he won't be out of the firing line till
he has reported himself and had his dressing-down."
"Then I am sure that he must be spared anything further from us."
Mrs. Hulver's reply was to the effect that it should be as Miss
Wenaston pleased. Ten minutes later the housekeeper might have been
seen, in a huge mushroom topee and with a large white umbrella,
crossing the compound in the direction of the camping-ground chosen by
Alderbury's driver and servant. In the afternoon business took her to
the town to make some purchases for young William, she explained to
Ramachetty.