Major Rochfort's eyes blazed, his good-looking countenance had become
dark, and congested; at last he found speech, and in a voice choking
with ferocity demanded:
"What are you doing here, sir? Detective business, eh? You shall
explain this, Mallender," suddenly seizing him by the arm, "come
inside!" As he spoke, he kicked a glass door open with such force, that
one of the panes was loosened, and fell on the flags with a tinkling
crash.
When the master of the house had carried off the unlucky photographer,
as it were a prey--his children and retainers stood staring at one
another in a dumb amazement--in which curiosity had no small share.
Leaving his victim to follow, Major Rochfort stalked through a gloomy
central room--studded with old-fashioned black furniture, and carpeted
with a hideous native drugget--into a cheerful airy den, containing a
big writing-table, several luxurious chairs, and many trophies of the
chase.
"Now," he said, turning savagely on Mallender. "'Pon my soul, I've
a good mind to shoot you! What the devil are you after? What do you
mean, you prying young skunk, by putting your fingers into my private
affairs, eh?" His face was livid, and streaming with heat, he was
almost incoherent from passion.
"I know nothing--and want to know nothing--of your private affairs,"
replied the amateur artist who was white, but perfectly collected. "I
came out here to look after my own business, and by rotten bad luck I
seem to have tumbled into yours!" Then realising that it was desirable
to make a clean breast, he sat down in the nearest arm-chair, and with
the velvet cloth still in his hands, in a few short sentences, and a
slow controlled voice, related the reasons for his trip to India, to
Panjeverram,--and finally to the bungalow itself.
As he listened, his companion rapidly cooled. He mopped his face
energetically, and exclaimed:
"I see--I see--a regular mare's nest! Well, your secret will be safe
here, this," with an embarrassed grin, "is the house of secrets; but
yours, is a crazy notion, yes, crazy, and will land you in lots of
awkward situations, as bad or worse, than this."
"Yet the agent was so absolutely confident, and I have waited three
solid months for information."
"Well, your agent made a pretty rotten cast! Your Uncle would be at
least ten years my senior--I'm forty-five next June. But natives are
no judge of age, you are either young or old, there is no medium; it's
like the country itself, which has only night, and day--_no_ dusk. But
why go to a native firm at all?"
"Because I'm told, they always have one ear in the bazaar, where
everything is known; and Europeans are so cut and dried, so
unimaginative, and maddeningly slow."
After a short silence, Major Rochfort got up, and standing squarely
before his companion, said:
"Look here, Mallender, I'm most awfully sorry I went for you like that
just now; but naturally, when I came across you incognito and being
extremely anxious to conceal this little--er--establishment, I thought
that by some incredible means Sophy had put you on! Lately, she has
been asking questions, and making me devilish nervous. I began to think
of anonymous letters, or that in some subtle and unexpected form she
smelt a rat!"
Mallender's thoughts flew to the plain middle-aged lady, with a tribe
of pet dogs, known to the world as Mrs. Rochfort.
"I can't imagine why you should suspect _me_," he answered stiffly.
"My dear fellow, when a man's in a deadly funk, he suspects everyone.
You will forgive me, won't you, and dine with me to-night, and we'll
have a good old jaw?"
At this moment the door opened, and a golden head was thrust in.
"Go away, Mota, run away," said her father, "I am busy now. You'll
come, won't you?" to Mallender, "to show there is no ill-feeling, and
eat my salt,--as you have done at home?"
"All right, I'll come at eight, I suppose?" said Mallender rising; then
he went out to join Anthony in the verandah, and the pair departed
together, followed by the eyes of the entire household,--including dog
and monkey.
Mallender was in low spirits, he felt keenly disappointed, crestfallen,
and dispirited. He had abandoned his best friends, spent a fortnight
in squalid misery, dragged out the secret of another man, and all for
nothing! He began to fear, that he had engaged in a struggle beyond his
powers,--nevertheless he meant to hold on!
Later, he got into a white evening suit, and preceded by Chinna-Sawmy
with a lantern, once more presented himself at the big bungalow. He now
found it illuminated by many lamps, and was formally received in the
gloomy drawing-room by Rochfort, his children and "the Miss,"--wearing
a gay spotted muslin, and an obtrusive gold watch, and chain.
Dinner was plain, but excellent; mulligatawny, pomphret, gram-fed
mutton, cheese soufflé and fruit. The talk was loud, general, and
unembarrassed. The boys were evidently devoted to their parent,
and completely free from shyness. Possibly the young lady was a
little spoiled; with crimped hair, and dressed in an elaborate white
frock, she occupied the place of hostess, and flatly and insistently
contradicted her father on more than one occasion. She however was
a lovely child, and looked thoroughbred to the tips of her somewhat
sticky fingers.
Mallender as he glanced about him, mentally contrasted the present,
with the last occasion on which he had been the guest of his host.
Then, he had sat at a table loaded with wonderful old silver and
hot-house flowers, and was waited on by powdered footmen, in the
company of Rochfort's prim English wife, and her titled county
neighbours. Now, he was eating curried vegetables, under a slowly
moving punkah, attended by black servants, and surrounded by a Madras
family--which included a golden-haired imperious hostess, aged nine
years.
As she passed her father's chair, dessert being over, Mota said,
"You'll come soon, Daddy?" and she bestowed a patronising pat and kiss
on the top of his somewhat thin hair. "We want to play spoof, so don't
sit talking, talking, smoking, smoking!" and with this command, she
vanished.
When the servants had also disappeared, Rochfort said:
"Draw nearer, try that Pondicherry claret, it's very sound, and light
up. I want to talk to you, Mallender."
"All right," he replied, helping himself to wine, "go ahead."
"No doubt you are flabbergasted at my double life!--not a Sunday-school
example for a young fellow, eh? At home, I'm Major Rochfort, a
magistrate, married, no family; a busy man on committees, active
in country matters, a preserver of foxes, a chairman at political
meetings, a steward at races and balls, and a model husband," he
paused, deliberately helped himself to another glass of claret, and
then went on:
"Here in a God-forsaken old Indian backwater, I am Major Smith, an
idle slacker, and a model _father_. Now you shall hear the whole
explanation."
Mallender threw himself back in his chair, crossed his knees, and
prepared to listen.
"Twenty years ago, I was a subaltern quartered in Madras, a gay young
bachelor ready for any mortal thing, and at a Sergeants' Ball I made
the acquaintance of Maddalena de Rosa. She was a Eurasian about
sixteen, and quite distractingly pretty. I was not a bad-looking chap
myself,"--he was good-looking still--"and we fell in love on the spot!
I shall never forget Maddie that night, with her pink dress, her little
string of mock pearls, and her wonderful eyes! We talked,--though she
was not much of a talker--her eyes did the business--and we danced
together most of the evening. We met again, of course. I used to go
to Vepery Church on Sundays, and tell the other fellows I was out
duck-shooting. Well, in the long run, her grandmother settled it! There
was no question of marriage,--but it was a real case of love. I took
two months' leave, we went to the Hills, and were as happy as mortals
could be. Later on, I hired a little bungalow, not far from the Fort.
For some time, we had no family, then came twin boys, both unexpectedly
_dark_, and I must confess, I was a good deal startled. Soon after
this, the regiment was ordered home, and poor Maddie nearly broke her
heart. To tell the truth, I felt pretty bad too! but I sold my rifles
and ponies fairly well, and I had come in for a bit of a legacy, so
I settled some money on Maddie, and an old native relative--a soucar
chap,--bought this house for her, for a song! Her people came from
hereabouts, and her grandmother agreed to live with her."
Major Rochfort paused, and poured himself out yet another glass of
claret, then looked across at Mallender and said:
"I hope I'm not boring you, am I?"
"On the contrary, I am much interested. What happened next?"
"I went home with the regiment, married Sophy Cosby, and left the
service; five years later, I returned to shoot in Travancore, and an
irresistible temptation drove me to look up Maddie. I found she had
remained faithful to her first love, and never married; she was now
twenty-four, and handsomer than ever. Well, on one excuse or other, I
stayed month after month, writing home lies, going for short shooting
trips, but always returning to Maddie. I was awfully fond of her;
somehow she and the boys made me a home,--and I was extraordinarily
happy. She was so simple and gentle, and refined; I'll swear Maddie had
good blood, English or native, in her veins. At last, I was compelled
to leave her, and three months after I got home, I had a letter to say
a girl was born, and that Maddie was dead. The news came as a terrible
shock, but I pulled myself together, indented the coffee estate, and I
came straight back, to fix up things. By great luck, I heard of Mrs.
Dixon, a sergeant's widow, who was respectable and trustworthy, but
stranded, and I engaged her as nurse and housekeeper, and though she
has not much education, she has done me rattling well."
"Yes, I should say so," agreed Mallender, "and of course you are seldom
at Panjeverram?"
"No--worse luck! Every two or three years I come out to see my coffee,
that's what I call it. I may tell you, that I don't own a bush! but I
have a planter friend, and confidant, one Hector Fraser. I write from
his estate, but I come here, and live with the children, I get capital
snipe and teal shooting in the paddy fields and tanks hereabouts, and
now and then, I go off, and do a week in the jungle--but, my heart is
with my little family."
"Yes, naturally."
"Of late, I've had an awful idea, that Sophy has her suspicions; she
cross-questions me so closely about my coffee and crops. I made a
bargain with her, after Maddie's death, that every three years, I was
free to spend six months on the estate--the--er--the master's eye, you
know! Recently it has seemed to me that my wife has been looking at me
curiously; of course this may only be my own guilty conscience! And she
told me, before we parted, that this is the last time I am coming out
here--_alone_. She wishes to visit the estate, and thinks it must be so
interesting. I'm half afraid she will keep her word, and when she sees
the coffee,--there will be the devil to pay! I dare say she'll divorce
me."
"Can she? I don't know much about such matters, but I'd say not."
"Well, she can stop supplies, and make things deuced unpleasant, and
that's not the worst."
"No? I should have said it was."
"There's Mota, my little darling girl--she is a beauty, eh?"
"She is, indeed," agreed Mallender. "No two opinions there!"
"And looks quite Europe; not like the poor boys. They are bright young
fellows, the image of my father: what would _he_ have thought of his
two copies in black? He was a terribly straight-laced man, long family
prayers, no theatre, no wine--he would not even allow mustard on the
table, because it was a stimulant! I was kept so cruelly tight, that I
broke out, of course. The boys go to Doveton College, and this is their
holidays. They are clever little chaps; I get capital reports of them
both, ultimately they will find good billets, and be all right. It's
little Mota I'm thinking of. She learns next to nothing beyond reading
and writing, and the love of her own way; not a bit like her mother
there--takes after mine. The child ought to go to England, and the boys
too. She'd be accepted; but how could I account for _them_? I've saved
a little, and made my will, but if anything happened to me, what would
become of the children?"
Rochfort's voice trembled, his eyes were misty. It was difficult to
realise, that here was the identical Rochfort, known at home for his
sunny humour, and natural geniality; or that the cheery smart man of
the world, was the same as this stricken parent, with the anxious face,
and voice shaken with emotion.
"By Jove, Mallender, it's true, what the Bible says, 'The fathers have
eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge'! Many a
night I lie awake puzzling my head about these kids. You are a sensible
chap,--bar one subject,--and can see into a question better than I, who
am always looking at it; what do _you_ advise?"
"I advise you to tell your wife!" was Mallender's prompt reply.
"Just the last thing I'll ever do!" and he banged the table with his
fist, and made the glasses dance.
"But why not? she is lonely, she has no near relations, heaps of time
on her hands, and seems fond of young people."
"She would not be fond of Pedro and Paul, she'd lock them up for fear
they should be seen,--or send them to the Zoo!"
"Well, just think it over! it's what I'd do, if I were in your shoes.
You need not let anyone else into the secret; say they were children of
an old friend--who--er--had married unfortunately. You might even make
her a Begum!"
"No thank you, my boy, your measures are too drastic. To-morrow you
leave the Dâk Bungalow, and come and stop with me, seeing that you have
drawn this cover blank. Anyway, stay and shoot a week or two; I may be
able to give you a leg up, my butler Francis knows the Presidency to
the bone."
"You are very kind, Rochfort,--but I ought to be moving on."
"Yes, you ought," he assented, rising as he spoke, "come along into the
verandah, the children are waiting for us to play games."