In Madras City it is generally admitted, that between three and four
o'clock, is the hottest time of day; the sun seems to redouble and
enforce his power, before he sinks beyond the palm trees and banyans in
the west. At this hour, along an arid road, in the scorching malignity
of a hot wind, Mallender sped on his dangerous mission: so flaming was
the air, that even an acclimatised driver felt withered, and blistered
by its blasts!
Arriving at Spencer's Hotel, more dead than alive, the pallid emissary
enquired for Mrs. Rochfort.
"Yes, saar, she is in," replied the smart Goanese attendant, "but who
shall I say, saar?"
"A gentleman to see her--no, I have no card."
Nevertheless the visitor was ceremoniously ushered into a lift, and
swiftly whirled to the first floor.
After what seemed a long interval of waiting in an empty sitting-room,
Mrs. Rochfort appeared. The lady had evidently dressed in haste; her
hair was damp,--as if recently dipped in water,--and she was violently
struggling with a blouse button as she entered. The pitiless heat had
undoubtedly tried her more than her visitor; Sophie Rochfort looked
plainer than ever; so old, sallow, and fagged, as she stood for a
moment uncertain,--then held out her hand.
"Oh, Captain Mallender, of all people!" she exclaimed, "fancy you and I
meeting in India! how _did_ you know I was here? I am expecting Robbie
every instant, do sit down," pointing to a chair.
"Yes, I heard you had arrived," he began evasively, looking into his
helmet, and wondering what the dickens he should say next?
"Wasn't I energetic!" she continued volubly, "coming out as a
surprise,--and so late in the season. You see, I was at Port Said,
nearly half-way, and I took it into my head to visit this wonderful
coffee estate. Robbie has always been so keen on it, and so full of it,
now I shall be able to talk of it too, and to share his interest!"
"Um--yes--of course," murmured her visitor; but his tone was faint and
dubious.
"Do excuse my toilet!" she chattered on, "I really was not prepared for
this furnace, and until I landed here, I'd no idea of the miseries of
prickly heat!"
"I know, it's a bad time," agreed her visitor; "mostly everyone is in
the Hills now."
"The Hills! I'm simply dying for the cool mountain air! if Robbie does
not come soon, I intend to start for his estate this evening, or very
early to-morrow. I have found out the trains, and transport, and am
all packed. I'm afraid my letters have missed him--such a funny casual
post! By the way, I know you have left the service, how do _you_ happen
to be in Madras? Where are you staying?"
"Now for it!" thought Geoffrey, bracing himself. "I'm staying with
Rochfort just at present--in fact--he sent me to see you."
"Then," rising hastily, "he is ill! Oh, why did you not say so before?
I know you mean kindly, trying to break it to me, but take me to him at
once! Is it serious--is it--_cholera_?"
"No, Rochfort is all right, I assure you," said Mallender, also rising;
"you have no cause for any anxiety on that score,--but--I am the bearer
of a letter," slowly producing it as he spoke, "that I am afraid will
rather upset you, and, er--convey something of a shock----"
"A letter!" she interrupted, "let me have it?" and she almost snatched
it from his hand, "I know, it's about money--Rob had some mysterious
investments we,--we, are ruined!"
"Whether your husband is ruined, or not, lies entirely with _you_, Mrs.
Rochfort."
"With me? Impossible! Of course my settlement----" then she tore the
envelope open, and began to read. As she read, she became pale, then
ghastly; at last she gave a long wailing cry, like some wounded animal,
and sat down.
"Here, let me get you something," said Mallender eagerly; "shall I call
your maid?"
"No, no," in a strangled voice, "bring me a glass of iced water, and
call no one."
When he returned with the water, and Mrs. Rochfort had taken a few
sips, she looked up at him and said:
"Of course _you_ know what he has written?"
Mallender nodded. He felt as if he had suddenly become old, and
responsible.
"About the Eurasian woman, and the children, and his--double life. Is
it true?"
In spite of his own absolutely clear conscience, the young man
coloured, and looked guiltily shame-faced as he answered:
"I believe it is, I came into his house by accident, and discovered his
secret. He asked me to stay on for a time, and I've been with him a
week or two. He only got your letter a couple of hours ago."
"Well," setting down the tumbler with a gesture of decision, "there is
only one thing for _me_ to do."
"To forgive him?" was the bold suggestion.
"Captain Mallender, for what do you take me?" she demanded with curt
scorn.
"For a good, kind woman."
"A good--idiot!" she retorted fiercely.
"Listen to me, Mrs. Rochfort, for one moment, though I'm a stupid sort
of chap, and no flier at talking. You know very well, that yours is
the stronger character. Rochfort has lots of good points, but he is
weak, and easily influenced. He is devoted to you--that I honestly
believe,--and he is devoted to those kids. He shrinks from an awful
scandal at home, and losing his friends, and position--er--and you."
"Oh--me!" she exclaimed with an outburst of bitterness.
"And," continued the pleader steadily, "his heart goes to those
motherless children--you know, that _she_ is dead. He cannot abandon
them, and they adore him."
"I must say, he has an eloquent advocate!" she gulped.
"I'm afraid I'm a duffer and not much good; he wants one badly. He is
too broken to speak for himself."
"Rob--with a family--out here all these years!--and no coffee estate,"
she repeated helplessly, "now I can understand _why_ the plantation was
such an absolutely impossible journey for _me_! And I thought I had
Rob's whole confidence, he consulted me about everything. He used to
talk to me, by the hour, about bad crops, and troublesome coolies, and
blight, and bone manure! Oh, why could he not tell me the truth?"
"Because he funked it," said Mallender simply.
"Yes, he always shirks disagreeables, and facing a situation, or having
to say no. He gets out of things, or won't think of them. It is I, who
have to speak or write; it was I, who had to give employés notice,
dismiss a head keeper, and interview our nearest neighbour about a
right of way."
She sat for a long time looking straight before her, and occasionally
wiping away the perspiration that trickled down her wan face. Suddenly
she asked:
"What are they like?"
"You mean the children. Wonderful, considering; well-brought-up, nice,
straight, manly boys, that Rochfort says, take after his father--but
very dark."
"Ah--like their mother!" and there was a faint note of satisfaction in
the tone.
"No, I believe she was fair; but of course there is native blood, no
denying it; the little girl has golden hair, and is lovely."
Mrs. Rochfort rose, and began to pace the room. Within the last ten
minutes, her mind, her whole mental outlook, had been completely
changed: amazement, incredulity, outraged confidence, and wounded
affection, were each striving to make themselves heard. She felt as if
her world had suddenly crumbled beneath her feet! That Robbie was a
flirt, was always admitted, he was handsome and gay; he liked women,
they liked him. His foolish little flirtations had undoubtedly vexed
her but they meant nothing.--She knew in her heart, that Rob was fond
of her, that she came first in his life--and now this thunderbolt had
struck her! Robbie had deserted and deceived her; in the first years of
their married life, he had abandoned her for an old love--a half-caste
woman! The horror, the strangeness of the idea, made her giddy to
contemplate.
He was no longer _her_ Robbie; it was little short of a loss by
death--in future, they must be strangers. In future, she would go
through life alone, and what _would_ people say? For instance, her
prim, old-maidish cousins, who made nasty speeches, about "fortune
hunters" and had been so openly envious of her handsome husband. As the
poor distracted woman endeavoured to clear her mind, she walked to and
fro, unconscious of the young man who stood by the window, following
her movements, with anxious interest.
"What am I to do?" she moaned. "Oh, what _am_ I to do?" and she wrung
her hands.
"After all, Mrs. Rochfort, she is dead," urged Mallender; "it's not as
if she were at Panjeverram; those children have been motherless for
nine years. It would be different if he deceived you, and came out to
see _her_--now would it not?"
Mrs. Rochfort vouchsafed no notice of this appeal, but ceased to pace
the room, and murmured as if to herself, "What _am_ I to do?"
"Give me a line to take back," suggested the delegate, "and put some
sort of an end to Rochfort's misery. I have a car here, short measures
are the most merciful."
"Is he really so miserable?" she asked, and she gazed at Mallender with
piteous eyes.
"You should _see_ him!" he answered forcibly, "I swear you'd hardly
know him; since he got your letter, he looks like an old man!"
"You say you have a car here?"
"Yes--I'll get back in something over an hour; the man is on the
rack--and the sooner I am off the better."
As Mrs. Rochfort stood and surveyed her visitor, her face assumed a
strained, and irresolute expression, after a very long silence--she
drew her hand across her wet forehead, and in a voice strangely thin
and high said:
"If you will wait five minutes,--I will go with you!"