It was bright moonlight--an orange hot-weather moon--as Mrs. Rochfort
and her escort, leaving behind them the sound of trams, tom-toms, and
fire-works, sped smoothly out of Madras, and away into the sleepy
country. Naturally everything she beheld was new to the lady, yet in
one sense she saw nothing but her miserable, weak husband, and his
family of half-caste children. What could she say or do? how deal with
the situation? It was true, as this young fellow had declared, that
hers was the stronger character, and before pronouncing judgment she
resolved to see and hear the culprit.
Mallender for his part instinctively realised the many vital questions
that were being debated in the mind of his rigidly motionless
companion, and maintained a prudent silence.
At last, the car stopped at the great wooden gate, and before this
could be unfastened, the postern opened quickly, and Mota flew out--a
pretty vision, in her white lace frock, and streaming hair.
"Oh, Geff, Daddy----" then she paused, as her eyes met Mrs. Rochfort's
basilisk gaze.
"Run in, Mota, run in, go to Mrs. Dixon. This lady has come from
England, to see your father."
Almost before Mallender completed the sentence, the child had darted
back to the house, and rushed into her father's den, gasping out:
"Oh, Dad, Dad, only think! a lady has come from England to see you!"
Major Rochfort with a violent gesture motioned the messenger to
leave him. He looked so alarmingly unlike himself, so frowning, and
forbidding, that for the first time in her life Mota felt a little
cowed, and ran to her brothers for explanation, and consolation.
Sophy was bringing the sentence herself--so be it! The culprit rose
unsteadily, as Mallender ushered in his wife--a figure of frozen
dignity--closed the door, and subsequently fought off, and held at bay,
the united curiosity of the family, and Mrs. Dixon.
For nearly an hour Mallender paced the moonlit compound, conferring
with his thoughts. He seemed to be always entangled in other people's
affairs, and yet never got to grips with his own. First, there was
stranded Miss Sim; now, the unmasked Rochfort. Well, at any rate as
far as lay in his power, he had played the game, and done his best for
them both. He felt a little bitter on the subject of his Cousin Fred,
who had taken no notice of his letters--although Fan had declared
that his hot temper soon subsided. He had now been five long weeks at
Panjeverram, surely this was ample time for the cooling of Freddy's
wrath! Yes, but how could he know, that the embers of his cousin's
anger were stoked and kept aflame by the beautiful Lena.
For a woman of a cold lymphatic temperament, she had been unusually
roused--and what an escape was hers! Imagine marrying a boy fourteen
years her junior, who was a pauper! In all his complaints, and
grievances, she warmly sympathised with Colonel Fred; to her, he
confided his disappointment, and eagerly accepted her flattering
sympathy--for the topic of Geoffrey was one he never ventured to
discuss with Fan or Nancy. Also, he was secretly vexed, that the boy
having thrown off his leading-strings, had suffered no appropriate
punishment!
A friend lately "up" from Madras, had remarked:
"By the way, I saw that young fellow, your cousin, one evening on the
Marina in a fine new motor."
"Alone?" enquired his kinsman suspiciously.
"He had a man with him," rejoined the other with a laugh, "a
good-looking chap. I don't seem to be able to place him. As for ladies,
make your mind easy,--it's too hot below, for any of our fair angels."
Meanwhile a certain lady--no fair angel this--was making it uncommonly
hot for Mallender's host. Ultimately, however, his abject misery,
humility, and penitence, disarmed her! Hers was the tender, protecting,
mother nature! and after all, what was Robert but a big, foolish,
rather stupid boy! It was impossible to withstand his misery; to
witness _this_, hurt her too acutely. Rob must be consoled,--and
forgiven.
At the end of an hour's confession and conference, Major and Mrs.
Rochfort reappeared,--both somewhat shattered by the recent interview.
She however soon rallied, and as usual took the initiative.
Addressing the petrified Mrs. Dixon in a cool practical tone, she said:
"Mrs. Dixon, I think I had better tell you at once, that I am your
master's wife."
Mrs. Dixon shrank back against the wall, and ejaculated:
"God bless me! an' didn't I think he was a widower!"
"No, and I must also explain, that he is Major _Rochfort_. I am Mrs.
Rochfort. He took the name of Smith, out here--for--for--for family
reasons----" and she swallowed some impediment in her throat.
"Now did he?" ejaculated Mrs. Dixon with open-mouthed surprise.
"Yes," replied the lady with a look of fierce decision--"He has
been telling me, how invaluable you are; so upright, sensible, and
trustworthy, and that you have been a mother to his motherless
children."
Mrs. Dixon answered not a word, she was endeavouring to grasp several
new ideas, and felt completely bewildered, and _bouleversée_.
"I want you to tell the children, that I am their step-mother from
England, and that I should like to see them."
The two youths, with neatly brushed hair, were presently
introduced--both a little shy; it was the first time they had ever
seen a lady in their own house. She was old, and not pretty, but
had a pale, kind, face. Then Mota appeared, in her best evening
frock, offering a beautiful contrasting picture to her dusky, but
clever-looking brothers. At this enchanting vision, Mrs. Rochfort
completely lost her head, and held out a pair of trembling hands; and
the child, in answer to an irresistible summons in the lady's eager
face, climbed into her lap, and kissed her. Thus, all these somewhat
unexpected introductions were harmoniously accomplished.
Meanwhile Major Rochfort had drawn his guest aside, and said:
"She is a saint, Mallender, and you were right. Oh, _why_ did I not
speak ages ago! It would have saved me years of worry, misery, and
anxiety; but I was a coward; I can face a stiff country, but an awkward
situation. _No!_ Sophy has forgiven me, I start to-day with a clean
slate, and she is going to take the children."
"I say! that's splendid! She is a brick!"
"I think what melted Sophy, was a glimpse of Mota at the gate, but
I may be wrong--and it was just her own goodness. We have talked it
all out! The boys stay here with Dixon, and continue their education,
for the present. Later, they will be well launched. We intend to take
Mota home, first going to the Hills. Sophy finds this heat killing,
and wants to get off at once. I expect it will be a terrible rush.
She's explained about the different names--that's a bit awkward of
course,--but Dixon is a good unsuspicious soul, and will make no
trouble."
"Daddy, supper is ready," a clear young voice called out, and
Mota entered hand in hand with Mrs. Rochfort. "Is the new lady to
stay?--_may_ she?"
Rochfort glanced at his wife, and she promptly answered:
"Yes--I should like to, Rob, but Mota must take me to wash my hands,
and make myself tidy." Exit Mota, with an air of importance, solemnly
leading the new lady to her own apartment, the nursery.
The supper was cold, and excellent; if "the new lady" ate little, she
absorbed a good deal. The homely comfort, the good plain food (and
Robert always so difficult to please, and so fastidious at home!), the
bright young people, with their complete absence of self-consciousness.
They carried on most of the conversation, chiefly about tennis,
photographs, and the demise of the dhoby's cow. Mota offered the guest
a mango, not merely off her own tree, but her own plate! Pedro gave
her a vivid description of the latest college cricket match, where he
had made four runs! Mallender gravely considered the little party, and
the chief guest. The children were doing their utmost to entertain
Daddy's friend from England--the plain middle-aged childless woman,
who discoursed with painful effort, on prickly heat, punkahs, and the
miseries of a journey by rail, with the thermometer at 99.
The Major was evidently upset, his nerves were on wires; he sipped
an iced peg, and talked spasmodically, but was as a rule silent, and
unquestionably ill at ease. Mrs. Dixon found herself still bewildered.
She was not accustomed to sit at the same table with soft-voiced,
distinguished ladies, who wore diamond rings, and pearls the size of
peas; moreover she felt instinctively, that this unexpected visitor was
the forerunner of a break-up!
Mallender had been a guest at many suppers; suppers gay, and suppers
grave, but never at one that for electrical atmosphere, awkwardness, or
dramatic possibilities, approached the present meal!
He observed the long stealthy glances, cast by Mrs. Rochfort, at a
large coloured photograph which hung exactly opposite to her seat;
the portrait of a lovely young woman, dressed in the fashion of ten
years previously--the face was so vivid, and so radiantly happy, that
it seemed impossible to think of the original, as lying under a flat
gravestone, in Panjeverram cemetery. It was a picture of Maddalena de
Rosa, the mother of the three lively children who sat at table with
Sophy Rochfort and her faithless husband.
Mota--who for her age, was preternaturally sharp--had intercepted the
new lady's furtive glances, and exclaimed:
"Oh--I see you are looking at the picture; it is our pretty mother; she
is dead this long, long, time, before I was born"--the Major shifted
uneasily in his chair, and was about to interpose, but the child
chattered on in her shrill piping treble, "An old woman comes here
sometimes. The ayah knows her, she is her friend, and she gives ayah
money, she says, she is our _great_-grandmother, and brings flowers,
and lays them before the picture, and cries and moans, and cracks her
fingers over my head; she is _very_ black--and----"
At this moment, Mallender with a jerk of his elbow, knocked over his
tumbler and wine-glasses; the subsequent commotion, and his voluble
apologies, changed the topic--and possibly saved his host from an
apoplectic seizure! Immediately after this exploit, the gallant
guest (determined to give no further opening for Mota's disclosures)
embarked on a series of animated questions, respecting Mrs. Rochfort's
celebrated "Poms"; their prizes, weight, age, and the various shows at
which they had been triumphantly exhibited; his assumed enthusiasm and
Mrs. Rochfort's explanations, carried them on safely, till the end of
the meal.
Immediately after supper, the master of the household motored his wife
back to the Madras hotel, and when he returned in the middle of the
night, he found his guest still awaiting him.
"Well--it's all settled!" he began at once, "and I've to thank _you_.
If I'd followed my own instinct, I believe I'd have thrown up the
sponge and cut and run, to Australia. We propose to stay in the Hills
till September, and then go home. Sophy is crazy about Mota, and
intends to pass her off as the orphan of a very dear friend, no one
would ever suspect the child of anything but pure English blood."
That was true, thought Mallender, but her children?--what of them? They
might resemble her brothers, or her grandmother! However, naturally he
made no remark. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.
"And what about you?" resumed Rochfort. "I must settle about you."
"Oh, I'll be all right, don't bother about me! I'll go into Madras, and
wait upon events."
"Not you, in this sweltering heat! it's bad enough here, but the walls
are thick, and the old house is cool. You make this your home, as long
as ever you like; stay with Dixon and the boys, and use the car, and
horses. Do you realise all you have accomplished for Sophy, and me?"
"Oh, no--that was her doing!"
"But she says not; says _you influenced her_! and I believe Sophy;
Mallender, you have been a trump! What's the good of your mock modesty
and playing the ostrich----? Well, I understand that Francis is full of
grand schemes he and your fellow have hatched out between them, and I
expect they will put you on to something, before long."
"All right, I'll remain here for a little, as my head-quarters, if I
may, but you must let me pay my bazaar, and consider myself a P.G."
"Do you want to _insult_ me?" cried Rochfort angrily.
"Nonsense, you know I don't, but----"
"Then say no more about it--that's my last word!"
To this injunction Mallender tamely agreed; but he secretly resolved,
after his host had departed, to come to a financial understanding with
"the Miss."