Sometimes when Mr. Morpeth felt specially wearied with the labours of
the previous evening, he varied his early morning walk by a drive in his
little victoria. To-day he had allowed his syce to drive him along the
winding roads of the suburbs, heedless whither he was being carried.
Rousing himself at length from his reverie, he saw he had now reached
the green precincts of Nungumbaukum, and decided to take a stroll. He
alighted, and directed his syce to follow while he walked along the
road.
As he passed one of the houses he overheard sounds of bitter weeping
from the other side of the straggling hedge. A gap in the thicket--a
mode of exit much favoured by the native servants--permitted him to
catch a glimpse of a little native girl. Sobs painful to his kind heart
fell on his ear, and pausing in his walk, he asked in Tamil;
"What ails you, little one?"
The child glanced up with startled air and, peering through the twisted
tendrils, caught sight of the speaker. Encouraged by the kind voice and
seeing its owner was in European dress, she replied in the best English
she could muster, the words broken by sobs:
"Please, sah, Missus say I done steal gold ring. I never done no such
ting. My heart done break. I not want to live one minute more. I go
drown in tank!"
"Then you did not touch your Missus' ring, little girl?"
"Oh, no, no, I not once touch Missus' ring," wailed the child. "But what
I do? Nobody believin' me. Ramaswamy butler hurt werry sore to make me
'fess," and again the dusky head was bent in low weeping.
"What's the matter with your hand?" asked Mr. Morpeth, observing that
her right hand was rolled in a comer of her red saree. "Let me see it!"
The small brown hand was obediently held out, showing swollen and
bleeding fingers. Little chips of wood, of which some fragments
remained, had been pushed under the nails, lacerating the flesh.
"H'm, torture! Just as I suspected!" muttered Mr. Morpeth. "Who did
this?"
"Butler done take me into godown make me 'fess. When I no 'fess, he make
fingers plenty sore"; and again the child burst into convulsive sobs.
Just then the sound of voices was heard, and the girl leapt from her
hiding-place with a look of terror, only to come into view of a stout
matron and a young lady who were approaching the dividing hedge between
their own and their neighbour's compound.
"There's the little thief, I declare!" exclaimed the young lady,
catching a glimpse of the red saree. "And see this gap in the hedge,
she's no doubt made it flying from justice."
"Well, it will serve our purpose, for I must go at once and tell Mrs.
Rayner how disappointingly her _protégée_ has turned out," said Mrs.
Harbottle, crossing the dividing line.
"How could you expect anything else, mama? Mrs. Rayner has only been two
months in the country," returned the young lady, with the scorn of
new-comers bred of two cold weathers in India.
"Look, the creature's going to slip through our fingers after all. She's
making a dart through the hedge to the road"; and Miss Harbottle,
hurrying forward, pounced upon the child, and seized the maimed hand
still rolled in the saree, causing her to shriek with pain.
"Be quiet, you wicked little thing! I believe you're hiding my ring
there. Give it up this instant, or I shall tell Mrs. Rayner what a
thief you've turned into. A nice whipping you'll get from her ayah, your
old granny; and I hear you tried to bite my butler into the bargain!"
"Ai, Missus, I not done nossin' bad. I not done steal ring! I not done
bite butler, he only bleeding my fingers," the child wailed. Remembering
the kind face which had looked pityingly upon her from the other side of
the hedge, she sprang towards the gap, but the friendly figure had
disappeared and Miss Harbottle's fingers were gripping her shoulder like
a vice and dragging her along the compound.
Rosie was the granddaughter of Mrs. Rayner's ayah. She was a comely
little maid with great lustrous eyes. Her home had been in the godown
with her grandmother, who, as all good ayahs do, considered it her
function to keep watch and ward over her mistress's belongings, and it
early struck Hester that the child must have a very lonely life. She had
already grown fond of her ayah, who was indeed worthy of her confidence,
being one of the best of her type. The bright, delicate-featured old
face, with its nut-brown colouring, framed by wavy grey hair, and the
ready responsive smile, had at once attracted her. The ayah, on her
side, was devoted to her young mistress, and was not long in telling her
of her two treasures, Jan and Rosie, the boy and girl of her dead
daughter. For Jan, she had managed to find service, but she had never
been able to make up her mind to part with the winning little Rosie. The
child, too, was useful to her in many ways. She found her rice always
prepared for her to her liking when she went for her mid-day and evening
meals. Rosie did a little "titching" too, the ayah assured Mrs. Rayner,
but as her clothes were merely lengths of coloured muslin draped
gracefully about her little person, there were not many seams to sew.
The ayah had the voluble and quaint command of English common to
Madrassee servants, and in a wonderful way had been able to impart it
to Rosie, though, as to reading English, that was beyond even granny
ayah herself. What a joy it was to her therefore when one day her
mistress called Rosie to her and gave her her first lesson! The little
girl was bright and intelligent, and Hester had passed hours which might
have hung heavy on her hands in teaching her to read, and in telling her
the simple stories she had been wont to relate to her young brothers at
home. The ayah meanwhile would pass and repass on tiptoe, stealing
joyful glances at her mistress and the little maid. Thus, in so short a
time, a strong link was forged between the young English lady and the
ayah's granddaughter. When therefore Mrs. Harbottle chanced to find
Rosie so honoured, and heard her connection with her neighbour's
excellent ayah, she set her heart on having her as an assistant to her
own dull, heavy-featured attendant. Hester decided that such a
beginning, so near the watchful grandmother, was a favourable chance for
Rosie, and the bargain was concluded.
All hitherto had gone smoothly, and great was Hester's consternation,
when looking out from the verandah of her bedroom where she sat busy
with her home-mail, she perceived Mrs. Harbottle and her daughter
dragging Rosie across the lawn. Hurrying downstairs she was met by a
voluble tale from the two ladies in chorus.
"But are you sure the ring is really lost?" she asked in an undertone.
"Things often turn up again--are only mislaid."
"This is lost sure enough. Stolen by that imp from my ring-stand on my
dressing-table. This very morning when I was at early tea that brat was
alone in my room 'tidying up,' forsooth!" Mrs. Harbottle reiterated her
accusation while Rosie lay prone on the gravel, a pathetic little bundle
of heaving sobs.
The telepathic agency, ever at work among the many domestics of an
Anglo-Indian household, now brought the old ayah to the spot to hear
what had happened to her one ewe-lamb. The nut-brown tint of her face
was replaced by a greyish hue, her features seemed suddenly sharpened as
she took in the situation. Folding her lean brown arms, she stood a
pathetic, statuesque figure as she listened to the denunciations of the
angry Englishwoman. Her eyes turned with a gaze of anguish on the little
huddled figure, and catching sight of the muffled hand she went forward
and made to undo the end of the red saree.
A scream of pain from the child caused her to desist. With a groan she
covered her face for a moment, then looked piteously towards her
mistress, saying with quivering lips:
"They done torture my pore chil'. See, Missus, that bleeding han'?"
"Torture the child!" exclaimed Hester with dilating eyes.
"Yes, Missus, butler poking fingers with sticks making plenty blood come
to make me 'fess," said Rosie, looking up with a pitiful air.
"How dreadful! This is shocking, Mrs. Harbottle! What have you to say to
this?"
"A parcel of lies, of course! Nobody laid a finger on the little
wretch," cried Mrs. Harbottle excitedly.
The ayah on hearing this stepped forward again, and leading Rosie near
pointed silently to the mutilated hand.
"Who did this to you, Rosie?" asked Hester in gentle tones.
"Ramaswamy butler. He do this to make me 'fess--only----"
Great tears rolled down her cheeks as she glanced up to Hester's pitying
face.
"You see this hand, Mrs. Harbottle. This is terrible"; and there was a
flash in Hester's grey blue eyes which made Mrs. Harbottle quail. Trying
to assume a defensive air, she burst forth:
"How can you believe that little liar! Most likely she fell in trying
to escape and hurt her hand." All the same she was not feeling easy at
the discovery, for had she not at the butler's request given Rosie to
him to try to make her confess the theft? Now she began to fear she had
gone too far.
"I am sorry my husband happens to be out," said Hester. "He has gone
driving with a friend who is staying with us. This is a matter that will
require looking into."
"Oh, if you like to take the word of that native imp in preference to
mine, I've nothing more to say," wound up Mrs. Harbottle, with an air of
offence. "Perhaps you'll get the creature to confess to you after we've
gone," she added, as a parting shot.
"I will--I 'fess to my werry own missus only," sobbed Rosie, and sprang
forward to cling to Hester's morning gown.
"Ah, there, I told you so! You'll soon find out where the ring is
hidden," cried Mrs. Harbottle, with a ring of triumph in her tone. "I'll
leave you now," she added, with returning smiles as she prepared to go.
"I really cannot expose myself and my daughter to the sun. We've been
delayed too long already over this wretched business."
Bowing stiffly, she raised her white umbrella, and the mother and
daughter hurried away across the brown turf towards the gap in the
hedge.
Hester felt rather nonplussed. Did Rosie not say she would confess after
all? Had the child yielded to a sudden temptation and become a thief?
Was that why poor old ayah had stood by with such an unutterably
stricken look?
"Come, Rosie, I want to talk to you in this very place where you used to
repeat your hymn and hear nice stories," said Hester in a soothing
voice. "Now tell me about all this!"
The little girl, in spite of her aching fingers, seemed to have
wonderfully recovered her equanimity since the departure of her
accusers.
"What are you going to confess to me, Rosie?" asked Hester gravely.
"Surely you did not take the lady's ring?"
"I done take ring? Oh, no, neva touchin' ring," cried the child, looking
up with candid eyes.
"But, Rosie, you said you were going to confess to me," faltered Hester.
"Oh, yes, I 'fess Missus cause Missus believe me. I done 'fess, and I
done 'fess butler, only he prick my hands werry sore. Ramaswamy neva
believe one word."
Hester was now entirely satisfied as to the child's innocence, and felt
touched by the quick confidence with which she dried her tears and even
smiled. She decided to call the ayah and relieve her poor heart by
assuring her of the innocence of her granddaughter. She found her in the
next room making everything, as was her wont, exquisitely tidy. She
listened attentively to her mistress, but the strain did not leave her
face.
"Missus speakin' true," she said, nodding her head in acquiescence. "My
little girl neva done touch the lady's jewel. I know that from first.
But what that matter when English lady done say she did. How can pore
native woman stand up against one white lady? 'Tis Rosie's bad fate,
Missus. 'Tis the will of the gods--the gods make angry at my one pore
chil'? What I do?"
The ayah's face wore a bitter look, though she held her head high and
went about her duties in silence.
A spirit of dreariness took possession of Hester. All seemed dark and
mysterious concerning the matter. Her heart ached for the old woman,
though she felt unable to make any reply to her bitter words. But though
she could not bind broken hearts, she could at least dress wounded
fingers, she decided, and getting out lint and bandages she applied
herself to that, and was rewarded by a patient smile from the little
sufferer.