Joy and bustle reigned supreme in the corner house of Salamander Street,
Vepery. Even its shabby exterior, with patches of chunam peeling off,
disclosing its flimsy walls of lath and mud, was sharing in the dawn of
coming prosperity. For had not its tenant, Mrs. Baltus, received a
letter from Mrs. Matilda Rouat, her well-to-do widowed sister-in-law in
Calcutta, announcing that she was desirous of paying her a lengthened
visit as a paying guest? The impulse which prompted the decision was an
unselfish one in the main. Rumours had lately reached Mrs. Rouat that
her sister-in-law was in straitened circumstances. Being a shrewd and
not unkindly soul, she decided that she might lighten the domestic
burden and at the same time break the monotony of her days in
Chandrychoke, the Eurasian quarter of the city where she had lived all
her life.
Mrs. Rouat had even been thoughtful enough to forward "an
advance"--without which important adjunct it is well nigh impossible to
set the wheels of labour moving among Eastern artizans. A basket-work
mender squatted in the verandah splicing the dilapidated bamboo chairs
which formed the principal furniture of the bungalow rooms. Another was
deftly patching the rattan-matting on the floors in case Aunt Tilly's
ponderous form should be laid prone by reason of its many dangerous
slits. The butler, a newly enlisted functionary--having been dismissed
from higher service owing to the discovery of clumsy pilfering--was
flying about in a crumpled tunic, a relic of better days, his turban all
awry, trying to impress "missus" with his zeal in her service. On the
little gravel sweep with its border of burnt-up grass, stood a
miscellaneous collection of furniture, almirahs, cots, washstands, all
receiving, at the hands of a scantily clad coolie, a coat of liquid
which he called "Frenchee polishee," but which was really a cheap
decoction that, in spite of the strong sun-rays, would retain its
stickiness till it proved the object of much vituperation to all whose
fingers came in contact with it. Mrs. Baltus, however, was charmed with
its rejuvenating effect on her ancient furniture, and stepped about
briskly trying to get her money's worth out of the various workers,
while her daughter Leila sat darning rents in the muslin curtains, and
pondering as to what were her most pressing needs and desires when she
got Aunt Tilly to open her purse at the drapery counter of Messrs. Oakes
& Co.
Mrs. Rouat was a great contrast to her lean, brown-skinned
sister-in-law. She was almost blonde in colouring, her cheeks were
ruddy, and her suffused watery eyes distinctly blue; while her treble
chin, stout figure, and condition of well-to-do preservation suggested
that she belonged to one of the lower orders of the British race rather
than to one who had any admixture of Oriental blood. Being considerably
upset by her three days at sea, Mrs. Rouat at first was quite satisfied
to recline in a long bamboo chair while she listened to her
sister-in-law's narrations concerning the hard times they had undergone,
or was entertained by her niece playing a jingling tune on the wheezy
old piano.
Presently, however, Aunt Tilly got tired of the four chunam walls of the
sitting-room, though they had been washed gleaming white for her
benefit. She decided that she might even forego in some measure the
benefit of the punkah which was swung from the centre of the high
ceiling, and shift her quarters to the window where she could entertain
herself by watching the passers-by, which she perceived was the chief
recreation of her niece.
Being installed there one afternoon she happened to catch sight of one
with whose appearance she had once been familiar. In spite of the flight
of years which had whitened his head and bent his shoulders, she at once
recognised him.
"Well now, Leila, if thatt ain't David Morpeth--him as used to live in
the best Eurasian quarter in Calcutta in my back days!"
"Oh, he's no rare sight," returned Leila contemptuously. "You can see
him passing any day of the week. He goes in for meetings and clubs--for
the good of us Vepery folk, if you please! I give him, and the likes of
him, a wide berth."
"And for whatt do you do thatt?" asked Aunt Tilly, in a disapproving
voice.
"Oh, they'd like to catch me and tie me to a mission stool. But I'm a
match for the likes of them!"
"Well now, Leila, it strikes me you're standin' in your own light as
regards thatt one, any way. He was always a good sort, was David
Morpeth. I might say one of the best, for his papa and mamma were well
set folk in Daramtalla, and David had a grand post in Truelove Brothers.
They say he was the first Eurasian they ever made a partner. But whatt
did he do but spoil himself with his marriage to a flibberty-gibbet,
Rosina Castro, and never had a day's happiness till she died when their
boy was born. Flo, her sister, took the boy away to England with her--as
if his native land wasn't good enough for him! I don't know whatt became
of them. I lost sight of the whole lot. But, Leila, since you say thatt
David lives near and often passes, I've a mind to waylay him and have a
chat about old times. No, I'll do better than thatt. I'll just make bold
and give him a call--and take you with me. Suppose we hire thatt littlee
bandy you were speaking of? We can go first to Morpeth's place and then
take a drive to the fashionable beach. Yes, thatt will do veree nicely.
I'd like to go drivin' up in prettee style to Morpeth's place," she
wound up, patting her cinnamon-tinted curls with an air of
satisfaction.
"Verree well, Aunt Tilly," replied Leila, delighted to hear that her
suggestion of a drive to the beach was responded to, and deciding not to
oppose the proposed-visit to Mr. Morpeth, though the project was by no
means to her liking. "As like as not his boy will say 'Master can't
see,'" she said to herself, "but if he does let us in and he begins
coaxin' me about thatt Girls' Club, I'll stand firm. Never will I set
foot within thatt door again to be patronised by the like of her"; and
Miss Baltus bent over her work with an angry heart.
The hired bandy, its syce arrayed in an out-at-the-elbows blue tunic and
turban, arrived duly one afternoon at the door of the house in
Salamander Street. The carriage had to wait some time till Mrs. Rouat
and her niece had given the finishing touches to their gay visiting
toilettes. At length the older lady sank down with a sigh of
satisfaction on the cushions provided by her sister-in-law as a needful
addition to the springless seats of the country vehicle.
"What a grand bungalow and what a prettee garden!" she exclaimed as the
carriage drew up at Mr. Morpeth's house. "It's easy to see he's a man of
substance, Leila!"
She inquired in anxious tones if she could have a sight of the master.
Mootoo at once showed the visitors into the long library, which was
untenanted. The pair remained in a standing posture, Mrs. Rouat's eyes
wandering over the room with keen curiosity, while even her niece could
not restrain her interest in the interior of the abode with whose
exterior she had been familiar all her life.
"Whatt an expense all these prettee books must have been to ship over
the black water!" remarked Mrs. Rouat, glancing with awe at the
well-filled shelves. "I wonder now if he reads them," she added,
recalling with a sigh how long it took her to toil through a single
page of print. Leila, who devoured many second-hand yellow backs, smiled
with secret scorn at her aunt's remark.
A step was heard approaching, and the master of the house appeared in
the doorway. His face wore a puzzled expression as he could not recall
that rotund figure with the flabby face framed by cinnamon-hued curls,
who rose to meet him with a broad smile and outstretched hands. Leila he
knew by sight, and from Mrs. Fellowes' description was able to identify
her as the girl who had obtruded herself mysteriously into the verandah
at Clive's Road. He decided that the visit must have some connection
with her--perhaps she had repented of her resentful attitude and was
wishing to connect herself with the Girls' Club.
With this thought passing rapidly through his mind he begged his
visitors to be seated; but Mrs. Rouat did not long leave him in doubt as
to the reason of her call.
"You don't recognise an old acquaintance, Mr. Morpeth?" she asked,
setting her head on one side and looking up into his face. "Leastways,
an acquaintance of your late wife, Rosina. Ah, she was a prettee
creature!" she added, with a heavy manufactured sigh.
Mr. Morpeth still looked mystified, so she continued in a higher key:
"So you don't mind Tilly Buttons as used to live next door to your
Rosina in Chandrychoke? But I've got one of the best houses in the
quarter now, though I'm onlee a poor widow. I was well endowed by the
late Mr. Rouat. Ah, he was a good husband."
Recollection was dawning on Mr. Morpeth.
"Yes, I remember your name," he said slowly. "And you are a widow now.
Time brings changes!"
He glanced now at Leila, who sat with a constrained air, averting her
eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Morpeth," said Mrs. Rouat, mopping her face with her damp
handkerchief. "It is true whatt you say! How beautifulee you put it.
Time does bring changes! And to you, too, time has brought changes."
"And you, have you left Calcutta and come to live in Vepery?" Mr.
Morpeth asked, preferring to divert the conversation from matters
personal to himself.
"Live in Vepery! No thank you, not when I have the most beautiful
up-stair house in all Chandrychoke, besides a good bit of house property
round about! No, I'm onlee on a visit to my poor widowed sister-in-law,
Mrs. Sarah Baltus."
"Ah, yes, and you are Mrs. Baltus' daughter?" said Mr. Morpeth, looking
with a kindly smile on Leila.
"She is, and as nice a girl as ever stepped," chimed in Mrs. Rouat with
a gratified air, "though I allow she's a bit stand-offish in manner for
her station in life," she added apologetically, noting her niece's
defiant, sulky air. "But things is going to look up now thatt I've come.
I'm going to give them a good lift up before I've done. Some fine
parties and some nice drives to the fashionable beach will set them up
wonderful." Mrs. Rouat rolled her eyes upon her niece, who still sat
with a sullen air; Mr. Morpeth made no comment on the programme.
"And so you live all alone in this veree fine house?" continued Mrs.
Rouat, now fixing her eyes interrogatively on Mr. Morpeth's face. "Ah,
wouldn't this grand bungalow have pleased Rosina! She was thatt fond of
style! Ah, well, she's gone, but it was a thousand peeties you didn't
keep hold on thatt child--a fine boy he was. But Rosina had set her
heart on sending him across the black water to make an Englishman of
him, and so you let Flo take him. Oh, it was a peety! Just think what a
comfort he might have been to you now."
Mrs. Rouat's benevolent face looked with concern on the bent frame of
the acquaintance of her youth. "What's become of him? I hope he is
still in the land of the livin'?" she asked, seeing Mr. Morpeth's face
grow grey and drawn.
He seemed to hesitate whether he should break the silence. At length,
with evident effort, he replied:
"No, my son is not dead. He still lives."
Then, determining to change the subject, he turned to Leila and fixed
his searching eyes on her.
"And you take care of your mother in Salamander Street?" he said
encouragingly.
"Mrs. Baltus is quite able to take care of herself," she returned. "I
live with her because I've been jilted and have nowhere else to live,"
said the girl, tossing her head.
"Oh, my gracious, what rubbishee stuff is this?" cried her aunt with
uplifted hands. "Never did I hear the like."
Deciding that since Leila was so sulky and her host so "stuck-up," she
would rather enjoy the hired bandy in bowling along the Madras roads
than remain longer surrounded by those awe-inspiring books. She rose to
take leave, much to the relief of her niece, who later recounted to her
mother that "it was quite a wasted hour. The man was as stiff as a poker
and wished Aunt Tilly and her twaddle at the bottom of the sea!"
Mrs. Rouat took her seat among the cushions in the bandy with a sense of
disappointment. Her visit had evidently not been a pleasure to her old
acquaintance.
"Sure, I wanted nothing more from David Morpeth but a hearty word for
the sake of old times!" she sighed.
"Maybe, Aunt Tilly, but the man's so used to Eurasian beggars he could
only credit us with being on some such whining errand."
"Oh, fie, Leila Baltus, you _are_ bitter! How could he class us with
such? But I don't think he half liked my rippin' up his old mess by
referrin' to Rosina though," added Mrs. Rouat musingly. "'Pon my word,
he turned as white as a pucka Englishman at the veree mention of her
name."
"My gracious, from whatt you've been tellin' me about Rosina I think he
must have been precious glad to be rid of her--and her brat too! But it
was when you spoke of the son thatt he grew so white. I was sharp enough
to see thatt. Anyhow I'm glad I choked off any fuss about my joinin' the
Girls' Club. He didn't even get a word in sideways about thatt, though I
read in his eye he'd have liked to have a try!"
"And whatt if he did? It would only be for your good! But whatt ever was
thatt nonsense you were speakin' about bein' jilted? Was it all a
make-up?"
"A make-up! I wish it were," returned Leila bitterly. "I suppose I am
not the onlee woman who has had thatt trouble. But if she's not a fool
she'll get even with the man, as I mean to do yet!"
This remark was lost on Mrs. Rouat, owing to the jingling of the bandy
on the laterite road, and conversation flagged amid the distractions of
the surroundings.
The drive to the beach was such an unwonted experience to Leila that she
soon recovered her equanimity, while her aunt enjoyed herself lolling
back among the cushions. The growing heat of the day made the
comparative coolness of the evening welcome to the jaded dwellers in
Madras. The south wind with its accompaniment of damp and red dust was
now replaced by gentle zephyrs from the golden west. Leila was anxious
to make the most of her rare opportunity of seeing "the quality," and
also desirous to impress her aunt with the elegance of her surroundings.
She directed the bandy-wallah to drive along Government Park Road and
cross the fine bridge over the Cooum from where they could catch a
better glimpse of the island which, in spite of the waxing heat, still
glimmered green, so that one could hardly believe the close grimy
streets of Black Town were not a mile distant from the verdant retreat.
There was still a number of carriages driving beach-wards, although the
exodus to the hills had begun. Those whose lot it was to linger on the
hot plains, having less energy for paying calls or taking part in
gymkhanas, always at this evening hour drove to the shore to breathe the
sea air. The occupants of the various carriages were often content to
conduct conversations with each other while sitting in their respective
chariots. Some, more enterprising, alighted and took a stroll on the
well-kept promenade which flanked the expanse of sand sloping to the
waves, where a little company of pale-faced English babies trotted
about, pecking at the wet sand with their tiny spades, guarded by their
ayahs and boys who squatted beside them, ever their devoted slaves,
patiently erecting mimic sand forts and bridges to be imperiously
annihilated by their little lords and masters.
Desirous of getting the full benefit of each phase of the evening, Mrs.
Rouat insisted that her bandy should take a good place among the ranks
of carriages. She reclined for some time talking volubly, watching with
delight the English children disporting themselves, and taking a keen
interest in the growing throng of carriages, estimating their owners by
the elegance of their equipages, while the smart morning toilettes,
fresh from the latest box from home, were a source of inspiration to
both aunt and niece, and projects were set on foot for their imitation
as nearly as might be reached by the _dersai_.
Presently Mrs. Rouat announced that she desired to alight and mingle
with the strollers, which seemed the "most chic thing to do," as she
expressed it, especially as she realised that the bandy did not make
such an elegant setting for herself and her handsome niece as she
desired.
With Leila's help her ponderous person was safely landed on the
pavement, and the pair set out on their promenade to make a closer
inspection of the "fine societee."
"Now, Leila, here comes whatt I call a downright handsome pair," Mrs.
Rouat remarked enthusiastically, as a young couple came towards them.
"Oh, my, whatt a lovelee lady! I haven't seen such a beautee all my
days!"
Her niece had caught sight of the pair a moment before as they drove up
in their shining landau. Her keen eye had watched the gentleman help the
lady to alight, and she knew that she was coming face to face with Mr.
and Mrs. Alfred Rayner. With darkening visage and beating heart she
walked by her aunt's side, who fortunately, in her excitement over the
"prettee lady," had unlinked her arm from her niece's, else she would
have felt the tremor that was passing over the girl's frame.
Mrs. Rouat's stare was so marked that Hester could not help being
conscious of it. She decided that she must be some Vepery mother who
knew her, then she caught sight of the girl's haughty face marked by
rage and hate as she fixed her gaze on her husband, who met it with a
stony stare of well-assumed unrecognition.
"Oh my gracious me, whatt's the matter now, Leila Baltus?" exclaimed her
aunt. "You look all the colours of the rainbow! Has this walking
business been too much for you? Come, let's turn! My legs has got a
straightenin'. But, girl, whatever's ailin' you? Why are you glowerin'
after thatt couple as if you could stick them? They ain't no friends of
yours, surelee! They're too high up for thatt."
"Friends of mine!" echoed the girl with a harsh laugh. "The devil's my
friend if that man is! I'll not hide it from you, Aunt Tilly, now you've
spotted him. He's the veree one that jilted me most foully--went off and
wed thatt one in England when he should have wedded me. Oh, I hate her!
Don't tell me she's a beautee! My feelin's won't bear it"; and the girl
threw herself into the bandy, covered her face and sobbed convulsively.
"Well I never! This is a prettee kettle of fish! You in an open
carriage sittin' howlin' like a babee. Come now, Leila, be sensible! Put
your hat straight, fan your eyes, and tell me all about this jilt of
yours. My word, he looks bold enough! He seems to feature someone to my
mind. Whatt's his name, Leila?"
"Alfred Rayner," responded the girl, her wild paroxysm being succeeded
by a sullen air.
"Alfred Rayner, did you say?" exclaimed Mrs. Rouat in open-mouthed
astonishment. "Why, if thatt isn't the veree name I was chasin' after in
my head when I sat in that fine libraree of David Morpeth's. Rayner was
Flo's name, and Rosina called her boy Alfred, thinkin' it a veree grand
name. He's Rosina's boy! He's handsome, but a pert lookin' baggage, the
very image of his mother! Well, if this isn't an odd meetin' on the
Madras beach!"
"Then Alf Rayner's old Morpeth's son? La, whatt a lark!" said the girl,
with an alert expression coming into her eyes. "Do you know, Aunt Tilly,
he sets up for hating us Eurasians like poison--and he's as much a
half-caste as any of us!"
"Of course he is! Did you ever doubt it, you silly? With my fair
complexion--I pass, but Rosina's son--never!"
"Oh my gracious, but this is a joke," laughed Leila harshly. "Why, I've
begun to be even with the man already! Didn't he taunt my mother that he
never dreamed of marryin' among the like of us? This is a prime secret
you've let us into, Aunt Tilly! I'm sure his elegant wife doesn't know
he's a half-caste!"
"More than like the lad don't know it himself," returned her aunt,
shaking her head. "His Aunt Flo was as big a fibber as was goin', and a
boaster into the bargain! She'd never have let him into the truth--not
if she could keep it from him!"
"I say, Aunt Tilly," said Leila eagerly. "Wouldn't it be a good joke to
look in on them one fine afternoon when you have the bandy again and let
out the secret on them? 'Twould be a bombshell to Alf as well as to
thatt proud English ladee! She don't look half such a beautee as she did
when I first caught sight of her. Well, whatt do you say to my plan?"
"Wouldn't it be kind of spiteful?" objected Mrs. Rouat. "Mind you,
Leila, I don't go in with malice!"
"Well then, couldn't we just pay them a visit as you did Mr. Morpeth?
Your veree clever at managing, and you would get a sight of their
lovelee fine house into the bargain."
"I own I'd like to have another good look at Rosina's boy and that
prettee wife of his. But I can't afford to hire the bandy again for a
bit."
"Oh, as to thatt, Alf won't run away. A call will do any time," the girl
wound up, resolving that before many days elapsed she would lead Aunt
Tilly triumphantly to Clive's Road and at last "be even" with the man
she hated.
* * * * *
"There are only half-caste bounders crawling about here, Hester," said
Alfred Rayner irritably, after the encounter with Leila Baltus and her
aunt. "Mrs. Glanton and all our acquaintances have gone to the hills. Go
where you will, seemingly, you only get stared at by these odious
creatures. Suppose we go towards the Ice House, where we may get a
chance of the pavement to ourselves."
Hester agreed, nothing loth to prolong her walk, and they wandered on
facing the coast with its circling outlets and the great swelling ocean
flooded now by the evanescent afterglow of the setting sun. Hester's eye
was fascinated by the tender spreading light. She was gazing intently
seaward, and did not notice the solitary pedestrian who was slowly
approaching them. Her husband did, however, and now and here in this
peaceful gloaming was to be enacted a supreme tragedy for two lives. Not
till they were face to face did Hester perceive that the solitary walker
was none other than David Morpeth. Her heart throbbed uneasily, for she
had remarked that more than once even the mention of his name had been
the signal for a furious outburst on her husband's part. Her face
betrayed her nervousness as she bowed and smiled. But to-night David
Morpeth had no eyes for his sweet young friend who held such a warm
place in his heart. A letter had reached him from Mr. Fyson of Truelove
Brothers some days ago which definitely told him that Alfred was now
aware of their close relationship, though Mr. Fyson had refrained from
sharing with him the cruel words in which Alfred announced that for the
future he rejected with disdain his father's allowance. This was a
crucial moment for both--their first meeting since the son was in
possession of the secret of his birth. For a second he stared with a
searching, fascinated glance at his father's face; while the father, as
he raised his hat to Hester, was casting a yearning look of love and
longing upon his son. Then he held out his hand, not to Hester, but to
his son. Had Alfred willed it, a moment more and life might have been
changed for both these defrauded ones! But the young man's corrupted
will leant all the other way. He held his hand stiffly by his side,
saying:
"Come along, Hester, the breeze is getting chilly!" He put his arm in
hers and almost pulled her away. "Didn't I tell you the beach was simply
crawling with these half-castes to-night," he muttered, as he pushed
past his father with an angry scowl.
The old man's hand dropped. His face took an ashen hue. The bedrock of
trouble had been fathomed. He gazed after his son with a face of
unutterable sorrow.
"Oh my God!" he groaned. "Save him from the curse of spurning a father's
love! Is this my punishment for the sore blunder I made in keeping a
rash vow?" And he moved on with the step of a broken man.
"Alfred, how could you? Oh, this is terrible," murmured Hester, with a
look of horror mingled with fear as she glanced at her husband's
scowling face. She felt she must protest, whatever it cost her. "Did
you not see he wanted to speak to us?--to you particularly? He even held
out his hand to you and you were so cold--oh, so cruel!"
"Yes, I meant to be! There's no other way of choking off these
half-castes. I tell you, Hester, if you want to be a good wife to me
you'll cut all that connection with Vepery. It's only a perpetual
annoyance to both of us."
Hester made no reply, and was glad to take refuge in the carriage and be
driven swiftly home without exchanging words with her husband. She
absented herself from dinner with a sense of physical illness upon her
as well as a heart sick with sorrow and shame.
Had she known it, her husband's waking thoughts that evening, as well as
his dreams that night, might have found a place in Dante's Inferno. His
haggard aspect was piteous to behold when he came down to late breakfast
next morning. There had been no rising with the dawn for him; his
feverish dreams did not vanish with the night, but made part and parcel
of all his daylight hours.