Cynthia Daintree had heard of Raynier's transfer immediately on landing,
and had lost no time in proceeding to Mazaran, which move was
facilitated by the fact that the friends with whom she had come out had
relatives in the frontier station, to whom they duly passed her on, and
with whom she was now staying.
She had received Raynier's telegram at Aden. Her father had forwarded
it, without comment, and although its burden caused her a little
temporary annoyance it neither surprised nor disconcerted her, for of it
she there and then resolved to take no notice at all. More than ever
now she congratulated herself that the angry letter she had been on the
point of sending him after he had left her so brutally--as she put it--
had remained unsent; more than ever did she rejoice that no further
communication had passed between them, and that therefore he could claim
no formal release. What had passed between them she would choose to
regard as a mere tiff, which the magnanimity of her disposition moved
her unconditionally to condone, and this she would give out if
necessary. For the rest, she reckoned on his easy-going nature, which,
by reason of his extraordinary forbearance as regarded herself, she had
come to regard as weak, and despised accordingly. There was no other
woman in the case, she was sure of that, otherwise he might have turned
restive. As it was, she would have things all her own way, and he would
yield unconditionally.
Another point in her favour was that she would take him more or less by
surprise, for she had carefully arranged that the letter which we have
seen him receive, should only reach him a few days before her own
arrival. But when she arrived, only to learn that the border war had
blazed forth in the very neighbourhood of Mazaran itself, and that the
man she had come to find was missing, her wrath and chagrin knew no
bounds. The first she was forced to conceal, the second she passed off
in concern and anxiety on behalf of her _fiance's_ peril. Attempts on
all sides were made to reassure her. The missing official would have
thrown himself on the protection of someone or other of the chiefs who
had not joined in the _jihad_--Sarbaland Khan, for instance, who would
certainly remain loyal--and to whose interest it would be to ensure the
safety of so high a representative of the _Sirkar_. But if she allowed
herself to be reassured on that point, there was a new and wholly
unlooked-for aspect of the situation, which in her heart of hearts was
fraught with possibilities. With the missing man was the Tarletons'
girl guest. Only to think how they would be thrown together, and that
day after day, in their wanderings and possible dangers! What was the
girl like? She set herself to find out.
It happened that the Tarletons had no portrait of Hilda Clive, but on
the subject of the latter's attractions Cynthia was in a great measure
reassured. When, apparently in pursuance of a natural interest in the
missing girl, she inquired on the point, the answer was never more
enthusiastic than "Oh, so-so," with a sort of covert implication that
she was not in it with the inquirer herself. For Hilda had made no
impression upon the male side of the station, to whom she conveyed an
idea of coldness and reserve even when not, as Haslam put it, one of
uncanniness. So Cynthia was reassured, and managed to get through time
fairly contentedly; and while ever manifesting a becoming degree of
anxiety on behalf of her _fiance_--as she gave him out to be--on the
whole the station regarded her as a decided acquisition. And then Hilda
Clive had reappeared, alone.
Among the first to visit her was naturally Cynthia, and the consequent
reassurance as to Raynier's temporary safety hardly rejoiced her so much
as the first glance at his fellow refugee. Why, the girl was downright
plain--if not hideous, she decided. She had green eyes, to begin with;
large and well-lashed certainly, but--green; green and uncanny, like a
cat's. Then, she was white and haggard looking. As for her dress,
Cynthia could not judge, for Hilda had only agreed to see her under
protest and had appeared in a tea-gown; for she was suffering from
lassitude and nervous reaction, following upon physical hardship and the
immense mental strain she had undergone. Small wonder indeed if she
were not looking her best. Wherefore, Cynthia decided that here was no
possibility of rivalry, and having so decided she set to work to make
the best of the situation.
Mazaran was practically in a state of siege, yet a matter of twenty-four
hours sufficed to accustom its social side to that state of things; and,
if it was unsafe to venture beyond the lines, the social side aforesaid
took care to amuse itself to the best of its ability within them. And
here Cynthia Daintree was in great request. She was a novelty, she was
stylish and well dressed, and well looking. She kept up a certain
modicum of carefully regulated concern for her missing fiance, but she
allowed herself to be drawn, albeit under protest into all that went on.
The general consensus of opinion was--especially among the garrison--
that the missing Raynier was a deuced lucky fellow, but why the mischief
had he kept his engagement so dark?
Not quite all, however, were so minded. Haslam, the Forest Officer, for
instance, was not so sure on the point; possibly, because Cynthia had
not thought it worth while laying herself out to captivate him, possibly
not. Anyway, he remarked at the Tarletons' one day,--
"I wonder if Raynier will weep for joy when he gets back or not?"
"Why, what do you mean, Mr Haslam?" said his hostess.
"Nothing. Only that I shouldn't like to be in his shoes."
"Sour grapes, Mr Haslam," laughed Mrs Tarleton, not meaning it, for she
happened to be one of those who did not take the new arrival at her own
valuation.
Haslam chuckled.
"That's just it. You've hit it, Mrs Tarleton. There will be found a
good deal of acidity about that particular bunch, and that's why I don't
envy Raynier."
"Well, you can't expect anyone to be perfect, can you?" struck in
Tarleton, inconsequently oppositious as usual.
"Never said I could," answered Haslam, lighting another cheroot. "What
do you think about her, Miss Clive?"
"How can I give an opinion on a `brother woman,' Mr Haslam, especially
to a man?" laughed Hilda. "If I don't say she's perfect, you'll go away
and tell everybody I'm jealous. If I do you won't believe me."
"Hallo. That's rather good," said the Forest Officer, who liked Hilda
Clive, and resented the fact of the other coming there to cut her out,
as he persisted on looking at it. "But, I say. Talking of--er--who we
were talking about--it's my belief she's hedging."
"What the doose do you mean by that Haslam?" said Tarleton. The other
cackled.
"Why, she's making running up there in the garrison. Supposing Raynier
never came back, poor chap--eh? Or supposing he was hauled over the
coals for not foreseeing this _tumasha_, as it's not impossible he may
be, and sent back to some beastly Plains station--what then? Young
Beecher for instance--they say he has no end of expectations. Eh? They
do a good deal together."
"Now, really, Mr Haslam, you are a regular scandalmonger," laughed Mrs
Tarleton, who was thoroughly enjoying the Forest Officer's strictures.
"I'm sure Miss Daintree is a very nice, sweet, affectionate girl, and Mr
Raynier is to be congratulated."
"Affectionate dev--h'm, h'm. She's got a cold eye."
"A what?"
"A cold eye. Look at it next time. It's the eye of a fish--a shark for
choice."
"Well, you couldn't expect her to have a warm one, could you?" drowsed
Tarleton, who was half asleep. Whereat they all roared.
Now in all of this there was more than a little, for, apart from her
natural inclination to have as good a time as possible, here amid
entirely new conditions of life, and forming as they did a marked
contrast to those of a country vicarage, Cynthia had kept her ears open
as well as her eyes. Even station _gup_ had not as yet linked Raynier's
name with that of Hilda Clive. But it had speculated as to the view
that would be taken at headquarters of the Political Agent allowing
himself to be lulled into a state of absolute blindness on the subject
of the ill-affectedness of the Gularzai; the most important and powerful
tribe within his jurisdiction. All of which Cynthia had not been slow
to take in; and Captain Beecher, who was always on hand with his
dogcart, or a very sleek and serviceable Waler--of which she was
secretly afraid--if she preferred riding, was very devoted, and
substantially sound, and Cynthia was verging on thirty. And a live and
frisky dog was very much better than a dead and reduced lion, and Haslam
was an abominable cynic who knew his India, and the dominant population
thereof, thoroughly.
Hilda Clive, watching this state of things, said nothing, only thought.
So completely did she say nothing in fact, that the station decided that
in view of the circumstances of the case, she was singularly lacking in
appreciation, not to say gratitude. She and Raynier had been together
through the winnowing of a common danger. She had come out of it safe
and sound, he had not. Yet she seemed to give him no further thought.
Did she not?
"All are forgetting him," she said to herself, in the bitterness of her
intense self-concentration. "All are forgetting him--even decrying him,
and there are those hungrily ready to step into his shoes. All the more
reason to show him that here is one who is not."
She thanked Heaven she was well off; indeed, for a single woman, almost
rich. Nothing can be done in this world without filthy lucre. She had
been endowed with this if not with the art of drawing men round her like
flies around a jar of stale marmalade. Money can buy anything within
certain limits, even life. Yet how many there would have expended say
one thousand rupees to purchase that of Herbert Raynier's?
But she? She shut herself up in her own room a good deal just then,
shut herself up with business papers--which, by the way, she thoroughly
understood. And running through all her calculations and correspondence
were certainly recollections of a time spent in a free _al fresco_ life;
and subsequently, in an _al fresco_ life which was anything but free,
and hedged round with hardship at every turn, and somehow it seemed that
that time was not the least enjoyable period of her existence. Then she
would push away all the business matter in front of her, and pass her
hands over her brows, and if anyone had broken in upon her at that time
it would have been to see upon Hilda Clive's face a look that rendered
it wondrously soft and lovable and attractive.
But through it all there mingled a puzzled and half-distressed state of
mind. Her strange powers of foresight seemed to hover around, and yet
refuse to be called into definite action. There was something to be
done, they told her, and she was the one to do it; yet what, and how?
Ah, now it was clear. Money would purchase anything--even life.
The first thing she had done on her return to Mazaran was to present
Mehrab Khan with such a substantial sum in rupees as to cause that
faithful Mussulman to stare. Then she had set to work to obtain for him
a sort of indefinite furlough, so that he could attach himself wholly
and entirely to her service, which he was by no means loth to do. It
had not been difficult, because, as it happened, his term of enlistment
had all but expired, and Mehrab Khan was far too valuable a jemadar of
Levy Sowars to part with at that juncture; wherefore, through Haslam,
who, as we have seen, stood her friend, and others, she contrived that
the authorities should allow her the use of him _pro tem_. To what she
would turn that use we shall see anon.