Was there a lower depth than she had touched? Her grandmother! Verona
heard the word with dismay. Had she not yet reached the bottom of
the abyss? Once upon a time she could claim no relations, but now
their number was seemingly legion. With this thought in her mind, she
followed with a beating heart and instinctive reluctance her mother,
who, beckoning with the quick, supple motion peculiar to her class,
led the way across a passage and verandah and down some steps at the
rear of the house. Here, facing them, was a large square building
or bungalow, its high roof thrown into sharp relief by the white
moonlight. Mrs. Chandos paused for a moment and explained:
"Our house was once the manager's; that was before the Mutiny year, but
it was not grand enough for the Lepells, so we got their leavings, and
it suits us, being large. This," pointing to the building, "was the
Dufta in old days. Of course, you don't know Hindustani? 'Dufta' means
office. Your grandmother prefers it to the house."
As she concluded she had pushed open a door, and Verona found herself
in a low bedroom, lit by a flaring wall-lamp and reeking with heat and
oil. Two women were engrossed in a game of cards--(oh, such greasy
black cards!)--a little grey-haired ayah, who squatted upon the floor,
and a fat old person, who was seated in a battered cane-chair; She had
a large, brown, good-humoured face, from which her reddish hair was
tightly drawn back and fastened in a knob. Her features were small
and well formed, but disfigured by several dark warts; that on her
left eyebrow, taken in connection with one on her upper lip, gave a
comical, interrogative expression to her otherwise placid countenance.
She wore a turkey-red petticoat, a Kurta--the short-sleeved jacket
affected by native women; over her shoulders and bare, wrinkled arms
was thrown a strip of embroidered muslin; heavy gold ear-rings and a
massive necklace completed the costume of Mistress Baptista Lopez.
"Aré, so this is the girl," she exclaimed, as she put down her cards
and extended a dumpy hand. For a moment she stared at the visitor in
expressive silence, then turned to her daughter with a wheezy laugh,
and said, "Aré, Bapré Bap! Now who would think she was my grandchild?"
(Who, indeed!)
Her little black eyes considered every item of Verona's appearance,
from the crown of her dark head to the tip of her neat shoe.
"What do you think of her, Nani?"--(Hindustani for grandmother.)
"She looks like a Burra Miss-Sahib; and is awfully handsome. Soon,
soon, she will be married, and you will be glad of that!"
As Mistress Lopez uttered this prophecy she again looked up at her
daughter and laughed. Her laugh resembled the sound emitted by a pair
of broken bellows.
"I'm sure _I_ wonder she was not married long ago!" rejoined Mrs.
Chandos in an aggrieved tone.
"Oh, but Fernanda would not let her," explained the old woman. "I
know her ways! And so you lived with Fernanda Gowdy for years," now
addressing herself to the girl. "She and I were cronies together at
the Kidderpore school; the Kidderpore was such a big place, and stood
in a great park, and now and then the lady in charge gave a great ball
to the officers and people. Anyone could choose a bride. Fernanda was
a beauty, my! such a figure! You might blow her away! That Scotchman
only saw her twice before he made an offer of marriage. She was just
sixteen. I was married at eighteen. My! my! my! whatt a long time a-go;
and Fernanda is dead! Did you like her?"
"Yes," replied Verona, "she was good to me always. I was very fond of
her."
"But left you no money, no-a--not one pice. Eete was too bad! Aré, it
was a shame! Yet she never was a mean girl!"
"She intended to provide for me, and she gave me a first-rate
education."
"Ah, that is so; and you have learnt to speak and look like some big
swell. Oh, oh, yes! you are a beautee; you will cut out Dominga."
At this point Mrs. Chandos brusquely interposed, speaking in
Hindustani, and mother and daughter had a loud altercation, which
lasted for some minutes.
"Well, well, well! let a-lone, let a-lone!" exclaimed the old woman,
who had evidently had the worst of the argument.
"Verona, child, I hope you may be lucky. Some day I must try your
fortune in the crystal; this is not a good day, it is the twenty-fifth."
"Your Nani is taken up with signs, and tokens, and cards, and spells,"
grumbled Mrs. Chandos, "just like any old bazaar woman. Oh, you will be
surprised at her ways!"
"I hope she will get used to all our ways, for some of them are funny,"
rejoined Mrs. Lopez good-humouredly, and she nodded her head till her
three chins shook again.
"Yes, you will, miss, oh, so many fine things; but there is no other
home for you, and you cannot live in the river, and be at enmity with
the crocodile!"
Verona stared at the speaker with an expression of complete
bewilderment.
"Pah! it is only one of mother's silly proverbs," explained Mrs.
Chandos; "here, sit down," pushing a cane stool towards her. Her
daughter gladly accepted the morah, and while her two relatives once
more discussed her in voluble Hindustani, her eyes wandered languidly
around the room.
The floor was covered with soiled matting and one handsome Persian
rug. The walls were ornamented with gaudy-coloured prints; in a
corner was a low charpoy, or bed, with red-lacquered legs and heaped
high with pillows; a press, an ancient bureau, a card-table, and a
cooking-stove completed the furniture. Nani's shoes, which were small,
an umbrella, which was large, occupied a prominent position; a dress
on a peg still retained the voluminous outline of her figure: there
were also her domestic pets. In a rude tin cage on the bureau dozed,
as Verona subsequently discovered, a peculiarly rude green parrot. The
empty fire-place, instead of exhibiting the usual paper frills, made
a comfortable cot for a huge black cat. In an angle beyond the press
lay some larger animal, and Verona received a distinct shock when she
discovered that the object of her curiosity was a full-sized goat.
"Ah!" cried Mrs. Lopez, as she caught her eyes. "The go-at! But she is
so tame--tame as the cat; I keep her for my coffee; I make it myself
fresh, fresh every three days, and see it roasted and ground--just
what fills three bottles. Oh, it is awfully good! You shall have some
to-morrow, when I will tell your fortune."
"And your Nani will stuff your head with nonsense and proverbs," said
Mrs. Chandos.
"No-a, indeed! they all feete," protested her mother. "Verona is
sensible, thatt I can see, and now she is in her father's house she
will be content, and will stretch her feet to the length of the sheet.
Won't you, child?"
"I am not looking for riches and luxuries, ma'am."
"Yes. But hitherto you have had five fingers in the ghee. You do not
know what it is to be poor."
As this was true Verona remained silent.
"And you are so handsome!" resumed the old woman. "You will be
arl-right, I see it in your face. You will be lucky. You know the
saying, 'Who eats sugar, will _get_ sugar.'"
Then turning sharply to her daughter, she said:--"Rosie, this girl is
not like any one of you, no! she is different to all. It is another
_face_!"
"And how do you account for it, Nani?" inquired Mrs. Chandos, with a
sneering smile.
"Oh, it is quite plain! Oh, thatt is easily done!" rejoined Mrs. Lopez
with delighted alacrity. "She takes after my mother. Yes; she must
inherit from her; for, although she was only a Temple girl who danced
before the gods--a Naikin from Goa, where my father first saw her--yet
she was celebrated as the most beautiful woman on the whole West coast!"
"And you think Verona beautiful, and like her?" cried her daughter,
bursting into a peal of derisive laughter. "Whatt a joke! Well, Nani,
you _must_ be blind! She is well enough, but no beauty."
"Pah! pah! pah! you are no judge, Rosa! You have only eyes for that red
cat of yours; and I tell you this child," and she pointed to Verona,
"has a face that will make her fortune; it may be, arl your fortunes."
"And that reminds me of the money," said Mrs. Chandos, with a sudden
start--"the three hundred pounds fortune. Did you bring it in
sovereigns, Verona, as we wished?"
"Yes, it is all in my dressing bag."
"Ayah, ayahjee!" and Mrs. Chandos went screaming to the door. "Go,
fetch the Missy's big leather bag, and bring it here, quick, quick!
quick! Or, wait! I go myself," and she darted into the moonlight.
"She is wonderful, your mother," remarked the old woman; "so sharp
about money! Such a manager! Great show outside, and pinching in the
belly; but she will have it thus, since there are so many to feed, and
young girls to marry. Her wishes are high."
"Yes," assented her daughter mechanically.
"Arl-day she works so hard in the office next door, doing figures and
accounts. She owns a few little houses in the bazaar, and adds on to
the pay. It is not much, two hundred a month."
"Pounds?" suggested her companion.
"No! rupees--that is to say, shillings. But she is a manager."
"Well, here it is," panted Mrs. Chandos, pushing open the door with her
foot, and entering bag in hand; "now let us see the money."
As Verona hastened to produce her keys, and proceeded to unlock the
bag, Mrs. Chandos continued:
"I will invest it for you, child; it will bring in good interest;
as much as one hundred and fifty rupees a year, which will buy you
clothes."
"No, no! it is all for you and father," protested the girl. "I only
wish it were more! I really do not want it."
"Yes, that is what I said," agreed Mrs. Chandos, with astonishing
animation; "but your father does not agree; it is your little dowry,
he says, and is to be put by for your use alone. He will not touch one
pice. Sometimes he can be as obstinate as a rock, and I have given him
a promise not to accept one rupee from you. No! even should you offer
it on your knees!"
While she was speaking Verona had unearthed a green silk bag, which she
was now about to place upon the table, but Mrs. Chandos seized it from
her, drew the string and emptied out the gold into one shining mass.
How her eyes glittered and her cheeks blazed as she bathed her hands in
the sovereigns, and let them dribble through her claw-like fingers. She
appeared completely transformed, her complexion glowed, the hard lines
on her face relaxed into smiles.
Verona, as she stared in wonderment, no longer disbelieved the tale
that her mother had once been a beauty. How strange that the mere
sight of gold should thus transfigure her countenance--for a second it
was illumined with the colour and sparkle of her long lost youth. At
this moment there was a sudden sound of crushed gravel without: the
door was opened unceremoniously, and a tall, obese old man stood on
the threshold. Verona's heart failed her as she beheld him, and asked
herself the desperate question if here was yet another relation?
This time a pure native.