The change in Dominga, which had not escaped the sharp eyes of old
Nani, gradually became visible to her sister. Dom's whole mind was
evidently concentrated on something, or someone--who could that someone
be? She was abstracted, silent and forgetful--at one moment in the
maddest and most unaccountable spirits, at another sunk in the depths
of ferocious gloom. Dominga was in love--and for the first time in her
existence. Ambition and a hungry vanity had impelled her to strain
every effort in order to attract "The Honourable" (as he was called in
Manora), and her aim was accomplished but too easily. On the occasion
of their second meeting he exclaimed:
"Lovely Dom! won't you be real good friends with me? _won't_ you like
me--and let us see a great deal of one another?"
This appeal she had laughed at and "pooh-poohed." Now to see "Jimmy"
was all she lived for. She was indifferent to position; she had no
desire to snatch a coronet--all she cared for was Jimmy himself. If
Jimmy ceased to love her, if he were to leave her, the whole world
would become wrapped in darkness--and she would die.
Meanwhile, none suspected their intimacy. Dom was an accomplished
actress, and full of resource and courage; she concealed an impassioned
love affair behind the cloak of a duly licensed (warranted "harmless")
flirtation with her unhappy dupe, "Baby Charles."
These two strings to her bow were a severe tax on Dominga. Admirable
performer as she was, she found it difficult to keep both strings in
tune, and to wear an everyday air of smiling self-possession. She
worshipped Jimmy, and with regret, it must be added, that she now
secretly detested Baby Charles. These devastating emotions had their
natural result; she became nervous, thin and restless as the sea
itself; sleep and appetite both left her, and yet Dom retained her
looks--she had a sort of glorified expression; a soft brilliance in her
eyes had replaced their former challenging stare.
Towards the middle of February the nights were becoming warm. At any
rate, Verona found it difficult to rest; and on more than one occasion
she rose, slipped on her shoes and a long cloak, and set forth to
wander along the old familiar path by the river. The air was cool and
refreshing after a close room (they had not yet begun punkahs), and
one night she was tempted to stroll beyond her usual bounds, towards
a certain lonely spot--the desolate garden of an old bungalow which
had fallen into ruins. This garden was a jungle of trees and creepers;
bamboos, loquats and apricots struggled fiercely for spaces--beautiful
roses, gone mad, threw their shoots in all directions. Here the blue
jay and the golden orioles were undisturbed--it was a wilderness of
flowers and birds, far from the hurry and dust of the outer world. Few
ever passed that way, because the old ruined house had an evil name,
and was reputed to be haunted. Verona had discovered this sanctuary,
and many a half-hour she spent, sitting on the steps of the verandah,
whilst Johnny darted about among the neighbouring branches, and played
on a circular stone platform close by--a "chabootra," where in former
days the family had enjoyed the air and tea--raised a few inches from
undesirable insects, and snakes. To this retreat Verona had now wound
her steps, and as she made her way among the bushes she was aware that
someone else was in the garden--someone who was singing "The Jewel of
Asia." She approached, and thrusting aside the high plumes of the grass
blossoms, beheld a tableau which rooted her to the spot.
Dominga--on the chabootra--wearing a low evening dress, her hair
crowned by a wreath of passion flowers, was not merely singing, but
dancing! As she sang she held with extended arms her flowing white
skirts, and weaved the most dainty measures. She moved with the true
"bird-like step" and the swaying, undulating grace of her renowned
grandmother, the Nautch girl!
Naturally Dom was not singing or dancing solely for her own amusement,
or the entertainment of roof cats, owls and night-jars. As she executed
her fairy-like _pas seul_ on the stone platform, the "Honourable,"
cigarette in mouth, lounged by the edge of the verandah, and clapped
applause.
Whilst Verona stood transfixed, this pretty scene fell to pieces, for
Dom, in answer to a gesture from Jimmy, turned, saw her sister, and
uttered a piercing shriek.
"Hush--sh!" said her companion, rising simultaneously to his feet--and
the occasion. "Quite the time of day to be out--is it not, Miss
Chandos?" sauntering towards her as he spoke. "I wandered over to
Manora, and had the good luck to meet first your sister--and now
yourself!"
"Oh, Verona!" cried Dominga, "what a fright you did give me! I thought
you were the ghost! You know this place is haunted by those Mutiny
people who were killed here."
"I assure you that I was equally startled," rejoined the other in a
frosty voice.
"I suppose you came out for a breath of air--same as myself," continued
Dom, with unsurpassed effrontery--and her fairness was dazzling in the
moonlight.
A breath of air! and she dressed in her best gauze ball gown--white
satin shoes, and all!
Verona made no answer, and being painfully conscious of the great
deficiencies of her own toilette, without further formality effected a
rapid retreat.
"I say! I call that most beastly bad luck," exclaimed Jimmy, looking
after the departing figure. "Does she twig anything?"
"She must--unless she is an idiot."
"She won't give us away, Dom! You must make that all right, old girl!"
"If I can."
"If you cannot, there will be the devil to pay!"
"What particular devil?" enquired his lady love.
"Well, your _father_ might kick up a row."
Dominga laughed with infinite mockery.
"Or our old man--who is supposed to keep me under lock and key? You
must square it, won't you, darling?"
"Of course, I will do whatever you like, Jim. I always do."
And Verona was fully as uncomfortable as the lovers. She crept guiltily
into bed, and once there her heart beat so fast she could not sleep.
So this was Dom's secret--Jimmy Fielder! How well she had kept it! and
yet how reckless to choose an open spot, not far from the house, for
entrancing her lover with song and dance!
They must have met frequently--this was no unusual occasion. Verona,
unable to sleep or close her eyes, beheld again, with inward vision,
the scene: the background of flowering shrubs, the white floating
figure with waving arms and gliding grace--Jimmy, sitting with his
elbows on his knees, his hat on the back of his head, cigarette in
mouth, gazing and glowering like a masher in a music hall--where no
doubt, for the moment, he believed himself to be!
And Dominga was her own sister--what should she do? What must she do?
At this moment a stealthy footfall entered the room--it was Dom come to
answer that question in person.
"Verona," she whispered, "are you asleep?"
"No--I wish to goodness I was."
"You know our secret."
"I'm not so sure that I do!"
"But you see what we are. Jimmy adores me, and I adore him."
"If so, why does he not come here and adore you in broad daylight?"
"Because of people's tongues--think of the spite of the Trotters and
Watkins, and Blanche's chum, Mrs. Wandle. Verona, dear," and she fell
on her knees beside the bed, "will you promise to say nothing of what
you saw? Promise, and I will do anything--anything."
"I will promise, if you will listen to what I have to say first."
Dominga, with an impatient "Ch-a-ah!" sat suddenly down on the floor.
"I have seen Captain Fielder's father. He is a curious old man--very
proud, and very hard--and enormously rich."
"How rich?" asked Dom, raising herself a little.
"Oh, about forty thousand a year."
"Rupees?"
"No, pounds; there are no rupees in England. He has eyes like two bits
of granite, and a long chin; he wears a tall white hat and black stock,
and lifts his feet high off the ground as if they did not fit him.
I've often laughed at his way of walking. He is crazy about pedigree
and position, and Jimmy is his only remaining son. If he makes an
unsatisfactory marriage--for instance, if he were to marry a girl
without position or fortune--it would be his deathblow!"
"So much the better," said Dominga, springing to her feet.
"But Dom, do listen. Captain Fielder can never make you his wife--do
give him up."
"Do you think he will give _me_ up?" she demanded, in a low, grating
voice.
"Well, promise me at least that you won't meet him at night again.
Promise, Dom, on your word of honour."
"I promise," she responded, in a passionate whisper; "and now, Verona,
listen! if you are false to me, I will"--she paused for a second, in
order to formulate a threat and deal adequate vengeance. Her ear caught
a rustle on the dressing-table--yes! there was naughty little Johnny,
out of his bed at that time of night, sitting up, and watching the
sisters with his two glittering black eyes.
"I won't say I'll kill you," resumed Dom, "for you wouldn't care--oh,
I know your mind--but I will kill Johnny, I will burn him--yes, I'll
roast him alive, and _that_ would hurt you!"
"Oh, Dom, don't say such hideous things! Of course, you may depend on
me; but you--can I really trust you? Will you swear to me on the Bible?"
"No; but I'll swear to you on my soul! will that satisfy you?"
Dominga Chandos set but a nominal value on her soul. What little soul
she had belonged to Jimmy Fielder, and she broke her oath within three
days.