It was just tiffin-time at the hotel, and Mrs. Lepell, somewhat weary
and yawning, was about to summon her two young ladies, when her ayah
hurried into her room in breathless haste, and announced:
"Salwey Sahib want see Mem Sahib," and her nephew followed almost on
the ayah's heels. He looked so discomposed that she knew at once that
something serious had happened.
"Oh, what is it?" she asked. "Is it Tom?"
"No," he said, glancing round the room to see that all the doors were
closed--then lowering his voice, he added:
"It is Nicky Chandos."
Mrs. Lepell stepped back and sank into a chair.
"Ssh! don't talk loud. Tell me all about it. How did you hear?"
"The head constable has come in with a letter, and I am off in five
minutes. I left the poor boy the use of my horses, and last night he
was riding out to Manora on Baber, no doubt full gallop. Some devil
had put a rope across the road. Baber broke his neck, and I fancy that
Nicky was killed on the spot. They were found early this morning, with
my dog 'Chum' on guard over the two bodies."
Mrs. Lepell endeavoured to speak, but failed.
"And the worst of it is," resumed her nephew, "the trap was intended
for _me_; several people were anxious that I should break my neck--but
poor Nicky had not an enemy in the world. Now I must be off to the
inquest and funeral; I will leave you to break it to the family here."
"Oh, but really, Brian--I cannot!"
At this moment Verona entered the room:
"I beg your pardon," she said, drawing back from what seemed a private
interview between aunt and nephew.
"No, no, no--Verona, come here," cried her friend; "Brian, you must
tell her."
Salwey looked down on the ground for a moment, and then he said, with
obvious reluctance:
"Well, I suppose I must. Miss Chandos, I'm sorry to say--I am the
bearer of very bad news. Your brother Nicky----"
"Is hurt?" she questioned. There being no answer--"Is dead?"
"Yes, he fell into a trap intended for me, and was killed on the spot."
Verona covered her face with her hands and leant against the wall.
"You know, _you_ are the one to bear up," he continued, "you will tell
Dominga--Dominga will tell your mother. Tell them"--and his voice
shook a little--"the poor boy's death must have been instantaneous and
painless." And without another word he opened the door and went out.
* * * * *
When Mrs. Chandos and her daughters returned to Manora the following
day, the funeral had already taken place. The sudden, as it were,
departure of Nicky struck them all with a sort of icy chill. Nicky's
place was vacant; his chair at table stood empty.
Two days previously he had been among them, noisy and cheery; whistling
about the bungalow, knocking things over and carpentering; the most
active and animated of the whole family--and now he was gone--not down
the river to Mr. Salwey's, not into Rajahpore for an hour or two,
but gone--gone, never to come back. There were his books, his shabby
clothes, his cap, his tennis bat--everywhere they looked their eyes met
something to recall Nicky. Nicky had never been his mother's favourite
child--Dominga, Blanche, and even Pussy, came far before him; but her
grief was loud, ceaseless and unreasoning. She had long fits of frantic
screaming that nothing would subdue, and poor old Mrs. Lopez, who was
heartbroken at the death of her darling, vainly endeavoured to soothe
her.
Good Mrs. Cavalho, true angel in cases of sickness and death, tried her
best to comfort them both. At times, such was Mrs. Chandos's grief,
that she was as if demented, tossing her head from side to side, and
crying out:
"Oh, my poor boy! Oh, my poor boy! He is dead! And that is not the
worst--oh, you do not know the worst! Oh, my poor boy! my poor boy!"
These cries were looked upon as the delirious ravings of a
grief-stricken mother; no one could make out, or even attempted to
understand, what Mrs. Chandos meant by saying:
"Oh, you do not know the worst! Oh, you do not know the worst!"
And one thing no one ever knew. It was never discovered who it was that
tied a well-rope across the road, where it was so dark under the peepul
trees, and thereby caused the death of Black Baber, and Nicky Chandos.
The shock of his son's death appeared to have aroused Mr. Chandos
from his condition of mental stupor. As he stood by the graveside, a
dignified, pathetic figure in deep mourning, many now looked upon Paul
Chandos for the first time. Although the hand of affliction was heavy
upon him, and he was worn and weary-eyed, there was an indefinable
distinction in his air, and people were quite prepared to believe the
fable, that he was the next heir to an ancient name and great estate.