The days which followed her momentous confession were passed by Mrs.
Chandos in the darkness and seclusion of her own room (and on the
bungalow there fell a sense of extraordinary peace). Here she gave
audience to her mother and to Verona. Sitting in that dim apartment,
watched by a pair of implacable black eyes, Verona heard the details
of her parentage and infancy. Mrs. Chandos rendered up to her the
letters, photograph and proofs, which established her as the child of
another race. She also urged her to remain with them until Mrs. Lepell
came down from the hills. In Manora nothing of importance was ever
undertaken without the help or countenance of the reigning lady; and
if Verona went away suddenly, there would be--oh, such talk! Verona,
whose affection for Mr. Chandos, Pussy and Nani, was very real and
warm, agreed to remain as a member of the household until arrangements
were completed for her return to England; and in those critical days
Verona's manner was a beautiful study in tact and forbearance. The
news that she was only a child by adoption, and that her name was
Hargreaves, was allowed to gradually ooze out to the ears of the
neighbours, who had been secretly wondering what all the smothered fuss
had been about; and what was the cause of so many letters and telegrams
being delivered at the Chandos bungalow?
Mrs. Lepell had telegraphed and written to Verona, urging her to join
her--she was not strong, and to descend to the plains in the rainy
season was impossible. In October or November she was going to England
and could escort her friend home. But Mr. Chandos clung to Verona in a
way that was pathetic; Nani and Pussy bewailed her suggested departure
so loudly and so continuously, that she decided to remain in Manora for
the present.
The Trotters and Watkins were aware that a great stirring of the waters
had recently taken place in their vicinity; they were acquainted with
the tale of the adopted daughter--but they did not know all. Much was
known in the bazaar, but not elsewhere--when the station has one topic,
the bazaar has a dozen. Even the bazaar could not guess why Salwey
Sahib was staying at the big bungalow--instead of at home; nor did it
know that for hours he was closeted in the dufta with Mrs. Chandos.
Brian Salwey had discovered Saloo, after much toilsome search, and
yet now he was anxious to hush up her identity, and to conceal her
iniquities. With this sole end in view, this truly brave man passed
whole mornings alone with Mrs. Chandos and her ledgers. He, too, had
a capital head for figures, and went systematically through all her
books, and discovered that although morally a culprit of the blackest
dye, yet she just managed to keep herself clear of the sword of
Justice. There is no law to prevent people paying (and they will) one
hundred per cent. But Salwey was strong and resolute; piece by piece he
wrenched her prey from the clutches of Saloo. In spite of her shrill
expostulations during those long early hours, mortgages were remitted,
claims were abated, restitution was made; The process was almost like
dragging a calf from a famished tigress, but it was accomplished
with inexorable determination. Mrs. Chandos's usual weapons, such as
imprecations, abuse, personal insults, and piercing screams, might
just as well have been addressed to a stone as to the figure who was
steadily working through her accounts. Such an attitude amazed her;
she had struck terror to the hearts of her father and her husband--but
this calm, austere young man, he frightened her. Day by day she saw her
balance ebbing--day by day she restored sums of money to those she had
despoiled. She was compelled to sign orders, and letters, and receipts,
that made her writhe with impotent rage. Once, in an early stage of the
proceedings, she had rebelled and shrieked out:
"Why should I permit this robbery? I will not--I defy you! What can you
do to me?"
"I can acquaint the world with your identity--and cover your family
with shame."
"Cha-a-ah! I care not!" she screamed, "who hath money, hath many
friends!"
"Also," he continued gravely, "it will cost you your life!"
"Am I a fool?"
"No, and therefore you will comprehend that your enemies are legion;
you have been the cause of much suffering, and even of death; you will
not keep your gain and go free."
"What! do you threaten?" she yelled.
"I believe I can protect you from ambush and assassination, but here
poison is a fine art; all who know of her, spit upon the name of
Saloo, and whoever rids the world of Saloo, would be well thought of
by his fellows. Your days would be numbered--worth about a month's
purchase--you must buy your life!"
"Buy it, of you?"
"Yes, in a way--for I am shielding you. Were I to transfer this
frightful business to others"--here he struck the ledger before
him--"and it is the work of several men--would they be silent?"
She was dumb.
Like all bullies, Saloo was an arrant coward. Moreover, she had no wish
to die--as a girl, she had seen one case of poisoning, and it sufficed.
Therefore, she succumbed, though her voice still rose loud and shrill;
and over each payment there was a protracted struggle.
Occasionally as Verona sat with her late grandmother, she could hear
the low growl of a man, and then a high prolonged reply. One day,
as she was arranging Nani's knitting--she now aspired to socks--the
ventilator between the two rooms, which was always shut fast, suddenly
fell open, and a torrent of shrill and distinct abuse instantly flooded
the room.
"What, all this trouble and toil for Chandos, and to save him, and his
good name--'tis a lie, you do it for that girl! Bah, you love her! Now
she is a great lady, do you think she would look at such as you--a pig
of a police wallah--I know her sort."
Verona rose, and hurried over to close the ventilator, and as she
reached vainly for the cord, she heard:
"Come, now, Mrs. Chandos, don't excite yourself. Let us stick to
business."
"But you know Verona will go to England, and never think of you again.
Eh, _speak_? Say you know!"
"Yes, I know," came the reply, "now be good enough to sign here." And
at this instant Verona, with a brilliant colour in her face, succeeded
in reaching the cord, and violently slamming the little shutter. So now
she understood why Mr. Salwey had seemed so determined to avoid her.
Why he scarcely spoke when they met to the grand-daughter of the Earl
of Sombourne, though formerly he had been on the best of terms with the
granddaughter of Nani Lopez! He accepted the change in her fortune like
a stoic, and had tacitly and resolutely relinquished her! She almost
wished she were once more a humble Eurasian--the _protégée_ of his Aunt
Liz.
During these last weeks, those tedious trying weeks at the end of
the rains, Mr. Chandos had been ailing, and the thought of losing
Verona filled him with despair. He could not endure the mention of
her departure, although he knew that she must soon be restored to her
relations, and the Melvilles, who had written out to claim her; Verona
divided her time between Mrs. Lopez in the mornings, and Mr. Chandos
in the evenings; she read to him, talked to him, cheered him, and had
almost persuaded him to return to England with her and see his beloved
Charne.
"Yes, I really think I would die happy, if I could behold it once
more," he exclaimed; "people change--but places do not."
"Then you will come home with me," she urged, "yes, in the same ship.
What a good time we shall have together; the sea voyage will set you
up! There is nothing like the sea."
"Ah," he said, "I've no doubt it would; but what am I to do with
_them_? They could never go home. Imagine my wife in county society--as
Mrs. Chandos of Charne."
"I am now going to ask you what I have never dared to do before. Would
you mind telling me why you married Mrs. Chandos?"
"I married her," he answered, "chiefly to pay my cousin's debts. He
was deeply involved in her father's books. I had backed his bills; he
deserted me and went home; I remained to face dishonour. Miss Lopez,
the money-lender's daughter, was good enough to like me. Her father
offered to release me, if I would make her my wife, and I did"--here
an involuntary sigh escaped him--"for between that and ruin I had no
alternative. Pussy is a good girl; you will be kind to her, I know;
somehow I don't think you and Dominga ever had much in common. Your
aunt has written out for you, I saw her last letter and telegram--what
date does she name?"
"The fifteenth of October, but I can put it off; I will wait until you
feel ready to come home. Even if you do return here--surely you should
see Charne? Yes, and show it to _me_, and wind up all your affairs."
"I will think it over, Verona; somehow when you talk to me, I feel
inspired with hope and courage. I have not been home for twenty-nine
years--to return has always been my dream! Well, my dear, I will sleep
on your advice!"
The next morning a servant coming in early to sweep and dust the room,
discovered his master still sitting in his arm-chair--asleep, with a
beautiful smile upon his face--the smile of one who was happy. Mindoo
had never yet seen the Sahib's expression so serene. But why was he so
still--so quiet?
The question was readily answered--Mr. Chandos had gone home.