Some ten days after this John Raby came from the office into the
drawing-room with a letter in his hand and vexation on his face. "Upon
my word, Belle," he began, "you have a most unfortunate turn for
philanthropy, as I always told you. I've no doubt your doctoring that
little croupy imp suggested the idea that we were made up of
benevolence. Sentiment, my dear child, is the devil in business."
"What is it now, John?" she asked, with an effort at lightness. For
all that, her tone made him raise his eyebrows impatiently. There is
no accounting for the jar which comes at times between two natures,
especially when circumstances are emphasising their respective
individualities. This was the case between Belle and her husband; her
conscientiousness being hyper-sensitised by constant self-blame, and
his being dulled by the keen desire to triumph over all opposition.
"Only that bankrupt old warrior appealing through Marsden to the firm
for an annual supply of water from my dam. A cool request, isn't it?
And Marsden, of course, being sentimental as you are, hopes it will be
done. All I can say is, that it is lucky he and you have me to look
after your interests."
"But if it could be done--"
"My dear child, don't you think I'd have done it had the thing been
possible without detriment to us? I don't suppose Marsden thought of
it in that light, but he ought to have done so. I have my faults no
doubt, but I'm not an ogre."
"I wish it had been possible!"
"So do I; but it isn't. Therefore, if you don't mind, I hope you will
refrain from arousing Philip's benevolence more than you can help. I
mean by allusions to the old man and the child. They are a most
picturesque couple, of course, but if sentiment is to come in, I may
as well throw up the whole business. For mind you, Belle, it is just
as well you should know that the factory is bound to be unpopular at
first."
"Unpopular! Why?" asked Belle in surprise. "I thought you said it
would improve the condition of the people immensely."
"After a time. However it is no use discussing it; I shall write to
Marsden and say,--well, I shall say, chiefly, that I also am filled
with pious and benevolent intentions, but that I desire a free hand.
Meanwhile, as I see from Philip's letter that Afzul has been priming
you with pity which you have been handing on, I wish you wouldn't.
Give the old man as much money as you like, of course; but don't egg
my partner on to socialism, there's a good girl." He looked very
bright and handsome as he bent over and kissed her. "Do you know,
Belle," he said, laughingly, "you are the most transparent fraud in
creation. I believe you set the old man on to Marsden; now didn't
you?"
She flushed scarlet. "I only told Afzul when he was speaking of it
that the best way was to write a petition. And Philip was an old
friend."
"Just so; but we don't want old friends, or new ones either, to
interfere. I'm manager of this factory, and I intend to manage it my
own way."
"Do you mean without consulting Philip's wishes?"
He turned round on her sharply as he was leaving the room. "That is
about it. He knows nothing of business, and should be glad to have
some one to act for him who does."
There was, as usual, so much sound common sense in her husband's words
that Belle tried to crush down the dissatisfaction she could not help
feeling at the idea of Philip being made responsible for actions of
which he might know nothing. After all, had it really come to this,
that she did not trust her husband to behave uprightly? The thought
was poison to all peace, and she thrust it aside in horror at its very
appearance. Yet a new element of trouble had entered into life and she
found herself, quite unconsciously, keeping ears and eyes open for
things which she had previously ignored. This did not escape her
husband's keen sight, and in his light, half-serious way he rallied
her on this newly-developed interest in the business. The fact was
they were beginning to understand each other too well; and now and
again a tone came into John's voice which sent the blood to her heart
in a throb of fear and made her grovel, positively grovel, before her
ideal of wifely duty. Then her husband would recover his careless
good-nature, and the household run so smoothly that even Belle's
high-strung nerves scarcely felt a jolt.
So the spring came, bringing to the garden a rush of blossom well-nigh
impossible of description to those accustomed to slow northern lands.
Belle could have picked clothes-baskets full of Maréchal Niel roses
from the bushes and yet have left them burdened with great yellow
cups. The pomegranates glowed with a scarlet positively dazzling to
the eyes; the gardenias were all too strongly scented; the bees and
butterflies drugged themselves with honey from the wild tangle of
overgrown, overblown annuals which, forgetting their trim English
habit, usurped the very paths by thickets of mignonette, sweet pea,
dianthus, and a host of other familiar flowers. Belle, walking round
her domain in the early morning when the nightly gift of dew still lay
on the leaves, used to wonder how serpents could creep into such a
paradise. The very isolation of the life had an irresistible charm.
What was the use of worrying about ideas? Where was the good of
fretting over the mischances of that world which lay beyond this calm
retreat?
Suddenly, however, that world asserted its existence. She had still
kept up her habit of morning rides, and though her husband was now up
with the dawn, he was far too much absorbed in his work to accompany
her save when business sent him beyond his own boundaries. Even
then she began to notice his excuses for escaping her companionship,
and when in her drowsy content she went so far as to express a
half-jesting remonstrance, he would reply in the same tone, that he
had no intention of slaving forever; and that this was his working
day. By and by, when he had turned Marsden adrift, and could have the
whole thing to himself,--why, he meant to have it and enjoy it.
Meanwhile it was much pleasanter for her to ride along the river bank
and through the inundation lands, than in the dust southwards where
his business took him so often. But this level expanse of bare
fruitless soil had an attraction for Belle; and one day, losing her
way on it, she made for the landmark of a village on the horizon, and
thus found herself considerably beyond her usual distance from home.
It was a village with poverty and sloth written on the blistered,
rain-marked, mud walls, and in the absence of fuel-heaps and
thorn-enclosures. A sorry forsaken spot it was, despite the swarm of
low-bred-looking brats who came out to stare at her as she rode at a
foot's pace through the widest lane. A woman stood slouching at the
entrance to a courtyard, and Belle, pausing, asked her the way to
Nilgunj. The scowl on the face raised to hers startled her, so did the
words. "Are you Raby's _mem?_"
Her answering assent met a rude reception in the curt recommendation
to find the way herself, accompanied by a sudden closing of the door.
Then came a shrill clamour of voices from within, and one by one, over
the alley walls, dark disapproving faces full of angry curiosity. The
display of hostility might have gone no further if her horse, restive
at being checked and, no doubt, disliking the crowd of children
following close on its heels, had not sidled and backed, putting the
young imps to hustling flight. This was naturally the signal for
shrieks and abuse from the mothers, and though a touch of the whip
recalled her beast to duty, humanity was not so reasonable. A little
ragamuffin took up a piece of dirt and threw it after her; the others
approved, and though fear of her horse's heels kept the little arms at
a comparatively safe distance, Belle Raby had nevertheless to submit
to the indignity of riding through the village pursued by pelting
urchins, and by no means pleasant abuse from over the walls. Her
indignation was greater than her fear or even than her surprise, and
the scornful glance with which she met the angry eyes on a level with
her own silenced more than one of the tongues. But for a sense that it
would have been undignified, she would dearly have loved to dismount,
seize one of the ringleaders, and administer summary justice. The
possible meaning of this unusual reception did not strike her until,
emerging from the village still pursued by her tormentors, she came
straight upon her husband. His look, as he recognised the position,
filled her with alarm; and there was something in it of such
absolutely uncontrolled passion and hatred, that it flashed upon her
that he, at least, must have good reason to understand the scene.
"John! don't do anything, please don't!" she cried as he threw himself
from his horse. "They are only children."
"I'm not going to run after those little demons, if you mean that," he
replied, giving her the reins of his mount to hold; "but they have
parents, I suppose. I'll be back in a moment. Don't be afraid, Belle;
they are curs, every one of them. But they shall pay for this, in more
ways than one."
He came out five minutes afterwards, followed by a protesting and most
venerable looking pantaloon, representative of that past age in which
a white face was, verily, a sign of kingship. He took no notice of the
lavish appeals and apologies, but, putting his note-book in his
pocket, remounted. "I'm sorry you came this way," he said as they rode
off; "but, as I often say, you have a faculty for getting into
mischief which is surprising in such an eminently virtuous person as
you are, Belle. However, you mustn't do it again. In fact I should
prefer your keeping to my land for the next two or three months."
Belle, given time to think, had lost much of her courage in dismay at
this most unexpected insight into the world beyond her gates. Could
such a state of affairs be necessary? "Why,--" she began.
"My dear child, don't ask _me_ why! I can't supply reason to these
pig-headed brutes. And don't, for goodness' sake, make a fuss over it,
and bring Marsden's soft-heartedness down on me just when I need to
have a free hand. I told you I should be unpopular, and I am; that is
the long and short of it; more unpopular than need be, for somehow the
people have got an idea that I could help if I chose. Why didn't
Marsden put their appeals in the waste paper basket, as I do, instead
of raising hopes by referring to me?"
"Has he been referring to you?"
Her husband looked at her and laughed. "I'm not going to give myself
away in confidence. As I said before, I'm awfully sorry you came out
this way and chanced on that village. It is the worst about here. For
all that, there is no need for any anxiety, I assure you. Afzul and
his bandits are worth a hundred of these curs; and once the people see
I am a man of my word, they will come in sharp enough."
"But if Philip--"
"Bother Philip! He is a trump of course, but I think he has mixed
himself up a little too much in this business. I shall be glad when he
is out of it."
"Surely if you were to explain--"
"My dear Belle, explanation is nothing to demonstration. In six weeks'
time, when the first flood comes, I shall prove myself right, and
waltz in, hands down, an easy winner. That is to say if nobody fouls
me now out of goodness, and righteousness, and all charitableness."
It was one thing to be told this, another to find comfort in it, and
as the days passed Belle grew more and more uneasy. She felt sure all
could not be fair and square; that there must be some antagonistic
element at work to make the unpopularity so intense. Perhaps because
she watched for it so keenly, it seemed to her that discontent showed
itself more and more freely on the faces of the people she did meet in
her now limited walks. One evening she had a bad five minutes
listening to a row in the coolies' quarters with her husband's clear
voice dominating the clamour. She was still pale when he came
whistling through the garden as if nothing had happened. It was only,
he said, a war of words between Kirpo and Afzul. There had always been
a jealousy between them; the latter declaring that such a hideous
female was not worthy to touch any man's bread, for the former had
risen by favour from mere cooliedom, to act as cook for a gang of
Hindu workers; the woman retorting that the hillmen were no better
than pirates, ready, despite their professions of horror at meats
prepared by idolaters, to steal her supplies if her back was turned.
Afzul had of late been growing idle and uppish; so John had sided with
Kirpo in this particular dispute.
"I think Kirpo is rather uppish too," replied Belle. "I heard her
ordering some of the men about as if she was their mistress."
Her husband laughed easily. "Just like a native! The fact being that
Kirpo is useful to me at present, by giving me information I can rely
upon; and she presumes on the fact. When the floods have come I shall
be able to dispense with her,--with a variety of things, in fact. I
shall not be sorry; I hate being beholden to people."
Belle bent her head over her work and sewed faster. "I don't like
Afzul, I don't like Kirpo, and I like the unpopularity least of all.
Oh, John, could you not give way a little? I am sure Philip--"
"Now look here, Belle, I said just now that I hated being beholden to
any one, and you yourself made enough to-do when I borrowed this money
from Marsden. And you've fussed and worried about it ever since,
because you think he consented for your sake. Perhaps he did; and so I
mean to show him he should have consented for his own. I call that a
laudable ambition which should satisfy your pride. Now in my opinion
the only road to success lies my way. That, I think, should settle the
matter once and for all. Of course I am not infallible; but, unless
something very unexpected turns up, you will be laughing at your own
fears this time two months. Now, as I told Kirpo to come up to the
office as soon as it was dark, let me get some peace and quiet first.
I think Haydn would suit me to-day; there is no forced sentiment in
him, jolly old chap!"
So Belle played Haydn, and John dozed in his chair till the darkness
settled deep enough to hide Kirpo as she stole through bye-paths to
the office verandah. There, behind a creeper-hung pillar, she waited
till John's tall figure showed itself at the writing-table. Then she
went forward, and raising the bamboo _chick_ said softly: "I am here,
_Huzoor!_"
"All right! Come in and shut the door."
Some one hiding in the oleander bushes in full view of this incident
muttered a curse, and settled himself down in a new position. So what
Shunker had said was true, and, disfigured as she was, Kirpo still
kept her hold on the _shaitan sahib_. But for a promise he had made to
the usurer not to anticipate the great revenge brewing for John Raby's
discomfiture, Râmu (for it was he, once more out of prison) would have
asked nothing better than to have waited patiently till Kirpo appeared
again, and then in the darkness to have fallen on her and killed her
outright. As it was he sat with eyes fixed on the door, controlling
his passion by the thought of future and less hazardous revenge upon
them both. He had a long knife tucked away in his waistcloth, but it
seemed to him as if he could feel its sharp edge and see its gleaming
curve plunging into flesh. Truly a venomous, dangerous animal to be
lurking among the white oleanders in Belle's paradise, as she sat
playing Haydn, and John, with a contemptuous smile on his face, was
listening to Kirpo's tales. She knew a good deal did Kirpo, but not
all. She did not know, for instance, that her husband lay among the
oleanders, else she might have hesitated in playing the part of spy;
though she was no coward, and her revengeful desires were keen.
By and by she came out, and a crouching, shadowy figure followed her
through the garden, and then struck across the barren plain to the
village which John Raby had described as the worst of the lot; the
village of which Belle used persistently to dream; the village where
even the children looked at her with eyes of hate. Her husband did not
dream of anything. He used to sleep the sleep of the just, and wake
fresh as a lark to the pursuit of the one reality in his life,--money.
And even in its pursuit he was content, because it occupied him so
thoroughly that he had no time to notice minor details. Sometimes
Belle irritated him, but the instant after he would smile; it was a
way women, especially good women, had,--they could not help it.
Sometimes he fell foul in spirit of his senior partner, but not for
long. What were such trivialities in comparison with the main fact of
general success? Belle was a good wife, Marsden a good friend; above
all, the concern was a good concern, a rattling good business; and he,
John Raby, had plucked the plum out of Shunker's very hands. That last
thought was always provocative of a smile.
Meanwhile the Lâlâ was smiling too. The reappearance of Râmu,--who
seemed to keep all his virtue for the purpose of procuring a
ticket-of-leave,--had considerably strengthened the usurer's hands by
providing him with one absolutely reckless tool. When the time came
for setting fire to the carefully laid train he would not have to seek
for a match; and that, when one had to deal with these slow-brained
peasants, was a great gain. With such a leader he looked forward
confidently to mischief sooner or later. Kirpo might tell tales, but
there were some tales Shunker meant to keep secret, till the right
moment came for turning passive opposition into active interference.