“I suppose your friends are _hors de combat_?” he continued, as he sat
down beside me.
“My friends--I have none on board. I am all alone,” I replied. I still
felt weak and giddy, and could not restrain the tears which started
into my eyes.
“You must allow me to bring you some chicken broth,” urged the younger
gentleman, who had a clear-cut, clean-shaven face, and wore a fur-lined
coat; and in another moment a steaming cup was in my hands. As I sipped
the broth I felt revived, the keen sea air refreshed me, and sitting
between my two new acquaintances I found myself telling them that I was
going all the way to Bombay, that it was my first long journey, and how
I had been disappointed of the company of my chaperone.
“I hope you have a nice cabin companion?” enquired the old man (I
believe he was about fifty).
I hesitated for a moment, and then indicated my partner, who, at a
little distance, lay extended in a chair bandying good stories and
chaff with a hearty audience of three men. It seemed to me that my
neighbours exchanged hasty glances, and instantly began to talk about
some of the other passengers. Many, I gathered, were still below; we
had a prince and princess and suite on board, a well-known novelist, a
famous actress, but all the notable and wealthy passengers were landing
at Port Said for Egypt.
“After the Canal,” added my new acquaintance, “we shall be an empty
ship.”
At dinner time the weather was calmer, and I ventured to descend, and
found myself once more beside the agreeable officer, who welcomed me
with effusion. During the courses he told me the names of most of those
at our table. My old gentleman was, it seemed, a General Pontifex, who
was _en route_ for Madras, to take up a command; his clean-shaven,
good-looking companion was his nephew, a Mr. Sandars, bound for the
jungle and sport. Captain Bilton (my neighbour) informed me that he was
only going to Gib., but that as far as he went he would consider me his
special charge, and proved as good as his word. He sat beside me on
deck, and subsequently promenaded with me, and, although I assumed my
most distant manner (remembering Linda’s warning), became every hour
more and more friendly and confidential. On the fourth evening, he
suddenly remarked:
“I say, Miss Harlowe, what a ripping necklace you have! I wonder you
dare to wear it on board ship.”
I made no reply, and turned the subject; but when he again returned to
the charge, and said as he stared fixedly at my ornament, “Do excuse
my rudeness, but I must confess one does not often see such topping
pearls!” I felt that I must not allow him to deceive himself, and
replied:
“I am glad you admire them--but they are not real.”
“Oh, nonsense!” he protested energetically, “I think I know real pearls
when I see them.”
“I assure you that I bought these in Regent Street for twenty-five
shillings.”
“What! Well, I never was more deceived in my life--such colour and
shape; they look worth every penny of five thousand pounds!”
“I only wish they were,” I answered unguardedly.
“Why?”
“Because I would not then be on my way to India.”
“But you are going out to your people, and are just the sort of girl
that will have a ripping time!”
“I am afraid you are wrong again--real pearls and ripping times are not
for me! I am on my way to be a governess in Naini Tal.”
For a moment he was too stupefied to speak, his eyes seemed to travel
over me from my necklace, my lace blouse (remnant of better days) to my
neat evening shoes, and he exclaimed:
“By Jove! You don’t say so! Anyone would take you for the daughter of a
millionaire.”
After this evening I seemed no longer to have any special interest
for Captain Bilton; he scarcely spoke to me at meals, and then in an
off-hand, patronising manner, that I secretly resented; yet on deck,
the night of our last conversation, he had assured me he had never in
all his life been so much struck by a girl as by me, and we must not
lose sight of one another. He added that he would write--and send me a
fan from Gib.
How thankful I was that I had received this overture with civil
discouragement, for when we touched Gibraltar, Captain Bilton had so
far forgotten my existence as not even to wish me good-bye!
The Mediterranean was warmer than the Bay, and I was nearly suffocated
by the perfumes in my cabin, for my companion (Madame Garda) would
not suffer the ports to be opened; and really between patchouli and
cigarette smoke, I felt all but asphyxiated. Two days before we reached
Port Said I missed the string of pearls--my sole and paltry ornament: I
remembered that I had worn it the previous night, and taken it off when
I undressed; and now it was gone. I searched very carefully. No, there
was not a trace of it. I applied to Madame Garda when she swung into
the cabin before tea.
“Pearls! Never knew you had such things! We must have a good look.
Imitation, you say? Well, even so, you don’t want to lose them, do
you?” and she good-naturedly went down on her knees, and raked under
the berth with an umbrella, searched all over the floor with her large
bejewelled hands--and found nothing!
“It’s a pity!” she exclaimed, rising breathless. “I do ’ate losing
things myself. Maybe you dropped ’em on deck--them clasps are so
rotten.”
The next day I confided my loss to the stewardess, who came into the
cabin and instituted a most business-like investigation.
“If you say you had them, and hung them on your pin-cushion night afore
last, they’re bound to be in this cabin, and I’m bound to find them!”
she announced with an air of invincible determination. After examining
all my property, she proceeded to turn out madame’s belongings with
reckless disrespect, violently shaking her gowns and petticoats.
“Ah! ha!” she exclaimed, as suddenly, with a clinking sound, my
necklace fell out of the pocket of a gorgeous bath-gown. “I thought as
much!” and she nodded at me with terrible significance; “now you lock
them up, miss.”
“But, stewardess, they are only imitation,” I protested, “and it must
have been a mistake.”
“I don’t hold with those sort of mistakes,” she sternly declared. “Your
pretty sister asked me to keep an eye on you, and so I have. To-morrow
madame goes ashore, and a good riddance. Her liquor bill would frighten
a barman, and after to-morrow, Miss Harlowe, you will have the cabin to
yourself.”
I do not know if madame discovered that her dressing-gown had been
rifled; at any rate, she made no sign, and before she landed bade me
an affectionate farewell, assuring me that “I was a real good, decent
little girl--and she could go round the world with me!”
The important Egyptian crowd went ashore with piles of luggage, maids,
and valets, bent on a season in Cairo, or a trip to Assouan, or even
Khartoum. The remnant left was comparatively a small number; officers
and officials and planters going East, at the end of their leave, to
brave the horrors of approaching hot weather. An Eastern moon lighted
us down the Red Sea, and we had the piano and music on deck. I played
most of the accompaniments, and always those for Mr. Sandars, who had
a beautiful tenor voice and sang some of Wagner’s songs--especially
the prize song from the Meistersinger--delightfully. By this time I
had become well acquainted with him and his uncle; indeed, they seemed
like old friends, particularly the uncle, who had a knack of absorbing
my confidences. I told him all about home, Linda and her _fiancé_
(General Pontifex, it turned out, had been fag to the Admiral, and
invariably burnt his toast and boots) and our losses. I described our
neighbours, our dogs, and even Methusalem, the aged but active pony. In
the mornings I played deck quoits with Mr. Sandars as partner, and in
the evenings after dinner paced up and down the deck with the General,
his uncle.
Besides these, I had made the acquaintance of two ladies--Mrs. Wallace
and Mrs. Mason--wives of officials in Madras, who also sat at our
table, and were charming to me. Oh, how I dreaded the end of the trip,
when I should lose my new friends, and be once more a castaway amongst
total strangers.
The evening before we landed, General Pontifex begged me to give him my
address, and also not to think it a liberty if he ventured to advise
me in one matter. This, I was amazed to learn, was a request not to
wear my beautiful pearls every day, and in all companies.
“India,” he declared, “is a land where jewels are more highly prized
than elsewhere--and yours are magnificent, Miss Harlowe; they invite
envy, and tempt thieves.”
“But they are imitation,” I replied impatiently--I was becoming tired
of making this announcement. “I bought them in Regent Street two years
ago. My sister thought they were too large and remarkable, but I would
have them; they cost twenty-five shillings, and the clasp alone is
real.”
“They look immensely valuable,” he rejoined. “Many people have noticed
them--they have the real sheen. You are _sure_ they are imitation?”
“Positive,” I answered; “if they were real we would have sold them with
the rest of our jewellery, and the old silver and ‘chairs.’”
Mr. Sandars, who happened to be standing by, overheard this
conversation. He also heard Mrs. Mason and Mrs. Wallace requesting me
to write and let them know how I was getting on.
“I, too, should like to hear,” he said, “but I am going into the
jungle, and don’t know my own address; but when I do emerge--I hope I
may have tidings of you--somehow----”
There was something so significant in his glance that I felt my heart
throb, and my face suddenly flame. I realised acutely how honestly glad
I should be to have tidings of Mr. Sandars. But my prudent sister, with
second-hand wisdom, had warned me against certain snares.
“Arthur says that no matter what warm friendships or desperate love
affairs are started on ship-board, they _all_ come to nothing! There is
no one so soon forgotten as a fellow-passenger--he or she goes clean
out of your mind along with all the voyage miseries.”
To my surprise I did not part with the General and Mr. Sandars on the
Apollo Bund in Bombay; we travelled in the same train (but not in the
same carriage), crawling up and down the towering Ghâts, and onwards
across the level, monotonous plains. They visited me from time to time
with offerings of books or fruit, until early one morning we arrived at
Basaule Junction, where they joined a mail for the South.
Here, after the General had said good-bye, Mr. Sandars returned
unexpectedly and, holding my hand for a second, looked at me steadily.
I noticed that his lips were trembling, as they said, “Little girl,
don’t forget me?” then he turned abruptly, and disappeared.
Early as it was, the first of March, Mrs. Hooper was already installed
at “Beverley,” a large, imposing house overlooking the lake at
Naini Tal, and almost directly under Cheena. She received me in the
drawing-room--which gave one the immediate impression of a great deal
of pink. Everything seemed to be of this colour--the covers, curtains,
carpet, lampshades. Mrs. Hooper was a woman of five-and-thirty, tall,
dark, and very handsome, with an alarmingly deep voice. She accorded
me--considering my long journey, and the fact that I was to be “the
daughter of the house”--a surprisingly cool reception. I did not expect
her to kiss me, but after my recent fatiguing experience in a hill
“dandy,” I should have been glad if she had asked me to take off my hat
and have a cup of tea.
“Dear me, Miss Harlowe,” she exclaimed, “you look much younger than I
anticipated--why, you are a mere child!” she added severely.
“I was twenty-one in February,” I replied.
“You might be seventeen! I hope I shall find you competent, healthy,
and above all _steady_,” surveying me with a hard, concentrated stare.
“I hope so,” I assented stiffly.
Then she made searching enquiries respecting the tiresome, cumbersome
parcels I had brought out for her, and, when her mind had been
thoroughly relieved, she raised her voice and called out “Teesie
and Dodo!” and two little girls, who must have been within earshot,
entered demurely; little girls with sallow faces, bright black eyes,
very scanty white frocks, very thin black legs, and equally thin black
pigtails--tied, needless to say, with pink ribbon.
“These are your charges,” she explained. “Dodo and Teesie, this is your
new governess.”
The couple surveyed me in silence. Their expressions reminded me of
our dog, Tack, when he had killed and buried a chicken--fearful, yet
defiant!--and presently my two pupils began to mutually criticise me in
voluble Hindustani, with gesticulations to correspond.
Before very long I found my level in the household. My quarters were at
the back of the house--two gloomy rooms looking straight into rocks on
the hillside, and when on wet days the rain streamed down, the prospect
was excessively depressing.
Here I endeavoured to teach the children, and here we had our meals.
We breakfasted together, afterwards there were lessons and a promenade
along the upper Mall, tiffin in the dining-room with Colonel and Mrs.
Hooper--unless there was company; then more lessons and another walk,
supper, and to bed. Our outings were restricted to the wooded hillsides
of two upper Malls; from whence we caught occasional glimpses of the
gleaming “Tal” a thousand feet beneath us; we were never permitted to
descend and mix with the gay and giddy crowd who were playing tennis
or polo, boating, shopping, or riding. I found that I was expected
not only to teach the little girls, mend their clothes and be their
ever-constant companion, but to wash the peevish Maltese dog, and, when
there was company, was pressed into service to trim lamps, and arrange
flowers.
Mrs. Hooper, a “society woman,” was extremely smart, popular, and
rarely at home; and Colonel Hooper, a stout, bald, good-natured man,
was frequently absent for many weeks on survey. The children had been
disgracefully neglected, and left entirely to the Ayah and servants
(with brief interludes of governesses), and were appallingly wise for
their years.
“Mamma slapped Miss Vincent,” announced Teesie, “and so she left. She
made a bobbery, too, and complained to the Padre. Miss Dodd would not
stay either; she was always crying, and said she was a lady, and would
not wash Motee, or do the dhoby--and went away in a week.”
Vainly did I implore Teesie not to repeat things, but she only cracked
her fingers, native fashion, and shouted at the top of her shrill
voice, “Daddy says you are awfully pretty--the prettiest girl in
Naini--and have a very poor time, and he and mammy had a row--and mammy
said she hated the sight of you!”
It was an undeniable fact that when the Colonel was at home I was
better off. He treated me with every courtesy, sent me the _Pioneer_,
twice escorted me to a gymkhana with the children, and once to a
theatrical performance.
By the end of July I had been five months in India and seen but little
of the country, beyond the woody walks in the upper Mall at Naini
Tal--now wet as sponges in the heavy monsoon--and “St. John in the
Wilderness” on Sunday evenings. Mrs. Hooper attended in the morning,
accompanied by the little girls, who sat on either side of her
with roving, knowing eyes, but otherwise conducting themselves with
surprising discretion. This was the only time their mother desired
their society--she liked to pose (in public) as a devoted parent. I was
by no means the daughter of the house, as Aunt Sophy fondly believed;
in fact, I was more like a maid-of-all-work, but I kept my troubles to
myself, for I knew that it would make Linda and auntie miserable if I
complained, and I hoped at the end of a year to find some loophole of
escape--and go down to Madras, where Mrs. Mason had invited me to pay
her a long, long visit in the Shevaroy Hills.
During these months I had learned Hindustani, had gained the children’s
entire approbation, received some startling confidences, and
experienced an adventure. I was awakened one night by stealthy steps on
the matting in my room, and by the light of an oil wick in a tumbler in
the bathroom I beheld a tall, half-naked native busily opening boxes
and drawers on my dressing table. I sat up and watched him for some
minutes--somehow I was not frightened--I knew the chokedar and a peon
were close by in the back verandah. He seemed to be eagerly searching
for something; at last he drew it out, and it proved to be the string
of pearls! These he held up to the light, felt them carefully, put them
to his lips, licked them, and was about to steal away, when suddenly
I gave a piercing shriek. He started violently, and dashed into the
bathroom.
Meanwhile my screams had been heard, and the house was aroused. The
thief endeavoured to escape through the bathroom window, but it is
quite one thing to climb through a small space at your ease and
leisure, and another to be compelled to do so in a desperate hurry.
After a frantic struggle he wriggled through, and in doing so dropped
his prize--the string of pearls fell out of his turban--but he fled
away into the woods below Cheena scot free.
When Mrs. Hooper heard of the thief’s visit she was terribly alarmed,
and a second watchman was immediately stationed on guard in the
verandah.
“I expect he was after my diamonds,” she declared, “and these Budmashes
are so expert, and so cunning--they always slip off; their bodies are
covered with oil.”
It seemed so strange that there had been two attempts to steal a
miserable little string of false pearls, and I now kept them locked up
in my large steamer trunk, and rarely wore them.
They had immediately attracted Mrs. Hooper’s attention, and she, like
others, listened to the usual explanation, merely remarking:
“I wonder you bought them such a size! To my mind it makes an imitation
look _so_ vulgar!”
Sometimes when ladies had tiffin at Beverley the children and I were
present, but on these occasions Dodo and Teesie were temporarily
suppressed, and I was dumb and self-effaced.
“Mr. Sandars called to-day,” remarked Mrs. Hooper to her visitor, Mrs.
Leith; her tone indicated triumph. “Such a nice, good-looking young
fellow! He has been shooting in the C.P. He is very well connected, and
unmarried.”
“What a chance for some of our spins!” said Mrs. Leith.
“Oh, he doesn’t encourage girls--he is not a marrying man.”
“Look at Miss Harlowe--isn’t she funny and red!” cried Teesie,
directing everyone’s attention to me.
“Perhaps Miss Harlowe knows Mr. Sandars?” said Mrs. Hooper, staring at
me; her voice had a sharp edge, and her eyes were piercing.
“We came out in the same ship,” I explained.
“Oh, was that all?” and, turning once more to her visitor, they began
to discuss a great ball that was to take place at the club, and soon
forgot my existence.
That same afternoon, as I was exercising the children and the dogs in
the middle Mall, I found myself suddenly confronted by Mr. Sandars. He
looked uncommonly smart in his well-cut flannels, and hailed me with an
air of joyous rediscovery. After a brief salutation, he said:
“So these are your charges. How are you getting on?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“I must say you don’t do much credit to Naini Tal air. You don’t look
yourself--or happy.”
“You must not judge by appearances,” I answered gaily. “Remember the
pearls.”
“Ah, yes, I remember the pearls--rather! I suppose you have them still?”