The life of Isobel Hannay had not, up to the time when she left England
to join her uncle, been a very bright one. At the death of her father,
her mother had been left with an income that enabled her to live, as she
said, genteelly, at Brighton. She had three children: the eldest a
girl of twelve; Isobel, who was eight; and a boy of five, who was sadly
deformed, the result of a fall from the arms of a careless nurse when
he was an infant. It was at that time that Major Hannay had come home on
leave, having been left trustee and executor, and seen to all the money
arrangements, and had established his brother’s widow at Brighton. The
work had not been altogether pleasant, for Mrs. Hannay was a selfish and
querulous woman, very difficult to satisfy even in little matters, and
with a chronic suspicion that everyone with whom she came in contact
was trying to get the best of her. Her eldest girl was likely, Captain
Hannay thought, to take after her mother, whose pet she was, while
Isobel took after her father. He had suggested that both should be sent
to school, but Mrs. Hannay would not hear of parting from Helena, but
was willing enough that Isobel should be sent to a boarding school at
her uncle’s expense.
As the years went by, Helena grew up, as Mrs. Hannay proudly said, the
image of what she herself had been at her age--tall and fair, indolent
and selfish, fond of dress and gayety, discontented because their means
would not permit them to indulge in either to the fullest extent. There
was nothing in common between her and her sister, who, when at home
for the holidays, spent her time almost entirely with her brother, who
received but slight attention from anyone else, his deformity being
considered as a personal injury and affliction by his mother and elder
sister.
“You could not care less for him,” Isobel once said, in a fit of
passion, “if he were a dog. I don’t think you notice him more, not one
bit. He wanders about the house without anybody to give a thought to
him. I call it cruel, downright cruel.”
“You are a wicked girl, Isobel,” her mother said angrily, “a wicked,
violent girl, and I don’t know what will become of you. It is abominable
of you to talk so, even if you are wicked enough to get into a passion.
What can we do for him that we don’t do? What is the use of talking to
him when he never pays attention to what we say, and is always moping. I
am sure we get everything that we think will please him, and he goes out
for a walk with us every day; what could possibly be done more for him?”
“A great deal more might be done for him,” Isobel burst out. “You might
love him, and that would be everything to him. I don’t believe you and
Helena love him, not one bit, not one tiny scrap.”
“Go up to your room, Isobel, and remain there for the rest of the day.
You are a very bad girl. I shall write to Miss Virtue about you; there
must be something very wrong in her management of you, or you would
never be so passionate and insolent as you are.”
But Isobel had not stopped to hear the last part of the sentence, the
door had slammed behind her. She was not many minutes alone upstairs,
for Robert soon followed her up, for when she was at home he rarely left
her side, watching her every look and gesture with eyes as loving as
those of a dog, and happy to sit on the ground beside her, with his head
leaning against her, for hours together.
Mrs. Hannay kept her word and wrote to Miss Virtue, and the evening
after she returned to school Isobel was summoned to her room.
“I am sorry to say, I have a very bad account of you from your mother.
She says you are a passionate and wicked girl. How is it, dear; you are
not passionate here, and I certainly do not think you are wicked?”
“I can’t help it when I am at home, Miss Virtue. I am sure I try to
be good, but they won’t let me. They don’t like me because I can’t be
always tidy and what they call prettily behaved, and because I hate
walking on the parade and being stuck up and unnatural, and they don’t
like me because I am not pretty, and because I am thin and don’t look,
as mamma says, a credit to her; but it is not that so much as because
of Robert. You know he is deformed, Miss Virtue, and they don’t care for
him, and he has no one to love him but me, and it makes me mad to see
him treated so. That is what it was she wrote about. I told her they
treated him like a dog and so they do,” and she burst into tears.
“But that was very naughty, Isobel,” Miss Virtue said gravely. “You are
only eleven years old, and too young to be a judge of these matters,
and even if it were as you say, it is not for a child to speak so to her
mother.”
“I know that, Miss Virtue, but how can I help it? I could cry out with
pain when I see Robert looking from one to the other just for a kind
word, which he never gets. It is no use, Miss Virtue; if it was not for
him I would much rather never go home at all, but stop here through
the holidays, only what would he do if I didn’t go home? I am the only
pleasure he has. When I am there he will sit for hours on my knee, and
lay his head on my shoulder, and stroke my face. It makes me feel as if
my heart would break.”
“Well, my dear,” Miss Virtue said, somewhat puzzled, “it is sad, if it
is as you say, but that does not excuse your being disrespectful to your
mother. It is not for you to judge her.”
“But cannot something be done for Robert, Miss Virtue? Surely they must
do something for children like him.”
“There are people, my dear, who take a few afflicted children and give
them special training. Children of that kind have sometimes shown a
great deal of unusual talent, and, if so, it is cultivated, and they are
put in a way of earning a livelihood.”
“Are there?” Isobel exclaimed, with eager eyes. “Then I know what I
will do, Miss Virtue; I will write off at once to Uncle Tom--he is
our guardian. I know if I were to speak to mamma about Robert going to
school it would be of no use; but if uncle writes I dare say it would be
done. I am sure she and Helena would be glad enough. I don’t suppose she
ever thought of it. It would be a relief to them to get him out of their
sight.”
Miss Virtue shook her head. “You must not talk so, Isobel. It is not
right or dutiful, and you are a great deal too young to judge your
elders, even if they were not related to you; and, pray, if you write to
your uncle do not write in that spirit--it would shock him greatly, and
he would form a very bad opinion of you.”
And so Isobel wrote. She was in the habit of writing once every half
year to her uncle, who had told her that he wished her to do so, and
that people out abroad had great pleasure in letters from England.
Hitherto she had only written about her school life, and this letter
caused her a great deal of trouble.
It answered its purpose. Captain Hannay had no liking either for his
sister in law or his eldest niece, and had, when he was with them, been
struck with the neglect with which the little boy was treated. Isobel
had taken great pains not to say anything that would show she considered
that Robert was harshly treated; but had simply said that she heard
there were schools where little boys like him could be taught, and that
it would be such a great thing for him, as it was very dull for him
having nothing to do all day. But Captain Hannay read through the lines,
and felt that it was a protest against her brother’s treatment, and that
she would not have written to him had she not felt that so only would
anything be done for him. Accordingly he wrote home to his sister in
law, saying he thought it was quite time now that the boy should be
placed with some gentleman who took a few lads unfitted for the rough
life of an ordinary school. He should take the charges upon himself, and
had written to his agent in London to find out such an establishment,
to make arrangements for Robert to go there, and to send down one of his
clerks to take charge of him on the journey. He also wrote to Isobel,
telling her what he had done, and blaming himself for not having thought
of it before, winding up by saying: “I have not mentioned to your mother
that I heard from you about it--that is a little secret just as well to
keep to ourselves.”
The next five years were much happier to Isobel, for the thought of her
brother at home without her had before been constantly on her mind. It
was a delight to her now to go home and to see the steady improvement
that took place in Robert. He was brighter in every respect, and
expressed himself as most happy where he was.
As years went on he grew into a bright and intelligent boy, though his
health was by no means good, and he looked frail and delicate. He was as
passionately attached to her as ever, and during the holidays they
were never separated; they stood quite alone, their mother and sister
interesting themselves but little in their doings, and they were allowed
to take long walks together, and to sit in a room by themselves, where
they talked, drew, painted, and read.
Mrs. Hannay disapproved of Isobel as much as ever. “She is a most
headstrong girl,” she would lament to her friends, “and is really quite
beyond my control. I do not at all approve of the school she is at, but
unfortunately my brother in law, who is her guardian, has, under the
will of my poor husband, absolute control in the matter. I am sure poor
John never intended that he should be able to override my wishes; but
though I have written to him several times about it, he says that he
sees no valid reason for any change, and that from Isobel’s letters to
him she seems very happy there, and to be getting on well. She is so
very unlike dear Helena, and even when at home I see but little of her;
she is completely wrapped up in her unfortunate brother. Of course I
don’t blame her for that, but it is not natural that a girl her age
should care nothing for pleasures or going out or the things natural to
young people. Yes, she is certainly improving in appearance, and if she
would but take some little pains about her dress would be really very
presentable.”
But her mother’s indifference disturbed Isobel but little. She was
perfectly happy with her brother when at home, and very happy at school,
where she was a general favorite. She was impulsive, high spirited,
and occasionally gave Miss Virtue some trouble, but her disposition
was frank and generous, there was not a tinge of selfishness in her
disposition, and while she was greatly liked by girls of her own age,
she was quite adored by little ones. The future that she always pictured
to herself was a little cottage with a bright garden in the suburbs of
London, where she and Robert could live together--she would go out as a
daily governess; Robert, who was learning to play the organ, would,
she hoped, get a post as organist. Not, of course, for the sake of the
salary, for her earnings, and the interest of the thousand pounds that
would be hers when she came of age, would be sufficient for them both,
but as an amusement for him, and to give him a sense of independence.
But when she was just seventeen, and was looking forward to the time
when she would begin to carry her plan into effect, a terrible blow
came. She heard from her mother that Robert was dead.
“It is a sad blow for us all,” Mrs. Hannay wrote, “but, as you know, he
has never been strong; still, we had no idea that anything serious ailed
him until we heard a fortnight since he was suffering from a violent
cough and had lost strength rapidly. A week later we heard that the
doctors were of opinion it was a case of sudden consumption, and that
the end was rapidly approaching. I went up to town to see him, and found
him even worse than I expected, and was in no way surprised when this
morning I received a letter saying that he had gone. Great as is the
blow, one cannot but feel that, terribly afflicted as he was, his death
is, as far as he is concerned, a happy release. I trust you will now
abandon your wild scheme of teaching and come home.”
But home was less home than ever to Isobel now, and she remained another
six months at school, when she received an important letter from her
uncle.
“My Dear Isobel: When you first wrote to me and told me that what you
were most looking forward to was to make a home for your brother, I own
that it was a blow to me, for I had long had plans of my own about you;
however, I thought your desire to help your brother was so natural, and
would give you such happiness in carrying it into effect, that I at once
fell in with it and put aside my own plan. But the case is altered now,
and I can see no reason why I cannot have my own way. When I was in
England I made up my mind that unless I married, which was a most
improbable contingency, I would, when you were old enough, have you
out to keep house for me. I foresaw, even then, that your brother might
prove an obstacle to this plan. Even in the short time I was with you
it was easy enough to see that the charge of him would fall on your
shoulders, and that it would be a labor of love to you.
“If he lived, then, I felt you would not leave him, and that you would
be right in not doing so, but even then it seemed likely to me that
he would not grow up to manhood. From time to time I have been in
correspondence with the clergyman he was with, and learned that the
doctor who attended them thought but poorly of him. I had him taken
to two first class physicians in London; they pronounced him to be
constitutionally weak, and said that beyond strengthening medicines and
that sort of thing they could do nothing for him.
“Therefore, dear, it was no surprise to me when I received first your
mother’s letter with the news, and then your own written a few days
later. When I answered that letter I thought it as well not to say
anything of my plan, but by the time you receive this, it will be six
months since your great loss, and you will be able to look at it in a
fairer light than you could have done then, and I do hope you will agree
to come out to me. Life here has its advantages and disadvantages, but I
think that, especially for young people, it is a pleasant one.
“I am getting very tired of a bachelor’s establishment, and it will be a
very great pleasure indeed to have you here. Ever since I was in England
I made up my mind to adopt you as my own child. You are very like my
brother John, and your letters and all I have heard of you show that you
have grown up just as he would have wished you to do. Your sister Helena
is your mother’s child, and, without wishing to hurt your feelings, your
mother and I have nothing in common. I regard you as the only relation
I have in the world, and whether you come out or whether you do not,
whatever I leave behind me will be yours. I do hope that you will at any
rate come out for a time. Later on, if you don’t like the life here, you
can fall back upon your own plan.
“If you decide to come, write to my agent. I inclose envelope addressed
to him. Tell him when you can be ready. He will put you in the way of
the people you had better go to for your outfit, will pay all bills,
take your passage, and so on.
“Whatever you do, do not stint yourself. The people you go to will know
a great deal better than you can do what is necessary for a lady out
here. All you will have to do will be to get measured and to give them
an idea of your likes and fancies as to colors and so on. They will have
instructions from my agent to furnish you with a complete outfit, and
will know exactly how many dozens of everything are required.
“I can see no reason why you should not start within a month after the
receipt of this letter, and I shall look most anxiously for a letter
from you saying that you will come, and that you will start by a sailing
ship in a month at latest from the date of your writing.”
Isobel did not hesitate, as her faith in her uncle was unbounded. Next
to her meetings with her brother, his letters had been her greatest
pleasures. He had always taken her part; it was he who, at her request,
had Robert placed at school, and he had kept her at Miss Virtue’s
in spite of her mother’s complaints. At home she had never felt
comfortable; it had always seemed to her that she was in the way;
her mother disapproved of her; while from Helena she had never had a
sisterly word. To go out to India to see the wonders she had read of,
and to be her uncle’s companion, seemed a perfectly delightful prospect.
Her answer to her uncle was sent off the day after she received his
letter, and that day month she stepped on board an Indiaman in the
London Docks.
The intervening time had not been a pleasant one. Mrs. Hannay had heard
from the Major of his wishes and intentions regarding Isobel, and she
was greatly displeased thereat.
“Why should he have chosen you instead of Helena?” she said angrily to
Isobel, on the first day of her arrival home.
“I suppose because he thought I should suit him better, mamma. I really
don’t see why you should be upset about it; I don’t suppose Helena would
have liked to go, and I am sure you would not have liked to have had
me with you instead of her. I should have thought you would have been
pleased I was off your hands altogether. It doesn’t seem to me that you
have ever been really glad to have me about you.”
“That has been entirely your own fault,” Mrs. Hannay said. “You have
always been headstrong and determined to go your own way, you have never
been fit to be seen when anyone came, you have thwarted me in every
way.”
“I am very sorry, mamma. I think I might have been better if you had had
a little more patience with me, but even now if you really wish me to
stay at home I will do so. I can write again to uncle and tell him that
I have changed my mind.”
“Certainly not,” Mrs. Hannay said. “Naturally I should wish to have my
children with me, but I doubt whether your being here would be for the
happiness of any of us, and besides, I do not wish your uncle’s money
to go out of the family; he might take it into his head to leave it to
a hospital for black women. Still, it would have been only right and
proper that he should at any rate have given Helena the first choice.
As for your instant acceptance of his offer, without even consulting me,
nothing can surprise me in that way after your general conduct towards
me.”
However, although Mrs. Hannay declined to take any interest in Isobel’s
preparations, and continued to behave as an injured person, neither she
nor Helena were sorry at heart for the arrangement that had been
made. They objected very strongly to Isobel’s plan of going out as a
governess; but upon the other hand, her presence at home would in many
ways have been an inconvenience. Two can make a better appearance on
a fixed income than three can, and her presence at home would have
necessitated many small economies. She was, too, a disturbing element;
the others understood each other perfectly, and both felt that they in
no way understood Isobel. Altogether, it was much better that she should
go.
As to the heirship, Captain Hannay had spoken freely as to his monetary
affairs when he had been in England after his brother’s death.
“My pay is amply sufficient for all my wants,” he said; “but everything
is expensive out there, and I have had no occasion to save. I have a
few hundred pounds laid by, so that if I break down, and am ordered to
Europe at any time on sick leave, I can live comfortably for that time;
but, beyond that, there has been no reason why I should lay by. I am
not likely ever to marry, and when I have served my full time my pension
will be ample for my wants in England; but I shall do my best to help if
help is necessary. Fortunately the interest of the thousand apiece the
girls were left by my aunt will help your income. When it is necessary
to do anything for Robert, poor lad, I will take that expense on
myself.”
“I thought all Indians came home with lots of money,” Mrs. Hannay said
complainingly.
“Not the military. We do the fighting, and get fairly paid for it. The
civilians get five times as highly paid, and run no risks whatever. Why
it should be so no one has ever attempted to explain; but there it is,
sister.”
Mrs. Hannay, therefore, although she complained of the partiality shown
to Isobel, was well aware that the Major’s savings could amount to no
very great sum; although, in nine years, with higher rank and better
pay, he might have added a good bit to the little store of which he had
spoken to her.
When, a week before the vessel sailed, Dr. Wade appeared with a letter
he had received from the Major, asking him to take charge of Isobel on
the voyage, Mrs. Hannay conceived a violent objection to him. He had, in
fact, been by no means pleased with the commission, and had arrived in
an unusually aggressive and snappish humor. He cut short Mrs. Hannay’s
well turned sentences ruthlessly, and aggrieved her by remarking on
Helena’s want of color, and recommending plenty of walking exercise
taken at a brisk pace, and more ease and comfort in the matter of dress.
“Your daughter’s lungs have no room to play, madam,” he said; “her
heart is compressed. No one can expect to be healthy under such
circumstances.”
“I have my own medical attendant, Dr. Wade,” Mrs. Hannay said decidedly.
“No doubt, madam, no doubt. All I can say is, if his recommendations
are not the same as mine, he must be a downright fool. Very well, Miss
Hannay, I think we understand each other; I shall be on board by eleven
o’clock, and shall keep a sharp lookout for you. Don’t be later than
twelve; she will warp out of the dock by one at latest, and if you miss
that your only plan will be to take the train down to Tilbury, and hire
a boat there.”
“I shall be in time, sir,” Isobel said.
“Well, I hope you will, but my experience of women is pretty extensive,
and I have scarcely met one who could be relied upon to keep an
appointment punctually. Don’t laden yourself more than you can help with
little bags, and parcels, and bundles of all kinds; I expect you will
be three or four in a cabin, and you will find that there is no room
for litter. Take the things you will require at first in one or two
flat trunks which will stow under your berth; once a week or so, if the
weather is fine, you will be able to get at your things in the hold. Do
try if possible to pack all the things that you are likely to want to
get at during the voyage in one trunk, and have a star or any mark
you like painted on that trunk with your name, then there will be no
occasion for the sailors to haul twenty boxes upon deck. Be sure you
send all your trunks on board, except those you want in your cabin, two
days before she sails. Do you think you can remember all that?”
“I think so, Dr. Wade.”
“Very well then, I’m off,” and the Doctor shook hands with Isobel,
nodded to Mrs. Hannay and Helena, and hurried away.
“What a perfectly detestable little man!” Mrs. Hannay exclaimed, as the
door closed over him. “Your uncle must have been out of his senses to
select such an odious person to look after you on the voyage. I really
pity you, Isobel.”
“I have no doubt he is very much nicer than he seems, mamma. Uncle said,
you know, in his letter last week, that he had written to Dr. Wade to
look after me, if, as he thought probable, he might be coming out in the
same ship. He said that he was a little brusque in his manner, but that
he was a general favorite, and one of the kindest hearted of men.”
“A little brusque,” Mrs. Hannay repeated scornfully. “If he is only
considered a little brusque in India, all I can say is society must be
in a lamentable state out there.”
“Uncle says he is a great shikari, and has probably killed more tigers
than any man in India.”
“I really don’t see that that is any recommendation whatever, Isobel,
although it might be if you were likely to encounter tigers on board
ship. However, I am not surprised that your opinion differs from mine;
we very seldom see matters in the same light. I only hope you may be
right and I may be wrong, for otherwise the journey is not likely to be
a very pleasant one for you; personally, I would almost as soon have
a Bengal tiger loose about the ship than such a very rude, unmannerly
person as Dr. Wade.”
Mrs. Hannay and Helena accompanied Isobel to the docks, and went on
board ship with her.
The Doctor received them at the gangway. He was in a better temper, for
the fact that he was on the point of starting for India again had put
him in high spirits. He escorted the party below and saw that they got
lunch, showed Isobel which was her cabin, introduced her to two or three
ladies of his acquaintance, and made himself so generally pleasant that
even Mrs. Hannay was mollified.
As soon as luncheon was over the bell was rung, and the partings
were hurriedly got through, as the pilot announced that the tide
was slackening nearly half an hour before its time, and that it was
necessary to get the ship out of dock at once.
“Now, Miss Hannay, if you will take my advice,” the Doctor said, as soon
as the ship was fairly in the stream, “you will go below, get out all
the things you will want from your boxes, and get matters tidy and
comfortable. In the first place, it will do you good to be busy; and in
the second place, there is nothing like getting everything shipshape in
the cabin the very first thing after starting, then you are ready for
rough weather or anything else that may occur. I have got you a chair.
I thought that very likely you would not think of it, and a passenger
without a chair of her own is a most forlorn creature, I can tell you.
When you have done down below you will find me somewhere aft; if you
should not do so, look out for a chair with your own name on it and take
possession of it, but I think you are sure to see me.”
Before they had been a fortnight at sea Isobel came to like the Doctor
thoroughly. He knew many of the passengers on board the Byculla, and she
had soon many acquaintances. She was amused at the description that the
Doctor gave her of some of the people to whom he introduced her.
“I am going to introduce you to that woman in the severely plain cloak
and ugly bonnet. She is the wife of the Resident of Rajputana. I knew
her when her husband was a Collector.”
“A Collector, Dr. Wade; what did he collect?”
“Well, my dear, he didn’t collect taxes or water rates or anything
of that sort. A Collector is a civil functionary, and frequently
an important one. I used to attend her at one time when we were in
cantonments at Bhurtpore, where her husband was stationed at that time.
I pulled a tooth out for her once, and she halloaed louder than any
woman I ever heard. I don’t mean to say, my dear, that woman holloa any
louder than men; on the contrary, they bear pain a good deal better,
but she was an exception. She was twelve years younger then, and used
to dress a good deal more than she does now. That cloak and bonnet are
meant to convey to the rest of the passengers the fact that there is no
occasion whatever for a person of her importance to attend to such petty
matters as dress.
“She never mentions her husband’s name without saying, ‘My husband, the
Resident,’ but for all that she is a kind hearted woman--a very kind
hearted woman. I pulled a child of hers through who was down with
fever at Bhurtpore; he had a very close shave of it, and she has never
forgotten it. She greeted me when she came on board almost with tears
in her eyes at the thought of that time. I told her I had a young lady
under my charge, and she said that she would be very pleased to do
anything she could for you. She is a stanch friend is Mrs. Resident, and
you will find her useful before you get to the end of the voyage.”
The lady received Isobel with genuine kindness, and took her very much
under her wing during the voyage, and Isobel received no small advantage
from her advice and protection.
Her own good sense, however, and the earnest life she had led at school
and with her brother at home, would have sufficed her even without
this guardianship and that of the Doctor. There was a straightforward
frankness about her that kept men from talking nonsense to her. A
compliment she simply laughed at, an attempt at flattery made her
angry, and the Doctor afterwards declared to her uncle he would not have
believed that the guardianship of a girl upon the long Indian voyage
could possibly have caused him so little trouble and annoyance.
“When I read your letter, Major, my hair stood on end, and if my leave
had not been up I should have canceled my passage and come by the next
ship; and indeed when I went down to see her I had still by no means
made up my mind as to whether I would not take my chance of getting out
in time by the next vessel. However, I liked her appearance, and, as
I have said, it turned out excellently, and I should not mind making
another voyage in charge of her.”