SEEING IS BELIEVING
The recent enlightenment had given Sophy a painful shock; thoughts
troublesome and insistent buzzed about her all day long and kept her
awake at night. At first she had wept and abandoned herself to misery;
then she summoned her strength and will and made plans, hoping that she
would have the courage to carry them out. She resolved to invade her
aunt’s bedroom and discover the true state of affairs. During the last
two or three days Mrs. Krauss had withdrawn into seclusion, being
threatened with one of her so-called “attacks.” On these occasions no
one but Lily was permitted to cross the threshold of her apartment.
Late on the following evening, when the house was quiet and the
servants had departed to their _godowns_, or the bazaar, and the
“missy” was supposed to have retired, Sophy slipped on a dressing-gown
and soft slippers and made her way into the anteroom, usually occupied
in the day-time by her aunt, now dimly illuminated by one electric
light. Before the door of the next apartment hung a heavy curtain
which, when drawn aside, revealed a thick darkness, a peculiar odour,
and the sound of rapid breathing. Sophy groped with her hand along the
wall, found the switch, and the room and its contents were instantly
revealed. A richly-carved bedstead, a masterpiece of Burmese work,
stood in the middle of the floor; at either side were small tables, one
heaped with an untidy pile of books and magazines; on the other were
bottles, glasses and little boxes. In turning the switch Sophy had lit
the bulb which hung directly over Mrs. Krauss’s couch, and there, by
its pitiless glare, she lay fully exposed, sunken in a sleep resembling
a swoon, her splendid black hair lying loose upon the pillows. She
looked woefully old and shrunken, her arms, displayed by an
open-sleeved silk nightgown, were thin and strangely discoloured.
As Sophy stood surveying the scene the bathroom door opened softly and
Lily stepped over the threshold. “Oh, my missy! Whatever are you doing
here?” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
“I am searching for the hypodermic syringe by which you reduce my
aunt,” pointing to the bed, “to this horrible condition. Come with me,
Lily,” leading the way to the outer room. “I have something to say to
you.”
The ayah’s face was almost green; she was shaking all over, but after a
moment’s hesitation she ultimately obeyed in sullen silence.
“I was not aware until two days ago,” resumed Sophy, “that my aunt took
drugs and that you supplied them.”
“I don’t know what the missy is talking about,” stammered Lily.
“Oh yes, you understand, and Mr. Krauss will understand. At present he
has no idea of my aunt’s real ailment.”
“Missy going to tell _him_? Well, if I am sent away to Madras and the
drug taken from the missis she will soon die—you will see!”
Lily’s tone was more triumphant than regretful.
“She will die anyway,” rejoined Sophy, “and it were better that she
should die in her senses than a drugged victim to cocaine. How long has
this been going on?”
“Two, three years—maybe four years.”
“Four years!” repeated Sophy incredulously.
“Yes, missis plenty sick—no sleep getting; doctor ordering small dose
sleep mixture; missis liking too much, taking more and more, and more.”
“And you have kept her supplied—you get it from Ah Shee?”
“If not me, then some other woman. I plenty fond of missis and I kept
her secret.”
“And, no doubt, she has paid you well.”
“Yes, giving money; but too much trouble to get morphia and cocaine and
to keep people from talk. One or two times she took too big dose, and
then nearly die—but missis will have it all the same—die or no die!”
“Well, now, if I promise you one thing will you promise me another? I
will not say a word to Mr. Krauss if you will agree to buy no more
cocaine.”
“I will promise not to give so much; but no more cocaine taking at all,
missis would shrivel up and go out like one bit of paper in a candle! I
will do what I can, missy, but missis always taking plenty—two grains
is nothing.”
“I am astonished,” said Sophy, “that my aunt has never been suspected
of taking drugs.”
“Missy, you never suspect it yourself, and yet you have lived in same
house for fifteen months. It was hard to keep it dark, but all the
servants know. Of course, that is no matter, and as for the big
mem-sahibs, they do not come here _now_.”
“It seems so strange,” said Sophy, “that my aunt should have sunk into
this state—all through one little dose of morphia.”
“Well, you see, missy, she was ill; it was in the rains; she was
awfullee melancholy and depressed, and she had not much to fill her
mind. She did not sew or ride or make music, like you do. Mr. Krauss
was away, she was sick and lonely, and so she got the doctor’s
prescription made up over and over again. If she could have gone to
Europe two years ago she might have cured herself of taking the stuff.
Two—three times she has begun to stop it, but it was no good. I have
talked to her and given her wise words and tried to help her—and
_cheat_ her, but she always found me out; so all I can do or have done
is to stand between her and the other mem-sahibs and hide her—trouble.”
The sound of light footsteps stealing across the veranda caused Lily to
pause—then she added under her breath:
“It is that Moti ayah, missy; she very cunning, same like little snake
and we had better go. I will keep my promise, though it will be plenty
bother; I am glad that you know—for it will make business more easy for
me now there is one less to hide it from.”
Thus the conspirators parted, Sophy having maintained from first to
last her mastery of the situation.
It was not long before Mrs. Krauss became aware, more by instinct than
actual knowledge, that her niece had discovered the real cause of her
illness. One evening as Sophy bent over to kiss her and say good night,
she took her hand in both of hers and, with tears trickling down her
face, whispered:
“Sophy darling, I’ve tried—it’s no use; whatever happens, keep it from
_him_!”
And this was the sole occasion on which Aunt Flora ever alluded to her
failing.