THE DINNER-PARTY
At Muktiarbad, the usual form of evening entertainment was a
dinner-party with music and bridge to follow; and Mrs. Bright, wife of
the Superintendent of Police, was specially noted for her hospitality in
this respect. The brief intervals spent at home by her husband between
his rounds of inspection or inquiry in his District were always
celebrated by herself and her daughter as festal occasions; and their
friends were gathered together at short notice to eat, not the "fatted
calf," as that would have offended the religious susceptibilities of the
Hindus who held the animal sacred, but one of the fattened geese kept
available for such occasions.
The ladies did not always accompany Mr. Bright on his journeys about the
District, as they were usually hurried and undertaken with scant
preparation. Very little of the flesh-pots of Bengal sufficed to satisfy
Muktiarbad's Chief of Police, who had been thoroughly broken in to the
rough-and-tumble of official life in the _mafasil_. The presence of his
family in camp was a hindrance to Mr. Bright, and he was better pleased
to return, after his strenuous duties, to the peace of domesticity at
his bungalow in the Station. Moreover, there was little of interest in
the monotony of camping in lonely places for a young girl to whom her
mother wished to give every opportunity of settling in life, whatever
might be her own ideas respecting a vocation. Muktiarbad, though a rural
backwater of Bengal, and pronounced by the gay-minded, a penal
settlement, had matrimonial possibilities not to be despised by anxious
parents with daughters to be happily disposed of.
On the whole, it was a highly social if small community who made the
most of their opportunities for enjoyment, accepting the limitations of
the place to which it had pleased Providence and the Ruling Power to
appoint them, with the usual healthy philosophy which has made India so
rich in memories.
It mattered little if they had to endure the discomforts of the climate
and various inconveniences besides; others were in a worse case. Nor did
it matter if they never reached the goal for which they strove--it was
Kismet!
Fatalism is a habit of mind peculiar to the people of the East, where
the unexpected might happen at any time without warning; and it is not
unusual for Europeans to slip half-consciously into the same mental
attitude.
It is consequently not surprising that, in spite of many lurking
dangers, life in the rural districts is careless and free. Risks of
cholera, sunstroke, and snake-bite, are taken boldly without a thought
of possibilities. India has need of resourceful minds and nerves of
steel; and no use for the faltering and irresolute.
Even Mrs. Bright took chances for her family and friends when her cook
at the eleventh hour sent to Robinath Mukerjea's store in the bazaar for
tins of salmon (the fish procured from a local tank being deemed
inevitably earthy in flavour); for Mukerjea bought his provisions at
sales of old stock from the Army and Navy Stores, vowing they were fresh
consignments from _Belait_; but no one was deceived when patronising his
shop in spite of risks of ptomaine. However, a dinner cooked by Kareem
Majid was an achievement more worthy of a Goanese than a Mohammedan, and
none who dined at the Brights' was ever the worse.
"My dear," Mrs. Bright had been heard to observe in earlier days, "were
it not for Honor and the necessity to cultivate the acquaintance of
one's own child, I should never leave India. How I miss that treasure,
Kareem! He has been with us since we were married, and there never was a
more useful servant. Whether in camp or in my own bungalow, it is just
the same; he rises to every emergency and cooks like a French _chef_. At
a pinch he'll valet my husband. He has even in an emergency fastened the
hooks of my blouse at the back; and when Honor was a child, played with
her when she had the measles and kept her from crying herself into a
fit. When other servants ran away from the cholera, he stayed and did
everything but sweep the floors! And when any one is sick, I have never
known the equal of his 'chicken jugs'! He is so self-reliant, too. I
have only to say, 'Kareem, six guests for dinner tonight. Don't ask for
orders--do just as you please, only don't mention the subject of food as
you value your life!' And he will _salaam_ and say, '_Jo hukum_,' after
which I have no responsibility whatever; dinner up to time, everything
cooked to perfection, and when you think of what an Indian cook-house
is, really, you are overcome with admiration. Can you fancy an English
cook consenting to turn out dinners under like conditions? You get
notice in a day! And who thinks of sparing Indian servants? As many
courses as you like, with a wash-up like a small mountain, which the
_masalchi_ disposes of behind the pantry door on a yard or two of bamboo
matting, with an earthen _gumla_, a kettle of boiling water, and an
unthinkable swab! An English maid would have hysterics."
To make existence possible to the residents of Muktiarbad, there was the
great, straggling bazaar on the outskirts of the Station ready to supply
the necessaries of life. An enlightened confidence in the rule of the
sahibs and in their honour and justice was a tradition with the local
population whose trust in the _Sarcar_ was unbounded; for sedition had
not yet poisoned the minds of the peace-loving, contented agriculturists
and shopkeepers who were as conservative as they were simple. It was
only in outlying villages that occasional trouble brewed when ignorant
and superstitious minds were played upon by malcontents.
Ten minutes' grace was allowed to Mrs. Meredith--no more--and Mr. Bright
offered his arm to Mrs. Barrington Fox and led the way to the
dining-room. Mr. Barrington Fox was seldom to be persuaded into
accepting Station hospitalities; and usually made the time-worn excuse,
as on the present occasion, of inspection duty on the line. The Station,
however, understood it to mean that he had ceased to find pleasure in
his wife's company and was determined not to be victimised.
The dining-room at the Brights' was a large apartment, whitewashed like
a hospital ward, but redeemed by hunting pictures on the walls, graceful
drapery, and good furniture. A _punkha_ with a mat frill hung motionless
overhead, as weather conditions were sufficiently altered to dispense
with an artificial breeze; and the dining table beneath it presented an
inviting aspect with its glittering mass of silver, glass, and flowers.
A draught-screen concealed the door of ingress from the pantry where the
business of serving was carried on by the _khansaman_ assisted by a
group of white-robed domestics. Agitated whispers from behind the screen
were infallible indications of mistakes retrieved in the nick of time;
otherwise, the occasional blow of the ice hammer, or the rolling of the
ice machine on the outer door-mat were the only sounds audible from the
dining-room.
Mrs. Bright, full of confidence in her staff and indifferent to mistakes
which were not inexcusable, showed a complete detachment from the
details of serving while she entertained her guests.
A little reshuffling of the order of precedence, when Mrs. Meredith's
non-appearance was assured, had disposed of Tommy Deare to his entire
satisfaction. Left to shift for himself he moved to the other side of
Honor Bright whom Jack Darling had piloted in. He was a plain,
freckle-faced boy of twenty-two with plenty to say for himself, and a
most engaging smile. In height he was on a level with Honor who was
considered tall; yet, to his disgust, he was referred to as a "little
man." But since it was recognised that "valuable goods are packed in
small parcels," he assured his friends of his inestimable worth, and was
comforted.
"Mrs. Meredith is too absurd about that kid of hers," Mrs. Fox was heard
to remark in the first hush that fell with the arrival of the soup.
"Isn't it the baby who is ill tonight?" to Captain Dalton.
"If I had known, I should have mentioned it," said the doctor above his
soup plate. The rudeness of the reply was characteristic of him.
"I understood from Mrs. Meredith that she and her offspring are in your
charge. How neglectful of you to know nothing!"
"I am ready to attend to them when called in," he replied.
"Then you have not been wanted!" she laughed spitefully. "It must be
very mortifying never to be wanted except when you are of use!"
"A doctor is the one man whom you are only too glad to see the last of,"
said Dalton coldly.
"All the same, I shouldn't be a bit surprised if it's the baby who is
ill, and you are sent for before dinner is over. Mrs. Meredith said it
would be the only reason that would stop her coming," put in Mrs.
Bright, anxious to soothe.
"I hope not, indeed!" cried Mrs. Fox. "For now we've got you we mean to
make you sing. Don't imagine we'll let you off."
The doctor bowed a stiff acknowledgment, which meant nothing, and
entered into conversation with the Executive Engineer on the subject of
a morass which he had condemned in his Sanitary Report, and recommended
to be drained.
"The villagers won't stand it," said Mr. Ironsides. "They draw their
drinking water from that _jhil_, and providing them with wells instead
will not console them for its loss. Incidentally, they use it also for
laundry purposes and bathing," he laughed.
"Exactly. So the sooner it is done away with the better for their health
and the health of the District. Malaria and cholera have their source at
Panipara."
"I hope you are not trying to deprive us of our duck-shooting, Doctor,"
said Mr. Bright in alarm. "We depend upon Panipara Jhil for game in the
winters, and there is little sport besides, in this God-forsaken place."
"It will have to go if you want immunity from sickness," said Dalton.
"If _they_ don't mind it, I don't know why _we_ should. It rages chiefly
in Panipara village itself, and is nothing to us."
"It comes on here afterwards with the flies," said Tommy.
"A few natives, more or less, wiped off the face of the earth hereabouts
would be a benefit to Muktiarbad," drawled young Smart of the Railway
from his seat on Mrs. Fox's right, which, by an unwritten law was always
accorded to him at Station dinners.
"How very unfeeling!" cried two or three ladies in unison.
A vigorous argument arose to which Honor listened, deeply interested.
Panipara Jhil lay a few miles outside the Station, with the village of
the same name lying on its banks. It occupied an area of a square mile
or two of marsh land, was overrun with water-weeds and lotus plants, and
dotted about with islands full of jungle growth and date-palms--a
picturesque but unhealthy spot, dear to lovers of sport.
"The natives haven't the foggiest idea of hygiene," said the doctor
finally. "But they cannot be argued with. They will continue their
filthy habits though twenty to thirty per cent. of them get wiped out by
cholera annually. Drain the _jhil_ and give them wells, and there'll be
little or no sickness afterwards. Incidentally, several hundred _bighas_
of ground will be reclaimed for agricultural purposes, which will be a
benefit to the owner."
"The Government will take its own time to consider the proposition, and
a few years hence, when it has exhausted all the red tape available, it
will be put through," said Honor. "In the meantime, the cholera, like
the poor, will be 'with us always!'"
"I shouldn't be at all surprised," said the doctor meeting her eyes in
swift appreciation of her verdict.
He said no more to her, for others intervened and the conversation
changed.
Captain Dalton looked a trifle more cynical and dissatisfied than usual,
Honor thought. His strong jaw and irregular features hid his thoughts,
but not their reflection which showed a mental unrest. He was clearly
not a happy man, and was plainly a discordant element in light-hearted
company. "A real wet blanket," Tommy whispered in her ear. "If one makes
a joke he either doesn't hear it, or thinks it not worth laughing at.
Something has turned him sour, so he hates to see people happy."
But Honor was not in agreement with him. "I grant he is an embittered
man--he looks it; but he is quite willing that you should enjoy yourself
so long as you don't force your high spirits on him. If one's mind is
not in accord with blithesomeness, one surely might be excused from
taking part in it."
"I do believe you like the blighter?" Tommy cried reproachfully.
"I have every reason to," she answered stoutly.
"Because he cured you of snake-bite? Doctors get a pull over us poor
laymen when it comes to matters of life and death. They do their duty,
and you are grateful for all time," at which Honor laughed heartily, for
Tommy was looking personally injured.
"There's Mrs. Meredith!" he continued. "She talks of him with tears in
her eyes as though he were a saint--Old Nick, more likely!--He has been
endowed with every virtue when he has none, simply because he put the
Squawk to rights." Tommy had seen Joyce that afternoon and went on to
describe his visit. "She was looking topping, so was the kid; which
makes it all the more mysterious, her not turning up. But, my word, she
is pretty! One might be excused for any indiscretion when she makes eyes
at one!"
However, to his disappointment, Honor showed no symptoms of jealousy.
"I'll wager she neglected you for her baby!" She said. "Mrs. Meredith
has no interest in young men."
"She had plenty in me. We grew quite intimate--talked of the weather and
_anopheles_ mosquitoes, and improved the occasion by rubbing _eau de
Cologne_ on the bites."
"How very thrilling! and she forgot all about you the moment you had
left!"
"Everyone forgets all about Tommy the moment he has left," put in Jack,
thinking it about time to remind them of his presence.
He was a handsome young athlete of twenty-five, with the reputation of
having played in the Rugby International. He owned a complexion
inconveniently given to blushing. He and Tommy chummed together in a
three-roomed bungalow near the Police Court and were generally known as
inseparables. Both played polo and tennis with skill and kept the
Station entertained by their high spirits and resourcefulness.
Honor's attention was diverted by an animated discussion among her
elders respecting the duties of a wife and mother in the East.
"A mother is perfectly justified in taking her child home if it cannot
stand the climate," Mrs. Fox was saying.
"I suppose the question to be decided is, whom a woman cares most for,
child or husband--whether she will live away from her husband for the
sake of the child, or from the child for the sake of the husband,
presuming that the climate is not suitable to children," said a guest.
A strident voice was heard to remark that women had no business to marry
men whose careers were in the East, if they meant to live away from them
most of the time. "It's a tragedy for which doctors are mainly
responsible," with a sniff and a challenging glance at Captain Dalton.
"Oh, you doctors!" laughed Mrs. Bright, shaking her finger at him. "See
what mischief you are accountable for!--ruined lives, broken homes!"
"In many cases, it is a charity to part husbands and wives," said the
doctor grimly.
"Hear, hear!" from Mrs. Fox, at which Mrs. Ironsides was shocked.
"I hope Mrs. Meredith will not go home so soon," she said. "It will be a
pity, when she and her husband have been so lately married. Somebody
should influence her to remain and give the hills a trial. They seem to
suit children very well."
"If she goes home it will be nothing short of a calamity," said Honor
quietly, thinking of Ray Meredith's devotion and his wife's
unsophisticated and undeveloped mind. "It would never do unless she
means to return immediately."
"A child of tender years needs its mother," said a lady whose heart
yearned for her little one in England. "No stranger will give it the
same sympathy or care."
"It is a difficult problem to which there is no solution," said Mrs.
Bright.
"I always feel, when I see a wife living for years at home while her
husband remains out here, that there is no love lost between them. The
children serve as an excellent excuse for the separation," said Honor,
colouring at her own audacity in voicing an opinion so pronounced. "No
reason on earth should be strong enough to part those who care deeply
for each other."
"Hear, hear!" murmured Tommy under his breath, while Mrs. Fox laughed
disagreeably. "An excellent sentiment coming from you, Miss Bright, who
have no experience. Long may you subscribe to it."
Honor blushed still deeper. "I have my ideals," she returned.
"I trust they will never be shattered!" the lady sneered.
Again Dalton's eyes met Honor's with strange intentness. Feeling out of
her depth she had looked involuntarily to him for the subtle sympathy,
instinct told her was in his attitude to her, and she had received it
abundantly in the slow smile which softened his expression to one of
absolute kindness. It created a glow at her heart, to linger with her
for the rest of the evening.
"Whenever I used to run home on short 'leave of absence' to see if Honor
had not altogether forgotten me," said Mrs. Bright, smiling
reminiscently, "and dared to hint at an extension, my husband would
squander all his T.A. in cablegrams threatening to divorce me on the
spot in favour of some mythical person if I did not return by the next
mail. Wasn't that so, dear?"
"Gross exaggeration, my love. I could never get you to take a
respectable holiday, for just as I was beginning to enjoy my liberty as
a grass-widower, you would bob up serenely with 'No, you don't' on every
line of your rosy face. It was worth anything, however, to see those
English roses back again."
("The reason why Honor is such a nice girl," a lady once told Captain
Dalton, "is because she has such a charming example of love in her home.
Love is in her bones; her parents are so perfectly united that it is
impossible for Honor to be anything but a good wife. Parents are
immensely responsible for their children's psychology.")
"I have never ceased to thank Providence that I have no children!" said
the wife of a railway official, with a sigh of contentment, "so the
tragedy of separation has never affected me. I can honestly say that I
have never left my husband for more than a day since we married, fifteen
years ago!" and she reared her thin neck out of her evening gown and
looked about her for congratulations.
"Lord, how sick of her he must be!" whispered Tommy under his breath, to
the delight of Jack and Honor. "Life would be stale and unprofitable if
I could not repeat the honeymoon every autumn when my wife returned from
the hills. So thrilling to fall in love with one's own wife every year!"
"Which proves that you will make a very bad husband," said Honor
severely. "Out of sight out of mind."
"He won't talk so glibly of sending his wife to the hills when he has
discovered that she has been carrying on with Snooks of the Convalescent
Depot while he has been stewing in the plains," said Jack with a _blase_
air.
"Since when have you turned cynic, Mr. Darling?" Honor asked,
astonished. "It doesn't become you in the least!"
"Jack had an enlightening holiday in Darjeeling last month when he had
ten days during the _Pujas_," Tommy explained with reprisals in his eye.
"It accounts for his attitude of mind. Having strict principles and a
faint heart, no one had any use for him up there but Mrs. Meredith and
the Y. M. C. A.----"
"Don't listen to him, Miss Bright," Jack interrupted.
"--So in sheer desperation he turned nurse to Squawk and ran errands for
its mother, wondering the while how it was that some men had all the
luck!"
"Draw it mild, I say!"
"And now he sits up half the night composing odes to her eyebrows and
boring me stiff with his sighs."
"Liar!" laughed Jack. "I couldn't write poetry to save my life."
"It doesn't prevent him from trying. Then there's her photograph----"
"It isn't hers, I told you!" Jack protested. "Tommy, you're a villain."
"It's jolly like her, what I saw of it when it fell out from under your
pillow."
By this time Jack was crimson. He relapsed into sulky silence and
devoted himself to his plate with appetite. Honor Bright wanted no
better evidence of the fact that he was heart-whole, though she
continued to wonder whose was the photograph he was treasuring so
sentimentally.
Dinner progressed through its many courses towards dessert, when toasts
were drunk to "Absent Ones," and "Sweethearts and Wives,"--the usual
conclusion to dinners at the Brights'; then, with a loud scraping of
chairs, the ladies rose and filed out of the room.
Later, when the gentlemen appeared having finished their smokes, it was
discovered that Captain Dalton had retired. He had excused himself to
his host on the plea of a late visit to his patient at Sombari, three
miles out, and was gone.
"Dear, dear!" sighed Mrs. Bright. "How very disappointing! Evidently he
had no intention of singing tonight, and I hear he has such a divine
voice!"
"But we don't begrudge that poor girl his attention when she is so ill,"
put in Mrs. Ironsides.
"Indeed, no. I wonder how she is."
"Pretty bad, from all accounts," said Mr. Bright.
"Her poor mother must be distracted. The only real happiness she has in
life is the companionship of this only child. Mr. Meek is so
narrow-minded and autocratic in domestic life. He must be sorry now that
he deprived the child of so many opportunities of innocent amusement."
"Not at all," said a guest. "He will congratulate himself that he kept
her unspotted from the world. Muktiarbad is his idea of unadulterated
godlessness. We are such a bad example to his converts, you know, with
our tennis on Sundays!"
"Poor little Elsie! I hope she will recover," said Mrs. Bright.
Honor felt a distinct sense of depression when she heard that Captain
Dalton had gone quietly away without even a hint to herself that he had
had no intention of staying. It was clear that he had no interest in
remaining; his excuse she disregarded, for he could have visited Sombari
earlier in the evening when he knew that he was engaged to dine out. She
believed he liked her ... but he was "not seeking to marry her," as he
had said to Joyce in camp, so it was her duty to rise above the folly of
thinking too much of a man who would never be anything more to her than
a mere acquaintance. With a determined effort to stifle feelings of
wounded pride and disappointment, she ordered Tommy to the piano to
beguile the company with ragtime ditties at which he was past-master,
and while he played and others sang, notably Bobby Smart, who was not to
be chained to the side of Mrs. Fox, the latter was left to cultivate the
acquaintance of the shy Apollo, Jack Darling, whom the Brights and Tommy
had hitherto absorbed.
Jack met her ravishing smile with a blush of self-consciousness, fearing
all eyes upon himself as he accepted the seat beside her on a
chesterfield. He was so obviously new to the art of intrigue, so
conspicuously ingenuous, that he had the charm of novelty for her. She
believed that Mrs. Bright was manoeuvring to get him for a son-in-law
and was chafing at Honor's lack of worldly wisdom in dividing her
favours equally between him and Tommy whose prospects in life were less
brilliant. The situation was one entirely after her own heart, to make
or mar with impish deliberation. In spite of his comparatively inferior
social standing and unattractive appearance, Tommy was popular with the
girls for his ready wit. He dared to be unconscious of his disadvantages
and stormed his way into the front rank of drawing-room favourites; but
he was too unimpressionable and discerning to suit Mrs. Fox's taste, so
she left him alone to see what she could make of Jack whose
guilelessness was a strong appeal to women of her type. His development
under her guidance seemed the only excitement life had to offer her in
this rural backwater, and she was not one to miss her opportunities.
"I'd dearly love to act sponsor to a boy like you in the beginning of
his career, Jack," she cried with a tender inflection of the voice. "By
the way, I'm going to call you 'Jack'--may I?"
"Certainly, if you care to," he returned awkwardly.
"Oh, you are priceless! What an opportunity you missed for a pretty
speech!" and she laid her hand caressingly on his for a moment to
emphasise her delight in him.
"Why? what should I have said?" he asked, laughing boyishly, and wincing
under her touch. The suggestion of intimacy in her manner somewhat
embarrassed him.
"I should like to see you a few years hence when your education is
complete," she returned, evading his question teasingly. "But you
mustn't marry, or you will be utterly spoilt."
"There is no immediate prospect of that!" he said laughing and giving
away the fact that he was heart-whole. "But won't you take up the job
tonight and begin instructing me?"
"I am sorely tempted to," she replied, smiling affectionately on him.
"You must really learn your possibilities. They are limitless. After
that, everything will come naturally,--assurance, the wit to grasp
opportunities, and a bold initiative, without which a man is no good."
"No good?--for what?" he pressed ingenuously.
"To pass the time with, of course, O most adorable infant!" she laughed
silently, returning his look with an expression of half-veiled
admiration.
In stations where officials came and went with meteoric suddenness owing
to the reshuffling of the governmental pack of human cards, friendships
were as sudden as they were transient. Jack Darling having arrived at
Muktiarbad while Mrs. Fox was at a hill station, their acquaintance was
only in its initial stage.
"Look at Mrs. Fox," whispered Mrs. Ironsides to Mrs. Bright. "She is
doing her best to spoil that nice boy with her flattery! You can tell
that she is pouring conceit into him by the bucketful. Shameless
creature! I wonder her husband doesn't send her home."
"She prefers India," Mrs. Bright showed a restless eye.
"Mr. Smart will be only too glad if Mr. Darling relieves him of his
attendance on Mrs. Fox. Did you notice how he yawned at table while she
was talking to him?"
"He lives in her pocket, all the same, and is always at her beck and
call."
"Was my dear. I have noticed a great change latterly, and I hear he is
going to be transferred. Mr. Fox knows his people at home and is
arranging it."
"And he knows his wife better," said Mrs. Bright with satire. It seemed
at Muktiarbad everybody knew everybody else's affairs.
She allowed a brief interval to pass and then, using her privilege as
hostess, captured Jack on the pretext of sending him to the piano, with
Honor to select his song from a pile of music in a canterbury. By the
time the ballad was finished and a chorus was in full swing, Mrs. Fox
had been carried away by Mr. Bright to make a fourth at auction in
another room.
Jack watched her go somewhat regretfully, wondering the while,
shamefacedly, if he would be able to have another talk with her that
night, and consigning all scandalmongers to perdition, who had dared to
make free with her name. He refused to believe ill of so charming a
lady, and was not surprised that Bobby Smart had found her company
attractive--why not? When a brute of a husband spent all his time down
the line instead of trying to make life pleasant for his wife, it was no
wonder she was obliged to find entertainment for herself in the society
of other men! Hers was a poor sort of life, anyway.
When the party broke up, Mrs. Fox elected to walk home as a tribute to
the glorious moonlight, and Jack was commandeered to act as her escort.
It was a good opportunity for the lady to show that renegade, Master
Bobby Smart, that he was not indispensable. His yawn at dinner deserved
a reprisal.
Bobby Smart, however, was not slow to profit by his release from escort
duty, and wasted no time in pleasing himself. "I'll drop you home,
Deare," he said cheerfully, "and we'll have a whisky-and-soda at your
bungalow before you turn in."
"I should wait till I'm asked," said Tommy lighting a cigarette and
dropping the match in a flower-pot on the verandah.
"I knew you were pining to have me round for a _buk_."[9]
[Footnote 9: Chat.]
"You can come in if you promise to go home by midnight," Tommy
condescended. "I'll not be kept up later."
"On the stroke. That's a jolly good whisky you have. I was going to send
to Kellner's for the same brand today, but forgot."
Tommy climbed into Smart's trap and consented to be driven home. His
hospitality and Jack's was proverbial at Muktiarbad.