A GOOD BILLET
THE unexpected guest, pleading a nervous headache (the result of
fright), did not appear at tiffin, but emerged later in the afternoon,
wearing a subdued expression, and a fantastic loosely-fitting garment,
which gave the uninitiated occasion to marvel how it was put on? and
why it did not come off? It was a confection from Paris, more suitable
to a Parisian artiste than a respectable British widow, and the dogs
looked at each other and winked.
"I just slipped into this," explained Lola to her hostess. "It is so
deliciously light—quite the latest thing in tea-gowns," and she sank
into a chair with a complacent sigh.
"Oh, is it really? I thought it was a _sauté du lit_."
"You can have it copied if you like," kindly ignoring such deplorable
ignorance.
"Thank you," said Angel, demurely, "but it is not a style which would
suit me."
"No, dear, perhaps you _are_ a little too thin. I see you are having
tea out here," continued the uninvited guest. "How delightful! I
daresay some of my friends will drop in to inquire how I got over my
scare—you won't mind?"
"No, of course not; I shall be delighted to see them. Excuse me for a
moment, while I take this telegram to Philip," and Mrs. Waldershare was
left for a moment alone with Sam and John.
They both disliked her most cordially. She jeered at John, and made
rude remarks about his figure—he was extremely sensitive to ridicule.
She sat in Sam's favourite chair, and had once flung him off her lap
with a violence that hurt him. Then they abhorred the atmosphere of
heliotrope and pearl powder, and felt instinctively that the intruder
hated animals, and was a "human" to be most carefully avoided. As
they sat glaring at the interloper, and exchanging their opinions
of her, the lady's friends appeared in a hired landau, Sir Capel,
General Bothwell, and Mrs. Alley-Lacy, who was profanely known as Mrs.
Laissez-Aller, an exuberant, talkative woman of uncertain age and
proclivities, but who was obviously rich, agreeable, and beautifully
dressed, and had come to India, she declared, solely on account of her
health. She could not endure the English climate, and India was an
interesting change from Egypt, where she had wintered hitherto. Mrs.
Lacy might be classed as "an hotel lady," for she had no permanent
home and no permanent ties, and seemed well acquainted with all the
principal hostelries in Europe.
The third visitor was General Bothwell, retired; a wiry, dapper little
man, with a large authoritative-looking nose, a voice to correspond,
and a pointed snow-white beard. He entertained an extremely high
opinion of R. Bothwell, K.C.B., who once upon a time had carried out
an insignificant but successful expedition—and had lived upon his
reputation ever since. He was a terrible correspondent, the high priest
of bore, and his chief enjoyment in life consisted in asking questions,
expounding his views, and proclaiming what ought to be done under
certain circumstances. He had mentally conducted every recent campaign,
and, according to his own account, all the chief men at the War Office
were his personal friends, and he was their valuable adviser. A
widower with ample means, and ample time on his hands, he had just run
down to re-visit his old haunts in order to ascertain how the great
Indian Empire was getting on without him. The General had made Mrs.
Waldershare's acquaintance at the Imperial Hotel and admired her from a
paternal standpoint; her attitude to him and others was that of serene
friendliness and warm interest.
"Oh, how could you desert us, Mrs. Waldershare?" said Sir Capel,
accosting her dramatically.
"See, we have all come in a body to take you back," added Mrs. Lacy,
with a careful kiss.
"You have stolen a march," proclaimed the General; "these are
comfortable free quarters—a good billet. Better than the Imperial!"
"Yes; the Gascoignes have been most pressing," said Lola; "so kind.
They were greatly averse to my staying at an hotel."
She paused. The couple were coming out on the verandah, to find her and
the table thus surrounded. After a few minutes' greetings and talk,
General Bothwell said:
"So I hear you are off, Gascoigne. I met Hawkins at the gate, and he
told me."
"Yes; I've had a wire, and I leave to-morrow for Garhwal."
"About this lake scare—most unnecessary fuss, don't you think so, eh?"
"No; I'm on the other tack—better be sure than sorry."
"Please do explain all about it," said Mrs. Lacy; "I am so interested."
"The explanation is, that an enormous landslip has dammed up a large
valley, and a mountain river, and turned it into a lake, five miles
long and four hundred feet deep."
"That's big enough for canoeing," remarked Sir Capel.
"It's filling at the rate of three feet a day, and as soon as the water
reaches the top of the dam—say in a month or six weeks—the dam will
burst and flood a hundred and fifty miles of country."
"What a sight it will be! I'd give a lot to see it," said Sir Capel.
"Niagara broke loose in India."
"It will certainly be an unprecedented sight."
"And what measures are you engineer chaps taking?" inquired General
Bothwell, with his mouth full of bread and butter.
"Merely precautions. We cannot let the water off under control; all we
can do is to ensure that it escapes down the river bed—without loss of
life."
"Can't be many lives to lose up there," he argued.
"Yes; besides the villagers, there are thousands of pilgrims who pass
down to Hurdwar in May and June, and we are bound to know to a day—in
fact, to an hour—when the flood is due."
"What can you do?"
"We have established a temporary telegraph line from the lake to ten
stations where pilgrims halt, and at good points, from which to control
the traffic. Pillars are erected every half-mile to show the safe
limits out of reach of the flood, and all the principal bridges are
being dismantled. As soon as the water reaches the crest of the dam,
the official in charge will send a warning telegram, for the flood will
travel fast."
"I suppose the natives are terrified out of their senses?" asked Mrs.
Lacy.
"No, not in the least; they think it will pass quietly over the river
bed, and this is the view of the pilgrims, who are furious because
their ordinary route is forbidden."
"By Jove, and I don't wonder," said General Bothwell, combatively.
"Instead of arranging for the outlet of the water, a telegraph line has
been erected—no doubt at immense cost—to apprise people of the danger
of a flood which may come in a month, a year—or never!" and he laughed
derisively. "I think, whoever has hit on the _telegraph_ as a means of
dealing with an engineering difficulty, will look uncommonly foolish."
"I am the culprit," coolly confessed Gascoigne. "To divert the lake
otherwise would cost two million of rupees; India is poor, and there is
not time to erect masonry weirs, outfalls, and shoots."
"And so," said Sir Cupid, "you have resolved to let it slide? And you
believe there will be a big flood?"
"Yes, I am sure of it," replied Gascoigne, with emphasis.
"How I should like to see it."
"I shall see it," announced Angel. "Philip has promised to take me with
him."
"Much against his will," he supplemented, with a laugh.
"But I am going in spite of him," she answered, with a glance of gay
defiance. "I was born in the Himalayas; I am a hill woman."
"Yes; that is certain," said Sir Capel, promptly.
"Pray, how do you know?"
"Because you are not a plain woman."
"How can you be so ridiculous?" she remonstrated, impatiently.
"Surely you are not going off immediately," said Mrs. Alley-Lacy, "to
see this wonderful dam?" bringing out the last word with considerable
unction.
"No, not just yet. I wish I were!"
"And what will become of you?"
"Mrs. Gascoigne and I are going to look after one another," volunteered
Mrs. Waldershare, laying her hand on Angel's arm with an air of
affectionate proprietorship. "I shall take care of her. She is left
in my charge, is she not, Philip?" and she appealed to him with her
eloquent eyes.
Philip was considerably taken aback, but he rallied with his usual
elasticity, and said:
"Oh, Angel has an old head on young shoulders. I shall make her
responsible for the house—and I shall ask Padre Eliot to keep an eye
on both of you."
"Well, Gascoigne," said General Bothwell, standing up and shaking
crumbs out of his beard, "I must confess that I am amused at this
scheme of yours—_I_ don't believe in scaring people, you know. I think
you are on the wrong tack—the wrong tack—but you Engineer chaps are,
in my experience, the most pig-headed branch of the service."
"Still, sir, I think you must admit that we earn our bread and butter?"
"Butter—oh, yes!—you get more than enough of that," retorted the
General, pointedly.
"You won't get any butter in Garhwal," announced Sir Capel, "of any
sort or kind; only black bread and cucumbers—awful grub! I've been up
reading a lot about this water-shoot—all the same I wish you'd take me
with you, Gascoigne."
"In what capacity."
"Oh, as dhoby, dog boy, special correspondent—anything," and Sir Capel
put his hands together, and his head on one side, and looked extremely
ridiculous.
"No, no, my dear fellow," rejoined Gascoigne with a laugh, and a
significant glance at Mrs. Waldershare. "How could the ladies spare
you?"
In two days' time Colonel Gascoigne had left home, and Angel for once
was not disconsolate. She analysed her feelings, dug down deeply into
her motives, and the sensation she there discovered was not sorrow, but
relief. She had been dimly aware of a vague uneasiness, an intangible
dread of developments. All this was at an end now.