I
In the pleasant orchard-closes
‘God bless all our gains,’ say we;
But ‘May God bless all our losses,’
Better suits with our degree.
The Lost Bower.
This is the history of a failure; but the woman who failed said that it
might be an instructive tale to put into print for the benefit of the
younger generation. The younger generation does not want instruction,
being perfectly willing to instruct if any one will listen to it. None
the less, here begins the story where every right-minded story should
begin, that is to say at Simla, where all things begin and many come to
an evil end.
The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder and not
retrieving it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a clever woman’s mistake
is outside the regular course of Nature and Providence; since all good
people know that a woman is the only infallible thing in this world,
except Government Paper of the ‘79 issue, bearing interest at four and
a half per cent. Yet, we have to remember that six consecutive days
of rehearsing the leading part of The Fallen Angel, at the New Gaiety
Theatre where the plaster is not yet properly dry, might have brought
about an unhingement of spirits which, again, might have led to
eccentricities.
Mrs. Hauksbee came to ‘The Foundry’ to tiffin with Mrs. Mallowe, her one
bosom friend, for she was in no sense ‘a woman’s woman.’ And it was a
woman’s tiffin, the door shut to all the world; and they both talked
chiffons, which is French for Mysteries.
‘I’ve enjoyed an interval of sanity,’ Mrs. Hauksbee announced, after
tiffin was over and the two were comfortably settled in the little
writing-room that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe’s bedroom.
‘My dear girl, what has he done?’ said Mrs. Mallowe sweetly. It is
noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other ‘dear girl,’
just as commissioners of twenty-eight years’ standing address their
equals in the Civil List as ‘my boy.’
‘There’s no he in the case. Who am I that an imaginary man should be
always credited to me? Am I an Apache?’
‘No, dear, but somebody’s scalp is generally drying at your wigwam-door.
Soaking rather.’
This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of riding
all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That lady
laughed.
‘For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The
Mussuck. Hsh! Don’t laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. When the
duff came some one really ought to teach them to make puddings at
Tyrconnel The Mussuck was at liberty to attend to me.’
‘Sweet soul! I know his appetite,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘Did he, oh did
he, begin his wooing?’
‘By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a
Pillar of the Empire. I didn’t laugh.’
‘Lucy, I don’t believe you.’
‘Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying,
The Mussuck dilated.’
‘I think I can see him doing it,’ said Mrs. Mallowe pensively,
scratching her fox-terrier’s ears.
‘I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. “Strict
supervision, and play them off one against the other,” said The Mussuck,
shovelling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. “That, Mrs.
Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.”’
Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. ‘And what did you say?’
‘Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: “So I have
observed in my dealings with you.” The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is
coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.’
‘“Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That,
Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.” And I daresay if we
could get to The Mussuck’s heart, we should find that he considers
himself a man of the world.’
‘As he is of the other two things. I like The Mussuck, and I won’t have
you call him names. He amuses me.’
‘He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of
sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog
is too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?’
‘No, thanks. Polly, I’m wearied of this life. It’s hollow.’
‘Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.’
‘Only exchanging half-a-dozen attaches in red for one in black, and if I
fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it ever struck
you, dear, that I’m getting old?’
‘Thanks for your courtesy. I’ll return it. Ye-es, we are both not
exactly how shall I put it?’
‘What we have been. “I feel it in my bones,” as Mrs. Crossley says.
Polly, I’ve wasted my life.’
‘As how?’
‘Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.’
‘Be a Power then. You’ve wits enough for anything and beauty!’
Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. ‘Polly, if you
heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that you’re a
woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.’
‘Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in
Asia, and he’ll tell you anything and everything you please.’
‘Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power not a gas-power.
Polly, I’m going to start a salon.’
Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand.
‘Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,’ she said.
‘Will you talk sensibly?’
‘I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.’
‘I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn’t
explain away afterwards.’
‘Going to make a mistake,’ went on Mrs. Mallowe composedly. ‘It is
impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the
point.’
‘Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.’
‘Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in
Simla?’
‘Myself and yourself,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment’s
hesitation.
‘Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many
clever men?’
‘Oh er hundreds,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee vaguely.
‘What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke by the Government.
Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so
who shouldn’t. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of
conversation he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife in the
old days are taken from him by this this kitchen-sink of a Government.
That’s the case with every man up here who is at work. I don’t suppose
a Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang;
and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.’
‘But there are scores--’
‘I know what you’re going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I
admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian who’d
be delightful if he had the military man’s knowledge of the world and
style, and the military man who’d be adorable if he had the Civilian’s
culture.’
‘Detestable word! Have Civilians culchaw? I never studied the breed
deeply.’
‘Don’t make fun of Jack’s Service. Yes. They’re like the teapoys in the
Lakka Bazar good material but not polished. They can’t help themselves,
poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked
about the world for fifteen years.’
‘And a military man?’
‘When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species
are horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon.’
‘I would not!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely.
‘I would tell the bearer to darwaza band them. I’d put their own
colonels and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I’d give them
to the Topsham Girl to play with.’
‘The Topsham Girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the
salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together,
what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one
accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti’s a
“Scandal Point” by lamplight.’
‘There’s a certain amount of wisdom in that view.’
‘There’s all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons
ought to have taught you that you can’t focus anything in India; and
a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your
roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of
dirt on the hillsides here one day and blown down the road the next. We
have lost the art of talking at least our men have. We have no cohesion.’
‘George Eliot in the flesh,’ interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee wickedly.
‘And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no
influence. Come into the verandah and look at the Mall!’
The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was
abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog.
‘How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There’s The Mussuck head of
goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat like
a costermonger. There’s Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir
Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of
Departments, and all powerful.’
‘And all my fervent admirers,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. ‘Sir Henry
Haughton raves about me. But go on.’
‘One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they’re just
a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon
won’t weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India,
dear. And these creatures won’t talk administrative “shop” in a crowd
your salon because they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks
overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever
knew, and the women--’
‘Can’t talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of
their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.’
‘You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the
subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views
admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and
provided plenty of kala juggahs.’
‘Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a
salon! But who made you so awfully clever?’
‘Perhaps I’ve tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have
preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof.’
‘You needn’t go on. “Is Vanity.” Polly, I thank you. These vermin’ Mrs.
Hauksbee waved her hand from the verandah to two men in the crowd below
who had raised their hats to her ‘these vermin shall not rejoice in a
new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti’s. I will abandon the notion of a
salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do
something.’
‘Why? Are not Abana and Pharpar.’
‘Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I’m
tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to
the blandishments of The Mussuck.’
‘Yes that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to make
your bow yet?’
Mrs. Hauksbee’s mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. ‘I think I see
myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: “Mrs. Hauksbee!
Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice!” No
more dances; no more rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals with
supper to follow; no more sparring with one’s dearest, dearest friend;
no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn’t wit enough to clothe
what he’s pleased to call his sentiments in passable speech; no more
parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla,
spreading horrible stories about me! No more of anything that is
thoroughly wearying, abominable, and detestable, but, all the same,
makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don’t interrupt, Polly,
I’m inspired. A mauve and white striped “cloud” round my excellent
shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold.
Delightful vision! A comfortable arm-chair, situated in three different
draughts, at every ball-room; and nice, large, sensible shoes for
all the couples to stumble over as they go into the verandah! Then at
supper. Can’t you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone away. Reluctant
subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby, they really ought
to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly, sent back by the
hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at
a glove two sizes too large for him I hate a man who wears gloves like
overcoats and trying to look as if he’d thought of it from the first.
“May I ah-have the pleasure ‘f takin’ you ‘nt’ supper?” Then I get up
with a hungry smile. Just like this.’
‘Lucy, how can you be so absurd?’
‘And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you
know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for
my ‘rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve
and white “cloud” over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old,
venerable feet, and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib’s gharri.
Then home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly excellent life helped out
by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down below
there.’ She pointed through the pines toward the Cemetery, and continued
with vigorous dramatic gesture,
‘Listen! I see it all down, down even to the stays! Such stays!
Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red flannel or list, is it? that they
put into the tops of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of
them.’
‘Lucy, for Heaven’s sake, don’t go waving your arms about in that
idiotic manner! Recollect every one can see you from the Mall.’
‘Let them see! They’ll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look!
There’s The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!’
She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite
grace.
‘Now,’ she continued, ‘he’ll be chaffed about that at the Club in the
delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell
me all about it softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy
is too good to live, Polly. I’ve serious thoughts of recommending him to
throw up his commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of
mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child!’
‘Never again,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation,
‘shall you tiffin here! “Lucindy your behaviour is scand’lus.”’
‘All your fault,’ retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, ‘for suggesting such a thing
as my abdication. No! jamais! nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol,
talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any
woman I choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better woman than I puts me to
shame before all Simla, and it’s dust and ashes in my mouth while I’m
doing it!’
She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm
round her waist.
‘I’m not!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummaging for her handkerchief.
‘I’ve been dining out the last ten nights, and rehearsing in the
afternoon. You’d be tired yourself. It’s only because I’m tired.’
Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to lie
down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk.
‘I’ve been through that too, dear,’ she said.
‘I remember,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. ‘In ‘84,
wasn’t it? You went out a great deal less next season.’
Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-like fashion.
‘I became an Influence,’ said she.
‘Good gracious, child, you didn’t join the Theosophists and kiss
Buddha’s big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they
cast me out for a sceptic without a chance of improving my poor little
mind, too.’
‘No, I didn’t Theosophilander. Jack says--’
‘Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do?’
‘I made a lasting impression.’
‘So have I for four months. But that didn’t console me in the least. I
hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me
what you mean?’
Mrs. Mallowe told.
‘And you mean to say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides?’
‘Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.’
‘And his last promotion was due to you?’
Mrs. Mallowe nodded.
‘And you warned him against the Topsham Girl?’
Another nod.
‘And told him of Sir Dugald Delane’s private memo about him?’
A third nod.
‘Why?’
‘What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I am
proud of my property now. If I live, he shall continue to be successful.
Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything
else that a man values. The rest depends upon himself.’
‘Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.’
‘Not in the least. I’m concentrated, that’s all. You diffuse yourself,
dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team.’
‘Can’t you choose a prettier word?’
‘Team, of half-a-dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain
nothing by it. Not even amusement.’
‘And you?’
‘Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature,
unattached man, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You’ll find
it the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be
done you needn’t look like that because I’ve done it.’
‘There’s an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive.
I’ll get such a man and say to him, “Now, understand that there must be
no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and
counsels, and all will yet be well.” Is that the idea?’
‘More or less,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, with an unfathomable smile. ‘But be
sure he understands.’