A RESERVED LADY.
A hot moonless night towards the end of March, and the up-mail from
Bombay to Calcutta has come to a standstill. The glare from the furnace
and the carriage lamps lights up the ghostly looking telegraph-posts,
the dusty cactus hedge, and illuminates a small portion of the
surrounding jungle. Anxiously gazing eyes see no sign of a station, or
even of a signalman’s hut, within the immediate glare--and beyond it
there looms a rocky, barren tract, chiefly swallowed up in inscrutable
darkness.
There is a babel of men’s voices, shrill and emotional, and not
emanating from European throats, a running of many feet, and above all
is heard the snorting of the engine and the dismal shrieks of the steam
whistle.
“What does it all mean?” inquired a silvery treble, and a fluffy head
leant out of a first-class ladies’ compartment.
“Nothing to be alarmed about,” responded a pleasant tenor voice from
the permanent way. “There has been a collision between two goods trains
about a mile ahead, and the line is blocked.”
“Any one killed?” she drawled.
“Only a couple of niggers,” rejoined the pleasant voice, in a cheerful
key.
“Dear me!” exclaimed the lady with sudden animation; “why, Captain
Waring, surely it cannot be you!”
“Pray why not?” now climbing up on the foot-board. “And do I behold
Mrs. Bellett?” as the head and shoulders of a good-looking man appeared
at the window, and looked into the carriage, which contained a
mountain of luggage, two ladies, a monkey, and a small green parrot.
“Where have you dropped from?” she inquired. “I thought you had left
India for ever and ever. What has brought you back?”
“The remembrance of happier days,” he answered, with a sentimental air,
“and a P. and O. steamer.”
“But you have left the service, surely?”
“Yes, three years ago; it was too much of a grind at home. Formerly I
was in India on duty, now I am out here for pleasure. No bother about
over-staying my leave--no fear of brass hats.”
“Meanwhile, is there any fear of our being run into by another train?”
inquired the second lady nervously, a lady who sat at the opposite side
of the compartment with her head muffled up in a pink shawl.
“Not the smallest; we are perfectly safe.”
“Captain Waring, this is my sister, Mrs. Coote,” explained Mrs.
Bellett. “And now perhaps you can tell us where we are, and what is to
become of us?”
“As to where you are, you are about three miles from Okara Junction;
as to what will happen to you, I am afraid that you will have to walk
there under my escort--if I may be permitted that honour.”
“Walk three miles!” she repeated shrilly. “Why, I have not done such
a thing for years, and I have on thin shoes. Could we not go on the
engine?”
“Yes, if the engine could fly over nearly a hundred luggage waggons. It
is a fine starlight night; we will get a lamp, and can keep along the
line. They have sent for a break-down gang, and we shall catch another
train at Okara. We will only have about an hour or two to wait.”
“Well, I suppose we must make the best of it!” said Mrs. Coote, “like
others,” as numbers of natives flocked past, chattering volubly, and
carrying their bedding and bundles.
“I wish we could get supper at Okara,” said her sister. “I am sure we
shall want it after our tramp; but I know we need not build on anything
better than a goat chop, and the day before yesterday’s curry. However,
I have a tea-basket.”
“I can go one better,” said Captain Waring. “I have a tiffin-basket,
well supplied with ice, champagne, cold tongue, potted
grouse--cake--fruit----”
“You are making me quite ravenous,” cried Mrs. Bellett. “But how are
you to get all these delicacies to Okara?”
“By a coolie, I hope. If the worst comes to the worst, I will carry
them on my head, sooner than leave them behind. However, rupees work
wonders, and I expect I shall get hold of as many as will carry the
basket, and also your baggage; I suppose fifty will do?” and with a
grin, he climbed down out of sight.
“What a stroke of luck, Nettie!” exclaimed Mrs. Bellett. “He used to
be such a friend of mine at Mussouri, and imagine coming across him in
this way! He seems to be rolling in money; he must have come in for
a fortune, for he used to be frightfully hard up. I’m so glad to meet
him.”
“Yes, it’s all very fine for _you_, who are dressed,” rejoined the
other in a peevish voice; “but just look at me in an old tea-jacket,
with my hair in curling-pins!”
“Oh, you were all right! I’m certain he never noticed you!” was the
sisterly reply. “Let us be quick and put up our things. I wish to
goodness the ayah was here,” and she began to bustle about, and strap
up wraps and pillows, and collect books and fans.
Every one in the train seemed to be in a state of activity, preparing
for departure, and presently many parties on foot, with lanterns, might
be seen streaming along the line. Captain Waring promptly returned with
a dozen coolies, and soon Mrs. Bellett’s carriage was empty. She and
her sister were assisted by Captain Waring and a young man--presumably
his companion. Ere descending, Mrs. Bellett, who had a pretty foot,
paused on the step to exhibit the thinness of her shoes, and demanded,
as she put out her Louis-Quatorze sole, “how she was to walk three
miles in _that_, along a rough road?”
The two ladies were nevertheless in the highest spirits, and appeared
to enjoy the novelty of the adventure. Ere the quartette had gone
twenty yards, the guard came shouting after them--
“Beg pardon, sir,” to Captain Waring, “but there is a lady quite alone
in my charge. I can’t take her on; I must stay and see to the baggage,
and remain here. And would you look after her?”
“Where is she?” demanded Waring, irritably.
“Last carriage but one--reserved ladies, first-class.”
“I say, Mark,” turning to his friend, “if she is a reserved lady, you
are all right. He is awfully shy, this young fellow,” he explained to
his other companions, with a loud laugh. “I don’t mind betting that
she is old--and you know you are fond of old women--so just run back
like a good chap. You see, I have Mrs. Bellett and her sister--you
won’t be five minutes behind us, bring on the reserved lady as fast as
you can.”
The other made no audible reply, but obediently turned about, and went
slowly past the rows of empty carriages until he came nearly to the end
of the train. Here he discovered a solitary white figure standing above
him in the open door of a compartment, and a girlish voice called down
into the dark--
“Is that you, guard?”
“No,” was the answer; “but the guard has sent me to ask if I can help
you in any way.”
A momentary pause, and then there came a rather doubtful “Thank you.”
“Your lamp has gone out, I see, but I can easily strike a match and get
your things together. There is a block on the line, and you will have
to get down and walk on to the next station.”
“Really? Has there been an accident? I could not make out what the
people were saying.”
“It is not of much consequence--two goods trains disputing the right of
way; but we shall have to walk to Okara to catch the Cawnpore mail.”
“Is it far?”
“About three miles, I believe.”
“Oh, that is not much! I have not many things--only a dressing-bag, a
rug, and a parasol.”
“All right; if you will pass them down, I will carry them.”
“But surely there is a porter,” expostulated the lady, “and I need not
trouble you.”
“I don’t suppose there is what _you_ call a porter nearer than
Brindisi, and all the coolies are taking out the luggage. Allow me to
help you.”
In another second the young lady, who was both light and active, stood
beside him on the line. She was English; she was tall; and she wore a
hideously shaped country-made topee--that was all that he could make
out in the dim light.
“Now, shall we start?” he asked briskly, taking her bag, rug, and
parasol.
“Please let me have the bag,” she entreated. “I--I--that is to say, I
would rather keep it myself. All my money is in it.”
“And I may be a highwayman for what you know,” he returned, with a
laugh. “I give you my word of honour that, if you will allow me to
carry it, I will not rob you.”
“I did not mean that,” she stammered.
“Then what did you mean? At any rate _I_ mean to keep it. The other
passengers are on ahead--I suppose you are quite alone?”
“Almost. There is a servant in the train who is supposed to look after
me, but I am looking after him, and seeing that he is not left behind
at the different junctions. We cannot understand one word we exchange,
so he grins and gesticulates, and I nod and point; but it all comes to
nothing, or worse than nothing. I wanted some tea this morning, and he
brought me whisky and soda.”
“And have you no one to rely on but this intelligent attendant?”
“No. The people I came out with changed at Khandala, and left me in
charge of the guard, and in a through carriage to Allahabad; and of
course we never expected this.”
“So you have just come out from home?” he observed, as they walked
along at a good pace.
“Yes; arrived yesterday morning in the _Arcadia_.”
“Then this is the first time you have actually set foot on Indian soil,
for trains and gharries do not count?”
“It is. Are there”--looking nervously at the wild expanse on either
hand--“any tigers about, do you think?”
“No, I sincerely hope not, as I have no weapon but your parasol. Joking
apart, you are perfectly safe. This”--with a wave of the aforesaid
parasol--“is not their style of hunting-ground.”
“And what is their style, as you call it?”
“Oh, lots of high grass and jungle, in a cattle country.”
“Have you shot many tigers?”
“Two last month. My friend and I had rather good sport down in
Travancore.”
“I suppose you live out here?”
“No, I have only been about six months in the country.”
“I wish _I_ had been six months in India.”
“May I ask why?”
“Certainly you may. Because I would be going home in six months more.”
“And you only landed forty-eight hours ago! Surely you are not tired of
it already. I thought all young ladies liked India. Mind where you are
going! It is very dark here. Will you take hold of my arm?”
“No, thank you,” rather stiffly.
“Then my hand? You really had better, or you will come a most awful
cropper, and trip over the sleepers.”
“Here is an extraordinary adventure!” said Honor to herself. “What
would Jessie and Fairy say, if they could see me now, walking along
in the dark through a wild desolate country, hand-in-hand with an
absolutely strange young man, whose face I have never even seen?”
A short distance ahead were groups of chattering natives--women
with red dresses and brass lotahs, which caught the light of their
hand-lanterns (a lantern is to a native what an umbrella is to a
Briton); turbaned, long-legged men, who carried bundles, lamps, and
sticks. The line was bordered on either hand by thick hedges of greyish
cactus; here and there glimmered a white flower; here and there an
ancient bush showed bare distorted roots, like the ribs of some defunct
animal. Beyond stretched a dim mysterious landscape, which looked
weird and ghostly by the light of a few pale stars. The night was still
and oppressively warm.
“You will be met at Allahabad, I suppose?” observed Honor’s unknown
escort, after a considerable silence.
“Yes--by my aunt.”
“You must be looking forward to seeing her again?”
“_Again!_ I have never seen her as yet.” She paused, and then
continued, “We are three girls at home, and my aunt and uncle wished to
have one of us on a visit, and _I_ came.”
“Not very willingly, it would seem,” with a short laugh.
“No; I held out as long as I could. I am--or rather was--the useful one
at home.”
“And did your aunt and uncle stipulate for the most useful niece?”
“By no means--they--they, to tell you the truth, they asked for the
_pretty_ one, and I am not the beauty of the family.”
“No? Am I to take your word for that, or are you merely fishing?”
“I assure you that I am not. I am afraid my aunt will be disappointed;
but it was unavoidable. My eldest sister writes, and could not
well give up what she calls her literary customers. My next sister
is--is--not strong, and so they sent me--a _dernier ressort_.”
She was speaking quite frankly to this stranger, and felt rather
ashamed of her garrulity; but he had a pleasant voice, he was the first
friendly soul she had come across since she had left home, and she
was desperately home-sick. A long solitary railway journey had only
increased her complaint, and she was ready to talk of home to _any
one_--would probably have talked of it to the chuprassi,--if he could
have understood her!
Her escort had been an unscrupulous, selfish little woman, whose
nurse, having proved a bad sailor, literally saddled her good-natured,
inexperienced charge with the care of two unruly children, and this
in a manner that excited considerable indignation among her fellow
passengers.
“Why should you call yourself a _dernier ressort_?” inquired her
companion, after a pause, during which they continued to stumble along,
she holding timidly by the young man’s arm.
“Because I am; and I told them at home with my very last breath
that I was not a bit suited for coming out here, and mixing with
strangers--nothing but strangers--and going perpetually into what is
called ‘smart’ society, and beginning a perfectly novel kind of life. I
shall get into no end of scrapes.”
“May I ask your reason for this dismal prophecy?”
“Surely you can guess! Because I cannot hold my tongue. I blurt out
the first thing that comes into my head. If I think a thing wrong, or
odd, I must say so; I cannot help it, I am incurable. People at home
are used to me, and don’t mind. Also, I have a frightful and wholly
unconscious habit of selecting the most uncomfortable topics, and an
extremely bad memory for the names and faces of people with whom I have
but a slight acquaintance; so you see that I am not likely to be a
social success!”
“Let us hope that you take a gloomy view of yourself. For instance,
what is your idea of an uncomfortable topic?”
“If I am talking to a person with a cast in the eye, I am positively
certain ere long to find myself conversing volubly about squints; or,
if my partner wears a wig, I am bound to bring wigs on the tapis.
I believe I am possessed by some mischievous imp, who enjoys my
subsequent torture.”
“Pray how do you know that _I_ have not a squint, or a wig, or both?
A wig would not be half a bad thing in this hot climate; to take off
your hair as you do your hat would often be a great relief! Ah, here we
are coming to the scene of the collision at last,” and presently they
passed by a long row of waggons, and then two huge engines, one across
the line, the other reared up against it; an immense bonfire burnt
on the bank, and threw the great black monsters into strong outline.
Further on they came to a gate and level crossing. The gate of the
keeper’s hut stood wide open, and on the threshold a grey-haired old
woman sat with her head between her knees, sobbing; within were moans,
as if wrung from a sufferer in acute anguish. Honor’s unknown companion
suddenly halted, and exclaimed impulsively--
“I’m afraid some one has been badly hurt; if you don’t mind, I’ll just
go and see.”
Almost ere she had nodded a quick affirmative, he had vaulted over the
gate, and left her.