STEALING A MARCH.
As the sun died down, the moon arose above the hills and lighted the
travellers along a path winding by the shores of an irregular mountain
lake, and overhung by a multitude of cherry trees in full blossom.
“Look!” cried Mrs. Brande, joyfully, “there in front you see the lights
of the Dâk Bungalow at last. You will be glad of your dinner, and I’m
sure _I_ shall.”
Two men, who sat in the verandah of the same rest-house, would also
have been most thankful for theirs. The straggling building appeared
full of soldiers and their wives, and there seemed no immediate
prospect of a meal. The kitchen had been taken possession of by the
majestic cook of a burra mem sahib, who was shortly expected, and the
appetites of a couple of insignificant strangers must therefore be
restrained.
These travellers were, of course, Captain Waring and Mark Jervis, whom
the former invariably alluded to as “his cousin.” It was a convenient
title, and accounted for their close companionship. At first Mark had
been disposed to correct this statement, and murmur, “Not cousins, but
connections,” but had been silenced by Clarence petulantly exclaiming--
“Cousins and connections are the same thing. Who cares a straw what we
are? And what’s the good of bothering?”
“I’m nearly mad with hunger,” groaned Captain Waring. “I’ve eaten
nothing for ten hours but one hard-boiled egg.”
“Smoke, as the Indians do,” suggested his comrade unfeelingly, “or draw
in your belt a couple of holes. Anyway, a little starvation will do you
no harm--you are getting fat.”
“I wonder, if I went and sat upon the steps with a placard round my
neck, on which was written, ‘I am starving,’ if this good lady would
give us a dinner? Hunger is bad enough, but the exquisite smell of her
roast mutton aggravates my pangs.”
“You have only to show yourself, and she will invite you.”
“How do you know, and why do you cruelly raise my hopes?”
“Because I hear that she is the soul of hospitality, and that she has
the best cook on the hills.”
“May I ask how you discovered this really valuable piece of
information?”
“From the harum-scarum youth who passed this afternoon. He forgot to
mention her name.”
“Here she comes along by the weir,” interrupted Waring. “Mark the
excitement among the servants--_her_ meal will be ready to the minute.
She must be truly a great woman, and has already earned my respect. If
she asks me to dinner, I shall love her. What do you say, Mark?”
“Oh, I think, since you put it in that way, that I should find it
easier to love the young lady!”
“I thought you fought shy of young ladies; and you must have cat’s eyes
if you can see one at this distance.”
“I have the use of my ears, and I have had nothing to do, but
concentrate my attention on what is evidently to be the _only_ meal of
the evening. I heard the cook telling the khitmatghar to lay a place
for the ‘Miss Sahib.’”
“What a thing it is to be observant!” cried Captain Waring. “And here
they are. By George! she _is_ a heavy weight!” alluding to Mrs. Brande,
who was now let down with a dump, that spoke a whole volume of relief.
The lady ascended the verandah with slow and solid steps, cast a swift
glance at the famishing pair, and went into her own well-warmed room,
where a table neatly laid, and adorned with cherry-blossoms, awaited
her.
“Lay two more places,” were her first commands to the salaaming
Khitmatghar; then to her niece, “I am going to ask those two men to
dinner.”
“But you don’t know them, Aunt Sara!” she expostulated rather timidly.
“I know of them, and that is quite enough at a dâk bungalow. We are not
so stiff as you are in England; we are all, as it were, in the same set
out here; and I am sure Captain Waring will be thankful to join us,
unless he happens to be a born idiot. In this bungalow there is nothing
to be had but candles and jam. I know it of old. People who pass up,
are like a swarm of locusts, and leave nothing behind them, but empty
tins and bottles. Now _I_ can give him club mutton and champagne.”
Having carefully arranged her dress, put on her two best diamond rings,
and a blue cap (N.B.--Blue had always been her colour), Mrs. Brande
sailed out into the verandah, and thus accosted the strangers--
“I shall be very happy if you two gentlemen will dine with me in my
rooms.”
“You are really too good,” returned Captain Waring, springing to his
feet and making a somewhat exaggerated bow. “We shall be delighted,
for there seems no prospect of our getting anything to eat before
to-morrow.”
“You shall have something to eat in less than five minutes,” was Mrs.
Brande’s reassuring answer, as she led the way to her own apartment.
“This,” waving her hand towards Honor, “is my niece, Miss Gordon, just
out from England. I am Mrs. Brande--my husband is in the Council.”
“We have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Gordon before,” said Captain
Waring; “this will not be the first time we have sat at the same
table,” and he glanced at her, with sly significance.
“Yes,” faltered Honor, with a heightened colour, as she bowed and
shook hands with Mark. “This is the gentleman of whom I told you, Aunt
Sara, who rescued me when I was left alone in the train.”
“Ah! indeed,” said Mrs. Brande, sitting down as she spoke, and
deliberately unfolding her serviette, “I’m sure I’m greatly obliged
to him,” but she secretly wished that on that occasion Honor had been
befriended by his rich associate.
“Let me introduce him to you, Mrs. Brande--his name is Jervis,” said
Captain Waring, with his most jovial air. “He is young, idle, and
unmarried. My name is Waring. I was in the Rutlands, but I chucked the
service some time ago.”
“Well, now we know all about each other” (oh, deluded lady!) “let us
begin our dinner,” said Mrs. Brande. “I am sure we are all starving.”
Dinner proved to be excellent, and included mahseer from the lake, wild
duck from the marshes, and club mutton. No! Mrs. Brande’s “chef” had
not been over praised. At first every one (especially the hostess and
Clarence Waring) was too frankly hungry to talk, but after a time they
began to discuss the weather, the local insects, and their journey--not
in the formal manner common to Britons on their mournful travels--but
in a friendly, homely fashion, suitable to a whitewashed apartment,
with the hostess’s bed in one corner.
Whilst the two men conversed with her niece, Mrs. Brande critically
surveyed them, “took stock” as she said to herself. Captain Waring was
a man of five or six and thirty, well set up, and soldierly looking;
he had dark cropped hair, bold merry eyes, and was handsome, though
sunburnt to a deep tan, and his face was deeply lined--those in his
forehead looking as if they had been ruled and cut into the very
bone--nevertheless, his habitual expression was as gay and animated
as that of Toby Joy himself. He had an extremely well-to-do air
(undoubtedly had never known a money care in his life), he wore his
clothes with ease, they fitted him admirably, his watch, studs, and
linen were of the finest quality; moreover, he appreciated a good
dinner, seemed to accept the best of everything as a matter of course,
and looked about intelligently for peppers and sauces, which were
fortunately forthcoming.
“The companion,” as Mrs. Brande mentally called him, was a younger man,
in fact a mere youth of about two and twenty, well set up, squarely
built, with good shoulders and a determined mouth and chin. He wore
a suit of flannels, a silver watch, with a leather chain, and looked
exactly what he was--an idle, poor hanger-on!
Mrs. Brande left him to talk to Honor, and indeed entirely neglected
him for his more important kinsman. Her niece was secretly aware of
(and resented) her aunt’s preference, and redoubled her efforts to
entertain her slighted fellow-traveller. She had a fellow-feeling for
him also. Were they not both dependents--both poor relations?
“Well, Captain Waring, so you are coming up to see Shirani?” said Mrs.
Brande, with her most gracious air.
“Yes, and I rather want to recall old times out here, and have a nice
lazy summer in the hills.”
“Then you have been in India all the winter?” (The inspection of his
kit the crafty lady kept to herself.)
“Yes. We came out in October. Had a bit of a shoot in Travancore, and
had a couple of months in Calcutta.”
“Then perhaps you came across a Miss Paske, there? Though I don’t
suppose she was in the Government House set. Her uncle is a nobody.”
“To be sure. We know Miss Paske, don’t we, Mark? She was very much in
the Government House set. All the A.D.C’s adored her. A little bit of a
thing, with tow-coloured, fluffy hair, and a _nez retroussé_.”
“I know nothing about her nose or hair, but she is at Shirani now.”
“You don’t say so! I am delighted to hear it. She is capital fun!”
Mrs. Brande’s face fell. She sat crumbling her bread for some seconds,
and then said absently, “Did you notice those monkeys on the way up?”
She had a peculiar habit of suddenly jumping from one topic to another,
figuratively, at the opposite pole. She declared that her ideas
travelled at times faster than her speech. Possibly she had her own
consecutive, if rapid, train of thought, and may thus have connected
Miss Paske with apes.
“Yes, swarms of those old grey fellows with black faces. I suppose they
have a fair club at Shirani, and keep up the whist-room? Are there many
men who play?”
“Only too many. I don’t approve of cards--at least gambling. I do love
a game of whist--I play a half-anna stamp on the rubber, just to give
it a little interest.”
“Do they play high at Shirani?” he asked with a touch of impatience.
“Yes, I believe they do; and that horrid old Colonel Sladen is the
worst of all.”
“What! is he still up here? he used to play a first-class rubber.”
“He will play anything--high or low stakes--at either night or day--he
pays--his wife pays,” concluded Mrs. Brande, looking quite ferocious.
“Oh, is she out again? Nice little woman.”
“Out _again_! She has never been home yet,” and she proceeded to detail
that lady’s grievances, whilst her companion’s roving eyes settled on
his cousin and Miss Gordon.
She was a remarkable-looking, even fascinating girl, quite different
to his impression of her at first sight. She had a radiant smile,
wonderfully expressive eyes (those eyes alone made her beautiful, and
lifted her completely out of the commonplace), and a high-bred air.
Strange that she should be related to this vulgar old woman, and little
did the vulgar old woman guess how she had been championed by her
English niece. The moon shining full on the lake tempted the whole
party out of doors. Captain Waring made a basely ungrateful (but wholly
vain) attempt to exchange ladies with his friend. Mrs. Brande, however,
loudly called upon him to attend her, as she paced slowly down to the
road; and as he lit his cigar at his cousin’s, he muttered angrily
under his moustache--
“I call _this_ beastly unfair. I had the old girl all dinner time.
You’ve got six to four the best of it!”