CHAPTER III.
The tank is an integral part of the Indian garden, but the sheet ofwater in Mrs. Glanton's compound was larger and more picturesque thanany Hester had seen. It looked alluring now, framed by gracefulover-hanging branches and flooded by the gorgeous tints of the settingsun which transfigured its stagnant green waters, making them sparklelike a bed of gems.
"Oh, what lovely red water lilies!" exclaimed Hester, as she gazed withdelight on the great knotted tendrils and broad green leaves where thebright floating flowers nestled. "I've only seen white lilies, and nonegrow on our tank. It's only a dreary little pond. Do you think, Mrs.Fellowes, I might possess myself of some of these beauties? They wouldadd just the lacking colour to our white-walled dining-room."
"Well, my dear, I shouldn't think that an unattainable desire, thoughthe stems are strong and fibrous. Come, let's think!----This excessivelylong parasol of mine may prove useful for once as a hook!"
But Hester, with playful agility, was already descending the flight ofslippery steps which led to the darkening water, bent on capturing theprize. Stooping down she made a grasp at one of the nearest lilies, butthe tangled stems were not so easily severed as she imagined.
"Take care, my dear," interjected Mrs. Fellowes with anxious eyes.
Suddenly Hester lost her footing on the slippery stone and found herselfankle deep in water, fortunately not overhead, for she had only slippedone step, the next flat green stone extending a good way out into thewater. Her position, however, looked sufficiently alarming to hercompanion, who uttered a little cry and hastened to extend both herhands to help her.
The signal of distress happened to be heard by two strollers in the walkalongside, divided only from the tank-path by a thin jungly brake,through which the gleam of the water was visible. There was an instantcrashing among the bushes, and in a moment Mark Cheveril appearedthrough the creepers just as Hester emerged from the water with asmiling face, though with dripping skirts, holding her trophy in herhand.
"Too late, Mr. Cheveril, in spite of your sudden display ofknight-errantry!" Miss Glanton's metallic voice rang out from the crosswalk where she appeared, looking by no means amiably on Hester and hercompanion. "You are a rash young person, Mrs. Rayner," she said, in abantering tone. "The idea of venturing down those filthy, slitherysteps! Why, some deadly snake might have been coiled on one of them! Andyour pretty frock entirely ruined! Mrs. Fellowes, what have you beenabout to let a new-comer run such risks?" she said pertly, glancing atthe older lady; whereupon Hester forgot her wet shoes and stockings andruined frock and hastened to defend her friend.
"Oh, indeed, it wasn't Mrs. Fellowes' fault, I even rejected the parasolshe held out--but I've secured my trophy! This, Mrs. Fellowes, is Mr.Cheveril I was telling you about," she said, introducing her friend.
The older lady held out her hand cordially; and when Mark looked intothe refined, kindly face he felt sure that the daughter of thePinkthorpe Rectory would have at least one wholly congenial friend.
Miss Glanton did not seem to approve of the new distribution of herguests, and said pointedly:
"Now, Mr. Cheveril, I must introduce you to my mother's fern-house. Wewere just on our way there when we heard your despairing cry, Mrs.Rayner."
"Oh, come, give me at least the credit of the 'despairing cry,' as youcall it," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I confess my nerves got the better of me.Mrs. Rayner stood the test better than I did. But oh, my dear, you _are_wet, we must see to those soaking shoes at once, they are dangerous!"
"Of course they are, Mrs. Rayner," said Miss Glanton decisively. "Herecomes your husband, who will no doubt carry you off at once."
Hester felt rather like a naughty child when her husband surveyed herplight, with a more annoyed than sympathetic glance, and listenedsilently to the account of her misfortune.
"Of course you must go home at once, Hester, or you'll have a sharpattack of fever."
"Oh, don't be a prophet of evil, Mr. Rayner," broke in Mrs. Fellowes."But it will be wise to go--or, we might retire. I wonder if Mrs.Glanton has one of those delightful charcoal arrangements for dryingclothes?" she asked, turning to the daughter of the house.
"The mater does not possess anything so useful, I fear," repliedClarice, shaking her head.
"I shall go home! A just punishment for my behaviour," said Hesterquickly, thinking there would be compensations, seeing that she wouldcarry off her husband and Mark Cheveril. Her disappointment wastherefore considerable when she perceived that she was to be bundled offalone.
"All right, Hester," said her husband. "I'll call your carriage; andlook here, when you reach home, you can tell the horse-keeper to bringround my mail-phaeton for us.... You are dining with us, I think,Cheveril? I shall drive you home."
"Thanks," responded Mark, "but shall we not accompany Mrs. Rayner? Willthat not be simplest?"--"and pleasantest," he was about to add, when herecollected his semi-hostess was by his side.
"Oh, but you cannot escape so, Mr. Cheveril," she expostulated. "Why,you haven't even paid your respects to my mother yet!"
"You are right. You cannot omit that pleasure, Cheveril," said Mr.Rayner, in a ceremonious tone. "Besides, I was in search of you. TheBrigadier wants to see you; it seems you have eluded him too."
Again the arrangement of the guests did not please Miss Glanton, thoughshe felt willing to speed the parting guest. The two gentlemendisappeared and she had to be contented to bring up the rear with theladies.
The drive between the English habitations in Madras is often long inthat city of "magnificent distances." The sudden tropical dusk hadfallen on the landscape. Her Indian home looked dreary to Hester whenshe reached it. She felt, moreover, depressed by the events of theafternoon, and flung herself into a wicker chair in the verandah. Mrs.Glanton's exposition of her "neutral party" had jarred upon her. MajorRyde's talk was far from inspiring, and this stupid escapade, which hadobliged her to be despatched home like a punished child, and over whichAlfred had looked undeniably annoyed, was vexing. And as for MarkCheveril, he might as well have still been on the _Bokhara_ for all shehad seen of him!
A suspicion of homesickness greater than she had yet felt was stealingover her. The only bright spot seemed Mrs. Fellowes' warm friendship;and she was now to have a fresh proof of it.
The maty boy came dragging a big cage-like coop of bamboo into theverandah. "Dosani Fellowes done send her _jhapra_ for to hook upMissus," was Ramaswamy's rendering of her message.
"What?" asked Hester, laughing. The ayah came to the rescue, havingalready made acquaintance with the useful article then coming intovogue in the fireless bedrooms of Madras.
"Dat boy one humbug! I know all 'bout bamboo. Big chattee charcoal doneput under, it make werry warm Missus clothes."
"That reminds me, ayah, I've got wet shoes and stockings, and skirtstoo," said Hester rising, having in her depressed mood forgotten herplight and its possible consequences.
"Oh, m'am, that's awfulee shockin'," cried the ayah, as she followed hermistress up-stairs and nimbly divested her of her wet garments; and, allexcitement, gave directions for the placing of the _jhapra_ above thecharcoal fire.
Hester then dressed for dinner and hastened to send a note of thanks toMrs. Fellowes for this new proof of her thoughtful kindliness; itspromptitude revealing that her friend must have left Mrs. Glanton'sparty at the same time as herself in order to hasten the dispatch of the_jhapra_.
"We shall make our salaams if you're inclined to go, Cheveril," Mr.Rayner was saying now, having discovered that his smart mail-phaeton wasin readiness to carry him home. Mark responded with alacrity, havingbeen secretly wondering why their departure had not been simultaneouswith Hester's.
Had he been nearer a banyan tree under which an extra buffet had beenplaced for refreshments stronger than tea and iced coffee, he would haveheard, at all events, the reason assigned by a group of men evidentlymore perceptive than friendly.
"Heartless prig that Rayner," said one. "Miss Glanton has
just beentelling me he let his wife drive home alone in her wet clothes. She hadslipped on the steps of the tank trying to catch a water lily and got aducking."
"And do you know the reason he waited? Just that he might swagger homein that new mail-phaeton of his! I've been taking the measure of thatfellow for some time. He's got all the ambition of a thorough upstart.Where he gets all his rupees from every month passes me to guess. Theyaren't earned in the High Court, I'll be bound, for he's only astruggling barrister like myself!"
"And his wife a rector's daughter--told me so herself this afternoonwhen Miss Glanton bestowed her on me that she might sound thepossibilities of that new-comer," chimed in Major Ryde.
"You were in luck, Ryde, having Mrs. Rayner for company. She lookscharming, much too good for that sinister-looking fellow. I wonder toohow he manages to cut such a dash, all the more since his wife is not anheiress."
"What a set of uncharitable sinners you are!" exclaimed a big youth witha benevolent face which had not lost the ruddy hue of a temperateclimate. "I'll just tell you the facts. Rayner happened to volunteerthem over a peg we had together at the Club the other day. First, hecomes of an extremely old family, Rayner being the corrupted form ofRegnier--some chap that came over with the Conqueror----"
"Very corrupted form, I should say," broke in Major Ryde. "Well, whatmore, Stapleton?"
"Oh, well, not much more, only the important fact that he has a largeallowance from his people."
"So that's his tale! Unembroidered, on your honour, Stapleton? Well,anyhow, we'll keep our eye on this meteor--such are not unknown on ourIndian firmament," muttered a man prematurely old-looking, whoseappearance suggested a youth spent in struggling with examinations. "Ihear the new-comer, Cheveril, is going to be Worsley's sub. atPuranapore. Don't envy him his job!"
"No, the Collector seems a thoroughly embittered man," said anotherspeaker. "He should have risen high in the Service, but is credited withbeing slack. He is a favourite in the district though, and a greatshikari, but there have been some quarrels in the town between theHindus and the Mahomedans, and he is said to favour the latter unduly.He hates competition-wallahs, being of the ancient muster himself. Goton badly with his last Assistant, I believe! But I heard lately thatPrinter was really a _mauvais sujet_. Cheveril looks an honest,energetic fellow. I was getting into conversation with him when Raynertacked on and led him away. Now I see they're going off together," heended, glancing at the two retreating figures.
"Well, the possibilities of Mrs. Glanton's party seem pretty nearlyexhausted. I think I shall make my salaams too. More than likely I shallsee Cheveril at the Club and find out what connection he has withRayner, and perhaps give him a bit of a warning too."
Gradually the group under the banyan tree began to break up. Meanwhile,Mark Cheveril had taken his seat beside his host, feeling the bond ofinterest deepened by the knowledge that there were older links betweenthem than he had guessed when, as he wandered in Rhine-land, he hadreceived a letter from his friend Charlie Bellairs, telling him that hissister was engaged to a young barrister from Madras, and was to bemarried in a few days.
Perhaps Mark would have acknowledged that a keen pulsation of regretswept over him, for had not Hester Bellairs been the one woman of whomhe had ever thought as a possible life-companion? He had solaced himselfas best he could by choosing for her, as a wedding-gift, a beautifullittle antique cross which specially delighted Hester. Her little noteof thanks had crossed the sea with him, and lay in his pocket-book, atreasured relic.... And now he was seated by her husband's side.
Mr. Rayner was too much engaged in steering his mail-phaeton and thespirited Australians through the motley crowd of carriages for anypossibility of sustained conversation to be afforded. He was an expertwhip and liked to display his prowess. The comparative silence was,however, welcomed by Mark. It was his first twilight hour in thewonderful eastern land, never more beautiful than in the swiftly-fadingglow of the orange sunset. The evening breeze from the sea was softlystirring the feathery palms which stood sentinel-wise bordering theroad. The aspen-like leaves of the peepul tree made a faint rustlingmurmur, while the glistening foliage was lit up by innumerable points oflight, showers of sparks seemed to dart from every bush, rising evenfrom the grass and glittering against the darkening sky.
"What a wonderful illumination! It looks as if the Milky Way had comedown from the firmament," said Mark.
"Fireflies, merely, and like most other things in life, illusory,"replied Mr. Rayner, with a dry laugh. "When you see them by daylight,they are actually only ill-shaped black flies, though they transformthemselves into angels of light of an evening. Fireflies aren't our onlyillusion in this wilderness, Cheveril. I warn you there are many," headded, in a tone of caution, reminding himself he could not begin tooearly to try to batten down that strain of enthusiasm suggested by hiswife's description of the young man.
But just at that moment his horses were requiring his full attention.They had reached a sharp angle of the road, and had almost run down awayfarer who seemed in such imminent danger that Mark instinctivelyraised his hand, calling: "Rayner, have a care!"
The holder of the reins uttered an angry denunciation.
"If that old man hadn't bestirred himself marvellously he would havebeen under your horses' hoofs," said Mark, "and yet he cleared himselfwith an air of dignity. I hope he isn't any the worse. I say, shouldn'twe pull up for an instant and speak to the old fellow? He seems to bewaiting. Look, he's standing gazing reproachfully at the chariot that sonearly wrought him destruction!"
Mark's eyes were directed to where the light from one of the oil lamps,planted at intervals along the road, fell on the face of thefoot-passenger, a face which instantly attracted him because of acertain wistful, expectant look it wore.
"I think he expects a word of apology, Rayner," he said again.
"Well, he shan't have it, that's all," said his companion shortly. "Heneedn't have been out on foot at this hour. He's got a carriage to drivein! He deserves to be run down. Bah, he's only a half-caste, after all!"
"A half-caste, did you say?" exclaimed Mark. "He interests me all themore because of that! Perhaps you don't know, Rayner, that I too am ofmixed blood. It has always given me a strong feeling of brotherhood withsuch----"
"Take my advice, Cheveril, and pocket that fact," said Alfred Rayner,after a moment's silence. "Mind, I speak as a friend," he added,slacking his horses' pace and poising his whip. "My wife whispered to mesomething of this quixotic fad of yours. She, of course, is too new toIndia to understand, like me, the folly of it. It comes back to me thateven when you were a little kid at Hacket's you used to indulge in sometalk that was unwise. But now that you've got into that fineService--and lucky you are--you must keep a quiet tongue in your headabout that fact. Believe me, not even the Civil Service will carry youthrough if you persist in knocking your head against that post. Andthere's no need, Cheveril," continued his companion, glancing at him. "Iwas just thinking when I saw you crossing that crimson strip with JudgeTeape near you, that he looked much more _chi-chi_ than you did, thoughhe's a pucka Englishman. Not a soul will ever guess it, and depend uponit Hester and I will never breathe your secret. Now there's a compact!"And Rayner bowed graciously.
There was something so offensive in his tone and suggestion that Markwas for a moment struck dumb.
Mistaking his silence, Rayner added, in a patronising tone: "You'retaking offence at what I've been saying, old chap. I assure you it's foryour good!"
"Offence? No, rather I should like to try to bring you to a bettermind," said Mark stoutly. "These prejudices of yours are not new to me.I haven't attained to my years without having them dinned into me athome----"
"Well, perhaps your cure will be best brought about by coming out here,after all! You'll get disillusioned fast enough. Mark my words, I shallenjoy watching the process! A vile, low set are these Eurasians--as theylike to be called. Now look here, Cheveril, I'll make a compact withyou. Watch these crawling cre
atures for six months in silence, withoutdisclosing your connection with them, and at the end of that time I'llgive you leave to proclaim yourself an East Indian!"
"Thanks, Rayner, you mean kindly, I've no doubt, but I cannot enter intosuch a compact with you or any man. Not that I'm vain enough to take itfor granted that all the world is so interested in me or my forebears asto think it necessary to descant on them at every market cross, buttruth and honour must be our shield and buckler," observed Mark in anearnest tone.
It was too dark for him to see the sardonic smile that crossed hiscompanion's face, as he muttered to himself: "High-flown young fool! ButI must at once annex Hester, so that I may preserve him as a usefulfriend in that Puranapore business. I must write to Zynool and tell himto win over the young cub, by hook or by crook, before he cuts histeeth!"
The handsome Australians were now dashing along the avenue, and haltedbefore the broad white flight of steps of the house in Clive's Road,which in the dusk looked a genuine marble palace. Its portico of chunampillars was gleaming like the purest white Carrara. Lamps twinkledeverywhere, for its owner liked a display of light. Through the manyopen windows of the large dining-room one could see the dinner table,with its tall silver lamps, artistic arrangement of flowers, and elegantfurnishings, round which white-robed servants flitted.
Among the gleaming pillars of the verandah stood the lady of the houseclad in shimmering white, with the red water-lilies at her breast and ajoyful smile on her red lips.
"Here we are," said Rayner, throwing the reins to the syce. "If MarkCheveril, I.C.S., will honour my humble abode with his presence," headded with a histrionic air.
"A humble abode, Rayner? Say rather a palace!" said Mark, springing fromthe mail-phaeton.
"Well, a palace if you like," returned his host with the pride ofpossession in his eyes. "And there stands my princess!"
A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life Page 3