CHAPTER XXXIV.
Alfred Rayner in disguise, limping over the hard road with his barebrown-stained feet, and trammelled by his unwonted garb, made slowprogress. At length he reached the railway station. It was empty savefor a few stray passengers who had stepped out of a train which had juststeamed in. He hurried to the ticket-office, and adapting his "munshi"acquired Tamil as closely as possible to the servants' patois, asked fora third-class ticket for Beypore, the clerk volunteering the informationthat a train was just starting.
Rayner hurried to the platform and saw some passengers, all natives,scrambling into the carriages of the waiting train with many bundles andmuch vociferation. He reckoned himself fortunate to secure an empty one,and seated himself on the hard bench with a relieved air.
"Off at last, and not a single pair of eyes to pry on me--or worse,thank goodness!" he muttered. "There might have been a force of policelying in wait. But who would recognise the defaulting barrister in thisold hag of an ayah? I mustn't forget for one instant that I am an oldayah, or else woe betide me!"
The fugitive tried to make himself as comfortable as his circumstanceswould admit, resolving to secure a period of sleep and at the firstbreak in the journey to fortify himself by a good breakfast. This,however, he feared might not be for some time seeing the train, for anexpress, was going at an unaccountably slow pace. Sheer exhaustion cameto his aid, and he fell into a deep sleep, only to awake when the trainpulled up at a station.
"Now for some breakfast, I'm desperately hungry!" he said, yawning andstretching himself with an air of satisfaction, which soon changed tobewilderment when he observed that the few passengers were all tumblingout of their respective carriages, and that the train had evidentlyreached its terminus.
Rubbing his eyes he peered out, perceiving to his dismay the familiarstation of Puranapore. Mistaking this train for the express for Beypore,he had been carried to the place which of all others he would havewished to avoid.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, throwing himself back on the carnage bench."And the very first person I see may be Zynool himself!" Then to hisrelief he remembered that, after all, he appeared as an old Hindu ayah,on whom the haughty Mussulman would not deign to look.
He slipped out of the carriage, saying to himself: "I must feignrheumatics and limp a bit!"
In spite of his confidence in his disguise, he could not help glancingfurtively round. Nobody, however, seemed to be taking any account of theharmless looking old woman. In fact, there seemed to be some absorbingpreoccupation filling the minds of all the bystanders. The new arrivalshung about with an air of trouble on their faces, their bundlesdeposited by their sides, as they listened open-mouthed to the nativeporters, who were expatiating volubly on some matter which was evidentlyof general interest. The Eurasian station-master had a worried air, and,in coming in contact with the supposed ayah, bustled her unceremoniouslyaside.
The question with Rayner, meanwhile, was not to discover the topic ofinterest, but how he could proceed to Beypore. This involved someinquiries, and he was timid in his first attempts at personating hisfictitious character.
"After all, I'm not an ancient crone but a man of the world," he assuredhimself, as he limped towards the little shelf behind which a Eurasianboy sold dog-eared, dust-begrimed books and newspapers. He laid hishands on a time-table, and threw down the required anna in payment, thenwithout uttering a word he withdrew to a quiet corner to study it. Hefound to his disappointment that only by returning to Madras could heentrain for Beypore. To the Central station he must go, that wasinevitable, but at what a risk! Ever and anon during his cogitations hehad to remind himself that owing to his disguise the chance of discoverywas slight. Still, in the familiar precincts of the Madras station, therisk in daylight would be too great to run, besides he had not nerve forit, he decided. He must then perforce linger at Puranapore till afterdark, and then take a return train which would fit in with the expressfor Beypore in the early morning.
To be a whole day in Puranapore was a dismal prospect, but it had to befaced. As an old ayah he could sleep away most of it in the women'sthird-class waiting-room. He resolved now to secure breakfast, but therewere no possibilities for this in the little station. He thereforeprepared to make his way out, not without some trepidation, as it washis first real experience of testing his disguise. Addressing the ticketcollector who stood at the gate, he explained that he had stepped intothe wrong train at Madras, being bound for Beypore, not Puranapore, andwas therefore minus a ticket, but had the fare ready in his hand.
The porter replied in a kindly tone in his native tongue.
"What matters the ticket, old mother, on this day--an unlucky day foryou to come to our town. We need more the soldiers than an old woman."
Rayner, in a humble voice, asked the reason of this.
"What, you don't know there's fighting and rioting between Hindus andMahomedans afoot here since last night? It is said they are to be at itagain to-night only worse. This is the Mohurrum; but like me, not beingcaste Hindu, you don't bother about their squabbles."
Rayner assented with a nod.
"All the same, old mother, guard your venerable bones when you get intothe streets," he added.
Rayner remembered his _role_ so well that he salaamed profoundly as hepassed out, and the ticket-collector looked after him, shaking his head.
"It's a far cry from Puranapore to Beypore, poor old amah! She'd havebeen safer there to-day than here!"
Rayner could see from the changed appearance of the passers-by in thestreets that the town was roused. There seemed also to be a largeaddition to the usual population. Haughty, stalwart groups ofMussulmans, evidently from the Mofussil, strode about, casting looks ofhatred on the Hindus, many of whom were hurrying to close their shopsand stalls, whispering ominously to each other. Even the boldest beggarsrattled their gourds with less confidence than usual; and from thewindows of the houses which gave on the streets he could catch glimpsesof female forms looking down like startled birds. Everywhere extremetension was visible.
"I expect they're only bottling up till nightfall," muttered Rayner. "Myprogramme, sketched to Zynool, has evidently been adopted. Cleverdog--an apt pupil, in fact! He should forgive this little blunder ofmine, seeing I've proved such an excellent teacher! All the same, Ilittle thought I was to be in at the death!"
He crept cautiously along the narrow streets in search of a bazaar wherehe might pick up a native repast.
"An English breakfast might give the show away," he sighed, rememberingthe dainty breakfast table at Clive's Road at which Hester would now beseated, but from which he was banished. Finding a stall where eatableswere displayed, and cooking in progress, he crept up, asking in ahumble tone for a cup of coffee, and some rice cakes. An excellent mealwas provided, but after partaking of it he had to withdraw to a cornerto extricate the payment from his pocket beneath the folds of his saree,so he decided to purchase one of the gay little cotton bags which he hadnoticed was an invariable part of the ayah's dress, and to keep somesmall change in it for emergencies. The bag also suggested a supply ofbetel-nut; for he remembered the stained lips and teeth would all go toenhance the needful "make-up." Having made his small purchasessuccessfully, he wandered about the streets for a time, but the sun wasnow beating mercilessly down on his head, which was uncovered save forthe muslin wrap, and his feet were beginning to be scorched andblistered by the burning pavements till he felt obliged to seek somecooler retreat.
He now made his way to the outlying portion of the town. He glanced upat the mosque as he passed it, recalling how Zynool and he had plottedthat this bone of contention should be planted in close proximity to theburning-ghaut of the Hindus. Then he strolled down to the river-side,and took a closer survey of the spot than he had ever done before. Someoleanders threw out graceful branches which suggested a possibility ofshade, but they afforded no shelter from the fierceness of the sun. Hebegan to fear sunstroke if he lingered longer without cover, but to seekshelter in any ho
use might have evil consequences.
Limping slowly along the road, he came at length to a palm-tope andthrew himself on the burnt-up grass in the best shaded corner he couldfind. A spell of sleep soon granted him some relief. When he awoke heglanced at his watch, and was thankful to see that afternoon wasapproaching. Soon he could take his way to the station, but beingunwilling to enter the town again he was desirous of postponing hisarrival there till close on the hour of the train's departure forMadras. He decided to stray further into the jungly scrub whichstretched beyond the palm-tope, and would fain have rested in thecool-looking rank grass which abounded; but Indian jungles weretreacherous, teeming with insect life, not to speak of the possiblelurking presence of snakes, and he did not dare to sit at ease. Theshade, however, was refreshing, and he would while away the hours tillthe darkness fell.
For the first time since he was faced by the fear of detection he feltinclined to review his plans for escape. Self-pity entered largely intohis thoughts. He regretted he had not made definite arrangements withHester to have some needful belongings forwarded to him, and resolved tosend her an unsigned memo, directing her to dispatch his dressing-boy,whom he regarded as specially faithful, with a portion of his wardrobeto Beypore. He felt a certain interest and excitement in making a listof his needs on the leaf of a scribbling book which he discovered in hispocket, though he had got rid of his pocket-book when he visited theriver, fearing lest it might become a witness against him. He began towrite minute directions to his wife about various matters.
"All this will need cash, of course," he muttered, "but since she wastoo proud to share mine, she must manage as best she can. There's stillthe landau and the horses and a good many assets. She may even be ableto assist me with some money. As for me, I'll ship at Kurrachi as ahumble ayah--a steerage passenger; then I'll watch my chance, and comeoff at Aden, then with the help of my bundle--I only wish I could riskmy own portmanteau--I'll be able to appear as an English gentleman, and,as such, continued my journey home under an assumed name. What ablessing it will be to get out of this vile petticoat!" he wound up,impatiently extricating the end of the saree which had become involvedin some straggling tendrils.
He was delighted to find how quickly the time had passed since he gothis mind into working order, and decided that he might now venture toemerge from his retreat. As he stepped out to the road, a bandy passedhim, but he failed to catch sight of the passenger. Presently a man onhorseback intercepted the bandy, and its occupant jumped out. Rayner hadno difficulty in recognising Dr. Campbell, the rider being MarkCheveril. After a moment's parley both gentlemen continued their journeytownwards, which finally decided the fugitive to turn in the oppositedirection.
He had not gone far when the big Jailer, mounted on a strong brownhorse, appeared, also making for the town.
"They're all agog, seemingly! Zynool hasn't been able to keep his planof attack so secret as he ought," muttered Rayner. "But it will givethem a bit of a scare anyhow!" he chuckled.
Presently two Eurasian clerks passed him on foot. In their haste one ofthem knocked up against him.
"Out of the way, old amah, if you don't want to be shoved down," hesaid, brushing past; then remarked to his companion, "I daresay the poorsoul thinks she's safer on the road to-night than in the town."
Rayner followed them closely, and in the stillness of the evening aircould catch fragments of their shrill conversation.
"Oh, my gracious, what a lark this is! I wonder if the Collector willcome in? The Doctor thought he should, but I could see the 'Sub.' didn'twant it."
"That's because he wants to protect the Collector from the row. Mr.Cheveril adores him and looks after him as if he were a babee ever sincehis poison illness."
"Mr. Cheveril is an awfulee good sort--and to think he is one of us! Isay, Mike, don't it give a fellow more heart to have him taking up ourcause like thatt? Though to my eyes, he looks more an Anglo-Saxon than aEurasian."
"Just what I told the young fool," muttered Rayner. "If only he hadn'tmixed himself up with that lot, he might have passed anywhere for apucka Englishman."
The clerks had now disappeared round a bend of the road, and the silenceremained unbroken till the noise of horse's hoofs sounded behind. It wasthe Collector himself, riding a beautiful black mare. Rayner shrank intothe shadow as much as possible, but he could see that Mr. Worsley's facelooked grave, though his eyes were bright, and he managed his mettlesomesteed with elegant ease.
"Why, the whole _sahib-log_ has turned out," thought Rayner. "I'll givethe town as wide a berth as possible, and slink up by the back streetsto the station."
He walked on, congratulating himself that at least there was no risk ofmeeting any of the English contingent, seeing they had all gonetownwards. Soon he came to the little English cantonment, as it wasstill called, though the military element had been withdrawn. It was notunknown to him. He had visited it and left cards on some of theresidents in earlier days, before he began to intrigue with Zynool andbecame conscious that he was a suspected person. He liked to dwell onthese days now.
"I was a fool ever to have leagued myself with a native," he sighed."It's only brought me bad luck in the end."
He remembered, too, a pleasant afternoon he had passed as the recipientof little Mrs. Samptor's hospitality. He was trying to identify herbungalow when he heard voices. Two ladies stood talking at a gate. Hewas startled to recognise Mrs. Samptor's voice, but decided his bestpolicy was to creep quietly past, sustaining his _role_ as an old ayahin every particular.
"Don't you fear, Mrs. Campbell, Samptor will make them scuttle likesheep!" remarked one of the ladies, and Rayner had no difficulty inrecognising Mrs. Samptor's sharp tones. "I say, whose ayah's that? Can'tbe Mrs. Goldring's--too tall! Is she yours, Mrs. Campbell?"
"No, mine went to eat rice; besides, she's quite short in comparison tothat one."
"She's not the Meakin's either. I know their one. Yes, she is tall--shedoesn't look the right muster for an ayah somehow. I say, what if she'sa Mahomedan in disguise come to murder us all when our men are away!"
Rayner had heard too much for his peace of mind. These were no safequarters for him. He wheeled right about and began to walk hastilytowards the town again.
A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life Page 34