Lord Sheldon did not reply. He was thinking of what the steward had said.
Now he remembered that he had imagined he caught a glimpse of Azalea only the day before. Then he had told himself he must be mistaken, for he had seen a figure that he thought resembled her on the Second Class deck.
He wondered why she should be visiting someone who was not travelling in the same class as she was herself. Lord Sheldon had seen the passenger list when he came aboard. It was his invariable habit to have the list sent to him by the shipping company with his ticket, so that he could know who were to be his fellow-travellers on long and often tedious voyages.
It was when he read the passenger list that he had realised the identity of Azalea.
The Commander-in-Chief had merely asked him to look after Lady Osmund and her twin daughters.
When he had seen their three names tabulated and after them, ‘Miss Azalea Osmund,’ he had known that his behaviour in the Study at Battlesdon House had been somewhat reprehensible.
And yet how, he asked himself, could Lady Osmund and the General have produced a daughter who was so unlike her sisters?
The Purser had enlightened him as soon as he came aboard.
“Lady Osmund was asking for you, my Lord. She would be grateful if you would kindly notify her of your arrival.”
The Purser had pointed to the plan of the ship in front of him.
“Lady Osmund is in Cabin ‘B’,” he said, “Miss Violet and Miss Daisy Osmund are in Cabin ‘C’ and Miss Azalea is on the other side of the passage in Cabin ‘J.’”
Lord Sheldon had looked at the position of the cabins as they were pointed out to him, and the Purser, as if he guessed at his unspoken comment, remarked, “Miss Azalea Osmund is only a niece, my Lord.”
She might be “only a niece” as the Purser had said somewhat disparagingly, Lord Sheldon thought, but that did not really explain why she had not attended the farewell party the General had given at Battlesdon House, or why she had been wearing a servant’s apron.
It was a mystery and Lord Sheldon enjoyed mysteries. He had, in fact, while he was in India, been very much more than a successful soldier.
Those who knew that country, and the difficulties and perils encountered there by the British troops, were aware that there was within the Indian Administration an amazing system of espionage that extended from the Northern Passes to the Southernmost tip of the country.
All sorts and conditions of different peoples passed information in various ways to the Government, and their identity was never revealed beyond the number by which they were known to each other.
Lord Sheldon had been ‘C-z7’ and, when he communicated with a certain horse-dealer in the Punjab who was known as ‘M-4’, the information he obtained from him might go to a Banker in Peshawar who was ‘R-r9’, or a Moslem employed as an agent in a Rajput state who was ‘N-46’.
Known as ‘The Great Game’, it was one of the most amazing, intricate and exciting phenomena of English rule and Lord Sheldon had worked his way to a position of importance.
He had been taught by his instructors that the slightest mistake, the faintest carelessness, could cause loss of life – which might well include his own.
He was, therefore, naturally alert and also continually suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. Azalea, innocent though she might appear, had eavesdropped in a manner which made him unlikely to dismiss it as negligible.
He was also aware of the source from which her information had come regarding Lord Ronald Gower.
He had himself read the Hong Kong file after receiving his instructions from the Earl of Kimberley, Secretary of State for the Colonies, and having had a confidential interview with the Chief of Staff at the War Office.
He had never thought of Sir Frederick Osmund as a talkative man, nor did he seem the type who would discuss official secrets with a girl, even if she was his niece.
It was therefore obvious to Lord Sheldon that, since Azalea had obviously read the Hong Kong file, she had done so without her uncle’s knowledge.
“But why?” he asked himself, “and for what purpose?”
Why, moreover, was her appearance so very un-English, especially in the company of her pink-and-white cousins? He had, in fact, after their encounter at the dinner table, looked forward to probing further into Miss Azalea Osmund’s strange behaviour.
There was, he told himself, plenty of time and, although he expected her not to appear until the ship reached the Mediterranean, he had every intention of pursuing his enquiries further before they reached Hong Kong.
Now, after what the steward had said, Lord Sheldon wondered if he had in fact been somewhat complacent over what was undoubtedly a mystery involving military secrets.
Recalling what he had read in the confidential file on Hong Kong, he did not think there was anything particularly important about the long correspondence from General Donovan, the reports on the military position, the Governor’s unpopularity and the manner in which he had changed the laws.
At the same time, a confidential report was not for outside eyes, and certainly it contained some information which could be utilised by enemy agents.
Lord Sheldon was quite determined to get to the bottom of the problem, but it was not his way when dealing with such affairs to rush in bald-headed without having all the facts he required at his fingertips.
Moreover, he could not believe that Azalea, if she were a spy, was a very effective one.
He had heard the noise she had inadvertently made with her feet on the floor, which was something no one efficient in the art of espionage would have done. There was also, he thought, evidence of inexperience both in her fear when she had come from behind the curtains to find him still in the study and her undoubted panic when she had run away from him after he had kissed her.
Lord Sheldon was not prepared to explain to himself why he had done so. It had been an impulse which on reflection he did not regret.
When he finished luncheon he decided to go down to the Third Class deck to enquire after the wife of a Company Sergeant-Major who was journeying to Hong Kong to be with her husband who had preceded her the week before.
The Sergeant-Major had served with Lord Sheldon in India, and when it had been impossible for his wife to sail with him on the troop ship because she had only just produced a baby, he had called to see his Lordship.
“How did you know I was going to Hong Kong?” Lord Sheldon enquired when the Company Sergeant-Major had arrived from Aldershot at his flat in St. James’s.
“It was in the newspapers, my Lord, and as soon as I read it, I realised that you and the wife would be on the same ship. I worry about her travelling alone with the children. She’s not one for the sea.”
Lord Sheldon wondered with an inward smile how many soldiers’ wives were, but he replied,
“I will certainly keep an eye on your wife, Sergeant-Major, and I only hope the weather is not too rough.”
“That’s what I’m hoping too, my Lord. I was never much of a sailor meself.”
They talked of old times, and then the Sergeant-Major said,
“We miss you, my Lord. Those of us who was with you in India wish we was back there, even if it was stinkin’ ’ot at times!”
“I feel the same,” Lord Sheldon smiled.
“Do you miss the Regiment, my Lord? It don’t seem right to be seeing you out of uniform.”
“I miss it more than I can say,” Lord Sheldon replied with a note of sincerity in his voice, “and I miss India. I am afraid you will find Hong Kong rather restricting. It is a very small Colony.”
“That’s just what I was thinking meself, my Lord,” the Sergeant-Major said. “But I’m hopin’ it won’t be for long, and we’ll ’ave some Indian troops with us, which’ll make it seem more like ’ome.”
“It will, indeed,” Lord Sheldon agreed.
He had known that a number of Indian troops were being sent to Hong Kong to reinforce the garrison, and that
officers and N.C.O.s who had previously served in India were being drafted there to command them.
As the Sergeant-Major had expected, his wife had succumbed immediately to the roughness of the sea and, although Lord Sheldon had sent her various comforts, the stewardess who looked after her had reported she was far from well.
Now, descending to the Third Class deck with some difficulty owing to the pitching and tossing of the vessel, Lord Sheldon moved along the narrow passageway to the cabin occupied by Mrs. Favel and her children.
The Third Class arrangements in the Orissa were better than in many of the ships on which Lord Sheldon had sailed, but the passengers were nevertheless uncomfortably crowded.
Low down in the ship the smell of oil and bilge, and the lack of fresh air were very obvious, and only Lord Sheldon’s sense of duty made him enquire personally every day about Mrs. Favel from the stewardess who attended her.
He found her now without much difficulty, a middle-aged woman, looking tired and somewhat harassed as she came out of the cabin carrying in her hands a bowl from which Lord Sheldon averted his eyes.
“I won’t be a moment, my Lord,” the stewardess said as she saw him and disappeared through a door where he could hear rushing water as she sluiced the bowl clean.
She came back wiping her hands and smiling.
Women of all ages and all classes invariably smiled at Lord Sheldon. There was something not only handsome, but also attractive about him, which they found irresistible.
“How is our patient?” Lord Sheldon asked.
“A bit more perky today, my Lord, and very grateful for the bottle of brandy you sent her.”
“I hope it helped her seasickness.”
“I’ve always found there’s nothing like brandy,” the stewardess said, “but unfortunately, my Lord, few people on this deck can afford it.”
“Let me know when Mrs. Favel wants another bottle,” Lord Sheldon said, “and tell her I have enquired after her.”
“She’ll be very honoured, my Lord. She has told me how much her husband admired your Lordship.”
“Thank you,” Lord Sheldon said. “Is there anything else you want?”
“Nothing, thank you, my Lord. I am just praying it won’t be long before we reach a bit of calmer weather. I’ve never known it as bad as this.”
“I suspect that is what you say every time there is a storm,” Lord Sheldon remarked.
The stewardess laughed.
“I expect you’re right, my Lord. One forgets until the next time, thank goodness!”
She spoke so fervently that Lord Sheldon also laughed and turned to go back the way he had come. Then he paused.
“By the way, how are the children?”
As he spoke he noticed for the first time how empty the passages were.
On other visits he had found children running about, quarrelling with each other or shrieking at the tops of their voices with a shrillness that echoed above the noise of the engines and the splash of the waves.
“The baby’s all right, my Lord,” the stewardess answered, “and the other two are with the kind lady that has been keeping them amused for the last two days. She seems like an angel of light to us, I can tell you!”
“What kind lady?” Lord Sheldon asked.
“I don’t know her name,” the stewardess replied, “but she’s a First Class passenger who offered to take the children off our hands for several hours a day. It’s been a blessing. Little devils they’ve been, every one of them, while their parents were ill, making a mess everywhere, and so noisy one could hardly hear oneself think!”
“Where are they now?” Lord Sheldon asked with some curiosity.
“In the Second Class Writing Room,” the stewardess replied. “That’s dead against regulations, my Lord, but who’d want to write a letter in this weather?”
“Who indeed?” Lord Sheldon answered.
There was a scream of “Stewardess!” from one of the cabins and the stewardess hurried towards the door.
“Here we go again!” she ejaculated, and with the basin in her hand she disappeared through an adjacent door. Climbing back to the Second Class deck, Lord Sheldon hesitated for a moment as if he wondered which way he should go. Then he moved towards where he knew the Writing Room would be situated.
The Second Class deck had fewer recreational facilities than the First Class.
In the Second Class Saloon the passengers sat at long, communal tables with their chairs ‘cheek by jowl’ to avoid using too much room.
The Saloon was pleasantly furnished, but with very little space between the sofas and chairs, and beyond it was a small Writing Room which was seldom used except by those who wanted to write or play cards without being interrupted by the chatter of voices.
Lord Sheldon crossed the Saloon towards it, and as his hand went out towards the door he heard a voice saying with pretended gruffness,
“Who’s been sleeping in my bed?”
The voice rose a little.
“And the Mother Bear said, ‘Who’s been sleeping in my bed?’”
There was a pause and then a very high voice went on,
“And the Baby Bear said, ‘Who’s been sleeping in my bed – and there she is!’”
There were shrieks of childish delight before the narrator finished,
“Then Goldilocks jumped up and ran down the stairs and back to the safety of her mother’s arms as quickly as she could!”
There was a babble of excitement and very gently Lord Sheldon opened the door a crack so that he could look into the room.
Seated on the floor with a small Chinese child in her arms was Azalea. The child was asleep, his dark eyelashes like half-moons on his little round face.
Seated all around her, cross-legged or half-lying were fifteen or sixteen other children.
They all seemed to be very young and many of them were poorly dressed, but they were all looking happy and even though she had finished the story they made no effort to move.
“What would you like to do now?” Lord Sheldon heard Azalea ask in her soft voice.
“Sing the clap-hands song!” a small boy suggested.
“Very well,” Azalea said. “We will sing the song where you clap your hands, but as Jam Kin is asleep I cannot show you where to clap, so I will raise one hand – do you understand?”
There was a murmur of “Yes” and a nodding of small heads.
“Very well,” Azalea said, “when I raise my hand – clap!”
Lord Sheldon smiled as he saw how ready the children were to do what she suggested.
Very quietly he closed the door, as he had opened it. The last thing he wanted to do was to disturb either Azalea or the children, but as he turned away he stopped suddenly.
Azalea had started to sing and her voice sounded gay. He was sure it was a folk song but – she was singing in Russian!
It had been entirely Azalea’s idea that she should keep the children occupied.
She had expected, once the ship had started to roll, that she would be constantly in attendance upon her aunt, but the P. & O. Doctor was used to voyages which invariably started with a rough and tumble in the Bay of Biscay.
As soon as Lady Osmund began to complain querulously and incessantly about how ill she felt, he provided her with what he called his ‘Soothing Syrup’, two teaspoonfuls of which kept her asleep for most of the day.
The twins, after being extremely seasick, were quite prepared to lie in their bunks talking to each other and make no effort to get up.
They did not want Azalea, and apart from the fact that she washed and ironed their nightgowns, there was very little she need do for them.
When she learnt therefore from the stewardesses of the enormous amount of work caused by the other seasick passengers, she offered to help.
“We can’t allow you to do that, Miss,” the stewardesses said. “You’re First Class and the Purser would have a fit if he thought we were putting on you.”
“You woul
d not be doing that,” Azalea assured them. “I work very hard when I am at home.”
“You don’t have to pay for it,” the stewardess retorted, “and being First Class on the Orissa entitles you to every comfort.”
“There must be something I can do,” Azalea insisted.
The stewardess had hesitated.
“You have thought of something?”
“I don’t think as I ought to mention it, Miss. I’ll get into trouble – I know I will!”
“I promise you that will not happen,” Azalea said, “but do let me help you.”
“Well, it’s just that there’s a Chinese lady in the Second Class. She’s ever so nice, Miss, much nicer than I ever thought the Chinese would be, but she’s really sick and she’s got a little boy.”
“I will help you look after him,” Azalea said, before the stewardess could say any more.
“If she could just get a quiet sleep in the afternoons she’d be all right,” the stewardess said. “But you know what a child of a year old is like! Crawling about the cabin, wanting a drink when I’ve just settled her down, asking for this and asking for that.”
“Is she travelling alone?” Azalea asked.
“No, she’s got her husband with her, but he’s very grand! Chinese men! They don’t wait on their wives, they expect to be waited upon!”
“So I have always heard,” Azalea said with a smile. “Let me come and see this lady.”
“I don’t know that you should,” the stewardess protested. But finally Azalea overruled all the difficulties and found herself meeting Mrs. Chang who, to her surprise, was younger than she was herself.
Although she was ill, Mrs. Chang was to Azalea’s eyes one of the loveliest people she had ever seen.
With her hair so black it was almost blue, drawn back from her perfect oval forehead, crows-feather eyebrows, slanting eyes and cupid’s bow mouth, she had an exotic odalisque beauty.
Jam Kin was the most adorable child imaginable.
In his long trousers and little satin coat that buttoned at the neck he seemed to Azalea like a toy, and even when he sat on her knee she could hardly believe he was real.
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