Nurse in India

by Juliet Armstrong

  Pressing her fingers against her temples she gave up all effort now at thought; and when, arriving at the palace, she asked the old rani if she might be allowed to go to bed at once, she was told, almost sharply, that it was plainly the only place for her, and she looked positively ill again.

  But the solitude and the comfort of her luxurious bedroom brought no rest to her jangled nerves. One moment she rejoiced that it was Armand, and not Roger, who had run away in this melodramatic fashion with Allegra; at the next she was filled with misery at the haunting memory of Roger’s white, agonized face! Allegra, for her own ends, had left him his honor; he would never now be shamed by the thought that he had stolen the woman to whom his brother was engaged. But she had taken his heart, broken it in little pieces and gone her way with a smile.

  He’ll be all the more anxious to clear out of Kotpura now, she thought. To be hurt so badly, by two women! And she had to clench her hands to keep back the torrent of tears that threatened her as she reflected that she could have had him once for her lover and husband, but now it was too late.

  Presently there was a cough outside her door, and when, trying quickly to regain some appearance of composure, she called out, “Come in,” Jeythoo entered. She was carrying a tray and wearing an expression of profound gravity quite foreign to her.

  “What’s the matter?” Stella asked, raising herself on her elbow. “Are you sick, Jeythoo?”

  The ayah shook her head. “No, memsahib. But it seems to me that there is an evil spirit abroad in Ghasirabad. First one piece of bad news, then another!”

  “You’d better explain.” Stella’s heart was thumping, but she managed to speak calmly. “What is all this ill news?”

  “Is it not enough that your kind old memsahib should have died up at the rest house?” Two large tears were trickling down the fat brown face. “And now they say that Fendish Sahib—”

  “Fendish Sahib?” Stella was sitting bolt upright now. “What’s this? What’s happened to him?”

  “He was undoubtedly put under a spell by the memsahib who has flown away with Verle Sahib in one of those devil machines.”

  “But what’s happened to him?” Stella repeated in a frenzy of impatience. “For goodness’ sake, Jeythoo, don’t dither like this. Is he ill? Is he dead?”

  Her efforts to hurry the old woman into parting with her information had the result that she might well have anticipated. The ayah grew more agitated than ever, and all she could ejaculate was a terrified, “Who knows, memsahib?”

  “If you can’t pull yourself together and answer a plain question, I shall have to dress and find someone who can,” Stella observed. “Go now, Jeythoo. I am going to get up.”

  “That is what Hussein begs you to do. But how can I answer a straight question when Hussein himself speaks in riddles?”

  “What on earth has Hussein to do with it?” Stella; demanded, beginning hurriedly to put on some clothes.

  “He came here with the news that his sahib has wounded himself with a knife—that everywhere there is blood. He says it is because of that evil woman that the sahib has done this, and he prays you to come quickly.”

  Refraining with difficulty from storming at Jeythoo for her stupidity and slowness, Stella sent her hurrying to the old rani with the request that she might have the use of a car immediately, and seizing some towels and a sheet from the bed—the only linen to her hand—went flying after her. By a piece of good fortune the car in which she had made her journey to the club had not yet been returned to the garage, and the chauffeur was still hanging around so that within a few minutes she was being whirled along the road to the Fendish bungalow.

  Of Hussein she had seen nothing, and she could only conclude that he had hurried back to his master as soon as he had delivered his message. What he was doing on the scene at all she could not imagine. She had supposed that by now he had discreetly retired to the farthest corner of the state, out of reach of Allegra’s possible accusations. But what did anything matter in this whole nightmarish business but the saving of Roger’s life? And would she—oh, God, would she—be in time?

  Hussein was standing at the gate. She caught a glimpse of him as the car swept by and saw him salaam; and her brain registered the fact that he was once again, in the white uniform of an Indian servant. He must, then, be back in Roger’s service.

  But she could spare no thought for Hussein. No one counted a tinker’s curse now but Roger—Roger, who in this terrible moment she loved more than ever.

  Jumping out of the car, she ran up the veranda steps and pushing the door open in the bad light almost flew into the big sitting room, knocking over a small stool and a china ornament.

  “Roger!” she called out. “Roger—where are you?”

  “Stella—what in the name of wonder...?” To her amazement she found herself gripped by a strong pair of arms and looking up into Roger’s bewildered face.

  “Then you’re not dead or dying!” she exclaimed. And suddenly, in the relief from the tension of the last few minutes, she broke down in a storm of weeping.

  Without an instant’s hesitation he picked her up as easily as if she had been a baby and carrying her over to a big chair sat down with her on his knees, letting her cry unrestrainedly against his shoulder, murmuring foolish, endearing words of comfort.

  “What is all this about my being dead or dying, Stella?” he asked her gently, when she had become a little quieter.

  “Hussein brought a message to me,” she stammered, struggling to sit up. “He made it sound as though you had tried to commit suicide, because of—because of Allegra!”

  “Well, I’m blowed! I’ve yet to hear of a man killing himself because his brother was jilted. I’ve suffered enough on poor old Jim’s account, goodness knows!” He groaned. “I did my level best to keep the little wretch from fooling around until I could get her safely married to him. But it was hopeless.”

  “Then you’re not in love with Allegra? And it wasn’t true what Hussein said about your dripping with blood?” She was conscious of sounding slightly hysterical.

  “Good Lord!” He held up one of his hands, and Stella saw for the first time that it was bandaged. “I cut myself very slightly opening a can an hour or so ago, and at that time Hussein—who by the way more or less insists on coming back to me as bearer—didn’t seem in the least perturbed.” He frowned. “I wonder what the old devil is playing at?”

  “You haven’t answered my first question yet,” she reminded him, in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

  “Because it’s such a silly one,” he returned shortly. “I’m not the type of man to fall in love with two women in the space of a couple of months. I leave that sort of thing to our friend Verle. I told you I loved you, and you turned me down. That’s the beginning and end of my romantic history, I assure you.” And then his voice changed. “Unless all this means something, Stella! For surely you wouldn’t have come flying along to save my wretched life if you hadn’t cared at all. And surely you wouldn’t be sitting on my knee all this time—”

  “Oh, Roger, there’s such a lot to explain.” Poised between laughter and tears she buried her face against his arm.

  “Then the quicker you get down to it the better,” he declared. “For if you’ll forgive my saying so, the explanation is a long while overdue.”

  As coherently as she could she told him of that dreadful time in the past; of her shock when she had been confronted with Allegra’s photograph and had learned of her engagement to Roger’s brother; of her determination to pass out of the lives of the Fendish family altogether.

  “But why didn’t you tell me, my darling, chivalrous, ridiculous little fool?” he exclaimed. “Can you really suppose I wouldn’t have believed you?”

  “Even if you had,” she protested, “it would have put you in an awful position. Allegra would have given Jim her version of the affair, and it would have meant a family split.”

  “Thank God Jim’s rid of her,” he s
aid soberly. “And, when he’s digested all this, he may get to feel the same, too.” And then he frowned. “I wonder how much her aunt and uncle knew of her little plans. They professed great astonishment when I saw them off the following day to Bombay; but it wouldn’t surprise me to know they were pretty phony, too. Lord, what a bunch!”

  For a moment or two they were both silent. Then he said jerkily, “Do you think we have had enough of explanations for the present? Shall we forget other people for a few minutes and just think of ourselves?”

  “Well, there’s just one other thing I haven’t told you yet,” she put in nervously. “His Highness and Dr. Erickson are planning to start a hospital in Bhindi, and they want me to help them.”

  He looked startled, then smiled oddly. “So that’s what Chawand Rao was after—a hardworking hospital matron! I’m afraid you can’t accept that post, darling; you’ll be too busy with a wife’s job. But we’ll do our best to find him a substitute.” His hold tightened. “And now, my sweet, will you stop talking, because if you won’t—”

  She made a halfhearted attempt to free herself, but he held her even closer and tilted up her face. “Oh, darling,” he whispered, “that kiss in the gloom of that ruined shrine was a one-sided business. You’ve never told me yet that you love me, never kissed me!”

  She smiled up at him, the tears hanging on her dark lashes, then put up her hand and drew down his ruffled head.

  “I love you,” she murmured. “I’ve always loved you.” And joyously, like one who for long hours has been out in the cold and now draws near to the blessed warmth of the hearth, she gave him her lips.