Nurse Mary stood in one of the side verandahs of a large military hospital in Bangalore. Her bedroom opened into the verandah. She had come off night duty and was at liberty to turn in under the mosquito curtains as soon as she pleased.
The morning sun shone on the masses of scarlet blossom with which the flamboyant poinciana trees were laden; but she was not thinking of the gorgeous display of royal colour so lavishly spread out before her. Her eyes were filled with mental visions suddenly called forth from the storehouse of the brain by a piece of news she had heard within the last ten minutes.
On coming off duty she had met Jimmy Dumbarton, one of the Resident Medical Officers. She knew him well, having travelled out to India with him some time before.
At that period the war had just broken out, and the pestiferous undersea boat had not begun its barbarous campaign. The autumn of 1914 saw the Indian traffic unrestricted; and women and children coming and going as usual through the gates of the East.
Jimmy regarded Nurse Mary with a curiously mixed emotion. He chose to consider himself in love with her. Whether this were really the case could only be proved when the right girl came along. For the present Jimmy felt comfortably safe with his affections securely anchored to a woman older than himself; a wise, good-natured person who was in no danger of dropping into a sentimental mood, nor of taking Jimmy seriously for one moment.
The link between the two was to be found in Jimmy’s knowledge of a certain episode in Nurse Mary’s life, that was not known to any other individual throughout that large and busy establishment. He kept her secret faithfully and she was deeply grateful.
To the world she lived in she was Nurse Mary. If any inquisitive person wanted to learn more, she was Nurse Mary Hope of the Voluntary Aid Detachment, the V.A.D. Whether she was Miss or Mrs. report did not say. If she received any letters, they were addressed simply to Nurse Mary Hope; but it was rare indeed that this happened. As she wore no wedding ring, it was assumed that she was unmarried.
Her real name was Rosemary Edenhope and her husband was in the Indian Medical Service, the same Service as Jimmy Dumbarton. She would not have denied it had anyone asked her straight out if such were the case. There was nothing she was ashamed of; but for several reasons, the chief being that she could not explain why she was living apart from her husband, she was desirous of preserving her secret from the ears of the prying and inquisitive world. Jimmy respected that reason and never revealed the fact that Nurse Mary had another identity.
“The Commandant has got his leave at last,” announced Jimmy, stopping in front of Nurse Mary as she moved through the great central hall on her way to her quarters.
“I’m glad,” she replied warmly. “He wants leave badly. I’ve been afraid lately that he would break down before he could get away. He never spares himself.”
“He is going straight off home, and by the Mediterranean, too. Things are very different there since you and I came out. I’ll bet he’ll have a lively time being chevied by U-boats. Bet you five to one in rupees that he’ll be torpedoed either there or in the Channel.”
Nurse Mary smiled as she answered: “You know I don’t bet, Jimmy.”
“All right; of course not! I’ll book it with myself.”
He pulled out a fat little note-book and recorded the bet as offered by Jimmy and taken by James. An inveterate gambler was Jimmy by heredity. His safety lay in the fact that he had sufficient will power to confine the vice to transactions between a dual self. Like the card-player who for want of a companion plays one hand against the other, he betted in all seriousness with himself. To assist in carrying out his little device he kept two banking accounts, one with an army agent, the other with a bank. He faithfully paid his losses from one account to the other. Jimmy banked with the army agent, James with the banking firm. His salary was divided between the two.
He glanced into her eyes as he recorded the bet. Her attention wandered and she smothered a yawn.
“Tired? of course you are after night duty,” he said sympathetically. “It’s about time you had leave as well as the Commandant.”
“Perhaps,” she assented indifferently. “Who is coming in the Commandant’s place?” she asked. Jimmy was lost in the contemplation of his betting book and made no reply. Apparently he had not caught her question.
“Had a bad let down over Erridge’s case. Lost twenty-five rupees on it,” he remarked gloomily.
“I thought Major Erridge was doing so well,” she replied in surprise.
“So he is. I put my money on the wrong side; I made a bet that he wouldn’t get over the operation.”
“Oh! Jimmy! you ought not to bet on a man’s death,” cried Nurse Mary reproachfully. “You were the surgeon who performed the operation. The Commandant was very pleased with the way you handled it. It’s very wrong of you.”
“Don’t scold me, dear! It makes me feel so ill.”
He lowered his voice as he called her dear, but she heard him all the same and lifted a warning finger.
“Now, Jimmy! that’s forbidden!”
“I know it is!” he replied with every appearance of contrition. “I don’t mean anything more than the gekko means when he is chirruping on the wall. You do know it, darling, don’t you?”
“Must I remind you again that I am a married woman?”
“It would be as well to do so now and then; or I might be following the line taken by the crowd here and think you fancy free. However, I shan’t forget it for the future. Don’t be surprised, old dear, if I never speak to you again.”
“And why are you going to put me into Coventry, may I ask?” inquired Nurse Mary. “I shan’t like it, I assure you.”
She was really fond of the boy and accepted his worship, with her two years’ seniority, with friendly motherliness.
“Because the new Commandant is to be Colonel Maurice Edenhope.”
He watched her with a curious expression of apprehension. Had he startled her? Had he hurt her in any way? The news affecting her, as he knew it must, would be easier to bear coming from him rather than from some stranger. He met her glance in warm honest concern, wishing with all his heart that he could help her. The eyes that met his, unknown to herself, held an expression of anxiety not unmingled with fear. There was no terror, no revulsion. The fear partook of the nature of perplexity and dismay.
If Maurice Edenhope was Commandant of the Hospital her position as a V.A.D. nurse under his authority would be intolerable. She would have to go. She could not bear it. But to go would be to turn her back on her husband. In running away to avoid a situation that would be too great a strain upon her nerves, she would produce an entirely different impression on his mind of her attitude towards him from what was really the case. It was not easy to command her voice.
“Are you sure that you are right?”
“The news has just come to the office by wire,” he replied.
“I thought Colonel Edenhope was still in England,” she said, unaware that in her surprise she had inadvertently revealed the fact that she was not in communication with her husband.
“He returned to India by the last trooper and landed in Bombay yesterday. I suppose he will have the usual ten days’ joining time——”
“Not in these times,” she replied quickly. “If he has just come from leave, he will take over charge at once; as soon as the mail can bring him down to Bangalore. What leave did he have?”
“It was sick leave, I understand.”
“He wasn’t wounded?” she asked.
“No; it was ill-health, I believe. Anyway he is all right again now and in the best of health; so report says. Does he know you are here?”
“No.”
Then, as she relapsed into silence, he shook off the serious mood that was foreign to his nature and returned to his usual happy irresponsible personality.
“I say!” he cried. “I shall have to walk warily or the fat will be in the fire before we know where we are! You mustn’t call me ‘dearest’ again; no! nor ever ‘darling’! at least not in Edenhope’s hearing, or I shall be hoofed out of my billet.”
“I! you impudent boy!” and Nurse Mary came as near to laughing as was possible with her; for laughter in these latter days did not often haunt her path. Life in the Hospital was too serious, too tragic; and her own life too sombre in its present condition to rouse her mirth.
“I’ll bet you a hundred rupees that you dare not call me dearest!” he challenged. “I’ll make it a hundred to one that you don’t do it.”
Jimmy was already booking the bet as between himself and James.
“No time limit to this bet,” he remarked as he slipped the elastic band back over the note-book. “I hope I shall pull this off. I’ve lost a great deal too much to James lately. I can’t afford to let him have a hundred rupees.”
“I’m off!” she said, turning away. “I shall get no sleep if I stand here listening to your foolish talk all the morning.”
“Good-bye—I must say it though it is forbidden—dearest and sweetest of women!” said the unabashed young surgeon as she left him.
Nurse Mary was alone with the multitude of thoughts raised by Dumbarton’s piece of news. Sleep had flown from her eyes; she was wide awake. Her mind was in a turmoil. Visions of the past arose and presented themselves with insistent force. Memory took possession and would not be denied.
She saw herself, an orphan, Rosemary Cowerdene, endowed with means but with only one relative in the world. She was holding her lover’s letter—he was her lover in those days—in her hand.
Aunt Margaret, an old Anglo-Indian, was looking at her expectantly.
“Well, child! What does he say?”
“Maurice asks me to go to him, at once, at once!” she could hear herself saying.
“Wise man! why should either of you wait? Your outfit is ready? It is waste of time to remain apart. Oh! my dear! life is all too short when happiness enters. Go and realize the fulness of happiness.”
“He says he will meet me in Bombay and we shall be married in the cathedral and start straight away for the Nilgiris. He has bought a little bungalow at Coonoor. It is called ‘Desire and Delight.’ Did you ever hear such a quaint attractive name for a house?”
Aunt Margaret’s eyes were glistening with tears that sprang at the touch of long, sleeping memories.
“Know it! I remember it well. Some of my happiest days were spent at that bungalow. It is a tiny house; all houses on the hills were small in my time. It nestled in a garden of sweet flowers: heliotrope, fuchsias, plumbago, scented geranium, verbena and roses! Oh! the roses! They were everywhere. They looked in at the windows, hung over the porch and verandahs, sprawled over the hedge and dropped their pink petals on the road beyond. Desire and delight! ah! yes! if you go there with the man you love, you will find it the House of Desire and Delight.”
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Then came the voyage out, the journey that was to end in desire and delight. On board she met Jimmy Dumbarton, also of the Indian Medical Service. He was going out for the first time and would probably have to join a regiment. Later, by the way, he showed himself an adept with the knife, and for this reason he obtained the post of Resident Medical Officer to the Hospital at Bangalore. The world was as new and fresh to Jimmy when he first met Rosemary as it was to her, and they became great friends.
He made no secret of the fact that he had lost his heart to Edenhope’s prospective bride. No one, however, took him seriously; least of all he himself. All the same it pleased him to maintain the belief that he was deeply involved in a hopeless passion which must bring him in the end to an early grave. He even went so far as to record a bet with James on the subject, laying heavy odds on his own death from a broken heart soon after her marriage.
The ship arrived in Bombay and a very serious Maurice met her on deck. Desire and delight, if they ever had existed for him, seemed to be extinguished. She flew to him, drew him down to the deserted saloon and clasped her arms round his neck.
“I’ve come! I’ve come! Oh! beloved! we have met at last!”
Then, no one being present, she had given him her lips to kiss.
“Oh! Maurice! it is too heavenly for words!” and again she kissed him. No need to say that she received as good as she gave, and both were happy for the time. It was not for some minutes that she noted a slight change in the lover who had bidden her farewell in England when he left for India. Not that he seemed cold or backward. On the contrary, his manner was that of a man who grudged the passing of each minute and dreaded the future. What was it? The buoyancy was gone. Blank disappointment overshadowed his face.
“Maurice!” she cried, drawing a little apart from him so that she could scan his features. “What is it? You look so serious! Are you worried over the war? They say in England that we shall come through it all right; although we shall have to take some hard knocks to awaken us before we put our hearts into it.”
“It is the war—not that I doubt its ending all right some time or other.”
“Then what is it that troubles you?”
“Darling! my darling!” His voice shook as he murmured the words of love in her ear. She felt him vibrate with emotion which he tried hard to control. “The war comes between us, you and me.”
“Between us!” she repeated incredulously and not in the least comprehending what he meant. “How can anything come between you and me when I hold you like this? Kiss me, Maurice, and let me feel that we are together at last with no cruel miles, nor yards, nor feet, no! nor even inches between us!”
How sweet she was in her abandonment to her love and her wilful not-to-be-denied possession of him! His heart turned sick at the thought of his task. He tried to speak but failed.
“You said that your Colonel’s wife, Mrs. Frome, was kind enough to offer me hospitality until—until we could start for Coonoor, for that place of desire and delight that you have bought. How long shall I have to inflict myself upon her?”
“I don’t know,” he replied lamely, putting off the evil moment when he would have to tell her the brutal truth and shatter all her dreams of happiness.
A steward approached them. “Shall I take your cabin luggage on deck, miss?” he asked. “The boxes have come up from the hold and the Major’s orderly is in charge of them.”
They rose and she led the way to her cabin. It was not until they were seated in Mrs. Frome’s motor-car to drive to her house on Malabar Hill that he explained the situation and broke the cruel truth to her. There could be no marriage.
He had barely time to see her safely into the care of his old friend, Claudia Frome, before going on board the trooper that with steam up was ready to start for Egypt.
Since writing his letter asking her to come to him, marching orders had arrived. His regiment was ordered to Suez for the defence of the canal and he must accompany it. It was then too late to stop her by wire to England. She would have started and been well on her way out. In consultation with Mrs. Frome he had made up his mind to let matters take their course and do nothing to interrupt Rosemary’s journey.
“Let her come,” advised Mrs. Frome. “If by any chance there is time, marry her. You may with luck have a couple of days together, or even a week. As your wife she will be in a more independent position than as Miss Cowerdene. She can then remain in India by herself and live where she chooses till you can get leave or are ordered back. You say she has means of her own.”
“Yes! yes! and of course I shall make an addition. She will have ample to keep herself comfortably till I can join her.”
There was silence. Mrs. Frome regarded the good-looking, well-set-up man before her with something like pity. He had hitherto been her very good friend without a single disloyal thought in his mind towards the English girl he had chosen for his wife. When he was married, she would lose him as a useful friend. She had taken his measure accurately and knew that he would make an ardent lover-husband, giving all his worship and service to the woman who had a right to it. A spasm of vague jealousy passed through her as she thought of what was in store for Rosemary—a chit of a child with probably no capacity at all for making any response to the deep love of a man like Maurice Edenhope. She roused herself from thoughts that quickened the blood in her pulse and said with a coldness she was far from feeling:
“After you leave Bombay your wife had better come to Bangalore with me. I shall wait there for my husband. She can do the same.”
“You are very good,” he replied gratefully.
“All the same, I won’t deceive you as to my opinion on the situation you have brought about. I am sorry you sent for the girl. It will be a terrible shock to her to find that she has to part with you directly she is married. It would have been far better to have left things as they were. It has put you under a very serious obligation.”
Mrs. Frome did not look at him as she made this rather cold-blooded little speech a few days before Rosemary’s ship arrived. He bowed his head as he replied in a low voice:
“Poor little girl! It is rough on her; and hard, very hard on me!”
He looked up and met her gaze.
“You love her!” she said quickly.
“As I have never loved any other woman. She is the one love of my life and I am no chicken!”
Somehow from his words her opinion that he had engaged himself to a school-girl with a pretty face was confirmed. She was quite wrong in her surmise. Rosemary was twenty-five, tall for a woman, taller than Claudia, who was by no means small.
Mrs. Frome kept perfect faith with her husband and he trusted her without ever a doubt of her fidelity. He recognized her friendships with men and was content that she should accept their homage. She pursued her way keenly appreciative of her successes such as they were; and she hated losing any one of the men she had attracted.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Rosemary, bewildered by the history of the situation which Maurice had given her in the drive up Malabar Hill, felt in a whirl of confused dismay and grief as she alighted in the fern and palm-embowered verandah of the cool silent house.
No time for the wedding to be performed! It seemed incredible. Why could they not drive to the cathedral straight away and be married then and there?
She had to be informed that even though all had been done that was possible, there were still certain preliminaries that must be effected before the marriage could take place.
While she stood before him in the drawing-room of Mrs. Frome’s house, clinging to him with the abandonment of intense love and grief, he was saying good-bye.
“My own love! I must go!”
He unlinked the hands that were clasped behind his neck and loosened himself from her despairing grip.
“Darling! I will come back as soon as I can,” he assured her over and over again. “May be I shall only have to see the regiment safely landed. Anyway, believe me, I will come back at the very first opportunity. I feel that I have treated you shamefully. I have deceived you and shall have no peace of mind till I have made reparation.”
Tears prevented her from replying.
“We will be married, beloved, as soon as possible; and then nothing in the world can take you from me. You will go to Bangalore with Mrs. Frome and wait there. It will be a more healthy climate for you than this. I shall wire as soon as I get leave and you will have plenty of time to reach Bombay before my ship comes in. Do you understand?”
Rosemary was no weak-minded child as Claudia had supposed. As soon as Mrs. Frome’s glance fell upon her, she knew instinctively that Maurice had made no mistake in his choice of a mate. The couple were well matched.
Naturally brave and self-reliant, Rosemary was already calling upon all her resources to carry her through her bitter hour of pain. The blow had come so suddenly that she had been in danger of being thrown off her balance; but she controlled the hot tears and made no sound of moan or grief lest he should be distressed. Maurice looked into her eyes with apprehension. He would sooner have seen her weeping than returning his gaze with that stricken expression. Each could read the agony the other suffered, and neither could speak a word of comfort or consolation.
Claudia’s voice sounded in the doorway.
“Maurice! Maurice! It is time you started.”
Her well-bred deep voice was a death-knell in Rosemary’s ears. The girl’s whole spirit rose up in rebellion at the decree of parting and she hated Mrs. Frome for the performance of what was only a friendly act. Edenhope would have brought trouble on himself had he allowed the trooper to leave without him.
Mute with agony, Rosemary stood looking after her lover, who dared not return her look lest his courage should fail him. He passed under the purdah that screened the doorway and disappeared. She heard his footstep cross the paved hall. She knew that Claudia had joined him. In the verandah he paused. Rosemary caught the heartbroken words that he spoke to his friend.
“God keep her safe, poor darling! Tell her, Claudia, that I will come back at the soonest possible moment. I will not fail.”
Then the door of the car was shut and the motor glided away toward the great dock where the trooper, cleared of all visitors, was already beginning to cast off.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Nurse Mary pressed her hands to her eyes as if to shut out a vision of grief that was still too painful to contemplate. It was not of much use. No sooner had she repressed the unwelcome memory than another vision intruded itself and would not be denied.
The second picture presented a happier and more hopeful Rosemary. It was just a year later. Maurice Edenhope had been unable to fulfil his promise sooner. The regiment had been sent from Egypt to Gallipoli, and he had gone with it.
At first his letters were frequent and regular. They were full of expressions of regret, love and hope. He blamed himself over and over again for having called her out to India on what he chose to term a “fool’s errand.” He ought to have asked her to come six months before; or, better still, he might have married her in England after their short engagement and brought her out with him.
She replied, pouring out a responsive love, and begging him not to blame himself for what had happened. How could he foresee that war was coming? or that he would have to leave India being in the Indian Medical Service?
Then the U-boat trouble intruded itself. Longer intervals occurred between the arrival of the letters. Sometimes two or even three were delivered together. In addition to the irregularity, Edenhope wrote less frequently. At this time he was in Gallipoli, and Rosemary rightly concluded that the difficulty of corresponding had largely increased. Moreover he ceased to speak confidently of a speedy return to India. It seemed to her that he was losing his confidence and hope in the future. The heavy mortality among the men as well as the list of casualties affected him. Among them were some of his friends, officers belonging to his regiment. He was always with the wounded and the dying and they were not suitable subjects for his letters; yet his mind was full of them to the exclusion of all else.
Meanwhile Rosemary, after his departure, became a paying guest with Mrs. Frome. As time passed she grew restless and unsettled. One fact stared her in the face. The more she saw of Claudia, the less she liked her. The Colonel’s wife was in every sense a society woman, finding consolation for the absence of her husband in those strange companionships with men that may easily be misunderstood. No one can tell where they may end. They may grow into lasting friendships; on the other hand they may lead to disaster and disgrace.
In nine cases out of ten there is nothing below the surface; nothing sinister nor evil in the daily meetings and constant companionship that make up social life in India. But the woman who seeks her amusement in playing the part of confidential friend to three or four unappropriated men is no companion for a lone girl.
Rosemary soon discovered that she herself made the odd third person in the many little gatherings round Claudia’s tea-table. She might have occupied her idle hours in the same way; perhaps Claudia had hoped that she would do so; but Rosemary was not constituted that way. She was friendly and sociable with all alike; she was not disposed to favour one more than another; nor indulge in any favouritism.
The opportunity was not wanting; for Jimmy Dumbarton’s first appointment was in Bangalore. Rosemary had always liked Jimmy and found him an entertaining companion, and her liking increased. He amused her in many ways, and would have been only too pleased if she had allowed him to come and go with the liberty accorded by Claudia to her friends. Rosemary was firm, however; and Jimmy was called to order if he attempted to appropriate her to the exclusion of others.
A deeper knowledge of Claudia’s little ways suggested to Rosemary’s mind that she had carried on a similar friendship with Maurice. Although Rosemary had no doubt as to the purity of intention on both sides, she could not help having a spasm of jealousy when she thought of it. Claudia had enjoyed privileges which owing to her own absence could not be hers.
Yet she was fully aware from her knowledge of Claudia that there was no harm in any of her actions. Mrs. Frome flirted for the love of the thing. She would have flirted with women friends if she could not have found men friends.
Rosemary’s patience did not last long. Three months after Edenhope’s departure she announced one day that, as there seemed no prospect of Maurice’s return at present—his last letter spoke of the regiment’s departure for Gallipoli— she must find some occupation.
Claudia listened with her habitual set smile, and when Rosemary had finished speaking she inquired what she proposed to do.
“V.A.D. work.”
“Where?” asked Claudia in a voice that was free from all emotion, critical or otherwise.
“At Poona. I shall be near Bombay, there.”
No need to explain why she wanted to be near Bombay.
So Rosemary left Bangalore accompanied by her two servants: Cassim a bearer who had been in Edenhope’s service, and Judy, a Tamil ayah. Edenhope had enjoined on Cassim that he was to transfer his allegiance to the missie and was never to leave her. He was an elderly Muhammadan who had once been in his master’s regiment and now was pensioned. Judy was a young woman. She had attached herself to the English missie from the very beginning and looked upon her as a provision for life. She would be lady’s maid until the master returned. Then she would, by-and-by, take charge of the babies; and when in the far future master and mistress went to England she would repose on a well-earned pension.
In another fortnight Rosemary had donned the white head-dress and apron and the red cross of her calling. The name under which she went in her new profession was Nurse Mary. It seemed more suitable than Rosemary when she was spending her time in learning to wash wounded soldiers and to get used to the sight of wounds and blood; which at first turned her sick and faint.
For many months she served faithfully and became expert and reliable. Then came the summons for which she had been longing. A telegram from Port Said told her that Maurice was on his way back to India, and he directed her to be at Bombay on a certain date. He named the hotel where she was to put up. They would be married as soon as possible after his arrival; and they would go, as was previously arranged, to the Nilgiris that same day.
Once more her spirits revived, and she left Poona in a whirl of delight. How slowly the train moved! and how she fretted at the stoppages on the line, which she was convinced would delay its arrival at Bombay. Although she had given herself plenty of time, she was now and then assailed by the fear that she would be late; that he would arrive and not find her there.
She reached Bombay two days before the trooper and had time to rest and rearrange her travelling trunks. The trousseau had been packed away. Except for the first months spent with Claudia, she had lived in her cool V.A.D. costume.
Judy and Cassim had little enough to do while she was at work in the Hospital. The prospect of the master’s return brightened the old man’s eyes, and stirred him from the torpidity induced by his inactive life as the missie’s bearer and by indulgence in the hookah.
Cassim haunted the shipping office and the wharf where the trooper would disembark the troops. On the morning of the third day he ran back to the hotel and in sonorous Hindustani befitting the occasion announced that his most revered Excellency—might Allah preserve him and give him long life!—even now at this moment stood in the prow of the great battleship that commanded the seas. His honourable eyes were turned towards the hotel where the august lady waited for the coming of the master. It was a picturesque announcement and was very welcome to Rosemary’s ears.
“How soon will he be here?” she asked with breathless excitement.
“By the time the sun is over head and the shadows are at their shortest, noble lady. Such is the talk of the people on the quay.”
She looked at her watch. It was nine o’clock. Three hours to wait, an interminable time! The desire was great to take a cab and drive to the dock; but she knew that he was on duty and would be busy with the landing of the hospital cases that were under his care. There was nothing for it but to remain at the hotel and wait with what patience she could call to her assistance. She sent Cassim back, to be on the spot should his master require his help.
The hours dragged on and the sun approached its zenith. The curtain swaying in the doorway of the private sitting-room she had taken, was pushed aside, and a gaunt bearded man with haggard face and sand-scorched eyes stood before her.
For the moment she did not recognize him. Could this be the same man she had parted with a little more than a year ago, the handsome, clean-shaven, well-set-up Maurice, to whose arms she had flown to receive a warm lover’s welcome? It was impossible to identify the one with the other.
“Maurice! Maurice!” she cried, the dominant note in her voice being incredulous interrogation.
“Yes, I am Maurice. Changed, am I?” he said with a short unmirthful laugh that jarred on her ear.
On his entry she had risen from her seat to meet him. She had stopped short at the sight of him, and they stood in the centre of the room some three yards apart. She approached him and coming close laid her hand on his arm. With a searching glance she scanned his face.
“You have been ill, Maurice!”
“No; my health has been excellent.”
Still he made no movement. She slipped an arm round his neck and kissed him.
“Darling!” she said softly in his ear, “I am so glad to see you. At last! at last!” and she laid her cheek against his.
There was no responsive clasp; no return of her kisses; but in her intense joy she gave no heed to these strange signs.
“You are tired, dearest. I suppose you were up early looking after your patients,” she said as she released him. “Come and sit down and tell me all about yourself.”
She put her arm in his and drew him to a cool corner of the deep verandah. He yielded to her guiding and sank into a cane lounge with a sigh. His eyes wandered from her to the blue waters of the harbour. She brought up another chair, placed it close to his and sat down.
“You have your leave all right, I suppose?”
“A month from to-day.”
“I saw the chaplain of the cathedral yesterday,” she continued. “He has arranged to marry us to-morrow morning early and we shall be able to catch the through train down south. Cassim is simply splendid as a courier. Did he meet you when the boat came in?”
“Yes—yes; I think so. I am sure I saw him there with my orderly.”
Edenhope passed his hand over his eyes as though it was an effort even to think—far more to speak. A silence ensued that became increasingly uncomfortable for Rosemary as the minutes flew by. In vain she tried to identify this man with the eager lover of English days and the heartbroken sharer of her grief at their parting.
She leaned towards him and laid her hand on his. She wanted to hear his voice. It seemed to be the only part of him that had not changed. When he was speaking, it was easier to recall the old Maurice.
“Dearest, tell me about yourself. Your letters have been few and far between of late. I suppose we have to thank the U-boats for that. Has your work been hard?”
He turned and looked at her with sombre eyes.
“I want to forget my work; work without relaxation in the jaws of Hell. Our hospitals were continuously under fire.”
She realized for the first time and not without a shudder that he had been living face to face with death; not the death that follows disease but the shattering crushing death brought suddenly on strong, vigorous young manhood by all the cruel implements of war that the evil heart of man could devise. Of course it would be painful to speak and think about the terrible scenes and the appalling work that a Doctor on active service has to face.
“Then shall I tell you about myself? I wonder if you have received all my letters from Poona?”
“Probably not.” He looked at his watch. “Lunch will be ready by this time. Let us go and have some. I believe I breakfasted at six this morning.”
He rose and moved listlessly towards the door. She followed and they sat down in the public dining hall at a small table. It was a silent meal, silent and distrait as far as he was concerned; silent and observant on her part as with a sinking heart the conviction was stealing over her that a change had come over him. Something within him had died and left him cold and inanimate.
The thought brought dismay and distrust. Had he from some unknown cause lost his love for her? Surely not? It was so strong, so full of warm vitality when they parted.
She thrust the horrible suggestion aside again and again; but it recurred; and each time it came back it assailed her with greater force.
Late in the evening she found courage to ask a question that had been hovering on her lips ever since she had acknowledged to herself that there was something vitally wrong with him. She was a practical clear-headed girl, seeing as far as the average woman sees, who has still much experience to gain.
“Maurice!” she said, as he rose wearily at half-past nine to seek his room. He had sat silent and dreamy since dinner, apparently only half awake to the world around him. “Maurice, tell me, darling; would you rather we waited; would you prefer to put off to-morrow’s ceremony? I will do anything you like; anything you think best.”
He ought to have taken her in his arms then and there and reassured her in love’s fashion that he was counting the laggard hours as they passed, bringing him nearer to the fulfilment of his desire and delight. Her sweetness and love, her readiness to sacrifice herself for him should have been an irresistible appeal. It left him colder than ever. He looked at her without a smile.
“No, no,” he said slowly and deliberately. “There is to be no alteration of plans this time. I marry you to-morrow morning, and we go to Coonoor to the bungalow I bought from Mrs. Warden. What did she call it? It was some outlandish name.”
“The House of Desire and Delight,” replied Rosemary, her eyes on his, searching for a flicker that would rekindle the flame of love.
He turned away without offering to kiss her.
“Good night, Maurice.”
“Oh! good night. By-the-by, what hour did you fix for us to be at the cathedral?”
He stopped and half turned, waiting for her reply.
“At eight o’clock. I have ordered a taxi.”
“Good. We shall have comfortable time for breakfast after we come back here.”
He continued his way without looking back. Had he glanced over his shoulder, he would have caught sight of a woman whose distress might well have roused him out of his lethargy and touched him to the quick, awakening him from his torpid humanity. But he strode on with bent head and spoke no more that night, even though the faithful Cassim was at his side to relieve him of garments and hand him what he needed for night wear. Had Cassim not faithfully fulfilled his master’s orders in respect to missie? and was he not worthy of some small token by look or word that his work was appreciated?
Cassim noted the change and in his own language repeated unconsciously words that had been on oriental tongues many centuries before.
“He hath a devil!”
The following morning the bride and bridegroom drove together to the cathedral. Rosemary had brought out a wedding costume complete with veil and orange blossom. It was ready for her when she rose at day-break after an uneasy night. When her eyes fell upon it, she turned away with a feeling of distaste. She could not dress herself up in such finery as if for a smart wedding. She ordered Judy to put it back in its box, to that good woman’s intense disappointment. If her young mistress had been married on a desert island, Judy would not have considered the regulation dress of an English bride inappropriate. She dared even to remonstrate, but was dealt with shortly and bidden to bring out a white coat and skirt that would be suitable for travelling. White hat, gloves and shoes completed the costume. The bride carried no flowers.
Maurice was waiting for her in the verandah of the hotel. On the way down she had glanced into the sitting-room, half hoping that she might find him there, and that they might have a few words together before starting on their momentous journey; but she was disappointed.
She nodded to him and said good-morning with a smile that would have stirred his blood a year ago. He replied to the greeting in a wooden perfunctory manner and took the seat opposite to her.
The chaplain was ready to perform his part. He glanced at the tall bearded man and instinctively turned to Rosemary for directions.
“Is any friend or relative coming to give you away?” he asked.
“No; it is the one thing I have forgotten! How stupid of me!” replied Rosemary with consternation.
“Major Edenhope has the ring, I suppose?” inquired the clergyman with a forethought born of much experience.
“Maurice, have you the ring?” she asked.
He pulled out an envelope containing papers and a very small parcel which he carefully unfolded. The ring was there just as he had received it from the jeweller long ago. The papers related to the preliminaries as far as he was able to arrange them before her arrival.
“These have never left me from the time I promised on my honour to return as soon as possible. I have been long in coming; too long.”
The chaplain glanced sharply at him and then spoke to Rosemary.
“We must have some one to act as father. Would you mind if my church clerk gave you away?”
Rosemary did not reply. The church clerk was an elderly man whose mind was fixed upon the fee that would presently be placed in his hands. The chaplain read her silence. He glanced down the big building.
“There is a stranger, a visitor probably, at the end of the cathedral. He is in uniform. Shall I ask him if he will do it?”
“I will ask him myself,” said Rosemary.
She hurried down the nave, leaving Maurice standing before the chancel steps in a day-dream. As she drew near the stranger, his figure seemed familiar. The light was not good; but it did not take long for her to recognize in the visitor Jimmy Dumbarton and none other.
“Jimmy! you here! This is a lucky chance!” she said, as she came close up to him.
“It is not luck; it is fate,” he replied gloomily and without any sign of having been taken by surprise. “I came to see you married. It is my death-knell I know; but I felt I must come. I shall die of a broken heart and win my bet.”
“Nonsense, Jimmy! don’t be so silly! I want you to do something for me. I have no one to give me away; will you do it? And Maurice has no best man. He only arrived from Gallipoli yesterday and has had no time to find one.”
Dumbarton’s face lighted up with swift and unexpected pleasure.
“I shall be delighted. What a bit of luck!”
He bustled out of his seat; she took his arm and they walked up the church.
“How did you know that I was going to be married?” she whispered.
“Heard Edenhope was on his way back with a bunch of wounded and guessed there would be a wedding. Been stationed in Bombay the last six months; so dropped into the cathedral this morning on the chance.”
He had not left it to chance, but had made inquiries of the clerk and had heard that a Major was to be married at eight o’clock that morning; but this he did not tell Rosemary.
They arrived before the altar and the ceremony proceeded, Jimmy performing his part of father with undisguised pleasure and importance. He crossed over to the bridegroom’s side and took up the rôle of best man. He secured the ring from the passive fingers and gave it to the chaplain. He even went so far as to help in the prompting when Maurice seemed at a loss and hesitated in repeating his vows. When it was all over, they adjourned to the vestry to sign the register book.
“I am a lucky dog!” said Jimmy in Rosemary’s ear. “I wouldn’t have missed it—not for a thousand rupees!”
“I was so glad to have you by my side. You’re like an old friend. I should have been given away by the church clerk if I hadn’t found you on the spot.”
The gratitude she expressed was in her eyes as well as her words. Jimmy went to the hotel and breakfasted with them. He introduced a welcome element of cheeriness for which Rosemary was very grateful. The conversation was exclusively confined to these two. Maurice, if addressed, replied in monosyllables and not without an effort.
Now and then Jimmy threw an inquiring glance at Edenhope. He remembered seeing him as he came on board to meet Rosemary; but beyond the sight of the two together absorbed in the joy of their meeting to the exclusion of all else, he had no opportunity of learning what Edenhope was like. The stolid, undemonstrative man was puzzling, and a vague fear stole over him that all was not right with Rosemary’s silent husband.
Once he ventured to speak. Turning to Maurice, he asked if he had come from Egypt or Gallipoli.
“From Gallipoli,” was the reply.
“You were not wounded, sir.”
“No.”
“And you escaped that scourge, dysentery?”
Yes.”
“Where is Colonel Frome?” asked Rosemary.
“Gone on leave.”
“Is he going to England or will he take his leave in India?” she inquired, knowing that Claudia had not left the country.
“He is coming to Bombay, I believe.”
“Claudia will be glad to see him.”
“Yes.”
He dropped out of the conversation, in which he took no interest whatever.
Soon after breakfast they started for the station, Jimmy accompanying them, this time without an invitation. He still continued to play the part of best man; bought their tickets, and saw that the luggage and servants were being put into the right train.
Maurice allowed his wife’s friend to do everything, handing over a roll of notes when asked for the money to pay for the tickets, and receiving back the change without a word. As soon as they reached the train, he entered the carriage at once and lighted a cigarette. Rosemary remained standing on the platform with Jimmy, as the train was not due to start for another ten minutes.
“Edenhope doesn’t look up to the mark,” Jimmy ventured to say. “The change to the hills will do him good.”
“I hope so!” responded Rosemary warmly.
“The work has been a little too much for him, I should say. That’s why they sent him back with that last contingent, probably.”
Rosemary suddenly remembered that Jimmy belonged to the same profession as her husband, and moreover had the reputation of being a clever man all round.
“Does he want any particular treatment?” she asked.
“A quiet life and as much fresh air as possible is the best thing for him. Let him keep his mind as nearly blank as he can make it, so as to give the brain a rest.”
“Any particular diet?”
“No; let him have just what he fancies. In a week’s time he ought to be a different person. He’ll gradually wake up to things; lucky beggar!”
Jimmy suddenly recalled his own blighted love and put on an expression that he considered in strict accordance with it.
“Don’t look at me like that, Jimmy! you absurd boy! You know you were delighted to befriend me this morning.”
“It is the one bright spot in my darkened life. You must get into the train, darling. It will be starting in a minute or two. I hope we shall meet again—if I live!”
They moved towards the carriage, where Edenhope was placidly reading the morning paper. Rosemary entered and leaned out of the window.
“I’ll bet you five rupees that you live longer than I do!” she cried.
His whole face beamed with pleasure at the thought of a bet with some one else besides the usual James.
“Done with you!” he replied.
“An even bet,” added Rosemary, as he pulled out his note-book to record it.
The train moved off. He watched it go. She waved her hand and withdrew into the carriage.
“Poor dear!” he said to himself as he turned away. “She has had a woeful disappointment about something or other or my name isn’t Dumbarton. I can see it in her dear eyes. Wish I had had an old shoe to throw after her—anything to turn the luck when it is set against one.”
A few days later Mrs. Frome returned to Bombay to the little house on Malabar Hill which belonged to a friend. Jimmy who had met her previously called and she promptly put him on her list of privileged friends. She was chaperoning a niece, Ida Frome, the daughter of her husband’s brother who had lately come from Poona. The fates had been unkind to Ida. The man to whom she had been engaged had been killed in Gallipoli and the poor girl was overcome with grief. All this was explained to Jimmy by Claudia in a confidential talk over the tea-table, Ida being absent.
Jimmy said very little of the wedding and still less about Edenhope to Claudia; but when he met Colonel Frome he asked a few questions; which, however, brought him no nearer to the solution of Maurice’s strange behaviour. He concluded that the man was suffering from a species of war-shock which would pass off as soon as he had had time to rest mentally as well as bodily.
Those who know the Indian hills are well aware of the character of the hill bungalow. While it is well cared for it is a veritable garden of happiness, an ideal summer residence suitable to a climate that is perfect during the greater part of the year. Neglect it and both the house and garden fall into miserable disrepair. The rooms become dank through the heavy downpour in the monsoon rains; and the garden, unrestrained by the gardener’s knife, joins hands with the jungle till it is unrecognizable.
The bungalow to which Edenhope took his bride had been neglected for more than a year. When he bought it furnished, it was trim and neat inside and out. The rooms were well-aired and dusted. The garden was pruned and weeded. A year had wrought a marvellous change. Damp had laid a destructive finger on furniture and walls. The roof had sprung several leaks where tiles had slipped out of place and storms of wind had wrecked corners of the verandahs.
As for the garden in its unchecked tropical growth, it had almost identified itself with the wild hillside beyond the fence. Brick-coloured lantana and the perennial sunflower had entered into possession and smothered everything. The plumbago had expended all its energy in making long spiky arms; and the semi-wild cluster-rose had ousted the more delicate kinds. Nasturtiums over-rode the clove pinks; and the wild convolvulus had done its best to strangle heliotrope, fuchsia, and ivy-leaved geranium, covering up the traces of its misdeeds with rank foliage. Daturas and marigolds shed a strong and unpleasant scent around.
Rosemary passed by a weed-grown steep little path leading from the road to the bungalow. She looked at the riotous jungle on either side of her. A garden of delight! never was name more inappropriate. It was a rude, uninviting wilderness, an ill-smelling jungle only fit for the wild cat and the porcupine.
She ran up the moss-grown steps into a small verandah matted with coarse bamboo matting, ragged, discoloured and rat-eaten. An old watchman, who had the appearance of being as ragged and rat-eaten as the furniture and matting, salaamed low and said something in Tamil, a language she did not understand. The ayah who was close at her heels was a south Indian woman and knew his tongue.
“This man says he never expecting master. Nothing got to eat for missus.”
The ayah with small ceremony ordered him to remove his dirty person out of sight of the noble mistress and entered the house with Rosemary. If the garden was neglected and ruinous, the bungalow was still more so. It consisted of a centre room furnished as dining and sitting-room, and of two small bedrooms right and left with combined dressing and bathrooms attached.
In each room there was a single bed. It looked suspiciously as if the old watchman had endeavoured to keep both the beds aired by sleeping in them himself.
The ayah with a running accompaniment of disgust turned to seek the old watchman. She dispatched him to find a sweeper and waterman, a cook and kitchen woman and a cook-boy.
Maurice glanced round unmoved. The full meaning of the situation had not penetrated his brain. Already his bride in her short experience had learned not to look to him to take the initiative. It was she who directed and gave orders, just as she had done on the journey down. The only time he seemed to think for himself was at the hour when he was accustomed to have a meal. Then he would look at his watch and remark that it was the hour for breakfast or dinner as the case might be. He always took what was given to him without comment, quite content whether it was a frugal repast or a feast fit for a king.
Now and then during the journey Rosemary had caught his eye fixed upon her in vague contemplation. She had smiled, but there had been no response. The thought assailed her that his love was dead; and in addition that he had taken a dislike to her; but she put it aside with a brave heart determined not to entertain such a horrible belief until she had more ground for it.
Servants were forthcoming and under the directions of Cassim and Judy food was prepared, house and table linen unpacked, the rooms dusted, windows thrown open, the débris produced by the storms swept away and something like order evolved.
There was no time to rearrange any of the rooms. The last people to occupy the house were not husband and wife but mother and daughter. Judy took possession of the left-hand bedroom and deposited her mistress’s boxes there. Cassim stowed his master’s portmanteau and suit case in the right-hand room and Rosemary submitted in silence.
Tea was brought into the little verandah at half-past three; afterwards Maurice wandered off by himself for a walk without asking Rosemary if she would like to come. At half-past seven they dined and two hours later Maurice rose from his chair and began to move away in the direction of his room.
“Would you like a biscuit and anything to drink, Maurice?” Rosemary asked.
“No, thanks,” he replied without stopping.
She watched him as he went, wondering if he intended to return. She waited till ten. At that hour Cassim came in to close the windows.
“Shall I put out the light, madam?” he asked in Hindustani, which as Nurse Mary she had learned in Poona.
“Is the master in bed?”
“He sleeps,” was the reply.
“Cassim! what is the matter with him? He is not the old master,” she cried with a ring of anguish in her voice.
“No, honourable lady. He has been fighting in the land of Satan and an evil spirit has entered into him. If he could but make a pilgrimage to some holy place, the devil would leave him.”
This was no help to the unhappy bride.
“Put out the lamp,” she said.
Rosemary went to her room where the ayah awaited her. In a quarter of an hour she dismissed the woman. For a long time she sat by the little window through which the moonlight streamed; and the balmy air of the hills, sweet with scent of the blossom on the orange trees below the house, blew in. She heard the various night calls of birds and beasts and insects, familiar enough after her residence at Poona. The one sound that would have set her pulses going and her heart bounding, the sound of her husband’s approaching footstep, was absent.
Tired and chilly with her long vigil, Rosemary sought her solitary couch and fell asleep in the small hours of the morning.
The next day she went as far as asking Maurice if he wished for any change in the arrangement of the bungalow. He looked round vaguely as she spoke and answered no. She waited wondering if he was going to speak again; but he remained silent; and she took it to mean that as they had begun so they were to go on.
She was sitting so that she could see him in profile. The beard, well-kept and trim, was still there hiding half his face from her. She could not reconcile herself to it. He had a firm mouth with curved lips that suggested love and force, gentleness and strength. It was hidden. So also was the square chin. The nose remained unchanged except that it had grown thinner with the haggardness that overshadowed his face. The eyes had definitely altered. In their depths they seemed to hold some of the misery and pain that it had been his lot lately to witness and to try and alleviate. Other eyes had looked into his with the coming of death, and seemed to have left their reflection. He had recognized the agonized appeal against the dread spectre, and had done his best to help in the desperate fight. But often death had been so much more powerful than the surgeon, that in spite of youth and of manhood’s strongest opposition it had conquered.
Rosemary knew without being told that her husband had, as he himself might have put it, “looked into Hell”; but fortunately she could not read the detail of the sights that still lurked in his memory. Her experience in the Hospital had taught her something of the terrors of the battlefield; but it was not the same thing. She, of course, had never been in the fighting line.
It was not long before she put away all suspicion of aversion on his part towards herself. She could detect nothing in his bearing indicative of dislike. On the contrary, there was a distinct inclination to remain in her presence, to sit in the same room, and to follow her along the hill paths when she suggested a stroll. Nor was there any sign of ill-temper. Sometimes she wished he would show a little irritation and express a like or dislike. Anything would be better than this gloom.
“Maurice,” she said one day as they were returning from a walk, “were you ever gassed?”
“No,” he replied.
“What is the effect of it on the men?”
“Their lungs suffer.”
“What do you do for them?”
“Send them home.”
“I suppose the men in Gallipoli, natives as well as English, suffered from exposure to the sun.”
“Yes.”
“How did it affect them?”
“Fever.”
“Anything more?”
“Delirium.”
“Did you suffer at all from the sun?”
“No.”
Conversation of this kind was difficult to sustain for any length of time and silences ensued which became longer and longer.
Edenhope’s leave was for one month. At the end of that time he was to report himself at Bombay. In all probability he would be sent to Palestine; it was five days before the expiration of his leave.
He received a letter by the midday post. After reading it he called Cassim.
“I must dine early,” he said. “Have dinner ready at half-past six, and send the luggage to the station in time for the evening mail.”
Rosemary listened in surprise. It seemed strange that he should give his orders to the servant before he mentioned his plans to her.
“Are you off so soon? I thought we had another two or three days together here,” she said.
“I want a couple of days in Bombay. I shall find Mrs. Frome there.”
“You heard from her this morning.”
“Yes”
“I must pack up at once,” she said, rising from her chair.
He stood looking at her gloomily.
“I wish to go alone.”
“And what do you expect me to do?” she asked in dismay which she could not hide.
“Remain here.”
“I should much prefer to come to Bombay with you and see you off,” said Rosemary in sudden rebellion.
“I don’t wish it. You must remain here.”
“Alone in this gloomy, ruinous shanty! No! Maurice! I have fallen in with your wishes hitherto without a protest, odd as they have been; but I refuse absolutely to be ruled by you after you leave me.”
There was a slight pause. This outburst, delivered with some spirit, took him by surprise.
“As you please,” he said presently.
Something in his manner fanned the flame of her anger.
“My patience has come to an end,” she cried hotly. “Why, oh! why, if you don’t want a wife, did you marry me?”
The note of disappointment and anguish in her voice was a veritable cry from her heart.
“To fulfil a sacred promise made on my honour,” was the unexpected reply.
His voice was as even in its tone as ever. It might have been the voice of a dead man.
“Maurice! Maurice! where is your love for me?” she cried with an abrupt alteration from anger to passionate appeal. It fell on stone-cold ears.
“Gone, I suppose, with the rest of all joy and happiness,” he replied slowly, a puzzled expression overshadowing his face.
“If that is so, we are best apart,” she cried recklessly, despair taking hold of her.
“Best apart,” he echoed.
“Then we separate to-morrow for good.”
“Yes.”
“Am I to write to you?”
“No.”
“You really mean that it is to be an indefinite separation?” cried Rosemary, unable to believe that he meant what he said.
“Yes.”
Oh! those terrible monosyllables! They maddened her.
“What about the vows you made less than a month ago in the cathedral at Bombay?” she asked hotly.
“I made them in accordance with my promise,” he replied evenly and with an absence of all emotion.
“Supposing I refuse to be left behind?”
“I cannot help it.”
“What will you do if I insist on coming to Bombay?”
“Nothing.”
Then the remnant of her self-control snapped.
“You are a wicked man and I hate you! I hate you! I once worshipped the very ground you trod on. I would have given you my life as I gave you my love. Go! yes! leave me! Go to Claudia. Go to a dozen Claudias if you like; but remember this, once and for all. You have done with me. I go out of your life, bearing your hated name, thanking you for nothing and cursing you for having spoiled my life!”
For a few fateful seconds she stood looking at him. Even now, if he had so much as lifted his arms and cried “Come!” she would have flown to him, melting with forgiveness and love, which in spite of her harsh words was deeply rooted in her heart.
He remained standing there unmoved, his eyes fixed upon her with a morose gloom in which was no repentance, no regret, no softening, no vestige of love.
Poor Rosemary! Anger and wrath were not natural to her. She was full of generous love towards all human beings and animals, ready to be loved in return. Up to the present she had been unswerving in her deep devotion to the man who had made her his wife; but now she was chilled to her very heart’s core and broken in spirit.
She left him abruptly, put on her hat and walked to the hotel where she spent the rest of the day. She heard the mail train come in and presently puff itself away down the ghat. She wondered if he had carried out his intention of leaving by it. A faint hope fluttered through her mind. Was it possible that he had been sufficiently stirred by her just indignation to alter his plan and remain at the bungalow for another interview?
At ten o’clock she returned home. The ayah was there, looking anxiously for her mistress. From her she heard that Maurice had been gone more than an hour. Judy shook her head in strong disapproval of master’s behaviour and muttered to herself, “This not good business!”
Cassim did not appear. The waterman and kitchen boy who had gone to the station with the luggage reported that Cassim had left for Bombay with his master.
Rosemary remained at the bungalow longer than she had intended. In five days’ time Cassim returned. He related in a simple way how his master had stayed at the hotel, but had spent the days with Colonel and Mrs. Frome. Had the master sent any message? or given him a letter to bring? No; the honourable Excellency had sent no message. He had gone on board with Colonel Frome, who was going back to his regiment by the same ship.
A few days later Rosemary received a communication from her husband’s agents to the effect that in accordance with Major Edenhope’s directions they had opened an account in her name. They forwarded a cheque book and added a request that she would acknowledge it and send them her usual signature. Rosemary tore up the letter and never replied to it.
No! nothing should induce her to touch his money. Did he think that she married him merely to be a pensioner on his bounty! She was well able to keep herself. During her period of V.A.D. work her own income had accumulated. She had plenty of money for all her needs, including a scheme she had suddenly conceived and intended to carry out immediately.
This scheme was nothing less than the restoration of a house of gloom and despair to something resembling a house of desire and delight. She herself would never now find the magic of it; but others might do so after she had abandoned it. To preserve the place it must be lived in. No one would dream of taking it in its present condition. She would alter it till it was unrecognizable and then let it to happier honeymoon couples.
Coolies were engaged for the garden, which was cleared and cleaned of all jungle intruders, The dilapidated furniture was turned out bodily and sent to be sold in the bazaar for what it would fetch. She summoned a builder with more coolies and had the bungalow enlarged. The small verandahs that were past repair were pulled down and bigger ones built. Her own bedroom she turned into a gem of a boudoir that was to serve as drawing-room as well, and erected a larger bedroom off the boudoir. Maurice’s room was also enlarged, but it was still to be a bachelor’s den with an enclosed verandah off it suitable for a reading and smoking den.
New furniture was sent up from Madras. She made two or three journeys to the Presidency town before she was satisfied that she had obtained all that she considered necessary for her House of Desire and Delight. There was a certain feverishness in her actions that showed how great the tension was. If she had not had this work to absorb her attention and her energies, she felt that she would have gone mad.
The bungalow was the only thing belonging to her husband that she retained. He left a few mufti garments behind which she gave to Cassim. Every trace of Maurice Edenhope was obliterated. She tore up his photographs, dismantled the room he had occupied; got rid of books and magazines that she had seen in his hands and finally took off her wedding-ring and buried it deep in her largest trunk.
When all was finished reaction came, followed by a terrible stagnation. Once more she was conscious of an aching void in her life. Without knowing it she pined for some creature to cherish and love. There had never been but one person in the world to whom her heart had gone out. He had passed out of her life and left it hollow and empty. Most fortunately for her peace of mind, no other came to pick up the pearls that had been so recklessly thrown aside by their rightful owner.
She let the bungalow in a desperate fit of the blues to two ladies for a nominal sum on condition that they kept house and garden as they found it. Then Rosemary with Cassim and Judy in attendance went off to Bangalore to resume her V.A.D. work in a large hospital on the high ground at no great distance from the Residency. There she was known as Nurse Mary Hope; and she found scope for the generous sympathy and warm affection towards suffering humanity that was her second nature. She was as nearly happy as she could be under the circumstances, devoting herself exclusively to her duties and seeing next to nothing of the outer world.
While Nurse Mary took her day’s rest after night duty, a consultation was held by the Medical Officers of the Hospital over a case that was occupying their attention.
A Muhammadan officer, Captain Gabriel-u-deen, had been with them some weeks. His wound, a fracture of a couple of ribs and a flesh wound, had healed; in the ordinary course of events he ought to have been discharged, and since he desired it, sent on leave for a short time.
Contrary to all expectation, his condition was far from satisfactory. Nurse Ida, who had charge of the case, declared that the patient was fretting in secret. She confided her belief to Dumbarton that her patient was in love, and that nothing would complete his cure but the ministrations of the beloved one.
“I can feel for him, poor fellow,” remarked Jimmy, who had not hidden the fact from Nurse Ida Frome that he himself had had an unfortunate love affair; while she, it will be remembered, had elicited his sympathy by confessing to the loss of a lover.
“So can I! and that’s why I mentioned it,” she replied. “In his delicate condition it preys upon his mind. Can’t we do something?”
She looked at Jimmy and he looked back at her with the unconscious feeling that they were partners in sorrow themselves and on that account were best fitted to relieve the troubles of others.
“Where is the girl he is fretting after?” he asked.
“At his own house, I believe. He hasn’t mentioned her; but from the number of times he has inquired when he will be allowed to go home on leave, I am sure she is there.”
“His wife, I’ll bet a hundred rupees!”
Nurse Ida had known Jimmy for some time; she always ignored his bets.
“Will you speak to the Commandant?”
“I will; but I know he won’t like letting him go. The women belonging to these men are the very deuce with their home treatment,—three-quarters magic and one-quarter antiquated herbs. When they have half-poisoned the poor fellow and made him thoroughly ill, he will come back on our hands far worse than when he left us.”
Jimmy’s sympathy with the sick man’s heart troubles was quenched in the gloomy forebodings of a keen practitioner.
“You might send one of the V.A.D.’s with him just to see him through the first week or ten days,” suggested Nurse Ida. “Not me! I have no wish to go!” she added quickly.
“Ah!” responded Jimmy, as a sudden inspiration darted through his mind. “I’ll work it. Awfully good of you to think of it; but that’s you, yourself; always considering others. To me you’ve been——”
“Nonsense!” cried Nurse Ida, cutting him short with little ceremony. All the same the big brown eyes that rested on the house surgeon softened and left him soothed rather than irritated by her severity.
The inspiration that had flashed through his mind was none other than this; that here was a solution of Nurse Mary’s present dilemma. Captain Gabriel-u-deen should be sent to his own house, a large mansion about twenty miles distant from Bangalore in the heart of the Mysore plateau. He should go in charge of Mrs. Maurice Edenhope, otherwise Nurse Mary. It should be accomplished before the arrival of Colonel Edenhope, who might be told of it without rousing his suspicions as to the identity of “Nurse Mary Hope.” It would then be left to Nurse Mary herself to declare her presence or to keep it secret according as she thought fit.
The Commandant, in perfect ignorance of what was behind the proposition, easily fell in with it. He ascertained from the patient himself that the object of his desire was none other than a young wife to whom he had been married before he sailed for Egypt.
The Muhammadan officer had greatly distinguished himself in the field. He had been promoted and nominated for honours which he was to receive from the King’s hand as soon as he was well enough to go to England.
Before embarking for England as a convalescent his longing was for his home and his wife. It was a longing that seized him with an intensity that retarded his recovery and kept him weak with fever and depression.
When the Commandant explained the plan to Nurse Mary and asked if she was willing to go, she threw a swift glance at Jimmy, who was looking supernaturally professional. She expressed her readiness to fall in with the arrangement without the faintest trace of emotion, although her heart beat wildly beneath the red cross upon her breast. It was carefully explained to her by the house surgeon in the presence of his chief that she was charged with authority to regulate the life of the invalid. Above all things she was to stand between him and any home treatment that might be harmful.
From the moment Captain Gabriel was informed that he was to be sent home, he improved in health and spirits. Perhaps Nurse Mary’s spirits also rose at the prospect of a speedy change; but it was from relief and not from the need of a change; for she was in excellent health herself; and now that she had become thoroughly interested in her work, she was tolerably happy.
“I understand that you are going to your own house where you are master,” said the Commandant to the patient. “And that you can offer suitable accommodation to the nurse we are sending with you.”
“She will have a suite of rooms furnished as well as anything you can give her here,” replied Gabriel eagerly. “She will take her own servants and have the service of others if she requires it, a cook and table attendant. There are horses and carriages and a motor-car if she wishes to come into Bangalore at any time.”
“Who is looking after the house in your absence?” asked the Commandant.
“My elder brother. He is years older than I am and he is like a father to me.”
“How is it that the estate is not his?”
“He was the son of a slave wife given to my father when he was only eighteen. Ten years later my father made a second and more honourable marriage and I was born. I am the only child of that marriage. I have a half-sister, the daughter of the first wife.”
“Your family live with you?”
“It is the custom. My father left the estate to me, his rightful heir, and it is my duty to my father to give a home to all his children who require one and to all their families.”
“They are married, then?”
“Yes, and have children.”
“Have you any children?”
“Allah has not willed it at present, but I hope—she is young, barely eighteen. She was only just sixteen when I married her. A son will come. Our family has never failed in the male line. When do I go?”
“The day after to-morrow. You will start in the morning before the heat of the day, and Nurse Mary will go with you.”
Captain Gabriel gave a happy sigh. In forty-eight hours he would clasp his girl bride in his arms and pillow his head on her breast!
“The nurse must send a report to the house surgeon every day by special messenger.”
“It will be a good report, sir, I am sure,” replied the happy invalid.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
The Mysore plateau is like a succession of beautiful parks set with noble trees. In between the stretches of grass land there are evergreen woods, rivers, and broad patches of rich cultivated lands.
Nurse Mary had gladly seized the way out of her dilemma devised by Jimmy. She did not stop to consider if she was doing the right thing in thus running away from her husband. The desire paramount in her mind was to escape; it did not matter much how; but escape she must. It was impossible to resume the old relationship.
The next morning she and her charge started for Captain Gabriel-u-deen’s estate. It was a glorious day; a brilliant sun tempered by a cool breeze gave perfect weather for the drive. The fresh air brought the colour to Nurse Mary’s face and a light to the eye of her companion. His mind was preoccupied with his own thoughts and anticipations. She roused him frequently with questions concerning the villages, fields, woods and rivulets they passed. A blue solitary hill like a crouching animal appeared on the horizon. It grew taller in their vision as they approached, and out of its blueness she could distinguish rocks and trees.
“My home is at the foot of that hill,” remarked Captain Gabriel.
“Can we see the house?”
“Not yet. It stands on raised ground behind it. The village lies under the walls of the grounds. The land from the hill to the big river two miles distant belongs to me. My ancestors conquered it three hundred years ago from the Hindus.”
“Where is the river?”
“The big river, as the people call it, is in that direction;” he pointed towards the flat horizon. “We have a stream near us flowing from the hill and through the village. It comes out of the jungle.”
They relapsed into silence as the car sped on. The trees were fewer now and the country opened out into a magnificent expanse of cultivation. Far away in the distance the white minarets and domes belonging to a large block of building rising above the trees came into view. The blueness of the hill had disappeared in the clear light of the eastern sun, and there was revealed masses of dark grey rock in cliff and boulder, and the deep green of thickets. The house with its irregular blocks of buildings, its domes and terraced roofs and its embattled walls, stood out in shining white against the dark hill. Outside the walls, as Captain Gabriel had said, the village lay, a brilliant piece of warm colour with its red-tiled roofs and vivid green patches of climbing gourds.
“It’s a palace! not a house!” cried Nurse Mary enthusiastically. “And it sits on a throne like a queen with its subjects at its feet! How many rooms does it contain?”
“A hundred and fifteen, not counting the durbar hall.”
“How could you leave it, Captain Gabriel,” she cried.
“My Emperor called me and I gave him all he asked. Thirty of the men from my estate followed me and fought under me in my company. Some of them, poor fellows! will never see their village again.”
They crossed the stream which would have been reckoned as a river of some importance in England for its size. The waters were not at their full height. Groups of the washerman fraternity were busy at pools and creeks; and the shore was patched with long strips of red, blue and golden brown material drying in the sun. A score of donkeys grazed on the banks beyond the sandy flats of the river bed.
The car rushed on, slowing down as it entered the village. Women with brass water-pots on their hips or their heads stopped on their way to the stream to watch the mysterious devil-carriage that moved so swiftly without horse or bullock. Ah! whatever the police might say to the contrary, they knew! for their wise old grannies had told them. There was a small devil with wondrous strength shut up in the box in front of the carriage and he made it run. He was not an Indian devil; he was English; and he had a brother who was still more marvellous; he carried messages from Mysore to Bombay in the snapping of an eye. Abah! There were other powerful devils in the power of the white man who served the great Emperor of all India, Ceylon and Burmah.
The village was left behind and the car climbed a winding road to the huge palace. A man in military uniform opened the gate and salaamed low to the young lord, scrutinizing him with a keen eye and glancing curiously at his companion, the English lady seated by his side. They moved along a curved drive, and the car was drawn up under a noble portico of many pillars, all of white polished chunam that vied with the finest marble.
Captain Gabriel descended from the car and gave his hand to Nurse Mary. No one was visible in the wide, lofty verandah. He looked round. Then, turning to the chauffeur, asked him to sound his horn. The man, who was a native, blew a blast sufficient to rouse the dead. The deep hoot echoed among the pillars of the building again and again.
A stately Muhammadan gentleman of middle age, robed in a long dark green coat embroidered in silver, came out of the gloom of the rooms on the right and approached. He touched his forehead with his fingers, and then held out his hand.
“Welcome, brother! welcome home! How long our eyes have ached for a sight of you, but you did not come!”
He turned to Nurse Mary with a charming smile.
“And this is the good lady who has been so kind as to honour our poor house with her presence.”
“She is the nurse sent by the Doctor to look after me.” Nurse Mary held out her hand, which was ceremoniously taken.
“Madam, we have prepared your rooms. I hope that you will find everything to your liking.”
Meanwhile retainers had appeared noiselessly on the scene. One and all salaamed low to the young master with grave dignity. The luggage was quickly removed and carried away. The car was dismissed and the party proceeded led by Michael-u-deen, Gabriel’s elder brother. They passed through the great verandah and out into an open square with buildings all round. Nurse Mary looked round her in amazement. The square was filled with roses. They were in pots and arranged in battalions. Every plant was laden with blossoms. She recognized the familiar old friends of her youth, as well as the more modern noisette and tea rose of the latest horticultural shows at Bangalore. She stopped with an exclamation of pleasure.
“They make a fine show,” said Michael, evidently gratified at her admiration.
“You have all the latest, I see,” she said.
“The florist at Bangalore has a standing order to let us have every new rose he imports and to replace every old plant that begins to show signs of decay.”
“We call our house the Garden of Roses,” observed Captain Gabriel, as he glanced round with a happy sigh. The joy that he felt on entering his home again, after months of drought and privation in the heat and dust of Palestine, was too deep for words.
“It is well named,” replied Nurse Mary, her memory suddenly flying back to a bungalow on the hills which had a name that did not fit.
They walked along the broad paved path leading through the rose garden to a second portico. Again they mounted steps broad and shallow, that took them into another pillared hall and out into a courtyard beyond. Like the lower square it was surrounded by wings of the palace. The centre of the enclosure was occupied by a large basin of water in which a fountain played. Roses again abounded on all sides, but in addition there were palms, ferns, caladiums and crotons. At the edge of the pond white arum lilies lifted their sceptres of gold in pure snow-white cups. Michael led them through the square to another flight of stairs.
“I’m sorry you have so many steps to mount, Nurse Mary,” said Captain Gabriel. “Our rooms are on the third floor, the coolest and most comfortable part of the house.”
The stairs ended in a broad verandah with a number of rooms opening on to it after the fashion of native mansions. Michael stopped before one of the tall doorways and drew aside the purdah that hung in front of it. They entered a large sitting-room beautifully furnished. At the back of it near another curtained door stood Judy, the ayah, smiling nervously, very pleased to see her mistress, but awed by the sight of the master of this magnificent place. Cassim, Nurse Mary’s man-servant, emerged from behind another purdah and salaamed.
“These are your rooms, madam; I hope you will find them comfortable,” said Michael with the dignity of an anxious host. “If there is anything you want please send word by your servant and we will supply you if we can; will we not, brother?” he added, as though remembering suddenly that he was not the master of the house now that Gabriel had returned.
“I am sure that I shall be comfortable,” Nurse Mary hastened to assure him. “Where is Captain Gabriel’s room? It is time he was resting.” She turned to her patient. “You ought to have some chicken broth and milk after your journey.”
“It is ready,” said Michael. “And your lunch as well if your servant has carried out my orders.” He looked at Cassim, who replied instantly:
“Huzoor! it is waiting.”
“Never mind me,” said Nurse Mary in her most professional tone. “My patient comes first. Where are the rooms?”
Michael led the way along the verandah to a suite at the very end. They were furnished in the same luxurious manner as those assigned to Nurse Mary’s use.
“I think you had better go straight to bed,” she said, moving through the doorway that led into the bedroom. “Where is your servant?”
An elderly Muhammadan came forward, a man who had been in attendance on his master at the Hospital.
“Now, Mahmoud, be quick. Have you the suit-case? Get out your master’s things.”
“They are here, lady, in the dressing-room.”
Michael looked on in some surprise at this sudden assumption of authority by the English lady who wore a dress that he had never seen before. He was strictly conservative; rarely went to any of the haunts of foreigners and was seldom to be seen in Mysore, the capital of the State. He possessed all the prejudices of his race against progress and development. The ways of his father and his father’s father were good in his eyes and incapable of improvement. He could never have brought himself to wear the lancer uniform of the Imperial Horse, much as he admired the attractive colouring. The khaki uniform in which Gabriel had arrived was still less to his liking, although he could not but admit that it became the fine, supple figure of his younger brother. His thoughts were broken by Nurse Mary.
“Now, Michael Sahib, I am sorry to have to turn you out; but I must ask you to leave your brother for a short time in my hands. After he has had lunch and a rest he will get up and go to his sitting-room. You may come and talk to him then; and he may see his family. You understand, don’t you? that I am responsible to the Doctor at the Hospital for his good health. If he is over-tired, I shall be blamed.”
Michael bowed low to this strange authority, a woman! and apparently one who knew her own power. If he was not mistaken, she meant to exercise it. It was an entirely new situation and he was puzzled. He was not sure that he approved of it. He had never been ordered out of a room before in his life. However, with the innate courtesy of the well-bred man of the East, he accepted the circumstances with easy grace in which no trace of annoyance or surprise was visible, even though it was contrary to all his established and deeply rooted prejudices.
A tray of food excellently served was brought to Captain Gabriel’s room. Nurse Mary took it in to him herself. The patient was propped up with an abundance of large down pillows. His face lighted up with pleasant anticipation as his eye fell on the cup of broth.
“Chicken pish-pash! what a treat! Oh! Nurse! how delightful it is to be home again!” he said, as she arranged the lunch so that he could help himself. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”
“Not yet. My tiffin will be ready as soon as I am ready.”
She walked to the further window. It looked out towards the distant river. Fertile land stretched away in fields and woods to a level horizon of deep blue. Immediately below were the terraced roofs of the mansion, their straight lines broken by small gilded domes and graceful minarets. From the courtyards was wafted the smell of roses: the otto scent of La France, the apricot of Marechal Niel and the clove of Madame Chatenay.
“Nurse Mary, you are not going to keep me in bed all day, are you?” asked her patient, who had finished his lunch and was leaning back on his cushions.
“No; you shall get up by-and-by; and if you feel fit for it, you may see some of your family. Now lie down and have a sleep as if you were still in Hospital. We must not forget that you are an invalid.”
As she smoothed the silk coverlet and rearranged his pillows, he whispered: “Nurse, may I see my wife when I wake?”
“Certainly you may. She should be the first, the very first to come to you.”
He gave her a grateful glance and she left him.
In her own room everything was ready. A dainty lunch was awaiting her, and Cassim was standing behind her chair in attendance. Judy had unpacked the luggage and arranged the bedroom as her mistress was accustomed to have her personal property around her.
“This is all very nice, Judy,” said Nurse Mary with approval.
The ayah closed her lips and did not reply.
“It’s a lovely house,” continued her mistress, noting that Judy had not responded to her enthusiasm. “Nothing seems to have been forgotten either here or in Captain Gabriel’s room. Who has done it?”
“The Shahzada.”
“Captain Gabriel? How could he see to it being in Hospital?”
“Michael Sahib, lady; the young master’s big brother; and the Beebee his wife.”
“It is very good of them. Where is the Beebee?”
“She is downstairs. Her rooms are under these.”
Nurse Mary sat down to her much-needed tiffin, some excellent soup, a roast chicken, a snipe daintily served on toast and some stewed fruit. She was surprised at the fare.
She had expected something more of the nature of the spiced dishes of the native, and in quantity rather than quality. All along there had been a vague dread at the back of her mind that she might have to rough it in both food and accommodation; but so far she had experienced nothing the sort. There was also a sense of peace about the place of that was distinctly restful. It was peace with luxury, soft living, a perfect climate with cool fresh breezes and brilliant sunshine. It was all very acceptable after the work in the Hospital. No wonder her patient longed to get back. Here if anywhere he ought to make a good recovery.
As she had been up since dawn she felt justified in lying down for a short rest. She stole softly to Captain Gabriel’s room to assure herself that nothing was required there. He was sleeping soundly. No punkah was needed; nor was there any necessity for the mosquito nets. The breezes had wafted the little torments to the lower regions. She closed a shutter noiselessly to lessen the glare of light that flooded the room and slipped away as silently as she had come.
“You can go, Judy; and you, too, Cassim. Have you everything you want?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Cassim.
“What food do they give you?”
“Chicken pillau.”
“Is it good?”
“Very good.”
“And you, Judy? What are you to have?”
“Curry and rice.”
“And you are satisfied?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then go and come back at half-past two; not before.”
The two servants left without another word. What strange people they were, thought Nurse Mary. Neither of them showed a spark of pleasure over the palace in which they were so comfortably housed; nor did they express any gratitude for the good food provided. She supposed it was their way.
She slipped off her uniform and put on a loose tea-gown. There were no officials nor fellow-nurses to consider. It was pleasant to get into “civvy” clothes again. From the window of her sitting-room she looked out on to the great rocky hill that rose behind the house. It was partly clothed in jungle. Where the rock fell away in steep, precipitous sides no trees could cling. Narrow shelves held grass and creepers that hung down over the face of the rock. In places she could distinguish deep clefts that formed ravines. They appeared to be half choked with boulders. She judged the hill to be less than a mile from the house. The ground in between rose gently and she could see terraces and mounds with old broken pieces of masonry. At some period a town must have stood there. It had been levelled by the conquering hordes of the Moghul, and the inhabitants killed after the fashion of those old times.
The sight of the forbidding hill with its rocky precipices and heaps of boulders, its thorny jungle and remains of the ruined town, set her imagination working and roused her curiosity. She would get a nearer view of it as soon as the opportunity offered. She went back to her luxurious sitting-room where a large Chesterfield sofa piled with silken cushions invited her to take the rest she needed.
She awoke with a start and glanced round hastily under the impression that some one had been leaning over the back of the sofa looking at her with an intentness that disturbed her, even while she slept. She listened, but could hear no sound of retreating footsteps. She called the ayah softly, but received no reply. It was not half-past two, and Judy was still fast asleep in the lower regions where the servants had their quarters.
Slipping on her uniform, Nurse Mary went to look at her charge. He was still asleep, but he was not alone. At a little distance stood his brother, gazing at him with a grave face.
Michael held up his hand and moved noiselessly back towards Nurse Mary. Together they went into the verandah.
“He still sleeps. Poor boy! how ill he looks!” he said, as soon as they were well away from the room. His voice was gentle and sympathetic.
“Captain Gabriel’s ribs were fractured and they took some time to mend. The voyage back to India was undertaken before he was quite well enough to be moved, unless they could have been assured of fine weather all the way.”
“Will he go back to Egypt to fight?”
“The fighting in that part is all over,” replied Nurse Mary, glancing at him with surprise.
“Ah! yes, of course. I was forgetting. You see I don’t read the newspapers. My secretary tells me when there is anything important.”
“I am very glad that the fighting is over for the present for Captain Gabriel,” she remarked.
“Is he then so delicate? is his health too much broken for further service?” Michael asked, gazing gravely at her with searching inquiry.
“Oh! no! I would not say that,” she hastened to reassure him. “He may live to be an old man, hale and hearty as any one.”
He caught his breath. How deeply he loved his brother! she thought. She warmed towards him as she noted his anxiety for the younger man’s welfare.
“I am afraid he will find this place very dull after the life he has led. Probably it will not be long before he returns to Mysore to rejoin his regiment there.”
“He will not be able to go until the doctors say he is fit. He is on sick leave from the Hospital now, and must wait for orders before he rejoins at Mysore.”
This was news to Michael, whose knowledge of military rules was of the scantiest.
“Then we must do our best to make him happy here,” he replied.
“His wife will be the attraction. She must see him this afternoon. I am sure he will get well as soon as he has her with him.”
“Yes,” said Michael with decision. “That must be our first care.”
“You know, I suppose, Michael Sahib, that your brother is invited to go to England as soon as he is well enough to make the journey. He is to receive his honours with several other officers and men belonging to the Indian army from the King’s hand.”
“Ah! I had not heard of this!” he cried in some excitement. “The King Emperor has sent for him! Then he must go! This is an honour not only conferred on my brother but on all the family, on the house of my father and my father’s father. Why did he not write and tell us what was awaiting him? I must scold him when he wakes.”
“How could he, poor fellow! when his ribs were not healed!”
“Of course, madam. How forgetful I am in my joy! I must let the family know this great piece of news.”
He moved as if to go. Nurse Mary stopped him with a sudden question.
“Did you by any chance come into my sitting-room a short time ago, Michael Sahib?”
He looked shocked for the moment. “I! Would I dare to venture into a lady’s room? You don’t know how particular we are in that respect! I have heard that your social life is different from ours; but I am old-fashioned and cling to my father’s ways. Even if you invited me, I don’t think I should feel comfortable in entering your private sitting-room. I should be intruding. We can meet here in the verandah or upon the terraced roof outside and talk of my brother.”
She regretted her question. He seemed so hurt at the mere thought of such a breach of manners.
“I fancied that some one stood at the back of the sofa and looked down upon me.”
“A dream; we have all sorts of fancies in our dreams.”
“I don’t think it was a dream.”
“Then it might have been an inquisitive servant. I must tell you that our people here—we have a large establishment—are filled with curiosity over the doings of their superiors. But on this occasion when the young master comes home in charge of an English lady, they are astonished. You must not mind, madam, if they peep and pry and listen and watch. Pay no attention to them. Of course if they are rude and make themselves offensive in any way, you must let me know. I will at once deal with them, and severely too. I want you to be quite comfortable and happy here. My brother has asked me to see to it. I assure you I shall do my best.”
Nurse Mary thanked him warmly. She was beginning to like this kind attentive host with his old-world courtesy. As elder brother he ought to have been the owner of this fine ancestral estate, she thought, since he was born in honest wedlock. She had little knowledge of Muhammadan law. A man is allowed three wives, but seldom cares to burden himself with as many, since it entails three separate establishments. Nurse Mary was under the impression that the first wife by right of precedence was the one to be honoured, and that her children would rank before the children of a later marriage.
This would hold good if the first wife happened to be the choice of the parents. She would then be married with the shahdee ceremonies. If she were chosen by the young man himself and were not his equal by birth, she would not be so honoured. The nikah or murti rites would be good enough. They were little more than the bestowal of jewels and the declaration before witnesses that the man took her to wife.
Michael was the offspring of such a marriage, a fact that he inwardly resented. His father should have made the shahdee marriage first. Afterwards he might have taken other wives by the less honourable ties and no injustice would have been done.
He was careful to see that his own marriage to the proud Lilith was the shahdee. The noble boy that she had borne him was his first-born and his heir. The child’s name was Raphael, and he had never known any other home than his uncle Gabriel’s house. Lilith had also borne a girl, a beautiful child named Arefa.
Michael’s establishment, which was large, was on the story beneath the rooms occupied by Gabriel and his nurse. They were the suite used by their father. When Gabriel married, he elected to remain in the upper story for the present and leave his brother in peaceful possession of the quarters where he had been so long. If, however, Gabriel should be blessed with a family, then as master of the house it would only be fitting that he should occupy the rooms that for generations had belonged to the head of the family.
Nourma, the young bride, only sixteen at the time of her marriage,—which was conducted with the shahdee rights,—was given rooms on the upper floor. She had her own staff of servants, and the part of the house she occupied was curtained and screened off in the usual Muhammadan style.
Nurse Mary’s travelling clock struck three. She turned towards her patient’s room.
“I must go, Michael Sahib. Captain Gabriel will be able to receive visitors in half an hour. I will send his man, Mahmoud, to tell you when he is ready.”
As she spoke Mahmoud came out of his master’s room. Michael looked at him and then glanced at his companion.
“Did you know he was there?” he asked in a low voice.
“Nd; I thought he had gone to his dinner.”
“It was probably Mahmoud who entered your room.” Without waiting for a reply he continued: “I will bring my family myself,” and he turned away to go but checked himself. “Shall you be present?” he asked.
“I think not; there in no necessity. Another time I hope to see your wife and children in my room, and Captain Gabriel’s wife.”
“Certainly they shall come.”
He bowed and then drew himself up to his full height. His long velvet robe and jewelled turban became his tall, broad figure and emphasized the pride and dignity that was his inheritance from a long line of Muhammadan nobles.
“The Shahzada is awake, lady,” said Mahmoud.
Michael looked at the man sharply. The word Shahzada was not altogether acceptable in his ears, During his younger brother’s absence it had been applied to Michael Sahib. Now it was no longer his. The servant had unwittingly reminded Michael of the fact, and it jarred. He made no remark, however; but hurried down the stairs as though he wished to avoid hearing a repetition of it.
Nurse Mary found her patient refreshed by his sleep. He rose and with the assistance of two of his servants dressed again. She, meanwhile, rearranged his sitting-room, ordered a third servant to clear away a kit bag and some suitcases, which would find a more fitting resting place in the dressing-room attached to the bedroom.
“If your Honour will give the keys, I will unpack,” said the man.
“I will see to the unpacking myself; you can go,” was Nurse Mary’s reply.
Sofa and chairs, cane lounges and small tables were grouped under her directions. The more there was to be done, the greater number of servants appeared to carry out her orders. They seemed to be the slaves of a wishing carpet.
“Now I want roses and some vases to put them in,” she said.
In less than ten minutes a large tray was brought loaded with magnificent blooms and the room blossomed out into sweetness and colour. She fetched two or three illustrated papers from her room and laid them on a table close to the couch where she intended her patient to sit.
The purdah was pulled aside, and Gabriel in a long velvet coat and white turban, on which fine emeralds and diamonds sparkled, advanced. It was the first time she had seen him in his national dress. It seemed to add height and breadth of figure. She noticed now the strong likeness between the two brothers in spite of the difference in their ages. Of the two Gabriel was the more pleasing. Michael, from being a long time established in authority, had a sterner expression and a less ready smile than the younger man, who had mixed with Europeans and been in strange lands.
“I see you are ready for your visitors,” said Nurse Mary, as she adjusted the cushions. “Come and sit on the couch. Do you think you have enough chairs or would you like some more brought in?”
“There are plenty, thanks. Probably most of my visitors will prefer to sit on the floor. I have asked Mahmoud to make the tea. You will have some with me?” He reached out his hand and took up the papers. “I am afraid you must put these away, Nurse,” he said.
“I thought they would amuse some of your company.”
“Illustrated books and papers and every kind of photograph and picture are forbidden here. My brother is very strict. Our religion forbids us to make images in sculpture or drawing of any living creature. He is a rigid Mussulman; far stricter than I am, I fear!”
“You enjoyed them very much at the Hospital,” she remarked, as she took the offending papers from him.
“I did! You mustn’t tell my brother, or he will send the moolvi to scold me and call me to repentance.”
She carried the papers to her room and placed them in her trunk, where they could not corrupt the servants. Michael was doing all in his power to make her comfortable. She would take care not to do anything on her part that might cause him annoyance.
She returned to Captain Gabriel’s room and they had tea together. There were cakes and buns as well as bread and butter and some dainty home-made sweets that Gabriel enjoyed. She rose when they had finished and touched a handbell to summon the servants to remove the tray.
“I am going out for a walk,” she said. “I want to have a good look at the hill. I suppose there is a path to the top.”
“Yes; but it is rough walking. You can reach the upper terraces where you will get a fine view of the country. You can just see the towers of the Maharajah’s palace at Bangalore. Take a servant with you to show you the way.”
“I should prefer to go alone,” she replied. She had had enough of servants and longed to be free of them for a time. Seeing that he was not satisfied, she added: “I suppose there is no danger in walking alone?”
“None; except from snakes which by daylight you can see and avoid. They will avoid you with even greater haste. The villagers might be troublesome through sheer curiosity at the sight of an Englishwoman; and if they crowded round you, it would be difficult to get along. There is an old peon in the lower verandah. I will send an order to him to go with you. He will be the best guide you can have; full of tales of the past and of the old town that once existed between the house and the hill. You mustn’t believe all he says when he gets on to the traditions of ghosts and demons and devil-ridden men and animals.”
Nurse Mary left him with a smile. The light in his eye told its tale. He was thinking of the girl wife. She would be the first to hasten to him as soon as the message was received to say that he was ready. And what a noble young husband he looked! She wondered that the girl had had the patience to wait the few hours that had passed. If she herself had been in the wife’s position, would she not have rushed into his arms as he mounted to the verandah.
Ah! no! she had been placed suddenly in a similar position. She had not waited with beating heart and ready arms for the coming husband. On the contrary, she had fled. But then he was not like Captain Gabriel. The cases were not parallel, she told herself yet again, as if to quiet an uneasy conscience. Her husband did not want her; she was an incubus, a white elephant to him. Then, too, she could not go through a second period like that spent at the House of Desire and Delight. Even at this distance of time it made her hot to think of her disappointment, her disillusionment and the crumbling of her dream of delight.
Her anger still smouldered at the thought of his neglect as she visualized the gloomy bearded man with his silent moodiness and his sombre eyes. He had done her a wrong. If she had not married him, she might have married Jimmy and made him happy, even though she did not love him. Her old love, Maurice, still held her heart. He died when he sailed from Bombay and left her broken-hearted. The man who returned was not Maurice, her Maurice. How she wished that she could sweep the new Maurice out of her memory together with that hideous nightmare of a honeymoon. She owed him nothing; neither wifely allegiance nor love; nor even friendship. He had brought it on himself when he practically told her that he wished to have no more communication with her. She would take the new Maurice at his word. He had asked for it; he should have it in cold indifference and in contemptuous neglect.
Nurse Mary put on her cloak and sun-hat and descended two flights of the great central staircase. It brought her to the large square where the roses grew. Three gardeners were busy watering the big pots that held the plants. A fourth, the head gardener, was directing and at the same time cutting off the faded flowers.
An old man with a white beard, robed in a long blue coat trimmed with gold braid, came forward and salaamed to her. This was the out-door servant and messenger Gabriel had alluded to as the peon.
“I come with the most noble lady,” he announced in Hindustani.
“No need, peon. I am accustomed to walk alone.”
“The doe walks alone and where she wills; but the herd has knowledge of her wanderings that she may have protection should she meet danger. I follow where the honourable lady cannot see me.”
“You shall be my guide, then,” she replied good-naturedly. She understood that he had probably received his orders, which were not to be disobeyed. “I want to go up the hill.”
She turned towards the portico under which the car had stopped.
“Not that way, lady; it is too far round. There is a way out this side.”
They passed through a long passage on which the servants’ quarters and kitchens opened. The place was thronged with members of the establishment, who suddenly ceased chattering at her appearance and salaamed with fingers to forehead. Their eyes dwelt on her in deep curiosity. The report of her authority had reached those lower regions. This was the strange foreign lady who commanded obedience from none other than the young Shahzada himself. How did she obtain such power? She must be a witch, a worker of magic, they whispered under their breath as she disappeared down the long passage.
Old Daood opened a door in a high embattled wall. Not a window was visible in the wall itself. The rooms looked out into the inner courtyard. There was no garden on this side. The open space lying between the house and the jungle that clothed the foot of the hill was bare and uneven with patches of coarse grass, groups of brambles and palms not more than five feet high; the scrub hid crumbling brickwork and fragments of old walls. The poisonous datura showed its white trumpets here and there, and a thorny acacia spread its umbrella-shaped head where the grass grew greenest.
To right and left there were low mounds betraying the foundations of old buildings long since razed to the ground. A narrow path wound through thorny scrub and tussocks of coarse grass.
“Keep to the path, lady. The snake and the scorpion lie hidden here,” said the peon as he waved his hands to right and left. “Tread carefully. The cobra has its nest under the old bricks which are warm with the sun. It will fight to protect its eggs, even as the tiger fights to protect its cubs.”
The hill was formed entirely of rock. Through the action of the rain, the sun and possibly prehistoric upheavals, the rock had been split in places and crumbled into huge boulders. Carried by torrential rains, the stones were piled into gigantic heaps. They lay as if they had once been the playthings of giants.
Their appearance must have suggested the legend which Daood related as he walked just behind his charge. In the days long before the descendants of the Prophet came to occupy the land there dwelt at the top of the hill a beautiful woman. She was the daughter of one of the Hindu demons by a fair Mahratta woman. The fame of her beauty spread to Benares and to the heathen cities of the south. Every man looked towards her with desire; and his strength melted away as people spoke of her loveliness. “Doth not beauty burn like the sun, blinding those whose thoughts dwell too long upon it?” concluded the old man.
“Did not her mother make a marriage for her?” asked Nurse Mary, who knew something of the ways of India by this time.
“She tried many times, but in vain. Bridegrooms were not lacking. They brought great gifts from the north and south, from the east and the west. The marriage was made with feastings and rejoicings. At the close of the day the bride according to custom was brought to the bridegroom’s chamber decked in flowers and jewels, her eyes shining with love. The next morning, as is the fashion in the East, the mother came to inquire after her daughter and her new son-in-law. The door was flung wide open. Lo! there stood the bride in her flowers and jewels, smiling with shining eyes, more beautiful than ever. ‘Thy husband! where is he?’ asked her mother. ‘He has flown. Last night he slept by my side. This morning he was gone. Has he not drunk his fill of joy? Then why should he stay? He has gone back to his kingdom, saying that he has no further need of me as a wife. I am free, mother. Find me another husband.’ Another and another came. Every week there was a wedding at which all the people rejoiced. The following day there was a bride demanding another bridegroom. Now, outside the house was a heap of big stones. See, lady, how they lie on the hillside scattered now and in confusion. Some are large and some smaller. On none will the grass or a shrub grow as you see.”
He pointed to the boulders piled on all sides.
“What became of the bridegrooms? asked Nurse Mary, as the old man paused in his story.
“They did not return to their homes; the wicked woman told lies to her mother when she said that they returned to their homes. If your Honour will look to right and left you will see them. They all rest there. It is not wise to marry with the daughters of Hindu devils. Have they not evil in their hearts and cunning? The bride, as day dawned, turned her bridegroom into a stone and cast him forth to lie for ever on the hillside, exposed to sun and rain, heat and cold; and to serve the vulture and the crow as a roosting place and give shelter to the mother cobra’s brood.”
“What became of her?” asked Nurse Mary gravely; she was well aware that to smile at the tale would be to close the flow of legendary stories for ever against her.
“Now there lived far away to the north of the great mountains where the fields of snow lie, a powerful prince, a Maharajah, whose mother was learned in magic. His father was none other than a Rakshah, one of the strongest demons belonging to the Hindus. The evil report of the bride’s doings reached his ears when one of his subjects became her bridegroom and never returned to his father’s house. The old father complained to the Maharajah, who said: ‘This is a matter for me to deal with. I will go and master this woman and will put a stop to her evil deeds.’ So he came to the hill as a suitor for her hand, bringing gifts of gold and jewels, Chinese embroideries, attar of rose from Persia, and sandal-wood oil from the south. Never had the bride seen such wealth; but what pleased her most was a wonderful necklace of pearls and diamonds that the Maharajah wore himself. It was now a long time since a young man had offered himself; and her evil heart rejoiced greatly as her eyes rested on his noble figure. She would have jewels and riches and a handsome husband as well.”
“Did she succeed in catching him?” asked Nurse Mary, as the old man broke off his story to slash away a thorny bramble that obstructed her path.
“By the power he had inherited from his father, and the knowledge of magic he had learned from his mother, he read all that was passing through her mind as if it was an open book, even to the desire to take the necklace from him. He said to himself,—‘I will marry her, for the woman is young and good to look at, and afterwards I will deal with her as she deserves.’ So he allowed the ceremonies to proceed and the night came when she was to be brought to him by her mother. She had decked herself with greater care than ever and had anointed her arms and neck with sandal-wood oil and rose-water; for she felt herself melt towards him as she had never softened to any of her previous lovers. Just before daybreak the bridegroom awoke to find his false, treacherous wife gazing at him in affright. By magic he had changed his appearance after she slept from a handsome man to a hideous demon. ‘Thou wicked woman!’ he cried, ‘I will reward thee according to thy deserts! Go forth as a lean and hungry jackal and let every man’s hand be against thee!’”
“Served her right!” remarked Nurse Mary.
“Ah! lady! devils are not to be cowed and beaten by a single word like human beings. The son of the Rakshah watched to see the change that should have taken place; but her cruel eyes were upon him firm and steady as she worked spell for spell against him. He felt her power and he was filled with fierce anger. He raged and stormed, throwing curse upon curse at her; and as he raged he grew in height and strength. It was of no avail. She, by the power of her demon father, also increased in height till she was like a wondrous palm in the blast of the monsoon. Then they took up stones—the stones that were her former lovers and which you see lying here.”
He waved his hand towards the boulders they were encountering as they began to mount the hill path.
“They hurled them at each other with terrible strength. But by the power of their magic neither was hurt. Fiercer raged the battle between the two demons and the people living in the town that is now no more felt the earth tremble beneath their feet. They fled to the big river and hid in the reeds under its banks. The face of the Ammah, or demoness, was like the face of a dog with a pig’s nose. Her ears were like elephant’s ears and her mouth was the mouth of a hyaena. The Rakshah’s son took on the image of a tiger with big eyes and long teeth so that he might kill and eat her. I will show your Honour their images cut in stone. They sit up there, half way to the temple, waiting for the strong magician to release them. He will never come; the English Government will not permit it.”
The path they were following was steeply inclined over rough grass and débris of rock washed down from the hillside. In places steps were roughly cut in the living stone. She looked up, but could see nothing of the images the old man spoke of for the thorny jungle and dark grey rock that overhung the way.
“How did the battle end?” she asked, as she stopped to take breath.
“They fought all day until the hill that was once a beautiful grassy mound was nothing but a heap of broken rocks. The sun was near the distant line of the earth and the sky had reddened like blood. If the Ammah’s mind could be drawn from her purpose the Maharajah might prevail. Knowing this he took off his necklace of pearls and diamonds and cast it on the ground at her feet. Her eyes left his and fastened on the jewels with the thought of how she might secure them. She forgot her spells and her magic failed. In an instant she was under his power and he cursed her with a terrible curse. He commanded her to enter the temple that is built in the rock; the temple that I shall show to your Honour presently. As a mangey old jackal she slunk into its darkness and solitude, where the bat squeaked and the scorpion crept. The jewels that she had taken from her lovers he threw in after her to mock her hunger and misery. ‘Diamonds shalt thou have instead of water and pearls instead of rice, foul slayer of men!’ he cried. Then by his magic he rolled a big stone from the inside and fixed it against the open doorway so that none might move it from within or without. He made a small hole in the stone. After sunset the hole grows a little bigger and she is able to crawl out. There she is shut in from sunrise to sunset without food or drink with the jewels lying round her mange-stricken body. When night comes she prowls about the place where once the town stood, hiding behind the bits of masonry and in the thorn bushes, trembling always lest she should meet the demon tiger and be devoured. If the noble lady listens to-night she will hear the Ammah’s melancholy cry like the call of a lone jackal searching for food.”
“Do you believe the story?” asked Nurse Mary.
“I am a follower of the Prophet,” was the evasive but comprehensive reply. Had he not been relating a story of Hindu demons? The Muslim has his own demons and ghosts, his jins and angels, good and bad. They live in cemeteries and windy deserts and ruined houses; and though they are mischievous and evil-intentioned, they must not be compared with the devils of the ignorant heathen, who might or might not be real. Surely the English lady knew this, thought old Daood.
Nurse Mary, walking a few paces in front of the peon, turned a sharp corner of the path and came suddenly upon a set of short steep steps cut in the rock. At the top of the steps was a level platform which held a plinth such as might have supported a noble column. On the face of the plinth had been carved in deep relief the head of a tiger. It corresponded with the description Daood had given of the demon Maharajah’s appearance when rage had transformed him into his true character. The protruding eyes seemed focussed on the visitor as she mounted the steps. Two long dog-teeth extended from the upper jaw to the chin; and the tongue hung out almost to the chest. The wide nostrils and hanging tongue gave an indescribable expression of angry pursuit. It seemed to Nurse Mary that she could feel the panting breath of the demon fanning her as she looked up at him.
Above the panel was a frieze of acanthus foliage, rough but rich in design. On the top of the plinth was a half-length figure carved in stone. The expression of the face was different from that of the tiger; but it was none the less terrible with its mixture of human and animal passion.
“That is the Ammah bride of many husbands, lady,” said the peon. “Below her is the Maharajah in the shape of the tiger when he conquered her and placed her under an everlasting spell, thus putting an end to her wickedness.”
The image was high-shouldered and its long monkey-like hands gripped the coping as though it feared a shock of some sort. The eyes were human and full of terror. The nose was that of a pig. The mouth, full of teeth and furnished with cruel tusks, was open and the lips drawn back in a grin of agony, as though in the act of screaming with a horror that was worse than any physical pain. The ears were elephant’s ears but pointed, a touch that gave a strong demon character to the image.
Nurse Mary stared at it. Had the image given rise to the legend; or had the sculptor tried to visualize the story?
“Where is the temple? I should like to see it,” she said.
“It is higher up.” He pointed to a series of short flights of rough-hewn steps leading to the brow of the hill. They were unguarded by any kind of railing and some of them were worn smooth by the passing of many feet through long ages. At the top of each flight was a narrow landing of the nature of a shelf. Wherever there was foothold for vegetation, thick trees, thorny brambles, wild tangled creepers and trailing grass clothed the rock.
“Go carefully, gracious lady. This humble servant of the house must answer to the Shahzada for your Honour’s safety.”
Nurse Mary was sure of foot and had no fear for herself. She turned her back on the plinth with its two hideous presentments and climbed the hillside. Some of the steps were more than twelve inches deep and she was glad of a hand here and there. The path led her round another corner of the rock and followed a little gully; in the monsoon rains the water poured down it to the river.
Near the top she came to an open space where the ground was flat. A wall of rock rose perpendicularly to the very summit of the hill. The space was partly covered by the portico of a Hindu temple. The temple itself was formed out of a natural cave or cleft in the cliff. A number of squat pillars massive and square supported the roof of the portico. The stone work was built without mortar, the very weight of the huge blocks of stone and their accurate dressing gave a wonderful solidity to the old Hindu mason’s work. The capitals of the pillars as well as the joists of the roof were carved in relief, some with uncouth demoniac figures; others with scroll patterns of primitive but curiously rich design.
The doorway was not more than four feet high. It was closed with a huge slab of rock placed in position from the inside as Daood had said.
“The lady sees the stone. No man could have put it there,” he said with a tone of triumph, as though he had had a suspicion that his story was not believed.
“How could the Maharajah have rolled up a great stone like that and placed it in position without shutting himself in with his enemy?” asked Nurse Mary, going close to the door.
“He did it from inside, lady; so the village people say.”
“Then how did he get out if this is the only opening of the temple? There must be another door somewhere.”
“No, lady, there is no other. Being the son of an evil spirit, he could pass where he would. They say that he descended by magic through the floor and found steps that took him to the bottom of the hill; but village people talk foolishly at all times, and they believe everything their ignorant valluvan tells them. See, here they have done poojah with blood to the jackal devil, lest she should eat their pine-apples and gnaw their sugar-cane.”
Nurse Mary glanced in the direction to which he pointed and saw a stone outside the portico which bore the dark stains of the blood of a fowl sacrificed to the devil.
“And here is the hole in the door, lady, through which the Ammah jumps when she leaves the temple after sunset to go in search of food. From the time the sun is below the palm trees in the west to the time when it climbs up behind the river in the east, the Ammah is a lean and hungry jackal prowling round the village; always in fear lest she should meet her master, the Rakshah’s son, in the form of the angry tiger with long teeth and hanging tongue.”
“And what if she does meet him?”
“He tears her to pieces with his claws and crunches her bones.”
“Death must be welcome to the Ammah.”
“She cannot die, most noble one. Because she is of demon birth she comes to life the next day even though she may suffer the death agony every night of her life.”
“What a horrible fate!” remarked Nurse Mary, as she approached the door and tried to peer through the hole.
She lifted her hand and was about to put her fingers in the hole in idle curiosity to feel the thickness of the stone slab when Daood made a sudden movement forward and laid a strong detaining hand upon her arm.
“Ah! tempt not the demon! She is there and her anger never sleeps. She stands on the other side of the stone. If she catches your fingers, lady, she will hold you fast till the sun disappears and then she will draw you into the temple and kill you. Once when I was a boy I put in a stick. It was seized and held fast. I left it in her grip and ran home. That night I had fever and I nearly died. The stick was never found. The Ammah drew it into the temple. Listen, lady; you will hear the noise of a soft scuffling of feet inside.”
Nurse Mary could not help smiling; but she removed her hand from the hole and listened. She could undoubtedly catch the faint muffled sound of some animal moving within; and she thought she could hear the breathing of a living creature. She nodded her head to the peon’s great satisfaction.
“Yes! I can distinctly hear sounds inside that might be made by a jackal.”
“If the Ammah touched your hand or even a stick held by your Honour, misfortune would surely come,” he said gravely. “Will it please you, lady, to return. The sun will soon set and it is not good to be on the hill after its light has left the earth.”
“I must go to the top before we turn back.”
Daood led the way, passing up a small ravine where the trees, sheltered from the winds of the monsoons, grew more luxuriantly than on the exposed parts.
She was rewarded for her climb by a fine view over the surrounding country; but the peon would not allow her to remain. He was in a fidget to get back. Something he had seen disturbed him more than a little. Nurse Mary determined to come another day and by herself. She had no fear of demons and witches’ spells.
“I suppose there are no tigers on this hill,” she observed, as at last she prepared to go.
For answer Daood stopped and pointed to the trunk of a tree at the entrance of the ravine through which they had come. The bark had been freshly scored by the sharp claws of a large feline animal, whether tiger or leopard she could not say. The moss had been torn off and scattered in strips on the turf.
“What is it? a tiger, or a leopard or a jungle cat?” she asked.
“Only a tiger, lady, could do thus. It is the son of the Rakshah! He walks abroad after the sun has gone down, looking for the Ammah. He sharpens his claws in readiness to tear her in pieces. Come, lady; let us hurry. No good ever came from meeting a devil!”
The sun had set by the time Nurse Mary reached the Phul Bagh, otherwise the Garden of Roses. She removed her hat and cloak and sent Cassim for her table-lamp; for darkness was coming on with the rapidity of the tropics. There was no sound of voices from the direction of the invalid’s room. His visitors were gone. She went in to see how he was progressing, wondering if the interview had done him the good she anticipated. He was pacing restlessly up and down the room. Hearing her footstep, he came out on to the verandah.
“Well?” she said; and there was a question in her exclamation which he answered.
“I have seen my sister and my sister-in-law and their children. They were kind and good to me.”
“Anyone else?”
“My sister-in-law’s people and two of my cousins who help in overlooking the ryots. We talked much of the estate. It has done well while I have been away. The harvests have been good and the price of rice has risen through the large purchases made by Government for the troops. The revenues have never been so large.”
“That was good news for you,” said Nurse Mary cheerily.
“Who else paid you a visit?”
“The hakeem; he would have prescribed for me; but I told him that I was still under the orders of the Doctor belonging to the Hospital at Bangalore. I am tired, Nurse Mary.”
His voice sounded a note of fatigue—or was it disappointment? She glanced at him keenly as though she divined trouble.
“And your wife? I thought I should find her here, ready to dispute my position of nurse. I should be pleased, very pleased if she would come and help me.”
Gabriel looked at her, but did not speak.
“You saw her?” persisted Nurse Mary, in whose mind a sudden doubt had arisen.
“She could not come; she is ill,” he replied; the disappointment was unmistakable.
“What’s the matter with her?” she asked sharply. She had no intention of allowing the affair to rest without making an effort to give him what he wanted.
“They say she has influenza.”
“If that’s the case, she mustn’t come near you for a day or two. How long has she had it?”
“Five or six days.”
“Then she must be nearly well by now and free from infection. To-morrow I will go and see her myself. The infectious period will have passed by then; and if there are no complications she may come to your room or you may go to her. Cheerio! you won’t have long to wait. You will be all the better for a night’s rest and I will bring her to you directly after your early breakfast.”
There was no answering glow of happiness on his face. He was angry as well as disappointed.
“I wanted to see her and speak with her, even if I was not allowed to touch her. We could have met here, in the open verandah, without any danger. I would have gone to her; but my brother placed himself before me at the door over there and forbade me to pass to her room. He said it would be madness in my delicate state of health to risk infection.”
“He was quite right,” she felt obliged to say; but the thought arose that he had been just a little too rigid. A meeting in the open air would have had no ill effect. Perhaps Michael was afraid lest the eager young wife should run into her husband’s arms and take no denial. “Come and sit down in your room and I will tell Mahmoud to light your lamp. This darkness is depressing in itself.”
“It would not be depressing if she were with me, the light of my eyes! the moon of my heart1 my bride! my love!” he cried, unable to restrain himself.
“Patience, Captain Gabriel. To-morrow, perhaps!”
“To-morrow! to-morrow!” he repeated irritably. “All joys are promised to-morrow; their fulfilment never arrives!”
She took him by the arm and led him to his chair. Her cool, firm hand closed over his long, slender fingers with a motherly/ reassuring grip.
“Ah! just as I thought! You are feverish again. The same old trouble! I thought we were going to get rid of this daily little attack when we came here. The journey and the excitement of seeing your people has been too much for you.”
She settled him back on his cushions and put the lamp by his side, shading its light from his eyes. With the help of Mahmoud she mixed a sherbet drink for him.
“You don’t ask me where I have been, Captain Gabriel,” she said, as she received the empty glass back.
“Have you had a walk?”
“A delightful walk to the top of the hill.”
“Really, you English women have no end of vitality! I wish I felt as energetic as you,” he replied, looking at her with awakening interest.
“It will come in time and we will go up the hill together. You shall give me your version of the story of the demon tiger and the strange person, called by Daood, the Ammah.”
“I am not sure that it will differ from the old peon’s.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“Of course not. It is a legend. There are any number of these rocky hills on the plateau of Mysore, some large, some small. They all have some legend attached of the same nature as Daood’s story but differing in detail. Giant demons, sometimes brothers, sometimes husband and wife, or lovers like these you have heard about, are believed to have quarrelled and fought, and to have thrown the boulders and broken rocks that you see lying around at each other. They kill each other, but always come to life again the next day, even though the victor may have made a meal off his enemy.”
“They seem to be of the same nature as our traditional ogres. I am sure Daood believes the tale, although he would not admit it. And I think he is afraid of Hindu demons. He told me that if I listened I might hear the demon jackal inside the temple. I certainly did hear something shuffling about behind the stone door.”
“A real jackal; but the tiger is not real. We have no tigers about here in these days,” remarked Captain Gabriel.
“Indeed, you make a mistake!” cried Nurse Mary with some excitement. “I saw the marks of claws on the trunk of a tree where a tiger had scratched it just as a cat scratches wood.”
“You did! impossible!” he exclaimed, the spirit of the big game hunter springing up with a flash. “Oh! if only I were well enough I would lie up this very night for it! I must look to my rifles to-morrow morning. This is a chance that doesn’t happen more than once in ten years.”
“Then tigers don’t usually haunt the place?”
“Very, very rarely; accidentally, we sportsmen call it. They are wanderers and this one is only passing by. I wonder if it has a mate.”
“We saw only the mark of this one,” she replied.
“I must see Daood to-morrow and find out if it has left any other trace of its presence. The pug-marks ought to be found by the river. I will go myself early in the morning and look for them. You shall come too, Nurse Mary.”
She asked if there was any danger in going up the hill with a tiger in the jungle. He assured her that there was nothing to fear unless the tiger proved to be a man-eater, which was not likely. Man-eaters were not common. They discussed the conditions under which tigers might prove dangerous, and he had many stories to tell. The time passed quickly and as he talked he forgot his personal disappointment.
The servants brought his evening meal. Three or four appeared carrying a dish or a plate. Among them was a girl of about seventeen. She was not veiled, being virtually a slave, although she was not called by that name. Her pale olive complexion, reddened lips and darkened eyes could not fail to hold the attention. The features were small and perfect and her figure just coming to maturity. She was draped in pale rose-coloured silk of the softest texture. At first Nurse Mary took her for the missing wife, the Sahiba Nourma, and she said quickly to Gabriel:
“This is not your wife, is it?”
A frown crossed his brow as he replied: “No; it is one of my wife’s maids.” Then he turned to a servant. “What is this woman doing here? Did I ask for her?” he demanded, with a curious note of anger in his tone.
“Huzoor, the Beebee sent her, thinking that she might amuse your Honour. She plays well on the zither.”
“When I want her I will tell you to bring her. Till then she is to stay away.”
“Excellency, it was not my doing that she came. I would have forbidden her, but she brought messages from the Shahzada and the Beebee “
“The Beebee!” He spoke sharply with eyebrows bent in anger. In speaking of the Beebee the servant meant Michael’s wife.
“I should have said the Sahiba.”
“There is only one Beebee in this house, and that is the lady Nourma. See that you do not make the mistake again or I shall have no further use for your services.”
He relapsed into his gloomy mood like a deeply disappointed, wayward boy. Yet the natural instinct of the master of the house spoke when the term Beebee, only used in speaking of the head of the harem, was applied to his brother’s wife. “He is getting better; he is so satisfactorily cross!” thought optimistic Nurse Mary with a little smile.
He took his dinner in silence, showing himself decidedly unwilling to talk; and she slipped away to write a letter to Jimmy, to tell him that they had arrived safely, and to report on the health of her patient.
“It is too early to give an opinion at present as to whether the change will do all the good we hope for,” she concluded. “He seems too tired this evening to be capable of any real delight in being home again. I shall look for a difference to-morrow when he has had a night’s rest.”
She returned to Captain Gabriel’s room to find him leaning back listlessly on his pillows with closed eyes.
“Over-fatigued and feverish,” was her pronouncement on his condition. “Bed is the best place for you. To-morrow you will feel another person and we must see if you are fit to overhaul your rifles. You may as well have them in readiness in case the tiger stays long enough to give you a chance of shooting him.”
After he was in bed she took his temperature. The fever had returned. It was not very high, but it was sufficient to be a drain on his strength and to retard his recovery. Nurse Mary gave him his medicine, turned down the light and left him. He thanked her and closed his eyes wearily. In the verandah she encountered Michael.
“How is my brother?” he asked with an anxiety he could not hide.
“Tired with all he has gone through; first the journey and then seeing his family. It was almost too much for him.”
She refrained from mentioning the non-appearance of his wife, knowing the sensitiveness of all orientals to comment on any individual member of the family circle. Michael, however, had no scruples. He went at once to the subject that was uppermost in her mind.
“I am sorry,” he said easily and without a trace of embarrassment. “My brother’s wife is suffering from an attack of influenza. I did not think it safe for the Nourma Sahiba to come with the fever upon her.”
“You were quite right. It would have been bad for both of them. He will be better after a night’s rest and I hope the Beebee will be well again in a few days.”
He gave her a sharp glance at the term she had applied to the lady he had called Sahiba, but he did not allude to it.
“I am sure the Sahiba will be about again in a couple of days,” he said shortly.
“I should like her to come and help me in my duties in the invalid’s room. They are very light and it would please him.”
“That is very kind of you. The young Sahiba is very teachable. It will be good for her to learn how you manage. She has never seen a European lady in her life.”
“Nor a picture of one, I understand,” said Nurse Mary.
He raised his hand in protest.
“All imagery in wood and stone, or anything in the form of a picture, is strictly forbidden by the Koran. Even if we allow our children to play with dolls, the dolls must be without features and limbs. I must trust to you, Nurse Mary, not to give the Sahiba an opportunity of looking upon anything of the kind.”
“Of course I will keep all illustrated papers out of sight, if you wish it. Do you never see any newspapers yourself with photographs of the war?”
“Never; I can imagine what war is like and I need no images to tell me.”
“If Captain Gabriel’s wife is not better to-morrow, I will come and see her. I may be able to give her something which will help on her recovery.”
“The hakeem has prescribed this,” said Michael, producing a small bottle of aspirin tabloids.
“The very thing!” she exclaimed in surprise at seeing so modern a remedy in the hands of such a conservative man. “Where did you get it?”
“By his advice I sent into Bangalore for it. You approve?”
“Entirely; I didn’t know that your native doctors were so advanced as to use a modern remedy like this. Do you often send into Bangalore?”
“A cooly goes every day, returning the next. We have four men who are employed for that purpose and do nothing else. Let me know if you want anything from the shops. It shall be procured.”
Nurse Mary thought of her letter.
“Could the man be trusted to carry this letter to the Hospital on the High Ground?”
“Most certainly. The note shall be delivered to-morrow at mid-day without fail.”
“Does the man walk all the way?”
“He walks five miles to the nearest station and goes on by train. Or if you would wish to have the letter posted he may be trusted to put it in the post-box at the station; it is the nearest we have.”
She handed him the letter she had written to Jimmy.
“I shall be glad if you will tell him to leave the note at the Hospital and to ask for a reply. I shall have to write every day to the Doctor. He wishes to have a daily report.”
“Send me the letter by your servant and it shall be delivered by our cooly without fail,” said Michael.
Her own evening meal was being brought up by Cassim and another servant, a stranger. Michael watched them as they carried the dishes into her sitting-room. Nurse Mary glanced at the second man. Her companion noted the glance.
“I have given this servant orders that he is to wait on you and help your man. I can let you have another if he is not sufficient, or if he proves unsatisfactory,” said Michael.
“You are very kind and I am most grateful,” said Nurse Mary. She was astonished at the forethought of her host. She could not have been better eared for had she been the guest at the country house of some English squire. She had no suspicion that the man was a spy.
“It is nothing! This is my brother’s house; I am but his steward, and I only do what I know he wishes done.” Then to change the conversation and stop any further thanks, he said: “I saw you go out this afternoon to take a walk. I hope old Daood went with you.”
“He did; and we climbed to the top of the hill. Captain Gabriel was much interested to hear that we saw the recent marks of a tiger’s claws on the stem of a tree.”
“A tiger! impossible! You must be mistaken!” cried Michael, startled and inclined to be incredulous.
“There was no mistake about it. Ask the old peon; be will tell you what we saw. I understand that they don’t often pay you visits.”
“We have not had one round this hill for several years. This will alarm the villagers.”
“It did not frighten me,” she rejoined with a laugh.
“Naturally; you are not a believer in Hindu devils, nor am I. The people will think that the Rakshah’s son walks in the shape of this tiger to pursue and eat the demon jackal; and nothing we can say to the contrary will persuade them otherwise. I must go and look at the tree to-morrow morning. Did you mention it to my brother?”
“Yes; and he was immensely interested. He talked of his rifles and the possibility of lying up for it over a kill.”
“I have all his rifles in good order. One of my servants keeps them clean under my own eyes. Do you think he is strong enough to sit up for the beast?”
“He would be if we could stop this daily attack of fever which comes on unaccountably every evening.”
“The best cure would be for him to have the Sahiba with him,” was the unexpected reply.
“You think so! That is my opinion. You will help me to bring it about, won’t you?” said Nurse Mary warmly. In spite of his old-fashioned views, what a sensible man he was where human nature was concerned!
Cassim announced that the dinner was on the table. She held out her hand in an impulse of grateful friendliness.
“Good night, Michael Sahib. I am happy to think that I shall have your help. Together we shall soon restore your brother’s health. I reckon that in a fortnight’s time if he wishes to go he ought to be well enough to obey the summons of his King and start for England.”
“Will he? Will he indeed?” demanded Michael with an eagerness that held anxiety and hope.
“I feel sure of it; but first we must get the young Beebee to take her proper place, and that as quickly as possible. We can do nothing without her help.” She was turning away to go to her room when he stopped her.
“One moment; your servants. I have given orders for their food to be supplied. If they have anything to complain of, please let me know.”
He left her with head held high and with firm, unhurried tread. He was an ideal native gentleman, a surprise to Nurse Mary, whose experience of well-born Muhammadans was very limited.
The dinner served up for Nurse Mary was excellent. It was perfectly cooked and English in every detail. Even the wine was not forgotten, although she was the guest of a family of rigid abstainers,—faithful followers of the Prophet—to whom all alcohol was forbidden by the Koran. She did not touch the claret, and she gave an order to Cassim to return it to the keeper of the storeroom, who was told that no wine would be needed by the English lady.
The evening was cool but not cold. The air was fresh. and soft and full of the scent of jasmine and tuberose lilies. The roses reserved their sweetness for the sun. What a palace of delight to live in! she thought. It was planted down in a perfect climate with scenery that had a charm of its own. Who could not be happy there with the loved one by his side! She thought of Gabriel, the impatient husband, counting the minutes to the coming of his wife. A touch of envy suddenly assailed her. No such joy awaited her. Then she fell to thinking what she would have done under the same circumstances as those in which Nourma found herself. What if a husband were impatiently waiting for her? Could anything have held her back? Would she not have risen from her sick-bed and stolen to him, at least to feast her eyes upon him even if she might not touch him?
She rose from her seat and thrust the thoughts aside. They bred vain longings and heartache. Moreover, they brought back scenes of misery and disappointment not unmingled with indignation, which she was trying hard to live down and forget. Work was the only cure for a bruised heart; work with exclusive thought for others. For others she must live and in the performance of her self-imposed duties she must forget that there ever existed such a person as Rosemary Edenhope. Cassim approached to clear the table.
Nurse Mary hurried away to give a last look at her charge. As she drew aside the purdah and entered, she heard the sound of a footfall. She glanced round. The room was dimly lighted by the night lamp that stood on a table. Beyond the bedroom was a dressing-room, the open door being screened by a purdah. The bottom of the curtain swayed ever so slightly. There was no wind to move the heavy drapery. Some one must have passed through while she crossed the sitting-room.
She listened, but could hear nothing. Probably it was Captain Gabriel’s servant Mahmoud. She looked closely at her patient. He was sleeping restlessly, the fever still upon him. She placed a glass of barley water on the teapoy near the bed, and gave a glance to the lamp to note if there was sufficient oil to last till morning. Mahmoud came in from the sitting-room and approached the bed. He looked at his master and then at Nurse Mary.
“Where are you sleeping?” she whispered.
For answer he pointed to a mat on the floor at the foot of the bed. She nodded and left him. As she passed through the verandah on her way to her room, she caught sight of the hill. It stood black against the sky, its outline harsh and forbidding. She stepped on to the terraced roof. The great house lay round her with its many inmates and beyond was the village. Dim points of light indicated the oil lamps of the villagers. The men were already rolled in their dark blankets for the night; and the women were hurrying with the final washing-up of pots so that they, too, might take their rest.
Judy, waiting to be released from her duties, crept forward towards her mistress. She too looked out at the hill, not in admiration of its wild massive outline but in terror of what she believed it held.
“Not a good place, this,” she murmured.
“Not good! I’m surprised. Haven’t you had good food?”
“Very good, ma’am.”
“And you have a comfortable room to yourself?”
“Ah! bah! there is comfort with good food to be found in prisons; and there is no trouble,” was the cryptic rejoinder.
“You don’t like being here.”
They were in the bedroom now and Judy was brushing Nurse Mary’s long soft hair.
“How soon Missus going back?” asked the ayah, ignoring the last remark.
“Not until Captain Gabriel is quite well.”
“That will never be as long as he stops here,” said Judy in little more than a whisper. “Can anyone live safely with devils?” and Judy glanced apprehensively in the direction of the hill which she knew to be there, though it might not be visible with the curtains drawn.
“There are no devils inside the house. Michael Sahib and his family are as kind as they can be.”
The ayah did not respond, and Nurse Mary remembered that the woman was a Hindu and her host was a Muhammadan. The racial antagonism fully accounted for the ayah’s attitude. Perhaps it might be as well to send Judy back to Bangalore and tell Cassim to find some woman of his own race who could do all that was needed for the time she was staying with Captain Gabriel.
At that moment a melancholy howl filled the night with a sudden discordant sound. She recognized it as the cry of the ubiquitous jackal from which no up-country village is free. To Judy’s ears it conveyed another impression altogether. She fell at Nurse Mary’s feet, holding tightly to her dressing-gown.
“Missus! The Ammah! She brings bad luck to all who hear her cry!”
Nurse Mary woke at daybreak the next morning. The air was sweet and contained a freshness that reminded her of Coonoor. She was conscious of a certain joyousness in the mere fact that she was alive. It was the joyousness of youth and good health, of the glowing vitality of the blood. She could have laughed and sung in the first minutes of her awakening.
Then came memory to remind her of many things; a memory that sobered although it could not quench that buoyancy of spirits; and after it the thought of her present surroundings. She was staying in a palace such as might have come out of the Arabian Nights’ tales except that it was more up-to-date, with many luxurious fittings and furniture of modern fashion. It was delightful to be away from the Hospital with its eternal atmosphere of iodoform and carbolic. It was a holiday to mind and body not to have operations to think of; no wards claiming her close attention; no pain-racked faces and tired eyes to meet with a genuine sympathy that often tore her heart-strings.
She slipped on her dressing-gown and went to the window of her bedroom, which looked out in the opposite direction to the hill. She saw cultivated lands and the great river in the distance. Its name she had not yet discovered. With the people it went by the name of the great river. She could distinguish green fields, park-like stretches of grass with noble trees, woods and the tributary river that ran from the hill.
Already little groups of washermen were busy at the edges of the stream, making bright patches of colour with the clothes spread on the pale gleaming sand on the river bed.
Judy brought in a tray and placed it on a small table in the window. Again Nurse Mary was conscious of a homeliness as well as a studied completeness in the consideration for her comfort. Nothing had been forgotten. The marmalade was of the best; the butter and the boiled egg of the freshest; and the hot scones would have been a credit to any Scotch cook. Judy’s face had no answering smile to the smile that greeted her appearance.
“What a glorious morning, Judy!” said Nurse Mary. “I hope you slept as well as I did.”
“Plenty noises in the night,” was the gloomy reply. “Missus never hearing?”
She glanced sharply at her mistress and with a certain amount of curiosity.
“I heard nothing.”
“Jackals talking plenty too much,” she replied in the language which the native servants call Eengliss.
“What were they talking about?” asked Nurse Mary.
“The tiger done come into the jungle on the droog (hill). People say tiger very bad; never making any sound; creeping, creeping through jungle like small cat and tearing everything to bits with sharp claws. Very bad! Very bad!”
Judy shook her head and placed her hand before her mouth as she spoke lest the devil should jump down her throat and take up his lodging in her body.
“What did the tiger tear and rend last night?”
“A woman’s cloth that was left out by the river to dry. This way and that way tearing all to pieces.”
“It was better than tearing the woman to pieces,” said Nurse Mary cheerfully.
“There was blood on the cloth; spots of blood,” replied Judy with awe.
“You don’t mean to say that the tiger killed the woman to whom the cloth belonged?” said Nurse Mary, beginning to look serious.
“No one dead this morning,” answered Judy with deepening gloom. It would have been far more satisfactory from her point of view if some villager had been found mangled as well as the saree.
“Anyone missing?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then how came the blood on the cloth?”
Judy bustled about her work, tossing up the mosquito curtains and tidying the room unnecessarily. Nurse Mary repeated her question.
“That tiger a devil tiger,” mumbled Judy, stripping down the bed and throwing the sheets and blanket over a chair. “Village people saying he kill and eat Ammah.”
“If that was so, they would find her bones, wouldn’t they?”
Judy glanced again at Nurse Mary, who was gravely busy with the egg. Was she laughing at her tale? No; she was quite serious, as, indeed, everyone ought to be who spoke of devils. Judy ventured to explain in her own way.
“After eating Ammah, tiger sleeping. Sun climbing up out of the palm trees, Ammah come to life again. Plenty bad for tiger, that business; so village people saying. I never see; I hear noises all night. What time will the lady take bath?”
“The usual time. I shall dress and go for a walk now. Breakfast at nine. You may tell Cassim. Coffee; not tea, please.”
Before leaving the house Nurse Mary paid her patient a visit. He was up and dressed. She took his temperature.
“Fever gone, Nurse?”
“Quite; and I hope for good. Did you have a quiet night?”
“Yes, when once I got to sleep. I woke up at midnight and remained awake a long time, I couldn’t rest. I walked out on to the roof. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“I heard nothing; if I had I should have given you another sedative. The excitement of the journey and seeing your people was too much for you.”
“Perhaps; or was it that I did not see the one I most wished to meet?” he said with a troubled bend of the straight eyebrows. “You are going out for a walk. May I come with you?”
“Yes,” replied Nurse Mary after a slight pause. “We mustn’t go far.”
“Not up the hill?”
“Decidedly not,” she rejoined with professional authority.
“Then I will take you to the river, our little river. It runs round the foot of the hill on the south side through jungle and comes out into the open near the village.”
They reached the rose garden and passed on to the central portico. Again Nurse Mary noted the beautiful pillars of polished chunam, white and glossy as the finest marble.
On leaving the grounds they turned into a rough pathway that ran under the high walls enclosing the grounds. Forbidding walls they seemed to Nurse Mary, with their embattlements and heavy buttresses. On the other side of the path was a line of small houses built of sun-baked bricks and roofed with red tiles. Neither window nor door was visible in the long, irregular wall that formed the backs of these village dwellings.
Captain Gabriel and his companion left the houses behind, and passed into a bit of jungle where grew palms and tussocks of long harsh grass, bramble bushes and thorny acacias. The path was well trodden, for the people used it to fetch water from the stream.
The jungle ceased abruptly and they found themselves on open ground familiar enough to her guide. It ended in a drop of twenty feet, and below lay the sandy bed of the stream. As it was not the rainy season the river was nothing but a blue ribbon of water that spread out into pools here and there, edged with pampas grass and reeds.
Ou the other side of the river rose the hill, which at this point was well covered with jungle. The temple and stone figures seen by Nurse Mary in her exploration the evening before were not visible from this point. A large flat rock stretched like a rampart from the hill to the river, jutting out into the middle of a large pool, so that the water flowed on two sides of it. At the back of it rose another enormous bastion. The strata ran horizontally and gave it the appearance of being artificially built. It deceived Nurse Mary.
“Is this an old Hindu castle?” she asked.
Captain Gabriel seated himself on a boulder. “No; it is a natural formation. The villagers believe that it was built by the father of the Ammah. It is there that the Rakshah’s son brings the Ammah when he has caught her to make a meal off her at his leisure.”
“Unpleasant person!” replied Nurse Mary, finding a corner of the boulder for herself. “He has chosen a beautiful spot for his dining hall.”
“I used to come as a boy and sit for hours watching the level top of the bastion, hoping that I might see the demon; tiger.”
“Which of course you never did except in imagination.”
“Once I saw a real tiger—not the demon—lying at the edge of the platform. I took it for the devil, but it must have been a passing tiger that was taking shelter on the hill. You see that huge tree, the top of which overhangs the rock. The tiger was lying underneath the tree with sun and shadow upon it. As I stood here watching its every movement, it lifted its head and looked at me, sniffing the air as though it smelt my blood.”
“Weren’t you frightened?”
“The river was between us; my wonder and curiosity were so great I forgot to be frightened. Presently the tiger rose and yawned. Never shall I forget its enormous red mouth and white teeth. They were terrible to look at. The beast sat up like a cat, washed its face and moved away, passing behind that upper rampart slowly and with deliberation. I can see it now in my mind’s eye pausing to look round, the end of its barred tail twitching as it disappeared behind the corner of the rock.”
“Did you report what you had seen?”
“Rather! and the villagers were persuaded to have a big beat; but they saw nothing of the tiger. Their belief in its existence faded, and they were convinced that what I had seen was nothing less than the Rakshah’s son himself.”
Nurse Mary strolled on a little way along the river bank. She returned in ten minutes to Captain Gabriel, who remained seated on the stone.
“Rough walking, I’m afraid,” he said, as she came up. “I feel as though I ought to apologize to you for bringing you here; but you said you wanted to see the river.”
“So I did; it looks so tempting from a distance; but it is very different from our river-sides in England, where there are sweet meadows of soft grass and flowers and no thorns.”
“We ought to be riding, not walking. Why! look! Here comes old Daood with my pony for me; but nothing to carry you, Nurse.”
“I like the walk; I want the exercise,” she replied quickly. She was pleased to see the pony. It would be better for Captain Gabriel to ride home than walk, even though it was not far from the house.
“Who told you to bring the pony, peon?” asked Captain Gabriel as Daood came up.
“The Sahib. He saw your Honour walk abroad with the strength of a young elephant. ‘The young Shahzada will come home like a child. Take the pony,’ he said. Huzoor, I have obeyed his order.”
Gabriel climbed into the saddle, protesting that he was quite strong and able to walk; but Nurse Mary inwardly thanked Michael for his forethought. The walking, as Gabriel had said, was rough and consequently fatiguing to an invalid. She led the way on foot, and they returned to the house by the path they had come. At the portico Gabriel dismounted.
“Let’s look at the roses,” said Nurse Mary, as they walked out into the courtyard. “They are wonderful; I never saw such a collection.”
Together they strolled along the paved narrow paths formed by the grouping of the pots. From the windows that overlooked the rose garden curious eyes peeped and pried. The casements were shuttered with Venetians through which the people below could be seen. Every window had its little crowd, each speculating with the wildest imagination as to what the young Shahzada and the white woman in the strange dress with the red cross spoke of. She must be a bold creature, for she frequently brought a smile of amusement to the lips of his Excellency. Was she his wife? asked some of the younger women. Nay! how could she be, seeing she was not a Mussulmani woman.
And now, look! They were leaving the garden below to walk in the upper courtyard. There! behold! Lo! did she not lay a hand upon his arm! It was more than a favourite wife would dare to do with a young husband. Ah! truly! could they be anything but husband and wife? And why not? A follower of the Prophet may take unto himself three wives if he chooses without blame or blemish to his character.
Among that crowd was a beautiful girl with large eyes into which shadows had crept. She was young, but she wore the full dress of a married woman. Silently she watched, following every movement with a puzzled expression. Although the gestures might be from her point of view those of husband and wife as they walked among the roses, the looks that accompanied them were not indicative of either love or married bliss.
Captain Gabriel and Nurse Mary stood by the fountain, looking into its limpid basin at the gold-fish moving lazily by the green stems of the arums that bordered the pond. The head gardener approached with a large bunch of roses which he presented to Nurse Mary. The pleasure of the lady and approval of the master were sufficient reward. He moved away and rejoined his men, who were busy turning over the soil on the top of the pots.
Again inquisitive eyes watched every movement with whispered comment. Only the girl with the shadowy eyes was silent, standing a little apart from the rest with an inborn pride that forbade any familiarities on the part of her companions. Once Gabriel lifted his eyes and looked up at the casement where she stood unseen by him. Did he feel her presence? was there some subtle unconscious telegraphy between them? She caught her breath and clasped her hands upon her breast. Turning, she would have slipped away down the corridor upon which the windows opened; but watchful eyes divined the impulse that prompted the movement and a soft but imperious voice said, “Stay, sister, do not go or we shall have to follow. Let us watch till the strange white woman is gone.”
Nourma gave her sister-in-law a frightened glance, as though she had been caught transgressing, and resumed her place at the casement, which by common consent had been left for her exclusive use.
Nurse Mary and her patient strolled towards the next portico and disappeared inside the upper hall of pillars, to the intense disappointment of the crowd of watchers. It was so seldom that anything of an exciting nature came into their dull narrow lives. What they had seen would serve as food for gossip and speculation for a week.
Nurse Mary walked slowly with a purpose. When her companion with the restlessness of an unsatisfied desire would have hurried, she restrained him.
“No hurry, Captain Gabriel. We have all the day before us with nothing to do and plenty of time to do it.”
“I am quite strong again, Nurse. I feel as if I could climb to the top of the hill and have a look round for that tiger.”
“To-morrow, perhaps. To-day you must rest; but after breakfast you shall look at your rifles. Your brother says they are in good order.”
It was still early when they reached the verandah into which their respective rooms opened. Nurse Mary walked out on to the terraced roof.
“I must examine the hill by broad daylight. It is not nearly so forbidding in outline now that I can see the trees and rocks in their true colours. By night they looked so black against the sky.”
The terraced roof was broad and wide and covered a large block of rooms on the lower floor. The end was guarded by a balustrade. Looking over it she could see another terraced roof, and again beyond that a third. Between the lower story and the hill lay rough, uneven ground where once houses had been. To the left was the little river they had visited, gleaming in the sunlight. To the right rose the rocky shoulder of the hill on which the temple stood.
“The droog, as the old peon calls it, fascinates me with its wild jungle and grey rocks,” said Nurse Mary. “It lends itself to the belief that it is haunted by evil spirits.” Then she turned round and with her back against the balustrade contemplated the breadth and length of roof and wall. “The house is much larger than it appears at first sight as one drives up to it.”
“It can’t be seen from the carriage drive. You only get the front; you lose this part altogether,” replied Gabriel listlessly. He was not interested; his mind was dwelling on matters more personal. “Nurse Mary, I want you to see my wife to-day and tell me exactly how she is. I mean to see her myself before long, whether she is ill or not. I have a right at least to look at her even if she is lying on a sick-bed. I am not one to forego my rights.”
He spoke in a low voice, but his tone was determined.
“I hope you won’t run any risk of infection,” she replied, in her heart approving, yet professionally inclined to be cautious.
A soft step sounded near them, and Michael appeared mounting a narrow flight of stairs from below which brought him to a corner of the terrace. He advanced with smiles of warm greeting, grasping first the hand of his brother and then Nurse Mary’s.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, looking at her with the air of an experienced host. “That’s good. And your dinner last night?”
She assured him that it was everything that could be desired. Having satisfied himself that the guest had been well-cared for, he turned to Gabriel.
“And you, brother? Did you have a good night? I need not ask you if everything was served as you wished. Is not this your own house where you have only to speak and you will be obeyed?”
“All was as I desired except——” he paused and then continued in a way that suggested an alteration of the sentence—“except that I did not sleep part of the night.”
“I hope there was no noise in the village or in the house to disturb you.”
“It was my own thoughts that made me restless.”
“Ah! I understand,” replied Michael sympathetically.
“Nurse Mary will go and see my wife and will bring me news of her condition. She is better this morning?”
Michael did not reply to the inquiry. His eyes were upon the nurse.
“You are not here to attend the family,” he said quickly. “We must not impose on you. If you once establish a reputation as lady doctor, I can assure you the hareem ladies will give you no peace. There is nothing they enjoy more than being doctored and taking medicine.”
“I should like to see her,” said Nurse Mary with decision.
“And I wish it,” added Gabriel.
“That is very kind of you,” Michael hastened to say. “When will you pay the Sahiba a visit?”
“When you like.”
“Will you come now? I will go and prepare her and her attendants at once. They will like to know a few minutes beforehand that you are coming. Remember that you are the first Englishwoman they will have seen.”
He went towards the suite of rooms on the other side of the staircase. They were shut off by a permanent screen built across the verandah. A small door in the screen gave access to the rooms; but it was barred inside. Nurse Mary heard him call and demand entrance. After a little delay the door opened just sufficiently to allow him to enter. It was closed immediately and the bolt was shot.
Nurse Mary glanced at her companion. He frowned.
“That bolt will have to be removed,” he said.
“Have you always occupied the room you are now in?” she asked.
“Since I married.”
“And your wife?”
“She had the rooms that are now yours.”
“Oh! why did you turn her out for me?” cried Nurse Mary, distressed at the thought. “Surely in a big palace like this some rooms could have been found for me without disturbing the Beebee.”
“It was not my doing. My brother and his wife made the arrangement. They were under the impression that you would have to be close to me. You see, they thought I was still very ill—a great mistake. I am quite well. You are here, Nurse Mary, to give the Doctor reports and to watch the case, as I heard them say the day they ‘boarded’ me. You are not here because I need a nurse’s care. That was all done with some days before I left the Hospital.”
“It is so,” she replied. “And being so why not change the arrangement and put me elsewhere? You are master here. Give the order and see that it is obeyed.”
“I don’t like to alter what my brother has done. It seems so ungrateful. It would be all right if I could pass through that door at my pleasure.”
“You knew it was locked?”
“I tried it last night.”
“Have the bolt removed at once. You are the master of this house and your brother will quite understand, I feel sure.”
Michael returned smiling and happy.
“The Sahiba will be delighted to see you. She is not at all well; but the thought of meeting an English lady has roused her out of her drowsiness. Come this way, madam.”
He bustled back to the little door followed by Nurse Mary. The door was again half opened, the portress being hidden behind it.
Captain Gabriel watched them as they went. His face wore a troubled expression. A sudden impulse sent him swiftly after them. Why should he not go too. He was just too late. As he reached the door it was shut and bolted. The portress could not have seen him. He knocked and tried to open it; but no one came.
With something like a curse Gabriel turned away and retired to his room.
“I am the master of this house, said Nurse Mary. Am I? Let me see to it that I am!” he said, as he flung himself down in a chair.
Nurse Mary passed through the door with a certain amount of curiosity. Like many people who go to the East, she knew that part of India with which she was brought into contact in her daily life. She had learned one of the languages, Hindustani; and she was familiar with such types of natives as she met in her daily life within the Hospital and at the shops.
The Europeanized native gentleman had not crossed her path until she was placed in charge of Captain Gabriel’s case, when he was first brought into the Hospital. In him she found a cultivated, refined patient in no way different from many Europeans who had passed through her hands. It was natural that she should conclude that his wife would be a woman of intelligence, even though she might not be highly educated. She also would probably have adopted certain European habits of living, and would have refined tastes, such as would make her appreciate the comfort of a higher civilization than was to be found among the conservative Muhammadans.
The very first sensation experienced by Nurse Mary on entering the hareem was the absence of light and fresh air. Between the lofty pillars of the verandah hung blinds of split bamboo lined with blue cotton material. They were fastened down to hooks in the floor. The strongest breeze could not stir them beyond giving them a shake which did not admit the air.
At first in the semi-darkness it was impossible to distinguish any object. The air was murky with old wood-smoke and dust. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she was able to recognize various objects lying in confusion around her. Baskets of fruit and vegetables, bundles of clothes that looked as if they had been tied up to go to the wash, brass vessels of all kinds, and water jars cumbered the place and gave her the impression of being in some lumber-room used also for a storeroom, and which was never cleaned.
A number of women moved about with frightened, furtive movements, as though they were swayed by two impulses: one to fly and hide at the appearance of a stranger; the other to press forward and satisfy an overweening curiosity. Children copied their elders; but with them inquisitiveness mastered the desire to hide.
Michael uttered a short exclamation of impatience and made a sign with his hand; at which the crowd disappeared like magic behind the purdahs that hung before every door. There was an undertone of whispering that was like the wind sighing through the bushes.
He walked the length of the verandah and stopped before a heavily curtained doorway. A claw-like brown hand clasped the edge of the curtain and drew it a few inches aside. In the aperture appeared the towselled grey head of an old woman. Her lean figure was enveloped in crumpled white drapery, and her hawk-like eyes were fixed on Nurse Mary’s face with intense curiosity.
“Where is the Beebee? Why does she not come?” asked Michael imperiously.
“The Honourable Beebee prepares to receive your Excellency. In a few minutes she will be here.”
“I cannot wait. She must come now or I take the gracious English lady back to her room.”
A boy dressed in a satin coat and trousers pushed his way forward past the old guardian of the doorway. On his head was a cap adorned with pearls and diamonds.
“My father! the Shahzada!” the child cried, running forward to escape the detaining grip of the woman.
“Thy mother, little Sahib, where is she?” asked Michael.
“She comes, even now; but without haste. It is for servants and slaves to run; not the Beebee,” replied the boy proudly. Then turning to Nurse Mary, he continued: “You are the white woman in charge of my uncle, the Sahib. How do you make him obey you? You have taken his sword away. Where have you hidden it?”
“Safe in my box, little one,” replied Nurse Mary. “He has conquered all his enemies and no longer needs one.”
“And you, Sahiba, you have conquered him—at least, so they all said this morning when you walked with him in the rose garden,” responded the child, speaking with the manner of a grown-up member of the family.
The curtain was again drawn aside and a tall, handsome woman stood before them. No smile of welcome lighted up her face. She gave Nurse Mary a deliberate comprehensive stare, and then glanced at her husband as though demanding a reason for the intrusion.
“This is my wife, madam,” he said to Nurse Mary. “I will leave you with the Beebee and she will show you where to find my brother’s wife.”
He took his wife aside and spoke in a low rapid tone, giving her no opportunity of making any reply. From the expression of her face she was not pleased with his directions. Meanwhile Nurse Mary stood confronted by the guardian of the purdah and the boy.
“Are you married?” he asked, as soon as his parents had moved away.
“Tell me your name,” she said, ignoring the question. She knew something of the unscrupulous catechising to which an oriental will subject a stranger.
“It is not considered lucky to give names,” he replied cautiously. “Who knows that you may not make magic with it and bring me to evil? They say that you are a witch. The Ammah called to you last night. I heard her myself crying like a jackal.”
“You can tell me by what name you are known in the house.”
“The young Sahib; and if they wish to please me and gain my favour, so that I speak well of them to my mother the Beebee, they call me the young Shahzada.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
“The slaves of the house and sometimes the poor relations of our family. There are a great many relatives to whom my father gives rice. When I am Shahzada here, I shall turn them all out. My father would send them away, but my uncle, Gabriel Sahib, wishes them to remain. My uncle is not a strong man. The English have filled him with fancies and spoiled——”
What more revelations concerning the family and its bearing towards poor relations he might have made, had to be deferred, for Michael’s wife came up at the moment.
“Lady, I will take you to the Sahiba Nourma’s room if you desire it,” she said in a level unemotional tone that without being actually inimical had no note of friendliness in it. “I cannot understand why you wish to see her.”
“And I will go,” added Michael, as though he were glad to escape. “If you find my sister-in-law seriously ill, I beg that you will not distress my brother by letting him know it. For his own sake he must look forward to her speedy recovery and their reunion.” He turned to the boy. “Come, my son, let us go.”
“I would rather wait and hear the talk of the English lady and what she says when she sees——”
“Go with thy father, my child. The English lady does not want thee. It is not wise to give her offence,” said Lilith.
The boy glanced at Nurse Mary with an expression in which vague fear mingled with defiance.
“I am not afraid. The hakeem tied a talisman on my arm yesterday for which I gave him five rupees and a promise to commend him to my uncle as soon as I see him. No witch can bring me evil as long as I keep this charm upon my arm.”
His dark eyes were fixed with open defiance in their depths upon Nurse Mary; the child had the courage of his race whatever faults of arrogance and pride he might possess.
“Come and see your uncle’s rifles before I send them to his room,” said Michael persuasively.
“Very well; since my father commands, lo! I obey.”
The boy stalked off with an assumption of condescending dignity that would have made Nurse Mary smile if his parents had not been there. They evidently took their young son seriously. When Michael and his child had disappeared she turned to Lilith and asked how long the patient had been ill.
“Some ten days,” was the reply.
“She ought to be well by this time.”
“So the hakeem said.”
“Has he seen her?”
“The hakeem never sees the ladies of the hareem.”
“Then how is he to judge of her condition?” asked Nurse Mary.
“The symptoms are described. He asks questions and according to the replies he gives his orders and the medicine. She is better, but she has no strength.”
During this conversation they had remained standing outside the curtained door. The Sahiba made no movement to conduct Nurse Mary to the invalid’s room. Meanwhile with the departure of Michael the women reappeared, with such abruptness as to suggest the thought that they must have been listening behind the purdahs. They were of all ages, Some wore jewels of gold; others of silver, and a great number only brass. It was fine old brass, closely resembling gold, but it was not the precious metal. They all stared like a drove of puzzled oxen, and listened unabashed with greedy ears to what was passing between the two ladies.
“Shall I go and see her?” asked Nurse Mary.
“It is not necessary.”
“Captain Gabriel, as well as the Sahib Michael, wish me to see her and take them a report.”
“The hakeem can bring the report.”
“Let him do so by all means. Captain Gabriel will like to hear what he has to say. I, too, must take back a report. Will you show me her room?”
Nurse Mary spoke in even tones, knowing that patience and good temper were needed. Inwardly she chafed at the dead level of obstruction that was brought to bear upon her actions. She and Lilith had been standing in the verandah all this time. Nurse Mary longed to pull up a blind or two and let in light and fresh air, and then summon servants to sweep and dust and tidy the place. It smelt of a lumber-room and scullery combined. A basket of overripe bananas near her gave off a rotten, unwholesome odour that seemed to dominate all other smells. Her desire to leave the verandah and return to the sweet rose-scented air of her own rooms increased.
Lilith made a sign to the old woman who still stood by the purdah. She advanced and moved along the verandah.
“Follow her; she will show you where to find the Sahiba,” said Michael’s wife, making no attempt to hide the disapproval she felt at the visit. Without waiting for a reply Lilith passed through the purdah and was gone.
The old woman stopped before a doorway, and drew aside the purdah with the single word, “Enter.”
If the enclosed verandah was dark and stuffy, this room was ten times more so. It was similar in size and height to the one Nurse Mary was occupying. Every door and window was heavily curtained and the light was reduced to a dim twilight. The place held no furniture of a European character. A canvas cot, known as a charpoy, covered with a bare mattress stood by the wall. Near it were more of the nondescript articles that cumbered the verandah: baskets, bundles, earthen and brass vessels. It suggested moving house, with personal property put together by inexperienced hands ready for the van-man.
The invalid was not upon the cot. She was lying on the floor in the middle of the room propped up with a pile of cushions and covered with a dark rug. Nurse Mary stood looking at the huddled figure; at the large dark eyes lifted to hers in fear and wonder. She knelt down and laid a hand on the invalid’s forehead. It was hot. Undoubtedly there was fever; but she could detect no sign of cold and cough. The fever might be anything, malarial or due to exposure to the sun; or it might be the precursor of chickenpox or some other infectious disease. She was not inclined to believe in its being infectious unless there were other symptoms to point that way. It was too dark to see if any tell-tale spots marked the patient’s face.
“You are not feeling well,” she said gently. “I am so sorry. Captain Gabriel is very anxious about you.”
Then she began to ask after symptoms that should give her a clue as to the nature of the disease; but Nourma would not answer. Nurse Mary persisted with the determination to get something out of the patient. It was not of any help in diagnosing the complaint, when it came.
“Go away!” cried Nourma at last in a tone of irritation. “Go away and do not trouble me. You are a witch woman.”
“Indeed I am not! I am a friend of your husband. He is much better. You must get well and go to him.”
“I will not go! He is nothing to me! They may beat me if they like, but I will not go!”
“That is baby talk, Sahiba! We must get you well, and then see what you will say to Captain Gabriel.”
Nurse Mary brought out a clinical thermometer from the pocket of her apron and proceeded to take it from its case. Nourma watched her with gathering fear in her eyes.
“Ah! bah! what is that?” she cried in alarm, gazing at the thin thread of silver and little ball at its base.
“Something that will tell me if you have high fever. Let me put it under your arm.”
She would have placed it in position; but the Sahiba turned on her side away from her visitor, and by some extraordinary movement wrapped herself tightly in her coverlet till she looked like a swathed mummy.
“Go away! go away! witch woman!” she cried. “You bring evil and work mischief with that silver thread. You keep your devil-servant inside that little glass ball. Go away! go away! go away!”
Her crescendo cries merged into a shrill scream which drew a bevy of women into the room. They appeared terrified. Ejaculating a chorus of “Ah! bahs!” they placed their hands before their mouths to prevent the white woman’s devil from jumping down their throats. They caught the gleam of the silver case of the thermometer and shuddered with real fear.
Nurse Mary rose to her feet. The atmosphere with a score of women crowding round had grown more turgid and asphyxiating than ever. A heavy scent of stale patchouli only made matters worse. She looked at the windows. A little fresh air would be the best medicine for the patient.
“Draw up the blind and let in the morning breeze,” she said to the old woman who had conducted her there.
“It is not possible, lady. Only the common people open windows. We are gosha. The Beebee would send us away or punish us severely if we ventured to lift a single blind.”
“No one could see into these windows; they are too high up,” protested Nurse Mary.
“But the village people could see that they were open and there would be scornful talk. If such talk came to the ears of the Shahzada, he would order us to be hung up by our thumbs and have heavy stones tied on to our backs.”
“Captain Gabriel would never do such a thing!”
“Captain Gabriel does not rule in this house, honourable lady.”
“Go away! go away!” again cried the patient, who was trembling with fear at the thought of the Shahzada’s anger.
“Don’t you want to see your husband?” again asked Nurse Mary. There was no reply. “Have you no message for him?”
The only answer was a moan and a repetition of the entreaty to depart.
“I will go away at once,” said Nurse Mary slowly and distinctly, “if you will send just one little word of kindness to Captain Gabriel.”
She was becoming impatient with the foolish girl. During the conversation she had been watching her closely, and she had come to the conclusion that the attack she was suffering from was nothing but a slight touch of malaria. It was not infectious; nor was it influenza. There was no reason why Nourma should not come and see her husband for a short time, even if she did not stay with him. Her conduct was selfish in the extreme and unworthy of any woman who had her senses. Had she been a child of six or seven, she could not have behaved more foolishly. Nurse Mary rose to her feet.
“Will you see him to-morrow?” she asked.
“The Sahiba is ill; she cannot move,” said the old woman, as Nourma gave no answer.
“Then I shall bring Captain Gabriel here.”
“The Shahzada will not be pleased.”
“I will ask him to give me leave to come.”
“The Beebee will be very angry.”
“Where is she? I should like to ask her if she will be angry.”
The old woman shuffled about uneasily and the company listened breathlessly for her reply. She did not attempt to go and call her mistress.
“The Beebee has gone down to her rooms below,” she said at last, as Nurse Mary waited for a reply.
“Shall I go and see her there?”
The old woman gave her a frightened glance and the company sounded a chorus of apprehensive exclamations. Evidently Nurse Mary had made a daring and unheard-of proposal.
“Well? show me the way and I will go at once,” she said.
Even the invalid was drawn out of herself. She threw aside the enveloping coverlet and sat up at the astounding proposal to invade the privacy of the Beebee unbidden and unexpected.
Nurse Mary could see her better now that her eyes had become accustomed to the murkiness. Nourma was young and small in figure. Her features were regular and might have been pleasing if it had not been for the sullen expression that they wore. What a stupid commonplace wife for a man like Gabriel to have, was her mental comment.
“The Beebee has closed the door,” said the old woman. “She may not be disturbed again until she calls one of us to her. It is best for your Honour to go now. Enough has been said.”
“And I am not to take a message to Captain Gabriel?”
“There is nothing to say.”
“Except that his wife loves him and counts the hours to his coming?”
“That may be said if it pleases your Excellency.”
“It is not for me to give the message if the lady Nourma does not speak it.”
Once more she knelt by the girl, who had laid herself down again among her pillows.
“Just one word, Sahiba,” she pleaded on behalf of the young husband. “One little kind word to take with me and make me welcome.”
The figure on the pillows seemed to shrink into a huddled mass of drapery. The white muslin was drawn over the head and face till nothing was visible. Nourma began to sob and cry like a child. It made further speech impossible. The noise of her wailing drowned Nurse Mary’s voice. Again she rose, and this time it was with deep indignation that she did not attempt to hide.
“You are a silly girl, a big baby. You don’t deserve to have a good husband. It would serve you right if he took another wife and sent you back to your people,” she said in a voice sufficiently loud to be heard by the staring crowd of women. They would take good care to repeat it to the Sahiba when her fit of weeping was over.
Nurse Mary left the room and the purdah dropped close upon her heels. The fact did not escape her attention that with her departure the noisy weeping ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The women whispered. The sound of their muffled chatter increased as the Englishwoman retreated in the distance. At the door leading into the verandah Nurse Mary stood for a few seconds while the old woman waited impatiently to close it. She listened. Surely there was laughter now amid the chatter, unrestrained cacklings such as might follow the perpetration of a joke. She glanced at the ancient door-keeper.
“They laugh!” she said angrily.
“What can I do?” said the old woman with an uncomfortable movement. She fidgetted with the bolt of the door, as though her fingers itched to fit it into its socket and shut out the sight of the unwelcome intruder.
“They have not treated me well!” continued Nurse Mary. “The Sahiba called me a witch and refused to send any message to her husband. Now she and her women laugh! I wonder that she is not afraid to behave so ill.”
As she ceased speaking a pariah dog bayed with a long, melancholy howl. The old woman started and placed a hand before her mouth.
“The Ammah!” she cried under her breath. “The witch speaks and the Ammah answers.”
“It was a dog, a village dog!” said Nurse Mary, as she passed over the threshold.
The old woman closed the door quickly and shot the bolt with trembling fingers. She hobbled down the passage at her best speed.
“The Ammah! the Ammah! She cries! Silence, you fools! you mad women. The white woman heard your laugh. She is angry. She has gone back to her room to cast spells! And you!” she went on with increasing fury as she came face to face with the invalid who had risen from her pillows to join in the hubbub and laughter. “Think yourself fortunate if you are alive this day week!”
She passed on, leaving dismay and fear where there had only been foolish gossip and laughter.
Nurse Mary was resting in her cool, airy sitting-room after breakfast. On her lap was a bit of needlework, neglected and forgotten. She was absorbed in thoughts that had arisen out of her morning visit to Nourma. Captain Gabriel had sent word that he would like to see her and would come to her room if she would permit him to do so.
As she sat there she was conscious of a curious wave of anger against the wife who had shown an incomprehensible aversion to her husband. True, she was ill; there was undoubtedly a touch of malaria; but it was not sufficient to prevent her from rising from her sick-bed to join the crowd of excited, gabbling women, and add her voice to theirs in the laugh of derision directed at the discomfited stranger.
If Nourma was well enough to get up for such a trivial purpose, she was well enough to see her husband. Why should she exhibit repugnance to the suggestion? It was impossible to believe that she could dislike him. It was equally impossible to believe that a third person during her husband’s absence had stolen her affections and robbed him of her love. Granted that the opportunity had occurred—an extremely unlikely contingent in the closely guarded hareem—it would have to be a man of exceptional parts to rival such an one as Gabriel.
Nurse Mary was not in love with him herself; but she was not blind to the qualities he possessed for commanding a woman’s devotion. His pale olive face with its high-bred Arab features was more than enough to attract the eye of any woman, no matter what her nationality might be. His fine, well-made figure could not fail to please the artistic sense. It suggested strength and suppleness. The small strong hands were made to grip the sword and the reins; and the long, shapely legs to be thrown across a horse. And with it all went the dignity and bearing of noble birth. What could be wrong with such a man that Nourma refused to meet him or have anything to do with him?
A sudden glancing aside of thought brought Nurse Mary face to face with the circumstances of her own case. They were parallel in some respects with Gabriel’s, but in reversed order. She asked herself the unpleasant question, what was wrong with herself when Maurice behaved in the same strange manner? He had practically rejected his wife as Nourma now rejected her husband. She had never been able to account for his conduct; she was equally at a loss to account for Nourma’s. She found herself classing them both in the same category. The anger she felt towards Nourma stretched out beyond the Muhammadan girl and rested on her own husband.
Then came the realization of a fact that appalled her. She had not forgiven the man who had slighted her.
It surprised as well as troubled her. It was not in her nature to be at enmity with any human being. In her large-hearted way Nurse Mary had always looked for and given warm affection. She had loved her dolls with a generous, protective love. When she grew older the love was transferred to her school-fellows; and when Maurice Edenhope came upon the scenes she bestowed all she had to give—and it was no meagre quantity—upon him. His withdrawal beyond the reach of her love turned the stream of that strong maternal instinct to sick and suffering humanity. She found objects in the Hospital worthy of her tenderness and affection; and in addition the hard work gave her a certain forgetfulness of self—a forgetfulness that until this moment she had imagined would go hand in hand with forgiveness.
She was discovering with something like a shock that she had neither forgotten nor forgiven.
An unsolved mystery stays long in the mind to puzzle and perplex when it is connected closely with personal interests. In moments of idleness under awakened memory the mind searches for reasons, for unknown faults that might perhaps have caused the trouble.
She was busy now searching in vain for the cause of Nourma’s behaviour. At the back of her mind was a vague hope that if she could solve the mystery in the young wife’s case she might be able to do so in Maurice’s case.
She wondered if there were many couples in the world whose lives were shaped by the force of circumstances on the same unfortunate lines. Thousands of men had returned all over Europe from military duty to homes which they had compulsorily forsaken no longer than had been the case with herself and with Captain Gabriel. Had they found their wives cold and indifferent? Had husbands come back estranged and unable to pick up the threads of the old life?
The great war had much to answer for besides death and devastation, disablement and mutilation.
A step sounded in the verandah outside and Gabriel’s voice asked permission to enter.
“Come in! come in!” cried Nurse Mary, glad to welcome an interruption to her unsatisfactory line of thought. “Come and hear the result of my visit this morning. I know you’re dying to be told how I fared.”
He entered with the ease of a man accustomed to the society of English women. He had put on a rich Muhammadan dress and jewelled turban. As he dropped into a cushioned lounge, her eye rested on his figure with unconscious approval. How could a wife be indifferent to the man before her?
He looked at her with keen inquiry, behind which was a glowing fire of hope. How she hated her task! If she spoke the honest truth without subterfuge, she would have to quench the light in those brown eyes bent so eagerly upon her in anticipation of good news.
She began by giving him all the good news she had to tell, and made the most of it.
“Your wife is not seriously ill, I am glad to say. I am sure, also, that her complaint is not infectious. I should say that she was suffering from a simple attack of malaria. The fever has made her feel weak and depressed.”
“Was she pleased——” he paused, and then said, “to—to see you?”
Nurse Mary understood the hesitation. It was on his lips to ask if his wife was pleased to receive a message from her husband.
“She was feeling too ill to find any pleasure in the company of a stranger, or in hearing news of any kind.”
“Did she ask after me or want to know if I had recovered from my wound?”
It was becoming increasingly difficult to answer his questions with all their import.
“She asked nothing. I think she felt strange and shy and ill at ease.”
“Was there no curiosity, no sign of interest? “ he said, his eyes searching her face closely.
“Her one emotion seemed to be fear. I am afraid the women round her have prejudiced her against me by persuading her that I am a worker of magic in league with the Ammah,” replied Nurse Mary with an uncomfortable little laugh. It seemed to her that she was making a complaint.
“That’s quite likely,” he replied evenly.
“If she could be persuaded to come here and see something of me, I might disabuse her mind of such nonsense.”
Gabriel did not reply immediately. He knew better than Nurse Mary the profound ignorance and superstition of the gosha women of the hareem.
“Did you ask her to come?”
“Yes; but she would make no promise.”
Nurse Mary hoped that she might be forgiven for not telling him the brutal truth.
“She sent me a message, perhaps.”
The husband looked at her with eyes that again called forth her pity and sympathy. She found it impossible to describe what passed. Nourma practically refused to send a message, and when pressed took refuge in babyish weeping. Nurse Mary left his remark without a response, and fell back on giving him advice.
“I think you must speak to your sister-in-law about it. If the Sahiba orders Nourma to come, she will have to obey; she will be obliged to grant you an interview either here or in her room on the other side of the screen. The women all appeared to be a little afraid of your brother and his wife.”
Gabriel smiled; he rarely laughed; but the smile was sufficient.
“It is just as well that the women of the hareem should be afraid of some one in authority. There would be no discipline among them at all if they were not. I will speak to my brother and ask him to give an order that my wife shall be brought here,” he said, rising from his chair.
“Where are you going, Captain Gabriel?”
“To see my brother about this business.”
“Wait; sit down again. Give the Sahiba Nourma——”
“——the Beebee, Nurse,” he corrected quietly.
“——the Beebee time to recover from the fever. You would be distressed if she were brought here unwillingly and in tears.”
The oriental nature revealed itself in his reply.
“Tears, like flowers, become a woman and are not amiss.” Then with growing emotion he continued: “I don’t care how she comes as long as she is brought to me.” He sat down again and settled himself back on the pillows of his chair. His lips were compressed and a new light came into his eyes. “In a day or two I shall carry her over to this side myself.”
“What! screaming and kicking perhaps?”
“You don’t know our women. Yes! screaming, kicking, fighting, abusing the man to whom she will presently submit with exquisite joy,” he added slowly and with a voice lowered as his mind dwelt upon the picture that was conjured up in his brain. “It adds zest and strikes a note of excitement in the hareem. They have so little to stir the atmosphere of their daily lives; and they dearly love a noisy row now and then,” he concluded, as if in apology to the English prejudice against all violence.
“We don’t do things in that forceful manner,” she remarked, not sure that she approved at this sudden outbreak of semi-civilization.
“Your women don’t need such treatment, do they?” he asked impetuously.
“Well!—no,” she admitted.
“English women are gentle and submissive.”
“They are reasonable,” she amended, “and their husbands look for reasonableness.”
“And never have occasion to beat them?”
“Not in our class.”
“When I was on leave in Paris,” he said, “I saw a wedding. The bride walked quietly to the car that was waiting. Her husband, who was an Englishman, hurried on in front of her to throw in her wrap and see that the cushions were comfortably placed. I thought at the time that there was very little excitement in it. They might have been married for months. Probably the men of your nation know nothing of the wild delight of carrying off a protesting, kicking, screaming bride.”
His words conjured up a picture in Nurse Mary’s imagination that made her smile. With her mind’s eye she saw an English bridegroom, his arms burdened with a strong young woman who refused to walk to the motor-car. Rice and confetti were thrown after him as he struggled along; perhaps with a curse or two instead of an endearing word as her finger-nails scored his face.
“You may smile, Nurse; but as soon as my wife is well enough I will show you how it is done!”
“Wait a couple of days,” she pleaded, not sure that he might be contemplating a raid on the hareem at that very moment since his mind had been set at rest concerning the trivial nature of his wife’s illness. “Give the Sahiba Nourma time to recover. When she is well, she will make no difficulty about coming to you.”
“Very well, I will; although I don’t think it necessary that she should have any more time. Meanwhile I will shoot that tiger on the droog.”
“Is it still about the place?”
“Old Daood thinks it is when he is in his saner mood. He still suspects it of being the Rakshah’s son in pursuit of the Ammah.”
“Have your rifles been sent to your room?”
“They were brought while I was at breakfast. They are in excellent order. My brother is having a machan built in the tree where you saw the marks of the tiger’s claws. I shall have a dog tied up near the tree and shall sit up for the beast.”
Nurse Mary gazed at him with professional criticism.
“I wonder if the night air will bring back the fever,” she remarked.
“It won’t hurt me. The fever I have occasionally is not due to malaria.”
“What is it then that brings it?”
“Worry; disappointment; but I’ll soon put an end to that!” He stood up and stretched himself to his full height. He looked taller than usual in his long flowing coat of rich dark satin. “Nurse!” there was a joyous ring in his voice. “Nurse! Allah has been good to me in allowing me to come home again. In those days when we were under canvas in the deserts of Egypt I used to wonder if He would ever permit me to see this place again; this beloved home of my fathers! How long have I been back?” he asked abruptly.
“Two days.”
“Just two days! and in that time I feel a different man! The fever is gone. You will see that I shall have no more of it. In a few days I shall be like a young elephant. And my wife! She is there! safe! waiting for her husband to come and carry her off! Oh! I can’t stay in the house! The fields and the jungle and the river are calling me. We will ride this afternoon, Nurse, you and I. I’ve seen you go out on one of Dr. Dumbarton’s horses, so I know you can ride.”
“I should like it immensely,” she said after a short pause.
“Good! We will order the horses for half-past four and start off directly after tea. I’m longing for a good gallop.” He looked down at her and smiled as he detected a suspicion of anxiety in her eyes. “I shall be out of hand soon and beyond your control.”
“Then my job will be finished and I shall have to go back to the Hospital,” she returned, laughing.
“I must look up my riding kit,” he said, turning away. “It’s in one of those suit-cases in my room. Where’s Mahmoud?”
He moved towards the verandah to go to his room. Nurse Mary followed. She had no intention of allowing her patient to be as good as his word and get out of hand just yet. He was making great strides, but he must not shake off the routine of convalescence altogether. If there was any unpacking to do, she must see that Mahmoud did it and that Gabriel did not fatigue himself over it.
As they passed through the curtained doorway of her sitting-room they came against Michael. He was standing close to the purdah, and Nurse Mary wondered with swift thought how long he had been there; and whether he had overheard their conversation. He would not understand their easy talk. By the very first words Michael said, she was aware that he had been listening; and what was more, he was in no way ashamed of his conduct.
“Did I hear you say that you were going back to the Hospital, madam?” he asked, giving her a searching look of inquiry.
“Not yet, I hope. I am enjoying my holiday duties too well to wish them at an end,” she replied with ready frankness.
“Can you find us horses, brother?” asked Gabriel.
“Half a dozen if you like. You have only to say what you wish and your wish shall be fulfilled.”
“We shall want two: one for myself and one for Nurse Mary.”
“And what carriage will you have, madam? open or closed?” asked Michael, turning to her. His brother answered for her.
“No carriage will be needed. The horses must be saddled. You have English saddles?”
“Several.”
As Michael gazed from one to the other in perplexity, Gabriel gave the explanation.
“Nurse Mary will ride one horse and I shall ride the other. Let us have two that are quiet and well-behaved.”
Michael forbore to express his astonishment. He had never seen an English lady on a horse, nor had any other member of the household. As soon as he had recovered from his astonishment, he bethought himself of the reason for his presence on the verandah. He turned to Nurse Mary.
“I came to hear your opinion of my sister-in-law’s illness, madam. I moved quietly and waited, not knowing if you were asleep. When I heard your voice speaking with my brother, I thought you might be talking business.”
“I never sleep in the day; and your brother and I have no business secrets to discuss,” she replied shortly.
“And so my brother has had the privilege of sitting with you and talking of himself. How I wish we could adopt your English ways, but it would be impossible; our people would not understand. Please tell me if you consider my brother’s wife to be seriously ill.”
Nurse Mary gave him her opinion as to the condition of the patient and pronounced the illness to be trifling.
“She will be well in a couple of days. Under the circumstances I cannot understand her objection to seeing her husband,” she concluded.
Michael smiled reassuringly, and his answer corroborated what Gabriel had just been saying.
“Her conduct is nothing more than the expression of a very proper modesty. Our women are like that. They say ‘no’ meaning ‘yes’ all the time. They want their husbands to show a little pleasant violence. It convinces them that the men are still devoted.”
Gabriel listened, but did not smile. He saw nothing amusing in it.
“It is all very well to find modesty in a bride,” he said. “But in a wife we look for obedience—and in Allah’s name I will have it!” he suddenly blazed forth.
“Ho! ho! The young elephant speaks!” cried Michael good-humouredly, and with the indulgence of an elder brother towards a young hot-head. “We must be careful. Enraged elephants have a trick of pulling the house about their ears. This afternoon he will scour the country on a horse! To-night he will shoot a tiger! To-morrow he will carry off his reluctant wife! What are we to do with him, madam? Is it for this reason that you told him that you must hurry back to Bangalore?”
Nurse Mary assured him that she was in no hurry to leave his hospitable palace. She would be well content to stay on for some days longer if she might be permitted to do so.
“We are delighted to have you here. It is a great honour, is it not, brother?” he said, turning to Gabriel with a curious smile. “You would be sorry to lose so good a lady; one who allows you the entrance of her room and looks after you so kindly day and night.”
Gabriel made an impatient movement; his brother’s words irritated him. A sudden frown overcast his forehead as though he wished to hear no more. But Michael had not finished.
“We ought to be very grateful to madam; and you, brother, you should be ashamed of your restlessness. Be content. Enjoy what Allah gives and do not worry yourself over a silly, unwilling wife, a capricious child. It is a mistake to struggle and toil after those who are out of reach. Gather the fruit that is near the hand.”
Gabriel did not reply, and Nurse Mary was at a loss to comprehend what Michael meant by his long speech. The younger man strode off in the direction of his room, calling for Mahmoud, his servant.
Michael bowed and salaamed to Nurse Mary and took his departure. He left her to wonder why Gabriel had been annoyed. Michael had only expressed his gratification that she should be there, and his full approval of her presence. There could be nothing more, she thought, in what he said than simple good-will expressed in the conventional words of an attentive host.
At half-past four Captain Gabriel descended the great central staircase accompanied by Nurse Mary. She wore a simple riding skirt and jacket, the skirt divided to admit of her sitting on a man’s saddle. Gabriel had adopted the ordinary riding kit of an Englishman. It suited his figure and showed it to advantage. The Muhammadan dress had given him dignity, but this brought with it the idea of manliness, strength and good health with all its activities.
Unseen and unsuspected by Nurse Mary, a hundred eyes watched her and her companion from behind Venetians and blinds. The movements of the couple were closely followed as they walked without haste towards the portico where the horses waited. There was no approval on the part of the watchers. They would have been better pleased if the Sahib had appeared in silks and satins such as he wore in the middle of the day in his sitting-room. It would have seemed more in accordance with their notion of the dignity befitting his station if he had been going downstairs to find a luxurious barouche with a pair of high-stepping horses, turbanned coachman and scarlet-clad syces. Why should he ride as if he was one of his own sowars instead of rolling along at ease like a native prince?
The eyes passed from the figure of the man to that of the woman by his side. She was young, and the colour in her face was something that the youngest of them could never hope to gain except by artificial means. It was like the petals of the pink roses growing in the courtyard. Comment passed freely as they watched, and their ears were strained to catch fragments of the conversation that was passing between the two. Could they have heard, they would not have understood. Captain Gabriel and Nurse Mary were speaking in English.
The rumour that the young Sahib and the Englishwoman were going to ride was brought to the hareem by an old woman employed to purchase fruit in the bazaar for the gosha ladies. Many were the speculations as to how the ride would be accomplished.
“She will be carried in front of him on his saddle,” said one.
“Not so,” said another. “She will ride like an Afghan woman and the horse will be led.”
“You are wrong,” asserted a third in shrill tones. “English women ride in carriages. There will be a closed—or perhaps an open carriage, as the sun is not too hot at this time of the day. She will sit like the Shahzada himself when he drives out.” The speaker alluded to Michael.
Then came the puzzling report that two horses had been ordered; but there was no mention of any carriage. Speculation rose to fever height when the news came that the horses were “to wear English saddles.” Long before the hour at which the horses were ordered, every venetianed window of the women’s quarters that offered a glimpse of the carriage drive and portico had its little group of waiting sightseers.
The Beebee Lilith was not above joining the watchers. She took the window that best commanded the drive. Near her stood a tall, handsome girl who pressed forward and peered through the narrow chink in the Venetians and then turned away with scorn and contempt from the sight.
In the rose garden all four gardeners belonging to the establishment had found it necessary to be busy at that precise hour with their water-pots. The couple were lost to view of the hareem as soon as they arrived in the portico. A number of servants and retainers—poor relations of the family who made themselves useful—watched from behind bamboo blinds, groups of foliage plants, pillars and balustrades with breathless attention to see the English lady mount the fidgetty arab. As soon as she was in the saddle she gave her horse rein and rode out into the open. This brought her in sight of the watchers at the windows above.
There was a stifled chorus of astonishment at the miracle which seemed to have taken place.
“Ah! bah! the white woman! She has turned herself into a man! See! her legs are man’s legs. They are like the young Sahib’s and clothed like his! The witch!” cried one of the privileged grannies of the crowd.
Captain Gabriel joined his companion and together they rode slowly down the private road. The little arab was fresh. It broke into a trot, and when she pulled it up it sidled along with prancing steps. The action was not lost upon the gazers who were straining their eyes to follow the figures as long as they were in sight.
“See! she holds the horse in and is unafraid of its dancings. Ah! the wise horse knows who it is that sits on its back. If it does not behave, she will turn it into a jutka pony to be for ever overloaded and beaten,” said another.
Suddenly the riders put their steeds into a canter. As they receded into the distance the likeness between their figures increased. It called for more comment with a greater assurance as to Nurse Mary’s powers of magic.
Lilith moved away from the window she had chosen. The girl followed her.
“I would rather she was a man and remained a man,” she murmured.
The elder woman caught the sentence.
“A man abroad but a woman behind the curtain. Yes! I have heard that these English women are always so. It is thus they hold their men who want no other companions abroad and no other women at home. They satisfy every requirement.”
“And the young Sahib?”
“He is well pleased, as you can see for yourself.”
The girl closed her white teeth over her lower lip and her eyes filled with angry tears. The tone in which this was said was final and left no room for doubt; yet she asked a question showing that hope was not altogether extinguished.
“Has he never once asked for me, sister?”
“Never!” said Lilith in the merciless manner of the women of the hareem who have no pity where their own personal interests are concerned. “He has forgotten his young wife. What can be expected when our men go into strange countries where the women are all learned in magic.”
“Can we not give him a love philtre? There is a wise woman living at Mysore. Send for her, sister! She will make some cunning medicine which we will put into his coffee. It will bring back his young wife to his mind and maybe fill that white woman with fear so that she will depart.”
The ride was altogether delightful. They galloped over open grass country towards the big river. They passed along narrow roads built upon the dams that controlled the waters in flood times. A bullock cart plodding along with a load of sugar-cane was drawn aside to allow them to pass. It leaned perilously over the steep bank of the bund, but no one dreamed of denying an ample passage for the riders. The labourers they met recognized the young master and prostrated themselves by the roadside. When Captain Gabriel had gone by, they rose to their feet and gazed wonderingly after the couple. They had heard rumours of his return home in company with a European lady who exercised great power over him. But this was no woman; it was a man.
“A young English master, a friend of the Sahib,” said one.
“Nay; ’tis a woman by his side,” responded another. “Have I not been to Bangalore and seen the English ladies riding like sowars and driving two horses. Now they have devil carriages which go without horses. They fly along the road quicker than the dust before the monsoon storm. Lo! they do but touch the handle of the devil car and it is done. There must be many devils in the country of the white women, for they all have one as a servant to execute their commands.”
They left the river and its fertile lands and reached one of the great roads that ran between Mysore and Belgaum. For miles and miles the big banyan trees stretched long hoary arms over the way, giving a welcome shade to travellers during the day. The sun reddened as it neared the horizon. Gabriel pulled up.
“We must go home. I don’t wish to be late for my tiger hunt. Have you had enough, Nurse?”
“I never have enough of this sort of thing; but I am ready to go home,” she replied.
“To-morrow afternoon we will ride again,” he said with an unconscious note of healthy joyousness in his voice.
Then they loosened rein and the beautiful arabs raced along the grassy side of the broad road towards home.
The syces were waiting to take the horses. The signal had been given in the hareem that the riders were returning. Again a buzz of voices echoed through the galleries and verandahs, as shoeless feet ran swiftly to secure a point of vantage to view the wonderful sight. Eyes peeped through lattices and Venetians; and tongues speculated on whether the woman had resumed her shape.
“She is still a man. See the brown leather on the legs. She holds her whip, too, like a man. She will remain a man until she enters her room. Then the woman will come back all the stronger for having been at rest awhile.”
“And the young Sahib will be pleased!”
“How long does she stay here?” asked a matron who carried a child across her hips.
“Only a short time, and when she goes she takes the young Sahib with her.”
The speaker glanced round as if in search of some one.
“Has he forgotten? He who could not bear his young wife out of his sight.”
“It is a spell that works. If there had been a child——”
The older woman laughed almost silently.
“The Shahzada and the Beebee want no child here! The hand of a babe, small and tender and weak as it might be, would yet be strong enough to throw others out who have been here long and have taken deep root.”
“Hush! Here comes the little Shahzada, he who will one day be our ruler and master. Does he not look it? the young prince!”
The Sahiba Lilith approached walking along the corridor to her room. Her son strode in front of her, his childish figure bedecked in jewels. The mother’s eye rested proudly upon him, and she had no thought for the pretty little girl two years younger than her brother who clung to her mother’s skirt. Close behind followed the tall girl with the melancholy eyes who had gazed so jealously at Nurse Mary.
The woman who had been gossiping approached the boy and tendered him a small bit of cane.
“Shahzada, take this rod and beat thy slave well for not having brought thee a star from the heavens. Thy poor servant could not reach it. Nevertheless she must be beaten; for she has not carried out the orders of the young master.”
The boy, nothing loth and quite accustomed to the game, took the stick and laid it across the shoulders of the old woman. To his intense delight she screamed for mercy and promised to bring the star on the following day without fail.
“Ah! the noble little Shahzada! What a ruler of the house he will make!” she cried, raising her voice so that her words reached the ears of the mother. The eyes of the tall girl rested upon the boy. He noted her glance and made an impudent grimace at her.
“The Sahiba Nourma does not like to hear me called Shahzada. When I am a man and the master here, I shall send her back to her people. She has no child,” he cried in his shrill, penetrating voice.
His mother smiled, as though he had said something clever. She did not attempt to reprove him for his arrogance, nor to point out that such conduct would be unkind.
They passed on and disappeared; and the woman who had offered her back to be beaten by way of amusing a child, returned to finish her gossip.
“The young Sahiba is not happy. The boy irritates her and she has no spirit to rise in rebellion.”
“Would it be possible? What could she do?” asked the other. “The Beebee bars her into her room every night.”
“There will be no need to bar any doors to-night. The Sahib Gabriel goes out after sunset to sit in the tree. All night he will watch; but he will see nothing and shoot nothing. If the tiger comes at all, it will creep past him in the form of a snake, or fly by as a bat.”
A girl came hastily up to the chattering pair. “Get up and go to the Beebee. She asks for thee.”
The older woman scrambled to her feet and hurried away.
“And as for thee; take thy child to thy room and go to the kitchen to help in bringing up the food.”
There was a call. The new arrival who had just delivered her orders, responded as she heard her name. A voice asked if she had fulfilled her errand, and gave new directions. No sooner were these ended than some one else called, and the last speaker received further orders. It seemed to be the duty of more than half the establishment to issue orders and to follow them up to see that they were executed. The system had its advantages. It shifted the responsibility from shoulder to shoulder and it gave occupation to the scores of inmates of the house.
The following morning Nurse Mary was up soon after sunrise. She learned from Judy that Captain Gabriel had returned and had gone to bed. Mahmoud came out of his master’s room as she stood in the verandah preparatory to taking her usual morning walk. She beckoned to him.
“Did the Shahzada kill the tiger?” she asked.
“No, lady. It was even as I said. There was no tiger.”
“Did he see nothing of it?”
“Nothing; but the jackal cried all night. If the tiger had been lurking on the droog, would the jackal have spoken?”
“Did his Honour tie up a dog?” she asked.
“The dog was there. It had no fear; it never talked; not even when the jackal cried. If the jackal had been a true jackal, the dog would have spoken in anger. But it slept, knowing that the jackal was the Ammah and the tiger was the Rakshah’s son.”
“Aren’t the animals afraid of the devils?”
“No, lady. Only the horse and the elephant fear devils; and they fear because they know that the devils are plotting against men.”
“When did Captain Gabriel come in?”
“At six; just at dawn. I helped him to undress and gave him some coffee and now he sleeps.”
“Take care that he is not disturbed. I shall be back before he awakes.”
Nurse Mary, with sun-hat and walking-stick, went down to the portico and took the path to the river which she had followed the day before with Gabriel. The morning was beautiful after the manner of most mornings on the plateau of Mysore, where the secret of perfect weather seems to have been discovered. The air was full of freshness without being cold. There had been a heavy dew, and the vegetation had revived under it as if it had received a shower.
The sun rose in a clear blue sky. A few fleecy white clouds floated in the south-west in the direction of the Western Ghats. Birds twittered in the bushes and busied themselves over their morning meal in the coarse rough grass.
The river rippled into silver under the breeze and flowed sluggishly along its bed. A water bird paddled idly under the great rock bastion, occasionally dipping its head in search of the fresh-water shrimp.
The big tree growing by the side of the rampart, and partially shading its level summit, was of the softest green; and behind it rose the hill of a more sombre tint. Three or four jays were fidgetting in and out of the topmost branches with harsh, discordant cries.
She turned and walked on, leaving the river behind. The air was warm and she longed for the cooler breezes of the hilltop. She had another reason for wishing to climb the hill; she wanted to do so without the company of old Daood.
A quarter of a mile brought her to the foot of the rough path leading to the temple. As she mounted and passed into the jungle, the atmosphere became several degrees cooler. She could smell the damp night mist and the growing vegetation, the moss and the ferns and brambles and the dripping foliage of the jungle trees.
She reached the effigies half way up and paused to look at them. What diabolical faces the sculptor had given them! There was nothing to choose between them. Each in its way, although so different, represented evil and malignity unsoftened by any human quality. Truly the oriental realized to the full the nature of the devil, whether his name was Satan or Legion or Rakshah.
She climbed towards the little temple. A flock of green parakeets shrieked as they flew with swift flight, like arrows shot from a bow overhead. They had roosted in the warm roof of the temple and were off to forage for their breakfast in the fruit-gardens of the village.
Nurse Mary reached the temple and stood gazing at the carved blocks of stone that formed the porch. She recalled the old peon’s story of the Ammah. The stone that blocked the door must have been placed there centuries ago. She wondered what the temple contained and whether any treasure was hidden in it. If it followed the pattern of other Hindu temples, it would have an inner shrine, containing a broad low platform upon which a tortoise would be carved in outline, On this tortoise once stood a small image about four feet high of the particular god worshipped by the old inmates of the Hindu village below.
In later times came the Muhammadan conquerors, the Moghul with his rapacious hordes, looting, burning, torturing the mild Hindus of the plateau, peaceful agriculturists, whose lives were bound up in operations of seed-time and harvest. The murderers plundered the granaries, dug up the floors of the kitchen and women’s quarters to find the buried savings and jewels of the families.
Then they sought the temple. Not content with stripping the image of its plating of gold and its precious stones, they killed a cow on the spot where it had stood; and the tortoise ran with the blood of a final sacrifice that was not of the Hindu priest’s devising. Lest some rich Hindu in the future should endeavour to cleanse the desecrated spot and set up another image and “restore the caste” of the temple, those fierce implacable warriors had by some unknown means contrived to close the doorway of the temple so effectually, that nothing but a beetle or a snake or a scorpion could creep in. If ever the door was to be opened, it would require a charge of dynamite to blast away that slab of stone.
Nurse Mary stepped down under the low portico to examine the stone more closely. She listened, but could hear nothing but the cries of the birds on the hill, piping, whistling, chirping, and here and there a songster. The shrill squeak of a squirrel sounded close at hand. She caught sight of it on the edge of the roof, from which point it was fearlessly regarding her. Out of sight in the blue ether above the village the eagles screamed in their search for carrion.
She examined the hole in the stone. It was about the size of a hen’s egg, and as far as she could judge the stone where it was pierced was four inches thick. She remembered old Daood’s tale. What a strange superstition it was to believe that anything passed through the hole would be seized and held fast by the Ammah! It made her smile. Nevertheless she loved the quaint folklore of the people, however absurd and ridiculous it might be. She determined to ask for Daood’s escort in rambles further afield by the bank of the river so that she might hear more about the destroyed town and the grass-grown ruins.
As for the tiger she had no fear whatever. If it had visited the hill at all, it had probably passed on at dawn of the next day and by this time was lost in the impenetrable jungles of the Western Ghats.
The sun was mounting above the hill. It was time to retrace her steps. She would not climb to the top this morning, but would come up another day and explore the hill on the other side.
Her eyes still dwelt on the hole drilled in the stone. In an idle humour she lifted her walking-stick and thrust it into the hole. If the jackal had found its way inside the cave temple by some rift or cranny in the rock, she would at least have the satisfaction of giving the timid skulking creature a good fright.
To her intense astonishment she felt the stick seized and held. If she had not had the presence of mind to keep a firm grip upon it, it would have been drawn out of her hand. The grasp upon it was steady and unwavering. Whether the vice in which it was held was of the nature of teeth or fingers she could not say. She was too startled by the incident to be able to think with any coolness or presence of mind.
She was not given to nerves and she was in no danger of collapsing from fright. She had sufficient sense to remember that an immovable stone was still between her and the mysterious being inside. Her senses quickened rapidly instead of growing more confused, as would have been the case if fear had seized her. A strong desire to find out the nature of the creature made her pause before she attempted to withdraw the stick; but to ensure against its being wrested from her grasp, she placed her other hand upon it and tightened her grip.
She listened intently. The silence was intense. No trace of a sound fell on her ear that gave a clue to the nature of the creature. If it had been a jackal or a dog, the pull on the stick would not have been steady and the attack would be accompanied by snarlings. If it was the tiger, the stick would have been broken by its huge teeth. A tiger would have growled in anger and she would have heard its breathing. A monkey? Again, a monkey in making an attack of any kind would have betrayed itself by scolding at its unseen adversary.
She gave a sudden jerk; the stick was released and she stumbled backwards from the door, She thrust it in again, but this time it was left free. She turned it about in the hole as far as she was able, saying, “Shoo! shoo!” through the opening. To her disappointment nothing happened.
It was just as well that Daood was not there to be a witness to this flouting of the devil after it had manifested its displeasure by trying to deprive her of the stick. She smiled as she walked away; all the same she could not help being impressed by the mystery of the incident, since she had been assured more than once that there was no other entrance to the temple but the doorway that was so effectually barred by the block of stone.
It was about eight o’clock when Nurse Mary reached the house. She went straight to her room. Judy was there with the information that the bath was ready. At nine her breakfast was brought, and immediately afterwards came Cassim to say that the Sahib Michael wished to speak with her. She went out into the verandah and shook hands with him. Before he could deliver his own message she said:
“I wanted to see you to ask if your cooly who takes my letters to Bangalore has brought me any reply.”
“None at all,” replied Michael “Were you expecting any?”
“I thought possibly Dr. Dumbarton might have something to say. However, as he has not sent a note he may mean to write by post. When does the post come in?”
“The same cooly who returns from Bangalore calls at the post office every day. Nothing has come either for you or for my brother.”
“Aren’t the letters delivered here by a postman?”
“No, it is too far out. We have made an arrangement for our own man to call for all letters addressed to the house or to the village. Very few come.”
“You asked to see me,” said Nurse Mary, suddenly remembering that he had sent a message to that effect.
“I want to speak to you about my brother. He saw nothing of the tiger last night. I doubted all along if there was a real tiger. The old peon still declares that there are signs of its presence. He has seen them on the other side of the hill—the mark of claws and the imprint of its foot. The news will probably encourage my brother to sit up for it again to-night. This time we will have a goat tied up. Its bleating will attract the beast. The dog was too quiet. What I am anxious to know is whether you think it will do my brother any harm to sit up again. Is he strong enough to bear the exposure?”
“I can answer that question better when I have seen him. He is still asleep, I am told. If he has no fever and is not overtired, I don’t see why he should not sit up again,” she replied. “You see, he is making rapid progress. If it were not for the worry connected with the thwarting of his wishes by his wife, we might consider that he is quite restored, body and mind, to his ordinary health. He has a vigorous constitution.”
“As soon as he is quite well I understand that he has to return to duty,” was Michael’s reply.
“He might have a month’s privilege leave, or even six months’ ordinary leave.”
“I was under the impression that he would be obliged to return to the Hospital with you,” he said, his eyes fixed upon her as though he would read what was in her mind.
“That must be settled after the Doctor has seen him.”
There was a pause, and Michael seemed about to go when he checked his footsteps and turned to her again.
“I saw you going towards the river this morning, madam. You must be careful about snakes. They are plentiful in the rough grass on the bank. If the peon had been here I should have sent him after you; but he had not returned from his search for tiger tracks.”
“I would rather not have his company unless I ask for him.”
“Does he annoy you by talking too much? I can easily order him to follow at a respectful distance.”
“No; don’t do that. When he is with me I like hearing what he has to say; it is most interesting. We English women are very independent. There are times when we prefer to be alone.”
“You have plenty of solitude here in your room, madam.”
“Not more than I like after my Hospital work. Sometimes I wish to walk alone just as I like to sit alone,” she replied decisively.
“I understand; but take care how you tread by the river,” he answered, as if it was his last word on the subject.
“It is very good of you to warn me; but I ran no danger this morning. I left the river and went up the hill, where the air was fresh and cool.”
“Good to eat, as we say. You are quite safe on the hill—unless by some mischance you encounter this reported tiger,” he added as a second thought. “Was there a clear view from the top of the hill this morning?”
“I did not go as far.”
“Then you were not long there to eat the air.”
“I stopped to look at the temple.”
“Not an interesting place. It belongs to the past. I believe the carvings are considered good.”
“Yes,” she assented. “What interests me more is the stone that blocks the doorway. Is there no other entrance to the temple?”
“None that we know of. Daood would remember if there was any tradition of a second way into the cave—for cave it is in my opinion with porch and facings outside of carved stone.”
“Then how was the stone placed in its present position?”
“An easy matter enough if you have the workmen. When the temple was desecrated by the followers of the Moghul and the door blocked, the men employed must have come out of the roof, through a hole made by the removal of a slab of stone. The stone of course was replaced.”
It all seemed plain and comprehensible as he put it.
“Daood told me that the villagers believe the temple to be haunted by the goddess.”
Michael allowed himself to smile indulgently.
“The old man is full of tales. Did he say anything about the hole in the door?”
“Yes.” After a slight pause she added, “and was really alarmed when I offered to test the truth of the story by putting my stick into the hole.”
“You did not do it?” he asked sharply, as though he was not altogether free from superstition himself.
“Out of consideration for his feelings I refrained.”
“That was good of you.”
“Do you think that my stick would have been seized by the mysterious spirit?” she asked.
“No! no! of course not!” he hastened to say. “Daood would have looked upon your action as an insult to the Ammah, and he would have been alarmed at the possible result. Every illness, accident or misfortune that happened to the villagers during the next two or three months would have been put down to the malice of the demon. No matter whether there is any truth or not in these legends, it is a mistake to test them or to inquire too closely into them. One never can tell how much the village magician himself may have to do with the accidents.”
Nurse Mary felt inclined to relate her experience of the morning; but after what he had just said she thought it better to preserve her secret. As he asked no questions, she was not tempted to make any admissions that might show an excess of curiosity, or an endeavour to do what he deprecated—inquire too deeply into detail.
She remembered chance conversations between Englishmen who discussed natives and the country. She gathered that those who knew the people best were unwilling to probe too deeply. She recalled the words of a civilian who had spent many years in India.
“We live on a surface that gives us no indication of what is beneath it,” he said. “If we dig we are apt to turn up problems that are insoluble. When I had been in the country six months and had learned the language, I thought I knew all about the people I was helping to govern; but now, after twenty-six years, I am convinced that I know nothing except just the few square yards of the surface on which we English live. As to what goes on underneath, I am in total ignorance; and I should remain ignorant if I lived here a hundred years.”
Nurse Mary was becoming aware that she was living on a surface that has a big world beneath it. What did she know even of the life going on immediately around her? Who and what were the people occupying the rooms below hers? or the lower story on the ground floor? What was that world of women behind the barred door that shut off her own verandah from the hareem?
Then there were the servants of the establishment, who from what she had seen, might number scores. Outside the garden walls was the Hindu village with its settlement of Muhammadans. The squat mud-houses were teeming with life. Human beings herded together uncontrolled by any sanitary housing laws to interfere with the close packing of the families. They overflowed into the verandahs and sheds and slept where they could. What could she know of how all these people lived? What were their social customs, their religious beliefs? Even if they were explained she would not be able to comprehend them.
She remained standing in the verandah after Michael had taken his usual ceremonious leave of her. Before going he had once again questioned her as to the wisdom of allowing Gabriel to spend another night in the open. He was solicitous that nothing should be done to retard his brother’s restoration to good health. Nurse Mary could not but admire the brotherly affection that was thus shown.
From her patient and his affairs her thoughts came round to herself. If Gabriel was well, there was no necessity for her to remain much longer at the house. Her services as a nurse were not needed, but she had been sent more to watch the case than attend professionally. She must write and express her opinion and ask for release from duty in the shape of leave.
It was impossible to return to the Hospital. She was an unpaid voluntary nurse; therefore if the work was not pressing she could expect immediate release. She intended to go to Coonoor to the House of Desire and Delight. The name made her shudder every time she thought of it. She had determined to alter it, a task not easy of performance. She might give the bungalow another name which might be used by Europeans; but the natives would always cling to the old one whatever she might do.
She returned to her room and sat down to write her daily report to Jimmy. At the same time she would ask officially for leave. She took up her pen. The letter to Dumbarton flowed easily enough. When she came to her appeal for leave, she was suddenly confronted with the fact that her request would have to go before the Commandant. Her husband would recognize her handwriting. Could she disguise it? The thought was distasteful. Should she risk the consequences? Then perhaps he might follow her up; ask for an interview; demand concessions No! she could not go through a second honeymoon like the first. She had done with honeymoons and husbands. They belonged to an unreal world that had existed only in her girlish imagination when she dreamed of a close companionship with one to whom the first and only love of her life had been given.
Disillusion had come and swept away all such dreams.
All she asked now of life was a happy and congenial occupation wherein she might find oblivion of self and opportunity for devotion to others who needed her services.
She rose from her chair and paced the large airy sitting-room, her sensitive nature fully conscious of the luxury that surrounded her. The light was subdued by an arrangement of the blinds; the atmosphere was full of the scent of freshly gathered roses. The position was far enough removed from the unknown world about her, to give a sense of retirement and solitude without loneliness. The sounds that came through the open windows were softened by distance: a song chanted by a tenor voice at the well; the shout of the bullock-driver in the road to his slow-moving cattle; the shrill treble of the dhoby’s son as he drove his father’s heavily laden donkeys to the river; the chirping of sparrows and the chattering of minas, and the falling water of the fountain in the rose garden. None of the sounds were insistent enough to be separate and of a disturbing nature. They blended into an unintrusive chorus that was part of the world she was living in—that superficial world called India which she could see and feel.
As she turned again to move the length of the room she caught sight of the stick she had used that morning. It was a polished rattan cane with a silver nob of Indian workmanship. She wondered if by any chance it bore the marks of teeth upon it and whether the smooth surface was damaged.
She took it up and examined it. To her astonishment she found no mark at all. It could not have been seized by teeth; no, nor claws. Then it must have been gripped by a hand. The hand of a man? or of a monkey? She glanced at Judy who entered at that moment from the bedroom to bring a book that her mistress had left on the dressing-table.
“Judy! are there any monkeys on the droog?” she asked abruptly.
The ayah spoke the broken English of the Tamil servant. She did not reply immediately, and Nurse Mary repeated her question.
“Can’t say, ma’am.”
“Has Daood spoken of any monkeys?”
“Peon says devils only on droog.”
“What do they look like?”
“Sometimes like tigers; sometimes like jackals; like pi-dogs, pigs, monkeys.”
“Have you ever seen a devil?”
Judy looked shocked at the question. She covered her mouth with her hand as she replied:
“Ah! bah! I never look! I never see! Very bad business those droog devils. Can’t stay here! must go back to Bangalore. Missus come too!” she concluded in a tearful voice.
“Not yet. I mustn’t go away till the Doctor gives leave, and you will stay here till I go.”
The ayah gave her a frightened glance and slipped back into the bedroom to finish her work. Nurse Mary noticed that she cast a look at the stick which was still in its owner’s hands. The woman could not possibly have known that the cane had been thrust into the Ammah’s abode, unless her own steps had been dogged and her actions spied upon. Michael had said enough to convince her that trouble might arise if the villagers believed that she had offered an insult to the demon.
With an impatient gesture Nurse Mary put the stick back in its place and applied herself to the business of writing out her application for leave. She decided not to make it official at present, but to tell Jimmy that she would be glad of a holiday as soon as it was convenient to the authorities. In none of her letters to Dumbarton had she mentioned her husband or hinted that she wished for news of him.
At midday she heard Gabriel’s voice outside.
“May I come in, Nurse?” he asked, pushing aside the light semi-transparent purdah of bamboo and beads that hung before the door leading into the verandah.
She welcomed him with a professional glance.
“None the worse for last night’s expedition?” she asked.
“None whatever. I am all the better for it. I have had a good sleep and now I feel ready for anything. A soldier hates bed and medicine.”
“He wants to be killing something,” she replied with a smile. “You can’t kill Turks, so you are after tigers. Tell me about last night.”
He dropped into a chair near her and related his experiences.
“I don’t believe in the tiger,” he concluded. “A jungle cat must have clawed the tree. However, I shall sit up again to-night.”
Nurse Mary laid her cool white hand over his slender brown fingers, then nodded assent.
“There’s no fever; so no harm has been done. If it pleases you to have another try, do so.”
“It does not please me; it bores me stiff, as those Englishmen say.”
“Then why do it since you run a possible risk of getting fever?”
He burst out suddenly with a flash of the eyes and a bending of the brows.
“Because I can’t stay there”—he glanced in the direction of his room—“without my wife.”
Nurse Mary was silent. She continued her knitting, counting the stitches. When she had satisfied herself that she had made no mistake, she looked up at him and asked if he had had news of the Sahiba Nourma.
“The Beebee, I am told, is better,” he replied moodily. “I have commanded her presence in my room to-morrow. If she does not come, then I will call Shaitan and his angels to my assistance and force her to come.”
“What will your brother say? He is so gentle and reasonable. He will not approve of a row.”
“Yet he can make a row himself if things don’t please him. He has a smooth side for you. I believe he is a little afraid of you, Nurse.”
Gabriel glanced at her with a twinkle of amusement in his brown eyes. She returned his glance and smiled, well pleased to see the stormy mood die away. At that moment distant screams fell on her ear. They were a succession of piercing shrieks of pain. Gabriel sat unmoved.
“Oh! what is that? Some one must be hurt!” cried Nurse Mary, putting down her knitting and preparing to go to render first aid if necessary.
“Sit down again, Nurse. You can do no good,” he replied indifferently.
“But it may be an accident!”
“More likely some one is being beaten.”
“Does that sort of thing go on unchecked?” she asked sharply.
He shrugged his shoulders with half a smile.
“If we interfered every time a woman cried or a child shrieked, we should have time for nothing else but to ask questions and hear—what? lies. The women of the hareem must live their own lives and take the good and the evil as Allah sends it.”
“But I don’t like to hear screaming of that kind. It means pain, an appeal for help. I feel as if I ought to go and give the help that is needed.”
“Neither you nor I could find the victim of some one’s wrath and displeasure even if every door opened at our approach,” he said.
“I don’t like it,” she answered. Her nerves were on edge, not only on account of the distressing sound below, but also from the various incidents with which she had come into contact lately; the adventure at the temple door, the incomprehensible behaviour of the Sahiba Nourma, and the ayah’s demand to return to Bangalore.
“Then you shall have no more of it,” said Gabriel with decision.
“Can you stop it?” she asked quickly.
“The cry can be stopped.”
“And the beating and hurting?”
“That I cannot answer for.”
There was silence. Nurse Mary took up her knitting and tried to concentrate her attention on her work. Gabriel relapsed into silence. He was thinking of his wife. A woman’s shriek was nothing to him. It meant that probably she was only getting her deserts; the women of the hareem screamed for nothing. He had known a wilful spoilt beauty roll on the floor and fill the air with discordant shrieks because she had been denied the whim of the moment.
“Will you ride with me this afternoon, Nurse?” he said.
“I shall be delighted. Let me have the same horse.”
“Certainly. I’ll give him to you if you will accept him.”
“Oh! no! I only want to borrow him. Captain Gabriel,” she said, letting her knitting lie upon her lap, “ I have something to say to you. There is no necessity for me to stay here much longer. You are quite well. I was sent here to see that you did nothing rash. I am going to report you as recovered and no longer in need of my services.” He sat up suddenly and gazed at her with startled eyes. She held up her hand to keep him silent, “I recommend that you apply for a month’s privilege leave and stay on here.”
“Are you tired of this life? Are you unhappy? Is there anything that we can do to make you more comfortable?”
The questions poured from his lips with impetuosity. She hastened to reassure him.
“Nothing! nothing! I am perfectly comfortable. I should be very ungrateful if I were not contented. You and your brother have both been most kind and have left nothing undone that might add to my happiness. Please don’t think that I want to get away on that account.”
“Then stay,” he said in the tone of one who was not accustomed to have his wishes thwarted.
“How can I when there is no necessity? What excuse can I make for imposing myself on strangers when I am not wanted?”
“I want you. I want you badly, your companionship, your kindnesses. You are sorry for me. I see it in your eyes. You say to yourself every time you look at me, ‘Poor fellow! Why don’t they give him what he longs for?’ If you leave me I shall run amuk. We Mussulmen are not like the cold-blooded men of your nation. If we don’t have what we want”—he sat up in his chair again and leaned towards her—“we go mad and somebody has to suffer. Are you a married woman?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes,” she answered with momentary hesitation.
“Then you know.”
“I know my own people, but not the people of this land.” He smiled and dropped into a happier mood.
“Your women do not roll on the floor and scream if they cannot get what they want; nor your men run amuk.”
There was no question in his words. They merely stated facts. He rose from his seat.
“The horses will be ready at half-past four.”
He walked away with the quick, firm tread of a strong, healthy man. The fever had left his body, but it had entered his sold; and for that the professional nurse and the doctor had no cure.
Gabriel sat up again for the tiger. At dawn Nurse Mary heard his footstep on the stairs as he returned to his room. She came out into the verandah and greeted him.
“Well? what luck? Did you get the tiger?” she asked.
“No luck at all. The goat was restless and made noise enough to attract any tiger that was within hearing of it. I don’t believe that there is a tiger on the hill at all. If it was ever there, it has gone,” he concluded with a touch of impatience.
He called for Mahmoud. Another man came forward.
“Where’s Mahmoud?” he demanded.
“Gone out, Huzoor. He asked me to serve your Honour, if your Honour came in before he returned.”
Gabriel strode towards his room not in the best humour. The man was expert, however, and able to do all that was required. A little later the young master was under the mosquito curtains, his annoyance and disappointment forgotten in a deep sleep.
Nurse Mary put on her sun-hat and left the house by the side door. She was prepared to find Daood waiting for her, and was relieved to hear from one of the servants that the old man had been sent by the Shahzada Michael to the village bazaar to bring back something he needed. She passed out of the compound into the wilderness lying between the house and the hill. Here the ruined remains of the old town were everywhere plain to be seen in mounds and broken masonry. Where the grass hid them the outline betrayed their presence. She took one of the narrow footways leading direct to the hill. The breeze on the summit would freshen her brain and blow away cobwebs that had of late been accumulating.
She had accepted the invitation to stay with Captain Gabriel, because it afforded her a welcome escape from a situation that would have been intolerable. She was beginning to find, however, that the freedom from nursing was not bringing her the rest that she needed. She enjoyed her morning walks and evening rides and she was appreciative of the luxury with which she was surrounded; but the element of disappointment and vexation that had crept into Captain Gabriel’s life was somehow affecting her as well.
She did not approve of the delayed union of husband and wife; and was puzzled as to its cause. The longer the delay, the more she sympathized with the young husband and felt proportionately irritated with the reluctant wife. An English husband under similar circumstances would have taken himself off in a huff and found solace and distraction elsewhere. Later he would put the law in motion; and if his wife remained obstinate, he might proceed to extremities and claim his freedom.
In her own case she had not had recourse to the law and did not intend to take advantage of it. She had no wish to try matrimony a second time. She was free to live a life of usefulness to others; and if it were God’s will that she should be denied the blessing of motherhood, she would not rebel. If all the women of her nation became wives and mothers, there would be none left to do the work she and her nursing sisters had undertaken.
Her thoughts swung backwards and forwards between her own circumstances and those of Gabriel. When she came to examine more deeply the details, she found that the two cases were not parallel, because he was a man and she was a woman. There was sufficient likeness only between them to make her sympathetic. Another point disturbed her. Gabriel would not meet his trouble as she had met hers; nor would he follow the same lines that an average Englishman might take.
What would he do? In Hospital Gabriel was very much the soldier among soldiers; an officer among officers. It was the result of his military training and all in a piece with the rest of his military life.
Now he was at home and in the midst of his family he was a Muhammadan among Muhammadans. Birth and home-training must dominate the influence of the later education. At any moment he might show himself to be a man of uncontrolled passions. How long would he listen to reason and be persuaded to exercise patience?
Only a few days had elapsed since she had arrived with her patient. He was then under the control of the military Hospital and was content to submit to the ordering of his life by the Hospital authorities. A change had taken place. The nurse’s authority had melted away. He no longer required her ministrations. His servant could do all that was necessary. From nurse she had been changed into companion. And as a companion she would become unnecessary and intrusive as soon as he had his wife’s society. She might drift into the position of temporary companion to the Sahiba Nourma. But from what she had seen and heard of the lady she did not think that it was a position that would be at all to her mind.
Nurse Mary climbed in leisurely fashion along the winding path leading through the jungle that clothed the hillside. She arrived at the platform or landing where stood the plinth surmounted by the ugly image of the Ammah. A gleam of sunlight fell through the foliage and played with the gentle movement of the wind among the leaves on the monstrous half-human, swinish face. What could the sculptor have seen to suggest such a brute? She left the stairs and scrambled a little way up the rock to get a better view of the image.
“Oh! you beauty!” she cried, as she gazed at it. “Now what do you remind me of with that ugly circular nose and those goggle eyes?”
She stood some minutes contemplating the monstrosity, trying to bring to her mind something that suggested the face. Suddenly she smiled.
“Ah! I have it! I know! that’s it!” but she did not tell the jungle of her secret discovery.
There was a faint indication of a path round the rocky wall opposite to the steps up the hill. A ledge of rock projected three or four feet, giving foothold to vegetation. It tempted her to leave the beaten path and explore. She picked her way carefully. A false step and she might slip and roll down the steep side of the hill some hundred feet, or find herself caught up in a thorny piece of jungle, from which it would be difficult to extricate herself. She was too far off the village to make herself heard; moreover, her cries for help would be attributed to the Ammah probably, and not a soul would venture near her.
She reached a point where there was a gap in the trees. The view fascinated her. It looked towards the west. The horizon was bounded by a blue line of hills which even at that distance showed a noble outline of peak and precipice, forest and gorge. A great park-like expanse of rich country stretched in between. It was varied with cultivated fields and groups of noble trees. Over all the morning sun shone with generous warmth. What a smiling land! she thought, and the smile upon it was permanent. No chilling frosts would come to paralyze the vegetation and send the land to sleep; its fertility was never checked either by cold or drought. Men and women should be happy in a country so blessed!
As if to contradict such a supposition, her ears caught the sound of a groan. She turned sharply and glanced towards the image which she had left behind. Why she should have associated the Ammah with a cry of pain, she could not have said. Perhaps it was that both—the image and the cry of pain—struck an unsympathetic note with that beautiful morning. She wondered if there was any cunning mechanism by which a groan could be produced from the hideous idol. High up overhead and lost to sight in the glorious azure of the sky an eagle screamed. It seemed directly above her, as though it was hovering over the spot where she stood.
She remained perfectly still and waited, her eyes on the Ammah, in the hope that the sound would be repeated. In less than five minutes it came again, a long-sighing moan of suffering. The direction was not from the plinth but from the hillside a little above the spot where she stood. Could it be the mythical tiger? Her heart gave a bound; but Nurse Mary was no coward. She recalled Gabriel’s assurance that nothing had been seen of the tiger except the clawings on trees and an occasional pug-mark. Moreover, the noise was not like any cry an animal would make unless it were a monkey, the most human of all beasts. A tiger would have growled; it could not have groaned in that human way.
She searched the steep, rough hillside for footway and moved carefully step by step in the direction from which the sound had come.
Again she stood still and listened with acute attention. Her keen eyes swept the side of the droog, noting here and there that a tuft of grass was bent with the pressure of a foot. Something of a heavy nature—heavier than a jackal—had recently passed that way.
Once more a deep moaning sigh fell on her ear. It came from the right. At this point there was a cleft in the wall of rock down which a stream ran in wet weather. Just now no water was visible, although the presence of some luxuriant ferns showed that the ground was damp.
Nurse Mary crept up the narrow rift and pushed her way through some rank vegetation that reached to her waist, thorny brambles and sprawling bushes matted together with creepers. Suddenly she caught sight of some scarlet stains on her cotton frock. The brambles bore no fruit. Her practised eye told her that the stains had nothing to do with fruit. They were made by blood, fresh blood not many hours old which had splashed the jungle through which she was forcing her way.
The cleft widened and formed a little pocket in the hillside, a sheltered nook hidden from the sight of anyone but a close searcher. Thick foliage of overhanging trees roofed it in; the walls were of rock and there was no other entrance but the one in which Nurse Mary stood gazing at an object half hidden in the bed of ferns.
It was the huddled form of a man, lying face downwards, a ghastly sight even for the eyes of an hospital nurse in war time. He was a native and his clothes were saturated with blood to such an extent that very little of their original colour remained.
She forced her way through the jungle and stooping over him gently turned his head so that she could see the features of the unconscious man.
It was Captain Gabriel’s servant, Mahmoud!
With quick, practised hand she straightened the limp form and searched for the wound. It must have been severe to cause so much loss of blood. His limbs were sound and unhurt and there was no injury to the throat.
It did not take long to discover that the wound was in the back. The poor victim’s coat hung in strips and the shirt underneath was similarly ripped. What could it mean?
Suddenly she stood up assailed by a terrible thought. This was not the work of any human being; it was the deadly wound given by the claws of a tiger. With one stroke of the heavy paw the flesh and muscles had been torn all down the back to the very bone.
The tiger must have carried its prey to the spot to eat him. It was disturbed before it had time to inflict a death-wound and had sneaked away. It would assuredly return to enjoy its meal at sunset. The brute was a man-eater; hence its refusal to be attracted by the dog and the goat.
It was impossible for her to move Mahmoud without assistance. She must go in search of some one at once. She covered the poor old man with her cloak and arranged his inanimate form as comfortably as she could in case he should recover consciousness before she returned. She hoped that he would not attempt to crawl home unassisted. Any effort of the kind would cause the wound to bleed afresh; and a false step on the way to the steps might send him headlong down the hill to certain death. The eagles were screaming overhead. They had come down lower in the sky and she could see them wheeling round and round. They had caught the whiff of the spilt blood.
She hurried away with all speed possible on such a rough path. She was very unwilling to leave Mahmoud; yet there was nothing else to be done, and the sooner she could obtain help the sooner she could dress the wound and secure him from further attack of either beast or bird of prey.
She came out of the jungle at the foot of the hill and ran as fast as she could by the narrow path leading through the ruins. Near the garden door she encountered Michael. He was strolling along as if he had no particular object for his walk but a little easy exercise.
“Good morning, madam,” he said as she came up with him. “Like you, I am out eating the air before the sun is too hot.”
“Michael Sahib! how fortunate I am to meet you!” she cried breathlessly. “The tiger!”
“You have not seen it?” he exclaimed sharply. “No! there is no tiger. My brother says——”
“Yes! yes! it is there, somewhere on the hill! It has attacked Mahmoud!”
“Killed him?” he asked in horror.
“The poor man is not dead; but he is unconscious from loss of blood. You must send some men to carry him back at once.”
“Where is he?” he asked, as they went quickly towards the house.
She described the place and how she had heard his groans and found him. Michael gave his orders and then turned to her.
“You need not come, madam. I will go myself and see that the men do all that is necessary.”
“I must go too. I shall have to dress the wound before he is moved, or he may bleed to death. I will go and get the bandages and lint.”
She ran up to her room and was back again before Michael had found the bamboos necessary to form the stretcher and collected his staff of bearers. She directed the men how to make the ambulance and marshalled them in order. In less than ten minutes the party started, Michael and Nurse Mary leading the way and Daood in charge of the bearers.
After the first exclamations and inquiries the ambulance party became very silent. They had heard all that was to be told and had drawn their own conclusions. All they desired now was to have those conclusions confirmed. The old peon had also listened attentively and without comment beyond an occasional grunt. It required no words from him to enlighten his companions as to what he thought of the matter.
The head gardener, finding that the peon had nothing to say, took upon himself to voice the thought of the company.
“How did Mahmoud get up the hill? and what was he doing there in the dark hours of the morning? Mahmoud was not in the habit of going alone into the jungle and up the hill. He must have been carried there. But how could the tiger carry him so far without leaving traces? Can a tiger fly? Fly! Ho! Hoh! Since when had tigers taken to flying? A jungle tiger could not fly; but a Rakshah?”
Every man who heard the word placed a hand over his mouth. If this was the work of the Rakshah’s son, then who need lift an eyebrow in wonder?
They strode along in silence for a short distance, ill at ease in the knowledge that they might anger the demon by carrying away his victim. Then remembering they were but slaves and only doing the will of their master, they mentally shifted all responsibility for their actions on the shoulders of their superiors. On the Shahzada and on the English woman rested the blame of rescuing Mahmoud from the wrath of the demon.
Presently the head gardener ventured to ask Daood if he did not confirm what he had just said. A wag of the head sideways, accompanied by a grunt, gave assent. The gardener was encouraged to speak again.
“Mahmoud must have gone to the foot of the droog to wait for the young master’s return, in the early dawn before it was light.”
“It is the time when the cumbly over the sun is thickest; it is then that the devils are most mischievous and full of anger, for they will so soon have to go to sleep,” said one of the under-gardeners just a little afraid that he would be snubbed by his superior.
“And the Rakshah’s son, knowing that his time was short—for even the strongest demon cannot roam abroad after the sun rises—was angry,” said another man.
“So he seized the servant of the big fighting master who would shoot him,” declared the head gardener, claiming silence by a motion of his hand. “It is never good to anger the devils of the Hindus. By the grace of Allah the young Sahib has been saved this time. It will be well for him to take warning.”
All these statements were levelled at Daood and received by him with a wag of the head. Thus it came to pass that, although he had not spoken many words, he was accredited with the firm belief that the tiger which had half killed Mahmoud was not a real animal. It was none other than the bridegroom of the wicked Ammah.
Nurse Mary rendered first aid with skilful fingers. The wound was terrible. Four sharp claws had been drawn down the length of the back, cutting the flesh through to the bone in four long cuts. It was as if Mahmoud had been scored with a butcher’s knife.
After forcing brandy down his throat—a proceeding that outraged the teaching of the Koran,—Nurse Mary noticed a fluttering of the eyelids. Mahmoud was recovering consciousness. He was too weak to speak and his brain was befogged with the shock of his accident. She felt his pulse.
“He can bear the move now. Let the bearers put him on the stretcher. They must handle him very carefully,” she said to Michael.
He gave directions, cautioning the men not to jolt him in any way, lest the bleeding should break out again. All through the operations Michael showed kindness and consideration. Nurse Mary was thankful to have him as a helper in her first aid work. He walked by the side of the stretcher wherever it was possible and kept a watchful eye on the bearers, reprimanding with a sharp word if he detected any carelessness.
Mahmoud was carried to his own little room in the servants’ quarters. Nurse Mary did not leave him till the wound had been properly dressed and the old man made as comfortable as was possible on his low string cot. She heard Michael give orders for his food to be prepared in the kitchen; and he deferred to her more than once as he issued his orders about the diet that would be most suitable. They left the room together and Michael accompanied her to the foot of the stairs.
“How good you are, Michael Sahib!” she said warmly. Captain Gabriel is indeed fortunate in having such a brother!”
“It is nothing!” he protested. “Mahmoud is a good servant. We should be ungrateful if we did not take every possible care of him.”
Although he made little of his actions that morning, he was pleased.
“This accident will make my brother more anxious than ever to sit up again for the tiger. I will have the position of the machan changed. It shall be placed in a tree near the spot where you found Mahmoud. How was it that you came across him? he was some distance from the path,” he asked with a curiosity that was not assumed.
She described her walk and her rest at the point where the plinth stood with its image of the Ammah. She heard his groan and searched till she found him.
“It is not a pleasant spot,” remarked Michael, looking at her. “You were not afraid?”
“Not in the least. The hill fascinates me with its legend. I am not a believer in Hindu devils, as you know.”
“It would be a dangerous place for you if you were attacked. In attempting to escape, you might fall down a precipice. You know that near the image there is a deep chasm in the rock. It is screened by thick bushes. No one who has ever fallen into it has been brought out alive.”
“I am not likely to tumble in.”
“If the tiger attacked you, it might push you over, madam; do be guided by me and avoid the hill for the present,” pleaded Michael persuasively, not to say anxiously. “You are a guest under our roof, and think what a terrible thing it would be for us if any accident happened to you.”
She only laughed at his fears and would give no promise to keep away. He suggested that she would be safer walking with Daood by the river. She urged the objection that the air was not so fresh and sweet there as on the hill.
“Now that we know the tiger to be a real danger, I beg at least that you will wait until my brother has shot the brute. Until then it is not safe to be walking in the jungle. I shall take good care not to go there myself. I must tell my brother that he must sit up for it to-night and every night until we have proof that it has gone or until he has luck to kill it.”
“Thank you very much for your thought for me,” said Nurse Mary, who was touched by his consideration for her welfare. “Perhaps it would be wiser for me to keep away from the hill for a day or two,” she said pleasantly. At the same time she made no promise.
As she mounted the stairs Michael gazed after her, his brow knitted with anxiety. He was thinking that it would relieve him and the rest of the household of a great responsibility if the English nurse would return to her duties at the Hospital. He wondered how that end could best be attained.
Gabriel heard with surprise and consternation of the accident that had befallen his servant. The man had been with him some time, and like his kind had not only made himself useful but almost indispensable. His master went down to see him early in the afternoon. He was conscious, but very weak from loss of blood.
“How did it happen?” was the natural question put by Gabriel.
Mahmoud could not say. It happened all in a moment. There was a terrible cry—not a roar, but a savage, choked cry—behind him. Before he could turn his head to see whence it came, he was struck down by a blow on his back. The claws tore his flesh and he remembered nothing more.
“What were you doing on the hill?” asked his master.
“I came to seek your Honour. I carried hot coffee, knowing that your Excellency would be cold and thirsty after the long watch through the night.”
“It was foolish to come before dawn. I might have shot you for the tiger if I had caught sight of something moving in the dark.”
“The sky was just beginning to lighten behind the hill, Sahib.”
“And you saw nothing?”
“Nothing, Sahib.” Mahmoud looked up at his master with eyes in which fear was shadowed. “Sahib, it was no tiger that struck me down. It was the son of the Rakshah. He carried me to the place where the honourable lady found me.”
“Were you conscious when you were carried?”
“No, Sahib. My senses had left me and I knew nothing from the time the blow was given. I was as a dead man until the lady poured brandy down my throat and its burning awoke me.”
“The brute! I must find some means of killing it!” said Captain Gabriel.
“Ah! Huzoor! Your Honour must not try to kill the tiger. It only makes the Rakshah angry. He has struck me down with claws that are sharper than any living tiger’s; me, thy servant! Next time he will strike your Excellency down, and we, thy followers, will never find your Honour again.”
Gabriel did not argue the point. His poor old servant was too weak to bear any additional anxiety. He gave a few directions regarding Mahmoud’s comfort and left the room. In the verandah at the top of the stairs he found Nurse Mary.
“Well? What do you think of it all?” she asked. “It is astounding that we should have such undoubted evidence of the tiger’s presence. You saw nothing of it last night?”
“No; and what is more I was prepared to swear when I came home this morning that there was no tiger on the hill. After this I don’t know what to think.”
“Shall you sit up for it to-night?”
“No!” The answer came quickly and with decision. He glanced at her and then looked away. A frown crossed his brow and his lips were compressed.
“Your brother says he will have a machan put up in one of the trees near the spot where Mahmoud was found. He is sure that the tiger will return,” she said.
“To-morrow night, perhaps I will sit up; but to-night——! not if there are fifty tigers!” He glanced at the bolted door that shut off the hareem.
“Are you going to ride this afternoon?” she asked.
“Yes; if you will come with me.”
“I shall be delighted. I’ll be ready after tea at the same time as yesterday.”
The ride was enjoyable; such was Nurse Mary’s opinion. She was not certain if Gabriel shared it. He was moody during the ride and unnaturally silent. He rode fast, as if he wanted violent action to work off an excitement that he strove in vain to suppress. More than once she hung back or called to him to go slower when he was urging his horse forward at a hand-gallop.
On the way home he suddenly left her side. They were passing through an open expanse of grass. Putting spurs to his horse, he wheeled and circled round her, changing his position in the saddle, Arab-fashion. Leaning over the horse’s neck he took cover in such a manner that if he had been riding on a sky-line his saddle would have appeared empty. He stooped low and gathered a flower, tossing it to her as he flew by. Then, as his horse dropped into a more even gallop, he left the reins on its neck and climbed up into his saddle, kneeling and standing as if to secure a wider view of the country. The spirit of his ancestors seemed to inspire him and something of his wild excitement communicated itself to the horses.
As abruptly as he had begun these strange performances he ceased; and she found him walking his panting steaming horse by her side. Her eyes were ready to meet his with an appreciative glance; but to her surprise he seemed to have forgotten her presence. The performance had not been given for her amusement; nor did there seem to be any thought on his part of winning her approval. His mad ride was prompted by an inward excitement that was sending fire through his veins. It was an instinctive effort to work off some of that fire and to find relief in action. He would quench the madness of his soul with physical fatigue. His effort was partially successful; but its effect did not outlast the immediate fatigue.
There was the same throng of women behind the latticed windows to watch the going and the coming of the master with the Englishwoman. The ride was proving for the hareem a daily excitement that drew every member to the Venetians. Sharp eyes and still sharper tongues were busy.
“The witch has cast a dumb spell upon him! See! he says nothing; she has tied his tongue and he cannot speak!”
“He follows her like a dog, walking at her side without taking note of whither she leads!”
“See! now she points to a flower. He stops to look because she bids him. Was ever a man so led?”
“Now she moves on and he follows! Who ever saw a woman walking in front of the man; her place is at his heel!”
“Bah! she is not a woman; she has changed herself into a man and wears man’s clothes!”
“Now she commands him to pluck a rose! He acts the garden cooly and does as he is bid. He gives it into her hand as if he were a slave! Ah! when will the house be rid of her and these strange doings cease!”
These were some of the comments that were whispered among that veiled throng of women.
Gabriel and his companion reached the upper verandah and Nurse Mary stopped at the entrance to her room.
“I should like to see you again, Captain Gabriel, before you have your dinner,” she said.
He smiled, but the frown that had gathered on his brows still remained.
“As you please, Nurse; but I have no fever except the fever of my returning strength. I rode as I did to-day to test my strength. I could do all the tricks of my boyhood without faltering. I have lost nothing of my old skill. I am well! Allah be praised! I am quite well again and my wound is as though it had never been.”
A note of deep exultation rang through his voice as he stood before her. Over her shoulder he could see the door of the hareem. Just as abruptly as he had started off on his mad ride he now strode towards the door. Then a thought seemed to strike him. He came back.
“Nurse Mary, please go to your room and don’t be alarmed at what you may hear,” he said.
“What are you going to do, Captain Gabriel?” she asked with a vague feeling of apprehension.
“Exercise my authority,” he replied shortly.
“It will be resisted?”
“Possibly; but it is time that all in this house, including my brother, recognize me as the Shahzada.”
“Michael Sahib, I am sure, will back you up.”
“We shall see. Will you go now to your room and stay there while I see to it that my first command is obeyed?”
“And what is that to be?”
“The opening of the hareem door and the removal of the inner bolts. There shall be only one bolt, and that shall be on my side of the door; not on theirs. To-night, when I choose——”
He did not finish the sentence, and Nurse Mary noted that the eyes which were bent upon her gleamed with a fire of their own.
She made no reply, and after a few seconds’ hesitation she turned into her sitting-room. A minute or two later Cassim came in. Without a word he quietly closed the great wooden outer doors of her room and bolted them inside. Then he sat down on the floor with the resignation of the fatalist and waited for the storm to burst.
Judy was in the bedroom where she was ready to help her mistress to change into the light evening frock she wore at dinner. There was yet an hour to that meal.
“To-morrow I go to Bangalore,” said Judy, as her mistress put the finishing touches to her toilet.
“No, you don’t! You stay here,” replied Nurse Mary firmly. “You stay with me until I give you leave to go.”
“Plenty bobbery making in this house. Tiger catching Mahmoud. The young master——”
“Yes? well! what about the young master?”
“Servants say——”
Judy looked at her mistress and became silent. She knew that Nurse Mary did not encourage gossip about their superiors in servants, and what she might have to say about Captain Gabriel was of a closely personal character and might not be acceptable.
“The servants talk nonsense. You are a silly woman to listen.”
At this moment voices raised in angry dispute sounded in the distance. Nurse Mary left the bedroom and went into the sitting-room. She could distinguish Gabriel’s voice raised in angry demand, and Michael’s more moderate tones apparently remonstrating with his brother on his violence. The language used was Hindustani. Although she had learned and spoke it easily, the speech was so rapid and excited on both sides that she could not understand what was said. She gathered that Michael was endeavouring to soothe and calm his brother.
It was neither pleasant nor comfortable to have to hear the family quarrel, for such she took it to be. She wondered if she had done right in allowing Captain Gabriel to slip out of his convalescent state and to break away as he had done from her authority as nurse in charge of the case.
Yet it could not have been otherwise. The man was as sound in health as she was and ten times as strong. He was no longer in Hospital living under military rule and in the close supervision of the doctors. He was in his own house where he was master of a large household and completely out of her control. If he chose to lose his temper with servants or relations, it was not her business to interfere unless his action endangered his health.
The sound of heavy blows on the door of the hareem, followed by women’s shrieks, came through the Venetian shutters of her doors. Gabriel was directing in a loud voice; Michael still expostulating.
Nurse Mary hurried back to her bedroom. She threw off her evening dress and put on the Hospital uniform and cap. She returned to the front room, where Cassim still sat guarding the doors.
“Cassim!” she said. “Get up and open this door.”
He rose to his feet at her command, but hesitated about executing her order to open the doors.
“It is best to keep them shut until the young Shahzada has gone,” he replied.
“No harm will come to me. Open!”
She began to draw the bolts herself. Cassim, seeing that it was useless to struggle against authority, accepted his fate and helped his mistress to manipulate the clumsy iron bolts.
The doors were thrown open and Nurse Mary walked out into the verandah without haste, but with a determination that indicated resolution with absence of all fear.
The sun had set and darkness had come on with the usual rapidity. The two lanterns that lighted the verandah were burning. She saw Gabriel standing over a terrified servant, one of the men attached to the hareem, who with trembling hands was slowly hacking off the fastenings on the inner side of the offending door. Every now and then he stopped in his task and looked with a piteous appeal for help towards the hareem. No help came from that quarter.
Gabriel struck him with his riding cane, telling him to get on with his work quickly. The blow was not severe; but the poor spiritless creature whimpered under it and prayed for mercy.
Behind Gabriel stood Michael. His expression was not pleasant. Anger mixed with a certain amount of nervousness made him frown, and his face twitched as though he himself were not far from an outbreak of wrath. Occasionally he spoke, entreating his brother to calm himself.
Inside that portion of the verandah that belonged to the hareem was a crowd of terrified women. Foremost stood the Sahiba Lilith. She was regarding Gabriel and the servant with a fury that found vent in a torrent of abuse. Her voice seemed to grow more shrill and penetrating each minute that passed.
Nurse Mary advanced towards Gabriel.
“Captain Gabriel, this is not very good for you. It will bring back your fever,” she said in a loud tone that could not fail to reach his ears, however furious he might be.
“This door is to be unlocked and kept open. It is monstrous that these women should dare to shut me out of the hareem. To be sure that I am obeyed, I am having the bolts removed,” he said in a sort of apology to her for his violence. He did not abate it in the least, however; but turning to the unfortunate servant he cried: “Get on with your work, you pig of a slave!”
Gabriel’s cane swung up again. Nurse Mary caught his hand and drew it from his fingers, to his own surprise. The workman stopped to gaze at the unfamiliar apparition in her white cap and apron. Michael, actuated by something of the same emotion, ceased speaking; while Lilith and her crowd of women were awed and struck dumb at the sudden apparition of this indisputable authority.
“Get on with your work and do your master’s bidding,” cried Nurse Mary with the same commanding voice but without Gabriel’s violence.
The white witch was giving the order, whispered an old woman in the crowd. It was not safe to remain in her sight lest she should turn an evil eye on them and lay a spell on the whole of the hareem, including the Beebee herself.
The removal of the bolts was nearly accomplished. A silence reigned unbroken by a sound except for the hammering of the servant. The last socket fell and the door was permanently open from within.
“Now, Captain Gabriel, you are master here. Say what you wish. Your commands shall be obeyed,” said Nurse Mary in Hindustani, so that all might hear and understand that she was upholding his authority.
“I want my wife,” he said sullenly.
“At what hour shall she come to you?”
“When I have dined.”
Nurse Mary turned to Michael.
“Sahib Michael, you hear the request of your brother. Will you please give the order for the Sahiba Nourma to be brought to her husband’s room half an hour after he has dined? Or shall he come and fetch her? He will carry with him the means of breaking all bolts and bars. Resistance is useless. Those who resist will be punished.”
Michael placed the palms of his hands together in acquiescence as he replied: “It shall be as he wishes.”
“You will see to it and tell the Sahiba Lilith that it is to be so?”
“I will see to it.”
“If she is not brought, the young Shahzada will go and seek her and carry her to his room, as is your custom.”
Nurse Mary’s voice echoed down the hareem verandah. The women hidden behind doors and curtains marvelled and held their breath. This white witch was not content with ordering the young Sahib to do her will; she was now giving commands to the old Shahzada himself and he was obedient. Had he not placed his hands together even as a slave that receives his orders from his master?
Under the influence of their astonishment, they forgot their fears and crept forth once more to see the terrible witch. Nurse Mary caught sight of them and added yet another command.
“Tell the Sahiba Lilith to send those women to their rooms. We do not want them there.” She turned to the slave who had removed the bolts and was standing aside waiting for his dismissal without which he dared not move. “You can go. Hold yourself in readiness this evening to come at once if the Huzoor calls; and bring hammer and chisel with you. There may be more doors to break open.”
He salaamed to all and prostrated himself before Gabriel and herself in abject self-abasement.
“Now, Captain Gabriel,” she said, dropping back into English and lowering her tones, “come to your room. If the order you have given is not obeyed, it will be time enough to use this cane.” She handed it back to him. “You may go and fetch your wife if you like; but it is more fitting and suitable to your dignity that she should be brought to you,”
Gabriel’s excitement had abated. The sight of the Hospital nurse had had its effect. He was subdued and not a little exhausted. Though he boasted about his returning strength, there was a limit to it. She took his arm and led him to his room. Michael joined his wife and disappeared. Not a soul was to be seen as they left the scene; but the moment they were safely out of sight, the women swarmed back in numbers, peeping and peering from every available bit of cover. The whispering began, and as no one was present to enforce silence, it increased into a buzz.
The door stood wide open and they had a full view of the white witch. Not only had she silenced the young Shahzada and quenched his anger; but she was leading him away by the arm as the rider leads his horse after he has ridden and mastered the creature. Even the old Shahzada and the Beebee had looked on in silence and had received her commands as if they were servants.
Nurse Mary, adopting her professional attitude, took Gabriel straight into his sitting-room and settled him comfortably in his chair, just as she had done when he was weak and ill. She poured out a dose of medicine and handed him the glass. He drank it without a word. It was the sedative which he had lately been taking, but which he had left off since the fever abated.
“I can’t have this kind of thing going on, Captain Gabriel,” she said, as she stood by his chair and looked down upon him with a critical gaze. “It will make you ill again. You can get all you want without so much excitement.”
“So you say, Nurse; but can I?”
“With your brother’s help surely it is possible.”
“I am not certain if I can depend upon him,” he replied moodily. “He promises, but he does not perform.”
“I am sure that he will perform in this case. Anyway, give him a chance; give them all a chance of doing what you wish. If they fail, you can then proceed to extremities; but I cannot see any necessity for the use of the cane. You terrified that man who was doing his best to remove the bolts till you almost paralyzed him with fear. Why did you ask me to remain in my room?”
“I was afraid you would be—would be alarmed. I was not sure of myself. I felt as if I were going mad.” He glanced round as if looking for some one. “Mahmoud! Where’s Mahmoud? Why isn’t he here? Oh! I remember! Where’s the man sent by my brother in his place?”
He passed his hand over his eyes as if he were dazed. A servant came out of the bedroom. Gabriel rose.
“I had better change,” he said wearily; he was still in his riding kit. He eyed the substitute in no friendly fashion and his glance made the man nervous.
“Yes; and you will be better after you have had something to eat. What are you bringing your master to-night for dinner?” she asked the servant.
The response came gratefully. Some one had spoken at last in a quiet, reassuring manner, and it gave him confidence. He named the dishes.
“Are they what you like?” she asked Gabriel. He assured her that they were. “Tell your man what kit you want. I am sorry that you are deprived of Mahmoud, but it can’t be helped. I must go down to his room and dress the wound. I will come and see you a little later. You must promise to be good, and in return I will promise to help you to get all you want.”
He seized her hand, squeezed her fingers and pressed them to his lips. The action took her by surprise. He had never done anything of the kind before. It was another indication of how completely he had been thrown off his balance by all that had occurred.
Just before his dinner was served she went back to his room to satisfy herself that matters were going smoothly. He was wrapped in a long velvet coat and looked happier and more like himself. He smiled as he caught her eye.
“It is all right, Nurse! Michael has been in. He has promised faithfully that my wife will come. She is better and makes no objection. She will be here by half-past nine.”
On the afternoon of the very day Nurse Mary left the Hospital in attendance on Captain Gabriel, Colonel Maurice Edenhope arrived to take over charge from the retiring Commandant, Colonel Ufford. Jimmy Dumbarton had been directed to meet him at the Hospital and was informed of the time he might be expected. One of the motor-cars belonging to the establishment was sent to the station to await the new Commandant and carry him to the Hotel. After depositing his servant and luggage there, Edenhope drove straight on to the Hospital, which was only a quarter of a mile from the Hotel, and temporarily occupying a large house with a couple of bungalows attached. It had formerly been an hotel.
Before Dumbarton could reach the verandah, the new Commandant was out of the car. He ran up the steps like a boy, and stared with pleased surprise at the man who came forward to greet him.
“Hallo! Dumbarton!” he cried. “This is good to find you here. What are you doing?” he asked, as he held out his hand.
“I’m on the staff, sir. I was—er—very glad to hear that you were coming to be our chief; saw it in the Gazette. Nothing like old friends!” replied Jimmy, stumbling over the slight perversion of the truth which he felt bound to make, and unable for the life of him to throw any heartiness into his confused speech.
Inwardly Jimmy was conscious of having warmly resented the advent of the man who had sent Nurse Mary flying. The last time he had seen Edenhope was on the occasion of his wedding, when he left Bombay with his bride. Jimmy’s rather jealous eyes had not been as blind as Rosemary’s on that occasion. He had regarded the morose bridegroom with misgiving, and had not forgotten the gloomy eyes and haggard face, half hidden by a beard. It went against Jimmy’s sunny nature to allow him to carry off a woman who in his opinion was far too good for him. It was a case of throwing a pearl before—well, anyway, some one who was not half good enough for her.
It was not natural to Jimmy to be severe nor unkind; but as he drove away from the station on the day of the marriage after the departure of the train, he was guilty of hard thoughts and severe comments that made him very unhappy.
The cheerful greeting took Dumbarton by surprise and he was still more astonished at the change in his appearance and bearing. Edenhope was once more clean-shaven. This alone took off five years of his age. With the friendly greeting came a smile, such a smile as Dumbarton had never seen on the face of Rosemary’s husband. The gloom and moroseness had disappeared; so also had the preoccupied bearing which had given the impression that Edenhope was overwhelmed with some secret trouble. He had seemed like a man in a bad dream.
The new Commandant was smartly tailored, although he only wore khaki. His figure had filled out and he carried himself differently. The limp, inert droop of the head was also gone; it was raised and flung back with all the confidence of good health in body and mind.
“I’m awfully glad to find you here, Dumbarton. You’re like some one from another world,” said Edenhope, his gaze lingering on the good-humoured features of the other.
“Been home on leave, I understand. Had a good time, sir?” replied Jimmy, still not quite at his ease over the troubled flood of memory.
“Rather I—that is to say as soon as I was on the mend.”
“Sick leave?”
“Yes! and not before I needed it! Saw a specialist and gave myself up entirely to the business of getting well. The Doctor sent me to Scotland; told me to take a small tent and live out of doors; walk at least twelve miles a day and vegetate. At first I was bored stiff by the loneliness of it; but I soon got used to it. Is the Hospital full?”
“Not nearly so full as it was. The open-air treatment did you a power of good, sir. You look another man,” replied Jimmy, who was still studying him with an amazement he found difficult to hide.
“I am a new man in every sense of the word. The last two years have been like a bad dream. Have you a good staff here?”
“Very good indeed; and we’re not in any way short-handed.”
“Miss Frome is one of the nurses, isn’t she?”
“She’s a V.A.D., and known as Nurse Ida. She’s a splendid nurse, one of our best. Will you come round the wards, sir?”
“Not now; Colonel Ufford is probably waiting for me. He writes that he will be glad to leave as soon as possible, so as to make the most of his joining time. I must take over charge at once. Where is he?”
Jimmy led the way to the Commandant’s office and private sitting-room. The two Colonels sat down at once to business with the books before them. At this hour Dumbarton was accustomed in the ordinary course of the day to take exercise, a ride or walk or drive; but to-day he thought it his duty to remain within call in case he might be wanted. He strolled back to the verandah, which was furnished with comfortable cane lounges as well as the usual ferns and palms that go to make the verandahs of India such delightful places of rest. He had his quarters in one of the bungalows in the Hospital compound, while the other officers on the staff lived at the Hotel, an arrangement that met with their warm approval, as it meant good food and good company.
Nurse Ida in her long cloak and bonnet passed along the garden path, as if starting out for a walk. Jimmy snatched up his hat and hurried after her. By way of excusing himself for doing something that was out of the common—the nurses were not supposed to go out with any of the staff without the permission of the head matron—he gave her the news of the afternoon.
“I just followed you to tell you that the new Commandant has arrived. I thought you would be interested to know.”
“Yes; I saw him, although he didn’t see me. Fine, well-set-up figure of a man; and I think from the expression of his face that he is as kind as he is good-looking.”
“I’m not jealous,” remarked Jimmy, with an assumption of meekness he was far from feeling.
“You have no reason whatever to feel jealous of anyone in this wide world,” she retorted, as they strolled on together. “Your heart is defunct. You told me yourself that it died long ago under the blighting influence of a hopeless love.”
“And yours, Ida! Your heart was broken at the same time,” added Jimmy with appropriate melancholy.
“Life is very empty for us both,” said Nurse Ida, her eyes twinkling although her lips wore no smile.
“I can’t think how we manage to survive, most beautiful of women! Why don’t we both die of a broken heart? I am sure we are faithful enough to merit that fate!”
“We’re too busy just at present. After the war we shall have more leisure to let sorrow prey upon us.” Then her thoughts flying to another subject she began in quite a different tone. “Do tell me, Dr. Dumbarton——”
“Jimmy! not Dr. Dumbarton!” he interrupted. “Do call me Jimmy. Everybody does!”
“Indeed! and what would matron say, I should like to know, if she heard me!”
“I mean only when we meet like this off duty and outside the Hospital. It’s so jolly to hear my Christian name; it makes me think of home. I give you leave to add any adjective you like to it. They always did at home. ‘Old Jimmy’; ‘young Jimmy’; you and I being fellow sufferers in life’s troubles entitles me to special treatment on your part.”
“I don’t see that at all; and matron wouldn’t see it either, I’m sure.” Her eyes sparkled with fun and mischief as she looked at him.
“Mrs. Smith is not present to hear my request,” he said.
“Just as well for you that she isn’t!” she retorted.
“You will call me Jimmy, won’t you?”
“Perhaps—sometimes—on suitable occasions, since you seem to have adopted the Ida without the ‘Nurse.’”
“And the adjective, most angelic Ida?”
She gazed at him with a critical eye. Her smile gave him encouragement, but her words crushed it to death.
“I think ‘silly’ will be most appropriate. Silly Jimmy! It sounds rather well and easy to remember. It’s not unlike Silly Billy. My first love was called Silly Billy. He was a fat-head of nine. I was six. I went to the seaside with my mother and Silly Billy was sent to school. Ever since then I have had a weakness for the name.”
She glanced at his face and then burst into a merry laugh. He made a little gesture of despair.
“If there could be a last straw to add to my sorrow and bring me to an early grave, loveliest Ida, it is your choice of a most inappropriate term for me. You know quite well that if I had a heart—if my love had not been scorched to a cinder through having been bestowed upon one who belonged already to another, I should long ago have given it to you.”
“And I, oh! Silly Billy Jimmy! if I had not been broken-hearted, I might have returned your love. As it is we are apart, and all we can do is to promise faithfully that we will go to each other’s funeral,” replied Nurse Ida tragically.
Jimmy looked at her as though he were trying to read through her chaff. He was scarcely aware of how much his eyes betrayed.
He and she were walking along slowly under the beautiful avenue of flamboyant trees that bordered the road.
“I’ll bet you twenty to one in rupees that you’ll survive your trouble and marry some day,” he said in a more cheerful tone. Betting always restored his spirits, even under the most depressing circumstances.
“Done with you, Jimmy!” she cried, emerging from her melancholy mood with a bound that startled him.
He pulled out his note-book and prepared to record it.
“Oh! best of women! you are the very first girl who has done me the honour to take one of my bets. I love—I mean to say that if the power to love were not dead within me, I should love you for this.”
He booked the bet and restored the precious record to his pocket. Nurse Ida wrinkled her brow in deep thought; she knew very little of the art of laying a wager.
“Let me see; if I marry, you pay me twenty rupees,” she said, not at all clear in her ignorance as to how the matter stood. “And if I don’t marry you pay me one.”
“No; you have to pay me one rupee. Good bizz not to have to bet with James this time.”
He asked her where she was going.
“To the Hotel to see my aunt, Mrs. Brome. She arrived to-day. I think she must have come by the same train as the new Commandant.”
“Is Colonel Frome here?”
“He is expected in a few days on a month’s leave.”
Jimmy grew suddenly serious, and the light in his eye that denoted his keen enjoyment of their frivolous chaff faded. She read the change and wondered.
“You don’t like my aunt,”
“Yes, I do; that is to say—I know very little of her. I saw her at Bombay when I made your acquaintance. She’s very pleasant whenever we meet, but I don’t think she has much use for me; and I am a little bit afraid of her. I’d never dare to offer to make a bet with her.”
“I believe you divide all your friends and acquaintances into those to whom you would dare to offer a bet and those to whom you would not!”
He laughed; but did not contradict her assertion. They had reached the gateway of the Hotel grounds. Very unwillingly he stopped.
“I must go back. The new Commandant may want me to take him over the wards and tell him about the cases. He’s just out from home and full of beans. He’ll keep our noses to the grindstone, you may be sure.”
Nurse Ida puckered up her brow in deep thought.
“It will be a pleasure to work for a man like that.” She looked at Jimmy with the innocent eyes of a child as she added: “I don’t think I have ever seen a handsomer man than—er—the new Commandant.”
Jimmy made an impatient gesture and turned away to retrace his steps. Ida’s small, roguish face took on an expression of mischief as she called after him:
“Dr. Dumbarton! Do tell me something before you go.”
He swung round and approached her. His manner was distant, an assumption that sat ill upon him.
“What is it, Nurse Ida? Anything that I can do, I shall be delighted!”
“Do tell me if Colonel Edenhope is married. Haven’t I heard something to that effect?”
“Really! I can’t say—I know next to nothing of the man. I’ve been in India. He’s been home on leave; in Scotland I think he said. He didn’t mention his wife,” replied Jimmy quickly; he was a poor hand at fencing questions that could not very well be answered without betraying confidences.
“Ah! well!” she sighed. “It doesn’t much matter. By the by, have you ever heard it stated that the human heart is like a crab’s claw and will grow again if circumstances are favourable? I have an intuition that mine, under the benign influence of our new Commandant, might sprout and grow again. Wouldn’t you like to bet upon it?”
But Jimmy was in no humour to, bet this time. For once in his life his sunny nature felt a cold blast that chilled his spirit. She noted the change, but was not moved to pity nor repentance. It would never do to allow him too much liberty of speech. He must be kept in his place as long as they worked together professionally; even though he was rather a dear boy in his way.
Jimmy’s eyes rested on her with a shade of anxiety. He could not betray the fact of Edenhope’s marriage until Nurse Mary gave him leave. He was not under any promise of secrecy; but he considered that it would be a breach of confidence to admit the smallest detail.
“Hearts don’t grow again,” he said rather lamely.
“Oh! don’t they! We’ll see about that! Perhaps even yours, dilapidated as it is, may be encouraged to sprout. Who knows? Meanwhile, good-bye for the present, Silly Billy, I mean Jimmy. What a delightful name you have suggested for yourself!”
“Oh! come now! I say! that’s too bad! I didn’t suggest it!” protested Jimmy with just a touch of indignation in his voice. Then seeing the smile she could not hide he took heart. “Oh! best of Idas! Don’t be cruel!” he said pathetically.
“Nurses are always cruel. They have to give pain whether they like it or not; and it is good for the patient in the end. To go back to the interesting subject of our broken hearts. I have an inward conviction that mine will grow again if it is given a fair chance.” Then she added in a detached manner, as though she could not get the matter out of her head: “Colonel Edenhope is quite the best-looking man I have seen for many a long day. Somehow he reminds me of—ah! well! It doesn’t do to think of the past. It only breeds sadness.”
She turned away with a deep sigh of self-pity. Dumbarton gazed after her in perplexity, torn between his loyalty to Rosemary Edenhope and his desire to save Ida Frome from the consequences of her own folly.
Dr. Dumbarton hurried back to the Hospital, his mind perturbed by his conversation with Nurse Ida. It had been frivolous and inconsequent from beginning to end; but underlying the chaff there existed a vein of seriousness that troubled him. He had known of men who simply from omitting to mention the fact that they had wives in England had been taken for bachelors. Girls had “let themselves go,” as they termed it, and before any steps could be taken to show them the true position, their love and devotion was given in all innocence, and much misery was the result. The question that Ida had asked was one that would be in every woman’s mind who took any interest in the new Commandant. Jimmy could not help admitting to himself that Edenhope was not the kind of man to be overlooked by the other sex. Safety alone was to be found in letting the fact be known that he had a wife.
Dumbarton was glad to find that he had not been missed. The two men were still in the office, talking business. He threw himself into his favourite lounge, and while he waited his thoughts ran riot. Nurse Ida had unintentionally brought him face to face with a difficulty that had not suggested itself until she asked the question which he did not feel able to answer. What was he to do if Edenhope chose to say nothing, and allow people to believe that he was an unmarried man? It seemed to Jimmy that it was extremely likely that this might be the case since the husband and wife were estranged. He, himself, would be in a very unpleasant position. He had begun to experience something of it when he fenced Nurse Ida’s direct inquiry. Unless he was much mistaken, it was only the first of a long string of. similar inquiries; some of which would be direct; others might be indirect, but none the less pertinent and perhaps even more difficult to answer than the point-blank question.
Edenhope was undoubtedly a good-looking man. In addition to his personal charm there was something in his eyes that betrayed experience of trouble and sorrow of some sort. It might be the effect of all the horrors he had been through on the field of battle and in hospital. On the other hand, it might be occasioned by some private personal suffering in the past due entirely to causes that had nothing to do with the war or with his work. Men looked like that when they had been badly jilted or deprived by death of women who had grown to be half their lives and without whom life was empty and joyless. It was the natural instinct of every sympathetic, kind-hearted woman to wish to heal and minister in such cases. Girls like Ida, thought the disturbed Jimmy, could no more help giving pity to a man who was seen to be suffering than they could withhold water from a thirsting, suffering beast. Even the sight of a plant dying from drought will send the observant woman for the water-pot.
Mrs. Frome knew of Edenhope’s marriage; but it was evident that she had said nothing of it to her niece. Dumbarton had long ago taken the measure of Claudia. Ida was quite right when she accused Jimmy point-blank of not liking her aunt. He had replied in the familiar slang of the day that Mrs. Frome “had no use for him.” It was the other way about. Jimmy had no use for a woman who deliberately set herself to attract and who aimed at being foremost with all her friends, callous of the neglect she caused them to show to others with a greater claim on their attention. She sailed too near the wind for him. She played at being what she was not. Her methods hurt almost as much as if she overstepped the borders of respectability.
Walking circumspectly as she did, she risked no suffering to herself. The heart-aches that might come to others did not trouble her in the least. She smiled her way through life with a confidence in her own righteousness that made Jimmy tingle with irritation as he contemplated it. He asked himself again why she had returned to Bangalore just as Edenhope was ordered there. Why had she not gone to the hills? He knew enough of Colonel Frome to be aware that he would leave the choice of his holiday ground to his wife. If she was happy, he was happy; if she was uneasy and discontented, then he was the same until matters were remedied.
From Mrs. Frome Jimmy’s thoughts swung back to her niece. He had no reason to believe that Ida was easily attracted. She had had an experience in the past that should have given her balance; but when it came to daily association in mutual work with a man like Edenhope, who could say how it would end? Ida was not blind by any means. She had already expressed her admiration in an open natural way, and it had been followed by the query which was giving Jimmy so much food for thought while he waited. “Was the new Commandant married?”
From Ida his thoughts went to Nurse Mary. What would she think of her husband if they met? She could not fail to see a great change. Scotland and medical treatment had worked wonders, and he was in better health than when he came on board the ship at Bombay to meet her. There must have been something very wrong with him when he married.
Jimmy had often puzzled his brain over the cause that led to their estrangement—for estranged they most certainly were, whatever either of them might say to the contrary. Her persistent silence on the subject was sufficient confirmation in Jimmy’s opinion. What had led to their estrangement? Was it a misunderstanding? or did offence come from one or the other which had been too serious in its nature to be forgotten or forgiven. From what he had seen of her as the happy fiancée on board ship and the self-devoted nurse after the marriage, he had long since come to the conclusion that the fault lay with him. If so, why had she not pardoned his offence? She was not of a vindictive nature. Where she loved she would forgive. He could not believe that Edenhope had sacrificed her love and devotion by any unpardonable act of sin against his wife. He was not that sort of man. His reputation was unblemished and there was never a breath of scandal against him. No one thought the worse of him for his friendship with Mrs. Frome. That was a thing of the past, before his wife came out to him. He had seen next to nothing of her since then. Whatever Mrs. Frome intended, Edenhope had no thought of picking up the old threads and resuming the friendship of his bachelor days. Jimmy need not have been anxious on Nurse Mary's account, if he had only known.
His devotion to Nurse Mary was of the best and purest character. It did him honour. No shadow of jealousy on his own behalf crossed his mind. He loved her as he might have loved a sister, although he chose to be whimsical over his supposed hopeless passion. At the same time it might be said that if Rosemary had not been engaged when they travelled out together, it is highly probable that Jimmy would have loved her with a love that nothing but marriage would have satisfied; and a very good husband he would have made.
As he sat there turning things over in his mind, the question arose whether it was possible for him to be the means of restoring to Nurse Mary the happiness that she had missed. Could he bring it back into her life again and be the means of a reconciliation? It was a fascinating thought, but it bristled with difficulties, his own ignorance being one of the greatest obstacles in his path.
Foremost was the consideration as to whether Edenhope himself was prepared to receive back his wife. This was where Jimmy feared the sinister influence of Mrs. Frome. She would not lift a finger to help on a reconciliation. To assist would bring about the loss of her friend. She had seen enough of Maurice’s wife to know that they had nothing in common. Nurse Mary would hold a woman with Mrs. Frome’s frivolous aims in contempt.
Then there was Nurse Mary’s own state of mind to think of. Her love for her husband, which burned so brightly up to the time of the marriage, might have been killed beyond all recovery. It would be of no use trying to bring together two people who were out of love with each other.
He determined to put that view aside as impossible. If once he took it up, it would paralyse every effort. No; he must work with the belief that they were both still attached, but that through some unknown reason their love was overshadowed by a huge misunderstanding.
Then came the crux of the whole matter. It lay in the question he was beginning to ask himself. What could he, Jimmy, do to bring husband and wife together? He had had a hand in their marriage; somehow he felt as though it was his duty to “finish the job” and make a good business of it.
The trouble had occurred, he felt sure, in between Edenhope’s departure for Egypt and his return when their marriage took place. He had noticed the change in his appearance and in his manner; but he had not anticipated all that it meant for the bride. He put it down to debility and felt convinced that rest from work was all he needed to bring about his recovery. What could have happened in Palestine? There were no women there to deflect a man’s affections and put him out of conceit with his bride. Was it possible that the war could have affected him? War might kill everything human in a man’s soul, but it could not extinguish the natural love for his mate any more than it could banish his natural desire for food and clothing.
Jimmy had had much experience with men straight from the field since Edenhope’s marriage. Shell-shock, war-shock, nerve strain of all kinds had come under his treatment in the Hospital. He could not help thinking that something of the sort had happened in Edenhope’s case and he had been thrown off his mental balance. He had that appearance when he left Bombay for the hills. It might be difficult to discover; but he intended to have a good try.
As for Nurse Mary she would prove an easier subject, he thought in the innocence of his heart. He would soon find out if she had any love left for her husband. If such should be the case, he would put his back into the matter and get it done.
At the same time he made up his mind that if love was dead he would let the whole thing severely alone. He had no intention of patching up a one-sided affair. There should be no compassion nor pity with either of them. The couple he intended to befriend must come together as lovers or not at all.
“Dumbarton! Dumbarton!” called the voice of the retiring Commandant. “Are you there?” Then as Jimmy went forward to meet him, he introduced him to Edenhope as “one of the best.”
Edenhope bowed as though he were meeting Dumbarton for the first time; and Jimmy, taking the hint, fell in with it. He drew his own conclusions, however. This meant that the fact of the marriage was not to be revealed as far as Edenhope was concerned. It was to be kept secret. For if he had owned to a previous acquaintance with Dumbarton, the question might easily have been asked as to where they had met and on what occasion. The answer involved an explanation that would declare the Commandant to be a married man.
Ufford excused himself on the plea of being very busy and hurried away leaving Edenhope in possession.
“You’ll have some tea, sir; it’s just coming,” said Jimmy. “Here’s a comfortable chair,” and he pushed forward one of the lounges.
They sat down and talked Hospital affairs for the next twenty minutes. At the end of that time Nurse Ida appeared. She caught sight of the tea and was drawn to it.
“You are Colonel Edenhope,” she said without waiting for an introduction from the house surgeon. “I’ve just been hearing of you from my aunt, Mrs. Frome. You travelled down by the same train, she tells me.”
“And I have heard of you,” he replied pleasantly, as he handed her the cup of tea Jimmy had poured out.
“I don’t think we have ever met,” she observed. “Have we?”
“I think not, Miss Frome.”
“I’m not Miss Frome here; I’m Nurse Ida; and with the rest of the nurses I stand in awe of the Commandant,” she said with a side glance to see if she was upon thin ice. Her manner disarmed all offence, however; and it was not forgotten that she was her aunt’s niece.
“Was Colonel Ufford so very formidable, then?” he asked, as he busied himself with the bread and butter and cakes, giving Jimmy no chance of doing anything but dispensing the honours of the tea tray itself.
“Oh no! but, all the same, he was not to be trifled with.” “Nor am I, Nurse Ida,” responded Edenhope. “ Do have some of this sugary stuff. I’ve tried it and it’s first-rate.”
“Have you taken over charge?” she asked.
“Yes; and Ufford is gone.”
“Quite gone?” she asked, glancing mischievously at Jimmy, who was looking unusually solemn.
“Yes; why? Did you want to see him? You will find him at the Hotel. He doesn’t leave till after dinner.”
She handed her cup back to Jimmy to be refilled; then she turned to Edenhope and leaned confidentially towards him.
“No; I don’t want to see him; but as he has really left us I don’t mind telling you—quite between ourselves—that he was rather an old dear.”
“I do hope that will be your verdict when I go,” responded the new Commandant, who did not forget that he was talking with the niece of his old friend.
Jimmy let the sugar tongs fall with a clatter. He looked at his watch while he murmured an apology for being so noisy.
“It’s just upon five o’clock, sir. I ought to be going on my rounds in the wards. I suppose you wouldn’t like to come with me?”
“Yes, I should; if Miss Frome will excuse me.”
“I must be going too,” said Nurse Ida, swallowing her tea hastily. “I’m on duty at five, and if the new Commandant finds me absent on his very first rounds I don’t know what will happen!”
Her eyes, brimful of fun, met Edenhope’s with a challenge.
“I’m afraid you won’t call him an old dear when he gives you the wigging you deserve!” he replied with a laugh.
Jimmy saw nothing to laugh at and could not understand why Nurse Ida echoed the Commandant’s laugh.
“I ordered your servant to put you at my table,” said Mrs. Frome, as she met Edenhope in the vestibule of the Hotel. He did not respond except by nodding his head. “I thought, as we were old friends, it would be pleasant,” she added.
“Of course; very good of you to have arranged it. I am delighted,” he replied, as they moved in the direction of the large dining-room. He took the chair behind which his servant stood.
They talked about trivial matters connected with Bombay and Bangalore. The dinner was excellent. It was provided without the restrictions of food-cards and other limitations that pressed heavily at that time on housekeepers in the old country. Mrs. Frome had been at Simla. She had many questions to ask about London and the doings of society.
“I am sorry I can’t tell you anything. Fact is, you know more about it than I do simply from reading the home papers,” he replied.
“You were not in town?”
“Only just to pass through it on my arrival in England and on my way back.” Then, as she raised her eyebrows and kept her large eyes fixed upon him in inquiry, he gave a short account of his doings—his visit to the specialist and the treatment prescribed—just as he had given it to Jimmy.
“What was the matter with you?” she asked.
“Completely run down and consequently off my balance, nerves and all. The open-air treatment acted like magic. I had often prescribed it on principle to men going home on sick leave from the tropics; but I never realized till I tried it myself what a wonderful power for good it was.”
“I thought you seemed out of sorts when I saw you in Bombay after your honeymoon. The change to the hills didn’t set you up as it ought to have done.”
Again the eyes were full of questioning and the particular inquiry that they made was why the change did no good. Edenhope ignored the question. He turned away and looked round the room.
“Anyone here I know, I wonder?” he asked indifferently.
“I think not. This is your first visit down south.”
He let the statement stand. He knew as well as she did that it was not his first, for he had been at Coonoor for nearly a month. She was not in the habit of pursuing a topic when it had grown distasteful. Nothing was to be got out of a man when he was not in the humour to confide. She rose from her chair.
“Shall we go into the verandah and have coffee there?” she said, leading the way.
“I mustn’t stay; I promised to return to the Hospital after dinner,” he said; but he followed all the same.
“Just one cigarette while you drink your coffee,” she said.
He felt the old lure and consented by sinking into a chair which she had indicated with a wave of her hand. It was at the end of the verandah where they were shut in from the evening breeze and protected in more ways than one by the palms and pot-plants that embowered the place. The light was subdued and the seclusion conducive to a pleasant, confidential chat. After a little desultory talk she said:
“Did you go and see your people?”
She spoke carelessly, her attention apparently being given more to the adjusting of her ornamentally shod feet on a stool than to the subject of the conversation.
“My married sister is the only one left in England now. The brothers are both in the field. Poor Lucy was distracted with her family, who were in the throes of flu. I stayed a week-end on my way back and saw next to nothing of her.”
“And your wife’s people? Perhaps you had better luck with them.”
Her eyes were fixed upon him now with a veiled curiosity that intended to be satisfied.
“I had no time to look any of them up,” he said after a slight pause.
“Her parents are dead, I think you told me in Bombay when you were expecting her arrival.”
“Yes.” The cigarette was burning fast under the vigorous drawings of the breath.
“And the aunt with whom she lived?”
“She is gone too,” he replied shortly. “Well, I must be off.” He rose from his seat and she caught the faint sound of a sigh.
“You will be back late?”
“Probably.”
“Then you won’t find me here. I’m an early bird. I shall be riding to-morrow morning. Will you join me?”
“Sorry I can’t. I’ve no horse at present.”
She also had risen to her feet. She stood before him in such a way as slightly to bar his passage out of the nook into which she had piloted him.
“I’ll say good-night,” she said, holding out her hand. “By the way, is your wife joining you here?” she asked, her long soft fingers closing over his a second time instead of relaxing their grip.
“I don’t know. Perhaps. Nothing is decided. Probably not.”
He spoke jerkily and a frown gathered. He was unprepared for the question and his answer was contradictory. She laughed a low, indulgent laugh.
“Poor old boy! You remember, don’t you, what I said at the time? You never wanted a wife.” She dropped his hand with a parting squeeze and turned to leave the verandah, releasing him from imprisonment. He followed. Then softly over her shoulder she continued in the sympathetic tone that never failed to touch the man she chose to befriend: “Poor dear! It was an error of judgment. However, you have made the best of it, and have taken it all nobly. No wonder that you were out of health. Do you know, I have always thought that it was a great misfortune for you both that you could not be married when she first arrived. That year she spent in India by herself in the independence of spinsterhood taught her the lesson we wives can never learn without disaster. It taught her to live alone.”
She purred like a pussy cat by his side and the words she spoke gave him the sensation of the friendly beast rubbing itself gently against him. He was strangely stirred, but no words came to express his feelings. Uncertain of himself and in no way given to introspection and self-analysis he had nothing to say. He had never faced the question of his marriage squarely; he had shirked it, even though he knew that he was to blame. Yet he had only done his duty.
With another good-night he departed and walked to the Hospital, his servant carrying a lantern in front. He had plenty of food for thought as he considered Claudia’s words and their meaning.
They were virtually an excuse for the condition of affairs existing between himself and his wife. He had sought no excuse for either himself or Rosemary, and vaguely resented its formulation. It seemed to imply blame somewhere. Whom or what did Claudia blame? Was it husband or wife or simply the force of unavoidable circumstances induced by the war over which he had no control?
He had done his best to remedy his desertion of his fiancée. The case was quite clear as he went through it in his solitary walk to the Hotel in the soft Indian night.
He had promised a woman a position as his wife with the protection of his name and a share of his income, a promise which had brought her out to India alone and without a chaperone. The promise had been faithfully fulfilled to the best of his ability and at the very earliest date possible.
What followed only concerned himself and his wife and it had never been divulged by either. Claudia and Jimmy had each in a way drawn conclusions which they had no means of verifying. There was an estrangement; but whether it began with the marriage or after they parted, neither knew for certain. Claudia, to satisfy her curiosity, intended to find out what had happened. Jimmy, with other intentions, had also determined to discover something of the attitude of the couple towards each other, so that he might if possible heal the breach.
Edenhope was conscious of a feeling of irritation against his old friend Claudia. She had no right to touch upon the subject. It was one that he could not discuss, even with his best friend.
He recalled the fact that when his harassed sister, in her endeavour to show an interest in his affairs, had put a few careless questions about his wife, he had closed the conversation abruptly. He had told her that Rosemary was remaining in India; and that she could not join him in England, however much she wished. Passages were not granted to wives who could stay on the hills without detriment to their health. Rosemary was in a bungalow which he had bought and was quite happy.
Then he explained to Lucy that his wife was in no worse case than other wives who were waiting in India while their husbands were serving in Egypt, Palestine and Mesopotamia.
She only half listened; her thoughts were with the feverish child she had left in the night-nursery under the care of the nursemaid. She was content with the explanation since he seemed satisfied; and she troubled her head no more about it. Edenhope himself had thrust the matter aside and allowed himself to be absorbed in the preparations for his return to duty after the expiration of his leave. It had not been difficult to banish all thought of his wife at that time. His emotions were only then beginning to awaken after a long period of numbness.
When he first arrived in Scotland in his search for health, his senses were strangely deadened. The scenery, the pure mountain air, the beauty of nature gave him no pleasure. Sight had gone from his mental eyes, just as his appetite had left him. He walked over the hills like a man who was half blind, seeing nothing but the path he trod. He ate his meals as if all food tasted alike. Books and magazines had no attraction for him; nor had any of the amusements out of doors that appeal so strongly to the Englishman—golfing, shooting and fishing. He was only half alive.
Then came the restoration of his body, which was quickly followed by the restoration of his nerves. As appetite returned for meat and drink, so came the longing for food for his mind. He began to mark down the game he was not prepared to shoot and to watch for the leap of salmon and trout.
Then the veil lifted still further. The sight of mountain and cloud, the scent of the heather, the sound of the tumbling river, the warmth of the sun, the freshness of the air were apparent. They forced themselves upon him and became the very breath of his life. He rejoiced in them every moment of his waking day. He went to his couch with a new eagerness to be up at daybreak to resume his acquaintance with the friendly children of nature. They had been too long forgotten and neglected. He was out on the hillside above his solitary tent, as the sun looked over the shoulder of the mountain, to greet the birds, the flowers, the mists, the sparkle of running water, the blue of the distant hills and to drink deep draughts of the life-renewing air.
He left Scotland a new man, conscious of a greater strength, a wider vision, a keener perception and a larger capacity for enjoyment than he had ever possessed before. The world was a different place from what it had been, whether he found himself in India or in England, in town or in country.
London on his arrival in England had filled him with a desire to hide, to escape into solitude. On his return it offered him a welcome feast of amusement. He did not know which way to turn to grasp the good things it provided. He had only allowed himself ten days to do all his outfitting and sight-seeing before he sailed.
He went to see the specialist and was told that he was as sound as a bell and need have no fear of a return of the depression. Mind and body were in splendid order and he was fit for any work the authorities chose to give him.
Then came the voyage out, where he found congenial companions: men to talk to; women to play games with; people to amuse him and show him a hundred little kindnesses during the long journey round by the Cape.
All this time the memory of his wife had remained quiescent. He had been able to put it aside and it had not troubled him. Once during the trip a little incident occurred that stirred something within him that made him uneasy for a time.
A young couple stood a short distance from the spot where he was sitting. They leaned on the broad railing of the bulwark and watched the phosphorescence of the Indian Ocean as the waters were churned by the thrusting forward of the great ship. They spoke in confidential broken sentences which each comprehended. She pressed a little nearer to him and slipped an arm through his. Her head leaned sideways towards him till it rested against his dinner jacket. By a swift movement his lips touched her soft hair. The only response she gave was to press his arm. It was enough. They talked no more; but neither was aware that conversation had ceased. It still continued, but not with the assistance of the tongue.
Edenhope rose abruptly from his seat and crossed over to the other side of the deck, where he began to pace to and fro. Something had been suddenly awakened within him—a need, a want; he was conscious of a vague mental ache that drove him to restless movement. A fellow-passenger called to him to come and play a game of bridge. He responded with alacrity, and the tiny crying spirit within his breast was silenced. It came again, but he smothered it with activities, promoting games and amusements that astonished no one more than himself.
Edenhope’s arrival at Bombay had given another unexpected jog to memory. His marriage and the incidents connected with it presented themselves to his mental vision with a vividness that startled him. It was in vain that he tried to put them aside. The details stood out with terrible distinctness.
He remembered Rosemary’s arrival; her grief at his departure; her warm greeting on his return. Without any effort on his part, the memory of that nightmare of a ceremony at the Bombay Cathedral came back, when under a delusion that was born of debility, he fulfilled the letter of his promise and made her his wife.
Then there was that awful time on the hills at the bungalow of Desire and Delight. The name mocked him as he recalled it.
And after nearly a month had passed he left her with almost a curse upon his lips!
She had endured his eccentricity with the sweetness of an angel; but at the very last she had revolted. She had turned from him and accepted his decree of expulsion from his life. Then and only then had she shown any wrath. It was the anger of a good and noble woman who had been humiliated beyond endurance.
One of the features of his perfect recovery was the strengthening of memory and his mental vision. He could see her as she looked at him with dismay and grief; he could hear her voice as she spoke her last words and he had made no effort to explain, to excuse himself, to pour oil on the cruel wounds he was inflicting.
He hurried up his departure for Bangalore as quickly as possible and found Mrs. Frome at the station. The meeting was accidental. He chose a seat in a smoking-carriage where he was alone for the greater part of the journey. At the halts for food they met and took their hurried meals together in the refreshment rooms. He declined her invitation to join her in her carriage for part of the journey, saying that it would be safer to occupy his seat lest he should lose it. He had plenty of time to go over the past.
Among other excursions that memory took was one into a still further past when he had first met Rosemary and singled her out as the one woman to attract him. He believed at the time that he was giving her the love of his life. They had a short but blissful engagement before he sailed for India, when he was buoyed up by the promise that she would come as soon as he bade her. The recollection of it was well-nigh unbearable and he fought it down. She would have acted just as that bride had acted on board ship as she watched the warm sea by her husband’s side. He seemed to feel Rosemary’s hand within his arm and her head nestling against his shoulder. He too had kissed the soft, silky hair that was so near his lips.
He had no blame for his wife. The estrangement was entirely due to his own conduct and he made no excuses for himself; nor did he wish to hear any from the lips of others.
The remedy for useless regret was work; and he determined that he would throw himself into it heart and soul. Since his arrival in Bangalore he had been too busy to think. The place had no memories for him. He had been pleased to meet Claudia. Their acquaintance dated from a time which had no unhappy memories connected with it. She had been a good friend to him, and he was ready to renew the old friendship to a certain extent; but he was not prepared to open his heart to her and pour out his troubles in her ear. He was not the kind of man to find any comfort in such a course.
At Claudia’s invitation he had taken his place at her table, grateful for the attention shown. He joined her as he might have done in the days before Rosemary appeared on the scenes. He was ready to talk of his work and to listen to her account of her play; pleased with the interest she took in his doings.
It was a shock to have his wife mentioned and his own conduct towards her excused. She talked to him as though he were a boy hardly responsible for his own actions. His thoughts had been suddenly switched off happy inconsequent matters to be focussed on the tragedy of his life. Claudia was not in the least aware that she was putting her finger on a sore place. Her curiosity made her blind to the fact that he winced under the ordeal and was silent.
In addition to bringing Rosemary back to his mind, she had unconsciously added another stab to the open wound in her statement that his wife had been taught how to live alone. He knew what it meant. He had seen it over and over again in other wives, who had been separated by the exigencies of their husbands’ work.
Men think that their wives can wait for them without filling up the gaps caused by their own absence. Gaps have a tendency to fill themselves up without assistance. Something comes along to occupy the vacancy, even if it is only a woman chum. Devotion cannot be suddenly eliminated from the feminine temperament. If the object of her loving service is removed—the husband and the children as is so often the case in the East—another object takes its place. It may be praiseworthy in itself, charitable, philanthropic, religious; but good or bad, it is a formidable rival to the absent husband and it is apt to alienate what formerly belonged only to him.
Edenhope had taken it for granted that his wife had remained on the hills in the house he had bought; although why she should have done so he did not stop to ask. Not only had she means of her own, but he had regularly paid a liberal sum into her account with his bankers in Bombay.
The agents, acting on his instructions, had sent her a notification and a cheque-book. That she had never drawn upon them was not their concern. When Edenhope called on the firm on his arrival in Bombay and asked how her account stood with them, he learned to his surprise that the money had not been touched. Had she communicated with them? he asked. They had received no communication whatever; nor could they give him her address other than the one at Coonoor which he had supplied to them.
And now Claudia’s words had stirred up memory and roused a hundred disquieting thoughts and speculations which were crowding back upon him as he walked to the Hospital.
He found Dumbarton in the verandah. Jimmy rose and threw away the end of the cigar he had been smoking.
“Good evening, sir! Nothing wrong, I hope?” he said, wondering what had brought his chief at this time of night.
“Nothing, nothing! I thought I should like to know that all was well with the men before turning in. Didn’t Ufford look in at night?”
“Not unless we had any critical cases on hand. I used to send word about ten o’clock that all was well. I was going to do so to-night if you had not come in,” replied Jimmy.
“Thanks; but it won’t be necessary unless I ask you to do so. I prefer to drop in. The Hotel doesn’t amuse me. I have a decent room, but this verandah is more to my mind; and if I want to read or write I shall use the office room here. Let’s go and give the wards a look.”
They proceeded on their tour of inspection, and Edenhope expressed his satisfaction.
“I’m afraid I interrupted your smoke,” he said when it was ended. “We’ll go back to the front verandah, where you can finish it.”
“Ufford left, I suppose,” remarked Jimmy inanely. He was just a little embarrassed at the prospect of a tête-à-tête with a man who might ask some awkward questions.
“Mail train to-night, I believe. Your ears ought to burn, Dumbarton. He said a few decent things about you. Good with the knife, aren’t you?”
“Oh! I don’t know; ought to be by this time with all the practice I’ve had.”
“The war has done something for our profession; given us the most wonderful opportunities in the practice of surgery, and we’ve made astonishing bounds forward in that direction. Where I think we are still held up—I won’t say fail—is in mental cases connected with nerves and brain which we call war-shock.”
Dumbarton’s eyes dwelt upon the speaker with a newly aroused interest.
“We know so little about the brain,” he remarked.
“And its connection with the nerves!” Edenhope was silent. His thoughts had flown from general subjects to those of a more personal nature. “I’ve suffered myself; but I couldn’t diagnose my own case. It wasn’t what we call shell-shock or war-shock.”
He relapsed into deep thought and Dumbarton did not disturb him. After a pause filled in with the smoking of their cigars, Edenhope continued:
“I had a fall from my horse before I returned to Bombay; but there was no apparent injury to my head; certainly no concussion. I was not incapacitated for a single day. I suffered a good deal from headache. They thought a month’s leave might be a good thing if I spent it in a decent climate. But the visit to Coonoor did me no good. I was just as bad as ever when I got back to Palestine.”
“Nerves,” said Jimmy after a slight pause.
“What should make the nerves go?”
“Climate, work, worry, bad water and indifferent food.”
“Possibly; but other men were not affected as I was.”
“How were you affected?” asked Dumbarton.
“Depression; a vague sense of an approaching calamity; a conviction that life was futile, useless and horribly unreal. It might have been due, as you say, to a want of better food and a more bracing climate; nerves not properly nourished.”
“Or it might have been caused by the fall,” added Jimmy, who watched his companion with curiosity. He had a conviction that all had not been told. It was difficult to account for Edenhope’s moroseness at his wedding simply from depression. There was something more, and Jimmy waited patiently for it. It came with a sudden burst that startled him.
“Good Heavens! how I suffered!” Edenhope broke out abruptly. “I seemed to be in Hell with an evil spirit constantly by my side prompting the most devilish deeds. More than once when I have been operating on a man’s limb, I have heard that small voice in my ear say: ‘Draw your knife across the throat and put the poor devil out of his pain.’ Of course I resisted. I knew that it was a tendency to homicidal mania which is latent in every human being that is born. I don’t think I was ever in any real danger of committing a freakish murder of that kind; but I was afraid of myself. When I got the month’s leave to India and you saw me at Bombay, I hoped to throw it off. The homicidal idea left me, but its place was taken by another. I was tempted, sorely tempted to turn my hand against myself. Then came the conviction that I was going out of my mind. It was a ghastly thought; it took possession of me till I distrusted myself and everyone around me. I went back to my work rather worse than when I took leave.”
“How did it end? You’re as right as any sane man can be now.”
“I was sitting smoking with a man who had just arrived. He was in our service, and older than myself. He had left a good practice in London to give his services to his country and he had specialized in nerves and brain. Suddenly I broke into wild abuse of my parents for bringing me into the world. I raved about a strain of insanity in the family, which I believed must exist although I had never been told of it. And I talked wildly about the iniquity of people marrying and perpetuating the curse. He got up, laid down his cigar and drew a chair close to mine. Then he put me through a severe examination, and I suppose diagnosed my case. ‘Home you go at once, my son,’ he said. ‘We don’t went any more tragedies here than the battlefield gives us.’ He went at once to the dispensary and mixed a bottle of stuff, making me take a dose then and there.”
“And sent you home on sick leave.”
“In three days’ time I was on my way with the address of the specialist I was to consult in my pocket. By the time I reached England I was better—stronger—able to throw off some of my delusions; they amounted to that. As I told you, Dumbarton, the treatment was successful; I left Scotland a sound and sane man.”
“Did your man tell you what caused the trouble?”
“He said enough to satisfy a layman, something about nerves being out of gear. But as for explaining scientifically what was wrong and how the brain was affected, he either wouldn’t or couldn’t do it.”
“Anyway he knew the best remedy and put you on to it,” remarked Dumbarton. “When did the suicidal idea start?”
“About the time I reached Bombay and all the time I was on the Nilgiris. I could not shake it off.”
Again he relapsed into deep thought. Jimmy broke into it by asking if he had had any return of the suicidal feeling.
“Thank God! no! and the specialist assured me that I need have no fear of its return.”
It was getting late, and Jimmy was ready to retire, but Edenhope seemed to have forgotten the hour. He showed no sign of stirring and was back again in his dreams over the past.
“You want to go to bed,” said Edenhope at last.
“No great hurry, sir; but I always turn in early. A night’s rest in an Hospital can’t be reckoned on with any certainty.”
Still his chief did not make the move, although he had gone as far as sitting up with his elbows on the chair arms. Jimmy allowed a few more minutes to elapse and then he ventured to rise to his feet. Edenhope followed his example, but remained standing with eyes that were looking into the past and were blind to the present.
“Dumbarton, do you ever hear from my wife?”
The question came abruptly and took Jimmy by surprise. “I have heard now and then,” he replied with hesitation.
“Have you seen her?”
Edenhope’s eyes dwelt searchingly upon him during the pause that ensued.
“Yes.”
“Then she is still in India. Was it on the hills that you met her?”
“No.”
He was a little embarrassed at the evident unwillingness of the other to reply. The monosyllables were not encouraging; and it was easy to understand that Dumbarton was not inclined to give him any information. He persevered, however.
“She hasn’t told me if she is doing anything. Before I returned last time she was nursing. I—I gather that she has gone back to it.”
It was a guess on Edenhope’s part. He was not disposed to admit that all correspondence, all communications of any kind had ceased from the time he left his wife at Coonoor. Such an admission might involve the necessity of offering some explanation which he was not prepared to give. He must either imply fault on his wife’s side, which would be unjust; or he must stand self-accused, and own himself in the wrong. He gazed into Jimmy’s eyes with a desperate hungry look as though he would tear his secrets out of his very heart.
“I think you may be right, sir. Why not send her a letter and ask? She will tell you all you want to know, unless she wishes to keep it a secret. In that case we must respect her wish.”
“Probably she doesn’t know of my return to India.”
“I don’t see how she could miss it. Your appointment was in the daily papers. I suppose she sees them every day wherever she may be.”
Edenhope’s teeth were upon his lower lip. Jimmy’s tone was not encouraging; moreover, he looked half asleep. In the pause that ensued Edenhope struggled against a desire to make a clean breast of it to the man who had given him his bride. He wanted to enlist his full sympathy and ask for his help. He might have yielded to the impulse if they had remained together longer; but Jimmy was smothering a yawn and holding out his hand.
“See you to-morrow morning, sir. What time may we expect you?”
“I shall be here by seven, perhaps a little sooner.”
Jimmy went to the top of the verandah steps and hailed the watchman who was to light the big master back to the Hotel.
“Good-night, sir,” he said, as Edenhope went slowly down the steps. He watched him till he disappeared into the darkness. “Poor darling!” he said to himself, as his thoughts turned to Nurse Mary. “How she must have suffered! I’m glad she got away before he came. Why the devil didn’t he tell her what ailed him instead of leaving her to her misery! The man must have been right off his head; incapable of thinking of the consequences, or of anybody but himself. ‘A woman scorned!’ Does she ever forgive?”
Ten minutes later Jimmy was in a sound, dreamless sleep. His chief was not so fortunate. Seated in a chair by the open window of his room, the air filled with the scent of the tuberose just outside, Edenhope sat far into the night face to face with the past which Claudia’s chance words had acutely revived.
Dinner was on the table and Cassim stood behind Nurse Mary’s chair to wait on her. She had not changed back into evening dress, but had retained her Hospital uniform, which she had put on to enforce her authority when her patient insisted on having the bolts removed from the inner side of the hareem door. She seated herself and began her soup. A rustling in the verandah outside caught her ear.
“What is that, Cassim? a dog or a cat?”
“No, ma’am; it is some one from the women’s quarters.”
“What does she want?”
“Nothing; she comes to look at the English lady. Those people sit on the floor to take their food; they never sit at a table or use chairs.”
“Isn’t she afraid that she should be seen by you, a man?” The ghost of a smile flitted across the usually grave face of the old sepoy.
“She has her veil which she can at any time draw across her face.”
“Tell her to go; I prefer to eat my dinner without people looking on!”
He called out the order from the doorway. The sound of more than one pair of feet fell on her ear. She congratulated herself that she had got rid of the intruders. In less than five minutes, however, the rustlings began again. Cassim repeated his order and silence ensued. It was not for long. The sounds were as persistent as the nibblings of mice in wainscotting, returning again and again.
At last she could bear it no longer. She rose from the table and went swiftly to the doorway. No fewer than five dark forms fled towards the hareem and disappeared into its murky recesses like rats.
She returned to finish her dinner, but to the end of it she was conscious that she was being watched by unseen persons. Sometimes there was a shuffling of bare feet, or the faint chink of a silver toe-ring, or she caught a faint whispering carried on under the breath.
In vain Cassim issued a succession of orders to the invisible throng, commanding them to depart under penalty of punishment. The orders were obeyed at the moment, but they needed continual repetition. Three or four times she rose from the dinner-table herself and went to the door. There was always the same result: a scurrying of naked feet which died away in the distance, only to return a minute or two later. Cassim began to clear the table. When he had finished, she asked him to close the double doors.
He did so and left the room. She sank into her comfortable chair; there was a small table by her side, on which was a shaded reading lamp. A book was on her lap, but at present she had no desire to read. Her thoughts wandered to Gabriel. If she had not had his assurance that Michael had promised to see himself to the fulfilment of his brother’s wishes, she would have feared yet another disappointment, followed to a certainty by a worse outbreak on the part of Gabriel than had already occurred. Michael was to be trusted, she thought, with satisfaction and some comfort. He seemed so anxious to please and was in every respect a model brother.
A slight movement outside the door disturbed her train of thought. Those women from the hareem again! They were peeping and listening and spying with their overweening curiosity.
The upper halves of the double doors were filled with Venetians to admit air from the verandah. The lamp on the table threw a dim light on the doors. The faint sound of rustling continued. It fixed her attention in such a way that she could neither follow her train of thought nor read her book. She put the book on the table and quietly watched the Venetians.
Presently brown fingers, long and thin, appeared through the slats. They gently and persistently worked at the slats to raise them so as to give the watchers a better view of the room. The hands at work made a queer picture, although there was nothing mysterious or alarming in their appearance. It was so plainly evident what they were trying to effect and why they were there. She ought to have been amused as she might have been over the tricks of children; but she was not. She wanted quiet and rest and solitude after all that she had gone through.
“Go away! go away! go back to your rooms!” she cried in Hindustani.
The hands at once became motionless and all sound, ceased. She repeated her order; it had no effect. The owner of the hands must have been ignorant of the fact that they could be seen by the occupant of the room. It was like shooing away an unwelcome cat that refused to budge and took refuge in lying low, under the impression that it could not be seen.
Resigning herself to the inevitable, Nurse Mary took up her book and tried to read. The moment her eyes were fixed upon the pages the scratchings and rustlings on the slats recommenced in the endeavour to raise them.
“Be off!” she cried angrily in Hindustani. “Be off! or I will tell the Shahzada and have you punished!”
Once more there was dead silence, but the tell-tale fingers remained to show that her commands had not been obeyed. It was impossible to read. Her eyes were drawn to the door in spite of all effort to bring them back to the open page. Presently the hands began to work again with slow, careful movements that produced no sound. The persistence made her smile in spite of her annoyance. At the same time it set her nerves on edge and produced an irritation she could not control.
She rose and moved across the room to the wall, book in hand. Sidling along by the wall she reached the door undetected. The watcher outside was deluded into the belief that the lady had gone into her bedroom. It therefore gave a severe shock when the book was brought down sharply upon the fingers. The blow was not sufficient to cause physical pain; but the noise made by the boards of the book on the wooden slats was alarming.
A little scream broke the silence. It was followed by the scuffling that a score of frightened cats might have made. Then came giggles, as if the rest of the company was hugely enjoying the discomfiture of the bold intruder.
Nurse Mary pushed back the heavy doors and walked out into the verandah. The crowd fled with exclamations of dismay. She had a dim view of ghostly figures flying back for shelter. They were really frightened this time for the witch had come out to curse them. She walked to the hareem door with the intention of shutting and bolting it. Suddenly she remembered that it was left open and unbarred with a purpose. Until the Sahiba Nourma came it would be impossible to close it. Nothing must be done that might give the young wife an excuse for not keeping the appointment with her husband. Nurse Mary could still hear whisperings from the darkness of the hareem. What could she do to stop it?
She returned to her room in despair. Was this kind of thing going on into the small hours of the morning? She had dismissed Cassim and Judy according to her custom and was ignorant of the position of their respective rooms, so that however much she might desire to call them, she was unable to do so without rousing the whole house: an arrangement she determined to alter the very next day.
She thought of the invasion and spying that would take place after she had retired to rest; it was intolerable. She felt that nothing would be safe from inquisitive and probably dishonest fingers. These human rats were far worse than the real animals. There was only one thing to be done; and that was to keep guard herself until Nourma had arrived. After she had passed through the door it could be bolted.
She brought a camp chair out of her room and placed it in front of her own door facing the hareem. The light was too dim to read, and she required a shawl, for the air was growing cool. A companion in her vigil would have been pleasant. Perhaps Gabriel would stroll out of his sitting-room presently. She turned her head in that direction; but no sound of any movement was audible. He too must be waiting and listening for the dilatory wife.
The village beyond the garden walls was already asleep. Here and there a dog barked; and further afield she could hear the yelping of the jackals as they foraged by the river banks and among the refuse heaps of the houses. Crickets chirped in the garden below, and a night-jar cried in a rapid succession of monotone calls to its mate.
The outline of the hill was distinguishable against the grey sky. There was no moon at present, but the stars shone with tropical clearness and the planet Jupiter was like a miniature moon.
Her device promised to be successful. No one ventured to approach the hareem door. With her white head-dress and the red cross on her breast she held the troublers of her peace in awe. For some time none ventured to approach the door which she left standing wide open. It was close on half-past nine when out of the darkness a small figure came towards her with slow, deliberate steps. She sat up in her chair and watched the uninvited visitor. It was Raphael, Michael’s son and heir. He was dressed in velvet coat, satin trousers and jewelled turban, and his manner was self-assured and confident.
“Hallo! This is a surprise! what are you doing out of bed so late?” she said, as he walked straight up to her.
“I go to sleep when I choose,” replied the boy, detecting criticism in her tone and the recognition only of his childishness.
“It is not good to sit up too late,” she said.
“I am no later than you,” he replied with a simplicity that deprived his words of impertinence.
“Ah! but you are much younger than I am.”
“When I am up and about at night I sleep all day; don’t you?”
“And what have you come here for?” she asked.
“To see my uncle greet his wife,” he replied promptly.
“He will not want you, I am sure.”
“Perhaps not; but that won’t matter. My mother would have come; but because you are here she refused. My father, the Shahzada, bade her come and she would not. He was angry. Seeing that he was wrath, I said I would fill the place of my mother.”
The child talked uncannily. Nurse Mary had had but small experience of Indian children and their unchildish ways and speech.
“I think you had better go back to your mother. I will look after Captain Gabriel and his wife,” she said.
He glanced up at her in the dim light of the verandah lantern as she sat in her camp chair and pressed his lips together.
“You command my uncle and, lo! he obeys you. Today you issued your orders to my father, the Shahzada, and he did your bidding. They were both afraid of you lest you should lay spells upon them. You are a white witch. They say you are keeping my uncle for yourself. We do not care. He may choose where he wills; but the wife whom he married with the shahdee ceremonies! Her he shall not have.” The strange child leaned towards her, his round black eyes peering into hers with a curious mixture of fear and bravado in their depths. “Do you know why? I do; for I have heard the women talking.”
“Never mind the reason,” cried Nurse Mary, jumping up with a sudden inspiration. “Let us go and meet the Sahiba Nourma. She will be coming directly.”
He was deceived into believing that the English lady was ready to join him in his espionage. They passed into the dim verandah of the hareem.
“Ah hah!” he cried with the delight of a mischievous imp. “We shall behold something that will bring laughter to our lips. We will allow her to go to his room by herself and we will follow silently and laugh—laugh because of her disappointment!”
Nurse Mary was at a loss to understand what he meant by his prattle. Of one thing she was convinced. She must not only get rid of the boy, but must make it certain that he could not return. While he chattered she considered how this could best be effected.
“After seeing my aunt overwhelmed with grief we will go to your room. I want to look at myself in the large, long mirror that stands in a frame. It was a gift bought by my uncle for his bride so that she might behold herself from head to foot. My mother, the Beebee, was very angry that it should be given to the Sahiba Nourma instead of to herself. By and by, when I am Shahzada, I shall have it removed to my mother’s room.”
“Silence! She is coming!” warned Nurse Mary, drawing the boy into a doorway a little distant from the entrance, where they might escape observation.
Gliding up the passage was a tall form robed in white. She moved with dignity, quickly but without undue haste. Whether she noticed the two figures in the doorway as she passed, it was impossible to say; she made no sign of having seen them.
As soon as Nourma was through the open door, Nurse Mary darted forward to follow. The child, taken by surprise, was left standing and staring at a movement that bewildered him. Before he could race after her and catch her up, she was through the door. He arrived to find it closed in his face and to hear the bolts on the other side slipped into their sockets.
He realized that he had been outwitted and flamed with ungovernable rage. He hurled himself against the door and beat it with his fists. He yelled and screamed and poured out abuse of the vilest character. He commanded, he implored; he promised rewards to anyone who would open the door for him. Finding his violence of no avail, he fell back again on vituperation.
The women of the hareem came out of their hiding-places and looked at the boy as he writhed on the floor in the paroxysm of fury. No one attempted to touch him or pacify his rage. They knew what to expect and would as soon have handled an enraged jungle cat. They chuckled and whispered as they stood a little distance away watching him; but taking care to keep well out of reach of his sharp teeth and claws. Two or three tried to force open the door, but their efforts were useless. The rest sat down upon their heels to wait for the end. The tragedy was not over by any means.
Screams of all kinds were too common in that household to evoke any emotion but idle curiosity; consequently Raphael’s cries attracted no attention. If his mother heard and recognized his voice, she was not likely to be disturbed. He frequently gave way to temper, and his protests against going to bed or conforming to any domestic rules were always conducted in this way. He would be left to scream till he was exhausted and fell asleep; then one of the old women would come and carry him away, lay him down on his pillows and leave him just as he was until he should wake in a better frame of mind.
Nurse Mary returned to her room not altogether dissatisfied with herself. She had got rid of the boy, and she had at last found means to exclude and keep out the crew that annoyed her. She might hope for a peaceful night as soon as the child had ceased screaming. She wished some one would come and remove the troublesome urchin. However, the rooms were large and the verandah wide and spacious, so that the noise was not deafening as it would have been had she been shut up with it in a small chamber.
She took her chair back into the sitting-room. There was no further need to close her own doors. She could rely on the bolts and bars of the hareem door to hold out against the most furious assaults that any of the inmates could make on it. She was not disposed for sleep and had no inclination to go to bed. Settling herself in her easy-chair by the table that held the lamp, she took up her book with the intention of reading. Her mind had been too much disturbed by the rapid succession of events during the evening to be able to concentrate itself upon the fictional troubles of the hero and heroine of the story. Here were events in real life that might easily turn into tragedy. Could it be true, as the child had asserted, that his father and mother sanctioned his intrusion?
She was puzzled; there must be some reason for the passive obstruction that was shown to the union of husband and wife. What was it? Did it lie with the wife? Of one thing she felt assured: it did not originate with Michael. If he had asked his wife to accompany Nourma to her husband’s room, as the child stated, he had done it with the object of ensuring the fulfilment of his promise to his brother. He would like to be assured that his sister-in-law had not failed in the performance of her part of the bargain. Once safely delivered over to Gabriel, Michael would have no further responsibility. If matters went wrong after that, it was the husband’s business; not his. Nurse Mary was convinced in her mind that this was Michael’s attitude.
What was Lilith’s? Profound indifference, as far as she could judge by the one and only interview she had had with that lady. Lilith was lethargic and thoroughly selfish. She hated the trouble of looking after the affairs of other people. The return of Gabriel and the intrusion of his conjugal relations with his wife into her own life was unwelcome. Nurse Mary summed her up as a selfish woman without a spark of generosity or kindness. All natives, she concluded, were more or less selfish, no matter what their nationality might be or what their position in life.
Well! Captain Gabriel had got his way at last, for she had seen the wife go to his room. It did not much matter now whether the accomplishment of his wish was due to his brothers good offices or to his own violence that afternoon or to the caprice of his wife.
She began to yawn, a good sign that sleep was coming, for she was tired. She put the book on the table and prepared to go to her bedroom, when suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway and came swiftly towards her.
With hands clenched and features working with passion, a woman unveiled stood over her, speechless with rage. If the fist raised above her had held a dagger, it would have been plunged into her heart. In another second, Nurse Mary, startled and alarmed, was on her feet.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked, without allowing a sign to betray the trepidation she felt at seeing this apparition.
“You wicked, evil witch! May Allah curse you!” began the girl as soon as she could find her tongue.
“Stop! be silent! How dare you speak to me in that manner?” cried Nurse Mary. “Who are you?”
Her decisive attitude had its effect on the girl. The white witch was not to be recklessly abused and she checked the wild words that poured from her lips.
“Tell me what this means? Who are you?” again demanded Nurse Mary.
“I am the young Shahzada’s wife,” she faltered at last; her trembling fingers grasped the folds of her fine white muslin drapery and crushed it in their nervous grip.
“His wife! You are not the girl I saw in the hareem.”
“That was not his wife. She was only one of our servants!” she replied scornfully and with the contempt of the oriental high-born.
“Then why was she shown to me as his wife?”
“It was the Beebee’s will; not mine, Excellency,” replied the real Nourma, who was becoming seriously alarmed at the anger which she recognized on Nurse Mary’s face.
“Why did you not let me come to you? it was you I wanted to see, not your servant.”
“Pardon, gracious lady! It was not my doing. They would not allow me to see you.”
“And where were you all the time?”
“Locked in my room.” Nourma fell on her knees at Nurse Mary’s feet. “Ah, great and mysterious one! do not be angry with thy poor servant or she will sicken and die. Have I not wept and pleaded for leave to go to my husband? Was I not married by the shahdee rites? I have a right to go to him. They told me that it was not your will; that you had forbidden it; that you would lay a curse upon me and upon him too if I did anything that was contrary to your wishes. Ah! lady! have mercy and give a poor wife her rights!”
Tears flowed freely, and Nurse Mary felt trembling arms thrown round her. The action disarmed her anger and roused all her pity as Nourma’s conduct appeared in a new light. She sat down again and drew the kneeling girl into her sheltering arms.
“Poor child! tell me all about it. They have said again and again to me as well as to your husband that you would not come; that you were ill and could not come; that you did not want your husband.”
“It is false! They are liars! all! all!”
“Don’t cry, little sister,” said Nurse Mary, using the familiar Hindustani terms. “Don’t cry. The trouble is over now. I am glad that it was not true. Whose doing has it been that you have been kept away from the young Shahzada?”
“The Beebee’s; she hates me; she fears lest I should be put in her place. Now that my husband, the Shahzada, is here, I am the Beebee. But she will never let me be the head of the hareem while she remains. She must go, Excellency! She must be driven out!”
“Michael Sahib will never be so cruel and unjust as to permit his wife to take your place,” said Nurse Mary.
Nourma lifted her head and looked at her, her large eyes dropping tears and the curved lips trembling with acute grief.
“He will kill me first,” she said under her breath.
“Not with your husband here to protect you,” Nurse Mary quickly rejoined.
Nourma rose to her feet, tall and beautiful, a fitting mate for a man like Gabriel.
“Come and see if he is able to protect me, Excellency, as you say,” she cried as she led the way quickly towards Gabriel’s room.
A lamp burned on the table of his sitting-room. Still wearing his velvet coat, he was lying back on one of the lounge chairs. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be in a deep sleep. The sight of her unconscious husband revived the anger of the girl. She turned to Nurse Mary and demanded furiously:
“Is this your doing? Can it be true that you have taken away his senses so that he might not see me or know me? Oh! Oh! you have cast a spell upon him, you white witch!”
“Nourma! Nourma! You are crazy with grief. It is you who have lost your senses! Have I not been doing all in my power to give you to your husband?”
“Ah! lady! be merciful! I am mad with sorrow and despair. No! no! this is not your doing. This is my sister’s work. She has bribed his servant. May Allah curse her and her son for this! I will kill them both! I will—”
“Peace, little sister!” cried Nurse Mary, as she opened the collar of his coat and pushed a pillow under his head.
Nourma threw herself down on her knees by his side in a passion of love and grief.
“Husband! husband! awake! It is thy wife!” she moaned, clasping her arms around him.
She took his hand and covered it with kisses. Her fingers touched his face and crept downwards over the limp arms. Then she clung round his neck and pillowed her head on his breast.
“Oh! beloved! I have come! Oh! wake and speak to me! Flower of my heart! my prince! my king!”
Not only was she unable in her abandonment to help in restoring him to his senses, but she prevented Nurse Mary from applying remedies. It was with great difficulty that the latter examined her patient to find out with the least possible delay what had caused him to faint; whether it was an attack of heart; or whether it had been produced by artificial means. She felt his pulse and watched his breathing. Then pushing the distracted wife aside she lifted an eyelid. Holding the lamp close, she looked at the pupil of the large hazel brown eye.
“Drugged! doped!” she said in English. “We must have more air!”
It was late when Nurse Mary awoke the next morning.
The sun had been up an hour. The early morning tea-tray stood on the little table by the window. As she stirred in awaking, Judy appeared.
“Shall I make fresh tea, ma’am?” she asked, as she threw up the mosquito curtains.
“No; this will do; the cosy has kept it warm.”
Judy looked at her with scared eyes. A little encouragement would have induced a torrent of speech. At the end of it the woman would again ask to be allowed to return to Bangalore. Nurse Mary was afraid that the story of last night’s tragedy was known throughout the establishment. Whether Nourma in her anguish of mind and her anger had kept it to herself, she did not know. She might have gone straight to her sister’s room and have had a very stormy interview. Reticence and self-control are not common virtues in the oriental life.
Hastily swallowing her tea, Nurse Mary dressed for her morning stroll. She felt that she must have a breath of fresh air after all that she had gone through. It would not be possible to go up the hill, as there was no time for the longer walk. She decided to go to the river, where the birds and butterflies were always of interest. She picked up her little field-glasses to help her in her observations.
Before starting she went to Gabriel’s room. Yet another face appeared as she knocked at the bedroom door, a young Muhammadan whom she had not seen before.
“Where is the servant who was here yesterday?” she asked.
“He is sick, most excellent lady, and he has gone to his own house,” replied the man with the faultless politeness his race knows how to assume.
“And you? Who sent you here?”
“The big Shahzada, most honourable one. My father serves his Excellency. I have learned the work under my father, and now I am ordered to do Mahmoud’s work.”
She glanced round the sitting-room. It had been swept and dusted and was arranged as its occupant liked it to be arranged.
“Is the young Shahzada awake?”
“He still sleeps.”
Nurse Mary moved quietly through the curtained doorway and stood by the bed. Gabriel was slumbering like a healthy child. She was satisfied, and left as quietly as she had entered. She hoped he would sleep for another couple of hours and wake refreshed.
When he was fully awake he might demand an explanation. In that case she wished to be there. On the other hand, it was possible that his memory would be confused at first, and he might not suspect that he had been drugged. He might suppose that he had overslept himself after dinner; but he would be sure to make inquiries as to whether his wife had come. If by any chance he arrived at the truth, there would be more violence of the same character as had been shown the previous evening; not a pleasant prospect for Nurse Mary.
She was not sorry that the man who had served his master the night before had taken himself off. It was the savoury chicken pillau, cooked to a turn and irresistible to any healthy Mussulman, that must have contained the dose that had produced the catastrophe. Something more than the sweet nutty coconut and poppy seed must have been introduced into the dish.
She had hoped that after breaking open the door of the hareem and receiving a promise of a visit from Nourma, peace and quiet would reign in the household. As well might she hope that the monsoons would not rage and roar.
Each family is a centre for violent emotions, unrestrained passions and impetuous action. They are the means whereby the moral atmosphere is kept from deadly stagnation. The tumult raised never breaks bounds. If tragedies occur, they are concealed behind walls that keep their secrets. Inquiry from outside is baffled by the all-powerful influence of gosha rules. It is a word well chosen; it means hidden. Gosha covers, in addition to women’s faces and figures, injustice, tyranny, favouritism, cruelty and crime. No man nor woman, being a good follower of the Prophet, dares to break the gosha rules of his ancestors nor to lift the curtain that covers the autocratic kingdom of the purdah.
Before going down for her walk, Nurse Mary gave a glance at the door of the hareem to see that it was securely bolted. It had no guardian now. The door-keeper felt that her job was ended, and she herself was made ridiculous when the bolts on her side were removed.
Walking slowly down the stairs and through the rose garden, Nurse Mary had time to think over the situation. Her experience overnight had been a shock in its way. It had opened her eyes to the positive existence of a strong and persistent opposition to the union of husband and wife; an opposition that stuck at nothing. If Gabriel could be doped in that manner, what was to prevent his being poisoned straight off?
In vain she puzzled her brain over the source of this opposition. If she had not seen Nourma and heard her bitter cry of disappointment, she might have ascribed the drugging to an unwilling wife. But this could not be. The grief and despair of the girl were real; they exonerated her from all complicity.
Nourma herself had denounced Lilith as the author of the evil deed and had put it down to jealousy over the position in the house. This was not a convincing argument. Lilith was not in love with her brother-in-law. Why, then, should she try to stop the re-union of husband and wife? Nor could it have anything to do with position and precedence in the house.
Lilith might easily retain her position as head of the hareem just as Michael naturally preserved his, as practically master of the house, and yet give the younger woman a satisfactory standing. In any case, whether virtually the Beebee or not, Nourma would have her own rooms and her own establishment with which the elder branch of the family would not interfere. Occupying the lower story, Lilith need not be brought into collision with her sister-in-law’s relatives and dependants. In a palace like the Garden of Roses there was ample room for everybody.
Then came back the words of the boy. “He may choose where he will, but his wife whom he married with the shahdee ceremonies, her he shall not have. Do you know why? I do; for I have heard the women talking.”
She had stopped the babble of his tongue by rapid action and had had no time to consider it. After what had happened those words seemed full of meaning. Could the reason for all this opposition be an insane attempt to circumvent consequences, to preserve the position for the child as heir to the estate? If Gabriel had a son, Raphael would no longer be looked upon as the future Shahzada, master of the palace and its broad fertile acres stretching away into the blue distance where the big river flowed.
She reached the bank of the stream and seated herself on the stone where Gabriel had sat on the morning when they had walked together. The sun shone brightly on the water and the wader birds were busy feeding. Strange butterflies flew along in zigzag flight, seeking flowers by the river’s edge. In the rough grass of the banks the babblers and weaver birds, the tree sparrows and chats caught the insects that were drawn from their hiding-places by the warmth of the sun.
She watched a bird like a coot swimming close under the bastion of rock that jutted against the river like the wall of some castle upreared above its moat. The bird had a nest, she felt sure; for it was not feeding like those nearer at hand. It swam restlessly up and down the stream, full of fussy uneasiness. She searched with her glasses for the cause; she could see nothing that might frighten it. In the big tree higher up, which overhung the level top of the rock, was a flock of minas, the starlings of the plains. They chattered as though they too were disturbed by the presence of an enemy, some unfriendly hawk or animal.
She caught a glimpse of dark shining plumage as a bird bolder than the rest dipped a little way down through the foliage to scold and jibe at something lying on the rock beneath the tree. She fixed her glasses on the deep shade cast by the tree. The rock was twenty-five to thirty feet higher than the spot where she sat. The actual surface was therefore hidden from her.
The sudden outburst of bird protestation, was followed by the movement of something resting in the shade of the tree. She could scarcely believe her eyes when she distinguished the stripes of a tiger’s back. Slowly the top of the head came into view. The animal was either very sleepy or not particularly well. It held its head low, moving it slowly from side to side. It seemed to be crouching and in pain.
Nurse Mary remembered Gabriel’s tale of how as a boy he had seen a tiger in that very spot. His tiger rose and slowly walked away, showing its long barred tail. She wondered if this one would act in a similar manner.
The river flowed in between herself and the tiger, and she had no fear that the beast would attack her. She was too full of curiosity to think about danger. Never in her life had she seen a tiger at large in its native jungle, and the sight made her quiver with excitement.
If Gabriel had been there, she thought, with his rifle he could have killed the beast with an easy shot; but to her regret he was not. While she had an opportunity for which he would have given his ears, he was still in a deep dreamless sleep from which he would awake in anything but a good temper. To hear of her luck would only irritate him. She would keep her news to herself until he had sufficiently recovered from the effects of the narcotic to be reasonable and self-restrained.
With her glasses glued to her eyes she continued to watch the animal, while the minas overhead scolded and chattered. Suddenly the beast made a slight movement with one of its paws. The paw was raised as a cat might lift its foot to wash its face. It did not carry out the feline trick; but seemed to brush away a fly or something of the sort that tickled its nose. Then it resumed its former position, lying flat on the rock; and all she could see of it was the ridge of its striped back.
She lowered her glasses with an exclamation of astonishment and gazed at the spot with naked eyes. She had good sight, but somehow she failed to detect the black stripes and orange skin. Once more she focussed her glasses on the spot. The tiger was no longer visible. It must have moved away at the very instant that she lowered them. How could it have walked off without rising to its feet?
She rose with a curiously confused mind and went quickly towards the house, following the path that led her outside the garden and home by the principal portico. Deep in thought, she stepped up into the cool shade of the great pillared verandah where the gardeners were busy watering the palms and fems. The shade was acceptable after the glare of the sunlit river. She was half way through the rose garden when a familiar sound struck on her ear. It was the hoot of a motor-car horn; and unless she was much mistaken it came from one of the Hospital cars in which she had often driven.
She turned back to the portico and stood waiting with a sudden beating of the heart. It might be Jimmy. On the other hand, it might very well be the new Commandant, coming to see for himself how the patient was progressing and whether he needed the services of a nurse all to himself.
The car swept up the carriage drive from the entrance of the grounds at a swinging pace. The door opened and out jumped Dumbarton. He hastened towards her with a smile of pleasure and relief.
“There you are! safe and sound! Dearest! how glad I am to see you!” he cried, as he shook her hand warmly.
“Very nice of you to say so, Jimmy; but why all this gush? I have been absent barely a week.”
“And in that time we have had no news of you.”
“No news! how can you say so! I’ve written every day!” said Nurse Mary in indignant surprise.
“Have you? all I can say is that we have not received a single line from you.”
“‘We!’ I wrote to you and to no one else.”
“Did you post your letters?”
“They went by hand. A cooly goes every day into Bangalore to bring out certain supplies. He was told to deliver my daily letter at the Hospital and to wait for a reply. No reply came, but I was not troubled as you are a busy man and the cooly had no time to spare.”
“Of course I should have written!” cried Dumbarton. “Your letter would have been too precious to have been left unanswered. I should——”
“Oh! Jimmy! do be sensible! I’ve got such a lot to say. Don’t let us waste any moments in fooling. Besides, this is a professional visit on your part or you would never have been allowed to waste a whole morning over it.”
“All right! I’m at your service, Nurse Mary.”
“Now, where can we talk?” she said, looking round at a loss for some private room free from all chance of interruption. “We shall have a crowd of people round us in another five minutes. Look! here they come, Daood, the old peon, at their head. I wonder Sahib Michael has not appeared.”
“Who is he?”
“Captain Gabriel’s eldest brother and a great power in the house. You must ask him about the lost letters.” She glanced at the increasing number of people drawn from all parts of the building by their curiosity. “I don’t know where to take you unless we go upstairs to my room; as it is just outside the hareem perhaps——” She broke off and looked at Jimmy for an inspiration.
“Come for a drive; we can talk in the car.”
It solved the difficulty; she jumped in quickly, glad to escape from the throng which every minute was narrowing the circle round them in an endeavour to hear as well as see.
In less than ten seconds they were moving down the carriage drive, leaving the whole household agape with wonder. The sound of the horn had penetrated the hareem, where it had caused a thrill and a flutter. There was a rush to every latticed window that looked towards the portico, and the women were asking who had arrived.
Servants, anxious to be the bearers of news of any kind and at the same time the centre of attention, were carrying the announcement of the arrival of the Hospital car to their respective masters and mistresses. As they hurried along on their errand they imparted the news to their fellow-workers, who straightway left their work and ran to the verandah to see for themselves. The Doctor Sahib had come and had carried off the White Ammah!
Messengers ran to Captain Gabriel’s room; but the young master was still asleep, and no one dared wake him. They passed on to the Shahzada; but he was out walking and had not returned.
Gabriel, disturbed by the whispering outside his room, opened his eyes. He was conscious of a headache and closed them again. The events of the previous night were hazy and of the nature of a dream to him.
His servant approached with a cup of hot coffee and the news of the Doctor’s arrival in a car that bore the same red sign as the English lady wore. Gabriel shook off his lethargy and rose from his pillows. His eyes, heavy with drowsiness, rested on the man who handed him the coffee.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am sent, Huzoor, by the big master in place of the man who was here last night.”
“What is the matter with him that he does not come?”
“He is sick, Excellency. This humble worm brings the honourable one news that an English Sahib has arrived.”
“Where is he?” asked Gabriel in the same dead-level tone.
“He and the most noble English lady have just now left the house in his motor-car.”
Captain Gabriel asked no more questions. He received the strange piece of news without comment and set himself leisurely to the business of dressing, bidding his servant bring the khaki uniform in which he had arrived from the Hospital.
Meanwhile Jimmy, having ordered his chauffeur to go slowly for a short distance and then stop, devoted his whole attention to what Nurse Mary had to say.
He laughed at the tales about the Ammah and assured her that the mysterious creature that had seized her stick could be none other than an old monkey, too old to go down to the fields in search of sugar-cane and Indian corn. It had probably found an entrance through some unknown cleft in the rock, hidden from human eyes in the jungle. It subsisted on insects, roots and such fruit as it could find on the brambles and wild laurels on the hill.
Mahmoud’s accident surprised him. It seemed so unlikely that a tiger should attack him unless it were a man-eater. In that case why didn’t the brute eat him?
“I’ll see Mahmoud before I go and listen to what he has to say of the accident. Now tell me what I have come over on purpose to hear. How are you getting on yourself in the house? and do you consider that your patient is well—well enough to be left?”
“I must leave you to decide that point after you have seen him. I think it would be far better for him if I stayed on another week or until his wife can be established in my room.”
“And why should she not be established in your place at once; this very day?” asked Dumbarton.
“I’ll tell you the difficulty.”
She gave him an account of all that had happened with regard to Gabriel’s relations with his wife from the time of their arrival down to the events of yesterday afternoon and night.
“It must have been about ten o’clock when his wife came to me. She was mad with anger. I thought at first she meant to kill me. I was puzzled to know what had happened to make her so furious; and at first I did not recognize her as Gabriel’s wife. As I told you, those crafty hareem people had introduced me to a girl who was not his wife.”
“An impudent thing to do,” commented Dumbarton.
“Nourma asked me to go to his room with her. I found Gabriel insensible and lying in his chair like a log.”
“Poor devil!” said Jimmy sympathetically. “What did you do?”
“Having satisfied her as well as I could that it was not my doing, I began to apply remedies. She watched me for a minute or two; but as he remained unconscious, her feelings got the better of her. She flung herself upon him for a second time, kissing his poor face and hands and calling upon him with a dozen endearing terms to come to life again and not to die just as she had been permitted to see him. I was very sorry for her, poor soul! but she hindered my work of restoration. I wanted all the fresh air I could get for him. While she was moaning over him, I went to the windows and threw open the shutters. I pulled aside the purdahs in the doorways and got a good current of air through the room.”
“I hope she helped you; the servants were dismissed at that hour, I suppose?’
“We were quite alone. Nourma looked up and saw what I had done. She rose to her feet with a little cry of fright. ‘Ah! Excellency! why have you opened all the windows?’ she asked. ‘To give him air, of course,’ I said rather shortly; I was far too anxious and busy to stop and talk. ‘Bring the sponge and sponge his face.’ She drew her veil over her head and shrank back. ‘I must go! I must not remain in a room with all the doors and windows uncurtained. He himself will be angry if he wakes and finds me here.’ ‘Very well, go if you wish, and come again when he is better. When will you come? ‘ She did not reply, but ran off to the hareem and I’ve seen nothing more of her since. I followed close to bar the door after her. If I had not done so, I should have had fifty silly women buzzing about me all night.”
“You were quite alone, then.”
“No more alone than one is when on night duty with a patient in a sick-room. I went back to Captain Gabriel, and at the end of half an hour my efforts were rewarded. He began to show signs of returning consciousness. It was an immense relief when he opened his eyes at last. I couldn’t tell whether the dose administered would be fatal or not. Jimmy! it was a nasty jar.”
“I’m sure it was. Who did it?”
“I can’t say. Nourma accused her sister-in-law; but it is difficult to get to the bottom of the mystery. There are wheels within wheels in an establishment of this kind.”
Dumbarton did not speak for some seconds. What he had heard was disturbing. It was not the kind of thing that he had expected when he helped in getting Nurse Mary the appointment. At length he said seriously:
“You must leave these people to their own devices and come back to us.”
“What about my patient?” she asked in consternation at his drastic remedy.
“You can bring him with you.”
“He won’t come. He is to have a month’s leave and nothing will stir him from here—unless we can manage to persuade his wife to come too. She will never consent because of her gosha rules,”
“Then you must return without him.”
She glanced at him with a light in her eye which he found disconcerting.
“What about the new Commandant?” she asked.
“Oh! confound all this husband and wife business!” cried Jimmy, exasperated into something as nearly approaching irritation as a man of his temperament could be. “It’s the very deuce!”
She laughed at the perplexed expression that clouded his face and the laugh did not mend matters.
“Poor old Jimmy! It’s a shame to drag you into these matrimonial puzzles,” she said. “I herewith absolve you from all responsibility with regard to mine. You helped me to get away and that suffices. You are to do nothing more. Now to go back to Gabriel——”
“Hang Gabriel; I’ll attend to him when I look at him professionally by and by. I want to tell you that Edenhope arrived the very day you left. It was a lucky thing for you that you went off that morning.”
“Before the bogey appeared, yes; I suppose it was; but I really don’t know. We were saved an awkward position, certainly. But apart from myself I am very glad that I came here with Captain Gabriel. I am sure that it has been a very good thing for him in more ways than one. There isn’t a single man or woman in this house who has any sympathy with him, and they would all rejoice to see him go; all, perhaps, but his poor wife.”
Jimmy ignored the subject and went back to the matter uppermost in his mind.
“The new Commandant took over charge that very day, and Ufford managed to get away by the night mail.”
“Colonel Ufford was a pleasant man to work under,” she observed. Then she added: “I say, Jimmy! Don’t you think we had better be going back? I want to be there as soon as Captain Gabriel is dressed. I must see him and be ready to answer his questions. If he suspects that he was drugged, he’ll see red; and there’ll be no end of a row.”
“Well! what if there is! I should make a row myself if that sort of thing happened to me.”
“It is all very well for you to talk in that way, but you don’t understand what a row means in a house like this. They all lose their heads and their self-control till one is fairly frightened for the consequences.”
“I daresay; but, dearest, do listen; I want to tell you about Edenhope; he’s changed.”
“Not for the worse! Oh! Jimmy! don’t say that he is a duller dog than he was!” she cried with mock horror.
Jimmy tried to look severe as he took upon himself the part of mentor and attempted to scold her.
“You are a dear; you know you are—usually—but just now you are not behaving very nicely.” Then he changed his tone and added pathetically: “Darling, don’t be naughty!”
“It’s you who are naughty, talking to me in that way when I asked you to be serious! I shall tell the chauffeur to turn round and go back to the house. I’m getting anxious about Captain Gabriel,” she said, making a move to put her threat into execution.
He laid a restraining hand on her arm.
“I am quite serious; more so than you think,” he said impressively. “You must give me another ten minutes. I feel sure Gabriel is still sound asleep and will remain so till midday. I want to tell you more about Edenhope. He asked me where you were and what you were doing.”
“Inquisitive old person! What did you say?”
“I did not tell him that you were one of our staff; or mention the fact that you had taken up nursing; although I am under the impression that he suspected it.”
“Oh! but why didn’t you let him know that I was one of your leading ladies? That was rather unkind of you. It seems as if you were ashamed of me. Have I done anything to forfeit your esteem, Dr. Dumbarton?”
Jimmy looked more puzzled than ever. He did not understand her mood and he distrusted her flippancy. He ignored the question she asked. It was too much like a red herring across the trail. He put on a dignity that was rather a misfit and said severely:
“I was convinced that you would prefer to keep your whereabouts a secret—for reasons best known to yourself.”
“I don’t care two straws whether he knows or whether he remains in ignorance. You may be sure that I shall not trouble to send him my address; but if he finds it out in the ordinary course of events, it does not matter a button, a regimental button!”
“Then, dearest and best of women, why did you run away?”
“Because I did not wish to find myself a second time with him under the same roof. Jimmy, you are a good old friend and I am not going to quarrel with you, but—you bore me stiff when you talk about your Commandant. I’ve no use for him. The mention of his name leaves me cold and uninterested. Don’t ask me why; it is a matter that only concerns him and myself. There! I’ve told you more than I’ve told any one else and given you a peep behind the scenes. I like you too well to wish you to run any risk of burning your fingers at my fire. Tell me about yourself or talk of my patient and I will sit up at attention at once.”
Jimmy’s dreams of a romantic reconciliation melted into thin air. He sighed deeply.
“One thing more I must tell you before I order the chauffeur to drive back,” he said. “Edenhope asked after Captain Gabriel and Nurse Mary; Ufford had mentioned the circumstances connected with you both; and he expressed his intention of coming over here to see Gabriel for himself.”
“And why? Has he no confidence in your judgment?”
“He does not approve of an English lady being left as a resident nurse in a Muhammadan family. He would never have consented to your coming here; and when he has heard of your adventures, I am sure he will insist on your leaving.”
Nurse Mary made no comment, but her lips closed just a little firmer and a sparkle of opposition came into her eye. It was of no use to argue the point with Jimmy, who was inclined to agree with Edenhope on the advisability of her speedy return. It would be best to turn the conversation into safer channels and give it a less serious tone. Seriousness and severity did not suit Jimmy; they sat ill upon him, and she liked him least when he tried to lecture and dictate.
“I wonder—I wonder——” she began, puckering her brow.
“What?” asked Dumbarton, his mind still on the subject they had been discussing. Her words raised a sudden hope that she was beginning to think better of her reckless indifference.
“Whether Captain Gabriel is raising the roof over last night’s events; and whether he is putting half the hareem to the sword.”
Jimmy smothered a word that rhymed with jam.
“Nurse Mary, you are taking everything too flippantly. You have scoffed at the Commandant, and now you are making fun of a situation that has already given evidence that a power for evil is working against Gabriel and his friends. First there is the detention of his wife and interference in their domestic relations. Then there is the doping. That in itself is an ugly incident and may easily lead to something worse.”
She became serious instantly.
“Jimmy! you don’t think they would dare——?” she paused, not liking to put the sudden suspicion roused by what he said, into words.
“These well-to-do natives living in big houses like this will dare anything if their minds are set upon it. They evade police inquiry by pleading gosha and purdanasheen rules; and they are able to cover up all sorts of crimes. This is a model native state, I know; but I don’t care whether it is British or native; the rich man with his rabbit-warren of a house knows how to keep his family affairs to himself and out of the police court. Of course if anything happened to you, it would be another matter altogether.”
“Then you think I am safe. I shall not disappear mysteriously and be seen no more.”
“There would be the deuce of a row if your little finger was hurt. They know that and therein lies your safety as far as your life is concerned. But you might have a nasty fright. You have your own cook and table servant, haven’t you?”
“And ayah; but Judy is not at all happy. She is always worrying me to let her go back to Bangalore.”
“H’m!” grunted Jimmy. “Another sign of the times. I’m not surprised.”
“I don’t see what she has to fear. She is only a servant.”
“She knows more of what is going on behind the scenes than you do; and she is afraid.”
“Of what?” asked Nurse Mary with a touch of impatience.
“Of more—accidents.”
“At any rate, accidents won’t happen to her.”
“They might, if she saw more than the wire-pullers thought good for their own health. Mahmoud, Gabriel’s man, has been removed; and another man belonging more to the house than to Gabriel has been put in his place. Mahmoud’s absence was at once taken advantage of to get the drugging done last night.”
“Mahmoud’s case was a bona fide accident. You can’t accuse the family of keeping a tame tiger to strike down people they want to get rid of.”
Dumbarton turned to another subject.
“How do they feed you here?”
“Splendidly. I have everything I want. They sent me in some mangosteens the other day and strawberries from the gardens near Bangalore. The graft mangoes are like nectarines. Yesterday Cassim put a large box of chocolate on the table. They give me game and fish as well as fowls. I am in the lap of luxury, to use an old expression; I had no idea that natives knew how to make themselves so comfortable.”
Dumbarton murmured something about the sword of Damocles; but as he had previously assured her that she, herself, was safe from molestation, his words carried no weight.
“However well they treat you, I wish you would come back to the Hospital,” he said aloud.
She shook her head with a little laugh.
“I’m far too interested in Captain Gabriel’s affairs to leave him.”
“There are others in whom you ought to be even more interested,” he said severely.
“Take me back, Dr. Dumbarton.”
He leaned forward and gave the order.
Dumbarton was far from satisfied with his tête-à-tête in the car. All through it he felt that he was up against a hardness and want of the softer attributes of a loving woman. She had been sinned against, but not beyond forgiveness. Naturally she was of a loving nature. He had had evidence of that fact in her ministrations to the suffering. Tender, pitiful, gentle and kind she had always been. The fountain was there, but it did not flow in the direction of the man she had married.
In the goodness of his heart he regretted it deeply, and he was disappointed as the prospect of the reconciliation upon which he had set his heart faded. He stole a glance at her as the chauffeur turned the car on the broad unfenced road and plucked up courage to revert to the subject which was uppermost in his mind.
“Then Edenhope may come and see you if he likes?”
“Oh! yes I why not?” she replied in an off-hand manner.
“And you will see him?”
“If I don’t lose my sight between this and then.” She turned and looked at him with a smile that only increased his dissatisfaction. “Buck up, Jimmy! Don’t look so distressed. The Commandant is quite happy. He created the situation himself; why alter it? I am happy in my work; why try to switch me off? Let sleeping dogs lie.”
“You might be happier. I know if you were my wife——”
“Which I am not, and it’s lucky for you; for I should soon be bullying you. When you marry——”
Jimmy protested that the door was closed; he never would marry.
“Oh yes, you will; at least some nice girl will marry you and make you very happy. Now tell me about yourself and the rest. How is Nurse Ida?”
“She’s all right. Her aunt wants her to take a month’s leave. She thinks it would be good for her to see a little of the fun during the season. We shall have much less work to do now that the fighting is over in Palestine and Mesopotamia, and she can be spared even if you don’t come back.”
“Then Mrs. Frome is in Bangalore?”
“She has lately arrived. She came down from Bombay the day you left. Her husband joined her two days later.”
Nurse Mary made a mental note of it. The woman must have travelled by the same train as Maurice.
“Where is she staying?”
He named the Hotel; it was the one in which the Commandant had his rooms.
“Does Mrs. Frome know I am here?”
“I think not. You are Nurse Mary Hope to all Bangalore, including the Commandant.”
“Then you haven’t told Nurse Ida?”
“Of course not!” he replied, looking at her with aggrieved eyes. He was hurt to think that she should believe he would betray her secret.
“Good old Jimmy! You’re the only friend I’ve got in India,” she said impulsively; and her hand closed over his in a warm clasp.
“Dearest!” he cried, his heart bounding again with hope.
“If only I could persuade you——”
“——to put my neck under the foot of an unappreciative dead-head, you would be happy! Jimmy, I’m not taking any, as the soldiers say; I will have nothing to do with changing my line of life. I have found happiness of a kind; it suffices, and I am not disposed to let go my little bone to grasp at a shadow that I know in my innermost heart can never materialize.” Her eyes no longer sought his, and when he looked into them he saw there a moisture that was suspiciously like tears. He had caught her off her guard. It was only momentary. In another second she was smiling with brave gaiety of heart. She turned to him with something like entreaty in her voice. “Don’t upset the happiness that has come to me. Let me be; in pity let me be. Here we are! and there’s Michael Sahib and thousands of retainers waiting to greet you!” she cried, as the car drew up under the portico.
The door was opened and they stepped out to face a circle of inquisitive eyes. Michael came forward and greeted the Sahib from the Hospital with befitting ceremony. He led the Doctor through the rose garden and into the second verandah, where chairs had been placed and a carpet spread.
“If only you had told us that you were going to honour us with a visit, I would have made more suitable preparations,” said Michael with a reproachful voice.
“I am sorry; but it was impossible,” replied Dumbarton, as he seated himself.
“If you will have a chat with Michael Sahib,” said Nurse Mary, “ I will go to Captain Gabriel’s room and see if he is dressed.”
Without waiting for a reply she ran upstairs, and turning into her own room she removed her cloak and put on her headdress and apron. Then going to Gabriel’s room she inquired if he was dressed.
She found him lying back in one of the chairs in his sitting-room. His eyes were heavy and, as she anticipated, he was moody and silent.
“Dr. Dumbarton has arrived; he would like to see you,” she said.
He rose slowly and with an effort.
“Where is he?”
“I have left him in the verandah of the rose garden. Your brother is with him.”
He followed her like a man in a dream. “I was ill last night?” he said looking at her with a question in his eyes.
“Yes; but you have nearly recovered. Did you smoke the hookah after dinner?”
“No; you know I never touch it. I have never had any need of it; but lately I have often thought that it might do me good. We Muhammadans don’t take alcohol, but we have the equivalents. I shall be driven to them before long.”
“Don’t begin. As you have done so long without them, it would be a pity. You took nothing last night to make you sleep?”
“Nothing but the dose you gave me after I had forced open the door of the hareem.”
“That was only a little bromide; you have often had that before.”
“And my wife never came after all the promises you and my brother made.” He looked at her reproachfully as they walked down the central staircase. So then, he had not discovered the true state of the case yet. She was glad and hoped that he would remain in ignorance a little longer.
“To-day I go to the hareem as my fathers went before me with sword in hand to take the woman I want and none other.”
“You will do nothing, Captain Gabriel, until you have had a talk with me,” replied Nurse Mary in her most professional tone; but though she put a brave face upon it, her heart beat at the thought of a repetition with further violence of yesterday’s incidents. As he cast aside the European dress and put on the costume of his race, so he as easily laid aside the teaching of the West with its forbearance and restraint, and adopted the ways of his ancestors.
Dr. Dumbarton, hearing steps, rose from his chair, breaking off his conversation with Michael. He went quickly forward to meet Gabriel and grasped his hand in a warm greeting. The cloud that rested on the invalid’s brow lifted and the greeting was returned heartily. Then followed swift inquiries as to his health.
“You are better,” cried Dumbarton cheerily. “In fact, I might pronounce you quite well. You will be able to go back to duty at the end of a month.”
“I should like to have six months’ ordinary leave, sir,” said Gabriel.
“I daresay that could easily be managed with the Commandant’s recommendation. You would be the better for it, no doubt.”
“My brother is to go to England, he tells me,” remarked Michael, who was listening intently.
“That will be as he pleases. He need not decide just yet; in fact, nothing can be settled till we know what transports are available. He can go perhaps after he has had his leave.” Dumbarton turned to Gabriel. “Nurse Mary tells me that you have been sitting up for a tiger.”
“I saw nothing of it,” replied Gabriel without much animation. “If my servant had not been attacked, I should have said that it was a false alarm.”
Here Michael broke in again.
“It is a very mysterious beast, sir. The villagers believe it to be an incarnation of the Rakshah’s son who was associated with the goddess of the droog. Her ruined temple may still be seen near the top of the hill. That, of course, is only village talk. I take it to be a wounded leopard which has come to seek shelter on the hill.”
“Then why should it attack Mahmoud?” demanded Gabriel, turning suddenly to his brother.
“Because it is suffering from pain,” replied Michael readily. “A dog or a wolf or hyaena under the same circumstances would be inclined to attack anyone who came upon it unexpectedly before it had time to get away.”
“I hope you will shoot the brute,” said Jimmy. “Shall you sit up for it to-night?”
“I don’t know; I have not decided,” he replied, his eyes seeking those of Nurse Mary.
“The machan is ready,” said Michael. “I have been directing the men who are building it this very morning. I was on the hill when the honourable Doctor from the Hospital arrived. But if, brother, you don’t feel inclined to use it, it does not matter.”
He beamed round with his kindly smile that seemed to embrace the whole company present, including the large outer circle of silent watchers looking on from a respectful distance. Then he addressed himself to Dumbarton.
“We are glad, indeed, to have our brother with us; we want to show our pleasure by giving him everything he desires.”
Gabriel’s brow clouded. The one thing he desired had so far been denied him by a chain of overwhelming circumstances which militated against the fulfilment of his wish. He opened his lips as though he would speak, but relapsed into silence.
Dumbarton was looking towards him for a response to this expression of good-will on the part of Michael; but it was not forthcoming. He was inclined to put the Muhammadan officer down as sulky and ungrateful; but recalling Nurse Mary’s story of the last few days, he realized the intense disappointment Gabriel must have sustained; and he could not but acknowledge to himself that the man had good cause to be out of temper.
“You would be glad to have Captain Gabriel here for six months’ leave,” said Dumbarton, addressing Michael again.
“Very glad!” he responded warmly. “At the same time we do not forget the honour, the very great honour, that is proposed for him—to receive what he has merited from the hand of the great Emperor himself. Our sovereign cannot come to Delhi; therefore we must go to England.”
“You would not come, would you, Michael Sahib?” asked Dumbarton.
“I am not sure; we shall see, sir.”
“You have never been away from Mysore State,” said Nurse Mary in surprise. She knew his deeply-rooted conservatism.
“Who can tell, madam, what an old man may do when his heart is moved to it by the younger men,” returned Michael, glancing now and then at Gabriel, who sat silent with his eyes cast down. “If it would give my brother pleasure, I would go, rejoicing to see his good fortune as a father would rejoice.”
“I shall not trouble you,” said Gabriel shortly.
Nurse Mary looked at him with anxiety. His ill-humour boded ill for the household, and she was inclined to be annoyed with him for his want of courtesy towards his elder brother. Anyone could see with half an eye that Michael was doing his best to be amiable and pleasant to all alike. Dumbarton also felt that something was wrong. It stirred his uneasiness once more on Nurse Mary’s behalf, and he wished more heartily that she was well out of it.
“Captain Gabriel, as you have made so good a recovery, I think you can now do without the attendance of an Hospital nurse,” said Dumbarton. “When shall I send the car for Nurse Mary?”
As Gabriel did not reply immediately, his brother answered for him.
“We have been most grateful to this kind English lady for all she has done. We must not make any further claim on her services. Sir, if we may be allowed to pay something——”
“You can’t do that,” said Dumbarton, interrupting him. “She is working under Government, and Government gives all that is necessary.” He turned to her and continued in the same authoritative tone that he had used throughout the interview with the two Muhammadan gentlemen: “Then we may expect you back to-morrow or the next day. I will order the car to come for you about this time in the morning.”
“Captain Gabriel, speak!” cried Nurse Mary impetuously. “Can you do without me?”
“Yes and no!” he replied bluntly. “I wish you to stay—until your room is wanted. You know what I mean.”
“Then I stay,” she said, nodding her head at Gabriel, whose eyes were fixed upon her in entreaty.
Dumbarton looked from one to the other. He disapproved of the appeal she had made. Why could she not leave these people to settle their own affairs without allowing herself to be brought into it to champion one side against the other? She was playing with fire unconsciously.
“You had better come back,” he said to her.
“I will leave this place as soon as my work here is finished. At present it is only half done.”
Dumbarton was wise enough not to press the matter. Her determination to remain was undoubtedly strengthened by her unwillingness to return to the Hospital with her husband there as Commandant, in spite of her expressed indifference. He rose from his chair.
“With your kind permission, Michael Sahib and Captain Gabriel, I will take my leave.”
Gabriel grasped the hand held out.
“Thank you, sir, for letting me keep Nurse Mary a little longer. I will take every care of her, I promise you,” he said in a low voice; and without waiting for a reply he strode away in the direction of his rooms.
Michael came forward with more ceremony, salaaming in the oriental fashion before he shook the outstretched hand of the Doctor Sahib.
“I should like to see Mahmoud, the man who was attacked by the tiger,” said Dumbarton.
There was a slight pause before Michael spoke. Nurse Mary noticed it and said:
“As I bound up the wound I wish the Doctor to see what I have done. One always likes to have one’s work approved of by the master.”
“Certainly! With pleasure! Daood will lead the way and show your honour where the man sleeps. He is better and the wounds are healing well.”
He gave the old peon his orders, and followed by his suite he made a royal exit.
“One of the old nobility, living up to the traditions of the family,” said Dumbarton, as he glanced after him.
“You see for yourself, Jimmy, that I am in good hands. Neither of those men will allow me to come to any harm.”
“H’m! that depends!”
“Where are you going to breakfast?” asked Nurse Mary, as she and Dumbarton followed Daood.
“In the car. I brought a tiffin basket with me.”
“Sorry I can’t ask you to join me in my room upstairs. It is best to do as you propose.”
“Oh! that’s all right! I couldn’t stay anyway, as I must be getting back as quickly as possible. Dearest, it has been such a pleasure to see you,” he continued, his professional manner falling away like a cloak thrown aside.
“Now, Jimmy! you are not to talk like that;” and she held up a warning finger.
“All right, dear love!”
“Seriously! stop fooling!”
“Yes, darling.”
He spoke so submissively and put on such a meek and humble expression of obedience that she could not help laughing in spite of her annoyance.
“Remember that you are still the medical man in charge,” she cautioned him. “You are going to look at Mahmoud professionally. I flatter myself that under my treatment the wound is healing beautifully.”
“A clawing by a tiger is not a thing to mend easily. The skin, as a rule, is too lacerated and torn to join readily. Another danger is blood-poisoning from the brute’s tainted claws, which are very foul. Did you put some stitches in?”
“I ventured to do so. There has been no sign of blood-poisoning. The wound has kept wonderfully clean and nothing has happened to prevent its healing.”
“It’s astonishing how quickly natives get over these kind of accidents. Mahmoud is probably a healthy subject.”
They reached the room where Gabriel’s faithful old servant was lying and together they bent over him. The little den was illuminated by a half-glazed door which stood ajar. Nurse Mary produced an electric torch. She held it while Dumbarton examined the wound. He asked no questions. When he had finished he said:
“A cruel score. It is a piece of sheer good luck that the spine is not injured.”
He asked the old man to tell him how it all happened. Mahmoud was quite ready to go over it again and described every detail. He was walking quietly along the path approaching the image of the Ammah. He heard nothing and passed the plinth turning to go up another flight of rough rock-hewn steps. The tiger sprang out behind him and seemed to come from the edge of the deep hole, the cleft from which no one who had ever fallen into it, returned. Where was the hole? asked Dumbarton. He was told that it was exactly opposite to the image. Promising the old man a speedy recovery and return to his duties the Doctor and Nurse left.
“You did quite right; your treatment was excellent,” said Dumbarton; but he was deep in thought as he spoke and he looked puzzled and perplexed.
They reached the portico where the car was waiting. Several members of the establishment stood about the verandah, ostensibly to watch for their own amusement the starting of the big “devil carriage.” They belonged to Michael and the hareem; and they were sent by their superiors, whose dignity would not allow them to come themselves, to report every detail that occurred. In addition they gave their own opinions on each little incident down to the fact that the English lady walked first and the Doctor Sahib followed. This was another proof of the White Ammah’s power over everyone with whom she came in contact.
“You’re not satisfied!” she cried suddenly.
“I am not,” he replied in a low voice as he glanced round. “Come inside the car a few minutes. I can’t say anything here with all these people round us; I shall be overheard.”
She entered the car, and at his directions it moved about twenty yards away from the house, stopping under a large neem tree that overhung the carriage drive.
“I don’t like it,” was his first remark.
“What don’t you like?” she asked.
“There is more intrigue going on than I thought at first; and the people, who are pulling the strings, are as unscrupulous as orientals always prove themselves to be, when their hearts are set upon accomplishing some design.”
“Don’t go over that ground again, Jimmy. You bore me to death,” she said, losing her patience at his persistence. “I have told you that I am not afraid of the scheming that may or may not be going on; and I shall remain on here a little longer.”
“If you will take my advice, you will clear out of it to-day, to-morrow, it can’t be too soon.”
“No use your talking like that. If you have nothing better to say, I’ll go back to Captain Gabriel. I don’t like leaving him too long.”
She rose to open the door of the car herself; but he took her arm to detain her. She glanced at his troubled face and knew that he was more than usually disturbed. Not once had he offered to make a bet, a sure sign that his mind was occupied with other and more serious matter. The thought brought a smile to her lips. He noted it and concluded that she was laughing at his fears. He grew graver than ever.
“Nurse Mary, we can’t have you taking any risks.”
She released herself from his grip with a little shake, and her movement betrayed irritation.
“Tell us something fresh, Jimmy.”
“If you were nearer we could look after you,” he went on, ignoring her flippant remark. “But at this distance there are difficulties in communicating; as, for instance, in the non-delivery of your letters.”
“By the by, what did Michael Sahib say on the subject?”
“Oh! the usual thing! that he would inquire into it and punish the man if need be. I’ll do him the justice to say that he seemed much vexed.”
“Could he account for it?”
“He put it down to the cooly not liking the extra walking it involved without extra pay in coming up to the Hospital. It makes another mile for him. I shall send an orderly every day for a report which you will please write. Let your man, Cassim, hand it to him. The man will come by train and walk on from the station. I shall run over again in the car in a day or two; and if I am not satisfied “
He paused with his eyes upon her, not quite sure if he might venture to declare his intention.
“Well! You may as well let me know the worst, Dr. Dumbarton. What am I to expect?”
“I shall put the matter into the hands of the Commandant and he will order you back to Hospital.”
She made no reply. The indignant and rebellious protestation he anticipated did not come. After a pause he said rather lamely:
“What will you do if that happens?”
“Why, obey his orders of course! what else could I do?”
“You wouldn’t mind returning?” he asked in astonishment.
“Why should I?” she returned, looking at him with a sparkle of combativeness in her eyes.
“If that is the case, why on earth did you run away?”
“For change of air and scene; rest from work and to give myself time to think.”
“And the result of having had a rest and a change and time to think is——”
“That being in excellent health, I don’t care, as I said before, a brass button whether I return to the Hospital after my work here is done; or whether I get leave and go to the hills as I intended.”
She made another attempt to leave the car, which he again prevented.
“You had better know the whole truth since you are so confoundedly obstinate.”
He spoke with an unusual touch of roughness. She turned and looked at him inclined to be offended.
“The truth about what?—my husband?” she asked just a little breathlessly.
“No! no! I’ve nothing to say about him except that he is one of the best; the very best,” he responded quickly.
Something very like a sigh escaped her and she put another question.
“What is it all about, mysterious man?”
“It concerns Mahmoud and his wound. I didn’t mean to worry you with my suspicion; suspicion, mind; for I can’t speak with any certain knowledge. I can only tell you what I actually know. It is this: that wound was never the work of a tiger or a leopard. The cuts are too clean. They have been made with sharp steel, although how or by whom I cannot imagine. His coat I think you told me was in ribbons.”
“Yes; and I should say that nothing but claws could have torn the stuff into such regular strips,” she objected. “The wounds on his poor back might have been ruled, so parallel are they to each other. If he had been scored with a knife, the wounds could not have been parallel; nor could they have been of such even depth. Then, too, who could have been so cruel as to hurt the old man? He has no enemies.”
Jimmy allowed her to talk without interruption; he was thinking.
“It was one way of getting rid of him,” he said presently. “Mahmoud would never have let his master be drugged. There you have it plain. Some devil is at work, and if I am not mistaken the strings are pulled from the hareem. It is a human tiger that haunts the droog, and Captain Gabriel will never get him by lying up over a bait. Now you understand, perhaps, why I want you to leave.”
“A human tiger! a human tiger!” she repeated to herself softly. “That accounts for something strange I saw this morning.”
She told him of her walk to the river and the glimpse she had of the striped beast that was lying on the rock.
“An extraordinary thing happened. While I was watching it with my glasses the tiger raised a paw to brush a fly from its nose. It seemed to bend its foreleg very awkwardly. It showed no knee; its limb was like a human arm with the elbow distinctly showing.”
“Was the thing striped like a tiger?”
“Exactly; and the skin seemed real enough. It was only the action and movements that were unlike.”
“It is no tiger; it is one of those hareem servants sent out to do the Sahiba’s bidding. There you have it as plainly as it is possible without being in possession of the actual facts. Now will you be convinced that this is not a ‘healthy place,’ as the Tommies say, for any Englishwoman like yourself?”
“I don’t draw the same conclusion. It is healthy enough for me for another week or two. Good-bye, Dr. Dumbarton. I’ve wasted quite enough time this morning. Off you go!”
She jumped down from the car and ran back to the verandah, giving him no time to say more. He looked after her, craning his head out of the window. He caught a glimpse of her as she stood on the top of the verandah steps in her uniform, looking after him. She smiled and waved her hand. He felt that he was dismissed and that she had not only had the last word but also got her way.
“God keep her safe!” was the prayer within his heart as he sped back to Bangalore.
He had plenty to occupy his mind as he discussed the contents of his tiffin basket. Much had happened to upset his cherished dream of bringing husband and wife together.
First and foremost he recognized the fact that, as far as he could judge, her love for her husband had died for want of nutrition. She had got over the heart-break, but she had hardened in the process. He could not pretend to be astonished. It was the natural result of months of neglect; months that were rapidly passing into years.
So dispirited was he, as he contemplated the situation, that he was unable to make a bet with James on the consequences of Nurse Mary’s “d——d obstinacy in refusing to budge,” as he put it.
From the unsatisfactory relations between husband and wife his mind went to the evidence he had of intrigue that was going on around her. He had no real fear that any attempt would be made on her life. Even the boldest intriguer would refrain from bringing an English woman to harm who was sent by the British Government into a native family. What he dreaded was a tragedy in which Gabriel or his wife figured. Such an event would be a shock to which it was unnecessary she should be subjected.
Why couldn’t she leave these Muhammadans to worry out their own affairs? If Gabriel could not control his own establishment, he deserved to suffer. It was a mistake to interfere. As he had pointed out, it was impossible to champion one side against the other without running a grave risk of burning one’s fingers badly.
On one point he was able to come to a decision. After what she had said and her expressed indifference to Edenhope, he, Jimmy, need no longer consider himself bound to secrecy. He not only felt justified in disclosing her address, but he was further convinced that he was doing his duty in letting Edenhope know all that he knew himself. It was too great a responsibility to keep it to himself. He determined to unburden himself before he slept.
He arrived at the Hospital about midday. Edenhope had gone back to the Hotel, leaving word that he should not return till the evening, as he had calls to make.
At a quarter past nine the Commandant walked into the verandah, where Jimmy as usual was waiting. He greeted him cheerily.
“Hallo! Dumbarton! Everything all right in the Hospital and no set-backs? That’s all right. Let’s go round at once and we shall have time for a chat and a smoke afterwards.”
It was not until three-quarters of an hour later that Jimmy was able to give his report on his morning expedition. When he had finished, Edenhope remarked:
“We must have that nurse back. Evidently there are serious family jars; squabbles between the brothers’ wives; and she is best out of it.”
“I believe she wants to apply for leave, sir.”
“She’s a V.A.D., isn’t she? So of course she can have leave. Where does she think of spending her leave?”
“On the hills, I believe.”
“Let her have a form to fill in and I’ll sign it. By the by, what did you say her name was? Nurse Mary what?”
Dumbarton paused as a doubt assailed him. Did Nurse Mary mean all she said this morning? It might have been bravado; words spoken without due consideration. He would be sorry to do anything to bring trouble. He looked at his companion and wished with all his heart that he knew more of the husband’s attitude towards his wife. Would he persecute her? From what he had seen of him, he could not believe it possible that Edenhope would behave otherwise than as a man of good breeding and honour. He took the plunge and said, while he pretended to busy himself over the lighting of another cigarette:
“She is known as Nurse Mary Hope. Her real name is—er—Rosemary Edenhope. She’s your wife, sir.”
For a few seconds Edenhope did not speak. Then he said in a low voice which seemed hardly under control:
“Why didn’t you tell me this when I asked you for her address?”
“I had not her permission then. You did not ask me for her address. Not that I could have given it until I had seen her.”
“Did she send me any message?”
“No, sir.”
“She knows I am here?”
“She saw your name in the Gazette on your arrival at Bombay.”
“And managed to get away before I could reach this!” he responded quickly and with a touch of bitterness.
“The opportunity came. She would have taken it in any case whether you were coming or not; she wanted a change as well as a rest,” said Dumbarton, unconsciously defending her action.
“Knowing that I am here, she does not mean to come back. I take it that that’s how the matter stands.”
“I couldn’t say, sir, what she really intends to do. Perhaps—after she has seen you——” Jimmy hesitated; he wanted to say that it must remain with Edenhope himself whether his wife could be persuaded to come back; and the two of them would have to fix the terms themselves. The terms concerned no one else; but he was not on sufficiently intimate footing with his Commandant to speak what was in his mind.
“Will she see me?” asked Edenhope, his eyes fixed on his companion.
“Nurse Mary will have to return here, I imagine, to pack up before going to the hills. She took very little besides her uniform and riding kit.”
“Her riding kit! is she riding there?”
“Captain Gabriel has mounted her and they ride every afternoon. Apparently it is one of the pleasures of staying there.”
Edenhope remembered Rosemary’s delight in riding. Some of his happiest days in England were spent with her in the saddle. His cigarette was only half smoked, but it had gone out. He threw the end over the balustrade of the verandah with a jerk that sent it far away.
“You say you asked her to leave Gabriel and cut her visit to him short?”
“Yes; but I made no impression. She is determined to see him happily settled with his wife; to defeat the intrigues of the hareem. She believes that she can bring about their reunion in a day or two; and as soon as it is accomplished she will be ready to leave.”
“Is she much interested in this Captain Gabriel?”
“She can think of nothing else.”
There was silence. Edenhope sat like a statue, his eyes fixed, his thoughts busy. Jimmy’s information had given him a shock. It had come so abruptly.
Dumbarton continued to smoke. In the silence that ensued he had time to consider Edenhope’s last question and his own reply. “She can think of nothing else.” On second thoughts this might be slightly misleading, and might do Nurse Mary an injustice, which was the very last thing he desired. It implied that her mind was full of Gabriel’s affairs to the exclusion of all other interests. With the intention of modifying this, he said:
“Nurse Mary is above the average in her profession. Here we have given her some of the worst cases to deal with, and she has always been successful. Ufford had the greatest faith in her——”
“Did he know who she was?” asked Edenhope, interrupting Jimmy’s panegyric.
“No one knew that she was your wife except myself; and I kept her secret faithfully, although she never once asked me to do so. Everybody here takes her for a single woman. She has laid aside her wedding ring.”
“Her servants knew the truth.”
“They kept silence for the very excellent reason that no one ever took the trouble to question them. She threw herself heart and soul into the work and went nowhere. Ufford himself was only interested in her as part of his machinery. She was Nurse Mary to everybody, and nothing else; and she is Nurse Mary still to the establishment. She has taken up Captain Gabriel’s case with her customary enthusiasm. She believes that she knows his needs—peace of mind and domestic happiness—and she is determined he shall have it. Nothing we can say will draw her away from a half-finished job unless, of course, you exercise your authority as Commandant. She must see it through, even if she has to die for it; a wonderful woman, one in a thousand,” concluded Jimmy, lowering his voice until the hearer might very well have imagined that he was talking to himself.
“Good-night!” said Edenhope; and rising he walked swiftly away in the direction of the Hotel.
To his surprise he found Mrs. Frome in the verandah. At his appearance she called him by name. He had not intended to stop and was striding towards his rooms. At the sound of her voice he was obliged to halt.
“Come here, Maurice,” she said in her low, persuasive voice.
“I have some letters to write,” he replied, hesitating.
“Of course you have! It is probably the only quiet hour you get in the day for correspondence. All the same, I want to speak to you. I won’t keep you more than five minutes.”
She moved towards the big central hall. It was empty. The inmates of the Hotel had either gone to bed or they were away spending the evening with friends.
“I want to ask about my niece Ida. In my opinion she is working too hard. She has been at this nursing business for more than a year without a holiday. It is time she had one.”
“Tell her to apply in the usual way,” he said.
She watched him closely. He spoke as usual, but something in his manner excited her curiosity. Although she had taken a seat, he had remained standing, his hand on the back of a small chair, his knee on the seat where he should have placed himself if he had followed the motion of her hand.
“Ida refuses to apply.”
“Then she doesn’t want leave.”
“She must be made to take it; I can’t have her overworking; there is no necessity for it.”
“I must leave the persuading to you, Claudia. I’m afraid we can’t force her into doing what she does not wish; and for the present the work is slack. You need have no fear that she will overdo it. She seems in excellent health and spirits.”
“You have heard her chaffing with Dr. Dumbarton?”
“Several times; they are the best of friends and he’s a very good fellow. Sorry I can’t help you further,” he said releasing the chair and preparing to move on.
“Maurice!” she cried. “There is one thing more. Have you had any news of your wife?” Her eyes searched his face.
“Yes,” he replied after a slight pause; the question displeased him.
“She is well, I hope?”
“Very well,” he answered shortly and turning away as if the conversation had come to an end.
Mrs. Frome rose from her chair and came close to him. She slipped her hand within his arm and looked into his eyes.
“Poor old boy! you are worried. You don’t like the news you have heard. Please say nothing. I only want to give you my sympathy and say how much, how very much, I feel for you.”
Her voice again purred over him and reminded him of a friendly cat. He felt that he was doing her an injustice in allowing himself to think of one of the feline species.
“You are very kind as usual, Claudia,” he said; but though his words were all that they should have been, the tone in which they were spoken did not please her.
“What is she doing?” she asked.
“Nursing,—her old employment.”
“Is she at an hospital?”
“No—not now; she is with a private patient.”
“And you think of disturbing the arrangement and of asking her to rejoin you? Maurice! don’t! Let her stay there. She will only prove a stumbling-block in your path if you ask her to enter your life again.”
“I don’t know,” he said in perplexity.
“There! the very thought of her brings worry. I could see it in your face the moment you came in. You were contented and happy up to to-night. Now your peace of mind is gone. You like your work; you have your friends. Let well alone and don’t go seeking trouble for yourself.”
“But what if she should wish——”
“Need you, after this long separation, inquire what she wishes? She will tell you herself if she desires any change. Why upset her present arrangements? She is probably leading a useful life in the sphere she has chosen and it is one that suits her and satisfies her. If she joins you it may not be satisfying either to you or to hey,”
He did not reply; on the other hand, he made no attempt to break away.
“Maurice!” she breathed nearer to his ear. “Maurice! do you honestly want your wife?”
With a firm abrupt movement he freed himself.
“God alone knows!” he said under his breath, as he strode away in the direction of his rooms.
Claudia looked after him with a shade of annoyance on her fine, regular features.
“What fools men are! I can’t see him as a married man; he is cut out for a bachelor; one of those pleasant men who make life tolerable for us in India. I am not going to give him up to that impossible girl without a struggle. Unless I am much mistaken, she will make a better nurse than wife. She had better remain a nurse.”
The smile as well as the sparkling brightness died out of Nurse Mary’s face as the car passed through the big gateway and disappeared behind the wall of the grounds. She could watch its progress along the road by the cloud of dust it raised. The “honk! honk!” of the horn fell on her ear for some seconds after all signs of the car had vanished.
She felt rather like a schoolgirl who had just been left at school by her best friend and guardian. The school consisted of her own thoughts and not of her work. Jimmy’s words had raised a tumult in her mind. She had not had time to think out the situation nor decide on any definite course of action.
When she departed from Bangalore, she was under the impression that she had only to escape from personal contact with her husband to avoid a disturbance in the even current of her life. If she kept “out of sight,” she would continue to be “out of mind” as far as he was concerned. There would then be no danger of her being invited or even perhaps commanded to submit to a repetition of her nightmare of a honeymoon.
She was not inclined to intrigue for secrecy and put herself and her friends in a false position by asking them to observe secrecy when it might involve a suppression of the truth. At the same time she was thankful to all who would refrain from talking of her concerns. No one in the Hospital but Dumbarton knew that she was a married woman, for she wore no wedding ring and was never styled otherwise than as Nurse Mary Hope.
As she talked with Jimmy she was swayed by changing moods. At first she was inclined to be her natural warm-hearted self; but the more she considered the circumstances in which she was placed, the more she hardened, passing from the soft and gentle to the defensive.
She had been determined not to see her husband if she could help it. She was afraid of herself; afraid lest she should soften towards him and bring about the very situation she dreaded. An appeal from him, amounting to a demand that she should take up her position as his wife under the old conditions that existed at Coonoor, would put her to the pain of refusing what he might consider a call of duty, but which she knew would only revive the old heart-breaking misery.
The hardening process had strengthened her and she found herself at the present moment quite ready to face him and let him discover for himself that she was indifferent; that anything he did now would not affect her. She could hold her own; take a strong line and refuse to put her neck under a matrimonial yoke such as he seemed to require. She would like him to understand that she did not care a brass button, as she herself had put it to Jimmy, whether they met or whether they avoided each other. She was most anxious now to impress on Edenhope the fact that he was nothing to her.
She had forgiven him. Oh! yes! She reassured herself on that point. She had forgiven him for being a bear and a brute to her; for being unlovable and unworthy of any woman’s consideration.
What puzzled her most, as she thought it over, was the question why she had not discovered his true character before she made this unfortunate marriage. However, there it was! She was dealing with plain facts that could not be denied, as a plain, straightforward woman who had thrown aside romance and tom the veil of the inexperienced girl from her eyes.
It was extremely unlikely, she thought, as she remembered his departure from Coonoor, that he would seek an interview. If he came over officially, she would know how to meet him. He made it clear to her that he wished never to see her again. No tragedy, if you please! No secret sorrow business. No reproachful look! Above all, no love-lorn attitude! He should find her the professional nurse; the cheerful attentive Hospital attendant whose sole object in life at the moment was the restoration of the patient’s health.
When Jimmy had first spoken of her possible return to Bangalore, it had been on the tip of her tongue to say that nothing on earth would induce her to go back. But before he left she had been able to put on her cloak of indifference, and defy fate to do its worst; she had succeeded in convincing him that she did not care where she went. If it suited her to return to duty at the Hospital and work under the new Commandant, she would do so. It must be for her husband to make a move and get himself transferred it he found the position intolerable.
She would have laughed to scorn the idea that jealousy had anything to do with her feelings. At the same time the process of hardening quickened at the mention of Mrs. Frome’s name.
“She is welcome to him! She can have him as one of her puppy-dogs if she likes! I have no use for a deadhead of his jât!” she said to herself, as she walked slowly up the long flight of stairs.
In spite of her indifference, she was still unable to recall the events of the past without little flames of anger at the manner in which he had treated her. They darted through her now and then, and they left her with shining eyes that looked as though the tears were not far off. Even as she went upstairs her eyes smarted. She rubbed them angrily.
“What a fool I am! This is self-pity, which is at the bottom of most of the misery of this world. Now, Nurse Mary!” she continued, addressing herself severely, “you have got your work cut out for you if you don’t want murder done in the hareem. You have no time to think of your own affairs. Captain Gabriel is still half asleep. In another twelve hours he will be wide awake and very much alive to the insult and injury inflicted upon him by those silly women behind the purdah. It will be your business, my dear, to see that no real mischief is done; so buck up and prepare for the worst.”
She turned into her room and found Cassim there busy with a duster. The old man wore a grave expression as he went mechanically through his duties. He glanced at his mistress more than once and lingered over his work. His old-fashioned respect as a servant forbade him to speak until she spoke.
“Has Captain Gabriel asked for me?” she inquired presently.
“No, ma’am; he is sitting in his room with his eyes shut.”
“Is my breakfast ready? yes? Please bring it in.” Then, as he was about to depart to do her bidding, she called him back suddenly. “And Cassim! make a double quantity of coffee and boil four eggs instead of two. Also I shall want more toast.”
He stood regarding her with a puzzled look.
“Doctor Sahib coming back to breakfast?” he asked. As she shook her head, he continued: “Missus going to Bangalore soon?”
“Not till Captain Gabriel is quite well again.”
“Best not to stay here much longer,” the old man ventured to say. “Plenty bobbery making those people in the hareem. Not good people.”
She looked at him as though she would read what was in his mind.
“Come here, Cassim. I want to ask you something.” She lowered her voice as he stood by her chair. “Why are they behaving like this?” Then, as he remained silent, she continued: “You know—I suppose the whole house knows—what happened last night?”
“Very bad business that,” was his reply, as he shook his head and glanced furtively in the direction of the verandah as though he feared some one might be listening.
“Tell me, why was it done?”
“I am only a poor man; I don’t know anything; but the servants saying——” Again he glanced this way and that, his ears alert and his eyes everywhere.
“Well? what do they say?” she asked in a whisper.
“They say that as long as the big master, the Shahzada, and the Beebee stay in this house, our young master will never have a son.”
“And why should that be?”
“Because of——” The words died on his lips. A Muhammadan woman showed herself in the bedroom doorway.
She was the servant who worked under Judy’s directions, bringing water for the bathroom and sweeping out the rooms.
“What do you want?” asked Nurse Mary in some annoyance at the intrusion.
“Most noble lady,” said the woman in Hindustani, “the doors by which I depart must be barred after me. I have finished my work in the rooms of the gracious giver of gifts and it is time I returned to my family. Later when the sun begins to go down I come again to do the bidding of the daughter of the sun.”
Nurse Mary said to Cassim in English:
“Why isn’t Judy here to superintend this sweeper woman?”
“The ayah has gone, ma’am. The driver of the Doctor’s car brought news that her mother is ill and calls for her. She went away walking to the station with the market cooly.”
“She has gone without leave and without her wages. She has no business to go in this manner; she should have given me proper notice.”
“Judy plenty frightened. Village men saying that tiger come again. This time near river. Footmarks in mud. Very bad tiger.”
Cassim shook his head and looked serious.
“Has it clawed any one again?”
“No, ma’am. This very clever devil tiger; waiting for some one. Not wanting common village people. Missus, going home soon?”
The pleading expression of his eyes touched her.
“Do you want to go too, like Judy?” she asked. “Because if so, go!”
“I never leaving missus. I promise master that I stay always. If tiger catch missus, then tiger catch this poor slave too. But it would be best to go back to Bangalore now master has come to Hospital. Then missus will be quite safe.”
“And leave Captain Gabriel before he is properly cured! English nurses are like sepoys: they never run away from their duties.”
Cassim smiled at the implied compliment to himself; but he was not satisfied and he wished his master would come and take a hand in the matter.
“Allah is good and his Prophet is great! If it is written that your Honour should feel the claws—which being a devil’s claws are sharper than knives—then it must be,” he replied with the fatalism of his race. “I go to bar the door and see that the sweeper woman has departed.”
Nurse Mary was more annoyed than she cared to admit. Mahmoud had been removed by injury; Judy had been frightened away. She could not help wondering if any means would be found to get rid of the faithful Cassim.
She went to Gabriel’s sitting-room and found him seated in his chair near one of the windows. He rose as she entered and looked at her with heavy blood-shot eyes.
The servant was laying the cloth for the morning meal. He understood his work and moved unobtrusively and noiselessly.
“I want you to come and have breakfast with me in my room,” she said, speaking quickly in English which the new man did not comprehend.
“Oh! why?” he asked; then, as she did not reply, he seemed to catch her meaning. “Yes; why not! It won’t be the first time you have given me my breakfast, Nurse Mary. You think——?”
She stopped him with a gesture.
“I daren’t speak; I daren’t think—even in English. I’m so afraid of being overheard,” she answered, lowering her voice almost to a whisper.
Busy as he was with his duties, the servant found time to keep his eyes on the White Ammah. Was she muttering spells? He did not understand the language she used; but like an animal he comprehended voice tones; she was ordering the young master to do or not to do something, and he was reluctant to obey. The witch woman was exercising her powers of magic. No wonder the ayah had left her this morning. The woman had promised to return; but he knew better than to believe in the return of the Hindu servant of the white woman. She would never come back. He watched his young master walk out of the room behind the nurse with the obedience of a child.
“May Allah preserve him! He is good to me; he treats me better than I am treated downstairs. It is bad for a house to have two masters. There are too many pitfalls in it for those who serve.”
Captain Gabriel took his place at the table in Nurse Mary’s sitting-room. She fell at once into her old ways, as if they were still in Hospital and he was sitting up in bed instead of at the table. Being a Muhammadan he was not hampered by caste rules, and she was able to butter his toast and open an egg for him. She poured out his coffee, looking at Cassim.
“You made this yourself?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and brought it straight from our kitchen.” He laid stress on the word “our.”
“And what about the milk?”
“I saw it drawn from the cow and carried it up myself. Just now I have heated it on the charcoal in the verandah.”
She gave Gabriel his coffee.
“You are not eating,” she said. “This won’t do; you must make a good breakfast.”
“You are very kind, Nurse Mary; I seem to have no appetite.”
“All the same you must eat.”
He drank the coffee and passed his cup to her to be refilled.
“I am very thirsty; I have had no coffee this morning; it was not to my mind. I believe I had a bad night. What happened? do you know?”
She made a sign for silence; then she said in a loud voice:
“Do you think you will be able to ride this afternoon?”
“I should like it of all things. It may clear away my headache.”
“I, too, shall enjoy a good gallop. How long will this beautiful weather last?”
“Another three or four weeks. We may have a few showers. The ryots are hard at work getting in the seed. Nurse Mary, do tell me——”
A tablespoon fell on the floor with a ring and she called Cassim to pick it up. As he did so she knocked over a cup in its saucer; she rose hastily and came to his side. Under pretence of moving his plate, she said in his ear:
“Be careful; some one listens outside.” Then she added in louder tones: “Let me open this second egg. No! sure you have had enough?” Again she whispered, “I’ll tell you everything this afternoon.”
It seemed as if Cassim understood something of what she wanted. Never had she known him to make such a clatter with the plates which he was bringing for the fruit. Gabriel glanced up at her with a look of impatient inquiry.
“Please wait; there is so much to tell,” she managed to say.
“I shall enjoy a ride,” she continued in her ordinary voice. “I hope Michael Sahib will let me have the same horse.”
Here Cassim put down two or three plates that he had aimlessly taken up and made a salaam to some invisible person in the verandah.
“Who is there, Cassim?” she asked.
“It is the Shahzada, himself, ma’am.”
Michael advanced to the open doorway in no way abashed at being discovered. Nurse Mary greeted him again, although they had already met that morning. She was careful to put on a pleasant smile, but she was far from feeling in a good temper. This espionage was becoming more and more intolerable.
“Good morning, Michael Sahib; won’t you come in? Captain Gabriel is having breakfast with me.”
Michael was full of apologies for disturbing them.
“I did not intend that you should see me or even know that I was there. I am content to wait until you are free to be spoken with. Now, please return to your breakfast,” he said with an engaging smile and perfect self-complacency, as she came out into the verandah. “Pay no attention to me.”
Michael’s effrontery was amusing; but it was a little embarrassing. He seemed so innocent of any breach of good manners; so blandly simple and childlike. She could not be angry; for it was almost impossible to believe that he had deliberately sneaked up to the terrace by an outside staircase for the purpose of eavesdropping. Yet he had undoubtedly made the most of his opportunities.
Again she pressed him to come inside the room and sit down; but he raised his hands in protest against an action that appeared from his point of view to be a great liberty. He glanced at his brother, who was still seated at the table, as though he thought he ought to apologize for the liberty he was taking in breakfasting there.
In less than five minutes Gabriel rose and joined Michael in the verandah. They went to the younger brother’s room.
“What did the Doctor say about you, brother? Does he think that you are better?” asked Michael.
“He was satisfied.”
“Did he not suggest that you would perhaps be more comfortable and happier if you returned to the Hospital?”
“That would be impossible since I am no longer an invalid. You heard him say that I could do now without the services of a nurse.”
“She refused to go; she must think very highly of you, brother.”
“I am proud to have her friendship. May Allah reward her! she has been very good to me.”
“I heard her say she would ride with you this afternoon. I will order the horses at the usual time. We must do all we can to please her. You look tired, my brother.”
“I slept badly,” returned Gabriel shortly.
“Your wife came as was promised? You have nothing to complain of? If you have, let me speak to my wife, who will see to it.”
“I have nothing to complain of.”
Michael shot a keen glance at his brother. He had learned in the hareem what had happened and was prepared for an outbreak on the part of Gabriel. He was puzzled at his quiet, self-contained manner. The thought suddenly occurred to him that perhaps, after all, Gabriel had not succumbed to the little dose administered in the pillau.
“You found your wife well and happy; delighted, of course, to meet you again, and thinking herself the most fortunate woman in the world?”
“That was so,” replied Gabriel listlessly.
“Then with your permission I will take my leave. It is most satisfactory to me to know that all was well. May Allah grant you your heart’s desire!”
Again he scrutinized his brother closely, convinced that something was being held back. The thought disquieted him, and when he passed Nurse Mary’s door he stopped and coughed gently. She understood the signal and came out at once.
“My brother tells me that he had a bad night,” he said.
“Too much excitement during the afternoon,” replied Nurse Mary in her professional manner. “We will hope that it will not occur again.”
“Did you see his wife?”
“Yes; I barred the door after she left him.”
“He was very tired and drowsy, I believe,” remarked Michael, trying in vain to gain a little information from Nurse Mary’s impassive face.
“Did he say so? He might have been sleepy; but we of the Hospital have many remedies for drowsiness.”
“Is that so? My wife would be glad indeed to know what medicines you use,” he said, his curiosity roused beyond control.
“Ah! we must not tell our secrets, Michael Sahib! The Commandant would drive us out if we did.”
“I feared lest something should happen in the end to disappoint my brother. I am glad it was otherwise.”
Then Michael did not know all. The young wife had kept her secret as Nurse Mary had advised and had admitted nothing.
“Captain Gabriel did not complain of anything else but a headache?” she observed without any apparent interest in his reply.
“He made no complaint at all; but he does not seem in good spirits, not as—as——”
“He will be quite well in a day or two,” she replied calmly. “I am afraid you are very anxious; but I assure you there is no necessity for it. All will be well.”
“All will be as Allah wills,” he said as he left her with the usual profound salaam.
Nurse Mary looked after his portly figure. She was puzzled.
“It’s his wife who is pulling the strings, and he is just a pawn in the game,” she said to herself, as she returned to her own room.
It was known in the hareem that the Sahib and the English lady were going to ride that afternoon. Some time before the hour named for the horses to be brought an excited crowd of hidden spectators gathered in the corridors and at the screened windows. The sight of the riders never palled. It was as fresh and wonderful as on the first day of their appearance. As the crowd waited for them the women gossiped and talked.
“It is useless for the Beebee to fight against fate,” remarked a tall girl, a relative of the house. She was looking over the shoulder of a smaller woman, also a family connection. “The White Ammah is stronger than the Beebee.”
The other asked a question, putting it very plainly.
“It is not known,” was the reply. “The Sahiba Nourma says nothing. How many times—verily twenty or more—has the Beebee inquired. The answer is always the same. ‘The White Ammah is strong. She has laid silence upon me. I dare not speak or she will kill me!’”
“And the Beebee, what says she?”
“Anger flies into her blood as the red colour of the sun at his rising flies through the clouds. She talks of hanging by the wrists; of a heavy stone bound upon her back, and many other punishments of the hareem by which obstinate silence may be broken; but her threats and promises bring nothing more than a repetition of those words. ‘She has laid silence on me. I must not speak.’”
“The Beebee would not dare!” cried the smaller woman.
“You forget that it is the young Sahib’s wife!”
“She will dare anything for the sake of the child.”
“Was the sleeping medicine given last night?”
“Without doubt it was given last night in the food as ordered. But the white witch has spells that are stronger than any spells we of the hareem can make. If the Sahib were even at the point of death, she could call him back.”
The other made a gesture of agreement and said:
“It is useless to fight against a greater power than one possesses oneself. Only a madman tries to stop an elephant on the road with his arm. Moreover, it angers.”
“If the White Ammah is angry, then we shall all suffer. She will bring cholera upon us, or fever, or fire, or some calamity. We shall have no peace as long as she stays.”
“Or as long as the Beebee opposes her will,” amended the other.
“Let the young Shahzada have his desire, I say,” said the tall girl, with a touch of the inbred imperiousness of the nobly born in the East.
“But if it brings trouble, what then?” replied the other, who was of a less enterprising nature and naturally more timid.
“There are ways by which the trouble may be removed.”
The speaker let her eyes dwell on her companion with a boldness that showed an inheritance of the same intrepid, unscrupulous spirit that swayed the Beebee herself.
“Not without danger to life; and the Sahiba Nourma must live or a greater trouble will fall upon us of the Beebee’s family.”
“Why should she live if it be good for the Shahzada’s house that she should die?”
“Oh! daughter of a bat! where should we be if the Beebee were turned out? The young Sahib would take another wife with ceremonies that would make her child preferred before the Beebee’s little son. The marriage would be made in Hyderabad or Mysore; and what power has the Beebee outside the hareem? She is like the thorn bush in the jungle; she can only scratch and wound where she grows.”
Gabriel and Nurse Mary passed through the rose garden. They were similarly dressed in khaki. Nurse Mary’s tunic came below the knee; his was slightly shorter. They were not unlike in figure. He was bigger and broader; but owing to his illness he was still spare and slight in build, while she was well filled out, a strong, upstanding Englishwoman above the medium height.
As she walked Nurse Mary made a remark. She wondered aloud how many hidden eyes were regarding them as they passed by. She suggested that perhaps Gabriel’s wife was looking down at him.
He stopped instantly in his walk. Plucking a rose, he put it to his lips. Then with a glance at the venetianed windows, he tossed the rose towards the upper story which he knew his wife occupied. The flower fell short, of course, and was lost among the bushy plants. A gardener marked it down and later retrieved it. Before sundown the rose was in Nourma’s bosom and the man the richer by a rupee.
“Now the white witch is a man!” said the smaller woman, speaking with awe of the miraculous change of sex. The other tossed her head with superior knowledge.
“She is always a man, even though at times she looks like a woman. The ayah who served her has run away; she was frightened. A man named Cassim is her servant now. I had it from the sweeper woman. He was once a sepoy and his son is in his old regiment.”
“Always a man! impossible! She is only a man when she rides.”
“If that is so, why does the young Sahib never throw any glances of love at her? There!” she cried with intense excitement. “See! Lo! her spells are at work even now. He gathers a rose at her bidding! She tells him that his wife watches from the upper middle window. Look! he smiles! he kisses the flower and he throws it to her. It flew into the window even as I watched. This will make the Beebee more angry than ever!”
“Where is the Beebee?”
“In the lower story, the room with the two windows, one looking on to the rose garden and the other out to the front of the portico. The white witch can see through walls and shutters. Nothing is hidden from her; and she can take any form she pleases.”
“Man or woman, her power over the Sahib is great. Only this morning she compelled him to eat with her. His food was prepared in his room, where he sits at a table like a European, a habit he has learned in foreign countries. Before he could seat himself and eat, the White Ammah came in and led him to her own room. It was told to the Shahzada that his brother took breakfast with the English lady at her table. He would not believe it, but went to see for himself and he found that it was so.”
“How do you know?” inquired the tall girl with curiosity that was sceptical.
“I heard the Shahzada tell the Beebee.”
“Did they speak of it before you?” she inquired sharply and with a touch of scorn implying that such a thing was hardly credible.
“They knew not that I was present. It was early this afternoon. I was hidden under the cushions and rugs of the divan. They had been thrown upon the floor after the Beebee had risen from her midday sleep. I am small and by curling my body round like a dog it takes but a little space to hide me.”
“What more did the Shahzada say?”
“When the Beebee spoke angrily he tried to soothe her, promising her that all would go well. He begged her to keep quiet. ‘The English nurse must remain,’ he said. ‘She has been sent by the British Government. Trouble will fall upon us if her little finger is so much as scratched. You will do nothing to bring mischief upon her.’ These and many more words of warning were spoken.”
“And what said the Beebee?”
“She raged with fury and called him the son of a mouse; a man with no courage; no stronger than a stalk of grass. ‘Oh! man of fear! the son of a hen! are we to continue to live in this uncertainty? If a carriage breaks down while your brother and the nurse ride together in it, and both are hurt, are we to be blamed for it? If a tiger with claws sharper than swords——’ The Shahzada stopped her in sudden anger. He raised his hand and I trembled, for I thought he would have struck her. ‘I say that no harm shall happen to her while she is here. We have nothing to fear from her presence.’ The Beebee looked at him in amazement. ‘Nothing to fear!’ she cried scornfully. ‘Has she not protected him again and again? And last night!’ ‘What of last night?’ he asked. ‘The girl will not tell what happened; but it is believed that the nurse—may Satan have her for his own!—gave medicine that broke his sleep——’ She lowered her voice and I could not catch the rest.”
“What more was said?”
“They spoke in whispers and I could not hear. I was under the rug and the cushions and they deafened my ears. Allah be praised! they went away very soon and the Beebee did not return to the divan. I was terrified lest she should come back. She would have beaten me with her own hand had she found me there, even though I am her cousin.”
“You deserved it!” laughed the other. “It would have taught you to hide more carefully next time. Always choose a place where you can slip away at once if some one approaches.”
Nurse Mary was soon in the saddle. She had the same mount, a pretty little Arab mare that had always been brought for her. Gabriel’s horse was a dark iron-grey Persian.
“Where is the horse I rode yesterday?” he asked.
“It has a shoe loose, Sahib,” replied the syce.
They cantered away towards the big river across some open waste land that was stony and difficult to irrigate. Nurse Mary pulled up into a walk.
“Rather rough going,” she said. “We’ll take it more quietly; then I shall be able to tell you about the Doctor’s visit.”
He drew his horse closer to hers. She noted the action and laughed.
“No need to take precautions here,” she said. “What a relief it is to know that we can speak without listeners; at least it is to me; I don’t like this constant spying and can’t get used to it.”
“Ah! you begin to feel the restriction, do you? No wonder in a house like mine the heads of the family speak little and hide the truth. Well! what did Dr. Dumbarton say?”
“Your man Mahmoud was not injured by a tiger. The wounds have been made by some kind of a knife with a very sharp edge.”
Gabriel made no comment on this startling bit of information. Nurse Mary looked at him, endeavouring to read what was in his mind
“You don’t seem surprised at my bit of news,” she remarked.
“Treachery in a household like mine is not surprising. It would be more astonishing if there was none.”
He offered no explanation, but asked what the Doctor thought of the old man.
“Doctor Dumbarton was quite satisfied with my treatment of the ‘wound and thinks that he will make a good recovery. He won’t be able to return to duty just yet. How do you think the wound was caused, Captain Gabriel?”
He did not answer immediately. He might have hesitated in his explanation, as it must necessarily involve some one of his household who, if not the actual perpetrator of the deed, must have been the instigator.
“You need not fear to be candid with me,” she added.
“It was done with a deadly instrument we call the Mahratta claws. It is a small weapon made with four linked rings that fit over the four fingers of the hand. To each ring is attached a steel knife shaped like a tiger’s claw and sharpened as fine as a razor. With the hand closed the claws are completely hidden; although the rings are visible to eyes that can recognize them.”
“Then the tiger that has mauled your man is human?”
“I have suspected it ever since Mahmoud was struck down.”
“Yet you intend to sit up for the beast?”
“And shoot him if he gives me the chance.”
They took a short canter where the grass was soft for the horses and drew up again as they came to rocky ground.
“Captain Gabriel! I saw the tiger this morning,” said Nurse Mary, as she pulled her horse into a walk.
“Did you? “ he exclaimed, his interest aroused as well as his curiosity. “Tell me where; was it on the droog?”
She described her walk by the river; the vision on the rock, and the very human action of the tiger in brushing away the fly from its nose.
“I wish I had been with you and had my rifle. It would not have left the rock alive!”
“But supposing you had killed a man!”
He smiled grimly as he replied:
“It wouldn’t be the first. You mustn’t forget that I have been a soldier on active service. The man would only get his deserts. He is out to wound and kill; and I am out to wipe such beasts off the face of the earth,”
“Who is it?” asked Nurse Mary.
“Impossible to say.”
“I can guess why Mahmoud was attacked, although it was a cruel deed for such a purpose. It was to remove him and make room for another servant. I think the strings are being pulled from the hareem.”
“That’s the place where all mischief has its origin,” said Gabriel, a frown gathering over his eyes.
“Your horse is not going comfortably; it is uneasy about something,” she said, as she noted a tossing of the head and a dragging at the rein.
He touched it with his whip and it started forward, breaking into a heavy trot. Her horse followed. Again they pulled up as Gabriel was desirous to hear more; and to ask a question. He turned in his saddle and looked at her.
“Nurse Mary, tell me the truth. I was drugged last night?”
“I am afraid you were,” she reluctantly admitted. “But no harm has been done. Now about this tiger. I think we must try and clear up the mystery. I have been thinking it over and have a little plan in my head by which we may be able to trap the brute without going to the extreme of killing him.”
Her effort to divert his attention failed; his mind was still on the events of last night.
“Did my wife come as she promised?” he asked, tugging at the reins in a vain endeavour to persuade his horse to walk easily.
“There is certainly something wrong with the grey,” she said. “Yes; she came.”
“And found me insensible?”
“I am sorry to say that such was the case.”
“What did she do?”
“She called me, for she was frightened as well as distressed. At first she helped me to undo the mischief the opium had done; but when I opened the windows to give you air, she left. I asked her to say nothing about it in the hareem.”
“I shall have something to say myself in the hareem this evening,” responded Gabriel.
“Your horse is not well. I think we had better turn back,” said Nurse Mary, as she watched the uneasy gait of the Persian; but Gabriel had no thought for the suffering animal. His face darkened with anger and his lips muttered curses on the people who had wronged him. He struck the horse with his riding-whip. It sprang into the air like some maddened creature. He was too good a rider to be unseated, even though he was taken unawares. It bounded a few paces forward with its legs bent beneath it. Again he hit it and again it shot ahead. Suddenly it crumpled up under him and crashed down head foremost.
Gabriel fell heavily, fortunately clearing the stirrups, but his head came in contact with the stony ground. To Nurse Mary’s horror she saw him lying motionless, perilously near the flying hoofs of the prostrate horse.
In another second she was out of her saddle. She caught him by the arms and drew him further from the struggling animal that was now in the throes of agonizing pain. Her own horse slipped its rein from her arm and galloped away neighing with fright.
The iron grey rolled over towards Gabriel; lifted itself on to its forelegs as though it would rise. Another spasm brought it to the ground again.
She dragged at Gabriel’s inert body, thanking her lucky stars that her Hospital training had given her some knowledge of how to move a helpless man. She was not satisfied till she had placed herself and her companion well out of reach of those four iron-shod feet, now spasmodically pawing the air, now spread out on the ground as the poor creature rolled over in its paroxysms and tried to stand up.
Occasionally the horse gave a moaning cry. At the sound her own horse turned in its gallop and came back snorting to look with wild eyes at the suffering of its stable companion. Then with the cruel instinct of the healthy animal towards the sick, it began to kick at the horse on the ground.
Nurse Mary cracked her whip and shouted at it. It gazed at her and she began to fear lest it should treat the unconscious rider in the same way. A blow from its heels would have dashed out Gabriel’s brains. She picked up stones and threw them at it; an action it understood even better than the cracking of the whip.
The iron grey was quiet now. Its legs were outstretched stiffly as it lay on its side breathing out its life in long-drawn gasps. The loose horse, after circling in a mad gallop, went off towards the spot on the horizon where its stable was to be found.
Nurse Mary turned her attention to Gabriel. She felt for a broken limb. To her great relief she could find none. He seemed to be simply stunned. She glanced round in search of water, but could see none. They were some distance from the irrigated land, having purposely chosen this line of country for their ride as being free from water-courses and paddy bunds.
In the absence of all first-aid appliances she set herself to do what she could without them. In ten minutes Gabriel opened his eyes.
“Where am I? Is that you, Nurse Mary?”
He looked round in a confused manner and tried to rise; made a grimace and dropped down again.
“Where are you hurt?” she asked, passing her hand over his shoulder and arm. “No collar-bone broken—no; nor any dislocation that I can find.”
“I’m bruised a bit; nothing worse, I fancy,” he said. “If you will lend me a hand, I will sit up. Allah be praised that it was no worse.”
“You’re very lucky not to have a bone broken,” she said, looking at him with concern.
His eyes were on the horse lying at a little distance. It was still alive, but its breath came in unequal intervals and it was not far from its end.
“Help me on to my feet. I want to look at it.”
She did as he asked and supported him to the horse.
“Poor brute!” he said, as he stood stiffly by its side watching the glazing of its eyes.
“What is the matter with it?” asked Nurse Mary. “Is it colic?”
“No; poison.”
At sunrise Captain Gabriel’s servant stood by his master’s bedside with a tray on which was coffee and toast.
He placed a teapoy within reach, put down the tray and threw up the mosquito curtain. Gabriel lifted himself on his pillows in an attempt to rise; but he fell back immediately with a little exclamation.
“Ough! that hurts!” he cried. “Take that coffee away; I don’t want any this morning.”
A little later Nurse Mary knocked at the door. She carried a bottle of embrocation in her hand.
“Come in! come in, Nurse Mary!” said Gabriel, as he caught sight of her. “I’m a wreck this morning. My fall has shaken me up.”
“You’ll be better when I have rubbed you. I knew this would be wanted,” she replied, holding up the bottle.
She set to work at once, making the servant assist. One elbow was a little swollen and needed a cold-water bandage. At the end of an hour’s hard work she had her patient wrapped in his dressing-gown and out of bed. Mahmoud’s understudy watched his master with amazed eyes. It seemed nothing less than magic, the magic of the white witch; who with her spells and her bottle of medicine was drawing out the pain and making the limbs supple again.
“Now get up and walk to your easy-chair by the window,” she commanded, and the servant caught his breath in astonishment as the patient obeyed her orders.
“That’s better, oh! ever so much better!” he said, as he threw his arms up and twisted his head this way and that. “How wonderful you are, nurse!”
“The cure is only half completed. You must have a hot bath with ammonia in it.”
She ordered the man to prepare it at once.
“And when you are dressed you shall come and have breakfast with me as you did yesterday. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I like it! After living in the officers’ mess, I miss their company. I am sure I eat less when I have to take my meals alone.”
She left him to bathe and dress and returned to her room.
“No chance of a walk this morning,” she said to herself. “But why shouldn’t I have a pleasant half-hour with the roses?”
She fastened her white veil on her head, put on a clean apron and went down the stairs with leisurely steps.
By this time it was eight o’clock. The sunlight was bathing the droog and flooding the landscape, turning shadows into a deep blue; the atmosphere quivered with the heat like clear running water. There was little opportunity of seeing the country, however, confined as she was within the enclosing wings of the house. Wagtails and babblers were busy among the roses; and white, orange and metallic blue butterflies hovered about, until, dissatisfied with their harvest of honey, they lifted themselves on strong wings and soared away towards the jungle on the hill.
She chose the shady side of the rose garden for exercise. The air was still cool and pleasant where the sun had not yet touched. She strolled on to the very end of the courtyard on the hareem side. Here a group of foliage plants in pots were arranged. They were higher than the rose bushes and screened a door in a wall. The door was open, but entrance was barred by an iron gate that was locked with a large padlock.
A figure stood under the archway, looking eagerly towards her, and she thought she detected a slight movement of the hand. She went swiftly forward and pressed against the iron bars.
“Don’t try to open it,” whispered Nourma, drawing her muslin veil over her hair. “I have been looking for you, hoping you would come. Tell me, how is my beloved? Speak low, for I am always watched.”
“Turn away towards your garden and stand so that you hide me as much as possible and I will tell you everything,” replied Nurse Mary.
They whispered together like a couple of schoolgirls up to mischief, until the hoot of a distant motor horn startled them both. Nurse Mary slipped away towards the portico, and presently Nourma with a smile on her lips and a new light in her eye stole back to her rooms in the hareem.
“Jimmy! kind, thoughtful old Jimmy!” said Nurse Mary to herself. “How good of him to come again so soon! Just like him; he never spares himself where others are concerned.”
The sound of the horn came again; this time it was at the entrance of the grounds. She bounded through the rose garden regardless of the sun; plunged into the dark verandah and was on the top of the steps by the time the car pulled up under the portico. The colour had sprung into her face and her eyes were alight with pleasant anticipation.
A hand was pushed out to open the door. She caught the glint of a single-stone diamond ring which she recognized. The diamond did not belong to Jimmy. The door was opened quickly and out stepped Edenhope.
“Oh!” she exclaimed with a little catch of the breath.
Edenhope gazed at her in silence. He at least was prepared for the interview; yet it was he who was tongue-tied rather than his wife.
During the drive out from Bangalore he had been picturing the interview: her reserve and embarrassment; his own ingratiating courtesy that should pave the way to a reconciliation of some kind and give him the chance of obliterating the impression he must have produced on his wife when he left her so unceremoniously at Coonoor.
Before he could pull himself together she had taken a line of her own. She came towards him just as any other Hospital nurse might have done and held out her hand. He took it; but it was immediately withdrawn.
“This is very kind of you, Maurice,” she said in a voice that was clear and firm, and above all things, cheerful. “It is a long distance for a busy man like you to come.”
The conventional speech embarrassed him still more. It was so different from what he expected. He managed to stammer out:
“Not at all! I thought—I was anxious to see—er—Captain Gabriel for myself.”
“I hope Dr. Dumbarton said nothing to alarm you. Captain Gabriel has quite recovered from his wound and there has been no recurrence of the fever. As I told Dr. Dumbarton yesterday, I am not really needed here any longer, but I wish to stay on, because I am glad to have a few days’ rest.”
“Quite so; I understand.”
“I am not wanted at the Hospital, am I?”
“We are not short-handed.”
She led the way to the inner verandah where there were chairs for visitors and where she had sat with Jimmy.
“Do sit down and I will tell you what has happened since Dr. Dumbarton was here.”
“I came to see Captain Gabriel,” he said stiffly. Then he modified his abrupt statement by adding: “I have no wish to put you to any inconvenience “
“Inconvenience!” she cried, interrupting him with a laugh of real amusement. “Don’t talk nonsense, Maurice! I’m the nurse in charge and it’s up to you to see that I’m doing my duty, even though my patient is supposed to have recovered.”
The blood mounted to his forehead. It was the old Rosemary speaking, but the figure before him was no longer the girl he knew; it was a woman who had matured into something more beautiful, more arresting to the eye of man than the girl he knew. He watched her as she talked; not a difficult thing to do as she sat half turned away from him, her eyes more frequently upon the sunlit garden which she could see through the pillars of the verandah than upon him.
“You want Captain Gabriel, of course. I will take you to his room presently. He is having his bath just now. Yesterday he had a fall from his horse, and it has made him as stiff as a poker. I’ve rubbed his back and shoulders until I’ve made the poor fellow sore, but the stiffness is passing oft quickly.”
“How did the accident happen?”
“We were out riding. We go for a gallop every afternoon and enjoy it immensely. All at once Captain Gabriel’s horse began to behave strangely. He used his whip, thinking that the poor thing wanted a reminder that it was on duty and not out to grass. It must have been suffering agony. Presently after a few awkward leaps forward it fell heavily and I was afraid we were going to have a bad accident. It began to writhe and roll about too near to Captain Gabriel to be pleasant.”
“Were his feet caught in the stirrups?”
“No; he fell clear of the saddle; but he was stunned for the minute. I pulled him away out of danger and presently he came to his senses. He had no bones broken, I am thankful to say.”
“And the horse?”
“It died before we left.”
“What was the matter with it?”
“Captain Gabriel said it was poisoned.”
“How did you get back to the house?”
“My horse slipped the reins off my arm and ran to the stables. The syce knew that some accident must have happened. He reported it to Michael Sahib, Captain Gabriel’s brother; and he came out in a carriage to look for us. He was frightfully distressed, and apologized to me over and over again. I told him that I had not been in any danger. It was his brother who had suffered. Captain Gabriel had a terrible headache last evening; but it is better.”
“Who poisoned the horse?”
“Ah! that’s a mystery. The syce under whose care the horse has been was sent for; but pressing business had already called him away. The servants said he had gone to Bombay. His charge being dead, there was no necessity for him to remain. It was not in the least likely that he would be allowed to have the care of another horse. If he did poison the poor animal, may Allah smite him and give him the punishment he deserves, as they say here. Ah! now you will have a treat! Here comes Michael Sahib and half the numerous household; hundreds of them without any exaggeration, all bursting with curiosity to see the big Hospital master.”
As she talked he listened with varying emotion. Here and there he recognized an expression as peculiarly her own, and he was carried far back into a happy past that seemed to belong to another life. The advent of the master of the house put an end to the conversation. Edenhope wished Michael and his attendant crowd at the bottom of the sea. He noted that Rosemary showed no annoyance herself at their presence. She introduced him to Michael, and her eyes sparkled with mischievous amusement as the great Shahzada in his most magnificent manner began to ply the Commandant with polite questions.
“While you and the Sahib talk,” she said, “I will go and see if Gabriel is ready to receive you. Possibly he may be able to come down.”
“I would rather see him upstairs.”
“It will be good exercise for him to walk down.”
“I particularly wish to see him in his room.”
“Righto! your orders shall be obeyed, sir,” she said gaily, as she passed through the smaller rose garden.
His eyes followed her with a fascinated gaze and he lost some of the flowery speech of welcome that Michael was making. Her vitality had never seemed so strong nor her beauty so striking. He had pictured her unhappy, hurt and puzzled, just as he had left her. He had yet to learn that old ground is never regained in its old condition. The clock of life cannot be put back nor footsteps precisely retraced. He had found a new Rosemary as elusive as she was attractive.
“We are extremely grateful to you, sir, for allowing us to keep the English lady,” he heard Michael saying. “She is safe with us, and in a few days we hope to send her back to you the better for the rest and change.”
Edenhope made some inquiries about the accident of the previous afternoon. Michael told the same story as Nurse Mary had given him, except that he vowed the horse had died of colic; assuring the Commandant that the syce had allowed it to drink its fill of ice-cold water after giving it a quantity of green food. The water had distended the animal and ruptured it.
“Horses have very small stomachs and require to be watered before they eat,” he concluded.
“Your brother thought that it had been poisoned; so Mrs.—Nurse Mary informed me.”
“I assure you he is wrong. He has the fancies of a sick man. They will pass as he grows stronger.”
A few minutes later Cassim appeared. The old man fell at Edenhope’s feet and placed his two hands over his instep.
“This slave has fulfilled your Honour’s orders. The lady is well. Is it your Excellency’s pleasure that I should remain?”
“Rise, Cassim. You shall be well rewarded. Yes, it is my pleasure that you stay a little longer. Is the young Sahib ready to see me?”
“The mistress asks you to come upstairs.”
“I will show his Honour the way myself,” said Michael, who had watched Cassim’s salutation with curiosity.
He waved his hand, intimating that the servants were one and all to stand aside. Cassim might reach his mistress’s rooms by the outer stairs. He walked in front of Edenhope with a slow, dignified step that roused a sense of irritation in the Englishman.
The Commandant was paying a professional visit and inspecting an out-patient. A visit of ceremony, such as Michael was turning it into, was far from his thoughts. Under cover of the inspection was another motive which Edenhope was not prepared to admit even to himself. He had come to see his wife, impelled by an influence he did not care to admit. More than once he tried to shake off Michael, but the Muhammadan was not to be got rid of so easily.
Gabriel was at the door of his sitting-room when they arrived in the upper verandah. This was his first introduction, as the two men had not met before. Gabriel saluted, and then, as Edenhope held out his hand, they shook hands. They entered the sitting-room, where they sat down, Nurse Mary taking a chair near her patient. Her eyes were more frequently on him than on the Doctor.
Edenhope stole a glance at her now and then and his heart sank. A conviction was slowly stealing over him that her sentiments had altered. The treasure which once was his had slipped from his grasp. Various little signs told the tale. He caught himself watching for them, and missing them when they were not there. In former days at the sound of his voice her eyes would seek his and her ears were alert to catch every word, whether he addressed her or some other person. Now neither voice nor words made any impression. She was far more alert when Gabriel spoke; yet he could detect nothing in her manner beyond a keen professional interest in her patient. Gabriel’s behaviour was equally satisfactory. Dumbarton was right in his estimate. The Muhammadan officer was devoted to his wife and could think of no other woman; and Nurse Mary only looked upon him as an interesting case.
Suddenly the situation irked him; it became intolerable. He glanced at his watch.
“I am afraid I must be going,” he said.
Gabriel and Michael both thanked him for his visit. He shook hands with them in the upper verandah at the head of the stairs. Nurse Mary held out hers at the same time. He did not take it.
“Will you come down with me to the portico; I have one or two things to say.”
“With pleasure!” she replied at once.
“How long do you think of remaining here?” he asked as soon as they were out of hearing.
“Two or three more days, perhaps,” she replied indifferently.
“Are you comfortable here?”
“Perfectly; they are both most kind and thoughtful. It is a real holiday.”
“In spite of certain mysterious happenings?”
She laughed unconcernedly, like a happy schoolgirl.
“We put them all down to the intrigues of the hareem. I believe every zenana and hareem through the length and breadth of India have these intrigues going on. They are the breath of life to those poor things behind the curtain. They would die of stagnation if they had no such excitements.”
“What will you do with yourself after you leave this?” he asked, a little afraid as he put the question that she might suddenly turn on him and tell him that it was no concern of his.
“Go to the sea, or to the hills, or play about somewhere. There is lots to be done in the world, and you may be sure I shall not be idle, whether I am at work or play.”
He looked at her wistfully, but her eyes were not for him; they were upon the roses. She stopped.
“Do look at these glorious flowers! Aren’t they a sight for sore eyes? The scent comes up to my bedroom, which looks out this way. I believe Michael Sahib spends no end of money over them; but he doesn’t mind how I cut them and rob the bushes.” Then, seeming to remember herself, she continued; “But I forgot; you want to get home; I mustn’t keep you.”
“Where are your rooms?” he asked.
“Next to Captain Gabriel’s. They really belong to his wife. As soon as I can get Nourma established there, I shall be off; my work will be done. Perhaps you didn’t notice them. They are exactly like Captain Gabriel’s and are beautifully furnished in European fashion. He bought the furniture for his wife when he married.”
They had reached the portico. Numbers of servants stood about in unobtrusive groups, watching every movement.
“See! we are never without our spies. I should start a regiment of spies myself if I lived here. Their sole duty should be to report on the spies belonging to the rest of the family. What an odd custom it is!”
She held out her hand, smiling to herself over the fact that after all he did not seem to have anything special to say. On the contrary, he was inclined to be silent and preoccupied.
“Good-bye, Maurice! I’m very glad to have seen you and it was good of you to come over. You are looking wonderfully well. Give my kindest regards to Dr. Dumbarton, and if you can spare him, do send him over to see me to-morrow or the next day. He’s an old friend. You remember that he came out on board ship with me and turned up again at my wedding, bless him!”
How she ran on, touching on subjects that he hardly dared let his thoughts rest upon! Her wedding! she spoke of it as though it had nothing whatever to do with him. She might have said “our!”—it would have given him the opportunity of apology and explanation that might have cleared the air. He felt bewildered and puzzled, like a man hustled off the path he intended to take and forced upon another that was full of pitfalls and obstructions.
“Would you mind if I came again to-morrow?”
“Not in the least! Do come if you like; but I am afraid it is rather a waste of time.”
“Perhaps I don’t think so.”
“Righto! I don’t mind which it is, you or Dr. Dumbarton. And if by any chance I see that I can be spared, I shall be ready to return in the car.”
He had taken her hand and would have retained it while she talked; but she drew it from him with a swift, decisive movement that suggested putting him in his place and the firm intention of keeping him there.
His heart sank lower and lower as the gulf between them widened. An intense desire seized him to take her in his arms and pray for forgiveness. It was impossible, however, with all those people looking on. Even as he stood there; the opportunity such as it was passed, for she turned away with a quick farewell.
“Good-bye, Maurice! I must run back to my patient.”
In another second she was hurrying through the rose garden, her white veil streaming behind her in the sunlight and her feet springing along the flagged pathway, as though joy and delight were the mainspring of her life. She was the embodiment of perfect womanhood upon whom no man could look without admiration and no husband or lover without desire.
He turned to get into the motor as a man might have turned from a glimpse of Paradise, the door of which he had shut against himself with his own hand.
“Breakfast on the table, ma’am,” said Cassim, as Nurse Mary mounted the last flight of stairs. She was thinking that if she had to live for any length of time in Gabriel’s house she would beg for a lift. Other thoughts were clamouring to be heard; but she resolutely put them aside for those that were trifling and inconsequent.
“Ask Captain Gabriel to come,” she said, as she took her place at the table.
He came in walking easily and without pain.
“You seem to be all right again,” she remarked. “Perhaps you will be able to sit up for that tiger to-night—if we don’t make some other arrangement,” she added more to herself than him.
“Yes, possibly,” he replied, as though he too had something else in his mind.
She poured out the coffee and helped him to an egg. Being a Muhammadan family, the British dish of bacon was not to be thought of.
“You feel all right, don’t you?” she asked.
“I am as well as ever I was; but there are times when anger gets the better of me. I have been thinking over the horse and its illness. I don’t care what my brother says to the contrary, that horse was poisoned. It was done with the purpose of giving me a bad fall which ought to have broken my neck.”
Nurse Mary summoned Cassim to her by a motion of the hand. He had been standing at the further end of the room. Gabriel’s servant was hovering about in the verandah where he could hear if his master called.
“Has the sweeper woman gone from my bedroom?” she asked.
“Yes, your Honour, and I have locked the doors. No one can enter from that side.”
“Then go into the verandah and sit where you can see the Shahzada if he comes. Speak to him at once and say that the Nurse and the Sahib are at breakfast. I shall hear you and know that he is there.”
“I understand,” he replied. He glanced at Captain Gabriel’s servant. She followed his glance.
“He will not be wanted during breakfast. Tell him to go and do his work in his master’s room.” She turned to Gabriel. “Now we can talk without fear of being overheard.”
“What about your own man?”
“He can be trusted; he is not one of the household; but he cannot hear if we speak low. Now listen, Captain Gabriel. You must go to bed again with fever and headache and such a stiff sore back that you cannot move.”
“But I am nearly well again!” he protested, making a wry face at the thought of it. “The embrocation has almost removed the stiffness. The arm is still a little painful.”
“You must have a relapse and go to bed once more, too sick and ill to see anyone. If your brother comes, I shall have to tell him that you are far too poorly to talk and that I shall have to give you a sleeping draught to-night. I must insist that you wish to be alone and undisturbed and that the hareem door will be kept barred.”
Captain Gabriel looked mutinous as he replied:
“Oh! come! I say, Nurse Mary! The Doctor didn’t say anything of the kind this morning.”
“It is only for to-night. To-morrow I promise you, you will be quite well and your nurse may take her leave as soon as she likes.”
“I had other plans for to-night,” he said, his face clouding over with anger.
“What were they, a tiger hunt?”
“It was my intention to go into the hareem and let some of those women feel the weight of my displeasure.”
Nurse Mary lifted a hand in protest against so simple a procedure.
“No use at all! We must oppose craft with craft, and graft with graft. Only do as I tell you and I think I can promise you the fulfilment of your dearest wish.”
He looked up at her suddenly with eyes that moved her to pity; but he did not reply. He understood, but did not dare to believe. He lifted the jar of marmalade to help himself. Nurse Mary promptly laid her hand on it.
“Sorry, but I can’t let you have it. It is a fresh jar and came up opened. It was given to Cassim with the label broken. This apricot jam is all right. I opened it myself and it has not left my room since.”
She handed it to him and he helped himself. They spoke little above a whisper, even though the faithful Cassim was on guard.
“How long do you think that we shall have to take these precautions about food?” she asked.
“Until I establish my position; and that I shall be able to do as soon as I can get possession of my wife.”
“Have you any suspicion as to the person who attacked your servant?”
He was silent. As she looked at him and seemed to wait for a reply he gave it in a monosyllable. “No.”
“Now if you have finished you must go to your room and we will begin our little comedy. It must be like a day in Hospital.”
“You will come and do nurse?”
“Certainly; I am going to be the watchdog and see that you are not drugged again.”
“And my reward?”
“What you most desire.”
He had learned to believe in her power. Doubt died away and blessed hope filled his heart. He offered no further opposition; but called his servant to help him to undress and go to bed again. His imperious nature made him a bad actor, but he managed to convince his man that he was not so well as he had felt when he got up.
When he was in bed Nurse Mary came and took possession of the room and the patient. She gave directions to have the light excluded and forbade all noise that might aggravate the headache. On the completion of her arrangements she prepared a dose for the invalid of peppermint, sugar and water, coloured pink. The strength of the medicine, the man told his father afterwards, was sufficient to knock the young Sahib down upon his pillows.
The news was carried to Michael, who came bustling up to learn the truth of the story that was going through the house to the effect that the young Sahib had had a relapse and had been obliged to take to his bed again.
He found it quite correct. He was met at the door of Gabriel’s room by Nurse Mary herself, who stated that the fall had been far more serious than she had thought at first. No bones were broken, but the muscles had been severely strained. The pain had brought back the fever and the Doctor had ordered the patient to bed. She had given a strong soothing draught, after which he would sleep. She intended keeping him in bed all day. To-morrow he would be better. She hoped that his wife would not be disappointed at having “the door shut.” It would only be for a few days at the most; and so on.
Michael listened and expressed surprise and concern. There had been no sign of all this when the Doctor came. Nurse Mary explained that Gabriel had no wish to be carried back to Hospital, so he had not dared to hint that he was feeling badly hurt or very ill.
Michael asked if there was anything he could get for his brother or for herself. Nurse Mary had only to mention what she wanted and he would send to Bangalore, Mysore or Bombay. She thanked him warmly, saying that Gabriel ought to consider himself very fortunate in having such a kind and thoughtful brother. He inquired if the man who was serving in place of Mahmoud gave satisfaction. Nurse Mary praised him and expressed her unqualified approval.
“You will explain to all the family,” she said smoothly, “that by keeping Captain Gabriel in bed under special treatment I hope to have him well by to-morrow afternoon.”
“Perhaps I had better not come again to-day,” he said.
“As you please, Michael Sahib. Your brother is always glad to see you, but I want him to sleep as much as possible, and I am giving him medicine to produce it. Once asleep, we will leave him so. I will send word by his servant how he is this afternoon and again this evening.”
With fair promises and speeches Nurse Mary dismissed Michael, who carried the news to his wife. His brother was not as well as they had supposed. He had only appeared unhurt before the Doctor so that he might not be ordered back to the Hospital, but even so the Doctor had sent him to bed.
“He is stiff and sore all over; so much so that the Nurse is giving him medicine to sleep.”
Lilith expressed her gratification, but she was a long way off being satisfied.
“You will tell our sister, Nourma, and assure her that she need not be alarmed. There is nothing dangerous about his indisposition; he will recover in a few days.”
“You may be quite sure that I shall let her know,” she replied with a grim smile of anger, as she watched him walk away. “She will be in tears again, no doubt; but tears will not move Allah to show favour. If it had not been for the white witch, the horse must have killed his rider in the fall. It has never been known to fail before,” she muttered, as she beat up the cushions of her divan and threw herself back in an evil temper.
Nurse Mary had a quiet day with plenty to occupy her thoughts. Gabriel was still being subjected to annoyances and indirect danger. She was not afraid for herself, but she feared for him. The precautions she was insisting upon in making him take his food with her, were to prevent a repetition of the doping. There were other pernicious drugs that might be administered, which would render him mad for the time being, and unable to control his passions. The result from these might be more disastrous than the effect of the opium.
From Gabriel her thoughts went to the visitor of the morning. She had not expected him, and she was puzzled to know why he came. He could not have been anxious about Gabriel’s welfare; nor about her own, if Jimmy had represented matters as he found them.
Her first sight of Edenhope, as he opened the door of the car and stepped out, was a shock. The shock consisted of the resurrection of the old Maurice, not quite so young as he was when they were engaged, but in other respects the same. The bearded bear of her honeymoon days was gone like the beard; not a trace of him remained.
She was prepared to meet the bear; to smile at him instead of taking him seriously; to make fun of his solemnity and laugh good-humouredly at his rudenesses. When the old Maurice confronted her with his courtesy and gentleness, the programme of her behaviour had to be altered. She fell back on the attitude of their pre-engagement days. She dared not think of anything warmer than acquaintance which bordered on friendship.
There was always the vision of the unloving husband lurking in the background. Her faith in the old Maurice was broken and she asked herself over and over again: which was the real man? Were there two men in one personality? Abroad and in public he might seem all that her old lover was. In the house the husband she had known at Coonoor might return with his silent gloom.
Her heart had bounded as he came up the steps to the spot where she was standing, just as it had throbbed and bounded when he came on board the ship to meet her at Bombay. He appeared the same as she then saw him. But the impulse to rush to him, fling her arms round his neck and seek his lips was no longer there. Distrust, caution and a bitter memory of cruel neglect held her back behind a barrier of forced indifference.
Her love was dead! dead! dead! she said to herself again and again. Yet the sight of him had stirred her and brought a terrible heartache with the acute pain that underlies self-pity.
She had declared that she did not care whether she returned to Bangalore or went to the sea or to the hills. She was slowly coming to the conclusion that she did not care; that if she valued her peace of mind she must not deliberately place herself in his path. It would be unbearable. It might lead to a kind of reconciliation which could only be hollow. However polite and courteous he might be, his love for her could not be alive; and his cruelty might be only sleeping.
The tears sprang into her eyes. Life would have been easier to bear if he had died. Then she could have remembered him with passionate love and devotion, her handsome adorable lover of early days; but now there was no sweet memory to comfort her. She brushed the tears away angrily and hardened her heart afresh.
“Don’t be a fool, Rosemary, my dear,” she said to herself. “Even if he swore by all his mouldy ancestors that he loved you, you would not believe him and trust him. Speech was given to us to hide our thoughts, yes! and our inward selves as well. For three hideous weeks he and I were alone together. If I had been nothing but a dog, he would have taken more notice of me; more care of me. And what a house of desolation it was that he brought me to! It was called the House of Desire and Delight! Never, never shall I forget it. Any woman of spirit would have walked away then and there and have refused to stay another minute. There was the hotel to go to. Why didn’t I do it? Because I was a silly, soft-hearted old fool and I loved him! I would not, could not believe the truth. And now shall I submit myself to the chance of being asked to repeat that experience? to put my neck under that yoke of misery again? No! a thousand times no.”
“Nurse Mary!”
She started; it was Gabriel’s voice. She went to his bedside, her thoughts scattered to the winds.
“Tired of playing the invalid? Ah! well! never mind. You will have your reward.”
“Don’t you think I might get up for a little time? My man is gone and we are alone.”
“The waterman passed through the verandah only five minutes ago. It is not his usual way of reaching your bathroom. His eyes were everywhere, and he will have to make his report on all he saw when he gets back to the servants’ quarters. Your man is sitting round the corner waiting in case he may be wanted. There are listeners behind the hareem door, which is barred. I hear fingers on the handle now and then. Twenty times a day it is tried in the vain hope of finding it unbarred.
He laughed in spite of his annoyance.
“Don’t I know it of old! When I was a boy I was followed and watched and spied upon all day and all night. Every action was reported to my father.”
“Was it done by his orders?”
“Certainly, and the tale-bearers were rewarded.”
“Are you going to adopt the same mode of ruling your household when you take up the reins?”
“The system will continue whether I make use of it or not. My servants will not fail to let me have reports of all that goes on in the house. They would be afraid to do otherwise. If anything happened to cause me annoyance, which might have been prevented by timely information, the first people I should blame would be those who were silent when they might have spoken.”
She asked about his childhood and beguiled him into telling her many things that were interesting. The more she heard the more she wondered at the life of the native families of good birth that was a closed book to the European.
It helped to pass the long hours, which went slowly for the invalid who had never felt better in his life. She brought a book and read to him. The murmur of her voice reached the ears of the man who filled Mahmoud’s place. He found occasion to go downstairs; and as he fulfilled his errand, he reported that the white witch was busy casting spells to make the young master sleep. He added that they were of a new kind which he was of opinion were intended to make him forget his wife. The report was carried on to the hareem.
Nurse Mary prepared the patient’s food herself, cutting the bread and butter and making the cornflour “congee.” If she required any help, she called Cassim. As it was all done in her own room where Gabriel’s man was not allowed to put foot, there was sufficient excuse for excluding him; but the man did not like it and was jealous and hurt.
Just after sunset Michael came to the door of his brother’s bedroom. He peeped in and saw Gabriel lying back on his pillows. Nurse Mary sat at the window. Michael’s eyes were everywhere. A European sick-room with an English nurse in attendance was a novel sight. Everything about the place was very different from the sick-room of a native. Nurse Mary rose from her chair and went at once to the door.
“Does he sleep?” asked Michael.
“Not yet; but he will sleep presently. The fever is abating and the soreness of body from the fall is passing off. To-morrow I hope we shall have him up and about again,” she said in a low voice, as though she did not wish to disturb her patient.
Michael was impressed and showed his sympathy and concern.
“You have not been out at all to-day, madam,” he said. “You might have had a drive this evening if you did not care to walk.”
“It is most kind of you to think of my pleasure,” she replied warmly. “I could not leave my patient at such an anxious time.”
“You are sure he will sleep?” he asked.
“I will make sure by giving him medicine,” she answered with a smile.
After a little more whispered conversation Michael went away as noiselessly as he came, carrying a satisfactory report to his wife. She listened with approval.
“We may all sleep in peace to-night, husband,” she remarked.
“Undoubtedly we may,” he responded.
“This anxiety must end; it is making me ill,” she said presently. “Your brother must go back to the Hospital. You must send a message to the Doctor to say that he is ill again, seriously ill; and that it will be best for him to return.”
“And what if they will not take him?”
There was silence, during which husband and wife looked at each other. Michael left the room without further remark; and Lilith sat by herself in gloomy thought.
Captain Gabriel had had his evening meal. His man, attentive to his every want, had been directed to pull down the mosquito curtains and extinguish the lamp. A small floating wick with barely the illuminating power of a night-light burned on a table in a corner of the room. The Venetians were closed and the doors barred except the one that opened on to the verandah. This was left unbarred in case the nurse might wish to look in upon her patient in the night, so the servant was told.
Nurse Mary had already been to see that everything necessary had been done for the comfort of the invalid, and the man had heard her bid him “Good-night,” a salutation that he had learned to understand was only given when the nurse went to her room for good.
After the “doors were shut” Cassim too was released from further duty; and the two men, their work for the day completed, went down to their own quarters to enjoy their supper and smoke the oriental pipe that ensured them a sound, dreamless sleep.
Nurse Mary waited in her sitting-room until she was sure that she was alone. Then she went softly through her bedroom to the bathroom and quietly unbarred the little door that opened on to the sweeper’s staircase. She left it ajar and returned to her easy-chair and her book.
She could not read, however. Her mind was too full of the events of the day and of another event for which she had been scheming. Would it succeed? She devoutly hoped it would; or Gabriel would for ever lose faith in her power.
A little later a figure appeared in the verandah doorway. Gabriel in Muhammadan dress drew aside the purdah.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“If you promise to be quite quiet. We haven’t caught our bird yet.”
She turned down the lamp and pointed to a chair that was in deep shadow.
“Must I sit down? I feel as if I could not rest,” he said, his eyes upon the inner door.
She looked at the handsome young husband and smiled. How could he remain quiet when the cup of happiness was approaching so near to his lips?
“Impatient man! don’t you know our saying? ‘There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.’”
“Ah! you don’t know, Nurse Mary!”
She did not reply. Did she not know what it was to wait and watch with alternate hope and fear for the partner of her life who never came! So deeply had the lesson of her experience gone home, that even now she trembled lest something should happen to dash the confident hope that uplifted his heart.
A chink of a silver toe-ring sounded in the bedroom. Nurse Mary started up and disappeared silently through the door. Gabriel also rose and stood like one who had knocked at the gate of the Garden of Eden with the certainty that it would be opened to him. He heard the barring of the little outer door and the soft, excited whisper of the two girls.
In another minute Nurse Mary entered the dimly lighted room, her arm thrown round a figure veiled from top to toe in black gauze.
Gabriel advanced with a breathless exclamation that he tried in vain to smother. He put out his hand and with a skilful practised hand tore the veil away.
Nurse Mary relinquished her charge into his arms. With a little cry of joy Nourma clasped him round the neck and pressed her cheek against his with passionate abandonment.
“My beloved! my moon of desire! my flower of delight! May Allah be praised and his Prophet be thanked for this!” he cried, as he held her close. Then remembering Nurse Mary’s presence he released her, still keeping an arm about the tall, slim figure. “Nurse Mary, before we go, a thousand thanks for what you have done. You have been stronger than all of us. You have outwitted the hareem and defeated them all.”
“You mustn’t give me the credit. It was Nourma’s thought. I only carried out the design. May you never be parted again unless it be at your own desire,” she said, more moved than she would have admitted.
“May Allah in his goodness reward you for what you have done,” he said, taking her hand. He bent down and pressed it to his lips. Nourma, her happy eyes moist with tears of joy, seized the other hand and pressed it to her heart.
“Dear people! May Allah bless you!”
Together like two happy children they moved slowly away, his arm still encircling his wife’s waist; her head resting upon his shoulder. They passed beyond the purdah, moving silently through the verandah. Nurse Mary watched them until they disappeared into the darkness of his sitting-room. She heard the big door of the room closed and barred.
She went out on to the terraced roof. The moon had risen and was climbing above the hill. The blackness had gone from the landscape as it had disappeared from Gabriel’s horizon. The soft grey of the Indian moonlight spread over the earth. She looked at the hill with its thick covering of jungle. Beyond it was Bangalore; the spot that held the one man who, in spite of all her efforts, held her thoughts. What was he doing? Did he sleep, serenely plunged in oblivion? Was his life filled with his work to the exclusion of all other matters? Yes! His existence was bound up in the daily round of the hospital; in his golf; in his friendship with Claudia Frome. It was enough. He would never ask, like Gabriel, for anything more.
A bat fluttered across her vision in pursuit of a ghost-white moth that was seeking shelter under the balustrade. A bird cried plaintively in the direction of the little river. The dogs and jackals were silent. So also was the hareem. Sleep had overtaken the inmates. They slumbered in blessed ignorance that one of their number had escaped from her prison and defied them now to do their worst.
What would that hidden world be like to-morrow, thought Nurse Mary with something like a smile, when Nourma’s absence was discovered? What schemes would be put on foot to undo the mischief?
It could not be undone. Gabriel, having gained possession of his wife, was not the man to let her go. She was his for ever. What a husband for a woman to have, whether he belonged to the East or the West; whether he belonged to the cold climate of the North or to the sunny lands of the tropics!
With a deep sigh she turned towards her room and closed her door, to shut herself in with the loneliness that she had accepted as her fate.
Daylight was beginning to dawn when Nurse Mary awoke with a start. A footfall sounded in the room. Her first thought was of Judy; but Judy had forsaken her.
“Nurse Mary!” said Nourma’s voice softly.
She sprang up with sudden remembrance of all that had happened the day before.
“Ah! it is you! Now, what are we going to do with you, I wonder? You mustn’t go back to the hareem on any account.”
“My husband asks if I may stay with you.”
“Yes! I shall be so pleased to have you here. Tomorrow I shall go back to Bangalore and you will come and take possession of your own rooms.”
As she talked, Nurse Mary busied herself with the little duties that Judy should have performed. She tossed up the mosquito curtains and would have flung open the shutters of the windows if Nourma had not stopped her.
“No! no! not like that!” she cried. “Let me open the Venetians.”
She lifted the slats at an angle that let in the cool air but still screened the windows.
“Now I will make coffee for us all and we will have it here if you will bring the cups,” said the happy wife.
A little later a party of three people were seated in Nurse Mary’s room, eating toast and rice-flour cakes as the sun rose over the hill and bathed the landscape in its warm rays.
“How did you get away, my beloved?” asked Gabriel, as he leaned back in his chair and feasted his eyes on his wife.
“I had to be as cunning as the snake. In the morning by my sister’s orders I was locked in my room. I heard the motor-car with the big Doctor arrive, and I begged and pleaded to be allowed to go and see it from the corridor, where we watch when the English nurse turns herself into a man and goes riding like a sowar.”
“A man! I don’t turn into a man!” cried Nurse Mary, laughing.
“They say in the hareem that you can make yourself what you choose. They call you the White Ammah.”
“You don’t believe that, Nourma, do you?”
“I don’t know; I cannot tell. All I know is that you are very good to us both; and but for you we should have been kept separate through accident or illness.” She stretched a hand out to her husband. He took it and put it to his lips. His eyes were eloquent. The language of love is the same all the world over, thought the English woman. “I am sure you are a woman,” continued Nourma. “Because you were so sorry for my husband. If you were a man, you would not care how he suffered; you would say it was kismet.”
“I am a woman all right; but I am a strong one,” replied Nurse Mary.
“My sister will find that out before long,” added Nourma, as the other rose from her chair.
“I am going for a walk. Captain Gabriel, I leave Nourma in your charge. She must be content to remain gosha in this room. If she is alone, she must bar the door between the two rooms. On no account must she open the little door on the top of the outer stairs until I return.”
“Where are you going, Nurse Mary?” he asked.
“To the top of the hill. I may not have another opportunity of seeing the temple and saying good-bye to that ugly, old Ammah at the top of the steps.”
“If the Doctor comes, what shall I say?”
“I shall be back by then. He is not likely to arrive before half-past eight. It is not yet seven o’clock.”
Nourma lifted her finger as the sound of distant voices fell on their ears.
“Oh! husband! they have just missed me and they are running everywhere to find me!” She shuddered with fear.
“Joy of my soul! you are safe with me; there is nothing to be afraid of.”
The noise increased, and as Nurse Mary in sun-hat and cloak went down the great staircase, she heard shouts and cries. With a smile on her lips she passed through the rose garden and out by a side door.
The jungle was fresh and cool, and sweet with the scent of newly opened buds. She walked quickly and arrived at the platform where stood the image of the Ammah. No one was on the hill, and she congratulated herself that she had the place to herself.
After examining the plinth and its position, she approached the chasm on the other side of the pathway. It seemed to be choked with vegetation. There was no railing to guard it. A man in the dark coming down the hill, if he did not know the way, might easily make a false step and slip into it. She wondered if there was any way out down below. Tradition said there was none. Shrubs and creepers clustered thick at the edge and hid the lip of the cleft.
She did not stay long nor waste any time speculating on the relics of tragedies long forgotten that must lie at the bottom of that deep hole. Climbing up the next flight of steps, she arrived at another level space or landing. Near this spot was the tree in which Michael had had a machan built for his brother to sit up for the tiger. A rough ladder swung from the great bough on which the shelter rested. Nurse Mary looked at it critically. “Even I could climb up there,” was her comment.
She turned away and continued her walk towards the place where the temple stood. There was no necessity for haste, and she vaguely wondered why she was hurrying. Why was she so anxious to get her walk over? Now and then she stopped to take breath. Then she rushed onwards without reason. As she stood poised on one of the steep steps hewn in the living rock, she turned and looked out towards the house, listening, for what? the sound of a motor horn. Jimmy perhaps was coming to-day if he could get away, and she badly wanted to talk to Jimmy. She had given Maurice no encouragement to repeat his visit.
On again she went till she reached the temple. She stepped down into the portico and glanced at the sacrificial stone in front of the closed door. Its blackened appearance told her that the villagers had been busy lately with their blood offerings. Horrible creatures! was her mental comment as she turned to the door.
It was just as she had seen it on her previous visit. There was the hole through which she had thrust her stick. It had been seized by some mysterious creature that had found its way inside. She wondered if it was there still.
The spirit of adventure was upon her. She put her walking-stick into the hole, hoping that she might have the same experience. Without Daood in attendance she would have an opportunity of examining the phenomenon at her leisure. If it was an animal, she might possibly irritate it until it growled or scolded and betrayed itself by its voice.
A disappointment awaited her. The stick met with no obstruction. It moved easily from side to side and was left free. She took it out and put her lips to the hole, as if it were a telephone, hailing the Ammah and calling her to come and open the door to a visitor.
“I am the White Ammah! Let me in, sister!” she cried. “What’s that you say? ‘Too busy!’ Oh! nonsense! I won’t be put off like that!”
Then she laughed at her own folly; but it amused her and she continued her conversation.
“What? you don’t understand English! Your Excellency’s education has been sadly neglected, considering that you are a demoness. What? You belong to an age long past? Ah! I suppose it is rather discouraging to an elderly lady like yourself to find that you are left behind in the march of modern events.”
She dropped into Hindustani, the colloquial language of the household as well as the family.
“Are you there, Sahiba? You won’t open your door, you say? Take care that I don’t come with my spells made up of dynamite and burst it open. By one touch I can blow in your rock front door! Yes! and blow you out of your temple, Sahiba!”
Again she laughed at her own nonsense.
“Oh! if only Daood could only hear me! He would set the whole village busy sacrificing to us both, to turn away our wrath. Salaam! Ammah! Thou art my servant and I am thy mistress. Let this stay in thy mind lest I grow angry and destroy thee. I take my leave. Heegum! Hogum! Bish!”
There were traces of a faintly defined pathway up the rock into which the temple was built. It might have been made by the goats of the villagers or by jackals. It was not a human track, for it ran under the bushes in places where a man could not easily pass except on his hands and knees.
If she had had time, she might have tried to penetrate it, on the chance of finding a rift in the rock which would give an entrance to the temple. It would be an object for a walk another morning—if she prolonged her stay.
She glanced round before starting back. The espionage under which she lived had already taught her to be always on the watch for spies. Even as she turned away from the porch of the temple there was a rustle in the ferns and undergrowth a little distance away. She picked up a stone and threw it into the bushes.
“A jackal! shooh! shooh! My lady Ammah! remove thy vile body from my path!” she cried in Hindustani as she ran down the steps leading homewards, her black cloak flying out behind her.
Oriental imperialism, she thought, was very catching. Already she was adopting an imperious manner even in speaking to one of the lesser deities. It would have afforded her immense satisfaction if she could have spoken to the Beebee herself on the subject of Nourma in the same manner in which she had talked to the Ammah. As she passed the ugly image on the pedestal, she waved her hand to it.
“Curse if thou wilt, Ammah. Thou hast found a conquerer in me, thy elder sister, the White Ammah!” she cried, as she sprang down the next flight of steps and hurried on towards the house.
The servants gazed strangely at her as she passed near their quarters. One man, of whom she made inquiries concerning Mahmoud’s welfare, salaamed low and prostrated himself at her feet.
“He is better, noble one! He will be better still when the presence has time to come and cast an eye upon him. This slave, this worm craves also the benefit of a kind look that will bring good luck.”
“Rise, servant of the house; and tell Mahmoud that I will come and see him before midday.”
She passed on rapidly and reached the upper verandah. Cassim sat in front of the closed door of her room. He rose at sight of his mistress. To him the presence of Nourma was no secret.
“All well, Cassim?”
“By the grace of Allah all is well, ma’am.”
“Where is the young master?”
“Still in madam’s room.” Then he added, as she waited for further information: “The master’s wife is with him. Twice has the big master been to ask for him; but the Sahib will not speak. The Shahzada believes that your Honour is there also. He would have forced me to enter to carry a message, but I showed that the doors were barred on the inner side and there was no entrance.”
“That was quite right; you could not have entered, however much you had wished.”
“There is trouble in the hareem. They have discovered that the young master’s wife has run away; and no one knows where she is.”
Cassim’s eyes twinkled as he told his tale, but he did not allow his lips to smile.
“When was the loss discovered?”
“Just as your Excellency went out to walk. They thought that the Sahiba was asleep on her bed. The cushions and pillows were laid to look like some one in bed. The mosquito curtains were lowered and the room was darkened by the closed shutters. The women believed that she slept late after a night of bitter weeping for her husband, and they did not disturb her. Outside her door they sat and waited for her waking. At last one of the old mothers went near the divan, and looking through the curtain could see no movement of breathing. She slipped a hand under the curtain, it is said; and she found nothing but pillows in place of the Sahiba.”
“And then what happened?” asked Nurse Mary, amusement twinkling in her own eyes as well as the servant’s.
“The old woman ran out to spread the news through the hareem and a search was made. The Beebee, awakened from late sleeping, came out. She questioned and scolded and now she is punishing. Your Honour can hear the screams, like wild cats fighting in the jungle.”
There was a knocking at the hareem door leading on to the verandah. Cassim glanced towards it undisturbed.
“Many times have they knocked, those demented women of the hareem; but I have not opened. They shout their questions through the door, praying me to tell them if it is known in these rooms where the Sahiba hides. They say that they will all be killed unless she is quickly found.”
“You have not told them that the Sahiba is in my care?” asked Nurse Mary.
“This slave never speaks without permission,” said the old man, a little hurt at the suggestion that he would divulge his mistress’s secrets and talk of her affairs.
The knocking at the door grew louder. Nurse Mary went swiftly to it and drew back the bolts. She opened it and stood on the threshold in the doorway. She was confronted by a group of frightened women of all ages. At the sight of Cassim they slipped their muslin drapery over their heads and pulled it across their faces, so that their features could not be seen by him. They fell back in a bunch at the sight of the White Ammah.
“What is all this noise? Am I to have no peace and quiet? Who gives you leave to hammer on the door as if it was the village tomtom?” cried Nurse Mary with an assumption of anger.
“Excellency! pardon these poor slaves. The Sahiba!”
“Yes! what have you to say of the young Beebee?” she demanded sharply.
“She is missing, most noble one. Her attendants saw her safely into her bed. They drew down the mosquito curtains. She slept even before they had extinguished the lights. Lo! this morning, when the coffee was ready which the Sahiba desires on waking, she was gone. The Beebee scolds and punishes and we poor worms weep.”
Thereupon hands were raised in entreaty and tears began to flow.
“Tell your mistress to scold and punish no more. The young Beebee is safe, safe with her husband to whom I gave her last night.”
“Ah! bah! Aiyoh! Yemmah!” were the ejaculations with which this piece of news was received.
“Why trouble about it? Is it not the place for a true wife, in her husband’s arms?” asked Nurse Mary, who was enjoying herself more than a little.
One of the women ventured to ask how the Sahiba escaped.
Nurse Mary smiled. The temptation was too great to resist.
“Am I not rightly called the White Ammah?” she cried. “I drew the young Beebee from her bed; I took her to her husband. At the sight of her his fever disappeared; his pains fled. He was as a man in his full health, newly risen from his sleep after having eaten a good supper. With praises to Allah and his Prophet he carried her away to his room, and they have been together ever since.”
They listened in awe and their knees trembled beneath them. The woman who had spoken ventured to say:
“Last night we slept, the five of us, by this door that leads to the Sahib’s room. None could pass without our knowing it, for two or three of us were always awake and watching.”
Nurse Mary laughed as she answered:
“Do you see the Ammah of the droog when she passes by unless she chooses to take the form of a jackal or a bat? Can you see her when as a small fly she walks through a crack in the door? Neither can you see when the White Ammah moves. Tell your mistress, she whom you call the Beebee, that the Beebee Nourma is safe and happy with her husband, and she is in the keeping of the White Ammah. Aye! tell her that this little finger of mine”—she held up her hand with her little finger extended.—“this little finger is stronger than the Beebee’s whole body; stronger than the whole of the hareem. Go; carry my message and lose not a single word as you value my favour.”
She closed the door on the terrified crew and bolted it again.
“They have given me the position themselves and I may as well accept it since it has its advantages.”
Then she knocked at her own door and entered. Nourma, who had let her in, clasped her in her arms in the warm abandonment of her emotion.
“Sister! shall I ever be able to thank you? I am so happy! so happy!”
Before Nurse Mary could reply the distant hoot of a motor horn fell on their ears.
“It is the Doctor. I must go down again. Captain Gabriel, is it safe to leave your wife here?”
“Quite; we shall have no more trouble now. I know the ways of the hareem. The women are beaten and they are aware of it. My wife may walk safely in and out as she pleases.”
“Then the sooner she is established in these rooms the better. I shall leave to-morrow.”
“Please don’t hurry away.”
“Come down with me now and we will tell the Doctor that I am ready to return. My work was done last night when I brought you your wife.”
“For which I shall be eternally grateful,” he said in a low voice.
They were moving down the stairs.
“There is only one thing I should like to have helped you to do,” she said, trying in vain to quiet the beating of her heart. Would the occupant of the car be Jimmy or Maurice?
“What is that?” he asked.
“I wish we could together have cleared up the mystery of this human tiger.”
“I will sit up for it to-night and shoot it whether it is man or beast.”
“We’ll discuss it later. Ah! Here is Colonel Edenhope the Commandant. Very good of him to come a second time,” she said with a calmness she was far from feeling.
Edenhope sprang up the steps of the portico and met them in the verandah. They shook hands, and Nurse Mary said at once:
“This is kind of you to come and see Captain Gabriel again so soon. I am delighted to have a good report to give. My patient has recovered from his fall; and if he needs any nursing, his wife will be able to do it.”
He looked at her wistfully. An unreasonable hope took possession of him that she meant more than she said. Could it be possible that she would return with him that very morning?
“I have much to be grateful for, sir,” said Gabriel. “Nurse Mary brought me my wife last evening.”
“I am so glad,” Edenhope answered, slightly embarrassed. He had heard the story from Dumbarton of the difficulties that had been put in the way of their reunion.
“Before I go I mean to see her established in the rooms I occupy,” said Nurse Mary. “They are her rooms, properly speaking. To-morrow morning, if you will give me leave, I will begin my holiday.”
Again she addressed him as any other nurse might have addressed her superior officer. It extinguished all hope of a drive back that morning with her when he might have found an opportunity of saying all that was in his heart.
“I am sure you have earned it. You will come back to Bangalore before you start?” he replied.
“For a day—yes; just to pack up my belongings; and I shall leave by the night mail.”
His eyes were fixed upon her with an intentness of which he was unconscious.
“Would you like to return to-day?” he asked.
“I’m not ready; I must have time to pack up, thanks.”
“Shall you go to the hills?” he asked.
“I haven’t decided. I feel a longing for the sea. Colombo tempts me strongly.”
“You—you still have possession of the house at Coonoor?”
There was a shade of sharpness in the laugh that suddenly escaped her lips.
“The House of Desire and Delight!” she said, avoiding his eye. “Why, of course. It is not mine to sell or give away. All I could do was to keep it from rack and ruin, and let it to a careful tenant. Look! here comes Michael Sahib and the whole household! This is the first time we have seen him this morning. He and his wife will have a bone to pick with me if they have the courage.”
“How is that?” he asked.
“It is over my wife, sir. They did not find out till this morning that she had escaped from the hareem, and they have had a very anxious hour looking for her,” said Gabriel, watching his brother approach. Michael moved with a curious mixture of haste and dignity.
The formal speeches began and Edenhope was bored almost beyond endurance. He had come to see Nurse Mary and had not reckoned on finding her with Gabriel; nor did he anticipate a second interview with the pompous Michael. As soon as the wordy address of welcome was ended Michael turned to his brother, whom he met now for the first time that morning, and spoke to him in a loud voice.
“You made us very anxious, brother; first by your relapse; and secondly by keeping us in ignorance of our sister’s movements. She is safe, I hope?”
“Quite safe in her old quarters, where she will remain.”
“Is it convenient to the English lady?”
“It is my will and my pleasure that she should be there,” replied Nurse Mary. “To-morrow I take my leave.”
Michael looked from one to the other. Then remembering Colonel Edenhope’s presence, he addressed himself to the visitor; and this time he stuck closely to him and refused to be shaken off.
Gabriel made his excuses and went back to his quarters. Nurse Mary watched his retreat with immense satisfaction.
No trace of the invalid remained; no sign of the fever-ridden, home-sick man she had brought here from the Hospital. Youth had returned with all its joie de vivre, and she rejoiced. Her attention came back to Edenhope and Michael.
The Commandant was growing very restive under the infliction of Michael’s polite protestations. He saw no chance of any private conversation with Nurse Mary unless she accorded it. He had no excuse for asking for it; and he was not at all sure that if he did make the request she would accede to it.
“I must be going,” he said, rising from his chair and addressing Michael. “You will excuse me, I am sure.” He turned to Nurse Mary. “What time would you like the car to come to-morrow morning?”
“At half-past seven. I shall be at the Hospital by nine, perhaps sooner. I hope to get away from Bangalore by the evening train. Then, hurrah for my holiday! I mean to have a good time wherever I go.”
“Alone? You have no companion?” he asked.
“Not more alone than usual,” she retorted.
Again he was obliged to listen to Michael, who was accompanying him to the car.
“I hoped to have had a chat with you,” said Edenhope to Nurse Mary rather lamely as they arrived in the portico.
“Plenty of time for that to-morrow,” she responded quickly. “Anything we may have to say to each other will keep, I’m sure. Good-bye, Maurice. Sorry you troubled to come over to see Captain Gabriel. I assure you he is as well as I am.” She held out her hand. “Salaams to Dr. Dumbarton. Cheerful old sport, isn’t he?” she added with a laugh and not looking for a reply.
Her slang jarred; it was flippant and her voice rang hard and devoid of sentiment of any kind. It stung him to hear it. What she was now he had made her. Hard? yes! hard as nails!
He got into the car without a word; he could not have spoken just then had he tried ever so much. Her manner as well as her words numbed him into silence.
The car moved off and he left the house with a vision of Nurse Mary, standing on the top step of the portico by Michael’s side, laughing as she listened to one of his long-winded speeches.
What a fool he had been to come! was his inward thought. Dumbarton had proposed running over this morning; but Edenhope had put him off by saying that he intended going himself. As the car ran swiftly towards Bangalore, he asked himself angrily if anything different was to be expected from the woman who had suffered at his hands.
She had taken up her position and she had pushed him into his. She was no child to be swayed this way and that. The years that had passed since he had engaged himself to her had ploughed their furrows on her character and his. Whatever he might be, she had emerged from the process sheathed in self-assurance, self-restraint, resignation and an iron resolution to be happy, come what might. Her armour, as far as he could see, was impenetrable. She was not only on the defensive. Occasionally it seemed to him that she was actually on the offensive.
In taking the long drive, he had hoped that she would understand that it had been done for her sake. But he could not be sure. She had changed. He had discovered that fact on his first visit. His experience on this, his second, had confirmed it and taught him something more. She was no longer a warm-hearted, generous, unsuspicious girl to be easily won; she was a woman scarred with sorrow and fearful of having to suffer again. Above all, the conviction was forced upon him that her love was killed. Was it killed beyond all recovery?
Edenhope was not a man to take his difficulties sitting. The very thought of obstacles roused in him a spirit of perseverance. He had already decided that it would be of no use to attempt to pick up broken threads. The course to pursue, if she would only give him his chance, would be to begin his wooing all over again and take nothing for granted. He would have to make love to his wife as though he were attracted for the first time.
And was he attracted sufficiently to face the task?
Yes! a thousand times yes! Something undeveloped in the personality of the girl had drawn him towards her years ago, and made him single her out as the one woman among all others who was desirable. That very quality—he could not name it—was now developed through the ordeal of fire to which she had been subjected. If it was fascinating in the early days, it was irresistibly attractive now. It pervaded her character and was the mainspring of all her actions. It accounted for her presence in Gabriel’s house; her determination to stay there till the task she had set herself was accomplished.
He had seen the gratitude in the young Muhammadan’s eyes. Gabriel had said but little; but he had shown that he was aware of all he owed to Nurse Mary: the recovery of his health, of his peace of mind and of his wife. She had brought about their reunion in spite of the malicious opposition of the hareem and its dangerous intrigues. Her courage had not failed her; and, brave true heart that she was! she had no intention of leaving the happy couple till she was assured that all would go well with them.
It was a strange task she had undertaken; she of all people! Her faith in men could not be entirely destroyed if she occupied herself in the bringing of husband and wife together. There must still be a good deal of the milk of human kindness left.
If he could find the opportunity and the courage to acknowledge his sin against her and throw himself on her mercy; plead for forgiveness; assure her of his deep undying love, could he rekindle the fires that had been so ruthlessly extinguished?
To-morrow! to-morrow! All day to-morrow she would be within sight, within reach.
In spite of Mrs. Frome’s discouraging, deadening words—that his wife had learned to do without him—hope sprang in his breast again and again. It died away only to be resuscitated as he strengthened in his determination to make the attempt.
The car took him to the Hospital, where he had yet to go his usual morning rounds. Dumbarton met him with inquiry in his eyes, although he asked no question.
“Gabriel is better, much better,” he said, avoiding the other’s gaze.
“None the worse for his fall?”
“Apparently not. He is supremely happy; too happy to think of his bruises. His wife has been restored to him.”
“Good! how did it come about?”
“I had no opportunity to ask how it was done. That old bore, Michael, was there. I only learned that it was through the good offices of—er—Nurse Mary.”
“Splendid! first rate! When Nurse Mary sets her heart on doing a good turn to any one, you may bet your last rupee that it will be done. Now she will be able to get away on her holiday. She deserves it, if any one does! Not a day off has she had since I’ve known her here, and that’s over a year. Do you happen to have heard what she is going to do with herself? When does she leave?”
“She would like to get away to-morrow, if possible,” replied Edenhope, passing over the first question; but Jimmy was not to be put off.
“Good!” he cried. “Did she say where she means to go for her holiday?”
“Nothing very definite. She mentioned Colombo as attractive.”
“Colombo!” repeated Dumbarton in surprise. “What on earth does she want to go there for? Bet ten to one that there’s some camouflage in it.”
“She said she wanted a breath of sea air.”
“Not going to try for a passage home, I hope. There are none to be had. Is she coming back here?”
“Only for the day, just to collect her personal property. I am to send the car for her early in the morning, so that she is here by breakfast.”
“Are you going, sir?”
“I didn’t think of doing so. It would be as well perhaps if one of us went in case any difficulty should arise. The women of the hareem are very angry, I believe, at her interference in family affairs. Will you go, Dumbarton?”
“Can you spare me, sir?”
“I think so. I shall be more at ease if some one with authority is there to bring her away. The household will see that she is a person of importance, and will be impressed.”
“If necessary, I suppose I may use authority, the authority of the Commandant of the Hospital?”
Edenhope smiled rather sadly.
“I am afraid we haven’t much authority over the V.A.D. nurses when they go on leave. Her leave begins to-morrow morning.”
The day passed quietly when once the excitement in the hareem had subsided. After receiving the White Ammah’s message to the effect that her little finger was stronger than the whole body of the Beebee, Lilith ceased her round of punishments and retired to her room. There she sulked and indulged in fits of angry weeping. Her anger was mixed with fear; for she believed what the White Ammah had said: her little finger was stronger than the hareem.
She sent for the five women who were entrusted to guard the door leading to Gabriel’s rooms. They had orders that if the young Sahib appeared they were instantly to rouse the Shahzada himself. If the Sahiba presented herself, they were to oppose her passage on the plea that her husband was too ill to see her. The White Ammah herself had forbidden it.
The five combined in telling a wonderful tale of having seen two pale forms come up the corridor together. As they approached they dwindled in size, becoming smaller and smaller until they were barely visible. They took the shape of white moths.
The women, fearing that something was wrong, tried to catch the moths. Instead of flying away, the moths dashed in their faces as though they would blind them. In great fear the whole five crouched together against the wall, and watched the insects creep through a chink in the door. They had wings like the moonlight and each had two fiery red eyes terrible to behold.
“Most noble lady! what can these poor slaves do when Allah permits the White Ammah to weave spells that are too strong for all the wise men in the country?” asked the oldest woman of the party, as she wept and tossed back the grey hair she had loosened and dishevelled in token of her grief.
Lilith only half believed the story. She would have liked to have rejected it altogether; but she was naturally superstitious, and she could not rid herself of the belief that Nurse Mary had knowledge of magic as well as medicine. In India the two are always united in the person of the hakeem or Doctor.
“You were all asleep!” she cried angrily. “If I gave you your deserts, I should have you shut up without food and drink until the sun had twice risen and set.”
“Oh! wise daughter of the moon! oh! mother of a noble young prince! we slept not! Three of us watched while two only closed their eyes. We had veil and sandals ready to run anywhere that might be necessary; but we saw nothing but the two white moths.”
The Beebee was obliged to accept their story. If she did not believe it, others would. It was a tale that would be frequently repeated, and with its repetition faith would be strengthened. The women studied her face and detected signs of incredulity.
“Noble queen of our fate! we speak the truth. Never was there such power and strength as that possessed by the White Ammah. She rules the Ammah of the droog and lays her orders upon her as if she were but a dhoby’s ass.”
“What do you mean? speak out; there is more to tell; and take care that you do not say what is untrue or I will certainly punish you.”
“It is true what we will tell now, this very minute. Only this morning one from the kitchen, a small lad, that has the cunning of the jackal and the silence of the snake, was sent to watch the White Ammah as she took her walk. His story is terrible to hear; it makes the heart beat like the hammer of the carpenter.”
“What did the White Ammah do?” asked the Beebee, interested in spite of her ill-humour.
“She climbed up the steps till she came to the image of the Ammah. She stopped and spoke to her, and the image nodded its head and blinked its eyes, like one that listened and feared. Then the White Ammah went on to the temple.”
The women placed their hands before their mouths and groaned in awe.
“Well! go on, thou daughter of a snail. Never was anyone so slow in the telling of a tale!” cried the impatient mistress of the hareem.
“The White Ammah called the Ammah of the droog her sister, her younger sister; and our Ammah replied praying for mercy. But the other had no mercy. She thrust her magic stick through the hole in the door and caused it to lengthen until it reached every corner. With spells and curses she beat the Ammah of the droog as though she were her daughter-in-law; she called her names and laughed at her! We all know that the laugh of the devil is far worse than its cry; for it means that it is master and is bringing mischief on all alike. The boy said that his heart turned to water and all his strength left him.”
“Did she see him?”
“He kept out of sight; but she knew he was there; for she threw stones at him. By her magic the stones turned red hot when they fell.”
“What else happened?”
“When she had done giving her orders to the Ammah and scolding her, she descended the steps to return. Most noble ruler of the hareem! this is the truth. The White Ammah did not use her feet. She caused her black cloak to become wings with which she flew like a big bat down each flight of steps. She passed more swiftly than a man could run. It was dreadful to see. When she came to the image she stopped and again cast spells and spoke curses that made the air smoke. Again the image blinked and bowed its head, knowing full well that it was in the presence of a stronger devil than itself. Oh! most noble lady, we shall have trouble! We shall be driven from our home! We shall die for all this!”
The women threw their draperies over their heads and wailed in chorus.
“Where is the boy who has brought this tale?” asked Lilith.
“He is sick and his people say that he will die. All day he has been moaning under a rug. He will not eat. Fear has made his blood cease to flow.”
Lilith asked a few more questions and dismissed the women, who were thankful to escape with whole skins. They went to repeat their story to all who would listen; and they were never without an audience. The tales they told lost nothing in the repetition. Details were added wherever the imagination prompted and in one respect they served a good purpose: they took the attention of the hareem from Nourma and her husband.
The stories spread to the servants belonging to Michael’s establishment and through them to the gardeners and watermen. During the two hours given at midday for food and rest these men found their audiences in the village, where the news created excitement and dismay. A council was called, and it was decided to send a message to the village purohit asking him to fix a day for a big propitiatory ceremony. The village promised to supply the animals required for the sacrifice of blood to be offered at the door of the temple and before the image on the platform.
Michael paid a visit to his wife during the day. To him she repeated the tale. He made light of it all as village gossip, and asked if she had turned into a Hindu that she believed such nonsense. What was an Ammah to a Believer?”
“It may be a Jin,” she said sulkily.
“The English nurse is certainly not a Jin,” said Michael decisively. “She is only a very clever, persevering Englishwoman. She is quite right when she says that her little finger is stronger than you and your hareem, wife. It is such women as Nurse Mary, as they call her, who make the Englishmen what they are; rulers of this land. Where did your women watch last night?”
“At the door of the hareem leading into the verandah.”
“And while they watched there, our sister veiled in black passed down the outer staircase used by the servants and up the stairs leading to the Englishwoman’s rooms. Nourma occupied those rooms when she was first married and she can find her way anywhere about them in the dark. The mischief is done. Trouble no more over the girl; it is useless.”
“Who told you how she escaped?”
“My brother, of course; and he laughed as he spoke of it.”
There was silence for a while and Lilith looked at her husband as though there was much in her mind.
“Would it be possible, think you, my lord, to make it necessary for our brother to return to the Hospital? We could then go to our house in Mysore and take our sister with us. If you left us there for three months, I—might be able— to—undo—” She did not finish her sentence nor give any further explanation. Michael nodded and lifted a hand for silence.
After a little more conversation—which was carried on in a whisper—he left his wife and later in the day sought his brother.
Gabriel met him with a hearty welcome and a pleasanter manner than he had shown ever since his arrival home.
“I am so happy to have my wife with me,” he said frankly. “It is as if the sun, long darkened by clouds, had suddenly shone forth.”
“I am pleased if you are pleased,” responded Michael amiably. “Where is our sister, Nourma?”
“In Nurse Mary’s room, where she will stay. To-morrow my wife’s women will be able to come. Nurse Mary leaves us in the morning.”
“We ought to make her a present.”
“You heard what the Doctor said. It is forbidden. To-night I shall sit up for the tiger. My wife will remain under Nurse Mary’s care. I shall start soon after sunset, and I shall remain in the machan till a little before dawn.”
Michael expressed his gratification, and looked his pleasure.
“I was afraid lest the possession of your wife might cause you to forget the beast. The machan is finished. I have had it roofed over with branches and made as comfortable as is possible. If the tiger comes, it will be about four o’clock when the moon is up; but it is my belief that the brute has left the hill and that we shall see no more of it.”
“You may be right,” replied Gabriel, rousing himself from deep thought. “Have you made any further inquiry about the grey horse?”
“It died of colic from careless feeding and watering. It was given too much guinea-grass which was freshly cut, and it was allowed to drink its fill.”
“The syce—is he here?”
“He has run away and we shall see no more of him. I will join you when you go to the hill and walk a little way. We have a white kid to tie up this time.”
Gabriel did not reply. He knew that the horse had been poisoned and he was not satisfied with the line his brother was taking; but he kept his own counsel.
As the sun passed to its setting behind the distant Western Ghats, the two brothers walked along the path leading to the temple. They talked together in friendly fashion until they came to the bottom of the steps. Here Michael excused himself on the score of not wishing to mount the hill. Darkness was coming on quickly also, and he added with a laugh, he had no desire to encounter the striped or spotted beast, whichever it might be.
Gabriel, carrying a rifle and small quantity of ammunition, continued his journey by himself. He glanced at the image of the Ammah with a smile, admitting to himself that she had rather a terrifying appearance.
The night passed quietly. Between one and two o’clock the moon, which was in its third quarter, rose and climbed into a cloudless sky. No sound of a rifle shot disturbed the silence of the night. The white kid, tired out with its restless fright and bleatings, resigned itself to its fate and slept in the long grass and ferns.
It was past five o’clock and dawn would soon be appearing. There was a stir in the machan and the khaki-clad figure of Nurse Mary descended from the tree by the bamboo ladder. She was alone. Gabriel had vanished. He had left his rifle behind for a servant to fetch later on. She walked slowly down the stone steps towards the platform where the image of the Ammah rested. She made no attempt to muffle the sound of her stout riding boots on the stone. The kid awoke and bleated piteously at being forsaken. The moonlight touched the steps with a chequered pattern of silver, but the image itself was in shade. On the level space between the steps and the image the full flood of the moonlight fell, touching the glistening foliage of the growth round the lip of the chasm.
At the last step Nurse Mary paused in her walk and stood looking around as though she half expected the tiger to be crouching near. She listened for sounds that might betray its presence. Perhaps she regretted not having brought Gabriel’s rifle down with her, for she was totally unarmed.
A faint rustle in the bushes that overhung the mouth of the chasm riveted her attention and she watched the foliage closely. At one spot it was slightly agitated. There was no wind, however, to move a single leaf; the morning breeze had not yet risen. Like one too fascinated to move, she remained motionless.
Out of the thick leafage crept a striped beast walking awkwardly on all fours. It faced Nurse Mary and slowly drew near her. Suddenly it rose on its hind legs as if to strike down its victim. At that moment a terrible cry came from the image of the Ammah.
The tiger, still standing upright, turned quickly towards the pedestal. An awful sight met the eyes of the human beast. The Ammah on the plinth had disappeared. She had apparently come down from her place and was moving towards him.
The eyes of the apparition were enormous and glittered in the moonlight. They were without eyelids and eyeballs. The nose was elongated into a thick trunk at the end of which was the pig’s snout of the Ammah. Slowly the demoness advanced towards the murderous villain who was masquerading as a tiger. The sight seemed to terrify him. He forgot his sinister purpose; the strength went out of his limbs; he could only gaze in paralyzing terror at those ghastly eyes and the swinish snout.
The tiger lifted its hands as though in entreaty and stepped back. The Ammah advanced. Step by step they moved while Nurse Mary at the foot of the stairs watched with a curious, fascinated gaze. It was in vain that the tiger endeavoured to keep the distance between himself and the Ammah. The demon came on inexorably, nearer and nearer. Now they were both on the platform in the full moonlight. Nurse Mary advanced a step or two, but the tiger in his terror had forgotten her presence as well as his own evil intention.
The movement continued till the tiger was driven to the very edge of the chasm. The Ammah took another step forward and the tiger stepped backward, his heel over the edge. He must have fallen into the cleft if Nurse Mary, seeing the danger, had not darted forward with outstretched hands to help him.
The man in the tiger skin, feeling the insecurity of the shelving ground beneath his feet, clutched wildly at the rescuing arm which he seized with his right hand above the wrist.
A scream of pain rang out on the silent air; and they fell together as they hovered on the verge of the pit. The Ammah laid a hand on each and dragged them a few inches forward into safety.
The human tiger was on his face, limp and inert. The sight of the demon had been too much for him; he had fainted. Nurse Mary sat crumpled up with pain, nursing her arm from which the blood poured.
The Ammah with an exclamation of dismay threw off the gas mask and tossed it down by the side of the pedestal.
“You are hurt!” cried Gabriel, kneeling by her side. “What is it?”
“Something has given me an awful cut and I am bleeding. Gracious! how it pains!”
He turned quickly to the motionless figure lying face downwards and with a rough movement seized the man’s right hand. He forced open the fingers and wrenched away four iron rings with curved knives attached.
“Ah! I thought so! the Mahratta claws!” he said, as he slipped the wicked instrument into his pocket. “Now let us see who it is. I have a mind to throw him into the hole just as he is, the brute!”
He rolled over the prostrate body. Even with her wound Nurse Mary could not restrain her curiosity. She leaned forward to see who it was.
Gabriel pushed back the tiger-skin flap, made of the skin of the animal’s forehead, and the light of the moon shone full upon the bloodless face of his own brother, Michael.
A little after seven the next morning the car from the Hospital drew up under the portico of the Garden of Roses. Jimmy opened the door and sprang out. He looked round for Nurse Mary, a smile of greeting ready for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. He was ten minutes later than the time appointed; but it was through no fault of his. He had been held up by a long procession of bullock carts not far from the house. Moving slowly away they had hardly got into line and were straggling all over the road. The ends of many of the carts were hung with curtains through which excited veiled figures peeped.
Dumbarton supposed Nurse Mary was packing and had not heard the hooter. He directed the chauffeur to sound it under the portico. To his surprise no one came. The usual throng of inquisitive servants was absent; the place was deserted. He walked through the rose garden to the second verandah where he had been received by Michael. Still no one came.
He was contemplating a further penetration when he saw Captain Gabriel coming swiftly down the stairs. He came forward with an extended hand. Jimmy took it with a hearty greeting.
“No need to ask how you are,” said the latter. “I never saw you looking so well.”
“I’m first rate, Doctor; as well as ever I was; but I am very much troubled and disturbed. Nurse Mary has had an accident.”
“A bad one?” asked Jimmy, his brows contracting with anxiety. Though he had warned her that something of the sort might occur, he had not believed that it would.
“Nothing, I hope, to make us anxious, but I am afraid she has had a good deal of pain. I regret it! oh! how I regret it! She has been so good to me! I owe her more than I can ever repay.”
He was genuinely distressed and from his manner Dumbarton began to fear that she was seriously injured in some way.
“Was the accident brought about purposely?” he asked.
“No! I assure you it was purely accidental and unforeseen.”
“And its nature?” asked the Doctor, as he sprang up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Gabriel had enough to do to keep pace with him.
“Her arm is cut about and she has lost a good deal of blood. My wife and I have bound it up as well as we could.”
They arrived at Nurse Mary’s door and Gabriel cried:
“Gosha! gosha! gosha!”
There was a swift scurry of feet, and Dumbarton caught sight of a wisp of white drapery as Nourma vanished into the bedroom.
Nurse Mary was dressed for the drive home. The sleeve of her uniform had been removed and her arm was in a sling. She smiled at Jimmy as he entered.
“So glad you have come, Dr. Dumbarton. I am ready to go back with you. My luggage has gone downstairs under Cassim’s charge. You must find room for him.”
Dumbarton looked keenly into her face. She was pale, and he could see that she had had something of a shock. He at once began to undo the bandage.
“I must see what has happened to your arm.” He turned to Gabriel and asked for basin and towel.
Gabriel went straight into the bedroom and after a few seconds came back with what was required. Behind him, looking very shy but happy, Nurse Mary saw, to her great surprise, Nourma. She was carrying a jug of water. Her white veil was drawn over her head, but her features were not hidden.
“Is this all right?” asked Nurse Mary of Gabriel, her eyes on his wife.
“It is quite right,” he replied instantly and with pride. “She is gosha of course to all others; but I wish her to see Dr. Dumbarton, who was so kind to me while I was in Hospital. He will understand.”
Jimmy glanced up at the beautiful woman with no little curiosity. He smiled and nodded. No wonder that Gabriel had been so anxious to get home when a wife like this awaited his coming. Then he bent to his work like the skilled surgeon he was, and reassured himself that all had been done that was possible.
“Not bad for a beginner, is it?” said Nurse Mary. “Captain Gabriel and his wife bound up my arm under my directions. It was her first lesson in first-aid.”
Dumbarton examined the four cuts. They were very much like those on Mahmoud’s back, but not so long nor so deep. He did what was necessary and bound up the wound again.
“Do you think you can bear the journey back to Bangalore?” he asked.
“I am sure I can. I wish to go. My work here is done and Captain Gabriel has no more need of me.”
She spoke as if she was tired and had lost all heart in her work, and was glad that it was at an end. She rose a little unsteadily to her feet.
“Good-bye, Nourma, for the present. Some day I will come and see you and your husband again.”
The Muhammadan girl threw her arms round her neck and kissed her with words of gratitude, calling her a beloved sister.
Nurse Mary turned to Gabriel, refusing Dumbarton’s aid.
“You will help me downstairs, won’t you? I am still a little shaky on my legs.”
It was a last act of graciousness that pleased her late patient more than a little. She took his arm and they went down the stairs, Nourma watching them with the ready smiles and tears of the emotional East.
There were no inquisitive crowds behind the Venetians to watch the departure of the White Ammah. A little group of Nourma’s attendants had assembled in the deserted corner room that had formerly been left for the exclusive use of the late Beebee. They were whispering among themselves.
“It was the Beebee’s own fault. She need never have left the house if she had submitted to the will of the White Ammah. It was foolish to oppose a power she knew nothing about.”
“Did you see her go with all her women?”
The other nodded assent. “Twenty-seven carts in all! and still there are more things to be sent.”
“And the Shahzada? what of him?”
“He went away in one of the carriages with two horses as the sun rose over the droog. His face was yellow with fear and the coachman drove fast.”
“Where has he gone?”
“It is not told. All we know is that he will not return. The young Sahib will be the Shahzada as is only right and proper; and the Sahiba will be the Beebee.”
“So much the better for all of us who are of her household. See! here comes the White Ammah! She still holds the Sahib in her grip.”
“Why is her arm bound?”
“Haven’t you heard?” replied the other, dropping her voice lower. “Very early this morning before it was light, it is said that she turned herself into a man and went up the droog. There she fought with the tiger. She killed him and threw him into the pit on the droog. He was the Rakshah’s son who had come to punish the Ammah of the droog. Then a terrible thing happened. The White Ammah called to her sister to help her; and our Ammah came down from the stone on which she sits and caught the Rakshah’s son by the throat. Together they squeezed his throat and blinded him. Afterwards they threw him into the chasm.”
“Who told you the tale?” asked the other, shaking with fear.
“I had it from the market woman whose son has been up the hill this morning. He looked over the edge of the hole, and he saw the striped body of the tiger hanging low down among the bushes. He was terribly frightened, for he thought he saw the body move. The Rakshah’s son will come to life again as the sun goes down. The boy ran back as fast as he could.”
“Did the Ammah really come down from her seat?”
“She descended with a fearful cry of rage when she saw the tiger seize the White Ammah. She had large shining eyes as big as the moon and the nose of the elephant god with the nostrils of the image.”
“How was all this known?”
“Daood himself went up the hill and watched from a distance. The Rakshah’s son fought hard and bit the White Ammah in the arm. After she was bitten she turned into a woman again with her long black cloak. But it was no use struggling against her whether man or woman. She is stronger than the Hindu devils; even our Jins dare not speak with her; there is no end to her power.”
“Hark! the voice of the devil that moves the carriage without horses! She goes! But we must not forget that she is still the friend of the young Shahzada and the Beebee. We must go. There is much to be done; for we move to-day into the lower rooms.”
As Dumbarton followed Nurse Mary and Gabriel downstairs he asked how the accident happened. Gabriel replied promptly that Nurse Mary would give him all the details on the way back. They reached the portico. Again Dumbarton looked round in astonishment.
“Where is your brother Michael? I hope he is well?”
“Quite well, sir. He left the house very early this morning to go to a small estate of his own beyond Mysore. The ryots need his presence there,” replied Gabriel.
“I passed a long procession of carts just before I arrived at the house,” remarked Jimmy.
“They contained his family and luggage.”
“Then you are alone here.”
“With the Beebee, my wife, sir,” amended Gabriel. The car drove away, leaving the happy young Muhammadan noble the sole master of his house and estates.
For some time Nurse Mary was silent. She leaned back on the cushions and closed her eyes. The events of the early morning on the hill were beginning to show their effects. If it had not been for Gabriel’s strong helping hand, Michael must have fallen into the chasm; and he would have dragged her with him. She had felt that horrible sensation of balancing on the very edge that was like a nightmare. For a second or two Michael was poised and swaying on the brink. It was then that he caught at Nurse Mary’s outstretched arm to save himself. She, seeing his peril and knowing him to be a man, put forth a ready hand to help. Forgetting in the terror of the moment the deadly weapon hidden in his right hand, he had grasped her arm. The claw-knives cut through her flesh and gave him no hold. He seized her coat and then fell forward fainting at the sight of Gabriel in his gas-mask.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked Dumbarton, noting her pale face and her unusual silence.
“Yes; don’t be anxious about me. I shall soon be myself again.”
“Gabriel assured me that it was an accident,” he remarked after a pause.
“It was a pure accident. I was injured trying to save—the tiger.”
She related the whole story from beginning to end.
“Gabriel and I were determined to unravel the mystery and run this human brute to earth. He went out ostensibly to sit up for the tiger and he let the whole house know of his intention. I followed after it was dark and took his place in the machan—not a very wise thing perhaps to do; but at the time we did not believe that there was any serious threat to his life. I carried his gas-mask and left it by the image of the Ammah. Just before dawn at the appointed time I came down from the tree. I reached the platform of rock and stopped to look about me. The tiger, thinking that I was Gabriel, crept out of the jungle at the edge of the chasm. He intended to spring on Gabriel and gash his throat.”
“The brute! and how was it that he did not spring on you?”
“Before he could accomplish his purpose he heard a noise and looking up he saw Gabriel in his gas-mask. The Ammah had disappeared because my cloak had been thrown over it. The murderer, who had never seen a gas-mask nor a photograph of one, believed that the apparition was none other than the Ammah herself who had descended from her pedestal and was advancing to seize him. He backed away towards the hole. In another second he would have fallen into it. I saw his danger and held out my hand. He clutched at it, forgetting he was armed with those horrible Mahratta claws. Gabriel rushed forward and dragged us into safety.”
“It’s a pity you didn’t let the brute go.”
“He must have been killed.”
“All the better; he deserved his fate.”
“But, Jimmy! who do you think the tiger was?”
“That devil of a syce who poisoned the horse.”
“He was Michael, Gabriel’s brother.”
“The deuce! That smooth-tongued, courtly gentleman. Impossible!”
“I assure you it was Michael and none other.”
“What happened afterwards?”
“The first thing Gabriel did was to take away the claws, and the second, to pull off the tiger-skin coat in which Michael had disguised himself. He threw it into the cleft. He was only just in time; for Daood, the old peon, who professed to have come out early to look for the young master—as Mahmoud was not able to do so—turned up. He was trembling with fear, believing that we had had an encounter with the Rakshah’s son, who is said to take the form of a tiger. We did not undeceive him. He looked fearfully at me and my bleeding arm. Michael was still unconscious; the peon was convinced that he had lost his senses at the sight of the Ammah and the Rakshah; and he wasn’t far wrong. It was the gas-mask that did the trick. Gabriel bound up my arm as well as he could; and he sent Daood for the syces to bring an old palankeen that they have and occasionally use for the hareem ladies. Michael recovered his senses while Daood was away. He looked very foolish and scared to death.”
“You did not let him into the secret of the apparition, did you?” asked Dumbarton.
“Rather not! It was the sight of my arm that affected him most. I think he was terrified lest he should have to account for the injury to the British Government. When Gabriel suggested that it might be as well to pay a visit to his own little property, he jumped at it; and made preparations as soon as he reached the house for an immediate start. His wife and her suite followed. Gabriel says that he does not anticipate any more trouble. Jimmy! he is no end of a good fellow.”
“Even when he wants to put half the hareem to the sword?”
“Oh! well! you know you sympathized with him, and said yourself that you would have been inclined to do the same if you had been treated as he was. I wonder if Michael really meant to kill his brother.”
“I have no doubt about it. Dead men tell no tales. If Gabriel bled to death with the claw marks on the throat the deed would have been put down to the tiger, real or supernatural.”
She was silent again as she contemplated the facts.
“What I can’t understand, remembering Michael’s great kindness and hospitality, is the wish on his part to murder his brother,” she said.
“It must have been the existence of the boy that led him on. He would have been quite content to have stayed on with Gabriel and shared the house if it had not been for the future. Gabriel will have a son, probably two or three, and Michael’s son will lose all chance of inheriting the estate. He stooped to his treachery for the sake of his son.”
Again she was silent. He did not speak, knowing that it was best for her to be as quiet as possible; as long as she was not brooding over unpleasant subjects that would be best talked out. It was likely that the ride to Bangalore would be trying to her strength and perhaps put her back.
“Jimmy, you were right!” she said presently.
“Was I, dearest? In what way?”
“You said that it wasn’t very safe for me to remain there with so much intrigue going on.”
“Let me see; did we make a bet on it?”
“No, Dr. Dumbarton; we did not.”
“What an opportunity lost for backing my own opinion! I was a fool!” cried Jimmy, pulling out the note-book and searching back on the faint hope of finding something in the shape of a bet on the subject. He drew a blank and put the book back with a regretful sigh.
When they were on the outskirts of Bangalore, Nurse Mary asked where he was taking her.
“Back to the Hospital, of course. Where else should I take you?”
“To the General Hospital where the civilians go.”
“You are still on our staff and we don’t turn any of our workers away when they fall ill.”
She did not reply. He knew the direction of her thoughts. She had her husband in her mind.
“I suppose I am still Nurse Mary to the staff.”
“And to all of us, including the Commandant. You may as well remain so until you leave.”
“——which won’t be for a day or two.”
“More likely two or three weeks,” rejoined Dumbarton. “You will not be allowed to go till all fear of inflammation is over and the skin joined. You will be my case. The Commandant will see you on his inspection rounds; that’s all; unless you wish to make some other arrangement.”
“Oh! no! I should prefer what you suggest. But, Jimmy?”
“Yes! what is it?”
“I should like Nurse Ida to know my little secret. The other nurses need not be told just yet, although there is nothing I am ashamed of. They might perhaps wonder why——”
“I am going to put you under Nurse Ida’s care. She is almost as good as you are at open wounds. She’s one of the best!”
“Not the best, Jimmy?”
“Not—yet,” he replied with a laugh, as the car drew up under the portico of the Hospital.
As soon as Nurse Mary had been confided to Ida’s care, Jimmy ran across to the Hotel. Breakfast was still in progress. Edenhope was sitting at Mrs. Frome’s table. He was preoccupied and did not seem to have much appetite. She had been watching him with curiosity, wondering how she could fathom his mood and find out what was the matter with him. She felt sure that he had had news of his wife; and that the news was disturbing him.
At the sight of Dumbarton he sprang up and went to meet him.
“Anything wrong?” he asked quickly, his eyes searching Dumbarton’s face with keen inquiry.
“I have brought her back. She is not very well. When you have finished your breakfast, come over to the Hospital and I will tell you everything.”
“She is not ill? For Heaven’s sake, Dumbarton, don’t deceive me.”
“It’s all right, sir; nothing to be anxious about——”
He would have said more, but Mrs. Frome bore down upon them.
“I came to ask if you had breakfasted, Dr. Dumbarton,” she said sweetly.
“Not yet; it is waiting for me at the Hospital. I’ve been too busy to sit down to a meal.”
“Come and have some with us; do now; and you can talk shop with Colonel Edenhope all the time if you like.”
She took his arm and led him to the table, ordering her own servant to bring a chair and wait on her guest. Edenhope seated himself again and finished his coffee. He inwardly fumed against the restraint and was longing to get away.
“What have you been so busy about this morning, Dr. Dumbarton?” asked Mrs. Frome.
“As usual, seeing patients.”
“Any interesting cases?”
“Nothing out of the common; certainly nothing of interest except to the Surgeons and the Nurses in charge. Is it true that the Artillery Mess is thinking of giving a ball?”
“I believe so. You know, Dr. Dumbarton, my niece will tell me nothing of what she is doing in the Hospital. She says just what you say—‘There is nothing of interest.’ I am sure you are all interested. Colonel Edenhope when he caught sight of you looked more than interested. He was positively anxious, I am sure.”
“Anxious we all are at times. Our patients are sent to us to cure and until they are discharged cured, we must be more or less anxious. When do you think the Artillery ball is coming off?”
“Three weeks hence, I believe. Must you go?” she said to Edenhope, who had risen. “You have made a very poor breakfast.”
Dumbarton followed his chief’s example; but Edenhope bade him sit down again.
“I can get on without you for half an hour or so. You stay and finish your breakfast comfortably.”
He strode off without waiting for a reply. Claudia looked after him.
“Colonel Edenhope is worried; I can see it with half an eye. Is there anything in the Hospital to cause him anxiety?”
“Nothing whatever,” fibbed Jimmy cheerfully, anathematizing the woman’s curiosity inwardly. “I suppose they will throw out tents from the Mess bungalow to make more room. Pity it is so small.”
“Their ball is always successful. Does Colonel Edenhope think of taking a few days’ leave soon?”
Jimmy looked at her with an expression of simple surprise.
“He has only just come back from leave. It is very unlikely that he will want to be off again yet. What I admire so much about these Bangalore balls is the wonderful display of flowers. Last time the Artillery people raised a lot of pink lotus blossoms from somewhere which were arranged on a bank of moss. Yes,” to the servant, “you may bring me a boiled egg.”
“I thought perhaps the Commandant might have—er—old friends to see—possibly at Coonoor.”
“Don’t think it’s likely. He may be thinking of an expedition to the Koondahs for all I know. I believe there are a few saddle-backs left. You have hunted at Ooty, of course. Fine ‘going’ over the downs. You ought to go next month and take two or three good hunters with you. No thanks; nothing more. I must be off or I shall catch a wigging from Edenhope.”
“Stupid fellow!” thought Mrs. Frome; “as daft as they make ’em; and Ida is as bad. There’s something doing at the Hospital, and it is something that affects Maurice. I must find out what it is;” with which resolve she went to her own room.
“This is a piece of bad luck!” cried Nurse Mary, as the Doctor entered her room.
Nurse Ida was in attendance. She rose from the chair by the bedside and offered it to the Commandant, retiring to the window. It was her duty to remain in the room during the Doctor’s visit in case he might have some directions to give or require questions answered.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly, his eye noting the want of colour and drawn appearance of the face.
“My arm has been badly scored. Dr. Dumbarton knows all the circumstances. He will tell you how it occurred.”
“Has the wound been dressed since you were brought in?”
“Dr. Dumbarton attended to it before we started and Nurse Ida has done all that is necessary since I arrived.”
He asked several professional questions, and Nurse Ida at a sign from the patient came forward to answer them. The questions were addressed to Nurse Mary, but in each case she turned her eyes to Ida in an appeal to answer them for her while she remained silent.
“You are tired,” he said suddenly.
“Very,” she admitted. “I had no sleep last night.”
He looked at her as though he wanted to do something for her comfort, but it was not in his power.
“And I am afraid you are in pain as well.”
“I must expect that,” she remarked, as she closed her eyes.
He sat gazing at her white face with a distress he could not hide. She was very different from the Nurse Mary of the Garden of Roses, where he had seen her last. Then she was full of vitality; her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were aglow. Now there were bluish patches under her eyes and lines of pain about her mouth. She looked up suddenly and caught his gaze.
“Please don’t be anxious about me,” she said pathetically. “I hate giving all this trouble. Dr. Dumbarton thinks I shall be all right in a week or so. Then I shall be able to start on my holiday. I shall be very glad to get away.”
The last sentence slipped out almost unconsciously, and there was a note of weariness in it. He rose at once. Her words hurt him; they intimated too plainly that she would be relieved to be rid of his proximity.
“I will see Dr. Dumbarton and hear what he has to say.”
“Yes, do! I am afraid I have brought this upon myself by staying on with Captain Gabriel. Dr. Dumbarton told me plainly that I was making a mistake. I’m an obstinate subject when I am set upon anything, as I was in this case. I refused to listen to his good advice and have landed myself in a difficulty. However, I had my way and accomplished my end.”
He stooped over her and felt her pulse. She glanced up at him with a quick frown and seemed about to put her hand out of his reach. His touch reassured her. It was strictly professional and he released her wrist at once. He turned to Nurse Ida.
“Bring the thermometer and take Nurse Mary’s temperature.”
He did not attempt to manipulate the thermometer himself. During the regulation time for the process he walked away to the window and stood looking out into the garden. Nurse Ida took the instrument to him.
“Ah! I thought so; a little fever as well as a rapid pulse. I will see Dr. Dumbarton and he will prescribe.”
He addressed Nurse Ida, but all the time his gaze was upon his wife. Nurse Mary had again closed her eyes and was silent. A minute passed; and without another word he turned away and left the room.
“You don’t like the new Commandant,” remarked Ida presently.
“No! do you?”
“Immensely; he is awfully kind and considerate, and nothing escapes him. He could see that you did not like him”
“That’s a good thing; perhaps he won’t come again. I’m quite content with Dr. Dumbarton and don’t want any other Doctor fussing around. Oh! dear! how my arm aches! I feel as if I could cry!” and the tears promptly welled up in her eyes and fell down her cheeks.
Two days passed and the patient was allowed to get up. The Commandant came regularly twice a day; but he left Dumbarton to prescribe and did not interfere in the treatment.
On the day when Edenhope found her dressed, he smiled with satisfaction. The patient was looking happier and in better spirits about herself.
“This is good, Nurse Mary,” he said. “I am so glad you have made a step forward in the right direction. Now we shall soon have you well and able to begin your holiday.”
She looked at him and the colour flew into her pale cheeks. It was not in her nature to be morose and gloomy; and for the first time since she was brought back she smiled in response.
“I am really feeling better,” she admitted.
“To-morrow I should think Dumbarton would let you go for a drive. There is the motor-car if you feel up to using it.”
“It would be rather nice,” she admitted.
“Do you want to go back to the Garden of Roses and see how that handsome young scamp Gabriel is getting on?”
“I am sure he is happy enough and we need not trouble our heads about him again.”
“By the way, I had a letter from him this morning asking for news of you. I am writing to say that you are getting on well.”
“Did he mention his wife?”
“She sent you her salaams and Gabriel added: ‘That means her love in which I join with my wife.’ They are a very devoted couple. I wish the girl had had an English education.”
“I don’t think it matters a bit. You see, Gabriel is at heart a Muhammadan and he puts on European ways just as he puts on a coat. You should have seen him breaking open the hareem door!” She laughed at the memory. “There was nothing European about that! It was a case of the oriental letting himself go and ‘seeing red.’”
“What did you do?”
“Put on my uniform and scolded him well, professionally. But at the bottom of my heart I liked him all the better for ‘seeing red,’ after the way in which he had been treated. Does he say anything more?”
“He tells me that you have left a mighty reputation behind you as a White Ammah.”
Again Nurse Mary laughed with some of the old merriment that was one of the charms of Rosemary.
“You know, Maurice, I was very naughty. Nourma told me I was called the White Ammah and I traded on it. It was such fun to be able to establish a funk in the hareem. I shall never have another chance of posing as a supernatural being.”
“You must remember that the Ammahs of India are devils,” he replied with a smile.
“All of them?”
“All! white, green, yellow, blue and black; and they have a bad reputation. It was because you showed your goodness that Nourma refused to believe that you were an Ammah.”
Ida, feeling that her presence was no longer necessary during the Commandant’s visit, had left the room. She had by this time learned the relationship that existed between the two.
Edenhope glanced round the room.
“I see you have no flowers,” he remarked.
“Oh! yes! I have! Nurse Ida brought me these coreopsis and the pink antigone creeper.”
“You have no roses. I will send you some. And I have brought you a book; one of the latest novels. I have read it; it is perfectly charming.”
He laid a volume on her lap.
“Thank you so much. It is good of you. I know I shall like it; we always agreed over books.”
“And flowers,” he added.
“And riding. It was lovely country over there for long gallops. You would have enjoyed it. Captain Gabriel is a born lover of horses.”
“So are you,” he rejoined quickly.
“Well, yes! I suppose I am,” she admitted. “I loved that little Arab mare he lent me. She was a darling. What a pity it is that Nourma can’t ride her. She loses a lot of enjoyment by being shut up in the hareem.”
“Perhaps Gabriel will be glad to have the Arab for his own use.”
“He is too heavy for her; and he has other horses that he likes better.”
Edenhope rose saying that he must be going.
“No fever, I hope,” he added; and he laid his hand on hers with a firm, friendly grasp. “No! that’s all right! How is the arm?”
“Mending fine! Do you want to see it?” she asked, preparing to slip her arm out of the sling.
“Haven’t time now. To-morrow morning, if Dumbarton won’t think I am interfering with his case, perhaps I may be allowed to look at it. By the by, would you like him to take you for your first drive to-morrow? He’s very fond of playing chauffeur. Nurse Ida can go with you. I shall be here to look after things.”
“You are very good, Maurice,” was all she ventured to say, as she raised her eyes to his.
He saw in them surprise as well as gratitude that he should be so kind and thoughtful for her; and it pained him. It showed all unconsciously that she had expected something different, and that kindness and consideration were the last things she looked for. An intense longing seized him to take her in his arms and assure her again and again of his love, pleading for her forgiveness; but he dared not. To do so now would be to frighten her. If he had been only her lover he might have ventured; but with the tie between them it altered their positions and gave him rights which she resented. He would take nothing by authority. He would claim nothing. If she chose to give, freely and ungrudgingly and with the full pardon of an angelic nature, then—he thrust the hope aside; it was too dazzling for his peace of mind.
Half an hour later a large basket of glorious yellow tea roses were brought into her room by Nurse Ida.
“Colonel Edenhope left these himself. They are for you. He sent no message with them. You lucky girl! He must have gone to the florist’s and bought up the whole garden.”
“Give them to me.”
She buried her face in the cool, sweet blossoms and laid her cheek against the golden petals still moist with the morning dew. Ida hunted up a large basin and plunged them in just as they were. She brought a small bamboo table and placed the roses close to Nurse Mary’s chair.
“No one sends me any roses. I shall be jealous and so will matron and the rest of the staff. He will be taking you for a drive himself soon,” said Nurse Ida, whose sympathies were on the man’s side.
“He is very kind,” said Nurse Mary listlessly.
“You still hate him, then?” asked Ida.
Nurse Mary glanced at her with a startled look.
“Hate him! That’s rather strong, isn’t it? I don’t think I ever said that I hated him.”
“You’ve looked it sometimes. Perhaps I ought to have said dislike.”
“I don’t dislike him even when he sends me roses.”
“And lends you books.”
After a short silence Nurse Mary asked how soon Ida thought she would be allowed to travel.
“In another week or so, if the wound is healed. You can’t possibly leave as long as it requires dressing. Don’t worry yourself, dear. We are delighted to have you here.”
“I’m taking up your time which ought to be given to the patients,” said Nurse Mary.
“Not all my time by a long way. We are not very busy just now. The work grows less every day. We haven’t had a convoy for ever so long. I wish you liked the Commandant better. Dr. Dumbarton says he’s a splendid man; one of the very best.”
“You don’t know everything,” was Nurse Mary’s rejoinder, to which Ida made no reply.
It was true. No one knew what had passed between husband and wife except that Edenhope had admitted to Dumbarton that he was under a cloud of depression when he married, and that he had allowed it to cause an estrangement. Dumbarton, with few opportunities of private conversation, had told Ida nothing but the simple fact that the two were husband and wife; and he had asked her not to mention it at present. It was natural that in the absence of reasons for her conduct Nurse Mary should seem hard and unyielding. Ida determined to have an explanation from Dumbarton as soon as she could find the chance.
It was arranged that the drive was to take place between half-past seven and nine o’clock. At the time appointed Nurse Mary was in the verandah, ready dressed for her drive, with Ida in attendance. The car was brought round by Dumbarton himself. He descended and came into the verandah. Colonel Edenhope appeared from the office.
“You’ll go carefully, Dumbarton. All Nurse Mary wants is a little fresh air and change of scene,” said Edenhope, as he accompanied his wife to the car and opened the door for her. He closed it after she had taken her seat.
“Isn’t Nurse Ida coming?” she asked.
“I thought she might like to go outside with Dumbarton. It will be nice for him,” he said, putting his arms on the ledge of the large open window of the car.
“I would rather go inside,” said Nurse Ida with a sudden fluttering of the heart which she could not account for. “I must not be selfish and leave Nurse Mary alone.”
“Come round this side, Nurse Ida,” said Dumbarton, who had no intention of letting such an opportunity go now that it had been offered. “You must climb in and go past the driver’s seat and you will find a jolly snug little nest of cushions that will be more comfortable than inside the coupé. Come along! we’re wasting precious minutes. The Commandant has ordered it, so in you get!”
Carried on the waves of so much authority Nurse Ida scrambled in without further protest. Edenhope, leaning in at the window while Dumbarton was settling himself and his companion, said with a smile:
“You don’t mind, do you? The matron never gives him a chance, poor chap! She knows her duty as a chaperone and no mistake!”
“Splendid! I thought the wind blew in that direction, but was not sure if he meant anything.”
“Auntie Frome doesn’t like it; but who cares a hang what scheming Auntie thinks!” he replied.
“When we get out into the country I’ll stop the car and ask them to take a stroll while I rest and enjoy the air.”
“Good sport! And if it comes off we—I mean I will send her a bunch of white roses and lilies with our—your— no, my salaams and best wishes. I shall be here when you get back.”
Jimmy looked round at his chief.
“Now then, sir! if you’ve done prescribing for my patient——”
Edenhope fell back at once and the car slid forward. He stood for a few seconds gazing after it. “Sweetest woman on earth!” he thought. “Am I going to have any luck? It won’t be a walk over. She said nothing about the roses. Perhaps she forgot them. I won’t stop at roses, anyway.”
The car ran smoothly along the cantonment roads. The joy-riders passed pleasant red-roofed bungalows standing secluded in their own grounds almost buried in shrubberies of brilliant variegated foliage. Troops were drilling on a large open space and officers on chargers dashed about shouting words of command.
After they left the cantonment the roads were not so good. They were wide enough with margins of rough grass and scrub. No hedge nor ditch divided the road from field or wild. Now and then they passed strings of bullock carts plodding towards the market carrying vegetables of all kinds, Indian corn, bananas, sugar-cane and sacks of beans and grain.
Grass-cutters who had been out since daybreak gathering the creeping huriyali grass that takes the place of hay, were making their way homewards at a steady trot, their loads poised upon their heads.
Nurse Mary glanced at Dumbarton and his companion now and then. They were both rather silent. Occasionally he addressed a remark to her and she answered; but the driving of the car took up most of his attention.
She looked out of the window. All sign of habitations had disappeared. A wide expanse of plateau spread before them, with a level horizon broken only by solitary hills, that rose blue and solid like the droog of the Ammah. The road ran through a wood and beyond the wood it cut straight over a tract of level country that was treeless except for stunted palms, thorn bushes and cactus.
Nurse Mary leaned forward and signalled to Jimmy.
“When you come to the edge of the wood, please stop,” she said.
“Why do you want to stop?” asked Nurse Ida.
“I don’t fancy going along that very straight, uninteresting road beyond the wood. Let’s stay in the shade and enjoy the morning breeze.”
“All right; it’s your show. You shall do as you like,” said Jimmy, as he brought the car up under a hoary old banyan tree. “Will this do?”
“Just the thing. Oh! Ida! look at the amaranthus growing wild! Do you think you could gather me a bunch?”
Jimmy helped Ida down and then opened the door of the car.
“I’ll sit here, please; I don’t feel up to walking. How long will it take us to get back?”
“Twenty minutes if I give her her head,” he replied.
“Then you’ve got a good quarter of an hour to pick the everlastings. Be off. I want a big bunch.”
They moved away skirting the wood and gathered a few blooms. Then they seemed to forget the object of their walk and drawing nearer together they entered the wood which was open to the road and the waste land.
“I don’t quite understand why Nurse Mary is so stand-offish to Colonel Edenhope. You told me he was her husband,” said Ida.
“Does she show it much?” asked Dumbarton.
“Yesterday Colonel Edenhope sent her a basket of tea roses. She never wrote nor sent any message. This morning when they met she gave him no thanks. He brought her a book, too—one that I know she was anxious to read.”
He received this information in silence. Ida continued:
“Dr. Dumbarton!——” she began, turning towards him.
“‘Jimmy’—now matron is not here to crush out my heart.”
“I thought your heart was dead,” she replied quickly, and with a raising of the eyebrows.
“It died; but it is beginning to live again.”
“I am glad to hear such good news.”
“Haven’t you noticed a difference in me?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think I have.” She looked him up and down with a critical eye. “Yes, now you mention it; I do notice something. You are a little stouter than you were when you arrived.”
“Great Scott! Ida!” he stopped and gazed at her in consternation. “Putting on flesh is a sign of age. Oh! don’t tell me I am growing elderly!”
“Perhaps it is coming on with the regrowth of that battered old organ of yours, your heart; but, Jimmy! do be sensible a moment. What do you think of Nurse Mary and her odd behaviour?”
“That she is in love with Edenhope and she doesn’t know it. Anger blinds her.”
Jimmy dismissed Edenhope from his mind and made the most of a rare chance. He slipped an arm round Ida’s waist; drew her to him; took off his sun-hat and kissed her.
“That’s—just to begin with,” he explained. “I am coming to the point presently when we will have more to go on with. No matron to pounce upon us here and spoil sport.”
“Dr. Dumbarton!”
“Miss Frome—for the present. By and by to be Mrs. Dumbarton. Dearest, I have something to say before I get on to my own affairs. No, don’t draw away in a huff, angel of delight!”
Again Jimmy’s head went under the brim of Nurse Ida’s sun-hat.
“Well! what is it? Quick! because this behaviour of yours requires an explanation before I report it to matron.”
They moved into the deeper shadow of the wood and Jimmy began.
“I came out to India with Nurse Mary; and I lost my heart to her all along the line. I arrived at Bombay a wreck, without a hope in life.”
“Oh! go along, Jimmy! you don’t expect me to believe all that nonsense!”
“It’s shady here, darling. You might take off that mushroom hat of yours and give a poor fellow a chance. Let’s put the two hats side by side on the ground; they’ll love it.”
He told her the story of Rosemary’s arrival, of her bitter disappointment and long waiting; of Edenhope’s return and marriage; his strange conduct during the ceremony.
“I played the part of father at the wedding. I felt so sorry for her, poor dear! I could see there was trouble ahead when I looked at her gloomy husband.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“She never told me; but I heard something from him after he came to Bangalore which enlightened me a little.”
He repeated what Edenhope had related about himself and how he was invalided to England on sick leave.
“He was off his balance; not out of his mind; but he was haunted with the idea that he was going out of his mind. His brain was as sound as yours or mine. It was not until he was sent home that he knew what was the matter with himself.”
“And he is all right now?”
“Yes; but Nurse Mary isn’t convinced. She was most frightfully hurt. I don’t know what passed but I gather that he treated her very badly.”
“And she won’t forgive him.”
“Or trust him, which is worse. I am afraid she has hardened from living alone. And now we will talk about our own affairs,” said Jimmy complacently. “Let me see; where were we? I rather fancy that we began at the wrong end.”
“First of all I want to know——” began Ida.
“——if I love you? Oh! darling!”
When the interlude was ended and Ida could speak she continued:
“Was Nurse Mary really the person over whom you broke your silly old heart?”
“She was, dearest; but of course I knew she could never be mine. Now about our own affairs as I said; we really must get them straightened out, and begin at the right end. I have got a little mixed. You have been kissing me before I have had time to——”
“How dare you! It’s you who began!”
“I mean,” he hastily amended, “I’ve begun kissing you before you have asked me to marry you.”
“Jimmy! I shall go back to Nurse Mary at once!”
“Forgive me, angel of delight! I’m so sorry. Now let’s go perfectly straight. I have two months’ privilege leave due. What day shall it be?”
“It? what?”
“Why, our wedding day.”
As soon as she could detach herself from her persistent lover, she walked off in the direction of the edge of the wood.
“Darling! don’t run away. We’ve only been here five minutes and Nurse Mary gave us fifteen. We haven’t finished our business. If you won’t fix the day,” he said as he caught her up and held her fast, “if you won’t fix the day, will you—oh! will you fix the time?”
“Idiot!” but she laughed all the same. “Hadn’t you better first find out if I will have such a lunatic for a husband?”
He offered her the mushroom hat.
“Your hat, dearest; but before you put it on—I shan’t have another chance till goodness knows when!”
After another interval Ida with great firmness put on her hat.
“I’m off!” she cried.
“Darling! won’t you tell me whether you love me before you run back to Nurse Mary; who, I am sure, doesn’t want you.”
“What! Love a man who has broken his heart over a married woman? never!”
“Then, dearest, sweetest and best of women! let us say good-bye here. Let me think! Thursday, the twenty-fourth of next month will be best.”
“Best for what?”
“To begin the honeymoon.”
“With whom?”
“With you, oh! loveliest and best!”
“But you haven’t asked me yet if I will marry you?”
“Will you marry me, darling?”
“Yes! you silly goat! Now run; for we are late.”
Nurse Mary looked pensively at the couple, flushed with the unwonted exercise of running—and other episodes.
“I gave you fifteen minutes to gather me a big bunch of everlastings. You have been exactly forty-five minutes and have gathered none. Get in; and get on as fast as you can, Jimmy, if you don’t want to have a row with the Colonel,” said Nurse Mary severely.
Nurse Mary was mending fast and talking of her departure. She had decided to go to the hills. Her tenants had written about the necessity of certain repairs. They had offered to let her have the use of their plate and linen and would be grateful to her for occupying the house till their return. They assured her that the garden was looking lovely. “The house still retains its name,” they wrote. “And we think that you will agree that it is a veritable bungalow of Desire and Delight.”
At first she was inclined to refuse their offer. She felt that she could not face the crowd of memories it would recall. Then she remembered that if associations proved too much for her, she could easily move on to one of the hotels either in Coonoor or in Ootacamund.
She fixed on a day for leaving, and neither Dumbarton nor Edenhope made any objection. Her arm was examined by both and they agreed that with care it would do.
“I don’t like the thought of your travelling by yourself,” said Dumbarton.
“I shall have Cassim with me and my new ayah, who seems a useful old body,” she replied.
Edenhope made no remark. She looked at him as though prepared to hear what he had to suggest. In answer he smiled and said:
“It must be exactly as you wish, Nurse Mary.”
She turned from him with an impatient movement of the head. He always called her Nurse Mary, which was a necessary precaution as long as her true position was unannounced. Jimmy and Ida had kept their counsel. They had been far too deeply absorbed in their own affairs to trouble about those of other people. Ida had not only consented to the Thursday named by her impetuous lover, but she had allowed him to fix the hour, and the train by which they would depart as well as the place where they would spend the honeymoon. Jimmy had recorded a bet with James that she would be late for the wedding and that they would miss their train.
The name “Nurse Mary” from Edenhope’s lips jarred on his wife’s ears. She missed the softer and far prettier one of Rosemary which he never used.
“Shall we find you at Coonoor when we come?” asked Dumbarton.
“I don’t know; I can’t say. I am only taking the house for a month until the tenants come back.”
“And then?” asked Dumbarton, without thinking of his words.
“I really haven’t thought,” she replied unwillingly and rather miserably.
She knew Edenhope’s eyes were upon her; but she dared not look at him. Of late she had avoided his gaze. There was something in those eyes that touched the very depths of her heart.
“No need to think,” he said. “Wait till the time comes. Perhaps your tenants will want to stay away longer.”
His words contained no comfort. They were painfully kind and considerate. She almost wished that the bearded old bear would return, and by his morose gloomy attitude give her a chance of railing at him. The Edenhope she was now in contact with was too good to her; too full of wonderful forethought for her comfort. He had driven her out and she had sat by his side. They had not talked much; his conduct was the same as before their engagement. Every day came flowers and fruit of the best. As soon as she had finished a book or magazine, another was provided. A cool retired corner of the verandah was furnished with comfortable lounges and little tables; fresh blinds were hung to screen off the wind and the sun, and the spot was intended for her special use.
It was unobtrusively done and he never looked for thanks. Sometimes he came to sit with her for a short time, saying little if she was disinclined for conversation; chatting of trifles, past and present, when the mood was on her to talk. One thing she noticed. He never alluded to her first arrival in India nor to their marriage and honeymoon. It was as if he had forgotten it.
To his time in Palestine he made no reference. Sometimes she wished he would give an account of his experiences there. She was entirely ignorant of the circumstances attending his journey home and knew nothing of his illness.
As for Edenhope, he did not dare trust himself to speak of either without her permission. He was afraid that it might lead to a wider separation still, and a rupture of their present relations, poor as they were. The tragedy would enter if she refused to forgive.
“Jimmy!” said Nurse Ida suddenly on the afternoon of the day before Nurse Mary was to leave. “You are losing a golden opportunity.”
“Am I, darling? I thought I had made use of every one you have given me.” They were in the central hall where they had chanced to meet; a public thoroughfare of no use to lovers. “Here, of course, matron might drift through at any moment——”
“Village idiot!” she exclaimed, laughing. “What I mean is that something must be done about those two old dears; and it must be done before Nurse Mary is let loose from here. I can’t bear to see them both so miserable. My heart aches for them.”
“What do you think should be done?” he asked.
“They have arrived at a deadlock. He won’t speak because he’s afraid of her anger; and she won’t say a word because she doesn’t know all the facts of the case. If they part like this they will grow apart and the breach can never be healed. She must be told about his illness and cure. I can see she is always haunted by a dread of the return of his gloom and depression.”
“It will never come back; never!” he said emphatically.
“She must be assured that it is so; and it must be well rubbed in, so that the fear is scotched and killed.”
“Do you think you could explain matters?” he asked.
“Of course I could; but you know her so much better than I do, and it would come easier from you,” she said.
“Do you think so?”
“Yes; how would you set about it?”
“I should go very gently to work, and say what a wonderful recovery Edenhope has made; and how glad I am that he is quite well again.”
“Does she know that he was ever ill?” asked Nurse Ida.
“No; she would find that out as I went on.”
“You would begin at the wrong end as you did when you tried to ask me to marry you, you silly goat!”
“It came out all right,” remarked Jimmy complacently. “I should go on to say that his illness was not in the least likely to occur again. Perhaps she would ask about it. Then I should describe the poor fellow alone on the Scotch hills trying to get well for her sake and I should rouse her pity. She would begin to cry and I should put my arm round her and——”
“No, you wouldn’t!” said Nurse Ida sharply. “There’s only one waist for your arm now.”
“If you wouldn’t like it, darling, of course I would try not to put my arm round her; but if she cried what could I do then? There’s only one way of stopping a woman’s tears if she is young and pretty——”
“And that’s a pocket-handkerchief,” interrupted Ida with a glance that made him want to kiss her on the spot.
“Perhaps on the whole it will be better if you tell her. Don’t forget, darling, that it was she who scrapped my original heart.”
“A very rubbishy heart it must have been to have fractured itself so easily on a married woman like Nurse Mary. You understand, Jimmy,” concluded Ida decisively. “You’re not to attempt it. It is far too difficult a job for you.”
“And if she cries, poor dear!”
“I’ll have a clean hankie ready. I shall begin at the beginning. Let me see. You said that after his wedding he returned to Palestine; and it was from there he was sent home by that Doctor who spotted him as being in rather a bad way. I’ll go at once and she will have time to think it over. I mean to rub it in.”
Ida was as good as her word. She made no bones about it and fairly “rubbed it in” as she said. There was need for the handkerchief, although Ida was not under the necessity of providing one.
“Ida! why didn’t you explain all this before?” Nurse Mary demanded when the story was finished and she had dried her eyes.
“I haven’t known it for long, and it has only just dawned on me that you weren’t aware of it. Colonel Edenhope worships you. He has done so all along.”
“Then why, oh! why hasn’t he spoken?”
“Have you given him an opening? Have you encouraged him to speak? You know you haven’t. He hangs on by a thread, scared to death lest that thread should break and you should cut yourself adrift from him altogether. Now if it were Jimmy, I should call him a silly old goat, and tell him to buck up and give me a kiss. The kiss would do the trick; it paves the way for a lot, and saves miles and miles of explanations. Afterwards, I should do the talking, and he would do the kissing, and there would be no more bother. My dear, let me warn you although I am not yet a married woman. Have as much comedy as you like in your married life but bar tragedy. I’ve no use for tragedy, except when I go to the play; then I like it hot and strong with the very best players to do it.”
Colonel Edenhope sat at the dinner table with Mrs. Frome. Her husband had departed to the Nilgiris with a couple of hunters vowing that Bangalore was too dull for words with no sport of any kind in reach. His wife was to follow a few days later.
“Maurice, I want you to promise me something,” said Claudia towards the end of dinner.
“What is it? Anything that I can do I shall be glad to fall in with.”
“This is easy. Get a month’s privilege leave and come to Ooty. We’ll have some hunting together on the downs.”
“Sorry, it can’t be done,” he replied at once.
“Oh! nonsense! you can get leave all right.”
“It isn’t that. If I go to the hills at all it will only be for a few days; and then I shall go to Coonoor.”
She glanced at him with a puzzled expression. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was the attraction to Coonoor. In her opinion that little Paradise of beauty was a deadly backwater of small pleasures with no excitements; but she knew him well enough not to attempt to get information out of him by catechising. If she waited her opportunity she would find out«
“You will come to Ooty for Ida’s wedding.”
“Can’t possibly do that. I must be here while Dumbarton is on leave.”
He was quite safe in refusing her invitation. He knew more about Jimmy’s wedding than she did. Ida intended to be married in Bangalore. She was independent of her uncle and had an income of her own, or she would not have been where she was. The marriage was to take place at St. Mark’s, and Colonel Edenhope was giving the breakfast at the Hospital. He had also been told that he was to give away the bride, a task he was quite ready to perform.
He was not at all averse to a little plotting against Claudia. He was beginning to discover that the old friends of bachelors are rather like the old servants; not prepared to give the same allegiance when the bachelor estate is exchanged for that of the married man.
The few words Mrs. Frome had dropped on the subject of his wife rankled in his mind. The suggestion that she had learned to do without him was a cruel and unfriendly stab, that hurt more than he had thought possible at the time. Then came the other, a touch on the raw, in the question she had asked. The question somehow conveyed its answer in itself. Did he want his wife? Behind it he read that in her opinion he did not want his wife.
She was wrong; she was quite out in her reckoning. She judged him by her own narrow temperament. One day he would let her know the truth; he would tell her straight out that she was mistaken.
He was in no hurry to leave the table this evening apparently. Claudia looked at him, trying in vain to fathom the man’s reserve. Was he still attracted to his wife? Where was she? Would she return to him whether he desired her presence or not?
“By the by, I have never told you how pleased I should be if I could be of any use,” she said.
“In what respect?” he asked, coming out of his abstraction and concentrating his gaze upon her as if he were puzzled.
“Is there any way in which I can be of use to your wife?”
“None, thanks,” he replied immediately.
“If I can help her, I shall be delighted.”
“Very good of you, I am sure; but Mrs. Edenhope”—he lingered over the name and repeated it—“Mrs. Edenhope has made her plans.”
“In conjunction with you?”
“Certainly; although there was no necessity to consult me. I think a wife should have a free hand in all things that concern her; such as you claim for yourself, Claudia. Probably we shall be just such a couple as you and Colonel Frome make, a common type in India where work and climate play a large part in influencing domestic arrangements.”
He enunciated his platitudes on Anglo-Indian life with a deliberate calmness that exasperated her. She knew as well as he did that he would not make a husband after Colonel Frome’s type. Maurice would demand much and give much. Colonel Frome gave the least possible and demanded nothing more in return.
Cassim approached with a note on a tray. He handed it to his master, salaamed and took his departure.
“Is that your servant? What a find old man! I haven’t seen him before that I remember.”
“Yes; an old sepoy. He is my wife’s bearer. Will you excuse me?” he said as he opened the note.
The sight of the handwriting had sent the blood suddenly coursing through his veins. It was Rosemary’s. He had not seen it since his marriage. The words danced before his eyes; he could not believe what he read:
“Dearest Maurice, I want to see you. Your loving wife, Rosemary.”
Slowly he folded the note and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat. Then he poured out some water and drank.
“Won’t you have a glass of claret, Maurice?” she asked, watching him with increasing curiosity.
“No thanks. I never touch wine or spirits now. The sun in Palestine made alcohol a danger. I got out of the way of drinking it, and now I have an actual distaste for it.”
“Will you smoke?”
“Not now. I must go back to the Hospital.”
“A special case, I suppose; but surely Dr. Dumbarton is able to deal with special cases at this time of day. From Ida’s accounts there never was such a clever man. I wish for her sake that his means equalled his cleverness.”
“He has a good salary and they will have free quarters in the Hospital. The medical service is one of the best and you need have no fear for their future.” He rose from his seat. “You will excuse me, Claudia.”
“If you must go; but I was looking forward to a chat this evening. It is my last. Can you come back?”
“Not for a couple of hours or so.”
“Too late for me; then I will say good-night.”
She held out a long white hand. He grasped it and would have let it drop, but she retained his and with a little sympathetic squeeze, she said:
“You are sure that I can’t be of any use? By the by, you have never told me where your wife is.”
“Haven’t I? She is at the Hospital.”
Mrs. Frome dropped his hand as if it had suddenly burned her.
“At the Hospital here?”
“Yes!” he replied with a new expression in his eyes that somehow made her angry.
“What on earth is she doing there?”
“She is a V.A.D. nurse.”
“You told me that she was a nurse in charge of a private patient.”
“That was true. We sent her away for a few days with a case that was going on leave and needed the services of a nurse.”
The information had taken Mrs. Frome’s breath away.
“Do they know at the Hospital that she is your wife?”
“Perhaps they do; but we have said nothing about it because she was so anxious to continue her work for a time and I had no objection. She is to start to-morrow on a month’s leave. She has had an accident and hurt her arm. It is mending and the month’s rest will set her up.”
“Does Ida know?”
“Dumbarton has told her, I believe; but we all call her Nurse Mary still; and Ida herself advised Nurse Mary to keep her little secret, if secret it was, till—er—till I could find a house, of course. Houses are difficult to get—I mean such a house as I should like to take my wife to.”
Slowly Claudia was arriving at the knowledge that her dear friend Maurice had actually confided to her niece something that he had not cared to communicate to herself. A flush mounted to her brow, driven there by a wave of anger mingled with vexation, as she realized that for once in her life she had made a mistake; that she had said the wrong thing; and that Maurice had not forgiven her disloyalty to one whom he evidently held dearer than all others in the world.
“Good-night, Claudia; I must be off,” he said turning swiftly away. He intended giving her no chance of offending again.
She stood looking after him in one of her worst moods. Bad as it was, it would have been worse still could she have seen the smile on his face and the light in his eyes, or could she have heard the low murmured words that were on his lips.
Edenhope sprang up the steps of the Hospital verandah like a school-boy. Jimmy was there smoking a cigarette.
“Hallo! sir! you are earlier than usual. I didn’t expect you for another quarter of an hour.”
He rose, thinking Edenhope was ready to go his rounds of the wards.
“Sit down, old man; I’m not ready just yet.” Then as Jimmy glanced at him in inquiry he added: “My wife sent for me.”
“Oh! ah! yes!” murmured Jimmy comprehendingly.
“Have you said anything to her about me?”
“No, sir; but I think Ida has explained a few things. Hope you won’t look upon it as interference. I offered to tell Nurse Mary a few facts about your illness that we discovered she didn’t know; but Ida was afraid she would cry; and then I should have kissed her, poor dear! to comfort her.”
“The deuce you would! confound you!” cried Edenhope, laughing.
“That was exactly Ida’s attitude, though she didn’t say so in those words,” replied Jimmy with his usual complacence. He had no idea till he experienced it what a delightful sensation it was to make people jealous of himself. “So she undertook to tell Nurse Mary of your illness and all about Scotland and your cure. I say! why didn’t you explain to her how you were situated long ago. You could have written at any time——”
“I know I could, but—I was an ass. Where is my wife?”
“In her room. She has her arm out of the sling to-day and she’s quite fit for her journey to-morrow.”
Edenhope did not stay to listen. He strode off in the direction of Nurse Mary’s room and knocked at the door. Without waiting for permission he pushed it open and closed it behind him.
She came towards him with both arms outstretched. She threw them round his neck and joined her hands in a close clasp. No words were spoken. They looked into each other’s eyes. He read love and forgiveness in hers and was satisfied.
“Rosemary! beloved wife of my heart!”
She thrilled at the sound of her name on his lips once more. It was so long since she had heard it.
“Maurice! husband! Kiss me! again! again! I am starving for want of your love!”
“You forgive me?”
“You poor boy! If only I had known! Again!”
Rosemary, in sun-hat and white umbrella up, waited for the incoming train at Coonoor. It came panting up the ghat where in former years the bullocks and tonga ponies laboured painfully at the yoke.
Edenhope in khaki stepped out on to the platform. He glanced up and down and left the station, his servant bringing the luggage that his master required for his short visit.
Rosemary ran forward and joined him outside the station. She was feeling just a little shy and she wanted him all to herself. She was not to escape altogether, however. As they climbed the hill towards the bungalow, Edenhope took the umbrella from her and held it over her head. She slipped her hand in his arm and he could not resist covering it with his own. They left the market with its chattering coolies and servants behind.
“Here comes some one I know,” said Rosemary, attempting to release her hand from his grip. He refused to let it go. The new-comer greeted them warmly.
“Welcome, Colonel Edenhope, to our delightful little station. Have you ever been here before?”
He caught his wife’s eye as he replied:
“I don’t think I have; or if I came, I’ve forgotten all about it.”
“Impossible! No one who has ever seen Coonoor can forget it!”
“Then I feel sure I haven’t seen it with appreciative eyes.”
“You’re mixing it up with some other hill station. You have one of the prettiest bungalows in the place, with a most appropriate name. The garden is the envy of us all and a delight to your tenants. How long leave have you taken?”
“Ten days and I had to stick ‘urgent private affairs’ on to that to get it.”
“You’ll have a perfectly lovely time, I’m sure,” she said as she nodded good-bye and went on her way to do her marketing.
“She’s right, that friend of yours!” he said as they strolled on. “Arm all right, beloved?”
“Quite; but I shall always bear the marks of the Mahratta claws. I’m ever so much better for the fortnight’s change. It has seemed like two months instead of two weeks.”
“Was I so long in coming, dear wife? Why! what is this? This is not the bungalow I brought you to in the dark ages long ago!” he cried as they stopped before a garden gate.
Cassim watching from the verandah, ran down the steps, opened the gate and salaamed low to his master. The grin on his old white-bearded face expressed his pleasure in seeing him there.
“What have you done to the place, Rosemary?”
“Blotted out all ugly memories and built you a house more worthy of its absurd name.”
“I don’t see anything absurd in its name!”
“Nor I—now you have come. Look how I have altered it!” she cried as she led him out of the large rose-embowered verandah into the central room where a round table was set for breakfast. It was covered with roses and their scent filled the clean cool air.
She opened a door. It led into the room where he had slept. It was double its former size and had a dressing-room and bathroom thrown out towards the wooded slope at the back.
Then she took him across to the other side of the house, where again enlargements had been made. A corner of the verandah had been glazed and boarded in as a little smoking-room. It opened into a big bedroom. Over a chair hung a warm coat belonging to Rosemary.
At this moment Cassim appeared carrying Edenhope’s suit case. He glanced at his mistress for instructions.
“Put the luggage into the dressing-room belonging to the spare-room where master’s boy will be able to see after it.” She turned to Edenhope with a smile and a warm light in her eyes. “Come and look at the garden from this window.”
She took him by the arm and led him to a window. It opened into the narrow verandah which was a part of the old bungalow. The verandah had been left unaltered because the ground fell away in a steep slope and would not allow of any alteration. The garden was a blaze of colour.
Cassim had disappeared on his errand. Edenhope and his wife were alone. His arm was round her, and her head leaned on his shoulder.
“You like it, don’t you, Maurice, darling?” she whispered.
“Beloved! it is worthy of its name.”
“It is all yours.”
“Yes, all mine—at last!” he replied; but his eyes and his thoughts were on the woman at his side and not upon the house and garden.
Later the breakfast bell rang and they took their seats at the table. A sudden rush of memories passed like telepathy between them. Then Rosemary laughed.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked contentedly.
“At my recollections of a bearded old bear who once sat with me at breakfast and wouldn’t even say thank you when I handed him his coffee. You were quite right when you told Mrs. Alandale that you were never here. It must have been someone else.”
“Old curmudgeon! I wonder you didn’t give him a dose in his coffee that would have laid him out and cooked his goose for him.”
“Oh! poor fellow! he was ill, you know.”
“The silly ass! Look here, Rosemary, you’re cutting my sugar! Another spoonful, please. I’m always cross if I don’t get my full allowance of sugar.”
“You shall have it; as much as you please, dearest and best!”
Her eyes fell before his and she took up the letters she had just received by post.
“I’ve had a letter from our tenants this morning. They want to be away another two months as they are thinking of paying a visit to Ceylon.”
“You’re not going to stop and be caretaker for them!” he said, looking at her in sudden dismay.
“Am I not?” she asked.
“No, you’re coming back with me to Bangalore?”
“As V.A.D.?”
“Yes; my V.A.D., my very adorable darling, as the boys call you all; impudent young cubs!”
“And what about the house? It mustn’t be left without a tenant.”
“I know! happy thought!” he answered as he pushed back his chair and pulled out his cigarette case. “We’ll lend it to Dumbarton for his honeymoon and leave Cassim in charge till they arrive. It’s just the place for them. They’ll do justice to it and live up to its silly name.”
“Which we shall not, you think.”
He looked up at her with eyes that said more than words.
“We! oh! we’re an old married couple!”
“With no more desire and delight left in us? Where, oh! where do you expect to go to, Maurice?”
“Just now into that delightful little smoking den you’ve built off our room. My one desire at this moment is to have a smoke and perhaps forty winks after my night in the train. Cassim! bring me a match; and the morning paper!”
She followed and sat down to read a second letter. It was from Captain Gabriel. He still addressed her as Nurse Mary. After giving her news of himself and his wife he continued:
“We have found a secret way to the temple on the droog, a passage from the rock where you saw the tiger to the closed room. It must have been the tiger who seized your stick when you put it through the hole in the door. It was there that the coat was kept. I am having the stone removed so that the villagers can enter the temple. They are delighted and say that it is all your doing. Among other things we found your missing letters there. I have sent them to Dr. Dumbarton, to whom they were addressed. Please tell Colonel Edenhope I shall be delighted to let him have the horse you rode at the price he names. He says it is for your use.”
“Oh! Maurice!” cried Rosemary. “Read that! You know, you really are rather an old darling!”
“Hope I shall remain so!” he replied contentedly as he held out a hand for the letter.