A Bottle in the Smoke Part 8

"You are right! A woman's wit always scores! After all, I am the most important witness in the case--saving the kite who was wresting the prize from the thief, and I fear we can't summon him! Well, I suppose there's nothing for it but to face the formidable lady--but alone, please. I want to have a word with her butler. Did you see the child's hand?"

"I did. I never was so shocked in my life! I've just been doing what I could for it. Surely that man ought to be punished for his cruelty. I only wish my husband had been at home. He's out driving this morning."

"I don't wonder you were horrified, Mrs. Rayner. No doubt it's your first experience of one of the iniquities of this land--systematised torture applied to wring confession from the victim. I grieve that you should have come into contact with it. It only goes on under the surface now, but like many iniquities, it dies hard. However, in this case I shall deal with the butler in a way he will feel--also with Mrs.

Harbottle. I shall be able to tell them I saw the child's hand with my own eyes. Perhaps that will frighten them sufficiently, you need not trouble yourself further," Mr. Morpeth added, looking at the fair young wife in a protective fatherly manner. "I don't think I'll have time to see Rosie just now, since I must go to Mrs. Harbottle's. You can tell her that the true thief has been found and made to renounce his booty. I envy you the mission, Mrs. Rayner. It is ever gladsome work to unfold the loving kindness of our G.o.d.

"'Tis the name that whoso teacheth Finds more sweet than honey's cheer."

he murmured, with glistening eyes that seemed to Hester like a benediction as they rested on her.

Why had she not been able to tell the stricken ayah of that Love which seemed so near and dear to this man? Never had that Love felt so near to herself.

"I pray that this morning's work may prove a helpful memory to the little Rosie in days to come," added Mr. Morpeth, holding out his hand with a sweet lingering smile.

"It will be a helpful memory to me too, Mr. Morpeth, I thank you with all my heart," was Hester's parting word as she turned away.

Before the visitor had reached the last of the broad flight of the verandah steps, the master of the house came hurrying round the corner of the walk that led from the stables. His recent encounter with his former acquaintance had left him a prey to angry feelings.

"I declare, if this isn't another of those vile half-castes! We shall have the whole population of Vepery landing at our door!" he muttered, hurrying forward and glancing with an air of insolent chilliness at the stooping figure, from whose lined face the gracious smile had hardly faded.

"What, may I ask, is the reason of your call? I don't happen to have the----" "the pleasure" he was about to say, but with a cruel smile changed it to: "I have not the need of your acquaintance!"

The old man's face became grey and stern. For a moment he seemed about to speak, then, shaking his head sadly, he walked away in silence.

"Oh, Alfred, how could you--how could you speak so to him?" cried Hester, who had turned in the hall when she heard her husband's voice.

"That is Mr. Morpeth, Mrs. Fellowes' friend, and mine too now."

"Yours is he? That he shan't be! I tell you what it is, Hester. I'll not have you encouraging these half-castes--male or female--that man Morpeth or anybody else--to come and crawl about my verandah on any pretext whatever! It's sheer forwardness! The fact is I can't afford to risk my position by mixing with them in any way. That's the long and the short of it!"

They had gone forward and were now standing on the threshold of the darkened library. Mr. Rayner could not see his wife's face, or perhaps he would not have gone so far. She covered it with her hands and stood mute for some moments, then with a shudder, she said:

"Oh, Alfred, there's something very wrong about this! You cannot be in earnest! I never thought----"

Suddenly Hester's voice broke and she turned away and mounted the staircase. Her husband stood looking at her retreating figure with a half repentant air, then he shrugged his shoulders and bit his lip, and seating himself at his writing-table began to fumble among his papers.

In the open houses of India there is no privacy. Mark Cheveril, busy over his letters in the adjoining room, had not failed, though much against his will, to overhear the whole conversation. He could gather that Mr. Morpeth had evidently called on some errand, and had been insultingly dismissed. It was a painful revelation, made more so by his recollection of Alfred Rayner's att.i.tude to the man who had been almost trampled under the hoofs of his horses. Mark had been vividly reminded of the incident when he observed Mr. Morpeth's evident agitation at the sight of Hester on Mrs. Fellowes' lawn. Possibly the old man thought Mr.

Rayner was also of the party, and shrank from meeting him. In the interest of his talk with the gracious host in his own library, the recollection of the painful scene in the mail-phaeton had been overlaid for Mark. Since then he had neither opportunity nor inclination to tell Mr. Rayner of his meeting with the despised East Indian, knowing well that he would not sympathise with the intense interest and admiration which had grown up already in his heart towards David Morpeth. And now the overheard words seemed more than likely to prove an impa.s.sable barrier to any mention of the subject, unless he was prepared to fight the bitter prejudice in the open.

Even more grievous to Mark had been the note of pain in Hester's voice when she remonstrated with her husband. Surely Rayner's att.i.tude to these people was the outcome of a shallow and vulgar mind! Were gentle Mrs. Bellairs' fears concerning this union too likely to be realised? He was at the moment engaged in writing to that anxious mother far away.

What could he say now to alleviate her fears, to send a.s.surance that all was well with her beloved daughter? Yet on many grounds it was not for him to be the sender of even a breath of evil tidings. No, he must probe the matter further, he decided.

Closing his portfolio he began to pace up and down the rattan-matting of the long room. How he desired to comfort the girl who had been such a good gay comrade in past days! These last words of hers seemed wrung as from a bleeding wound. Yet it was denied him to whisper one soothing word to her who was probably weeping in one of those white rooms up-stairs. The very thought of it roused the young man's chivalrous soul. His indignation waxed hot at the revelation of the shallowness and egotism which had occasioned the outburst of temper on Rayner's part.

What mattered all his show of hospitality to himself while such feelings lurked beneath it? Might it not have been safer for the guarding of that trusty friendship which he desired should subsist between Hester and himself if he had not been Alfred Rayner's guest;--if he had not come into such close contact with the man? Yet it pained him to remember that he should have to leave Clive's Road with this impression on his mind.

Looking at his watch he saw that it was time to get ready for the late breakfast. How could he meet his sweet hostess whom he had only seen for a few moments at early tea that morning? She probably thought that he had gone out with her husband, as had been first arranged. If she had not done so, she would have called him to meet Mr. Morpeth, who possibly may have come to return his call. Hester, he knew, had meant to devote her morning to her home-letters. How cruelly they had been interfered with! Perhaps she would not appear at breakfast, possibly he might not see her again before he left for Puranapore!

But Mark was mistaken. He had not probed the stern moralities of such secret care and trouble. How often in life has a smiling face to cover a broken heart? When he entered the breakfast-room, there sat the young hostess, sweet and gracious, entertaining two of her husband's merchant clients from Kurrachi. Rayner was at the head of the table smiling affably, vastly gratified at the impression his wife was evidently making upon his important guests. But Mark could not fail to notice that he cast an anxious glance towards her, as if pondering whether his words were already forgotten and forgiven; and as Mark encountered Hester's gaze he felt sure they were not, at all events, forgotten. Her eyes were weary, there was an increased pallor on her cheeks, and a certain pitiful curve of her lips when her face was in repose.

Never before had he admired her as he did now while he watched how skilfully she kept the ball of conversation rolling on harmless topics.

Alfred, having heard an account of the ring from his dressing-boy, tried to make some inquiry concerning it. Hester briefly narrated the story, but from her repressed air Mark was able to gather that the restorer was none other than the man who, in return, had received such cruel treatment at her husband's hands.

He hardly knew whether he felt more relief or regret when his bandy was announced to drive him to the train for Puranapore. The other guests had departed, and Hester, after her efforts to entertain them, wore a visibly depressed air. When Mark clasped her hand and looked wistfully into her face he felt that she, too, thought it better no risk should be run of a repet.i.tion of the scene which had shamed her, for she gave no invitation for a future visit. His host, on the contrary, full of surface courtesy, was charging him not to fail to make Clive's Road his home when he chanced to be in Madras. Mark, at the same moment, happened to meet Hester's eye, and read there a look of doubt and pain which seemed to say, "How can he be so unjust as to welcome one and flout the other?" He felt strongly of the same opinion. One thing, however, seemed clear to him that he must, in spite of all his social disabilities in Alfred Rayner's eyes, continue to be a friend without fear and without reproach to the young wife whose happiness seemed in such jeopardy.

CHAPTER IX.

Mrs. Goldring, the Judge's wife at Puranapore, had finished her afternoon nap and was now preparing for the leading event of the day, the evening game at tennis, which on this occasion was to be held at Mrs. Samptor's, the wife of the Superintendent of the District Jail. She was therefore not a little surprised to see that lady descending from her pony-carriage at her own door when she was just about to drive to the Samptor's compound. Matters of interest in the little Mofussil society were narrow in their range, but they were none the less intense.

Mrs. Goldring s.n.a.t.c.hed her last hatpin hurriedly from the deferential brown fingers of her waiting ayah.

"What can the woman want, Jane?" she said irritably, addressing her weary-looking daughter, who had just appeared on the threshold of the dressing-room. "I told her she couldn't have my silver teapot again. She almost burnt a hole in it last time, 'putting it on a lamp,' so she said! If I were at home I should say it had squatted on the kitchen range for a considerable time! I do hate that system of borrowing so much in vogue here! I suppose I must go and see what she wants. Now, Jane," she added, after a disapproving survey of her daughter, "I beg you will make yourself presentable for once. It isn't often your father gives me a piece of news, but he did tell me that the new a.s.sistant-Collector was expected to-day. He may turn up for tennis if the Collector isn't too careless and indifferent to think of asking him to come. What a pity our meeting happens to be at Mrs. Samptor's. He might get a better impression of the station had it been elsewhere."

Jane stood unresponsive in the doorway. Her eyelids moved slightly as she listened to her mother's remarks, but she made no reply, sullenly watching her mother's portly figure clad in rustling silks as she pa.s.sed downstairs.

Mrs. Goldring greeted her visitor with an interrogative "Well?" which Mrs. Samptor was keenly conscious of being more direct than polite, but she felt that the item of news which she was bursting to tell was so important that she could afford to echo "Well!" in a key which foretold possibilities.

"You will be surprised to see me here, Mrs. Goldring, instead of meeting me on my own lawn, but I saw I had a clear half-hour and thought it my duty to share my news with you. It may avoid complications later, as you will understand when you hear it."

The Judge's wife inwardly wished that her neighbour would not always be so long in coming to the point, but felt on the whole relieved that this time she did not appear in her frequent role of a borrower.

"Murder will out, as I often say to Samptor--very appropriate to a jailer, isn't it now? Well, the fact is I've had a letter from an acquaintance who has just got back to Madras by the _Bokhara_. Mr. Mark Cheveril, our new a.s.sistant-Collector, you know, was a fellow-pa.s.senger.

Perfectly charming she says he is, but--oh dear, what do you think? Mrs.

Pate had it from a man on board, who had it from Cheveril himself. He's a half-caste! Though one would never guess it from his appearance, she says, and the astonishing thing is that he isn't the least ashamed of the fact; but Mrs. Pate confesses he never alluded to the flaw in her hearing. Now, isn't this a great shock?"

Mrs. Samptor glanced keenly at her neighbour, divining that the coming of an eligible young man must have raised a flutter of hope in her maternal heart.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Samptor," said that lady, after a moment's pause. "We shan't have the half-caste--as you call him--among us long. The Collector will soon shake him off."

"That's the very plank I cling to as might a drowning man, but Samptor's not so sure. One can never reckon on what Mr. Worsley may do! But I still cling to the hope. Look how he got rid of young Printer! There are ways and means of doing it even in the Service, though what ailed him at Printer I never could make out--most affable, I thought him. And though the Collector never said a word against him to anybody as far as I know, I felt in my bones he couldn't abide the man, and sure enough he was transferred. And I hear there were others before we came that he couldn't hit it off with. A man of strong prejudices and weak will, the doctor says he is--in confidence, of course. But he's a bit of a 'griffin' yet is Dr. Campbell, though he's a dear, and so is his wife.

However, this news doesn't matter to me personally," continued the visitor, rolling her eyes on Mrs. Goldring, who was not altogether able to conceal her annoyance, much as she desired to do so. "You see I haven't any marriageable daughter with seasons pa.s.sing over her head! I declare, one sometimes is made thankful for what is often foolishly regarded as a privation," she added with a sigh.

"Now, Mrs. Goldring, what I've come to say is," she continued after a pause, bending forward in her chair, "that the Collector should be told this news at once. What does he ever hear--out in camp so much--and when at home lounging in his long chair or shooting in the paddy fields? And who is the proper person to do it but yourself--the Judge's wife--the chief lady of the station? Yes, Mrs. Goldring, we must hand over the disagreeables of your position as well as its amenities! You will have your opportunity made for you, for the Collector is actually coming to us this afternoon--told Samptor so."

Again she felt that she had scored, for the Collector was generally rather conspicuous by his absence from the social functions of the little society.

"But what am I thinking of? I should be in my place on my lawn receiving my guests instead of chattering here, and there is my humble chariot stopping the way of your landau which I see appearing"; and Mrs.

Samptor, with an "_au revoir_," nimbly skipped away--many hot weathers, which had enc.u.mbered Mrs. Goldring with much superfluous flesh, having had the effect of robbing the little lady of all superfluity in that direction, leaving her lean and brown-complexioned, and, though "country-born," British to the core in all her prejudices.

Mrs. Goldring's heavy features were marked by an air of worry as she watched her visitor drive off. How she hated that little woman with her sharp tongue and her divining eyes! And it was only when it suited her purpose that she would acknowledge her precedence as the Judge's wife, though certainly there was something in the suggestion that she was the proper person to enlighten the Collector concerning this misfortune. But when had she ever confided to Mrs. Samptor that she reckoned on this new-comer as a possible fish for her matrimonial bait? Truly she might save herself that trouble! The girl was too trying for the accomplishment of any such design, she thought, glancing with irritation at her daughter who came slowly into the room.

She was a pale girl, blanched by two hot weathers on the plains; there were dark lines under her dull blue eyes, and her fair hair, which had been her one beauty at home, looked limp and l.u.s.treless as it escaped in untidy strands from her faded tulle hat. Her dress also had a washed-out, crumpled appearance. Yet this girl had been the pride of loving hearts at home. Notwithstanding their multifarious duties as heads of a select boarding school for young ladies, her father's sisters had mothered her so tenderly that her heart was still tenaciously with them and their daily round. The artificial life in India was hateful to her, yet it held one bright spot. The face, that had worn such a sullen air, lit up as she heard the sound of wheels.

"Here comes daddy!" she cried, with a note of glee in her voice as she sprang out to the verandah.

The Judge, who had descended from his carriage, had not by any means the impressive appearance one is wont to attach to legal dignitaries at home. He was a small, meek-looking, fair man, with mild, blinking blue eyes, and a chronically tired expression. Though still in the prime of life, only his fair hair, unmixed with grey, saved him from giving the impression of being quite an old man. A struggling youth and the over-pressure of examinations, even more than the ravages of the climate, had thus prematurely aged him. But the Service had no better or more devoted member than James Goldring. And as for his loving heart, none knew it better than his daughter Jane, who was now welcoming him.