Cupid in Africa Part 1

Cupid in Africa.

by P. C. Wren.

PART I THE MAKING OF BERTRAM

CHAPTER I _Major Hugh Walsingham Greene_

There never lived a more honourable, upright, scrupulous gentleman than Major Hugh Walsingham Greene, and there seldom lived a duller, narrower, more pompous or more irascible one.

Nor, when the Great War broke out, and gave him something fresh to do and to think about, were there many sadder and unhappier men. His had been a luckless and unfortunate life, what with his two wives and his one son; his excellent intentions and deplorable achievements; his kindly heart and harsh exterior; his narrow escapes of decoration, recognition and promotion.

At cards he was _not_ lucky-and in love he . . . well-his first wife, whom he adored, died after a year of him; and his second ran away after three months of his society. She ran away with Mr. Charles Stayne-Brooker (elsewhere the Herr Doktor Karl Stein-Brucker), the man of all men, whom he particularly and peculiarly loathed. And his son, his only son and heir! The boy was a bitter disappointment to him, turning out badly-a poet, an artist, a musician, a wretched student and "intellectual," a fellow who won prizes and scholarships and suchlike by the hatful, and never carried off, or even tried for, a "pot," in his life. Took after his mother, poor boy, and was the first of the family, since G.o.d-knows-when, to grow up a dam' civilian. Father fought and bled in Egypt, South Africa, Burma, China, India; grandfather in the Crimea and Mutiny, great-grandfather in the Peninsula and at Waterloo, ancestors with Marlborough, the Stuarts, Drake-scores of them: and this chap, _his_ son, _their_ descendant, a wretched creature of whom you could no more make a soldier than you could make a service saddle of a sow's ear!

It was a comfort to the Major that he only saw the nincomp.o.o.p on the rare occasions of his visits to England, when he honestly did his best to hide from the boy (who worshipped him) that he would sooner have seen him win one cup for boxing, than a hundred prizes for his confounded literature, art, music, cla.s.sics, and study generally. To hide from the boy that the paeans of praise in his school reports were simply revolting-fit only for a feller who was going to be a wretched curate or wretcheder schoolmaster; to hide his distaste for the pale, slim beauty, which was that of a delicate girl rather than of the son of Major Hugh Walsingham Greene. . . . Too like his poor mother by half-and without one quarter the pluck, nerve, and "go" of young Miranda Walsingham, his kinswoman and playmate. . . . Too dam' virtuous altogether. . . .

Gad! If this same Miranda had only been a boy, his boy, there would have been another soldier to carry on the family traditions, if you like!

But this poor Bertram of his . . .

His mother, a Girton girl, and daughter of a Cambridge Don, had prayed that her child might "take after" _her_ father, for whom she entertained a feeling of absolute veneration. She had had her wish indeed-without living to rejoice in the fact.

When it was known in the cantonment of Sitagur that Major Walsingham Greene was engaged to Prudence Pym, folk were astonished, and a not uncommon comment was "Poor little girl!" in spite of the fact that the Major was admitted by all to be a most honourable and scrupulous gentleman. Another remark which was frequently made was "Hm! Opposites attract. What?"

For Prudence Pym was deeply religious, like her uncle, the Commissioner of the Sitagur Division; she was something of a blue-stocking as became her famous father's daughter; she was a musician of parts, an artist of more than local note, and was known to be writing a Book. So that if "oppositeness" be desirable, there was plenty of it-since the Major considered attendance at church to be part and parcel of drill-and-parade; religion to be a thing concerning which no gentleman speaks and few gentlemen think; music to be a noise to be endured in the drawing-room after dinner for a little while; art to be the harmless product of long-haired fellers with shockin' clothes and dirty finger-nails; and books something to read when you were absolutely reduced to doing it-as when travelling. . . .

When Prudence Walsingham Greene knew that she was to have a child, she strove to steep her soul in Beauty, Sweetness and Light, and to feed it on the pure ichor of the finest and best in scenery, music, art and literature. . . .

Entered to her one day-pompous, pleased, and stolid; heavy, dull, and foolish-the worthy Major as she sat revelling in the (to her) marvellous beauties of Rosetti's _Ecce Ancilla Domini_. As she looked up with the sad mechanical smile of the disappointed and courageous wife, he screwed his monocle into his eye and started the old weary laceration of her feelings, the old weary tramplings and defilements of tastes and thoughts, as he examined the picture wherewith she was nourishing (she hoped and believed) the aesthetic side of her unborn child's mind.

"Picture of a Girl with Grouse, what?" grunted the Major.

"With a . . . ? There is no bird? I don't . . . ?" stammered Prudence who, like most women of her kind, was devoid of any sense of humour.

"Looks as though she's got a frightful grouse about somethin', _I_ should say. The young party on the bed, I mean," continued her spouse. "'Girl with the Hump' might be a better t.i.tle p'r'aps-if you say she hasn't a grouse," he added.

"_Hump_?"

"Yes. Got the hump more frightfully about something or other-p'r'aps because the other sportsman's shirt's caught alight. . . . Been smokin', and dropped his cigar. . . ."

"It is an angel shod with fire," moaned Prudence as she put the picture into its portfolio, and felt for her handkerchief. . . .

A little incident, a straw upon the waters, but a straw showing their steady flow toward distaste, disillusionment, dislike, and hopeless regret. The awful and familiar tragedy of "incompatibility of temperament," of which law and priests in their wisdom take no count or cognizance, though counting trifles (by comparison) of infidelity and violence as all important.

And when her boy was born, and named Bertram after her father, Dr.

Bertram Pym, F.R.S., she was happy and thankful, and happily and thankfully died.

In due course the Major recovered from his grief and sent his son home to his place, Leighcombe Abbey, where dwelt his elderly spinster relative, Miss Walsingham, and her niece, Miranda Walsingham, daughter of General Walsingham, his second cousin. Here the influence of prim, gentle, and learned Miss Walsingham was all that his mother would have desired, and in the direction of all that his father loathed-the boy growing up bookish, thoughtful, and more like a nice girl than a human boy. Him Miranda mothered, petted, and occasionally excoriated, being an Amazonian young female of his own age, happier on the bare back of a horse than in the seats of the learned.

CHAPTER II _Mr. Charles Stayne-Brooker (or Herr Karl Stein-Brucker)_

When it was known in the cantonment of Hazarigurh that Major Hugh Walsingham Greene was engaged to Dolly Dennison, folk were astonished, and a not uncommon comment was "Poor old Walsingham Greene," in spite of the fact that the young lady was very beautiful, accomplished and fascinating.

Here also another remark, that was frequently heard, was that opposites attract, for Dolly was known to be seventeen, and the Major, though not very much more than twice her age, looked as old as her father, the Sessions Judge, and _he_ looked more like the girl's grandfather than her father.

It was agreed, however, that it was no case of kidnapping, for Dolly knew her way about, knew precisely how many beans made five, and needed no teaching from her grandmother as to the sucking of eggs, or anything else. For Dolly, poor child, had put her hair up and "come out" at the age of fifteen-in an Indian cantonment!

Little more need be said to excuse almost anything she might do or be.

Motherless, she had run her father's hospitable house for the last two years, as well as her weak and amiable father; and when Major Walsingham Greene came to Hazarigurh he found this pitiable spoilt child (a child who had never had any childhood) the _burra mem-sahib_ of the place, in virtue of her position as the head of the household of the Senior Civilian. With the manners, airs, and graces of a woman of thirty, she was a blase and world-weary babe-"fed up" with dances, gymkhanas, garden parties, race meetings and picnics; and as experienced and cool a hand at a flirtation as any garrison-hack or station-belle in the country. Dolly knew the men with whom one flirts but does not marry, and the men one marries but with whom one does not flirt.

Mr. Charles Stayne-Brooker was the pride of the former; Major Walsingham Greene _facile princeps_ of the latter. Charles was the loveliest, daringest, wickedest flirt you _ever_-and Hugh was a man of means and position, with an old Tudor "place" in Dorset. So Charles for fun-and Hugh for matrimony, just as soon as he suggested it. She hoped Hugh would be quick, too, for Charles had a terrible fascination and power over her. She had been frightened at herself one moonlight picnic, frightened at Charles's power and her own feelings-and she feared the result if Hugh (who was most obviously of a coming-on disposition), dallied and doubted. If Hugh were not quick, Charles would get her-for she preferred volcanoes to icebergs, and might very easily forget her worldly wisdom and be carried off her feet some night, as she lurked in a _kala jugga_ with the daring, darling wicked Charles-whose little finger was more attractive and mysterious than the Major's whole body.

Besides-the Major was a grey-haired widower, with a boy at school in England and _so_ dull and prosperous. . . .

But, ere too late, the Major proposed and was accepted. Charles was, or affected to be, ruined and broken-hearted, and the wedding took place.

The Major was like a boy again-for a little while. And Dolly felt like a girl taken from an hotel in Mentone and immured in a convent in Siberia.

For Major Hugh Walsingham Greene would have none of the "goings-on" that had made Dolly's father's bungalow the centre of life and gaiety for the subalterns and civilian youth of Hazarigurh; whilst Mr. Charles Stayne-Brooker, whom he detested as a flamboyant bounder, he cut dead.

He also bade Dolly remove the gentleman's name finally and completely from her visiting-list, and on no account be "at home" when he called.

All of which Dolly quite flatly and finally refused to do.

Mr. Charles Stayne-Brooker (or the Herr Doktor Karl Stein-Brucker, as he was at other times and in other places) was a very popular person wherever he went-and he went to an astonishing number of places. It was wonderful how intimate he became with people, and he became intimate with an astonishing number and variety of people. He could sing, play, dance, ride and take a hand at games above the average, and _talk_-never was such a chatter-box-on any subject under the sun, especially on himself and his affairs. And yet, here again, it was astonishing how little he said, with all his talk and ingenious chatter. Everybody knew all about dear old Charlie-and yet, did they know anything at all when it came to the point? In most of the places in which he turned up, he seemed to be a sort of visiting manager of a business house-generally a famous house with some such old-fashioned British name as Schneider and Schmidt; Max Englebaum and Son; Plugge and Schnadhorst; Hans Wincklestein and Gartenmacher; or Grosskopf and Dummelmann. In out-of-the-way places he seemed to be just a jolly globe-trotter with notions of writing a book on his jolly trip to India. Evidently he wanted to know something of the native of India, too, for when not in large commercial centres like Calcutta, Madras, Bombay or Colombo, he was to be found in cantonments where there were Native Troops. He loved the Native Officer and cultivated him a.s.siduously. He also seemed to love the Bengali amateur politician, more than some people do. . . . Often a thoughtful and observant official was pleased to see an Englishman taking such a friendly interest in the natives, and trying to get to know them well at first hand-a thing far too rare. . . .

There were people, however-such as Major Walsingham Greene-who affected to detect something of a "foreign" flavour about him, and wrote him down as a flashy and bounderish outsider.

Certainly he was a great contrast to the Major, whose clipped moustache, bleak blue eye, hard bronzed face and close-cut hair were as different as possible from Mr. Stayne-Brooker's waxed and curled moustache over the ripe red mouth; huge hypnotic and strange black eyes; pink and white puffy face, and long dark locks. And then again, as has been said, Mr.

Stayne-Brooker was only happy when talking, and the Major only happy (if then) when silent.

On sight, on principle, and on all grounds, the latter gentleman detested the jabbering, affected, over-familiar, foreign-like fellow, and took great pleasure in ordering his bride, on their return from the ten-days-leave honeymoon, to cut him dead and cut him out-of her life.

And, alas, his bride seemed to take an even greater pleasure in defying her husband on this, and certain other, points; in making it clear to him that she fully and firmly intended "to live her own life" and go her own way; and in giving copious and convincing proof of the fact that she had never known "discipline" yet, and did not intend to make its acquaintance now.

Whereupon poor Major Walsingham Greene, while remaining the honourable, upright and scrupulous gentleman that he was, exhibited himself the irascible, pompous fool that he also was, and by his stupid and overbearing conduct, his "_That's enough_! _Those are my orders_," and his hopeless mishandling of the situation, drove her literally into the arms of Mr. Charles Stayne-Brooker, with whom the poor little fool disappeared like a beautiful dream.

When his kind heart got the better of his savage wrath and scourged pride, the Major divorced her, and the Herr Doktor (who particularly needed an English wife in his profession of Secret Agent especially commissioned for work in the British Empire) married her, broke her heart, dragged her down into the moral slime in which he wallowed, and, on the rare occasions of her revolt and threat to leave him, pointed out that ladies who were divorced once for leaving their husbands _might_ conceivably have some excuse, but that the world had a very hard name for those who made a habit of it. . . . And then there was her daughter to consider, too. _His_ daughter, alas! but also hers.