The Great Amulet Part 43

"True for you, Paul, old man! She's a Meredith. That about covers everything. What an amazing talent you have for casting out devils!--Now, let's be common-sensible, and have some food. Kohi hai!

Tiffin lao." [4]

And as if the walls had ears, the meal made its appearance with that silent celerity which the retired Anglo-Indian--who has sworn at native servants for thirty years--misses so keenly, when he is relegated to the c.u.mbersome ministrations of the British house-parlourmaid of Baling.

"By the way," Desmond remarked, as he dissected a fowl, cooked--by the mercy of the G.o.ds--in that elusive interval between toughness and putrescence, the pursuit of which gives to hot-weather housekeeping an excitement peculiarly its own, "there's bad news from the Infantry camp this morning. Poor old Buckley. A cramp seizure at midnight. Went out in three hours; and was buried at dawn, Mackay showed me a note from Dr Lowndes saying he believed it was one of those odd freaks of disease, a spurious case. Sheer funk; and nothing else. Camp was in a flourishing condition. No deaths for nearly a week. Then, yesterday, the Colonel's bearer must needs appropriate an unattached germ; and it seems that this got on the poor chap's nerves. He dined chiefly off whisky; and afterwards yarned away to Lowndes about his wife and children. Hadn't seen 'em for eight years. Never mentioned 'em to Lowndes in his life before: and from what one has heard, the wire that goes home this morning will barely spoil her appet.i.te for dinner; which only seems to add a finishing touch to the pity of it all. Mysterious thing . . . marriage . . ."

He broke off short on the word. The thought of his own first venture, and the misery that might have come of it, but for an accident so strange as to seem unreal, sealed his lips on the subject of the eternal riddle of the universe: and Paul, being blest with understanding, un.o.btrusively shifted the talk to another channel.

There could be no thought of polo for Desmond that afternoon; though Major Olliver came and reasoned with him forcibly in the verandah. He devoted himself, instead, to the exhaustive disinfection of the sick-room and dressing room. It was hot work; unpleasant work. But it was good to be through with it; to have rid the house of the last vestige of an uninvited and unwelcome guest. With which reflection Desmond sat down finally in the sanctuary of his study; lit a cheroot; and opened a battered original of Omar Khayyam, whose stately quatrains and exquisite imagery were less hackneyed then, than they have since become among modern devotees of culture.

A great silence pervaded the house. He had left Lenox in the blessed borderland between sleeping and waking, with Zyarulla on guard; and looking in on Paul, had found him dozing also, after the morning's unwonted exertion. No doubt Frank would drive Honor back for tea: and even while he read Desmond's ear was strained to catch the sound of wheels. This capacity for sustained ardour is a very rare quality in love that has attained its object, and the woman who does not succeed--unwittingly enough--in extinguishing it within the first few years of marriage is rarer still.

The sound he waited for came at length; and he sprang out of his chair.

But in hurrying through the drawing-room, towards the hall, another sound arrested him; the unmistakable clink of the tonga bar.

"A tonga? Why, who the deuce . . ." he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed mentally. "It can't be . . . ."

But at this point he fairly ran into the arms of a woman, in alpaca dust-cloak and shikarri helmet; a woman who clutched his left arm with both hands: and before he could collect his scattered senses, Quita's voice was in his ears.

"Oh, Captain Desmond . . tell me . . is he . . . ?"

"He is out of all danger now, . . if he can be kept quiet," Desmond answered, stifling his own amazement in view of her white face and shaking lips.

"Thank G.o.d. Oh, thank G.o.d!" The words were a mere flutter of breath; and with the sudden relief from long tension all her courage went to pieces. A dry sob broke in her throat. Her lids dropped; and she fell limply against him.

"You poor, dear, plucky woman," he murmured, putting an arm round her, and gently removing the heavy helmet; while she lay motionless; her head on his shoulder; no vestige of colour in lips or cheeks.

Desmond began to think she must have fainted outright: and while he held her thus, meditating a cautious removal of his burden to the sofa, steps in the hall were followed by the appearance of Honor in the doorway: a radiant Honor, aglow with the good news that had brought her straight back to him, like a homing bird. Her small gasp of surprise melted into a smile of amused understanding, as Theo telegraphed wireless messages to her over the golden brown head that was trespa.s.sing, flagrantly and confidingly, on her own exclusive property.

The whole thing was so exactly like Quita: so daring; so preposterous; so entirely forgivable! And Honor's hospitable brain at once began scouring the bungalow for some corner where she might stow this unexpected addition to her elastic household.

"She must have left Dalhousie directly she got my first wire," Desmond said under his breath. "Get some brandy, while I put her down."

But his first movement roused Quita from semi-unconsciousness. She lifted her head with a startled sound; and at sight of Honor the blood rushed back into her face.

"This is pretty behaviour!" she said with a little broken laugh. "I'm so sorry. It must have been the reaction, the relief, after that excruciating journey."

"No need to apologise!" Desmond answered, a twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. "No use either to try and push my arm away. Let me get you to the sofa first."

Honor piled two cushions behind her; and as she sank back into their silken softness, leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"You very wonderful person," she said. "How on earth did you pull through it, all alone?"

Quita shrugged her shoulders.

"It was not amusing," she answered with her whimsical smile. "But it was an experience: and that is always something,--when it is over! I think I never realised before how big and how terrible a country India is; or how kind people are out here," she added, looking from one to the other with misty eyes.

"Kind? Nonsense!" It was Honor who spoke. "Now . . will you have a peg, or some tea?"

"Tea, please. And after that, I may see . . Eldred, mayn't I?"

Instinctively she appealed to Desmond, who knitted his brows in distress. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, . . yet awhile," he said.

"Well then . . when?"

"Can't say for certain. Probably not for two or three days. I wouldn't so much as risk telling him that you are here till then."

The mist on her lashes overflowed; and she dashed an impatient hand across them with small result.

"But I have waited three days already. And since this morning I have been counting the hours . . the minutes . ."

It was no use. She could not go on without further loss of dignity; and Honor hastened into the breach.

"Drink your tea first, dear. You can talk afterwards."

And as she obeyed, Desmond came round and sat beside her.

"See here, Miss Maurice," he began. But she raised an imploring hand.

"Oh, don't call me that . . now. It hurts. It makes me feel I have no manner of right to be here. And I have a little right, haven't I?"

"More than a little, I should say, . . Mrs Lenox. Is that better?"

She flushed to the eyes, and glanced down at her bare left hand. It was the first time she had heard her married name; and the sound of it was music in her ears. But she shook her head.

"No. It's almost worse, till I know for certain what's going to come of my mad leap in the dark."

"Well then . . . ?"

"Why not . . 'Quita'?" She looked up beseechingly. "I should love that: and it would make me feel less of an intruder."

"You are forbidden, on pain of instantaneous eviction, to feel anything of the sort! And I heartily vote for 'Quita,'" Desmond answered, smiling into her troubled face with so irresistible a friendliness that she must needs smile back at him, however mistily.

"Oh, but it's good to talk nonsense with you again!" she cried. "Only, I want to know, . . please, about Eldred. He is too weak. Is that it?"

"Far too weak. You see, we only pulled him round the corner at three o'clock this morning; and the great thing now is to avoid any risk of reactionary fever. Well, you know yourself . . I may speak frankly?"

She inclined her head. "Your coming, besides being emotionally disturbing, will make something of a complication under the circ.u.mstances . ."

"Oh, I know . . I know! It seems like forcing his hand. Every minute I see more plainly that I ought never to come at all."

"Waiting would have been wiser," Desmond reproved her gently. "But I admire the pluck of the whole thing far too much to scold you for it."

Her smile had a touch of wistfulness.

"That's so like you! But I don't know about pluck. Perhaps, if I had realised all the details, I might have hesitated; though I doubt it. I half lost my senses for the time being; and I believe poor Michel thought I'd lost them permanently! He was furious with me for going."

"Rather rough on him, when you come to think of it! But why on earth didn't you wire to us before starting?"

"At first it simply didn't occur to me; and when it did, I had just sense enough to know that you would probably wire back 'Don't come.'