Voices in the Night Part 16

'India would be the happier. She needs such friends,' said Chris Davenant suddenly. He had been trying to make up his mind ever since the meeting at Hafiz Ahmad's house, to take some decided step towards organising a real party of progress. To do this in a way that would ensure confidence with both the Government and the people, it was necessary to secure some men of real influence; and the Thakoor was one. His word went far, both West and East; and fate had placed him within earshot. So Chris had spoken; his heart, to tell truth, in his mouth, as the old man turned scowling.

But something in the young one's face, perhaps a look of his dead father, perhaps its own inherent goodness, made the Thakoor, instead of ignoring the remark, say curtly--

'I see it not. What friends does India need?'

Then Chris pulled himself together for speech, and the old man listened, first contemptuously, then with tolerance.

'Thou speakest well,' he said, nodding approval. 'And as thou sayest, the people need leaders, not _baboos_. Come to my house some day, and----'

'Have you my shawl, Chris?' said a woman's voice, interrupting the invitation. 'Oh, I don't want it now, not till the fireworks, but you can bring it then, to the supper-room.' So, satisfied at having shown her husband that if _he_ were talking to pearls and brocade, _she_ had annexed a uniform and medals; satisfied also at having shown both the uniform and the brocade in what good company they were, Mrs. Chris Davenant pa.s.sed on, all white arms and back, edged perfunctorily with flames and rubies.

'Who--who is that _mem_?' asked the old Rajpoot swiftly, for one of the white arms had, incredible to say, nudged Chris's black one, to attract his attention.

Chris gave back the stare defiantly. 'That is my wife, Thakoor-_sahib_.'

The old chieftain stood bewildered for a moment; then he gave a scornful laugh.

'Men of thy sort are no friends to India, _baboo-jee_,' he said. So, with a twirl of the straight grey moustache, he strode away, leaving Chris more lonely than ever.

So absolutely alone, that the sheer physical pain of his loneliness drove him on towards the sound of laughter and voices, the popping of champagne corks, which came from the marble-screened verandah where the refreshment-tables stood.

It was full of English people only, since this part of the entertainment was left by the hosts in alien hands; but through the marble lace-work filling up the arches, the softly radiant lines of light, climbing upwards to the stars could be seen, and the hum of the mult.i.tude waiting beyond the garden to see the fireworks was audible.

'Have you all you want, Miss Drummond?' said Jack Raymond as he pa.s.sed.

He looked well, she thought, and wore his garland with a difference.

Jerry had hold of it in a second, detaining him--

'Oh! I say! please, what a whopper!' he exclaimed. 'Why did they give it you?'

'For doing my duty, of course,' he laughed. 'I say, young man, you upset the apple-cart, didn't you?'

Lesley looked her regret. 'It was awful! And so much worse not to explain. It was so rude. I don't wonder the people dislike us.'

Jack Raymond's face took a curiously obstinate look. 'Perhaps you would like to explain--there is the Thakoor of Dhurmkote; he is more like an Englishman in his mind than any native I know. Shall I introduce him, and let you get it off your conscience?'

A minute after the little group--Jack Raymond explaining, the old Rajpoot listening, Lesley waiting for the laugh to come, and Jerry watching puzzled, doubtful how far the joke would be against him--gave Grace Arbuthnot, in her solitude of honour, a pang of envy. It was dull always talking to the proper people! And Jack Raymond need not keep aloof from her so pointedly. It was so foolish. As if it were possible----

In a sort of denial, she just touched the gold lappets of Sir George's coat--the faintest, lightest finger-touch--as he stood talking to the general; but he turned at once.

'Do you want anything, dear?'

She flushed, and laughed; a pretty flush, a pretty laugh, chiefly at her own impulsiveness.

'Nothing, dear, absolutely nothing,' she said, and he smiled back at her. None the less, she still watched the group enviously.

But Lesley, for her part, was beginning to wish she had not joined it; for the discovery of her own mistakes was never a pleasant process to the young lady, and something in the old Thakoor's face warned her she was out of her depth.

'_Ap ne suchh furmaya. Ap ne be shakk suchh furmaya_,' came the courteous old voice, as Jack Raymond's ceased, and the courteous old face bent in grave approval over the child's.

'Please! what does he say?' asked Jerry, sober as a judge.

Jack Raymond had not a smile either, though he looked hard at Lesley.

'He says, translated literally, that "You caused the truth to be told; without doubt you caused it to be told."'

Jerry heaved a huge sigh of relief, and looked up into the old face, his childish one full of confidence.

'In course I did. I knew it was the Star of India, 'cos mum told me.

An' I don't know why the grown-ups laughed; but he didn't--he's a nice old man, an' I like him.'

So, to the old chieftain's inexpressible delight, he tucked his hand into the Rajpoot's, and said, 'Thank you, sir!'

'You and I are out of it, Miss Drummond,' remarked Jack Raymond, as, after permission asked and granted, the Thakoor went off, proud as Punch, to show the _chota sahib_, who had only spoken the truth, to the rest of the committee.

That 'you and I' lingered somehow pleasantly in the girl's memory, so that when she returned to Lady Arbuthnot's side, and the latter (somewhat to her own surprise) felt impelled to make some remark on the conversation she had noticed, Lesley replied carelessly--

'Yes! I think I like him better than I did; he isn't half bad.'

Grace Arbuthnot felt suddenly as if she could have boxed the speaker's ears. Not half bad! And, except in position, and one or two things which did not, could not, show in mere acquaintance, Jack Raymond had changed very little since the days when he had been her ideal of all a man should be. What was more, that ideal of hers had not changed at all! Yet here was this girl thinking him not half bad!

The advent of the general's wife, however, full--as usual--of fears about everything, created a diversion. Was not Lady Arbuthnot afraid of catching cold in going out to watch fireworks? To be sure, she was wearing a high dress, which was perhaps more suitable. But, anyhow, was she not afraid of getting it spoilt with the oil and the dirt? And if she was not, did not the underlying doubt as to the general safety of the position disturb her? Supposing it was only a plot to get the whole European community together, unarmed, and blow them up? After the mutiny anything was possible.

'My husband shall take you in charge,' interrupted Grace, 'and as he has to be escorted everywhere by the biggest swells, you, will be quite safe, for they would hardly blow themselves up!'

She spoke politely enough, but as she pa.s.sed out to the terrace, she said aside to Lesley, 'What a fool that woman is! yet she is not much worse than half the others. If anything could make us lose our hold on India, it will be the women--as it was in the mutiny.'

Jerry, who had come back, was holding his mother's hand, and looked up all eyes and ears.

'Do you think there will be one weally?' he asked, with quite a tremble of eagerness in his voice.

'No, Jerry, certainly not,' she replied quickly, vexed he should have heard; 'and if there were, there is no use in being frightened.'

His face flushed crimson. 'It--it isn't _that_,' he began, gripping her hand tighter, then paused; perhaps because at that moment a line of coloured fires swept in curves against the background of purple shadow to form the legend--'G.o.d bless our new Lieutenant-Governor.'

A hum of applause, not for the words, but the Roman candles and sulphur stars, rose from beyond the garden.

On the terrace, too, admiration was loud and the old Thakoor's delight was boundless. He was here, whispering Sir George that he had only been allowed two thousand rupees; there, apologising to the rest of the committee for imaginary shortcomings, or down in the smoke and noise below, urging the pyrotechnists to be quick, to spare no pains, to show the _Huzoors_ what they could do.

'That will we!' muttered an underling as he stooped to his task; the letting off, like minute-guns, of the detonating maroons which the native loves.

And another man, as he bent to touch a fuse with his port-fire, gave a sinister laugh, and remarked under his breath that scarred necks could do without pearls!

So, in hot haste, the set pieces succeeded each other--the Catherine-wheels span, dropping coloured tears; the fire-fountains played; the great clouds of smoke, edged with many tinted reflections of the lights, drifted sideways, and beyond them the balloons sailed up one by one to form new constellations in the sky; but the curved rockets paused with a little sob of despair, and sank back, dropping the stars which they had hoped to set in high heaven.

And above the noise, the bustle, the popping of squibs and crackers, came the sound of an English military band and the minute-guns of the maroons.

Lesley Drummond on the lower terrace watching, listening, was conscious of a curiously new sense of enjoyment, almost exultation. Her life, the emotionally restricted life of the modern girl who, having freed herself from minor interests, has not yet found wider ones, had been, though she would never have admitted it, cold and grey. But to-night, for the first time, she realised that her nature held other possibilities. The dim darkness, the faint light, the mystery encompa.s.sing the mirth around her, even Jack Raymond's voice asking carelessly, as he pa.s.sed, how she was getting on, made her feel dizzy with pleasure.

'We are having a splendid time,' she answered joyously. 'Aren't we, Jerry?'