Voices in the Night Part 56

But Lesley, looking at them also, scarcely realised that they _were_ kites. She was absorbed by her own mean miserable lack of backbone. She had shrunk, she told herself, from the possibility of having to face failure hand-in-hand, as it were, with Jack Raymond, and now she shrank from losing her hold on his success. Or was it her hold on him--the man himself?

'You will just have time if you scorch,' he said in cheery haste as he came down the steps. 'I'm going round first to see if those in authority know all I do. If they do, they can't help falling into line with--with _our_ plans, and we can fall out! But I shall suggest that if, by chance, the up-mail was a bit late, the Fareedabad people might have taken advantage, etc. It will be as well to prepare the way for the troops arriving, before they're supposed to have started!'--he paused at the look on her face. 'At least I _can_ do so! Of course, if you would rather _not_ back out--but, as far as I'm concerned, I think it would be better to lie low, until the row's over, at any rate.

Afterwards, it may be necessary--or you might wish----'

She shook her head hastily as she mounted.

'Good-bye,' he said, holding out his hand; 'and--and--your way is better, Miss Drummond!'

Better! As she sped through the warm peaceful dusk she felt herself a fraud, for she could have cried because it was all over--because she was losing her hold on him!

But everything was a fraud; the peaceful dusk most of all, since its peacefulness held danger, perhaps death. Not unknown, unlooked--for, but expected, appraised----

The gong was sounding as she raced up to the portico, a carriage stood at the door, some guests for the Sunday dinner-party were stepping out of it. She would be horribly late, and what excuse could she make to Lady Arbuthnot?

None was needed. As she came out of her room again after an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time, and ran down-stairs, she overtook Grace coming from hers.

'Oh! Lesley,' she said, turning as she fastened her bracelet, 'I wanted to see you, and I haven't had a moment since I came in. Sir George is called out--the Commissioner met us on our way back. It is trouble in the city--but George has sent for troops, and they say it will pa.s.s over, as it was _taken in time_. But, of course, no one is to know--so George, remember, has a touch of fever, and everything is to go on as usual.'

'I 'm--I'm very sorry,' said the girl lamely.

'Sorry!' echoed Grace, 'I'm not sure if I am. I felt it would come, and I'm glad, oh! so glad, that George was so prompt! It will be well over, and it _must_ be so, for it was taken _in time_, you see. By the bye!

how was Jerry this afternoon? I only had time to glance in at the door as I ran up to dress, but he didn't stir, so he must have gone to sleep all right--Needham said he hadn't been talking.

Lesley, who had not had time even for that glance, felt relieved. 'Oh!

he was very happy. I put him to bed, and gave him what you left before I went out on my cycle.'

The next moment she had pa.s.sed into the circle of expectant guests in the drawing-room, and was adding her apologies for being late to Lady Arbuthnot's.

'Bicycling is a very wholesome exercise,' gravely remarked the young a.s.sistant--in for a Sat.u.r.day to Monday from an out-station--who took her in to dinner.

'Very,' she replied as gravely, telling herself that a vertebrate creature had some excuse for not being able to control its backbone, when it was uncertain if it had to stand on its head or its heels.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SOVEREIGNTY OF AIR

After Lesley had gone home to dinner, and Jack Raymond--in quaint contrast--was off to make certain that a rising in the city was expected before long, the station settled down once more into the silence and slackness of between-train time on a Sunday evening. The listless pa.s.sengers to be, it is true, still sat in groups on the steps outside, and every now and again some one--who ought to have been on duty and was not--gave a look in, and went off again. Once, indeed, an a.s.sistant station-master called at the telegraph-office perfunctorily; but the _baboo_ had by that time recovered from his paralysis of terror, and begun to see his own advantage clearly. True, he had so far been in with the conspirators, as to have promised his collaboration, should the authorities be enough on the alert to use the telegraph to Fareedabad; but in doing so he had thought himself safe from detection.

He had not been so; but now he had once more a hope of safety that wild horses would not have dragged him to lessen. Therefore the a.s.sistant station-master went, as he had come, in ignorance of anything unusual.

Up on the turret of the bastion too, which ab.u.t.ted on to the river only a few yards from the first bridge-pier, and which therefore gave full on the station, the kite-flyers went on with their match undisturbed.

Jehan was there and Burkut Ali, together with most of the Royal Family; the former jubilant because his kite was one of those still defying the falling dew. And Lateefa was there also, his pile of vanquished kites growing steadily. He sat on the ground beside it, his slender hands crossed over his knees, his thin, acute face upturned. It had an odd amus.e.m.e.nt on it, and every time he rose to pull in a fresh victim, his high trilling voice quavered of 'oughts' and 'naughts.'

And on the bathing-steps, also, down on the other side of the terraced track which ran between them and the turret, there was peace. They were, in fact, emptier than usual at that hour; for the 'Circling of the Sacred Lights' must be nigh at hand, since the priests were already coming for the office; among them, Viseshwar Nath----

The _baboo_ saw him, and _salaamed_ at the unusual sight, when--with his whole-hearted betrayal of everything likely to be a personal disadvantage--he walked out beyond the station to satisfy himself that the signalman obeyed his instructions. For realising--as he sat on his stool, still trembling with fear lest by any mischance the soldiers should not come in time and he be blamed for it--that it was necessary to have 'line clear' for the unexpected train, he had sought out the right man, and told him that a special from the north had just been wired to pa.s.s through Nushapore in half an hour on its way south. So he stood watching, waiting to see the red light change to green on the tower-pier, and catch the first echo of that change in the far distance at the other end of the bridge. And as he stood, he beguiled his fat body and mind from a faint remorse, by telling himself that, under the circ.u.mstances, he was doing the wisest thing for his own party also--that party of progress which had seized on the ignorant alarm of the herd as a fitting time in which to record their own protest against illegal tyranny. Since, if their plans had been blown upon, they were better postponed.

He heaved a sigh of relief, therefore, when the signal 'Line clear, go ahead' showed close at hand and far off. But at the same moment he heard a step behind him, and turned hastily to see Chris Davenant.

Chris, still in his frock-coat and with a flower in his b.u.t.tonhole; with his wife's diploma of membership in the 'Guild for Encouraging Intercourse between the Rulers and the Ruled,' also, in his pocket.

For he had not been home since he left the 'memorable occasion'; neither to the home in Shark Lane, nor the home in the city, nor that betwixt-and-between home in the garden of plantains. In a way they all claimed him, and yet they were all alike insufferable, impossible to the man himself. Looking round his world, there was but one thing which brought no sense of revolt with it; and that was his work. He felt that if he could leave, not one thing, but all things behind him save this, life might still be endurable.

And so, when the foundations of flowers (freshened for the time into a promise of stability by the romance of moonlight) were deserted alike by the Rulers and the Ruled, he had, almost mechanically, wandered off to the scene of that work, and had ever since been strolling up and down among the general litter and order of his new goods station. It soothed him. The sight of the piles of brick that would fall into line after his plan, the whole paraphernalia brought together to give form to his idea--an idea which would take shape bit by bit according to _his_ will as surely as the sun would rise--comforted him. And yet it brought no strength for the moment that was coming, as surely.

Half-past eight! And at nine the Circling would begin. Half an hour left--for it would not take him a minute to reach the temples--they were close enough----

Close! G.o.d in heaven! they were too close! Was it possible to escape from them? was there foothold for an honest man between them and the Palace of Lies in which he had lived so long?

Was there? Only half an hour left for decision, and he had not argued out the matter with himself at all. He had only felt.

He _must_ think; and that seemed impossible out here with the moonlight showing each rib of the skeleton roof, each tier of bricks waiting for the next.

And above those black girders--so strong, so tense--were the faint stars. And among them--what?--kites!

He gave a bitter laugh, and told himself that he must get away from fancies into facts. He would go into the little galvanised iron shed, dignified by the name of the office, and there, with pen and paper before him, think the matter out solidly. Yes! with pen and paper. He had always been at his best with them, and the memory of many an examination was with him, idly, as he walked across the line to the station on the other side of it, to borrow a light. But the only ones--in the telegraph and the a.s.sistant station-master's offices--were behind closed doors; and so, seeing a figure at the end of the platform, outlined against the distant dimness of bridge and river, he went on towards it.

'I want a lamp, _baboo_; bring one over to my office, I have to look up some figures,' he said curtly; for the excuse had brought back the memory of something else that he had promised to see to in the works, and Jan-Ali-shan's advice having come back also, made him speak more after the manner of the master than usual.

That--and the frock-coat possibly--produced an instant and almost servile obedience on the part of the _baboo_, whose mind was still in that state of dissolution which crystallises round the least thread of authority.

So, the lamp being brought, Chris sat down and tried to figure out facts.

Taking it from the point of abstract Right and Wrong, to begin with----

He leant his head on his hand and thought; but five minutes after had to pull himself up from a vague regret that already he had failed--he had held back information--though he had promised Mr. Raymond, who had always been so kind----

What a fool he was! What had these personal details to do with it?

He bent himself to his task again. Right and Wrong! Higher and Lower!

Yet when, by chance, he looked at the paper before him on which he had been idly jotting down the heading of his subject, it was not 'Right or Wrong,' 'Higher or Lower,' that he saw. It was 'Naraini'!

He stood up then and faced himself; and her! He _could_ marry her--Viva would not mind--she could not help it, anyhow, she had taken the risk!

What if he _did_? And then--then went back on the priests!--then chose----

For a moment he stood tempted, as he had never been tempted in his life before.

And then the door burst open, and the _baboo_, stuttering, blubbering in his haste, almost fell at his feet.

'Oh, sir, come! You are nearest in authority. Come and issue order sharp. You are master, sir! Stop them, or this poor devil of _baboo_ is lost. Issue order, sir, and stop them from the bridge!'

'The bridge!' echoed Chris, completely at fault, 'what bridge?'

'Drawbridge, sir,' almost shrieked the _baboo_, 'and express train coming _instanter_. Oh! what can do? Oh! this poor devil, this poor innocent devil!'

He was grovelling now, and Chris bade him stand up and speak Urdu, almost as Jack Raymond had bidden Govind. But as _he_ listened to the _baboo's_ words, each one, each phrase did not translate itself into a definite aspect of the one central fact that had to be reckoned with; and so, when the tale ended in fresh blubbers, he was not ready to act--he had to think! The very keenness of his intellectual apprehension--claimed clear perception of all points, and he hesitated as he recapitulated them.