Star of India, Alice Perrin [best ereader for manga .txt] 📗

packed with passengers; and riders of miserable ponies dismounted, making obeisance, as the Commissioner Sahib went by; low narrow carts, crowded with women and children and merchandise, creaked along lazily in the middle of the road.

Then they turned from this main thoroughfare and galloped along a broad, grass-grown canal bank, flanked on one side with luxuriant plantations; on the other, dull green water flowed steadily, silently, bearing life to the villages and crops below. Crossing a bridge, they rode to a village where Colonel Crayfield wished to make some inquiries connected with his administration; and Stella watched, keenly interested, while the headman, a patriarch with a long, henna-dyed beard, hurried forth to make his report, followed by a rabble of peasants who gathered at a respectful distance to gape at the spectacle of an Englishwoman on horseback. Now and then a naked child would run boldly into the open, only to be hauled back shrieking by relations whose reproaches were as piercing as the culprit's lamentations.

The memsahib gazed at it all, absorbed; she[Pg 85] was sorry when her husband raised his whip to his hat in farewell salutation to the headman, and they turned their backs on the village and the eager, excited little crowd. Their return was by a different route, which, to Stella's secret interest, took them past the Club gardens. Tennis was in progress, and the spectators were seated in chairs collected around a refreshment table. Every head was turned in the direction of the riders; the Club members seemed as eager to behold the lady on horseback as had been the villagers. It was pleasing to Stella to find herself the object of so much human curiosity.

[Pg 86]

CHAPTER VII

It was the day of Mrs. Crayfield's first garden party. What struck Stella as an extraordinary form of invitation had gone forth by hand: a notice, with "Mrs. Crayfield at Home," and the chosen date, inscribed in large copper-plate by a clerk in the Commissioner's office. Below was written, "Please write seen," and then came a column of names, the whole of the visitable community of Rassih. This document came back duly initialled by all but one or two inaccessible bachelors who were out in the district on duty. Stella expressed a nervous hope that everyone would come, and inquired what preparations she ought to make.

"Trust them to come!" scoffed Robert. "And don't worry yourself about preparations. The servants know what to do."

And, indeed, the servants' capabilities seemed miraculous. Tennis nets were fixed, the courts marked out correctly; tables became covered with cakes and sandwiches, tea and coffee, spirits and liqueurs, multitudes of soda-water bottles; there was fresh lemonade and claret-cup. All far more imposing than even the yearly flower-show at the vicarage at home that was patronised by the whole county! Stella felt there ought to be a band in attendance as well. She dressed herself in a soft white gown, and a lace hat that had cost Santa-Sahib a fabulous sum[Pg 87] in London; then she stood for a few moments on the raised plinth overlooking the garden to watch Sher Singh giving orders and directions on the tennis ground below. Nothing had been forgotten; the row of cane chairs had little strips of carpet in front of them, and a group of small native boys clothed in white, with red caps and red belts, stood ready till they should be wanted to retrieve the balls. And all this was to happen every week!

Santa-Sahib came out and stood beside her, bulky, cheerful, in clean flannels, smoking a long cheroot.

"Turn round, little girl," he commanded; "let's have a look at you."

She turned and bobbed him a curtsey; he regarded her from head to foot with a proprietary air of satisfaction, yet he was silent, and Stella inquired anxiously if she "would do."

"Just as well, perhaps, that we're not in a big station," he exclaimed, half laughing, half serious, "or it would take me all my time to look after you!"

"But shall we be here always?" she asked.

"The longer the better," he answered shortly. "And no careering off to the hills, mind, unless of course——"

"Unless what? Do tell me!"

"Unless your health makes it necessary."

"My health? But I'm as strong as a horse. What do you mean?"

"What I say, my good child. Thank goodness you are a fine healthy young woman, and that old Antonio's strong point is maternity cases!"

[Pg 88]

The blood flew to her face, and down again to her toes; such a possibility, at which she now understood he was hinting, had never presented itself to her mind. She felt horrified, frightened, as though caught in a trap. Did Robert expect it of her? How cruel of him to talk like this just when she was so content and lighthearted, looking forward to her garden party, to everything in the future. A baby! She knew nothing about children, and if she did have a child it would, she felt sure, be exactly like Santa-Sahib—plain, and solid, and red. Why on earth couldn't one be married without all that sort of thing!

She heard Robert say: "Why, what's the matter?" and she looked up to find his small, hard eyes fixed on her with a quizzical expression that disturbed her still further.

"Nothing," she replied uneasily, turning from him to hide her distress. "Look, there's somebody arriving. Hadn't we better go down?"

"It's Beard, the missionary, and his wife, and I'm hanged if they haven't brought their family with them!"

An odd little party was scrambling from an antiquated pony carriage. Mr. Beard, in a long black coat, white trousers, and a pith hat shaped like a half of a football; Mrs. Beard, in a voluminous gown of some green material; and three little girls, who all wore sun-hats as well—hats so large that they appeared to rest on the children's shoulders.

Stella hastened down the steps in front of her husband, to greet the guests who were now arriving[Pg 89] in force. To her relief, Mrs. Cuthell, so to speak, took command, and proceeded to make up the sets for tennis, explaining that she knew how everyone played, which, of course, Mrs. Crayfield could not; and soon the courts were filled with vigorous people, running and shouting; tennis balls flew, the little boys darted after them, non-players gathered in knots about the tables, or settled in the easy chairs, and it was all very pleasant and cheerful. Stella, feeling excited and important, set herself to do duty as hostess. She conversed with Mrs. Beard, and duly admired the three little girls who hung round their mother; two were twins; the third was only a year younger, which accounted for their all looking about the same age and size. Mrs. Beard said that the number of native Christians in the Rassih district was on the increase; she hoped Mrs. Crayfield would visit the school and distribute prizes.... Stella then listened to Mrs. Antonio's artless admiration of her daughter "Pussy," who played tennis well, and was certainly a handsome creature with rich colouring and brilliant dark eyes. Why Mrs. Piggott should have branded the Antonios as "practically natives" Stella could not quite understand, though they seemed different, it was true, from the rest of the official community, and they spoke with a curious accent. Dr. Antonio was a stumpy, good-humoured person, with a large stomach about which he had bandaged a crimson silk sash; he had long, straggling whiskers, obviously dyed, and a dark, puffy face. Mrs. Antonio was sallow and thin, and had regular features inherited by her daughter,[Pg 90] whom she adored with the frankest extravagance. She was drawing Mrs. Crayfield's attention to Pussy's perfect complexion, when Mrs. Piggott joined the group, and remarked pointedly that Mrs. Foster's sister, who was playing tennis in the same set with Pussy, was to be envied her lovely white skin, fair hair, and blue eyes.

"But how pastee!" objected Mrs. Antonio. "She had a nice colour in her cheeks when she came out last year from home; now it is all gone, while my Pussy she is like a rose."

"Well, you see," said Mrs. Piggott, with the air of a kindly instructress, "Pussy is accustomed to the climate; you must remember that she has never been to England!"

Stella glanced nervously at Mrs. Antonio, but Pussy's mother merely nodded complacently and turned to her hostess. "My Pussy, she is so healthy and strong. It is luckee, for this is a very hot place, Mrs. Crayfield."

"So I understand," returned Stella politely; and then Mrs. Antonio began to talk about punkah coolies and their perversities during the hot season, and alluded to something called "tatties." Mrs. Piggott bemoaned the difficulty of procuring ice when it was most needed. Mrs. Beard said, with self-righteous resentment, that Mission people had to endure the heat without such alleviations; and Mrs. Antonio confessed that ice gave her "pain at stomach," but that Pussy liked to suck lumps, which was bad for her prettee teeth.

During this dull conversation among their elders[Pg 91] the Beard children took courage and wandered afield; they made for a big mango tree, behind which they appeared to find some attraction.

As each set of tennis came to an end the players gathered about the refreshment tables; trays were handed round by the white-clad servants under the authoritative supervision of Sher Singh, and suddenly Mrs. Antonio transferred her attention from Pussy to Colonel Crayfield's bearer.

"That man! How does he behave to you, Mrs. Crayfield, dear?" she inquired with genuine, if inquisitive, solicitude.

Stella resented the question, conscious as she was of her subordination to the rule of Sher Singh. She felt sensitively suspicious that the little gang of ladies were one and all aware of her humiliating position.

"He seems to be a very good servant," she replied evasively, "and he is devoted to my husband."

Mrs. Cuthell joined in. "Oh, yes, and Colonel Crayfield to him; everyone knows that! But all the same, bachelors' old servants are invariably antagonistic to a mistress. It's a mistake to keep them. When you have learnt something about Indian housekeeping you will find out how he has been feathering his nest all these years!"

It was Mrs. Piggott's turn next. "How well I remember the bother I had with my husband's old khansamah when first we were married. He used to commit endless atrocities, and then declare he had only obeyed my orders. Edward always believed him! However, I soon put my foot down and got rid of him. There was such a row!"

[Pg 92]

"I go to the bazaar myself," said Mrs. Beard somewhat irrelevantly, "and do my own marketing."

"Ah! but of course your servants are Christians," argued Mrs. Piggott, covert contempt in her tone, "and we all know what that means!"

Mrs. Beard reddened. "Which shows how lamentably ignorant you all are," she retorted. "You think that because a native is a Christian that he must be a rogue. I admit that he generally is a rogue to start with, but not because he is a Christian. It is because, unfortunately, our converts are mostly drawn from a class that has nothing to lose by embracing the true religion, people who are outcasts by birth, cut off from all spiritual advantages, oppressed and despised, jungle folk, gypsies, many of them thieves by profession, and such like. So far we have hardly tapped the better born classes, and whenever we do it is a real triumph, for they have everything to lose from a worldly point of view. But we know we must begin from the bottom and work upwards, and already great progress has been made, though it is necessarily slow, and the fight is often disheartening...."

Stella looked at the faded, dowdy little woman with a new interest. Mrs. Beard and her husband were working for India, doing great work, just as great in its way as the Carringtons had done in the past, and as their kind were doing in the present. She wished she could help the Beards by engaging a whole staff of Christian converts as servants! But so far she was powerless, there was nothing she could do; and as the atmosphere had become slightly[Pg 93] uncomfortable she was about to try and change the subject when, to her relief, a diversion was caused by Mrs. Beard's discovery that her offspring were disporting themselves behind the mango tree with some native children, though, surely, according to Mission theories, Mrs. Beard should have felt no displeasure?

"Martha, Mary, Deborah!" she called sternly, "come here at once!"

This summons was not obeyed, but apparently it caused an animated argument between the padre's children and their Oriental playmates. Again Mrs. Beard raised a voice of command, and presently Martha and Mary and Deborah emerged from the shelter of the tree, escorting a small brown boy attired in a red cotton