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

told him, laughing; "perhaps not exactly a fairy—more of a Santa Claus. I think I must call you Santa-Sahib."

"Call me what you like; but doesn't it spell Satan as well?"

"That will come in useful when you are disagreeable, cross with me."

"I shall never be cross with you, my jewel, my pet!"

[Pg 68]

Oh, it was all delightful, almost too good to be true.

But what about grandmamma? He said that grandmamma knew.

"So you have made it all right with her?" she exclaimed, with the kind of sensation that is engendered by some lucky escape. How clever of him! He was a wonder, her saviour, her deliverer. True, he was neither young nor "a picture," but one could not have everything, and Stella told herself she was going to be quite as happy as Maud Verrall, very likely far happier.

"Just fancy!" she sighed ecstatically. "And if I had only known what was coming when you found me in the larder! Isn't it a mercy that we both like onions? Do tell me, when did you think of your ripping plan?"

"The first moment I set eyes on you at the station," he declared untruthfully.

"Oh! Then now I know why you looked at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You did—and then under the oak tree, too! I felt there was something."

"Bright little star!" Hiding a smile, he raised her hand and kissed each pink finger-tip with deliberate enjoyment.

[Pg 69]

CHAPTER VI

"I got your letter," wrote Stella to Maud Verrall, "and am awfully glad about your news, though at the time it made me feel simply green with envy. How little I thought I should have some news to tell you when I answered it. Don't faint, but your little friend is also engaged, and going to India! I could turn head over heels with joy. Perhaps we shall meet next as married ladies! Wouldn't it be fun if we went out in the same ship? My fiancé is a big, tall man, much older than me; but I don't mind that a bit. There is something rather romantic, I think, in the idea of a husband a good deal older than oneself. He hasn't got a beard, and is not at all bald. I like him very much, and he spoils me frightfully. Before we sail I am to have singing lessons and learn to ride, and he says I can order what clothes I like. He is giving me a real pearl necklace. His name is Colonel Crayfield, so my initials will still be the same. Old Betty says that is unlucky, but I don't believe her; nothing could be unlucky that gets me to India. It's all like a heavenly dream, only a dream that will go on; no waking up to find myself stuck at The Chestnuts with nothing to hope for but deadliness evermore. I suppose I am an ungrateful pig. I know grandmamma and the aunts are fond of me, and of course I am fond of them, but I can think of nothing but[Pg 70] my own good luck. They don't seem altogether pleased about it; I can't imagine why, except that they never have wanted me to enjoy myself. I really believe they think it's wicked to be pleased about anything but the garden and sermons and the weather. However, I don't care. I am going to India, and nothing else matters on this earth."

So the "heavenly dream" continued, unmarred by the odd lack of sympathy displayed by grandmamma and the aunts, and, if anything, enhanced by the departure of Colonel Crayfield for London; his absence left Stella more free to indulge her fancies, to lose herself in visions, to revel, almost as though drugged, in blissful imaginings. Her betrothed sent presents and frequent letters that, though short, were fervent, and added to the glamour.

Thus time flew by, till the day of the marriage, which took place, very quietly, in the little old church. The ceremony was performed by Canon Grass in a manner, as Stella afterwards declared, that was more befitting a funeral than a wedding. She attributed his lugubrious voice and demeanour to the fact that the unfortunate gentleman was so ill-mated himself. Mrs. Grass attended the service in her invalid chair, and looked like a rag doll—poor thing, and poor Canon Grass! Grandmamma did not even have a new bonnet, and might have been a graven image. Aunt Augusta behaved as if they were all doing something wrong; and, of course, Aunt Ellen wept.

Stella thought it really very horrid of them, when[Pg 71] she herself was feeling so jubilant, and dear old Santa-Sahib was so nice and so kind, and looked almost "a picture" in his new clothes. He had grown a little thinner, which was a great improvement. She wore the pearl necklace, his wedding gift—it was lovely! Why did everybody but Santa-Sahib seem to wish to damp her spirits, to put a spoke in the wheel of her pleasure? Of course, there was no reception, no fuss; that she had not expected; all she would have liked, and resented not having received, was just a little sympathy with her state of joy—a little acknowledgment of her good fortune.

They drove straight from the church to the station to catch the express for London; and from then onwards "the dream" became rather more harassing than heavenly! Stella found herself in a sumptuous hotel; there was a lady's maid, a smart person engaged by Colonel Crayfield until the date of their sailing, who embarrassed her. She was confused, dismayed by revelations that, it appeared, were inseparable from matrimony, and therefore had to be accepted as a sort of toll-bar on the road to India. The weeks were packed with ceaseless activities: singing lessons, riding lessons, dressmakers, restaurants, shops, theatres.

It was actually a relief to the overtaxed bride, when they had sped across the Continent "via Brindisi," to settle down on the big P. & O. steamer, that throbbed and smelt, and was so strange, yet proved a paradise of rest and peace compared with London. There were not so many passengers—it[Pg 72] was early in the season—but everyone was interested in young Mrs. Crayfield; they were all very kind and friendly. Her deck-chair was always surrounded; her singing was a great success; and though Santa-Sahib was tiresome in forbidding her to dance or take part in theatricals on board ship, she had an extremely pleasant voyage.

They landed at Bombay, and oh! the rainbow-coloured crowds, the splendour, the white, shining buildings, the spicy, intoxicating warmth. It was all entrancing to Stella, oddly familiar and yet so novel. How quaint the contradictions of "The Queen of Cities," such a mixture of dignity and squalor! The best hotel was barrack-like, comfortless, not over-clean; insects dotted the walls; there were flies in myriads; doubtful food; yet at that period it was the only possible refuge for European travellers coming and going.

Santa-Sahib grumbled and scolded; but Stella said what on earth did comfort and food and cleanliness matter? Were they not in India? To her, all the sights and sounds, the merciless sun, the dust and the clamour, even the smells, were thrilling. Robert's head servant was there to meet them, an elderly, important-looking native; his name was Sher Singh, and he had secured an ayah for the memsahib, a good class Mohammedan woman who knew her work and understood a little English. Stella appreciated her quiet movements, her deft attentions, and was not overawed by "Champa" as she had been by the grand maid in London. The ayah's attitude towards the Sahib entertained her; it was[Pg 73] full of such humble and modest reverence. She would warn her mistress of the Sahib's approach as though for the coming of an emperor; turn aside bashfully when he entered the room, and draw her wrapper over her face. But Sher Singh! To Stella there was something vaguely sinister about the bombastic figure that held a weird, elusive reflection of his master's bearing and outline. The man seemed to watch her furtively, and though he anticipated her wishes, obeyed her least sign, she felt that beneath his diligent, obsequious care there lay a smouldering resentment.

"I'm sure Sher Singh is jealous of me," she told her husband; "he looks on me as an interloper. It's only natural, I suppose, after his long service with you as a bachelor, but it makes me uncomfortable."

"Nonsense!" he said sharply. "Sher Singh is an invaluable servant. Whatever you do, don't quarrel with him. It's all your fancy—you don't understand natives."

"Some day I shall. I mean to!"

"Well, don't begin by misunderstanding Sher Singh. I couldn't do without him."

There was a note of finality in his voice. It sounded to Stella almost as though he would prefer to part with her than with Sher Singh! She determined to banish the little rasp from her mind; after all, what did it matter? It should not interfere with her enjoyment—Sher Singh was only a servant.

They stayed long enough in Bombay to dine at the Yacht Club; to visit the caves of Elephanta, so old, so mysterious; to spend a day with an English[Pg 74] merchant prince, a friend of Colonel Crayfield's, in his palace on Malabar Hill. And then came the journey up-country: days and nights in the train, passing from tropical temperature to chilly dawns, first rushing through scenery grand and austere, Doré-like in its peaks and valleys, wondrous in the crimson sunset; afterwards vast yellow plains, relieved by patches of cultivation, villages, groves—mightily monotonous. Except for the time when she slept, and when they alighted at echoing stations for unpalatable meals, Stella did not cease to gaze from the windows of their compartment. The crowds on the platforms of big junctions and wayside halting-places were fascinating; the family groups, the varied clothing, the half-naked sellers of fruit and sweetmeats, the pushing, the shouting, the flurry.

It was midnight when they reached Rassih. The branch line had but lately been completed, and the railway station was little more than a short strip of unfinished platform. The station-master, a fat babu, received the travellers with elaborate civility; and, outside, a curious conveyance awaited them—like a broad, low dog-cart, hooded, drawn by a pair of white bullocks, all horns and humps and pendulous dewlaps. Stella never forgot her first transit through the slumbering city; the little caves of shops, some dimly illumined; the occasional glimpses of figures squatting muffled and shapeless, or stretched on rude bedsteads. From upper storeys floated snatches of sleepy song and the faint twang of stringed instruments. Pariah dogs nosed and snarled in the gutters. Beneath the general somnolence lay a [Pg 75]ceaseless, subdued undercurrent of sound that seemed to mingle with stale odours of spice and rancid oil; above it all the slate-blue sky pressed low, deeply clear, besprinkled with stars.

The tonga skirted a high wall, cutting through dust so deep that its progress was hardly audible, turned in through a gateless arch, and halted before a massive, towering building. Stella, weary, yet excited, followed her husband up a steep flight of stone steps that terminated in a vast, whitewashed vestibule; there were countless doors, all open, screened with short portières. It was cold, gloomy, dim. None of the lamps that hung on the walls had been turned up; the silence was oppressive, cheerless.

Robert, muttering angrily, strode ahead and stumbled over a form that lay swathed, corpse-like, in one of the doorways. A scene ensued that to Stella was horrifying. The corpse-like figure sprang up with a wild yell of alarm, and was cuffed and abused by the Sahib. The noise brought a scampering of bare feet and a swarm of people, hastily binding on turbans, adjusting garments. It appeared that the servants had all been asleep, that preparations for the Sahib's arrival were not even begun. The air shook with the wrath of the Sahib; he would listen to no explanations; the offenders ran hither and thither; there was confusion, consternation.

Stella stood by, silent, trembling; she was appalled by her husband's exhibition of rage; he might murder one of these defenceless people; it seemed even possible that at any moment he might turn upon her, and kick and beat and abuse her also! What[Pg 76] a ghastly arrival!... Then all at once there was peace. Sher Singh had arrived with the luggage, and in no time refreshments were on the table; the dining-room, big as a ballroom, blazed with light; the Sahib's fury subsided.

To Stella's astonishment the servants conducted themselves as if nothing extraordinary had happened, and all went well. Robert made no excuse or apology for his anger; apparently he was unconscious of having behaved, as it seemed to her, like a madman. He ate and drank with complacence, asking questions quite amiably at intervals of the rotund attendant who was evidently chief