Part 5

At an early hour the stewardess brought her a stiff whisky and soda, afterwards, she smoked cigarettes, breakfasted on grilled duck and porter, and then made a leisurely and elaborate toilette--sitting before the glass on a rickety camp stool doing up her face with various little brushes and pencils, serenely indifferent to my interested inspection. Her hair, which seemed coarse and rather scanty, was supplemented by a generous supply of curls and rolls; her petticoats were the most elaborate I ever beheld, and her dress, blouse, and furs looked equally expensive. She wore enormous diamond earrings, a jaunty, rather _outré_ hat, and eventually sallied forth in obvious good humour with her own appearance.

All the afternoon she sprawled in her berth, smoking, dozing, and drinking whiskies and soda. Subsequently she attired herself for dinner in a costume that was far more suitable to a ballroom than board ship. The lady kept late hours, snored noisily, and never vouchsafed the faintest recognition of me, until I brusquely introduced myself to her notice. I was watching her toilette on the third morning out, with almost painful intensity. I had read of the “art of making up the face,” and now I was receiving first-rate, first-hand, instruction. As the artist was about to put away her brushes I could not refrain from exclaiming:

“You’ve forgotten the left eyebrow!”

“Laws, so I ’ave!” she answered with astonishing composure. “And so you are not dumb or dead, you little cherub up aloft? My! but you ’ave ’ad a time! You look like a happorth of soap after a week’s washing. Take my advice and ’ave a good old whisky and soda, and _that_ will buck you up.”

Although I turned a deaf ear to this suggestion, I managed to dress, and with the assistance of the stewardess crawled on deck the same afternoon. It was bitterly cold and sunless, and I realised that I was all alone aboard this great rolling steamer, on the grey heaving sea, amidst a crowd of total strangers. No doubt I looked rather shaky and forlorn, for a nice old gentleman, with a friendly face, came forward and led me to a chair, whilst another--a younger man--placed a rug over my knees.

“I’m glad to see you are up,” said the former. “Anything is better than stifling down below, eh?”

I smiled faintly as I thanked him.

“I suppose your friends are _hors de combat_?” he continued, as he sat down beside me.

“My friends--I have none on board. I am all alone,” I replied. I still felt weak and giddy, and could not restrain the tears which started into my eyes.

“You must allow me to bring you some chicken broth,” urged the younger gentleman, who had a clear-cut, clean-shaven face, and wore a fur-lined coat; and in another moment a steaming cup was in my hands. As I sipped the broth I felt revived, the keen sea air refreshed me, and sitting between my two new acquaintances I found myself telling them that I was going all the way to Bombay, that it was my first long journey, and how I had been disappointed of the company of my chaperone.

“I hope you have a nice cabin companion?” enquired the old man (I believe he was about fifty).

I hesitated for a moment, and then indicated my partner, who, at a little distance, lay extended in a chair bandying good stories and chaff with a hearty audience of three men. It seemed to me that my neighbours exchanged hasty glances, and instantly began to talk about some of the other passengers. Many, I gathered, were still below; we had a prince and princess and suite on board, a well-known novelist, a famous actress, but all the notable and wealthy passengers were landing at Port Said for Egypt.

“After the Canal,” added my new acquaintance, “we shall be an empty ship.”

At dinner time the weather was calmer, and I ventured to descend, and found myself once more beside the agreeable officer, who welcomed me with effusion. During the courses he told me the names of most of those at our table. My old gentleman was, it seemed, a General Pontifex, who was _en route_ for Madras, to take up a command; his clean-shaven, good-looking companion was his nephew, a Mr. Sandars, bound for the jungle and sport. Captain Bilton (my neighbour) informed me that he was only going to Gib., but that as far as he went he would consider me his special charge, and proved as good as his word. He sat beside me on deck, and subsequently promenaded with me, and, although I assumed my most distant manner (remembering Linda’s warning), became every hour more and more friendly and confidential. On the fourth evening, he suddenly remarked:

“I say, Miss Harlowe, what a ripping necklace you have! I wonder you dare to wear it on board ship.”

I made no reply, and turned the subject; but when he again returned to the charge, and said as he stared fixedly at my ornament, “Do excuse my rudeness, but I must confess one does not often see such topping pearls!” I felt that I must not allow him to deceive himself, and replied:

“I am glad you admire them--but they are not real.”

“Oh, nonsense!” he protested energetically, “I think I know real pearls when I see them.”

“I assure you that I bought these in Regent Street for twenty-five shillings.”

“What! Well, I never was more deceived in my life--such colour and shape; they look worth every penny of five thousand pounds!”

“I only wish they were,” I answered unguardedly.

“Why?”

“Because I would not then be on my way to India.”

“But you are going out to your people, and are just the sort of girl that will have a ripping time!”

“I am afraid you are wrong again--real pearls and ripping times are not for me! I am on my way to be a governess in Naini Tal.”

For a moment he was too stupefied to speak, his eyes seemed to travel over me from my necklace, my lace blouse (remnant of better days) to my neat evening shoes, and he exclaimed:

“By Jove! You don’t say so! Anyone would take you for the daughter of a millionaire.”

After this evening I seemed no longer to have any special interest for Captain Bilton; he scarcely spoke to me at meals, and then in an off-hand, patronising manner, that I secretly resented; yet on deck, the night of our last conversation, he had assured me he had never in all his life been so much struck by a girl as by me, and we must not lose sight of one another. He added that he would write--and send me a fan from Gib.

How thankful I was that I had received this overture with civil discouragement, for when we touched Gibraltar, Captain Bilton had so far forgotten my existence as not even to wish me good-bye!

The Mediterranean was warmer than the Bay, and I was nearly suffocated by the perfumes in my cabin, for my companion (Madame Garda) would not suffer the ports to be opened; and really between patchouli and cigarette smoke, I felt all but asphyxiated. Two days before we reached Port Said I missed the string of pearls--my sole and paltry ornament: I remembered that I had worn it the previous night, and taken it off when I undressed; and now it was gone. I searched very carefully. No, there was not a trace of it. I applied to Madame Garda when she swung into the cabin before tea.

“Pearls! Never knew you had such things! We must have a good look. Imitation, you say? Well, even so, you don’t want to lose them, do you?” and she good-naturedly went down on her knees, and raked under the berth with an umbrella, searched all over the floor with her large bejewelled hands--and found nothing!

“It’s a pity!” she exclaimed, rising breathless. “I do ’ate losing things myself. Maybe you dropped ’em on deck--them clasps are so rotten.”

The next day I confided my loss to the stewardess, who came into the cabin and instituted a most business-like investigation.

“If you say you had them, and hung them on your pin-cushion night afore last, they’re bound to be in this cabin, and I’m bound to find them!” she announced with an air of invincible determination. After examining all my property, she proceeded to turn out madame’s belongings with reckless disrespect, violently shaking her gowns and petticoats.

“Ah! ha!” she exclaimed, as suddenly, with a clinking sound, my necklace fell out of the pocket of a gorgeous bath-gown. “I thought as much!” and she nodded at me with terrible significance; “now you lock them up, miss.”

“But, stewardess, they are only imitation,” I protested, “and it must have been a mistake.”

“I don’t hold with those sort of mistakes,” she sternly declared. “Your pretty sister asked me to keep an eye on you, and so I have. To-morrow madame goes ashore, and a good riddance. Her liquor bill would frighten a barman, and after to-morrow, Miss Harlowe, you will have the cabin to yourself.”

I do not know if madame discovered that her dressing-gown had been rifled; at any rate, she made no sign, and before she landed bade me an affectionate farewell, assuring me that “I was a real good, decent little girl--and she could go round the world with me!”

The important Egyptian crowd went ashore with piles of luggage, maids, and valets, bent on a season in Cairo, or a trip to Assouan, or even Khartoum. The remnant left was comparatively a small number; officers and officials and planters going East, at the end of their leave, to brave the horrors of approaching hot weather. An Eastern moon lighted us down the Red Sea, and we had the piano and music on deck. I played most of the accompaniments, and always those for Mr. Sandars, who had a beautiful tenor voice and sang some of Wagner’s songs--especially the prize song from the Meistersinger--delightfully. By this time I had become well acquainted with him and his uncle; indeed, they seemed like old friends, particularly the uncle, who had a knack of absorbing my confidences. I told him all about home, Linda and her _fiancé_ (General Pontifex, it turned out, had been fag to the Admiral, and invariably burnt his toast and boots) and our losses. I described our neighbours, our dogs, and even Methusalem, the aged but active pony. In the mornings I played deck quoits with Mr. Sandars as partner, and in the evenings after dinner paced up and down the deck with the General, his uncle.

Besides these, I had made the acquaintance of two ladies--Mrs. Wallace and Mrs. Mason--wives of officials in Madras, who also sat at our table, and were charming to me. Oh, how I dreaded the end of the trip, when I should lose my new friends, and be once more a castaway amongst total strangers.

The evening before we landed, General Pontifex begged me to give him my address, and also not to think it a liberty if he ventured to advise me in one matter. This, I was amazed to learn, was a request not to wear my beautiful pearls every day, and in all companies.

“India,” he declared, “is a land where jewels are more highly prized than elsewhere--and yours are magnificent, Miss Harlowe; they invite envy, and tempt thieves.”

“But they are imitation,” I replied impatiently--I was becoming tired of making this announcement. “I bought them in Regent Street two years ago. My sister thought they were too large and remarkable, but I would have them; they cost twenty-five shillings, and the clasp alone is real.”

“They look immensely valuable,” he rejoined. “Many people have noticed them--they have the real sheen. You are _sure_ they are imitation?”

“Positive,” I answered; “if they were real we would have sold them with the rest of our jewellery, and the old silver and ‘chairs.’”

Mr. Sandars, who happened to be standing by, overheard this conversation. He also heard Mrs. Mason and Mrs. Wallace requesting me to write and let them know how I was getting on.

“I, too, should like to hear,” he said, “but I am going into the jungle, and don’t know my own address; but when I do emerge--I hope I may have tidings of you--somehow----”

There was something so significant in his glance that I felt my heart throb, and my face suddenly flame. I realised acutely how honestly glad I should be to have tidings of Mr. Sandars. But my prudent sister, with second-hand wisdom, had warned me against certain snares.

“Arthur says that no matter what warm friendships or desperate love affairs are started on ship-board, they _all_ come to nothing! There is no one so soon forgotten as a fellow-passenger--he or she goes clean out of your mind along with all the voyage miseries.”

To my surprise I did not part with the General and Mr. Sandars on the Apollo Bund in Bombay; we travelled in the same train (but not in the same carriage), crawling up and down the towering Ghâts, and onwards across the level, monotonous plains. They visited me from time to time with offerings of books or fruit, until early one morning we arrived at Basaule Junction, where they joined a mail for the South.

Here, after the General had said good-bye, Mr. Sandars returned unexpectedly and, holding my hand for a second, looked at me steadily. I noticed that his lips were trembling, as they said, “Little girl, don’t forget me?” then he turned abruptly, and disappeared.

Early as it was, the first of March, Mrs. Hooper was already installed at “Beverley,” a large, imposing house overlooking the lake at Naini Tal, and almost directly under Cheena. She received me in the drawing-room--which gave one the immediate impression of a great deal of pink. Everything seemed to be of this colour--the covers, curtains, carpet, lampshades. Mrs. Hooper was a woman of five-and-thirty, tall, dark, and very handsome, with an alarmingly deep voice. She accorded me--considering my long journey, and the fact that I was to be “the daughter of the house”--a surprisingly cool reception. I did not expect her to kiss me, but after my recent fatiguing experience in a hill “dandy,” I should have been glad if she had asked me to take off my hat and have a cup of tea.

“Dear me, Miss Harlowe,” she exclaimed, “you look much younger than I anticipated--why, you are a mere child!” she added severely.

“I was twenty-one in February,” I replied.

“You might be seventeen! I hope I shall find you competent, healthy, and above all _steady_,” surveying me with a hard, concentrated stare.

“I hope so,” I assented stiffly.

Then she made searching enquiries respecting the tiresome, cumbersome parcels I had brought out for her, and, when her mind had been thoroughly relieved, she raised her voice and called out “Teesie and Dodo!” and two little girls, who must have been within earshot, entered demurely; little girls with sallow faces, bright black eyes, very scanty white frocks, very thin black legs, and equally thin black pigtails--tied, needless to say, with pink ribbon.

“These are your charges,” she explained. “Dodo and Teesie, this is your new governess.”

The couple surveyed me in silence. Their expressions reminded me of our dog, Tack, when he had killed and buried a chicken--fearful, yet defiant!--and presently my two pupils began to mutually criticise me in voluble Hindustani, with gesticulations to correspond.

Before very long I found my level in the household. My quarters were at the back of the house--two gloomy rooms looking straight into rocks on the hillside, and when on wet days the rain streamed down, the prospect was excessively depressing.

Here I endeavoured to teach the children, and here we had our meals. We breakfasted together, afterwards there were lessons and a promenade along the upper Mall, tiffin in the dining-room with Colonel and Mrs. Hooper--unless there was company; then more lessons and another walk, supper, and to bed. Our outings were restricted to the wooded hillsides of two upper Malls; from whence we caught occasional glimpses of the gleaming “Tal” a thousand feet beneath us; we were never permitted to descend and mix with the gay and giddy crowd who were playing tennis or polo, boating, shopping, or riding. I found that I was expected not only to teach the little girls, mend their clothes and be their ever-constant companion, but to wash the peevish Maltese dog, and, when there was company, was pressed into service to trim lamps, and arrange flowers.

Mrs. Hooper, a “society woman,” was extremely smart, popular, and rarely at home; and Colonel Hooper, a stout, bald, good-natured man, was frequently absent for many weeks on survey. The children had been disgracefully neglected, and left entirely to the Ayah and servants (with brief interludes of governesses), and were appallingly wise for their years.

“Mamma slapped Miss Vincent,” announced Teesie, “and so she left. She made a bobbery, too, and complained to the Padre. Miss Dodd would not stay either; she was always crying, and said she was a lady, and would not wash Motee, or do the dhoby--and went away in a week.”

Vainly did I implore Teesie not to repeat things, but she only cracked her fingers, native fashion, and shouted at the top of her shrill voice, “Daddy says you are awfully pretty--the prettiest girl in Naini--and have a very poor time, and he and mammy had a row--and mammy said she hated the sight of you!”

It was an undeniable fact that when the Colonel was at home I was better off. He treated me with every courtesy, sent me the _Pioneer_, twice escorted me to a gymkhana with the children, and once to a theatrical performance.

By the end of July I had been five months in India and seen but little of the country, beyond the woody walks in the upper Mall at Naini Tal--now wet as sponges in the heavy monsoon--and “St. John in the Wilderness” on Sunday evenings. Mrs. Hooper attended in the morning, accompanied by the little girls, who sat on either side of her with roving, knowing eyes, but otherwise conducting themselves with surprising discretion. This was the only time their mother desired their society--she liked to pose (in public) as a devoted parent. I was by no means the daughter of the house, as Aunt Sophy fondly believed; in fact, I was more like a maid-of-all-work, but I kept my troubles to myself, for I knew that it would make Linda and auntie miserable if I complained, and I hoped at the end of a year to find some loophole of escape--and go down to Madras, where Mrs. Mason had invited me to pay her a long, long visit in the Shevaroy Hills.

During these months I had learned Hindustani, had gained the children’s entire approbation, received some startling confidences, and experienced an adventure. I was awakened one night by stealthy steps on the matting in my room, and by the light of an oil wick in a tumbler in the bathroom I beheld a tall, half-naked native busily opening boxes and drawers on my dressing table. I sat up and watched him for some minutes--somehow I was not frightened--I knew the chokedar and a peon were close by in the back verandah. He seemed to be eagerly searching for something; at last he drew it out, and it proved to be the string of pearls! These he held up to the light, felt them carefully, put them to his lips, licked them, and was about to steal away, when suddenly I gave a piercing shriek. He started violently, and dashed into the bathroom.

Meanwhile my screams had been heard, and the house was aroused. The thief endeavoured to escape through the bathroom window, but it is quite one thing to climb through a small space at your ease and leisure, and another to be compelled to do so in a desperate hurry. After a frantic struggle he wriggled through, and in doing so dropped his prize--the string of pearls fell out of his turban--but he fled away into the woods below Cheena scot free.

When Mrs. Hooper heard of the thief’s visit she was terribly alarmed, and a second watchman was immediately stationed on guard in the verandah.

“I expect he was after my diamonds,” she declared, “and these Budmashes are so expert, and so cunning--they always slip off; their bodies are covered with oil.”

It seemed so strange that there had been two attempts to steal a miserable little string of false pearls, and I now kept them locked up in my large steamer trunk, and rarely wore them.

They had immediately attracted Mrs. Hooper’s attention, and she, like others, listened to the usual explanation, merely remarking:

“I wonder you bought them such a size! To my mind it makes an imitation look _so_ vulgar!”

Sometimes when ladies had tiffin at Beverley the children and I were present, but on these occasions Dodo and Teesie were temporarily suppressed, and I was dumb and self-effaced.

“Mr. Sandars called to-day,” remarked Mrs. Hooper to her visitor, Mrs. Leith; her tone indicated triumph. “Such a nice, good-looking young fellow! He has been shooting in the C.P. He is very well connected, and unmarried.”

“What a chance for some of our spins!” said Mrs. Leith.

“Oh, he doesn’t encourage girls--he is not a marrying man.”

“Look at Miss Harlowe--isn’t she funny and red!” cried Teesie, directing everyone’s attention to me.

“Perhaps Miss Harlowe knows Mr. Sandars?” said Mrs. Hooper, staring at me; her voice had a sharp edge, and her eyes were piercing.

“We came out in the same ship,” I explained.

“Oh, was that all?” and, turning once more to her visitor, they began to discuss a great ball that was to take place at the club, and soon forgot my existence.

That same afternoon, as I was exercising the children and the dogs in the middle Mall, I found myself suddenly confronted by Mr. Sandars. He looked uncommonly smart in his well-cut flannels, and hailed me with an air of joyous rediscovery. After a brief salutation, he said:

“So these are your charges. How are you getting on?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I must say you don’t do much credit to Naini Tal air. You don’t look yourself--or happy.”

“You must not judge by appearances,” I answered gaily. “Remember the pearls.”

“Ah, yes, I remember the pearls--rather! I suppose you have them still?”

I nodded and asked, “How is General Pontifex?”

“Very fit.”

“Did you have good sport?”

“Splendid. I have stacks of heads, horns, and skins at Jubbulpore waiting for me to take them home.”

“You will be going soon?”

“That depends. I called to-day on Mrs. Hooper, and rather hoped to see you. I suppose you were out?”

“No, she wasn’t,” broke in Teesie, who had been an attentive listener, “she was giving me a music lesson. Mamma never lets the governesses see company.”

“Hush, Teesie,” I expostulated, and Teesie turned to her sister, and they gabbled together and held a violent argument in what was really their native tongue. “I’m afraid we must be going home,” I said. “I cannot keep these children out when the mist rises from the lake.”

“May I walk back with you?” he asked.

“No, no, he may not,” declared Teesie with dignified decision. “A young police officer used to come and walk with Miss Shaw, and I told mummy, and Miss Shaw was sent away directly!” and she cracked her finger joints till they sounded like so many squibs.

“And I don’t wish to be sent away,” I said with a smile, as I offered him my hand.

“Well, I wonder at that!” he exclaimed, “but, of course, it would be heart-breaking to part with that delightful child. _Au revoir!_” raising his cap; and as we passed down the hill, I felt unaccountably uplifted and consoled.

I noticed Mr. Sandars at evening church on Sunday, and he walked home with me, as if it were entirely a matter of course.

“I have friends who live here,” he said, “the Osbornes, and they have told me all about the life you lead with the smart Mrs. Hooper--_joie de rue, douleur de maison_.”

“Oh, please don’t listen to Naini Tal gossip!” I protested.

“Then please listen to me. You know this ball that comes off on Monday? My friends are going--Mrs. Osborne has met you at tiffin, and she desires me to say she will be delighted to take you.”

“It is most kind of her--but Colonel Hooper----”

“Will make no objection. I’ve squared _him_--he knows my people at home, and he agrees that it is time you had some little distraction.”

“I am sure Mrs. Hooper won’t like it--and I know no one----”

“So much the better,” he interrupted, “then you can dance all the time with me. I suppose you have a dress?”