CHAPTER XXIX

Jim Disposed Of

That dignity had hardly been attained when an interesting ceremony, in which Ted played but a subordinate part, took place in Simla. Major Russell and Ethel Woodburn, finding how much they had to talk about, and how many thrilling experiences must be related, very sensibly came to the conclusion that their best course would be to marry with as little delay as possible.

Colonel Woodburn's natural objections to such haste had first to be overcome, but having at length become reconciled to the idea of losing his daughter, he allowed the date to be fixed. Charlie and Ted were sent for, and at the latter's urgent request, Subadar Goria Tapa was invited to the wedding. The Sirmur Battalion's head-quarters were then, as now, situated at no great distance from Simla, so that neither Captain Dorricot nor the subadar found any difficulty in attending. Captain Spencer was another guest whom Ted was glad to meet again. Rapidly as he had returned from Kashmir on hearing the news of the outbreak, he had been too late to join his regiment and take part in the march to Delhi. John Lawrence had found employment for him with the Movable Column, and he had been badly wounded in the fighting that took place while Nicholson was in command.

Three days before the wedding date Ted entered Simla and greeted his brother with a salute. Now that the dull days of exile and inaction had come to an end he was in the merriest of moods.

"Come to report myself, sir," said he with a solemn face.

"Hullo, Lieutenant Russell, V.C.!" was his brother's greeting as Jim looked up from a table strewn with papers. "Glad you're looking fit again. I'm blest if I know what you want here, but Ethel would have you. Nice nuisance you'll be, I know."

The words of this truly fraternal greeting were belied by the hearty handgrip. Ted retorted in kind.

"Well, that's brotherly love if you like," said he. "Wretched man! Here I've come, my heart swelling with sympathy and pity for you, and this is your return. I won't be sorry for you any longer, not one bit. Serves you jolly well right. Hope you forget the ring, and gash yourself whilst shaving, and that you're late, and that you get stuck in the service, and that your collar comes undone, and your tie crawls round your neck."

"Much obliged, I'm sure," replied Jim, laughing at his brother's boisterous spirits.

"Bless you, Major Russell, you're very welcome."

Jim winked with much deliberation, whereupon Ted thumped him between the ribs and continued his chaff.

"Cheer up, old man; it'll soon be over, and p'raps you'll recover. You're not the first fellow to be married, though I suppose you imagine that there's never been such an important affair upon this poor old globe before. Cheer up! I've heard of fellows who've survived it."

"Thanks! I'm fairly cheerful considering, but being with the Lucknow Army don't seem to have improved your at-no-time very admirable manners."

"Never had any. Everybody used to tell me how much I took after my eldest brother. Seriously, Jim, I wish you'd been with us at Lucknow. I've had a great time."

And Jim listened, leaning back with legs crossed and hands clasped behind his head, while Ted recounted some of the most striking episodes of the campaign and of his own adventures.

"You're a decent sort of kid, Ted," the elder brother allowed. "I wish the Guides had been there. Now I believe you're dying to have a chat with Ethel, and I know she's as anxious as can be to see you again. So go and find her, young 'un. I'm horribly busy and can't go with you. I would if I could, you may be sure."

"I will go and condole with her. _She_ needs some genuine sympathy and consolation, and she shall have it. How far is it? Worth taking the horse out again?"

"No, not five minutes away."

Before Ted had proceeded a couple of hundred yards, he beheld the object of his search riding towards home, her thoughts uplifted far above the humble wayfarer whom she was about to pass without recognition.

"Evening, Miss Woodburn!" said Ted.

Ethel gave a start and reined in her horse.

"Why, Ted, I didn't know you'd arrived."

"Just come. Affectionate brother intimated that, as he had no room for thinking of anyone but you, I disturbed him."

"So you were coming to see me? You are looking well, Ted. I half expected to see a decrepit invalid with crutches and bandages."

"I'm all right now. Should have come though to see you married if I'd had to be brought on a doolie."

He assisted the girl to dismount, and, giving the horse in charge of the sais, they entered the house.

"I am glad you look so well," repeated Miss Woodburn. "Paterson kept us posted up as to your state so long as he remained at Lucknow. We had an anxious time for a week or two."

"You heard about Tynan, I suppose? He proved a brick in the end, did he not?"

"Yes, I was glad when I read Alec's account of how he died. That is--you know what I mean?"

Ted nodded.

"Had you not seen him since that night at Lahore?" Ethel continued.

"Never once until that moment. I've not been able to find out anything about him either. He must have enrolled in the Volunteers, under an assumed name, of course."

Colonel Woodburn, looking his old self again, was genuinely pleased to welcome the boy. For half an hour he drew him out on the subject of the Lucknow campaign, and then Ethel claimed her brother-in-law again.

"Come and see my presents, Ted," she ordered.

"With pleasure--oh, by the way, I've brought my little contribution. Hope you'll like it."

She gave a little scream of delight as he handed her an open box.

"Oh, how beautiful! How lovely! Ted, you shouldn't have given me anything like this. It's much too good."

"It's not half good enough."

"Look at this necklet, father! Is it not exquisite?"

Colonel Woodburn examined the present, and gave a whistle of amazement.

"Ted, my boy, wherever did you get this?" he asked. "It's worth hundreds or I'm no judge. Diamonds and rubies of this size! And what workmanship!"

"It's from Lucknow, colonel. Loot, I'm afraid."

"Loot?" The colonel looked more serious, as he asked the question.

"I'm not certain--only circumstantial evidence. You see, there was a lot of looting when we entered Lucknow, and the Sikhs and Jung Bahadur's Gurkhas got nearly everything. Jung's men took several thousand carts filled with loot back to Nepal. A day or two before I was wounded I happened to save the life of one of Jung's Gurkhas who was being set upon by a crowd. He seemed to be an officer of good standing, and he was very grateful, and when I spoke to him in Magar-Kura, he was just delighted. When I was well enough I found that this parcel had been handed to me, and this necklace was inside, and not a word of explanation. So I guess they came from him, but couldn't make sure as he'd gone. It was probably one of many things he'd picked up in the palace, but I don't know that for certain. They were allowed to loot for a little while to repay their services, so it's come by perfectly honestly, Ethel. I offered it to the general of our column for him to send to the common stock, but he sent back word that it was mine, right enough. So it's quite right, isn't it, Colonel Woodburn? Mayn't she accept it with a clear conscience?"

"Certainly, except that it's much too costly a present to accept, Ted."

"It is indeed, old boy. I'm very, very grateful, and it's very generous of you, but you must keep it. You'd be sorry in a year or two, and you'd blame me for taking it."

Ted began to grow angry. "If you won't take it, Ethel," he sullenly declared, "I'll throw it on the fire. I mean it."

"But, Ted, you'll be married some day, and think how you would like your wife to have this--and she _ought_ to have it. Then you would think it mean of me to have taken it."

He laughed scornfully.

"Marry? Me? I'm not going to get married! I don't want anyone to have it but you; I meant it for you as soon as I saw it."

A way of escape occurred to the girl.

"Let us strike a bargain, old boy. If I accept it now, will you allow me to present it to your wife on the day you get married?"

Again Ted laughed, this time with light heart.

"I agree to that--it amounts to the same thing."

"Do you approve of the arrangement, father?"

"Trust a woman to find some way out," said the colonel. "I think the arrangement a good one. Honour satisfied on both sides."

"Now, Ted, I can thank you properly--especially for your thought on first seeing the necklet. But come and see the rest of the 'loot', as your unprincipled and shameless brother calls it."

"He calls it that, does he? Good judge, Jim."

"Yes, his first daily enquiry is, 'Any more loot to-day?' After being satisfied on that point he condescends to enquire after me."

"I shouldn't have thought he was ever 'satisfied on that point'."

Ethel Woodburn laughed merrily.

"Quite true, he's not. He invariably grunts, 'Is that all to-day?' and tells me that I ought to have laid myself out to be particularly nice to everyone for the past fortnight."

"Greedy brute, isn't he? But I say, Ethel, isn't he content with these? I call it a jolly good show considering that the presents from England haven't come yet. I s'pose it's just Jim's peculiar way of expressing his gratitude."

"Have you shown him the necklet?"

"No fear; he'd have collared it and stuck to it, and pawned it before you could see it. He wouldn't have had your scruples."

"I'm afraid that you have a very poor opinion of my husband that-is-to-be, Lieutenant Russell."

Ted laughed, and most rudely winked.

"About as bad as your own, I guess, Mrs. Major Russell."

Ted walked round from table to table reading the cards and asking who was who.

"Sir Arthur Fletcher," he read out, halting before one of the presents. "That's jolly nice of him!"

"I see Charlie Dorricot's sent nothing yet?" he added. "He's due to-night, isn't he?"

"Yes, I expect to make his acquaintance shortly."

"Ripping good chap, Charlie! You'll like him.

"He's very anxious to inspect you," the young subaltern continued. "He did all he could to draw Jim out about you, but it was no go--Jim just gazed amiably upon him. Then he drew a fancy picture of you."

"Who did? Jim?"

"Don't jeer! You know who I mean. He also offered bribes to read your letters--precious small bribes, though! But nothing could make Jim wrathy when he was reading the epistles of Ethel."

"You helped him, I suppose?"

"Helped Jim--to read them? Who's mixed with the personal pronouns now?"

"From your account of your cousin," Ethel observed, disdaining to answer the gibes, "I think it very doubtful that I shall like him. He appears to have been--well--impertinent."

"Regular impudent beggar he is! I knew you'd think so; that's why I told you. Never mind, Ethel, you may be sure of this, that he'll like you. Besides, I stuck up for you, as Jim wouldn't."

"I am indeed grateful, Lieutenant Russell."

"You do look nice when you laugh, Ethel. Ah! here they are, I can hear Charlie's voice."

They went down to greet the new-comers.

"I seem to know you quite well already, Captain Dorricot," Ethel remarked as they were introduced.

"I'm afraid I can hardly say that I know you at all," Charlie replied, "as Jim would never venture on a description, however greatly I encouraged him, feeling, no doubt, his inability to do the subject justice."

"That's really rather nice, you know," Ted commented, with a grave air of abstraction; and the girl blushed becomingly.

An awkward pause ensued. Then four people spoke together. Three stopped respectfully.

"Can you guess, Jim, what Ted has given us for a present?"

"That's a hint for you, Charlie. Open your packages at once. I am about to marry a most sordid little woman, whose absorbing thought is: 'Presents, and how to obtain them'."

"Sir, you speak that which is not true. Look at this!"

"Whew! You've been looting, young man. Where?"

"Not at all--present--Lucknow--Gurkhas. By the way, Charlie, did you know that young Roberts, your school-fellow, won the V.C.? Won it twice over, in fact--I saw him."

"Well done, D.A.Q.M.G.! That young man will make his mark in the world. He's a man that understands men--and things."

Ethel then related Ted's story of the jewels and the bargain made, and Charlie presented his gifts, a pair of paintings brought back with him from England two months before. To everyone's surprise he next dragged out a pair of silver-mounted kukris, Goria Thapa's present to Major Russell, in memory of their father's friendship.

Charlie and Ted returned to Jim's quarters, leaving the lovers half an hour of solitude.

"My stars, Ted, that's a pretty girl!" observed the former.

"Isn't she stunning? She's no end fun either, though she looks so demure."

"Jim has displayed unusual discrimination, I must say."

* * * * *

The day, by custom termed "auspicious"--though why the bridegroom cannot tell--came round at last. Major Russell appeared as joyous as could reasonably be expected--and no more. Whilst awaiting the bride's appearance Captain Dorricot, as best man, apparently considered his a most gladsome task. Why does "a best man" consider it necessary to be ribald?

"Major Russell," he whispered, "are you or are you not going to hold yourself straight? Think of me! You're disgracing me before all these people. Don't look so cheap, man; you'll get used to it!

"Now remember my advice and start from to-day as master; let her see that you won't be trodden upon."

"Oh, don't be an idiot!"

"Bless us, he thinks, poor fellow, that it'll be rather nice to be trodden upon by her! Quick! She's coming! Take your eyes from the roof and try to look as though you'd been here before and could do it on your head."

Good as the advice was it passed unheeded, for all eyes were now turned towards the church porch as Ethel Woodburn entered--charmingly sweet, and shyly happy.

The ceremony over, our friend Ted forgot his new-born dignity and became a boy again, and a perfectly irrepressible one, until Jim and his dainty wife had driven away in the direction of the everlasting hills.

Then came the reaction of depression that must inevitably attend the happiest and best-suited marriages.

"Poor old colonel seems cut-up!" said Charlie, as he and Spencer and Ted lounged in the veranda some hours later gazing at the spangled velvet of the sky.

"No wonder," mused Spencer. "He's left alone now, poor fellow! It's hardly a joyful occasion for him. Have a cheroot, Russell?"

"No, thanks!" Ted replied.

"Teddy's a good boy," Dorricot laughed.

"He's quite right," said Spencer. "Nothing to be ashamed of in knowing that one is not old enough to have stopped growing."

"She's a pretty girl!" Dorricot observed thoughtfully after a pause. "Hope I may do as well as Jim when my time comes."

* * * * *

Ted Russell's adventures as a boy were over. Readers interested in his subsequent career, if any such there be, may care to know that shortly after his return to India after serving under Sir Hope Grant in China, he obtained twelve-months' home leave. While in England the necklet, curiously enough, did again change hands, and Captain Edward Russell was by no means so greatly astounded by the circumstance as, to judge from former declarations, he ought to have been.

Throughout the Second Afghan War he commanded one of the regiments of Roberts' army, and Colonel Paterson distinguished himself during the same campaign at Ahmed Khel, his regiment being with Sir Donald Stewart. The old friends met at Kabul, and Ted took part in the famous march to Kandahar, whilst Paterson proceeded with his general to the Kyber, and thence to Peshawur.

A few years later Colonel Russell was in command of a brigade in one of the North-west Frontier expeditions, and he finally retired from the army with a hammered slug in his right leg, as Major-general Russell.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Disputed V.C., by Frederick P. Gibbon