CHAPTER II.
“LIFE IS REAL; LIFE IS EARNEST.”
“OH, Georgie, I do so want a good long talk.”
It was the morning after Mabel’s arrival, and she had settled herself on the verandah with her work, a laudable pretence in which no one had ever seen her set a stitch. After Dick had ridden away, she yawned a good deal, and looked out more than once disconsolately over the desert in search of entertainment, which failed to present itself, and Georgia had her household duties to perform before she could devote herself to amusing her sister-in-law. Mabel had several distant glimpses of her laying down the law to submissive servants, and paying surprise visits in the compound, but at last she mounted the steps, threw aside her sun-hat, and bringing out a work-basket, spread a little pile of delicate cambric upon the table before her.
“Talk, then,” she said, with a pin in her mouth.
“But you are sure we shan’t be interrupted? Have you quite done?”
“I think we are safe. I have visited the cook-house and the dairy, interviewed the gardener, arranged about the horses’ and cow’s food as well as our own, and physicked all the invalids in the neighbourhood. So begin, Mab.”
“Well, don’t you want to know my real reasons for coming out?”
“I thought we heard them last night—such as they are.”
“How nasty you are, Georgie! Didn’t you guess that there were other reasons behind, reserved for your private ear, and not to be exposed to Dick’s ribaldry? The truth is, I was hungering and thirsting for reality, and that’s why I came.”
“My beloved Mab, is England a world of shadows?”
“It is exactly that—to women in our class of life, at any rate—and I am sick of shadows. Our life has become so smooth, and polished, and refined, that it is not life at all. We are all Tomlinsons more or less—getting our emotions second-hand from books and plays. Some of us go into the slums or the hospitals in search of experiences (you’ll say that was what I tried to do), but even then we only see things, we don’t feel them. I wanted to get to a place where things still happened, where there were real people and real passions.”
“Do you know, Mab”—Georgia fixed a critical eye on her—“if you had been a little younger, I should have suspected you of a yearning to enter the Army Nursing Service? I can’t tell you how many girls have lamented to me at different times the unreality of their lives, and proposed to set them right by means of that particular act of self-sacrifice. But as things are, I suppose, to use plain English, you were bored?”
“Bored to exasperation, then, you unsympathetic creature! But I am serious, Georgie. There’s something you quoted in one of your letters from Kubbet-ul-Haj that has haunted me ever since, and expresses what I mean. It was something like: ‘When the world grows too refined and too cultured, God sends great judgments to beat us back to the beginning of history again, to toils and pain and peril, and the old first heroic lessons—how to fight and how to endure.’ It would be absurd for me, in England, to take to living in a slum, making my own things, and teaching people who are much better than I am, but I thought out here——”
“And you find Dick and me dressing for dinner every evening, and getting the magazines monthly! You had better cross the border into Ethiopia, Mab. We are just as artificial here as at home.”
“Georgie! as if I wanted to make a savage of myself, like the youth in ‘Locksley Hall’! Surely life can be simple and primitive without being squalid?”
“You haven’t asked my advice, and I don’t know whether you want it, but it’s dreadfully commonplace. Get married.”
“You mean that I should know then what reality is? What an indictment to bring against Dick! What in the world does he do to you, Georgie?”
Georgia smiled superior. “You don’t expect me to begin to defend Dick to you?” she asked, then laughed aloud. “No, Mab, you needn’t try to tease me about him at this hour of the day. But what I mean is, that you get into the way of looking at things in quite a different light when you are married. You don’t hold a brief for your own sex any longer, but for men as well. That makes the difference, I think. You are in the middle instead of on one side, and that is at any rate a help towards seeing life whole.”
“But do you always look at things now through Dick’s spectacles? How painfully monotonous!”
“We don’t always agree, of course. But we talk things over together, and generally one convinces the other. If not, we agree to differ.”
Mabel shook her head. “Then I’m perfectly certain that you and Dick have never differed on a really vital matter,” she said. “In that case I know quite well that neither of you would ever convince the other, and you could not conscientiously agree to differ, so what is to happen?”
Georgia did not seem to hear her. She rose and went into the drawing-room, and unlocking a little carved cabinet that stood on her writing-table, took something out of a secret drawer. “Look at this, Mab,” she said, handing Mabel a piece of paper. It was a photograph, obviously the work of an amateur, of a little grave surrounded by lofty trees.
“Oh, Georgie!” the tears sprang to Mabel’s eyes; “this is baby’s grave?”
Georgia nodded. “Dick doesn’t know that I have it,” she said, speaking quickly. “Mr Anstruther took the photograph for me, and I had one framed, and it always hung in my room. I used to sit and look at it when Dick was out. Sometimes I cried a little, of course, but I never thought he would notice. But he took it into his head that I was fretting, and when we left Iskandarbagh he gave the servants a hint to lose the picture in moving. Wasn’t it just like him, dear fellow? But he never bargained for the servants’ letting out the truth to me. I had this one as well; but when I saw how Dick felt about it I took care to keep it hidden away, and he thinks his plan has succeeded, and that I have forgotten. It makes him so much happier.”
“I see,” said Mabel, in a low voice. “You wouldn’t have done that once, Georgie. I see the difference. But surely there is a name on the stone?” She was examining the photograph closely. “She was baptized, then? I never heard——”
“Yes, Dick baptized her; there was no one else. Georgia Mabel, he would have it so. Oh, Mab, it was awful, that time! We were the only English people at Iskandarbagh just then, and the tribes were out on the frontier. Miss Jenkins, the Bab-us-Sahel missionary, was coming to me. Since I knew her first, she has been home to take the medical course, and is fully qualified. Well, she could not get to me, and I couldn’t get to Khemistan, and I had to stay where I was and be doctor and patient both. Of course I had my dear good Rahah, and Dick was as gentle as any woman; but oh, it was terrible! But I shouldn’t have minded afterwards if only baby had lived. She was such a darling, Mab, with fair hair and dark eyes, like yours. Dick tried to cheer me up—chaffed me about her being so small and weak—but she died in my arms a few minutes after she was baptized. Miss Jenkins got through to us the next day at the risk of her life, but she was only in time for the—the funeral in the Residency garden.”
“And you lived through that? Oh, Georgie, it would have killed me.”
“Oh no; there was Dick, you know. Poor dear Dick! he was disappointed about baby, of course; but a man doesn’t feel that sort of thing as a woman does. Besides, he was so glad I didn’t die too, that he really could not think of anything else.”
“And you, Georgie?”
“I can’t talk of it, Mab, even to you—how I longed to die. But he never knew it. And when I was better, I saw how wicked I had been. I would have lost anything rather than leave him alone.”
“Well,” said Mabel, trying to speak lightly, “you have made acquaintance with realities, Georgie, at any rate; but I don’t know that I am very keen on following in your footsteps. I believe you have made me afraid of taking your advice. Marriage seems to involve experiences out here which one doesn’t get at home.”
“It does,” agreed Georgia, “and I suppose they would be too much for some women. But when you love the country and the people as I do—and love your husband, of course—you would scarcely come out here with him if you didn’t—I think the life brings you nearer to each other than anything else could. It is such an absolute solitude à deux, you see, and you are so completely shut up to one another, that you seem really to become one, not just figuratively. It’s rather a terrible experiment to make, as you say, but if it succeeds—why, then it’s the very best thing in the world.”
“I can’t quite fancy myself thinking of Mr Burgrave like that,” murmured Mabel reflectively.
“Mab, I didn’t think——”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Georgie. If I didn’t laugh I should cry. And there’s Dick coming back, and he’ll see we have been crying. Talk about something else, quick!”
“I was wondering whether you would like to pay a call or two,” said Georgia, thrusting a wet handkerchief hastily into her pocket. “I don’t want to drag you out if you are still tired after your journey, but it would be nice for you to get to know people before all the Christmas festivities begin next week.”
“Of course!” Mabel’s sudden animation was not wholly assumed for Dick’s benefit as he rode past the verandah. “Who is there to call upon?”
“Only your friend Mrs Hardy, whose husband is the missionary here, and acts as chaplain, and Flora Graham, the Colonel’s daughter, I am afraid. Nearly all the men are bachelors or grass-widowers at this station. Two or three ladies will come in from Rahmat-Ullah and the other outlying stations next week, but we are still scarce enough to be valuable.”
“That’s a state of things of which I highly approve,” said Mabel.
“Never knew a woman that didn’t,” said Dick, entering. “Ask Georgia if she doesn’t like to see the men round her chair, though she pretends to think they’re attracted by her professional reputation. But Miss Graham is coming to call on you, Mab. She’s dying to see you, but feared you would be too tired to pay visits this week. In gratitude for this honour, don’t you think you ought to refrain from exercising your fascinations on her young man?”
“Really, Dick, I don’t know what you can think of me. Is Miss Graham engaged?”
“Rather; to young Haycraft, of the Regiment.”
“Ah, I fly at higher game,” said Mabel austerely.
“So I should have guessed.”
“Oh, Dick, have you seen the Commissioner?” cried Georgia.
“Been closeted with him nearly all morning.”
“And was he very horrid?”
“By no means. He didn’t make any secret of his reforming intentions, but he gave me no hint as to his plan for carrying them out. He only tells that sort of thing to casual fellow-travellers, I suppose. But I think he wished to make himself agreeable, and I attribute that to my having the honour of being Miss Mabel North’s brother.”
“Ah!” said Mabel wisely.
Late that afternoon she and Georgia set forth to visit Mrs Hardy, much against Mabel’s will. She represented that she had only parted from the good lady the day before, and had not the slightest desire to renew the acquaintance, but Georgia was firm.
“We will only go in for a minute or two, for we must be back early to meet the Grahams, but I could not bear her to think herself slighted.”
When they reached the missionary’s bungalow they found it in the throes of a general turn-out. The verandah was piled with furniture, and here Mrs Hardy, a worn-looking little woman with a lined face, and thin grey hair screwed into an unbecoming knob, received them in the lowest possible spirits. She had always prophesied that the house would go to rack and ruin during her absence in England, and now she perceived that it had. Only that morning she had discovered the fragments of her very best damask table-cloth doing duty as dusters, and three silver spoons were missing. Moreover, she believed she was on the verge of further discoveries that would compel her to dismiss at least half the servants. Georgia’s inquiry after Mr Hardy elicited the fact that he had contracted the bad habit of having his meals served in his study and reading while he partook of them, which was bound to have a prejudicial effect on his digestion in the future, while Mrs Hardy felt morally certain that he had gone to church in rags for many Sundays past. Yes, he had spoken very cheerfully of several interesting inquirers who had come to him of late, but Mrs Hardy had, and would continue to have, grave doubts as to the genuineness of their motives. Georgia sighed, and turned the conversation to the subject of the journey from the coast, but this only opened the way for a fresh flood of forebodings. The new Commissioner was bent on mischief, and the natives were perceptibly uneasy. Where they were not defiant they were sullen, and Mrs Hardy’s eagle eye foresaw trouble ahead. Perceiving that Georgia was not entirely at one with her, she descended suddenly to details.
“Ah, dear Mrs North, I know you think I am a pessimist, but when you hear what I have to tell you——! Is—is Miss North in your confidence—politically speaking?” with a meaning glance at Mabel.
“In our confidence!” cried Georgia, in astonishment. “Of course she is. Why not?”
Mrs Hardy bridled. “I am relieved to hear that Miss North is not so entirely taken up with the Commissioner as to have no thought for her dear brother’s interests,” she said acidly. “Well, I must tell you that I hear on good authority that Mr Burgrave intends to allow Bahram Khan to return to Nalapur. In the course of our journey he gave a private audience to a Hindu whom I recognised as Narayan Singh, the brother of the Nalapur Vizier Ram Singh, and I now hear that he has been closeted with him again to-day. Ram Singh has always been suspected of intriguing for Bahram Khan’s return, and Narayan Singh has divided his time between Nalapur and Ethiopia for years.”
“Oh, but it’s quite impossible!” cried Georgia. “The Commissioner would never take such a step without consulting my husband, and Dick would never countenance it. Bahram Khan has sinned beyond forgiveness.”
“I wish I could think so!” said Mrs Hardy oracularly. “We shall soon see, my dear Mrs North. What, must you go? I wonder Major North likes you to drive that high dog-cart. You will certainly have an accident some day.”
“Odious woman!” cried Mabel, as the dog-cart dashed down the road. “How can you endure her, Georgie? She is the very incarnation of spite.”
“No, no—of hopelessness,” said Georgia. “The climate tries her, and her children are all being educated at home, and she thinks Mr Hardy is not appreciated here. Dear old man! I wish you could have seen him, Mab. He is all patience and cheerfulness, and indeed, it is a good thing that he has Mrs Hardy to keep him within bounds. All our people and the native Christians love him, and even the mullahs who come to argue with him can’t succeed in hating him. His learning is really wasted up here, and I don’t think he has had more than six baptisms of converts in the five years we have known him. We always say that the natives who become Christians here must be very much in earnest, for Mrs Hardy discourages them so conscientiously beforehand.”
“Horrid old thing, spoiling her husband’s work!” cried Mabel.
“No, not at all. He has been taken in more than once. And really, Mab, it is hard for us to urge these people to be baptized. The persecution is awful.”
“Here—under English rule?”
“Not from us, of course, but from their own people. Two men have been lured across the frontier and murdered, and another had a false charge trumped up against him, and only just escaped hanging. It seems scarcely fair on our part unless we can get them away to another part of India.”
“Well, Mrs Hardy isn’t exactly a good example of the effects of Christianity. She is enough to frighten away any number of intending converts.”
“And yet she is the staunchest friend possible at a pinch. I had rather have her with me in an emergency than any other woman I know.”
“That’s because she likes you. She hates me, and would rejoice to make my life a burden to me. The idea of hinting that I would betray Dick’s secrets to Mr Burgrave! Wasn’t it infamous? But who is Bahram Khan?”
“He is the Amir of Nalapur’s nephew, and was intended to succeed to the throne, but in order to expedite matters he tried to poison both his uncle and Dick’s predecessor here, who had been obliged to scold him for some of his doings. The matter could not be absolutely proved against him, but he thought it well to take refuge in Ethiopia, and has stayed there ever since. To guard against his returning, Dick advised the Amir to adopt another nephew, Bahadar Shah, as his successor, and he did. Bahram Khan is only about twenty-three now, but he married an Ethiopian lady of rank four years ago. His poor old mother, who is one of my Nalapur patients, was very sore at his arranging it without consulting her. She remained at her brother’s court when her son escaped, for it was she who saved the lives of the Amir and Sir Henry Gaunt. She suspected her son’s intentions, and tasted the food prepared for the banquet he was going to give. It made her very ill, but she gave the warning, and I was sent for post-haste from Iskandarbagh in time to save her life. She is a dear, grateful old thing.”
“But do you think Mr Burgrave will let Bahram Khan come back?”
“Oh no, it’s impossible. But I wish,” added Georgia thoughtfully, “that I hadn’t been so emphatic in denying it to Mrs Hardy. If anything happens now, she will know that Dick and the Commissioner are not in accord.”
“But why shouldn’t she know?”
“Because out here we learn to stick together. Quarrel in private as much as you like, but present a united front to the foe,” said Georgia sententiously, as she pulled up before her own verandah. Two horses, in charge of native grooms, were waiting at the door.
“Our visitors have arrived before us,” said Mabel, and they hurried into the drawing-room, to find an elderly man of soldierly appearance and a tall yellow-haired girl waiting patiently for them.
“I’m afraid you will think us very rude for thrusting ourselves upon you so soon, and at this time of day,” said Miss Graham, addressing herself to Mabel, after Georgia had apologised for their absence, “but my father happened to have time to come with me just now, and I was so very anxious to see you——”
“How sweet of you!” murmured Mabel softly, as the visitor stopped abruptly.
“Because I want to ask you a favour,” finished Miss Graham. Her father laughed, and Mabel looked politely interested. “I want you to be Queen of the Tournament next week instead of me.”
“Oh, Georgie!” cried Mabel; “and you said that life out here was modern and unromantic! Why, here we are plunged into the Middle Ages at once.”
“It’s only my daughter’s poetical way of speaking of our annual gymkhana,” explained Colonel Graham. “She has officiated so often that she feels shy. The real fact is,” he turned confidentially to Georgia, “Haycraft has loafed about here so much that he’s wretchedly stale this year, and Flora can’t bear to give a prize to any one else.”
“No, no, papa; what a shame!” cried Miss Graham, blushing. “You see, Miss North, I have really done it a good many times, and I’m sure everybody would like to see some one new. Besides, I am engaged, you know, and—and——”
“And it would make it more realistic if the opposing heroes felt they were really struggling for the Queen’s favour?” said her father. “Well, that’s easily managed. Intimate to Haycraft that unless he wins he’ll have to resign you to the successful competitor.”
“But why ask me?” said Mabel.
“Because there’s no one else,” replied Miss Graham quickly. “No, I don’t mean that; but my father says I ought to ask the Commissioner to give the prizes, and I don’t like him well enough. But he couldn’t possibly be offended if I asked you. It’s so obviously the proper thing.”
“Now, why?” asked Mabel again, and the other girl blushed once more.
“I saw you yesterday when you rode past our house,” she said shyly, “and I knew at once that you were the right person.”
Mabel smiled graciously. Such open admiration from one of her own sex was rare enough to be grateful to her. “I am wondering what I should wear,” she said. “I have a little muslin frock——”
“Oh!” said Miss Graham, evidently disappointed. “But perhaps—do you think I might see it?”
“If Georgie and Colonel Graham will excuse us for a moment,” said Mabel rising, and she led the way to her own room, and summoned the smiling brown-faced ayah whom she had brought from Bombay.
“Oh!” cried Flora Graham again, when the “little muslin frock” was displayed to her, but her tone was not now one of disappointment. The frock might be little, whatever that term might mean as applied to a gown, but it was not therefore to be despised. It was undoubtedly made of muslin, but it had a slip of softest primrose silk, and the glories of frills and lace and primrose ribbon which decked it bewildered her eyes. “It is lovely!” she said slowly; “and look how your ayah appreciates it. I wish mine ever had the chance of regarding one of my gowns with such reverential admiration! And what hat will you wear with it?”
“They tried to make me have one swathed in white and primrose chiffon,” said Mabel indifferently, “but I knew I could never stand that. I shall wear this one with it.” She indicated a large black picture hat.
“That will be perfect,” said Miss Graham. “It’s the finishing touch. Oh, you will—you must—give the prizes. That gown would be wasted otherwise. You will do it, won’t you?”
Yielding sweetly to the eager entreaties showered upon her, Mabel consented, and in the talk which followed set herself to gain an acquaintance with all the gaieties that were to be expected during the following week. When Georgia came to say that Colonel Graham was obliged to leave, the two girls were discussing ball dresses with the keenest interest.
“I can’t make Mabel out,” Georgia said to her husband that night. “Sometimes she seems in such deadly earnest, and yet she is as anxious as possible to take part in everything that is going on.”
“But why in the world shouldn’t she be?”
“It’s not that; but I can’t think why she should care for it.”
“No, I suppose not. You never felt that you must play the fool for a bit now and then or die, did you, Georgie? But Mab does—has periodical fits of it, alternating with the deadly earnest. Let her alone to have her fling. She’ll settle down some day, and it’s not as if it did any harm.”
But Georgia was not convinced.