CHAPTER XLII
The difficulties in the path of his true love had but increased Jimmy Fielder's interest in Dominga—now that Dom was unattainable, she appeared to be almost indispensable to his happiness. He had been bored to death in the Terai, and bitten by the most ferocious of insects, grilled alive and half starved, all for one mangy tiger skin! He had been equally bored on a hill station; none of the girls were half as amusing as Dom—poor Dom, who was breaking her heart for him on the dim blue plains far below. Now and then he strolled to a certain point and gazed down, and thought of that sparkling face, those ruddy locks, that lithe form and nimble tongue—the recollection of those days was still sharp and vivid. Then came an unexpected summons home, which blurred the vision. His father had tendered the olive branch and a handsome cheque; Lord Highstreet was failing fast, and his son, for his part, was now thoroughly sick of India. Captain Fielder hurried to Rajahpore in order to settle up, collect his belongings and say good-bye to the regiment and the Service. He must also say good-bye to Dom! She had made the memory of his stay on the plains a joy for ever, and he would send her a jolly present from Streeter's, as soon as he got home. Of course he had heard of the death of Mr. Chandos, and he was aware that the family had been in some mysterious trouble; the victoria, full of gay cushions, no longer waited under a certain tree near the club, nor were there any more letters to be found in "Two Kisses."
Captain Fielder had already secured his passage and paid his farewell calls; the station was almost empty, the ladies were in the hills. He was an idle man, and Fate finds some mischief still for idle men to do! Inspired by Fate, he made up his mind to drive out to Manora, in broad daylight, and interview Dom, and see if his memory had not flattered her too much.
Captain Fielder was ushered into the drawing-room, and then in another moment she had flown to him, gasping and sobbing with joy and astonishment. She clung to his neck, her sweet breath (a peculiarity of Eurasians) fanning his cheek, her glorious hair falling back, her eyes gazing into his own. He succumbed at once to her spell, her wonderful seduction—her, for him, fearful fascination. Oh, why was she not a lady? and one he could marry and take home, for Dom was so entirely to his taste; ever the same, yet never boring him.
"Oh, why should he not please himself, why? why?" he mentally exclaimed with impotent fury.
"Oh, ho! So you are the beast that has broken my daughter's heart," cried a shrill voice, and Mrs. Chandos, in funereal weeds, darted into the room. "It is well poor Chandos is dead, and does not know of your wickedness!"
"What do you mean, Madam?" he demanded, now releasing Dom, and boldly facing his assailant.
"That you wanted her to run away with you. Oh, yes, we arl know that, and now you are coming to say good-bye, and thank you very much, before you go to England."
"Oh, he is not going to England!" screamed Dominga, seizing him by the arm, whilst her face assumed a sudden pallor, and her nostrils quivered nervously.
"Yes, he is; he goes in the Persia, on the fourth," said her mother. "Is it not so?" and she flashed on him a look of fury.
Jimmy nodded his head emphatically, and Dominga broke into a wailing cry.
"Well, now I will speak plainly; before you go," said Mrs. Chandos, "you shall marry Dominga, and take her with you."
"Oh, impossible! nonsense!" protested her visitor, in an angry voice.
"No, no; not at all im-possible. You do many bad things; you pretend to every one you don't know my daughter, at all; you come out here on the sly, sly—all Manora saw you; you make love, but you do not break her heart and then leave her. You marry her, then you go!"
"But my good lady——" he interrupted.
"Cho-op!" she screamed, "see, now, I give you your choice; you take her—or you take—me!"
"What? you are mad—raving!"
"Yes; me, me, me," indicating herself with three sharp finger taps; "I am not poor, and I follow you all over the world, and I punish you. First, I tell the station; then I go to the orderly room and tell the Colonel; next, I write to your father! See, look, I swear it. I, too, take passage in Persia—sit at your table; every now and then I call 'Rascal! rascal! rascal!' So, too, in England; I follow in the street; I point, and cry 'Rascal, rascal, rascal!'"
"The police——" he began.
"Police take me up—arl-right. Say she is crazy! I go to court, I tell all the story—what fun for the newspapers, and all the world will know, and they will laugh, laugh, laugh, and cry shame. This I do, if it cost my life, and my money. Whatever I want I get. You ask! my husband could tell you—what I will happens; ask my mother and Dominga. I always come out what you call 'top dog!' So now you speak, and say which you take in the Persia—Dominga or me?"
Her black gown had the effect of making Mrs. Chandos look judicial and almost diabolical. She spoke rapidly, but with complete self-possession, only that a light in her eyes flickered like the flame of a candle.
Poor Jimmy was completely dominated by this fierce little iron-willed half-caste. Her victim felt instinctively that she would surely carry out her threat, and be as bad as her word. Well, after all, why should he not marry Dom? The present moment was critical—the future—was the future. He was immensely fond of Dom. She was handsome, dashing and clever, and adored him. Away from Manora she would be quite a striking personality. It was her background—for instance, this devilish mother of hers—which played the mischief.
Yes, yes; he would do it—marry Dom before the magistrate, or by special license, and wire for another passage—and, fired with this reckless resolve, he drawled:
"I say, you need not make such a confounded hullaballoo!" turning suddenly on his future mother-in-law; "I intend to marry Dominga!"
And Dominga, who had been clinging to his arm until now, on hearing this announcement, slipped down to the floor in a limp heap. She had fainted.
Here was a fine piece of news for all the station, the bazaar, the factory, the letters to the hills—"Captain Fielder had actually married, by special license, Dom Chandos, and they had gone home in the Persia! What would his father say?"
And it had all been so secret! such a general hoodwinking was as incredible as it was successful. Poor Colonel Palgrave! Poor Mrs. Palgrave! Poor Mrs. Grundy!
Dominga, in the midst of the hastiest preparations, and the most bewildering happiness, nevertheless found time to pay a hurried visit to the Trotters and to Blanche. She was marrying Jimmy for himself, but to be in a position to tell Blanche and Lizzie that she would one day be Lady Highstreet, and that in the meantime they must put "Honourable" on her letters, was a joy that repaid her for many weeks of sorrow. Lord Highstreet had transported his heir to India in order to avoid an undesirable match, his son was now returning, and bringing (did his father but know!) as wife, one of the daughters of the people!
The true history of the Honourable Mrs. J. Fielder remained a profound secret. Chandos was a good name; she was the grandchild of Chandos of Charne, and talked not a little of her ancestors. Dom, clever, imitative Dom! easily adapted herself to circumstances. She carried her head high, she dressed well, and had a just sense of her own place in the world. To see her in her carriage in the Park, with Jimmy grinning beside her, they presented a charming and instructive picture of domestic felicity—and in spite of his gallant boast, Master Jimmy is kept in bounds!
Mrs. Fielder's accent is unquestionably a little foreign—and when extremely angry she has been known to break out into the language of an unknown tongue—but then she is so accomplished! Who would believe the graceful figure trailing about the lawns of Hurlingham was the self-same woman, who, not so long ago, at a certain railway crossing, had dashed herself down, torn her hair, beat her head upon the ground, and called upon heaven and earth with heart-rending cries.
Dom has one little boy. He is not the least like his parents, who are both fair—he is too absurdly dark! His complexion is a puzzle to the entire Highstreet connection, but Dom herself is silent! She knows perfectly well (and buries the truth in her heart) that her darling Villiers Augustus bears a fatal resemblance to his dear little Indian cousin, Chandos Montagu-Jones!