CHAPTER XVII
Whilst this genial family party was proceeding in Mr. Chandos' house, a gathering of another description took place in the vicinity.
"The big bungalow," as it was called, was large and luxurious; the furniture modern and tasteful. Mrs. Lepell's frequent journeys to England resulted in many pretty things, such as choice water-colours, bits of quaint silver, fresh chintz covers; then there were soft draperies and screens, books and flowers in profusion.
After dinner three men sat smoking, sipping coffee in the verandah; Mrs. Lepell, in a comfortable chair, and graceful tea-gown, was the only woman present. Her husband, Tom Lepell, a hale man of sixty, had been respected in India for five-and-thirty years; he was reputed to be hard, but just; a stern master and a staunch friend, whose energies were solely devoted to sugar and crops, to goor and rab. Then there was his charming wife, bright and popular; his wife's nephew, Brian Salwey, superintendent of police in the Rajahpore district. When at headquarters, he frequently rowed up the river, and spent an evening with his Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Tom. He had his own room, his own chair, and kept a suit of evening dress-clothes at Manora, for he found favour in the eyes of his well-to-do relations.
Brian Salwey had a pair of steady grey eyes, his features were finely cut, and their expression intelligent; his face was tanned to almost the same shade as his curly locks, his mouth was firm, and his age was thirty. Originally he was intended for the Army, but the idea had been relinquished, and he thought himself exceedingly fortunate to procure a nomination in the Indian police. The billet fitted him like a glove, his profession interested him profoundly; like some young police officers he was an enthusiast, and was one of those men who, putting his hand to the plough, never looks back. Salwey was poor, but well-educated, well born, but without social influence.
Being considered a most able officer by the heads of his department, he was naturally dispatched to quite the worst circle in the district. Here he was extravagant in horseflesh and books; and Bazaar report declared him to be in love with the Lal Billi (Red Cat); in other words, Dominga Chandos. The fourth individual in the verandah was the little officer to whom Verona had been introduced in Rajahpore station refreshment room.
"The Chandos' are all lit up, and having a grand party," remarked Mr. Lepell. "There was a gharry at the door just now. Out here, we live in our neighbours' pockets, you see."
"I saw such a tragedy there to-day," observed his wife, sitting up and leaning forward, "something that haunts me; a lovely girl"—here she paused and sighed.
"I've not the slightest objection to her haunting me," cried Major Gale, with a snigger. "Pray go on."
"I called on the Chandos family, or rather on the daughter from England."
"Oh, by-the-way, yes," interrupted Major Gale, with sudden animation, "I saw her yesterday at the station with the old boy. He looked as if he did not know what on earth to do with her! She is uncommonly handsome, the profile of a cameo, the air of a duchess, and the pride—may I say—of the devil."
"Oh, poor girl," exclaimed Mrs. Lepell, with a little fluttering sigh, "she had not seen her relations then."
"No, I assume not," assented Major Gale, as he tossed away the end of a cigarette. "I give you my word, she is as white as you are, Mrs. Lepell."
"That is no compliment, for she has a beautiful complexion," was her generous reply, "and I have been twenty years grizzling in India."
"Chandos looked hang-dog, and thoroughly ashamed of himself, as he always does," resumed Major Gale.
"An unfortunate man, I am always sorry for him," remarked Mr. Lepell, speaking for the first time. "I happen to know his history."
"Oh, really, do you?" ejaculated his guest, with the utmost indifference, selecting, as he spoke, a fresh cigarette.
"But what about the girl, Aunt Liz?" said her nephew suddenly, "is she really own sister to my friend Dominga?"
"I think so—indeed, what am I saying? Of course she is; she comes between her and Pussy, and by all accounts is the flower of the flock; adopted as an infant by an enormously rich woman—the schoolfellow of Mrs. Lopez."
"I cannot believe"—here he laughed—"that Mrs. Lopez ever went to school."
"Yes, she did, to Kidderpore. Mrs. Lopez was a beauty once, so was Mrs. Chandos."
"I don't admire beauties of that type."
"Don't you?" exclaimed Mr. Lepell. "I've seen some lovely Nair women on the West coast, handsomer you could not find; slim and graceful, with wheaten coloured skins and perfect features."
"But what about this young lady?" resumed his nephew.
"Oh, she was brought up in England by this old Portuguese woman, who died suddenly without a will. And there was nothing for this girl to do but return to her own relations—whose existence she now discovers for the first time!"
"Well, I call it a tragedy," exclaimed Brian Salwey, "what do you say, Aunt Liz?"
"Yes, I went over to-day, expecting to see another edition of Dominga with European veneer, and discovered a pretty, refined English girl, who has no doubt been accustomed to her maid, her carriage, her French milliner, and any quantity of admiration. She looked completely dazed and bewildered; I found her sisters arrayed in her best frocks, while she held in her arms, with a terrified expression, her black baby nephew, Chandos Montagu Jones! As I let it be clearly understood that my visit was to Miss Verona, she came and talked to me, and they all sat round and gaped upon us with their mouths. Her manner was perfectly lady-like and self-possessed, but once I caught her off her guard, and if ever I saw horror or despair in any human eyes, it was in hers! I suppose she had no idea she was a Eurasian, till yesterday, and will, I am convinced, run away—or do something."
"And can't you do something, Aunt Liz?" urged Salwey.
"I certainty will, if I can; but my position is extremely difficult; I am obliged to hold myself aloof, and be friendly with none, otherwise I should get sucked down into the raging whirlpool of Manora politics. First, there is Mr. Chandos, sub-manager, a gentleman, and of indisputably old English family. There are his people, all dark Eurasians, with the exception of Dominga, her mother's idol, whom I particularly dislike; she reminds me of a deadly mechanical toy, harmless to look at, but ready to explode, unless handled most delicately. Her craving for notoriety, admiration, and pleasure are beyond all words."
"Well, I must say, she is an uncommonly good-looking girl," exclaimed Major Gale, with unexpected fervour.
"Oh, yes—she is handsome, I admit. Then there are the Trotters," continued Mrs. Lepell, "pure Europeans; they despise the Chandos for their taint of native blood; the Chandos family look down on them, as common people—they themselves being gentry. Then there are the dear, good old Cavalhos, and the Watkins; if I show partiality to one family, I make the others angry and envious. I should like to befriend that poor girl, I know she is most unhappy and desolate, for Mr. Chandos holds himself curiously aloof from his circle, and she has not a creature of her own class to help or to comfort her. Imagine the change, from the petted heiress to fifteen thousand a year, to becoming the odd daughter out, in that ménage."
"I've no doubt she wishes she were dead," exclaimed Major Gale. "I should if I were in her shoes. Marianna in the Moated Grange was ten times better off."
"I believe Mother Chan, as they call her, was greatly averse to her joining the family, and for once she showed her sense," remarked Mr. Lepell.
"Yes, but the miserable creature rushed on her fate," added his wife; "she was craving to see her own people, and, above all—her mother."
"Her mother!" repeated Major Gale, with his little cackling laugh.
"And Mr. Chandos himself was urgent," continued the lady, "no doubt he hoped for 'one fair daughter.'"
"The fair daughter having arrived and seen her home, if I'm not mistaken, will never forgive him for his mésalliance."
"Poor Chandos," exclaimed Mr. Lepell, "all through his life he has meant well, and done ill; he has made a mull of everything—career, profession, marriage."
"Ah," said Major Gale, standing up and straightening himself, "that is the one pitfall I have eluded."
"Thank you, Major Gale."
"Oh, yes, with all respect to you, Mrs. Lepell, I am a timid man, and there are too many blanks. It is not everyone who is so lucky as Lepell, and draws a great prize." Here Major Gale nodded and smirked; he was rather pleased with the manner in which he had turned this delicate compliment. "There's early parade to-morrow, and I must be off, Salwey," turning to the policeman, "can I give you a lift back—you are on my road?"
"Thank you, no; my road is by water. I like rowing myself to and fro these moonlight nights."
"Ah, see what it is to be young and romantic!" and having made his polite adieus, the little Major effected a brisk departure.
"No need for you to move yet, Brian," urged his aunt, "on such a night as this; I hate the idea of going to bed; I prefer to sit, and laze, and talk, and listen."
"All right, then, I'll stop for half-an-hour. Oh, I say, Uncle Tom, I'd like to hear something more about that chap Chandos. Is it not extraordinary, a man of his class, and who has been in the Service, settling down here for life, with a half-caste family, and working in the sugar factory?"
"It would seem a great deal more extraordinary, if you knew as much about him as I do," rejoined Mr. Lepell, as he lit another cheroot, crossed his legs, and evidently prepared for narration.
"Why, Tom, I never dreamt that you knew his past," exclaimed his wife. "How close you have been all these years."
"Oh, but I was never personally acquainted with him, I merely saw him two or three times, but I heard the story. It made rather a stir some eight-and-twenty years ago. He is not aware that I am behind the scenes, and I've not been anything more to him than what you see. In the first place, he would resent any intimacy based on such reminiscences, and, secondly, his family are quite impossible; I'd far rather have to do with the Cavalhos than the Chandos lot, with their pretensions and struggling and greed."
"But tell us more about Mr. Chandos," reiterated his nephew. "I bar the family, too."
"Well, you would never suppose, that that thin, worn man, with a melancholy face and downcast air, was one of the cheeriest and best-looking fellows in the Service, and mad about balls, and racing, and sport. When I saw him win the Cup at Lucknow, what an ovation he got! I little anticipated the hero of that day would become my sub-manager, and that the irresistible Adonis, in a blue satin jacket, would develop into a haggard, gaunt automaton, in patched khaki, whose horizon is limited to cane fields, his topics to sacks and sugar mills, goor and fuel. A man who calls me 'sir,' and touches his hat to me daily."
"Now I understand, Tom—why you overlook his irregularity, and——"
Her husband interposed with a gesture of his hand.
"This Manora has proved his harbour of refuge; here he has been anchored for eighteen years, here he will remain, till the end of the chapter. I mean his chapter."
"Unless the new daughter creates a revolution in the family," suggested Salwey.
"On the contrary, the family will alter her. You say," looking at his wife, "that she is fair."
"Yes, entirely a Chandos, and an aristocrat—a pure English girl."
"No—no—nature takes care of that! She has her mother's blood in her veins, her mother's example to drag her under; it will be a mere question of—weeks."
"No, not in this case, Tom," rejoined his wife with brisk decision.
"Why not? My impression, after many years of life in India, is, the fairer a Eurasian the darker their disposition. The duskier their complexion, the whiter their hearts. For instance, compare Dominga to Mrs. Cavalho; now she is a good woman, and a true lady."
"Pray, why should you be so prejudiced against this new Miss Chandos, Tom? You have not even seen her; she will be a success—of that I am convinced."
"Nothing bearing that name has ever come in the way of poor Chandos, nothing but bad luck; he seems to be under the influence of an evil star."
"Scorpio!" suggested his nephew, "in other words, his wife."
"He is a capital sub-manager," resumed Mr. Lepell, "punctual and orderly; has wonderful command over the employees; is a fine disciplinarian, and speaks the language like a native. Latterly, his health is bad."
"And the reason of that, is easily understood," said Brian, looking at his uncle with significance.
"Yes, God help him! he takes opium; and I'm afraid the habit is gaining on him; he flies to it, to kill the past—aye, and the present."
"Well, you may think me a brute, but I must say, I don't pity Chandos in the least; he brought all his woes on himself by marrying a half-caste, a low-bred Eurasian, a money-lender's daughter."
"He has to thank another for his misfortunes."
"Has he?" echoed his wife, in a tone of incredulity. "Well, Tom, we are both dying to hear the history of Mr. Chandos."
"It must be eight-and-twenty years since Paul Chandos came out to India"—a pause—"and has never been home since. He had good looks, good health, good prospects, the younger son of an old family, and seemingly endowed with every gift, but a long purse, and the power of uttering the word, 'No.' By all accounts, he was full of the wildest spirits, delighted with his first taste of freedom, and his first look at the world; and the world out here was pleased with him. He was in a smart cavalry regiment, among a nice lot of young fellows of his own stamp—perhaps with a little more money than he had. Still he might have managed to hold his own, and be a happy man now—only——"
"For a woman," interposed Brian Salwey.
"No—only for his own cousin. Sydney Chandos was many years older than Paul. He was on the staff out here, and brilliantly clever. He had a splendid figure, a wonderful pair of eyes, and charming smile, but was utterly unscrupulous and base. Thanks to his brains, and manners of extraordinary fascination, he managed to pass himself off as not a bad sort; a bit casual, perhaps, and fond of racing and gambling. And in those days, I can tell you, the gambling on the Indian turf was something to make you sit up. Well, this fellow came down to Mhow to spend his leave with his cousin Paul, who was devoted to him, and looked up to Sydney as superhumanly wise and great and good. The poor lad worshipped him slavishly, and thought his idol could do no wrong. Paul, I should say, was an orphan, who had been brought up and educated in his cousin's home. It was not long before he fell entirely under the influence of Sydney, who got him into his power, body and soul. 'Burra' Chandos had, it was whispered, ruined several young fellows, but people expected that he would spare his own cousin."
"And apparently he did not," remarked Mrs. Lepell.
"No, he laughed at his scruples and economies, encouraged him to play cards and gamble; he took him about to races and lotteries—he plunged him into debt. Then he introduced him to the money-lenders."
"Ah!" ejaculated Brian, "and that naturally finished him?"
"Your bête noire, eh, Brian?" said his aunt, "whom you hope to finish!"
"Yes," returned Mr. Lepell, "young Chandos backed his cousin's horses and bills, went security for his debts, and got thoroughly entangled in the web of Lopez, a notorious soucar of evil repute."
"I cannot understand any young man, who is not an idiot, being so completely under the thumb of a cousin!"
"Ah, but you did not know that cousin, my dear sir; his cleverness was something appalling; it was downright uncanny; his manners were irresistible. He was a first-class horseman, a notable billiard player, and he sang like an angel: to hear Sydney Chandos singing affecting ballads after a big guest night, where he had been fleecing youngsters and punishing the champagne, was enough to melt the heart of a stone! His voice stood him in the place of an excellent moral character, and he had the art of making you believe every word he said; in fact, his very tones brought conviction. With all his advantages, he was one of the worst young men who ever set foot in India. He was mixed up in a sultry business about a race, but with his damnable art he contrived to pass on the odium to his cousin—along with the greater portion of his debts—and then went gaily home with a light heart, leaving his wretched dupe to his fate! Much of this came out long afterwards, for Chandos was dumb. He was dumb then, he is dumb now. It was suspected in the regiment, that Paul had some secret drain on him; he had lost his spirits and appeared to be struggling in a hopeless sea of debt; he sold off all his ponies, he cut down his expenses, he even parted with his watch and guns; in fact, he stripped himself bare, and yet the mountain of debt never seemed to decrease; the interest rose up, and up, and up like a spring tide!"
"Of course; it always does," muttered Salwey.
"He had sworn to his cousin to keep his bill-backing a dead secret; he wrote to his uncle imploring assistance—this was sternly refused. Sydney had his own story to tell of Paul's debt, and shortly afterwards his father died. I believe the poor chap was contemplating suicide, as the only way out of his difficulties, when, at a sergeant's ball, he was presented to Miss Rosa Lopez. She was twenty years of age, the belle of the evening—and by all accounts distractingly pretty."
"That I decline to believe," declared Mrs. Lepell, with emphasis.
"Well, you can please yourself, my dear," rejoined her husband, "but she was handsome. Her complexion was a pale olive; her eyes, teeth, hair, and figure, all most attractive; she danced like a sylph, and fell madly in love with poor, unfortunate Chandos! He was extraordinarily good-looking, and no doubt this desperate state of his affairs, added a sort of haggard charm to his appearance. I understand she waltzed with him half the night, and subsequently made all the advances, daily throwing herself in his way, and writing him notes. He was a reckless young fellow, and a chivalrous fool. He, it seemed, had always been his aunt's good boy, and brought up under her influence; this, which made him sensitive, quixotic, and truthful, had earned him the secret ill-will and envy of his cousin.
"By and by, it transpired that Rosa's father, Juan Lopez, was unfortunately but too well known to Lieutenant Chandos. Miss Rosa was an ambitious girl, strong-willed, passionate, and desperately in love with the handsome young cavalry officer. Her father was easily enlisted on her side, and was prevailed upon to make an offer to Rosa's lover. He proposed to release Paul Chandos from his debts and bonds, provided he made Rosa Lopez his wife.
"At first, I am told, that Chandos indignantly refused, but every day pressure became heavier and heavier—Rosa was so seductive and so devoted. Chandos had taken no one into his confidence, his debts and disgrace were not his—but another's. Vainly his brother officers endeavoured to help him, but Chandos, the cheery and genial, had become glum, secluded, and mute; and once or twice his friends had been puzzled at seeing him driving in a brougham with a dark, foreign-looking man; then, all at once the secret was out. He had married the daughter of Lopez, the notorious money-lender—and Lopez had cancelled his debts!"
"Poor devil," muttered Salwey.
"The regiment was furious, but this did not affect the happy pair, who were spending the honeymoon in Cashmere. Of course, Chandos was compelled to send in his papers, and within about twelve months the police discovered a series of financial frauds, and Juan Lopez was obliged to leave the country—that is to say, to fly to Pondicherry—where he died.
"'Chotah' Chandos was now minus a profession, and plus not only a wife, but a mother-in-law. Another man would have bolted, and fled to Australia; but he stood fast, and, for a time, lived in the hills, on the sale of his commission; then, as his nursery increased, he was forced to rouse from his apathy and look round for employment. After being for some time on a Government stud farm, he eventually drifted here; in fact, I heard of his plight and offered him the billet."
"And what about his people at home?" inquired Mrs. Lepell.
"His uncle and aunt were dead, and his other relations with one accord washed their hands of him. When he married Rosa Lopez and left the Service, he had figuratively cut his throat."
"How does he put in his time?" inquired Salwey. "He has no associates, for he never mixes with his equals, and shuns all soldier men like the plague."
"I think he reads a good deal, and he gardens a little, but I fancy that his life is one long purgatory; he has nothing in common with his household."
"What an existence!" ejaculated the police officer; "perhaps the new member will be a comfort to him?"
"Cold comfort, I should say; but he may live on hope, for he is a Chandos of Charne, and may possibly be a rich man some day. His cousin is childless."
"Do, pray, imagine Mrs. Chandos in England!" exclaimed Mrs. Lepell. "How I should like to see her mixing in county society—mincing about on her tip-toes, and conversing in high Chi-Chi, wouldn't you, Brian?" turning towards her nephew, who sat with his cigar out, his hands clasped behind his head and his eyes fixed on the distance.
As he made no reply, his aunt continued:
"My dear, you are in a brown study!"
"If you mean that I am thinking of Mrs. Chandos—I am not."
"Then a penny for your thoughts!"
"I was thinking of that girl," he said, rising and stretching himself, "an heiress in the beginning, a penniless Eurasian now. What will her end be?"
"Ask me that question in a year's time, and now, Brian, it is twelve o'clock, your bark is on the tide, if you don't go soon, your bearer will be paddling up here to know what has become of you?"