CHAPTER XX
The rains were unusually late, and continued unabated till to the end of September, with brief intervals of steamy heat. It was owing to this circumstance that the "new Miss Chandos," as she was called, was such a long time recovering her strength: in spite of her grandmother's unflagging attendance, she appeared to have arrived at a certain point of convalescence and there stuck fast. Sickness had brought an obliteration of her troubles, but she was still sunk in a gulf of weakness.
Mrs. Lopez plied her with her most potent remedies (she was acquainted with some of the subtle herbs and invaluable native secrets unknown to the European pharmacopœia), and several of her hitherto infallible charms, without any obvious result. The truth was that the old woman had to contend with the young girl's will—Verona had no desire to recover. One afternoon as she lay in a sort of apathetic languor, listening to the rain streaming down the gutters, pouring on the stone verandah and beating on the big banana leaves with a steady "Drum, drum, drum," her Nani entered a little wet and out of breath, carrying some small object in her hand.
"Aré! Bai! see what I have got for thee! a baby squirrel to keep thee company. We found him just now, washed out of the nest; all his sisters and brothers are drowned, but the life is yet in him."
As she spoke Nani unfolded a morsel of red flannel and proudly displayed a half-drowned squirrel (it looked like the proverbial rat). She was about to hand it to Verona, who drew back with an instinctive shudder, but when two little black eyes, full of terror, met her own, she took the creature and proceeded to dry it very gently, and then cover up the small, shivering body.
"Oh, ho! we will call him 'Johnny,' and make him a pet," announced Nani, who presently fetched a bit of sponge and some warm milk and proceeded to feed him. She was wonderfully expert in rearing nondescript orphans, such as kids, kittens and young parrots.
Warmed and fed, Johnny crept up the sleeve of Verona's flannel jacket, and there slept the sleep of exhausted infancy. For the first day or two he was weakly and timid, and whenever he was startled immediately sought refuge up Verona's sleeve! But he throve; he was promoted from a bit of sponge to an egg-spoon and a morsel of rice, and in a short time Johnny began to realise himself, to flit about the room, to dress his fur and to take an interest in his personal appearance! And Johnny gave Verona something to think of, and attract her thoughts outwards; he did her ten times more good than her grandmother's most warranted charm. She and Johnny had something in common; and when she felt the forlorn little animal trembling in her sleeve, she recognised that here was a fellow sufferer, who, like herself, was despairing and desolate in the midst of unfamiliar surroundings. Verona and Johnny became fast friends; at the sound of her call he would dart to her side, no matter how absorbing his occupation. He was seeing the great big world for the first time from the splendid vantage ground of a back verandah!
Nani—as already mentioned—slept in her granddaughter's room. She also not infrequently took her meals there, and her manner of eating was a complete revelation to the beholder, who never wearied of the spectacle. Nani loved curry and rice—oh, such curry and rice as never was tasted on sea or shore in the Western hemisphere! The meal was served in two bowls—the curry, consisting of pieces of meat or fowl, thick rich yellow gravy, charged with all manner of spices and condiments, so hot. Verona once ventured to taste a mouthful, and the result was a gasping, a spluttering, and several irrepressible tears. For here was the real true and only curry (no English make-believe), but such as was eaten by the natives on the West Coast. One bowl contained the notable comestible, and the other was filled with flaky rice. Into the curry Mrs. Lopez plunged a plump and eager hand, seized a morsel, then she dipped the same hand into the rice; in a moment it became a neat and shapely ball; the next instant it had disappeared for ever in her mouth.
Nani continued the process until both bowls were empty, not a trace of curry or even a grain of rice remained. It was all assimilated with extraordinary dexterity and despatch. When the meal had ended and the bowls had been removed, Nani would declare:
"After such food one can seat oneself like a king! Now, that is how we are intended to eat; it is the best way, and see, I make no mess—no more than you and your bread and butter. I can use a knife and fork as well as any one, but the fingers are best. Wash them, and there is no trouble. Some day you will like it too, child."
But Verona only shook her head and smiled incredulously.
"How old are you, Nani?" she asked.
"Not so old as you think—about sixty-three, and how life flies. 'It is as a swift horse passing a crevice,' so says the proverb. It seems but yesterday, and I was young."
"You must have seen some strange things, Nani."
"Oh, yess; thatt is so," assented Mrs. Lopez, with gentle deliberation.
"What sort of things—do tell me?"
"Well, I have seen an enchanted well; this is true, true, true. No matter how the water failed, it was always full. When the rains came it remained just as before—never overflowed, the water always stopping in the same place. All the learned people see it and marvel. I have also seen a Mahommedan missionary preaching in the city to a crowd of English soldiers; also I have seen strange people in the bazaar too—Europeans who became natives, and forgot their own speech and country."
"Oh, Nani—no!"
"Yes, it is true, especially in the old days. Some went into the bazaar and they never came out. I remember one—oh, such a fine, straight, strong man; he was a tent lascar and Mahommedan, at seven rupees a month. People thought he was a Punjaubi—he was so fair—but I knew he was an Englishman by his eyes. He came from a place called York-shire. He had a pretty wife—a lascar's daughter. He was happy. Oh, yess."
"Do you remember the Mutiny, Nani?"
"Why not, when I was twenty years of age, and married? We were in Bombay, then."
"And you saw nothing of it?"
"Truly I did, child; for four months after the massacre, I, who speak to you, stood within the Bee-Bee Ghur itself."
"What was that?"
"Whatt! You not know? the ladies' house in Cawnpore, the bungalow where the butchers cut them to pieces."
"Why were you there, Nani?"
"Child, you may ask! Lopez had business up country; in those days he took me about, for he was proud of me. He stopped at Cawnpore—he had an agent there, and he wanted to see the bungalow, 'the ladies' house', where two of his own cousins were there murdered. Oh, yess, and so we went; such a common old shabby place—just two large rooms. We went in—many were there too, talking in whispers. The walls—oh, I wept when I looked—they were covered with writing, prayers and bits of hymns and loving messages and good-byes and names. Yes, the walls were white once; but oh, Bapré Bap! such awful splashes, and high up in one place, the full mark of a great red hand; and the floor—though all washed, looked black. The room seemed damp and full of horrors and fear and death. Oh no, no, I could not stay, like Lopez! No! no! no! in two minutes I had run out, and there before me was the well. Yes, they were all down there, and the top was bricked over. I could scarcely see for crying, but I hid away behind a little wall and fell down. Oh, I could not help it, and prayed for those souls, so cruelly, cruelly put to death. My child, I did not get over that day for long years; it haunts me now. As I speak to you, I can see it, and staring out at me from the wall, the—hand—the—butcher's hand!"
"Oh, Nani—don't!" protested her listener. "I can almost see it too!"
"Well, we will not talk of that time any more, for in my veins I have both the blood of those who killed at Cawnpore, and those who blew them from the guns. My grandfather was an English officer, and we—we will say no more. Let there be peace. Let us try and forget—and for a sick child such talk is not good." Nani paused and remained silent for some time. Then she said abruptly:
"But see, here is the crystal!"
As she uttered the word "crystal," she drew from some mysterious receptacle an article resembling a glass paperweight.
"Now I will tell your fortune!"
"What is the use, Nani? It is told," protested Verona, wearily.
"What nonsense, child!" looking at her sharply; "the best part of your life is to come."
Her granddaughter gave a faint, incredulous laugh.
"No, do not speak one word. I must look and be quiet for an hour. I have to fix my mind."
Verona, thus silenced, summoned Johnny to play with her. He was a pretty little fellow, the ordinary verandah squirrel of India—grey, with a broad brown stripe down his back. He came at once, and sat on the table beside her, and trimmed his whiskers. Presently he crept into his old quarters—her sleeve—where he lay motionless for a long time; perhaps he knew that the fate of his beloved lady was at that particular moment trembling in the balance; perhaps he was merely sleepy, being still a baby.
"Aré! Aré! whatt this is arl about I cannot say," proclaimed Nani after an hour's silent contemplation. "I have seen strange things, child, and a change that is coming to you—not death, not marriage. You look at me—I see your face, and it smiles and—fades. No, no, no; it is of no use! Yet this is a lucky day, and the omens are good. I met this morning first thing, Mrs. Trotter—a mother of sons—what could be better?"
"Never mind, Nani—I have no luck."
"Well, you have something—I cannot understand; a veil hangs over your future. Now with Dom it is so easy, and Dom believes in the ink-pool of the crystal."
"Does she?"
"To her you see it tells of a great uplifting—she stands with a light around her. This may mean one of two things—a place above others, or a violent death. Dom is a strange creature—she has strange blood in her veins. She is all for herself. Only you notice, Dom will say: 'So and so, he likes me'; 'there's So and so, she adores me'; but never 'I like this one, or that one.' Dom likes only Dom," and Nani nodded with melancholy emphasis.
"She has a handsome, witch-like face, and such a clever head—but of whatt use here, I say to myself. What avails a mirror to a blind man? She can never go beyond Manora—no? She will marry into the railway, like Blanche, for all her cravings."
"Nani, I wonder why my father ever came here?"
"Because he had no choice, child."
"You remember him as a young man?"
"Why, of course. I remember as yesterday when I saw him. Oh, so handsome and straight, and fair—who would think it now? And Rosa, she was dying for him. Oh, she would have him! What she wills ever comes to pass. It were better she had never seen him. It is not always lucky to have one's wishes granted—and the omens were bad. His cousin's debts chained him here, but his heart was in Europe. All his thoughts are there still—he changeth not. You know the proverb—'Bury a dog's tail for twenty years, it will still be crooked.'"
"Why is he always so sad—and silent, Nani?"
"I know not the very truth, but often have I said to him:
'Gaiety is the support of the body,
But sadness makes it to grow old.'
You too are sad, always, child. Why is it so? Come, now tell your old Nani?"
Verona made no reply, but hid her face in her hands, and shuddered convulsively from time to time. Johnny, vaguely alarmed, ran down her sleeve, peeped out and fled; but not a moment too soon—for the second time in his short life he had escaped a deluge! On this occasion—of tears. Bodily weakness, weariness, misery caused this sudden outbreak, to the amazement and alarm of Nani; and despite her expostulations and ejaculations, Verona wept till she sank into a sort of stupor, and so passed into the land of dreams.