CHAPTER XXVIII
It was the second week in January, the date of the Rajahpore race-meeting, the one notable local event in the year. Every bungalow in the station had several tents pitched in its compound for the accommodation of guests; the Rest House was crammed; strange faces were to be seen at the Club, and strings of unfamiliar ponies were being exercised on the course. The great day dawned at last; it was, of course, brilliantly fine, and the oldest resident was heard to declare that the events on the cards, the class of entries, and the number of visitors, had never been approached. Such a fête was naturally a proper occasion for Mrs. Chandos to make an ostentatious appearance in a wagonette with two horses; and the wagonette, which resembled a gay parterre, contained the lady herself, Dominga, Pussy, Blanche, Monty, Nicky, on the box, and last, not least, Verona, who would gladly have been excused, but was compelled to come forth in her best remaining dress and a pretty white hat—which fortunately had not happened to have been becoming to Dominga.
Mrs. Chandos had secured tickets for the stand, and, previous to the first event, she and her little clutch fluttered and strutted about the enclosure with a notable amount of aggressive swagger. Salwey, who had entered Baber, his black "Waler," for a hurdle race, was returning from the stables when he encountered Verona and Nicky—who were walking together, apart.
"I say, would you two like to come into the paddock and see the horses?" he said.
They gladly accepted his invitation and accompanied him round the stables, where he pointed out to them the different celebrities, and gave a rapid sketch of their several careers, with their failings, foibles, victories and defeats. Suddenly Verona found herself face to face with a young man in a long racing coat, whose face seemed familiar.
"Miss Chandos!" he exclaimed, halting immediately before her, and then she recognised Captain Haig, who snatched off his cap and held out his hand, saying:
"This is, indeed, an unexpected pleasure! Pray, when did you arrive?"
"Some time ago," she answered. "And you?"
"Only this morning; I have two ponies entered, one of them a celebrated performer; her name is"—and he looked at her with steady significance—"V. C."
"Oh!" she ejaculated. "What an odd name for a pony."
"Hallo, Salwey, how are you?" he said; "I did not see you"—then he glanced interrogatively at the bony, half-caste youth, Salwey's companion.
"No," replied Salwey, "and yet I'm generally visible to the naked eye."
"Miss Chandos and I," explained Captain Haig, "are—I hope I may say—old friends; we met each other year before last at Homburg. Poor Madame!" looking at Verona as he spoke, "so she is gone. What a cheery old lady she was! Shall we take a turn round the paddock? I want to show you your namesake." The young lady inclined her head and the pair strolled off, leaving Salwey and Nicky alone.
"I say," burst out Nicky, "I should not wonder if that fellow is a pal of Verona's."
"I should not wonder, either," repeated Salwey, and he became suddenly silent. Meanwhile, Verona and Captain Haig moved slowly round the paddock, where she was, as of old times, the cynosure of admiring eyes.
Captain Haig considered her critically. She looked a little pale and thin, but was as beautiful, as well turned out, as self-possessed as ever. There was the same perfection of dress and perfection of untroubled composure, and he had never forgotten her—so he imagined now; she had exercised over him a lasting and vivid fascination.
"I was in two minds about this meeting," he announced; "how glad I am now I came."
"Oh, are you?" she murmured vaguely.
"Yes, I needn't tell you that I would thankfully travel many miles to see you."
To this over-blown compliment Verona made no reply; she was wondering what he would say when he saw her mother and sisters!
In the distance she caught sight of Dominga, splendidly dressed, boisterous, shrill. A stranger might reasonably have suspected that this laughing and chattering was the effects of champagne—they would be mistaken. Dominga was merely intoxicated with her own supreme happiness, her extraordinary social success.
"I suppose you are out here for the cold weather?" resumed Captain Haig. "It is quite the thing to do now."
"No," she responded, "I am out for altogether—my people live here."
"Here," he repeated, "how fortunate! How I should like to make their acquaintance; I hope you will be good enough to present me to your mother."
"Certainly," she replied, with a somewhat fixed smile.
Very soon, she assured herself, there would be an end to this fool's paradise. It would be a case of he came—he saw—he fled.
In the meantime she enjoyed walking about with Captain Haig. As she glanced at his handsome, animated face, she seemed to see the background of Homburg—the crowds, the bouquets, and to feel the impression of a past sensation.
Here, indeed, in a humble way, her presence was creating a stir, "the other Miss Chandos," as she was now called, being so rarely seen; she was handsome, and graceful, and carried herself well—"as did most Eurasians," whispered onlookers.
In a distant station, no doubt, she would be considered a beauty; apparently she had picked up some young man she had known at home; he seemed very much épris. Well! her conquest would be but short-lived—he had but to see her people!
"Of course, your regiment is still out here?" remarked the lady to her escort.
"Yes—in a bad station—where there is no sport—we can't even manœuvre guns, the ground is all cotton soil—this is a jolly little place, I wish they'd send us here—capital duck and snipe shooting."
"Is that a sufficient reason to move troops?" she inquired.
"No—not at all—only it keeps the mess from grumbling—and the men out of the bazaar. But," with a sudden change of tone, "I want to hear more about you, Miss Chandos. How have you spent the last eighteen months?"
"I was in England till August. I have been here ever since."
"But you will soon be getting under way for the hills. I wonder what station you will select?"
"None at all—we remain down in Manora."
"What! you are not serious—you have no conception of the heat—it will kill you!"
"I think not. I believe one's first hot weather is never very trying."
"But, I assure you——"
"Captain Haig," she interrupted, "I see that you have not heard—Madame's death has made a great change in my circumstances—I am now quite poor."
He stopped for a second, and stared back into her face with a gaze of blank surprise. After an expressive pause he spoke:
"I can't imagine you—what is called 'poor.'"
"Often I cannot realise it myself—but it is true—Madame left no will—I was not related to her—all I have in the world is three hundred pounds and some diamonds—now"—with a faint smile—"you know the worst!"
"What hard luck! I am awfully sorry," he began.
"Thank you; but it is not so bad after all—I do not mind—much."
If she, who had been brought up surrounded with all that money could provide, "did not mind much," why should he? It was not her money which had attracted him, but her most beautiful, dazzling self; and she was, in his opinion, more lovely than ever, as she stood looking at him with her dark pathetic eyes.
He had recently come in for an unexpected windfall—a legacy of four hundred a year—he could afford to marry and live quietly; his rapid brain sketched the programme in a flash, and arranged the details of his plans with calm celerity; her three hundred pounds would buy the trousseau, etc., and he would take her to the hills for the honeymoon; they would go to Cashmere. With Verona in Cashmere! Ah, but would Verona come? He would have a good try, at any rate!
"This is a capital little station," he remarked, with a swoop to mundane matters.
"At any rate, it seems to have made an immense impression on you," she rejoined, with a smile; "this is the second time you have praised it within five minutes!"
"Yes, so it is. I think after the races I shall stop on—I have some leave due, I should like to put it in here."
"And have some duck-shooting?"
"No—I was—thinking of golf with you—there are links, I know——"
"Oh, but I never play now."
"Then you must begin, again—it's splendid exercise. Do you remember you started me at golf, and I'm now quite a respectable performer. I wonder," suddenly lowering his voice, "if you remember—something else?"
They were standing close to the railings which enclosed the course. Verona looked at him with a hot colour in her face.
"That I called you my Princess—you are my Princess still——"
"Haig, Haig!" shouted a man, running up; "what the devil—oh, I beg pardon"—glancing at the lady—"you are wanted in the weighing-room at once—come on!"
"The horses will be going down to the post," he said, turning to his companion; "allow me to take you back to your seat."
"No thanks," she rejoined quickly. "I know you are in a great hurry. It is only a few steps. Please do go."
"Well, I shall find you again when the race is over. Wish me luck," and lifting his cap he ran off.
The crowd was streaming out of the paddock as Verona turned in the same direction; her heart was beating with unusual speed. He—although he knew she was now penniless—was anxious to resume the story where it had been interrupted. At least, he was not mercenary. Formerly she had liked him—now—now—no—she could not have fallen in love in fifteen minutes' time—impossible! But circumstances alter cases; at home among a crowd of suitors he was not distinctive, here he stood forth as a hero—a champion—it might be a saviour! Undoubtedly he loved her. If he held out his hand she would accept it, and her release. Her burthen had become intolerable; her fortitude was ebbing fast. Her mother's humours, her mother's tongue were distracting; a recent long illness had weakened her self-command. She felt desperate—and if she did not love Malcolm Haig now, love would come. Perhaps he would ask her to marry him—everything pointed that way. But he had not seen her relations—how would they affect the situation? Formerly, she stood above him; he was insignificant and impecunious; but at present their positions were entirely reversed, and he must stoop to marry her. All these thoughts were chasing one another through her mind as Verona moved slowly forward, with the intention of joining her family.
Yes, there they were—in the middle of the second tier; and never before had they struck her as so dark, so over-dressed, and so complacent. Blanche, in a scarlet felt hat and a purple velvet bolero, trimmed with mother-of-pearl (which she had bought second-hand), was an object that, so to speak, hit one in the eye; and even Pussy's sweet face, above the pride of her wardrobe, the pink feather boa, had never looked so dusky.
"Hullo, Verona!" cried Blanche, half rising as she spoke. Blanche occasionally gave the impression of being all eyes and teeth. "Do tell us about the lovely young man you were walking with—who is he?"
"I knew him at Homburg," she answered; "his name is Haig."
"Oh, do bring him up and introduce him to me!"
"Haig—Haig," repeated Monty, resplendent in lavender flannel and a brilliant green tie, examining the card in his hand, "Captain Haig, Enfield Regiment; he has two ponies—one in thees race, called Dulcimer, and another, with such a funny name, entered for the Cup—V. C."
"V. C. is a ripping good pony," put in Nicky, who affected to be posted in racing matters; "Salwey says so."
"Choop! you and your Salwey!" ejaculated his mother with angry energy.
Meanwhile, Salwey and Captain Haig had ascended to the top of the stand, field-glasses in hand.
"No start," remarked Salwey.
"It's that brute Blue Devil," declared his companion; "he will keep them there for twenty minutes. I would like to shoot him!"
"I daresay you would," rejoined Salwey; "he is the favourite, and sold for a thousand in the lotteries last night."
"By the way, Salwey, you saw that Miss Chandos? I never was so astonished as when I came face to face with her in the paddock here; last time we met she was at Homburg, with every man in the place at her feet."
"Including yourself," suggested Salwey.
"I should rather think so. Of course, a poor devil like me dared not lift his eyes to fifteen thousand a year."
"Then she is the original V. C."
"What a brilliant guess! She tells me her people live here, and has promised to introduce me."
"Yes," assented Salwey, with dispassionate brevity.
"I say, I've got a month's leave owing, and I intend to put it in here."
"Hullo! they are off!" and there was a dead silence.
The constantly moving dark clump had suddenly scattered into items—there was a hum-hum-hum of thundering hoofs—a cloud of dust, a flight of bright jackets, of bent backs and uplifted arms—they passed the post, and Dulcimer had won by a neck.
Captain Haig looked upon his success as a good omen. Beaming with pride—and the fact of having won eight hundred rupees—he led his pony into the paddock, and subsequently hurried out to the enclosure in order to seek for Miss Chandos, and receive her congratulations.
"Ah, here you are!" he exclaimed, when they met; "I have been hunting for you everywhere. Did you see the race well?"
"Yes—you won," she said, "I am so glad."
"It was a near thing, but Todd is a clever boy, and just pulled it off. Rajahpore seems to bring me good fortune. I shall make it my head quarters. When will you be so kind as to introduce me to your people?"
The words were hardly out of his mouth before he was surrounded by a crowd of half-castes—they actually pushed and jostled one another in order to get close to him, and an excited, over-dressed, elderly woman began:
"Verona, won't you introduce me to your friend?"
Although Verona had known that this terrible moment must surely arise, she grew white to the very lips as she caught the glimmer of horrified amazement dawning in Captain Haig's blue eyes. Well, she was about to test his friendship! Would it stand the strain?
"Captain Haig," she said, and her manner was outwardly composed, "this is my mother, Mrs. Chandos."
"O-ah, how do you do?" she said, effusively. "A friend of Verona's, I see. Oh, we are always awfully pleased to know her friends. Let me present you to——" here she waved a soiled white-gloved hand:
"My dater Dominga." Dominga accorded him a smile—and one of her looks!
"And my dater Bellamina." Bellamina merely giggled hysterically.
"My married dater Mrs. Montagu Jones, and Mr. Montagu Jones—my son Nicholas."
One after the other the family bowed themselves, and shook hands with him with every evidence of the most cordial satisfaction.
At first his stupefaction was so complete, that Captain Haig was unable to utter one single word.
The beautiful Miss Chandos! the fairy Princess! Oh, she must be under some spell of enchantment! This wizened little black monkey-faced woman her mother! These awful half-castes, her sisters! Was he awake or asleep?
Salwey and Mrs. Lepell, who were standing close by, understood the scene, and pitied Verona Chandos from the bottom of their hearts.
How brave and dignified she was! How high she held her head! One might have supposed that her mother was a duchess.
"I am awfullee glad your pony won," said Nicky, in his Chee-chee accent. "O-ah, my! he ees a good pony!"
His civil congratulation broke the ice, and Captain Haig recovered sufficiently to say:
"Thank you; had you any money on?"
"Oh, no-ah! oh, my, no-ah," protested Mrs. Chandos. "Poor boy, he does not bet. Are you staying here?" she continued. "No?"
"Just for the races," he stammered.
"Oh, then you must come out and dine with us, and just take us as we arre. We live at Manora. Now you must not make any excuse"—here she put her head on one side and nodded in a manner intended to be fascinating—and which, once upon a time, had produced a gratifying result!
"I am engaged to-night, thank you," he answered stiffly.
"Arl right, then, to-morrow. Come to tiffin to-morrow—you see I will not let you off."
"But there are races again to-morrow, you know."
"My! my! so there arre. Well, the day after tomorrow is Sunday—and there are no races; and if you do not come to tiffin, I am sure Verona"—here she glanced at the rigid face on her left—"will be awfully offended. You come—and bring a friend."
"Then, thank you, I will come on Sunday. There is the saddling bell, I really must go!" and in another moment Captain Haig had effected his escape.
When next he caught sight of Salwey, he went straight up to him and began:
"Good God! I never got such a shock in my life! You are an old friend, and I think you might have prepared me; I have just had a three-finger peg of whisky and soda, and even with that I feel completely knocked out of time. To think of that girl being a half-caste! It seems impossible! What awful people! Why, her mother is as dark as an ayah! Who are they?"
"Her father is in the sugar works at Manora—he was in the cavalry, and——"
"See it all," interrupted Haig; "got into a scrape, married a half-caste—fired out of the Service—social collapse."
"I presume you are not now contemplating taking a month's leave at Rajahpore," remarked Salwey, with dry significance. "Seen the family?"
"Don't rub it in, Salwey, you savage! You cannot understand what a fearful blow I've just had." He really looked as white and shaken as if he had recently had a fall.
"You don't want to meet Miss Verona again?"
"Oh, I wish to God I'd never seen her at all!" he groaned.
"She is handsome, not to speak of being a good girl—and a lady. I'm sorry I cannot say the same for her sister Dominga. I sincerely pity Miss Verona—the shock you are struggling under is nothing to the shock she received when she came out—and beheld her parents."
"Then, she never knew!"
"Never—if she had known, do you suppose she would have left England? Cheer up, old man! you'll get over it—we all do."
"Bosh! you've never had anything to get over—but the measles. I'll never get over this as long as I live. She tells me that Madame de Godez left her nothing at all."
"No, her face is her fortune—her family are her misfortune," rejoined Salwey, and here he was imperatively claimed by another acquaintance.
As far as the Chandos family were concerned, the Rajahpore races had proved a brilliant success. Pussy had been supremely happy, for Alonzo was present, and they had enjoyed a good deal of chattering and giggling together (as well as a large packet of conversation lozenges), and thrice had sallied out arm in arm to the tent, to partake of such refreshments as lemonade and cake.
Dominga had attracted a certain amount of flattering attention and won several bets. Her mother's eyes had followed her with triumph, as in a long green dress and carrying a white parasol she trailed up and down the paddock, in company with Mr. Young and Major Gale, D.S.O.; but she lost sight of her darling during the hour when she sat behind a screen in the refreshment tent—whispering with Jimmy Fielder.
Dominga and Jimmy were more than the mere acquaintance they appeared to be.
The Station had listened to their occasional chaffing and sparring, had seen them playing tennis, but never supposed—or suspected—that the Honourable Jimmy cast a second thought to the diverting and dashing Dominga. Poor little Baby Charles was her slave; but as soon as the regiment moved he would cast off her shackles, and no harm would be done! Deluded Station! Baby Charles was merely the stalking-horse—behind this harmless and acknowledged "friendship" Dominga and her new admirer screened a real love affair. In public they rarely addressed one another, but they made ample amends for this abstinence on other occasions. Oh, worthy Mrs. Grundy was being cruelly deceived!
The first day's racing came to an end. A great deal of money was lost and won; a great many hopes had been raised and shattered. Brian Salwey's Baber, splendidly ridden by himself, won the welter race, but in the supreme event of the day—"the cup,"—the favourite was hopelessly beaten—alas! the celebrated V.C. was not even placed.
Kind-hearted Mrs. Lepell had compassion on the original "V.C." and drove her home with her in the victoria (in order to save her from her relatives), and Brian Salwey occupied the front seat. They were a somewhat silent trio, but as they passed the Chandos family in the wagonette, their chattering resembled nothing so much as a party of excited jackdaws!
The next day Verona did not attend the meeting; Pussy was chaperoned by her sister Blanche, and Dominga was the triumphant companion of Mrs. Barwell. Mrs. Chandos was far too much occupied with preparations for Sunday's tiffin to spare time for any relaxation. The entertainment was to be on a sumptuous scale; she went into the bazaar herself, and bought candied fruit, pâté de fois gras, and a fine Europe ham! (in spite of her chaffering, the latter was an expensive item); it was all to find favour in the eyes of Verona's lover; but if he would only marry the girl, and take her off her hands, the Europe ham would be a well invested outlay.
Whilst Mrs. Chandos was bargaining in the bazaar, Verona was sitting with her grandmother in the garden, reading—as the old lady's eager, but unaccustomed fingers manufactured a woollen necktie. It was the hour of sunset; birds were squabbling for the best branches—an artesian well was sending up its final creak—a native was droning as he shuffled down the road—the smell of wood smoke was in the air. Mrs. Lopez, who had been buried in thought, now suddenly put down her knitting and said:
"Well, so you have been here nearly six months, Verona! and you have wrought changes. Pussy is improved, so is Nicky; Dom copies the way you speak, and move; and your father, too, he is different; but you must not make him too content. No, no, no!"
"But why not, Nani?" she inquired, with a smile.
"Because, though your talk is to him as water to a parched-up plant, yet I must give you a word of warning. Your mother is a leetle, leetle jealous; she cannot help it, poor girl! but these talks, and readings, and games are not to her taste. No, no! sometimes when you are sitting with your father, she is walking up and down the verandah—oh, quite mad! I have seen her face! No, no, it is not good to look at. So, my dear child, once a week for these readings—will be plenty—no more."
"Well, Nani, you know best," agreed Verona, with a sigh. "Come, Johnny!" Johnny, the squirrel, who was playing among the trellis work with some young friends, gave a whisk to his tail, and darted down to his owner, ran up her extended arm and nestled to her cheek. When the poor girl's heart ached very badly, Johnny's soft caresses and adoring friendship seemed somehow to deaden the pain. Johnny was now a pretty little fellow, though smaller than his cousins, who flocked round the verandah. He associated with them—and he wished them to associate with Verona. On many an occasion she had entered her room, and found a dozen squirrels on her dressing-table! (Johnny's home was in a drawer, an old ramshackle drawer, which had a hole at the back; here he crept in and slept comfortably among her gloves and handkerchiefs—his nest was in a red silk necktie.) He frequently entertained company before the mirror, and no doubt his relations were delighted with his residence, but the instant his lady appeared, they scampered out. Once Johnny had been absent for a whole day, but honourably returned at nightfall, and when Verona heard him pattering in, she felt a thankfulness out of all proportion to the occasion. She loved Johnny, and could not bear to lose him. As she stroked his fur now, there was a long silence—she was thinking of Malcolm Haig's face as she had last seen it. She was firmly persuaded that she would never look upon it again. She had been mad to harbour hopes of release.
"See—see, Verona," said her grandmother, "I have dropped two—three stitches. Child, has it seemed to you that there is a change in Dominga?"
"No, Nani."
"Well, she has got a lover, or else I am an old fool."
"What makes you think so?"
"Many little things. She is quiet, she no longer squabbles—her thoughts are enough—they are pleasant. She dresses herself for hours—she writes much—she sees us no more, she is in another world with her secret. Oh, it is a big one—can you guess?"
"No; as far as I have seen, Dominga has many admirers, and one—who is more—little Mr. Young—but she does not care for him. Dominga is always reserved and mysterious—she likes having secrets."
"Perhaps she is wise! You know the proverb: 'Never make known one's wealth, one's remedies, one's lover, where one has hidden money, the good works one does, the insults one has received, or the debts one has contracted.'"
"Dominga makes known her debts, Nani—she owes two hundred rupees in the bazaar, and is at her wits' end."
"Chitt! she will coax her mother, and she will pay," rejoined Mrs. Lopez, with an air of easy confidence; "and here is Rosa coming back. My, my, what parcels! Oh, she has been spending a lot of money!" adding, with a laugh, "she will be so cross!"
The preparation for the tiffin party was on a sumptuous scale; there was a brand new white cloth—flowers—and dessert. The family wore their very best garments; even Mr. Chandos had put on a suit of old blue serge, in order to do honour to Verona's friend. Verona herself, with two great red spots on her cheeks, inwardly prayed that her expected guest would not come—and her prayer was answered.
Half-past one—no Captain Haig—a quarter to two—Nicky ran to the corner of the tennis ground; the Trotter family were all in their verandah—for it had not been concealed from them that Mrs. Chandos expected two officers to tiffin.
Two o'clock, yet still tarried the wheels of Captain Haig's chariot. A gloomy silence now descended and settled upon the Chandos family like a pall.
Half-past two! a gurrah at the factory struck "three."
"No-ah, he is not coming," announced Dominga, with a conviction that tolled the knell of her mother's hopes. Nicky and Dominga were clamouring for food, and a certain portion of the long-delayed meal was hastily served. But Mrs. Chandos was too excited to eat; her mind was dwelling on the triumph of the Trotters, and her costly useless outlay—unfortunately, she could not return the ham, for it had been boiled. Her temper, which had been gradually rising like a storm at sea, now burst, and dashed itself like a tornado upon Verona. It was not the recreant Captain Haig with whom Mrs. Chandos was furious; his unlucky friend represented the scapegoat.
Verona sat white and speechless, whilst her mother overwhelmed her with a torrent of reproaches for her airs, her uselessness, the heavy cost of her maintenance, and her most devilish pride. But when once a Eurasian loses her temper and her self-control, she hardly knows what she says. The tempest like a typhoon is soon over,—but while it lasts, it is bad, very bad.
Mrs. Chandos finally concluded with one of her celebrated screaming fits, and Mrs. Lopez—well accustomed to these hysterical outbursts—led her away sobbing and exhausted, in order to console and soothe her in her own apartment.