Robin was very busy during the rest of the week, but the nature of his occupation was kept a profound secret, into which no one was allowed to enter but Harold. On the Monday morning, when the family was partaking of their warm daliya and milk, Harold turned to his wife and said, “You have often told me, my love, that you would like to take a part in mission work here.”
“I should like it of all things!” exclaimed Alicia. “You know that I have seen something of the kind of thing already, as I have been with mission ladies into four or five zenanas, and I learned a lesson for future use. You know, darling, that I can read the Bible fairly in Roman Urdu; I have also learned some texts, and I have a famous book of pictures. I have practised my stock of bhajans [native songs] till I begin really to like them, though I thought them so frightful at first.”
“How many bhajans can you manage?” asked Robin.
“Why, to tell the truth, only two; but many musical-boxes play no greater number of tunes, and, like a musicalbox, I’ll go over and over again. I think that I am ready, at least to make a beginning;” and Alicia glanced with a shy smile at her husband.
Harold met that look with one of affectionate encouragement; he was pleased with the spirit shown by his bride. “I could not let you go to any doubtful place,” he observed, “or let you do any really rough work; but I think that I have found an opening for you into a respectable house, where my young wifie is not likely to be exposed to any annoyance. Kripá Dé tells me that you would be welcomed by his aunt, a Kashmiri like himself, who would feel honoured by a visit from an English Mem Sahiba. She lives in a kind of fort on the other side of Talwandi.”
“I think that I know the place,” said Alicia, “for there is only one house that looks in the least like a fort. It is high, and surrounded by walls. I have often longed to pass them and have a peep at the ladies within.”
“The ladies within wish to have a peep of you, my love. The family is of high caste. I have made careful inquiries, and I think that in that house you may make your first attempt to begin mission work in Talwandi.”
“But how am I to go? We have no gári like the ladies in Lahore and Amritsar, who visited no end of zenanas. Am I to go on foot, or ride father’s tattu, with no proper saddle?”
“Robin will, I believe, answer that question for you,” replied Harold, with a glance at his brother.
“It is time for me to let my cat out of the bag,” said Robin gaily. “I have given you no wedding present yet, Alicia, for I could not get it ready before. It is bigger than your clock, and is to have its siren—inside. It is made to go, and faster than ever a chimney-piece clock could go. It is not intended to strike, and yet strike it may if awkward urchins come in the way. In short—”