"Well, of course you can but try it," she croaked; "but in addition to definite drawbacks, I always feel that this house is so creepy. I suppose on account of its history—all those poor women and children being murdered here at the time of the mutiny. It seems so horrible to think of the officers cut down on parade, and then their families hiding here on the roof. They say the mutineers did not think of looking for them on the roof, and were just leaving the compound when one woman peeped over the parapet and they saw her. Of course, it was all up with the poor creatures; they were dragged down and murdered. It is difficult to realise that it all happened less than forty years ago."
She paused abruptly at the sight of Stella's white face and horror-stricken eyes. "Oh, didn't you know?" she inquired with remorse. "I'm so sorry I spoke of it, but I never dreamt——"
Stella gulped down her horror, but for the moment all her enthusiasm for India turned to revulsion. That dark page of history had hitherto seemed so remote, so unreal, like some tragedy of the Middle Ages long since forgotten and forgiven. Now the fact of its comparative recency, the vision of those defenceless women and children dragged down from the actual roof that was above her head, to be butchered without mercy in these very rooms, affected her acutely. How could she exist month after month in a dwelling that must be saturated with such agonising memories?
"Now, if anyone tells you that extraordinary noises are sometimes heard during the hot weather," continued Mrs. Cuthell with the best intentions, "don't take any notice. I have never believed in ghosts myself, and probably if there are noises they come from the underground ruins—falling of masonry, and so on."
"The underground ruins!" repeated Stella. What was she to hear next?
"Yes. You know, one of the old Moghul emperors—I forget his name—was supposed to have dug himself a subterranean living-place, because he was blind—ophthalmia, no doubt, like so many natives. Anyway, all underneath the house and compound there are said to be tunnels and chambers, and an oil tank and treasure, and goodness knows what. The emperor went to war with some neighbouring enemy and got killed, so that he and his followers never came back, and what they left underground nobody knows."
"And has nobody ever tried to find out?" asked Stella, her curiosity aflame.
"I believe your husband's predecessor in the appointment got leave to dig. He used the prisoners from the jail, but so many accidents happened—men fell into holes and broke their limbs, or died from the bad air, and were bitten by snakes, and in the middle of it all the Commissioner went mad and committed suicide by jumping over the parapet at the back of the house. Of course, the natives said the digging had brought bad luck——" Again Mrs. Cuthell feared she had been indiscreet. "But you mustn't think of these things," she added cheerfully. "There is hardly an old house in India that hasn't some unpleasant story, and I'm sure you are far too sensible to let your mind dwell on anything that may have happened in the past."
It had been far from Mrs. Cuthell's intention to leave a legacy of apprehension and disquietude to the Commissioner's young wife, though she had never quite forgiven the usurpation of her throne as chief memsahib of the station by one so much her junior. With all her shallow outlook, Mrs. Cuthell owned a well-meaning disposition, and now she sincerely regretted that in her selfish elation and glee she should have alarmed and depressed the poor girl, however unwittingly, as she could not fail to perceive had been the result of her chatter.
"Now do remember," she said with an affectionately repentant farewell, "if you find you can't stand the heat you have only to write and say you are coming to us, and we shall be truly delighted to put you up for as long as you like. I mean it."