Rockstone Chotah-Bilat, the joint address of Mrs. Gascoigne and Mrs. Waldershare, was a large well-appointed bungalow, overlooking the prettiest side of the station, approached through a steep terraced garden, full of great bushes of ancient geraniums, and straggling rose trees, and flanked by a few pines.
The house was sufficiently roomy to accommodate half a dozen people; and here the two inmates lived their separate lives, together and yet apart. The partnership was so harmonious as to excite a certain degree of admiration as well as envy; for it is a painful fact that these house-sharing schemes are not invariably a success.
Mrs. Waldershare was charmed with what she termed "a Himalayan Paradise"; her own chief friends were comfortably established at the Casino Hotel, or the Club, and she made a number of new acquaintances. The constant whirl of picnics, tiffins, dinners, dances, incidental to a gay hill station, the opportunity of exhibiting her toilettes, of living without expense, and of enjoying an occasional "game"—all this comprised a phase of existence supremely to Lola's taste. She possessed her own roulette board, and both board and owner were in flattering request. The board accompanied Mrs. Waldershare to luncheon parties, and to teas and dinners at "the Wigwam," and elsewhere. The Wigwam was a pretty little house, occupied by a smart married couple, much given to play of every description; their gay suppers were notorious, and their guests might have been discovered guiltily creeping in to their respective homes, with the dawn. Angel had not paid the usual round of calls, or embarked on the flood-tide of entertainments. She felt no inclination to dance, and suffered from constant neuralgia, and depression. One or two of her friends had sought her, but she declined their invitations; and when a lady resides in an out-of-the-way locality, in a sequestered bungalow, and is disinclined to entertain, or to be entertained, people in the full swing of the season have no leisure to cultivate such a recluse—and leave her severely alone. Mrs. Gascoigne was to be seen at church (at St. John's, in the Wilderness) on Sunday; on week days, rambling far along the unfrequented hill-tracks, merely accompanied by two dogs. To Angel's intimates, Mrs. Waldershare professed a devoted attachment to the dear, sweet girl, a keen anxiety respecting her health, and declared that she was "just a little bit run down," all this being accompanied by effusive encomiums. To her own circle she proclaimed that her house-mate was "peculiar." This, with a significance that led strangers to suppose that Mrs. Gascoigne was eccentric to the verge of imbecility. Lola's manner to Angel was perfect. A mixture of the tender elder sister, and the sincerely attached friend; but she and her hostess did not see much of one another, except at breakfast. Soon after this meal, Mrs. Waldershare's gaily-costumed jampannies (they wore black and yellow livery, and yellow turbans) carried their charming burden away for the whole day, she merely returning home in order to dress, or occasionally to receive the General and Sir Capel. No apologies were necessary, for Angel appreciated solitude, and they each went their own way; for that was understood in an unwritten bond. But when the monsoon broke in the middle of June, the rain descended in steady gray sheets, and roared and battered on the zinc roof of Rockstone, there were no more gay jaunts or excursions down into Chotah-Bilat. The six hill-men shed their wasp-like costumes, and huddled in their brown blankets, or "cumlies," squatted round like a huka, talking scandal and money matters, in their quarters among the pines.
Their employer sat indoors, beside a blazing log fire, inditing sweet little notes on a knee-pad, and knitting ties in becoming shades of purse silk. Angel crouched on the large, square-shaped fender-stool (which was hollow underneath, and a retreat dear to the dogs) and read, and sewed, and talked. For a whole week these two were condemned to a species of solitary confinement. At first, they discoursed of the elements (how Mrs. Waldershare railed against the rains!—the life of India), the forthcoming great fancy ball, and the Chamoli Lake. From lake to Philip was but a short step, and by-and-by Angel found herself listening with eager ears, to stories of her husband's childhood and boyhood. By degrees these anecdotes were merged into tales of Philip as a youth, as a young man—as (here Angel's interest was breathless)—a lover.
Clever Lola drew a sketch of those four supreme years with the hand of a true artist, permitting the listener's warm imagination to colour and fill in the outlines. Angel contemplated the picture which her own brain completed, with a mixture of anguish, jealousy, and despair. How Philip had loved Lola! though Lola never once said so in plain, cold English; but a broken-off sentence, a look, a quick sigh, imparted more than words. And he had written to her daily, whilst she, his wife, hungered for two weeks for a line. But then, oh most exacting Angel, there is no daily post in Garhwal; letters had to come one hundred and fifty miles by a very casual Dâk runner.
Lola gave her companion the impression of recalling these poignant recollections, with the deepest reluctance, and all the time the game—which lasted for eight whole days—afforded her the keenest enjoyment. She was as a cat playing with a mouse, and at the end of the play her victim's heart was as lacerated as any little tortured corpse. Angel acknowledged that she had brought this misery entirely upon herself; her anxiety for information had led her into a very cavern of despair. Philip still loved Lola, for according to that lady's dictum, which she humbly accepted, "It is a law of the universe, for a man to love one woman, and none other"; and when Lola turned her wonderful eyes upon her—those eyes, large, mysterious, sad, and visionary—Angel felt that she could not be otherwise than truthful and good. Oh, she must tear that secret feeling of repulsion out of her heart, and be as sincerely attached to Lola, as Lola was to her. She would love her, and befriend her, loyally and faithfully—for Philip's sake.
A gleam of fine weather, a break in the rains, released the two prisoners, and each hastened to repair to her familiar haunts; Lola to the assembly rooms, the Wigwam, and the polo-ground, Angel to take her walks abroad, as far as possible from the giddy throng. She longed to see Philip again, to contemplate him from a new point of view, to endeavour to discover his real attitude towards Lola. But perhaps he would never tell her the truth, he could be a mystery when he chose. Lola was, and ever would be, first in his heart, and she must make up her mind to accept the second place. Angel was absolutely miserable, and as she lingered on the hillsides, watching the ghostly white mists creeping up between the mountains, and filling every ravine and valley, till they touched the spot where she stood, and overwhelmed her, she felt as if a great cloud from which there was no escape, had suddenly descended upon her life.
In these days of their mistress's inaction and depression, Sam and John offered much mute sympathy, and protection. They did not forsake her in order to seek their own amusement—no, not even to meet their friends and foes upon the Mall, but formed her constant bodyguard. At night, Sam occupied the most comfortable chair in her room, whilst John sprawled outside the door on a mat. And he never failed to rise and bark, in order to announce the tardy return of the other lady,—for which officious act, Mrs. Waldershare would have gladly had him poisoned.
Early one morning in July, an imposing head overseer, two chuprassis, and a dozen stout hill-men, were to be found assembled in front of Rockstone. The overseer had brought a letter from "Gascoigne Sahib," and the lady was to start at once, before there was more rain. Angel's heart leaped at the message, it was her order of release. She made joyful preparations for immediate departure—indeed, these preparations had been completed for weeks.
"And pray what is to become of poor me?" inquired Lola in a doleful voice, "where am I to go?"