Inquiries were made, and at last the dreadful news began to circulate, at first by degrees, and was then officially confirmed. The luncheon had been lost!
Mrs. Langrishe and Mrs. Brande’s khansamahs—who were at the head of affairs—were deadly rivals. Mrs. Langrishe’s man wished to be leader (like his mistress); he laid down the law, and he ordered every one’s coolies and servants to place themselves under his directions. “Instead of being quiet and shamed, as he ought to have been, the—the nouker” (i.e. servant) “of a mem sahib who only sent empty plates.” This was the idea of Mrs. Brande’s khansamah, and to his opinion he gave loud and angry utterance. A desperate quarrel ensued. He said the lunch was to be sent to one place—Mrs. Brande’s man declared as emphatically that it was to be despatched to another. The latter was the most powerful, and carried his point, and what was worse, carried all the other servants and coolies away with him! At this moment they were carefully laying out a really excellent repast, at a favourite rendezvous, exactly seven miles on the other side of Shirani, and twelve from the present hungry company.
Mrs. Langrishe’s fare—yes, it had leaked out—was all that was to be set before them!
Some people were extremely angry. Colonel Sladen, who had valued his thirst at ten rupees—not that any one was anxious to purchase it—was really almost beside himself! Sir Gloster, though he was in love, looked desperately glum. “Ben” Brande, I must honestly confess, was visibly disappointed. Dry bread and salad were not in his line, and he had affectionate recollections of a delicious smell from his mistress’s cook house. Some people laughed—Honor and her companion were amongst the most hilarious.
Mrs. Langrishe was shown in her true colours for once, and had retired into somewhat mortified retreat under a neighbouring rock. Mrs. Brande was overwhelmed. “Where,” she asked with tears in her voice, “was her khansamah? Where were her raised pies, her Grecian salad, her iced asparagus?” But though her hospitable soul was vexed, she was not sorry that her rival’s generous share should be thus set forth before every eye.
The party, on the whole, took this unparalleled catastrophe uncommonly well. They ate dry bread (with or without salt), drank water, and wound up with lettuces. Afterwards the men smoked themselves into complete serenity. If there had only been tea, but, alas! the tea had followed the infamous example of the champagne.
Naturally such a lunch had not taken long to despatch. What was to be done? How was the next empty hour to be put in?
And here Miss Lalla Paske came forward, and threw herself into the gap. In after days, her aunt always credited Lalla with one good action.
Rising, without waiting to catch any one’s eye, she slowly sauntered off with her little swaggering air, and mounting a mossy rock, and arranging herself in a picturesque attitude, despatched a cavalier for her banjo, which she presently began to thrum, and had soon (as she desired) collected a crowd. When she had assembled a sufficiently large audience, she struck up a nigger melody, with admirable art and liveliness, and instantly every male voice was joining in the chorus. Mrs. Langrishe and Mrs. Brande arrived together upon the scene, and beheld the sprightly Lalla, the centre of attraction, mounted on an impromptu throne, surrounded by admirers. Such moments were some of her unhappy aunt’s few compensations. Oh! if one of these admirers would but come forward and ask for the delicate, wiry little hand, now so skilfully thrumming a ranche melody.
The fair songstress made a charming picture, she had the family instinct for effect,—her supple figure was thrown into delightful relief by a dense green background, and one pretty little foot dangled carelessly over a slab of rock—such a pretty little foot, in such a pretty little shoe!