Ultimately Mrs. Hooper proved to be my fate. Her references were unexceptional. Colonel Hooper was in the Indian Army, and held an important post on “the Survey.” She wrote Aunt Sophy a letter that was almost gushing, and promised to take every care of the dear girl and treat her, in short, as the daughter of the house! I may mention that my references had been forwarded, and included a warm recommendation from a lady of title.
The next weeks simply flew! My outfit was put in hand, an escort was found for me in Mrs. Russell, a distant relative, whose husband commanded a regiment in Bengal, and our passages were booked in the Malwa, which sailed on February 5th. Linda had insisted that I should travel first-class, and share Mrs. Russell’s cabin. She had known our mother, and was sure to be kind to me. The extra passage money and my outfit made a deep hole in our finances, and Linda sold almost the whole of our jewellery in order to meet these expenses. All my ornaments now consisted of a pair of gold bangles, a watch, and a string of Parisian pearls, fastened by an old diamond clasp that had belonged to my grandmother.
I will draw a veil over those last weeks at home, my tearful farewells to the neighbours, Aunt Sophy, and the dogs. Linda and I spent our last day together in London, and the next morning she escorted me down to Tilbury in order to see me off. The Malwa seemed to be a full ship; there were numbers of passengers bound for Gibraltar and Egypt. In the saloon a wire was awaiting me; it was from Mrs. Russell, and said, “My boy dangerously ill, appendicitis, departure postponed, sorry.” Undoubtedly I was condemned to travel alone, and must just make the best of the situation. Linda was most dreadfully concerned. She actually broke down, and wept.
“I felt so confident, and happy at your having one friend in India,” she sobbed. “Oh, it’s really heart-breaking!”
After I had comforted her a little, we descended together in order to inspect my cabin and arrange my belongings. We found Mrs. Russell’s place already occupied—evidently by a lady who used a prodigious amount of scent. She had secured the bottom berth, the best looking-glass, and her odds and ends were scattered about in a most disorderly fashion.
Afterwards, when Linda and I walked about together, she said:
“How I hate your going alone, Letty; you are so young—yes, and so pretty. How I wish there was some nice, motherly woman I could pin you on to!” and she looked around the crowd with a face of blank despair. “Do be careful who you speak to, and who you get to know; keep to yourself as much as possible, and above all avoid men.”
Never had I seen Linda so depressed, so nervous or so tearful—not even when Arthur went to China—and I must confess that I, too, wept bitterly as I signalled to a figure that waved from the dock.
Going down the Channel the weather was moderate. I found my allotted place at dinner, and kept it, too. There were about twelve at our table. On my left was a florid young officer, with prominent brown eyes and turned-up moustache, who talked to me persistently; but after that evening I spent two miserable days in my berth. My cabin companion proved to be a stout, showy lady, with auburn hair, expressive dark eyes, and an exquisite complexion. She seemed to fill the whole cabin, and to be under the impression that she was its sole occupant.
At an early hour the stewardess brought her a stiff whisky and soda, afterwards, she smoked cigarettes, breakfasted on grilled duck and porter, and then made a leisurely and elaborate toilette—sitting before the glass on a rickety camp stool doing up her face with various little brushes and pencils, serenely indifferent to my interested inspection. Her hair, which seemed coarse and rather scanty, was supplemented by a generous supply of curls and rolls; her petticoats were the most elaborate I ever beheld, and her dress, blouse, and furs looked equally expensive. She wore enormous diamond earrings, a jaunty, rather outré hat, and eventually sallied forth in obvious good humour with her own appearance.