Mrs. Hooper, a “society woman,” was extremely smart, popular, and rarely at home; and Colonel Hooper, a stout, bald, good-natured man, was frequently absent for many weeks on survey. The children had been disgracefully neglected, and left entirely to the Ayah and servants (with brief interludes of governesses), and were appallingly wise for their years.
“Mamma slapped Miss Vincent,” announced Teesie, “and so she left. She made a bobbery, too, and complained to the Padre. Miss Dodd would not stay either; she was always crying, and said she was a lady, and would not wash Motee, or do the dhoby—and went away in a week.”
Vainly did I implore Teesie not to repeat things, but she only cracked her fingers, native fashion, and shouted at the top of her shrill voice, “Daddy says you are awfully pretty—the prettiest girl in Naini—and have a very poor time, and he and mammy had a row—and mammy said she hated the sight of you!”
It was an undeniable fact that when the Colonel was at home I was better off. He treated me with every courtesy, sent me the Pioneer, twice escorted me to a gymkhana with the children, and once to a theatrical performance.
By the end of July I had been five months in India and seen but little of the country, beyond the woody walks in the upper Mall at Naini Tal—now wet as sponges in the heavy monsoon—and “St. John in the Wilderness” on Sunday evenings. Mrs. Hooper attended in the morning, accompanied by the little girls, who sat on either side of her with roving, knowing eyes, but otherwise conducting themselves with surprising discretion. This was the only time their mother desired their society—she liked to pose (in public) as a devoted parent. I was by no means the daughter of the house, as Aunt Sophy fondly believed; in fact, I was more like a maid-of-all-work, but I kept my troubles to myself, for I knew that it would make Linda and auntie miserable if I complained, and I hoped at the end of a year to find some loophole of escape—and go down to Madras, where Mrs. Mason had invited me to pay her a long, long visit in the Shevaroy Hills.
During these months I had learned Hindustani, had gained the children’s entire approbation, received some startling confidences, and experienced an adventure. I was awakened one night by stealthy steps on the matting in my room, and by the light of an oil wick in a tumbler in the bathroom I beheld a tall, half-naked native busily opening boxes and drawers on my dressing table. I sat up and watched him for some minutes—somehow I was not frightened—I knew the chokedar and a peon were close by in the back verandah. He seemed to be eagerly searching for something; at last he drew it out, and it proved to be the string of pearls! These he held up to the light, felt them carefully, put them to his lips, licked them, and was about to steal away, when suddenly I gave a piercing shriek. He started violently, and dashed into the bathroom.
Meanwhile my screams had been heard, and the house was aroused. The thief endeavoured to escape through the bathroom window, but it is quite one thing to climb through a small space at your ease and leisure, and another to be compelled to do so in a desperate hurry. After a frantic struggle he wriggled through, and in doing so dropped his prize—the string of pearls fell out of his turban—but he fled away into the woods below Cheena scot free.
When Mrs. Hooper heard of the thief’s visit she was terribly alarmed, and a second watchman was immediately stationed on guard in the verandah.
“I expect he was after my diamonds,” she declared, “and these Budmashes are so expert, and so cunning—they always slip off; their bodies are covered with oil.”
It seemed so strange that there had been two attempts to steal a miserable little string of false pearls, and I now kept them locked up in my large steamer trunk, and rarely wore them.