“By Jove, so they are!” he exclaimed, as we put our horses into a canter. “All right, then,” and he looked at me expressively, “your thrilling story must be continued in our next!”
CHAPTER XVI
AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
When we dismounted at the stand we found that chotah hazri had already started, and was, so to speak, half-way round the course. As I received my teacup from her hands, I gathered that my chaperon was displeased with me—my tardy arrival was not “amusing.” Perhaps she thought that I had made myself too conspicuous in riding off and having a long tête-à-tête with Captain Falkland, although we were old friends; therefore, on the way home I carefully avoided his company and gave him no opportunity of resuming our conversation, keeping close to Major Mills and Ronnie.
Within a week of my arrival at Secunderabad I seemed to have slipped into my place in the station as Mrs. Soames’s guest and Captain Lingard’s sister, and as they were both popular everything was made pleasant for me. My singing was extravagantly praised. I loved music, but satisfaction in my own performances had hitherto been cheapened and damped, especially by Aunt Mina, who had no ear, and assured me that my execution on the piano was all right, but my singing was far too dramatic and theatrical, also that I screamed like a curlew!
We had tennis, riding parties, dinners, dances, sports on the Futeh Maidan, and boating excursions on the lake. Besides this, there was plenty of work for the garrison—manœuvres, night attacks, field days and route marching. As the weather was now cool, the general, a particularly active soldier, kept his staff incessantly occupied, and I saw but little of Captain Falkland. On the other hand, I saw far too much of Mr. Balthasar. He appeared to be continually about the club, and had been actually introduced to me by Ronnie!
I felt secretly comforted when Mrs. Soames agreed with me that he was “a most odious person.”
“Of course, my dear,” she said, “he is in the club, and that says all. He has lots of money and subscribes to everything, has a fine house down in Chudderghat, gives men’s dinner parties, and is said to have extraordinary influence in the city—not of London, but of Hyderabad. All the same, in my opinion, he is just an adventurer, but he is received at the Residency, and Secunderabad people have him at their houses. He shall never enter mine! He gives me the idea of being some horrible human bloodsucker, and I believe—though I dare not say it in public—that he is a money-lender.”
Mrs. Soames was very intimate with Lady Dynevor, the wife of the Resident. We frequently went down to Chudderghat to tiffin and to tennis parties, and I was taken to see something of the great Mohammedan city: for instance, the Char Minar, the Nizam’s palace (the finest in India), standing on a high terrace; the façade, a double row of Corinthian columns, the interior with its marble stairs, statues and treasures—truly the Palace Beautiful!
At the Residency I made the acquaintance of a delightful Mohammedan lady. Her name was Zora; she came to tiffin when there were no men, arriving in a closed car and heavily veiled. She was no darker than an Italian, and very handsome. Her figure was slight and willowy, and she was undoubtedly the most graceful creature I had ever seen. Her father, a Nawab of great wealth, was one of the ministers to the Nizam; she was his only daughter—and a widow. Zora was an accomplished musician, and played the piano magnificently. As she spoke English fluently we soon became friends. Zora informed me that she had often been in England, where she dressed and went about precisely like other people, and was often taken for an Italian!
“I used to go to your theatres, dinners and garden parties, and enjoyed myself immensely. In London I often rode on the top of a motor-bus, but as soon as I come back to India I become gosha.”