“I can’t imagine why you’re in such a hurry to get away; I know the rules, and you won’t see your brother for at least three months.”
“Oh, I’ll see him before that,” I replied with conviction, “even if I have to go on my knees to the governor.”
“And, my dear Eva, you have not the faintest idea of what you are undertaking. Mrs. de Castro will not charge you more than thirty rupees a month, but everything will be very coarse and rough. Native vegetables, bad bazaar bread, second-class fish, and goat!”
“I don’t mind in the least,” I answered recklessly.
“Well, I suppose a wilful girl must have her way,” and after long persistent arguments and an inexhaustible amount of persuasion I prevailed on my kind friend to write to her Bangalore acquaintance on my behalf.
By return of post we received a reply from Mrs. de Castro, saying that she would “be glad of the young woman’s company—and money for her board.”
When the shock of the verdict had somewhat abated, I wrote several important letters; it was a new experience for me to be relying solely on myself. First I wrote to my bankers, and instructed them to pay to Colonel Soames the sum of four hundred pounds, the amount of the missing canteen money. I felt a great sense of relief as I closed and addressed this missive; at least the regiment would not experience any pecuniary loss—it was their good name which had suffered. My next letter was to my uncle. I sent him a long, detailed and truthful account of the whole tragedy; carefully pointing out every extenuating circumstance, and endeavouring to touch his heart. So far he had not answered Ronnie’s appeal, but I was determined that he should take notice of mine. Ronnie’s cry was for money—mine for sympathy and forgiveness. I also wrote to Mrs. Paget-Taylor, and implored her to use her influence to soften my uncle and aunt with respect to my brother; and last, but not least, I wrote to Brian. Without any attempt at softening facts, I related the history of Ronnie’s temptation and disgrace. I said in the course of the letter:
“Ronnie is already a convict in Bangalore jail. I know that this news will shock you; the whole affair fell upon me as a thunderbolt. It has all come from Ronnie’s passion for gambling, which I honestly believe is his only failing, but has brought him, as the world can see, to the most frightful grief. I am sure you will remember how popular he was with crowds of friends. Well, at the present moment he has not a single one in the world except myself, and of course I shall stick to him. He would to me under similar circumstances. Ronnie was always the best and kindest of brothers. This sudden and dreadful trouble will, of course, put an end to our engagement. My dearest Brian, how could you possibly marry the sister of a convict, who is serving his sentence, and whose case has rung through every club and every regiment—not to speak of the whole Press? I cannot express to you what this blight on my future costs me. I know that you will be sorry for me, and perhaps a little sorry for Ronnie. Please do not write, it would only make matters worse, for I can never come into your life, and must do my best to put all thoughts of you out of my mind. I leave here in a few days to await in some quiet place, and among total strangers, the date of Ronnie’s release.”
Now that my correspondence had been dispatched by the English mail, I began to make arrangements for departure, and here I had an active assistant in Zora. My scheme had her enthusiastic approval. By her instructions all my pretty, smart dresses, jewellery and dainty belongings were duly collected, packed, and sent away to be stored under her father’s roof till better days dawned. For the next two years I would have no occasion for smart frocks or ball gowns, and with only a modest outfit in two boxes I was ready for my journey. Under my present circumstances I did not require an ayah, and old Mary and I separated with mutual regrets. As for the Lakins, they could not have been kinder or more sympathetic if I had been their own daughter. The evening before I departed the colonel beckoned me mysteriously into his office, and told me in a low voice that if I wanted money I was to be sure to apply to him.
“I know,” he added, “that you have a bit the sale brought you, and I have paid it, as you wished, into the Bank of Madras; but later on, if you find yourself getting a little low, you’ve only to drop me a line, just the same as if you were one of our girls.”