What a change in my life a few hours had brought. I was going to India! My dream of dreams was about to be fulfilled. In the meanwhile there were arrangements and obstacles to be talked over. Uncle, Beverley and Lizzie Puckle were strongly opposed to my trip, but for once Aunt Mina and I were agreed, and to every objection we presented an invincible force of obstinate resistance. She gave me enthusiastic support, was my firm and eager ally, generously engaged to pay for my outfit and passage, and assured me that I should have a delightful time and that this accidental invitation was “a great chance!” She even went so far as to hint that I would not be long with the Hayes-Billingtons, but soon comfortably installed in an establishment of my own.
“Really, my dear Eva,” she said in an outburst of happy relief, “a girl with your air and appearance, not to speak of connections, ought to marry remarkably well.”
Apparently I was about to be specially exported to India in order to be launched on the marriage market! That was my aunt’s idea. My own was otherwise. I would be within hail of my beloved Ronnie, and far away from the anxieties and embarrassments which encompassed me at Torrington. With a view to a good talk and to learn my immediate requirements I went to tea at the Dower House, where I found only Mrs. Paget-Taylor and Mrs. Hayes-Billington. As I sat beside the latter on the sofa I was nearly overpowered by the perfume of some heavy Eastern scent, and at close quarters noticed that the lady’s face was a little made up and careworn. On her part, she was examining me with an unmistakably critical expression in her lovely eyes.
“I hear you ride well and are fond of dancing, Miss Lingard, so we will keep a pony for you,” she said. “We start next month, and as we arrive out there in the monsoon you and I will go to the hills together, whilst Bertie, poor boy, must return to those detestable mines.”
I had not the faintest idea of what a “monsoon” might be, but did not venture to display my ignorance by making inquiries.
“We are going out by a cheap liner if you don’t mind,” she continued, “first class to Bombay only forty pounds. We are obliged to be economical. Your expenses on to Silliram will come to about a hundred rupees. Unfortunately, we arrive in the rains, but, you see, Bertie’s leave has expired and it cannot be avoided.”
She then proceeded to give a long list of my requirements, which Mrs. Paget-Taylor precisely entered in a little notebook. It seemed that I should require a saddle and bridle, a thick and thin habit, warm clothes, cool clothes, smart clothes, cushions, a folding chair, a good supply of scented soap, sheets, towels, a tea-basket, heaps of silk underwear, silk stockings, and also golf and tennis requisites.
Armed with this list I returned to my aunt. I felt a certain diffidence about handing over such a long array of wants, but she seemed to look upon the matter as a mere bagatelle and even added several items. She also informed me that I had (as I knew) an income of £150 a year of my own. This would go to the Hayes-Billingtons, to pay for board and lodging, and as their funds were low she had agreed to lodge the first six months in advance, also she and my uncle had decided to make me an allowance of an additional hundred a year for clothes and my personal expenses. This was generous treatment, and I thanked her warmly. Now that I was actually departing, placing seas and continents between us, Aunt Mina had become semi-attached to me, and it may seem mean of me to add that I believe she scattered this liberality and largesse as sacrifice and thank-offering, and, as it were, the price of Bev.
My aunt accompanied me to London to select my outfit, which was ordered on the most lavish scale; in fact, I would be justified in calling it a trousseau! When the preparations were well en train she left me to spend two or three days with Lizzie in the flat, and to be taken by her to undergo my various fittings.
I found Lizzie comfortably installed, looking years younger than she had done at Beke, and quite smart. She gave me to understand that Mr. Chesterfield, the rector, had urged her to marry him, first by letter, indeed letters; and, as these proved unsuccessful, he had actually come to London and figuratively prostrated himself at her feet, announcing that “he was lost without her, and had never realised her priceless value until she was gone! She was sorely missed everywhere and really must recall her decision and return to Beke as Mrs. Chesterfield.”