“I hope so,” I replied. “I have learnt a little about prices and things, and a few words of Hindustani.”
“Oh, you don’t want Hindustani at Secunderabad. Most of the natives speak and write English. My butler was with a married couple before he came to me; he will help you to run the show, and will tell you all about the Hali sicca rupee, which is worth ninety-six dubs—a dub is like a scrap off an old copper kettle. We shall fix up No. 30 quarter in grand style, and have our little dinners and bridge parties. Mrs. Soames will take you out, and I have a ripping pony that you can ride. You’d think to look at her—I mean Mrs. Soames, not the pony—that she was a stiff-necked old maid, as narrow-minded as they make ’em, but she really is awfully kind and soft, and does so enjoy being a colonel’s wife in India, and entertaining the regiment and fussing over soldiers’ wives. ‘James’ is bound to take to you. Between ourselves, it’s my opinion that James would like to flirt a bit in his hours of ease. You will like Major and Mrs. Mills, our only other married couple, beside the quartermaster, though Mrs. Mills is wrapped up in her nursery and housekeeping.”
Before we reached Wadi Junction, I had received an outline of what my future friends, amusements and duties were likely to be, as described in an offhand sketchy manner by my brother.
As we changed on to the Nizam’s State Railway, Ronnie met a racing acquaintance, and, with many apologies, they both retired into a smoking carriage—there to discuss important forthcoming events; meanwhile I made a sort of toilet, arranged my hair and hat, and dusted my frock, in order to assure a presentable appearance on arrival.
At Secunderabad station we were met by Mrs. Soames herself; a slight, smartly-dressed, elderly woman, with a long thin face and an immense unnatural looking fringe. She gave me a cordial welcome, and soon we were trotting up towards Trimulgherry behind a pair of fast bay cobs. After the usual journey talk, I said: “It is so very, very kind of you to take me in—a sort of waif and stray.”
“Why of course,” she replied, “I am only too glad to come to your rescue. Your brother is one of my favourites, he is such a dear fellow. Although so popular he is so thoughtful and unspoiled, and when he brought me Captain Vesey’s letter I saw at once that there was nothing for it but that he must go and fetch you here. By and by we shall settle you into a nice quarter, close to ours, and I will be your chaperon. No, no, you really must not thank me so much. I am fond of girls, and I shall be delighted to have your company. Just one little word of caution,” extending as she spoke an exquisitely gloved hand, “do not mention Mrs. Hayes-Billington here. If it leaked out that you had been brought to India and associated with such a disreputable character, the result might be most distressing. Although the largest station in India, Secunderabad is extraordinarily proper and correct. I have been here for three years and we have not had one scandal! There is the club,” she broke off, “our great rendezvous for tennis, dances, bridge—and, I think I may call it, the heart of the station.”
I leant forward, and gazed at an imposing two-storey building on my left, which stood in a spacious and well planted compound. Then, bowing to people on horseback, Mrs. Soames continued:
“You ride of course?”
“Yes, I love it,” I answered promptly, “Mrs. Hayes-Billington and I hired ponies by the week, and rode everywhere.”
“My dear girl, please don’t mention that woman’s name,” she protested in a plaintive voice.