The Ripons also entertained us at Studley Royal, and there the Maharajah had some partridge shooting. Studley Royal is a fine house and handsomely furnished. I enjoyed my stay there thoroughly. Lady Ripon kindly drove me over to see several interesting ruins. In one, an old building without any roof, I was struck by a fine carving on a mantelpiece of King Solomon’s judgment, and I remembered how this story had been told to us by our dear father at the Asram when we were young. One day I went to see Mrs. Vyner, Lady Ripon’s mother. On our way we visited a cottage, the home of a ploughman, whose middle-aged wife welcomed us. How interested I was to see it! The little cottage was perfectly clean, there was a small sitting-room, with a few flowers, the paper near the fireplace was white, and I thought it was white marble, there were two little bedrooms, and a kitchen where they dined. A heap of potatoes was under a water-tap, and there was a nice little kitchen garden. Afterwards we drove on to Mrs. Vyner’s. Mrs. Vyner must have been a lovely woman in her young days. She sat in her drawing-room all by herself. As we came near the room Lady Ripon most affectionately called, “Darling, are you there?” I was very touched. I was there for some time. Mrs. Vyner’s house was furnished with most valuable things. The marble figures and furniture were wonderful. Studley Royal is a picturesque and pretty place; many of the rooms have Indian furniture, and there is a huge stuffed tiger in the hall. In Lady Ripon’s town house there is a miniature Indian mud village most perfectly made. We had rather an amusing experience coming back from Ripon. The station officials had omitted to place a “Reserved” notice on our carriage, and at Newcastle a North Country magnate invaded our privacy. I did not like the prospect of travelling with a complete stranger, and my husband politely told the man: “This is a reserved carriage.”
“There’s nothing to show that it is reserved,” he answered.
“But I tell you it is,” said the Maharajah. “The omission of the ticket is due to an oversight on the part of the station-master.”
“Well, you haven’t got an option on the train,” the stranger answered rudely, and with these words he began settling himself and his belongings.
“I’m very sorry,” said my husband, “but you must get out.”
“Must I, indeed? We’ll see about that,” retorted the intruder. At this moment the Maharajah’s valet came up the platform, and, horrified at the annoyance we were being caused, he called the guard, who promptly requested the gentleman to go into another compartment. Looking extremely uncomfortable, he called to a porter to take his dressing-case, and as he hurried away he may have heard my husband say: “I’m really very sorry you are so inconvenienced.”
When the Maharajah spoke to King Edward, then Prince of Wales, about our journey and the strange conduct of this man, His Royal Highness was much annoyed.
I could not accept an invitation to Sandringham, as I was in delicate health, and beginning to feel over-fatigued by much travelling. Her Majesty graciously intimated that she wished to be godmother to the expected baby, an honour which we greatly appreciated.
As it was getting cold, the children, in the charge of my brother Profulla, went back to India a few weeks before I did. It was the first time I had an English governess, an English nursery maid, and dear old Mrs. Eldridge. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, I do not know, but every English girl I have had in the house has got married in India; even Mrs. Eldridge left me to marry a station-master. My friends used to tease me and say: “Your house is a regular matrimonial agency; if any one wants to get married, they must come to you.”