His Excellency's English Governess

by Sydney C. Grier

The morning passed quietly. The party from the Residency rode over to the Mission-house to join in the English service in the room which served Dr Yehudi as a church, and which was decorated with palm-branches and quaint devices arranged by the school-children, who mustered afterwards to receive good advice and sweetmeats from Sir Dugald, and presents from Lady Haigh and Cecil. Then the horses were brought up again, and the visitors rode home, refusing to tax the scanty resources of the Mission party by staying to lunch. At the Residency the meal was despatched in haste, for all the members of the British colony in Baghdad were expected to join in the Christmas dinner that evening, and such a prospect necessitated a good deal of preparation. Sir Dugald retired to his office to escape from the bustle, and such of his subordinates as did not follow his example found themselves impressed into Lady Haigh’s service for the purpose of moving furniture, hanging up draperies, and otherwise altering the appearance of the principal rooms. Cecil undertook the decoration of the dinner-table, much to the indignation of the Indian butler, who considered that he knew far more about dinner-parties than the Miss Sahiba, and Lady Haigh superintended everything, driving white-clothed servants before her in agitated troops.

It was in the midst of all this turmoil that Charlie came home. Lady Haigh heard him ride into the courtyard, and flew to greet him.

“O, my dear boy!” she cried, as he dismounted and came to meet her, “why didn’t you come before? You are too late.”

“She has signed the agreement, then?” he asked, quickly. Lady Haigh nodded, and he went on. “I thought as much. Thanks to that abominable child, I believe (for you know his mother was one of the Hajar), I have been detained in their tents for a week. They persisted that they were at war with the Fazz, and that I could not go on except at the risk of my life, and they kept me a regular prisoner. Twice I tried to get away, and each time they brought me back. Yesterday I managed to get hold of my revolvers, which they had hidden away, and we very nearly had a big fight. I threatened to shoot them all if they would not let me go, and at last they consented to disgorge the horses and my things, and my boy Hanna and I came on at once. We parted company this morning. He was to come on gently with the luggage, while I rode hard, and now it is too late after all.”

“My poor dear boy!” cried Lady Haigh, the tears rising in her sympathetic eyes. “I did my best for you, really, but you see I could not plead as you would have done, could I? But you shall speak to her yourself. Leave it to me, and I will make an opportunity for you, only it must be when there is no one about, that people may not begin to talk.”

“Thank you, Cousin Elma. It’s something like a condemned criminal’s last interview with his friends, to give me one talk with her before three years’ separation.”

“You were always inclined to be discontented, Charlie,” said Lady Haigh, reprovingly. “Be thankful for what you can get, and now go and make yourself respectable.”

He laughed, and betook himself in the direction of his own quarters. Cecil, at work in the dining-room, heard his steps on the floor of the verandah, and went on with her task of piling up crystallised fruits on the dessert-dishes with trembling fingers. Perhaps he would not see her as he passed. But he did. A casual glance into the room showed him that she was standing there, and he went no farther. An insane impulse seized her to run away when he came in, but she stood her ground, though looking and feeling miserably guilty. Charlie caught both her hands in his, and stood gazing into her flushed face with a look before which her eyes fell. Then, almost before Farideh, the slipshod handmaiden who was supposed to be assisting in the festive preparations, had time to profit by the little distraction to the extent of surreptitiously conveying an apricot to her mouth, he recollected himself, and loosing his hold of Cecil’s hands, asked eagerly—

“You will let me speak to you in private some time or other?”

“Yes,” faltered Cecil, and he went out, while she, suddenly discovering Farideh’s part in the little scene which had just been enacted, taxed her with her guilt, and proceeded to give her a severe scolding in somewhat imperfect Arabic, though her lips would quiver sometimes with a smile in the sternest passages.