“Just so. And you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d put forward what attractions she could offer—to make it clear the favour was on her side, and the Counsellor and his lady would be well repaid for their long drive? The roses in her little bit of a garden would be at their best, and she could give ’em such eggs as they’d never buy in Dublin, and fresh cream from the farm over the way. Can’t you see the old lady in her old worn satin gown and her cap with the smuggled lace, and how she be worrying the girl she has, the way she wouldn’t know what she’d be doing? ‘I’d have you recollect, Rose Ann, there’s nothing so wonderful about Merrion Square. In my young days, ’twas company from the Cass’le, no less, we’d be entertaining—the Lord and Lady Lieutenant, and the grand ones they’d bring with ’em. Not that I have anything to say against my cousin the Counsellor—I have the highest respect for him and Mrs Sullivan,—but go out of my way to make any difference for them is a thing I’d never do. They must take us as we are, and just put up with what we are accustomed to,’ and she looks so majestically at the girl she’d never dare remember all the polishing up of the old silver, and the eggs and cream ordered, and the saffron cakes bought at the shop. D’ye see then how old Gracia, because she can’t get to Merrion Square herself, will make the Sullivans come out to Donnybrook, and bear the fatigue and expense—such as it is? and how she’ll make her preparations to entertain ’em in good time, while pretending she’s doing nothing of the kind? and how she’ll cry ’em down as very good sort of people and praise ’em up because they are relatives of hers, all in the same breath?”
“I do, I do!” cried Eveleen delightedly. “And Rose Ann understands perfectly that though the Sullivans are no very great things, yet she’ll bring eternal disgrace upon herself if she don’t treat them as though they were. But your beloved charges, Brian—how will you bring them in?”
“My ‘interesting’ charges, as the General calls ’em?” said Brian thoughtfully. “Well now, wouldn’t they be the jealous neighbours that would be always on the look-out to drop hints to the Sullivans that the creature fed every day on stirabout and potatoes, the same as Rose Ann? and if they could make a mistake in the day, or manage to arrive an hour too early, they’d catch her going about the house in her old patched petticoat and print bed-gown? Then if the Sullivans were the malicious sort of people that like to spring disagreeable surprises on their friends—why, they’d do it.”
“They would,” with conviction. “Ah, don’t you hope somebody of the sort has been listening to us talking? There’s not much they could make out of our tales of home. But I suppose I may ask you whether your interesting charges have been more agreeable this two or three days? It’s no secret to any one the way they behave.”
“I believe you—except to us,” said Brian, with unusual bitterness. “The fellows are worse than ever, I tell you—so cock-a-hoop their bearing would show they were in correspondence with Kamal-ud-din and counting on his success if there was nothing else. Tell you what, Evie, that fellow Bayard—I know he’s your friend and Ambrose’s, but I can’t help saying it—the fellow’s a fool. It’s a blessing he’s left us to ourselves in despair, but I had a letter from him to-day from Bab-us-Sahel, begging me for his sake to leave nothing undone that could conduce to the comfort and honour of the Khans. And already they have so much liberty they’re a danger as well as a nuisance.”
“He’s such a faithful friend, don’t you know? He’ll never give them up, however bad they are.”
“Despite their ‘fatal step of taking up arms against the British power,’ as he says. Well, we’ll all bear witness he did his best that the step would be fatal to us instead! You know he persuaded the General to allow ’em have their crowds of servants going freely in and out—spies, of course, every man of ’em. ’Twas so impossible to keep ’em in any sort of control, that after remonstrating with their masters in vain, at last I complained to the General, and he came to point out they had no shadow of reason for entertaining such a crew. Give you my word there were two hundred Arabits at least in the very tent where we sat talking to the Khans—all pressing close upon us and looking by no means pleasant. I confess it struck me that if they chose to fall on us we’d have a mighty poor chance. And what d’ye think Khair Husain had the impudence to say with a straight face? ‘Our people? But we have only a few Hindus—not enough to cook our victuals. Not an Arabit ever enters this garden.’ Now what could be the object of telling a silly lie like that? If y’ask me, I’d say ’twas simply impudence, and it riled the General. He said pretty sharply, ‘I won’t kill you as you’d have killed the English, but any further complaints, and I’ll clap y’all in irons and send y’on board a steamer!’ I wish he’d do it, too; I ain’t cut out for a jailer. They know now they can’t bribe me, but that’s about all, and one of our spies tells the General they please themselves with promising to cut me into little bits, beginning with my fingers and toes, when Kamal-ud-din comes. They’re a sweet lot, I tell you—able for anything. Why, when the General got up in a rage, as I said just now, and went out, who would come catching at his coat and whining to him for protection but old Gul Ali? The poor old beggar’s baggage was all lost at Mahighar, and he came to prison destitute, and destitute he remains. There he stood out in the sun, while the rest sat in their silken tent. They won’t give him food or clothes or money to buy ’em, and he swears they mean him to starve to death. Of course he got protection promised him—against his own brothers and nephews,—and the General sent him in a tent and some things. That’s what the fellows are—with jewels dropping from ’em whenever they move!”
“Ah, those jewels! Did y’ever find out whether they put that bundle on my dressing-table?”
“I did. Ambrose thought I’d better nip any further attempts in the bud by showing ’em this one had not come to anything, so one day when Khair Husain seemed inclined to be confidential I broke the truth to him. He was a good deal chagrined, but not a bit ashamed.”
“But did he say what they had hoped I’d do?”