Chapter XIX

It was bright moonlight--an orange hot-weather moon--as Mrs. Rochfort and her escort, leaving behind them the sound of trams, tom-toms, and fire-works, sped smoothly out of Madras, and away into the sleepy country. Naturally everything she beheld was new to the lady, yet in one sense she saw nothing but her miserable, weak husband, and his family of half-caste children. What could she say or do? how deal with the situation? It was true, as this young fellow had declared, that hers was the stronger character, and before pronouncing judgment she resolved to see and hear the culprit.

Mallender for his part instinctively realised the many vital questions that were being debated in the mind of his rigidly motionless companion, and maintained a prudent silence.

At last, the car stopped at the great wooden gate, and before this could be unfastened, the postern opened quickly, and Mota flew out--a pretty vision, in her white lace frock, and streaming hair.

"Oh, Geff, Daddy----" then she paused, as her eyes met Mrs. Rochfort's basilisk gaze.

"Run in, Mota, run in, go to Mrs. Dixon. This lady has come from England, to see your father."

Almost before Mallender completed the sentence, the child had darted back to the house, and rushed into her father's den, gasping out:

"Oh, Dad, Dad, only think! a lady has come from England to see you!"

Major Rochfort with a violent gesture motioned the messenger to leave him. He looked so alarmingly unlike himself, so frowning, and forbidding, that for the first time in her life Mota felt a little cowed, and ran to her brothers for explanation, and consolation.

Sophy was bringing the sentence herself--so be it! The culprit rose unsteadily, as Mallender ushered in his wife--a figure of frozen dignity--closed the door, and subsequently fought off, and held at bay, the united curiosity of the family, and Mrs. Dixon.

For nearly an hour Mallender paced the moonlit compound, conferring with his thoughts. He seemed to be always entangled in other people's affairs, and yet never got to grips with his own. First, there was stranded Miss Sim; now, the unmasked Rochfort. Well, at any rate as far as lay in his power, he had played the game, and done his best for them both. He felt a little bitter on the subject of his Cousin Fred, who had taken no notice of his letters--although Fan had declared that his hot temper soon subsided. He had now been five long weeks at Panjeverram, surely this was ample time for the cooling of Freddy's wrath! Yes, but how could he know, that the embers of his cousin's anger were stoked and kept aflame by the beautiful Lena.

For a woman of a cold lymphatic temperament, she had been unusually roused--and what an escape was hers! Imagine marrying a boy fourteen years her junior, who was a pauper! In all his complaints, and grievances, she warmly sympathised with Colonel Fred; to her, he confided his disappointment, and eagerly accepted her flattering sympathy--for the topic of Geoffrey was one he never ventured to discuss with Fan or Nancy. Also, he was secretly vexed, that the boy having thrown off his leading-strings, had suffered no appropriate punishment!

A friend lately "up" from Madras, had remarked:

"By the way, I saw that young fellow, your cousin, one evening on the Marina in a fine new motor."

"Alone?" enquired his kinsman suspiciously.

"He had a man with him," rejoined the other with a laugh, "a good-looking chap. I don't seem to be able to place him. As for ladies, make your mind easy,--it's too hot below, for any of our fair angels."

Meanwhile a certain lady--no fair angel this--was making it uncommonly hot for Mallender's host. Ultimately, however, his abject misery, humility, and penitence, disarmed her! Hers was the tender, protecting, mother nature! and after all, what was Robert but a big, foolish, rather stupid boy! It was impossible to withstand his misery; to witness _this_, hurt her too acutely. Rob must be consoled,--and forgiven.

At the end of an hour's confession and conference, Major and Mrs. Rochfort reappeared,--both somewhat shattered by the recent interview. She however soon rallied, and as usual took the initiative.

Addressing the petrified Mrs. Dixon in a cool practical tone, she said:

"Mrs. Dixon, I think I had better tell you at once, that I am your master's wife."

Mrs. Dixon shrank back against the wall, and ejaculated:

"God bless me! an' didn't I think he was a widower!"

"No, and I must also explain, that he is Major _Rochfort_. I am Mrs. Rochfort. He took the name of Smith, out here--for--for--for family reasons----" and she swallowed some impediment in her throat.

"Now did he?" ejaculated Mrs. Dixon with open-mouthed surprise.

"Yes," replied the lady with a look of fierce decision--"He has been telling me, how invaluable you are; so upright, sensible, and trustworthy, and that you have been a mother to his motherless children."

Mrs. Dixon answered not a word, she was endeavouring to grasp several new ideas, and felt completely bewildered, and _bouleversée_.

"I want you to tell the children, that I am their step-mother from England, and that I should like to see them."

The two youths, with neatly brushed hair, were presently introduced--both a little shy; it was the first time they had ever seen a lady in their own house. She was old, and not pretty, but had a pale, kind, face. Then Mota appeared, in her best evening frock, offering a beautiful contrasting picture to her dusky, but clever-looking brothers. At this enchanting vision, Mrs. Rochfort completely lost her head, and held out a pair of trembling hands; and the child, in answer to an irresistible summons in the lady's eager face, climbed into her lap, and kissed her. Thus, all these somewhat unexpected introductions were harmoniously accomplished.

Meanwhile Major Rochfort had drawn his guest aside, and said:

"She is a saint, Mallender, and you were right. Oh, _why_ did I not speak ages ago! It would have saved me years of worry, misery, and anxiety; but I was a coward; I can face a stiff country, but an awkward situation. _No!_ Sophy has forgiven me, I start to-day with a clean slate, and she is going to take the children."

"I say! that's splendid! She is a brick!"

"I think what melted Sophy, was a glimpse of Mota at the gate, but I may be wrong--and it was just her own goodness. We have talked it all out! The boys stay here with Dixon, and continue their education, for the present. Later, they will be well launched. We intend to take Mota home, first going to the Hills. Sophy finds this heat killing, and wants to get off at once. I expect it will be a terrible rush. She's explained about the different names--that's a bit awkward of course,--but Dixon is a good unsuspicious soul, and will make no trouble."

"Daddy, supper is ready," a clear young voice called out, and Mota entered hand in hand with Mrs. Rochfort. "Is the new lady to stay?--_may_ she?"

Rochfort glanced at his wife, and she promptly answered:

"Yes--I should like to, Rob, but Mota must take me to wash my hands, and make myself tidy." Exit Mota, with an air of importance, solemnly leading the new lady to her own apartment, the nursery.

The supper was cold, and excellent; if "the new lady" ate little, she absorbed a good deal. The homely comfort, the good plain food (and Robert always so difficult to please, and so fastidious at home!), the bright young people, with their complete absence of self-consciousness. They carried on most of the conversation, chiefly about tennis, photographs, and the demise of the dhoby's cow. Mota offered the guest a mango, not merely off her own tree, but her own plate! Pedro gave her a vivid description of the latest college cricket match, where he had made four runs! Mallender gravely considered the little party, and the chief guest. The children were doing their utmost to entertain Daddy's friend from England--the plain middle-aged childless woman, who discoursed with painful effort, on prickly heat, punkahs, and the miseries of a journey by rail, with the thermometer at 99.

The Major was evidently upset, his nerves were on wires; he sipped an iced peg, and talked spasmodically, but was as a rule silent, and unquestionably ill at ease. Mrs. Dixon found herself still bewildered. She was not accustomed to sit at the same table with soft-voiced, distinguished ladies, who wore diamond rings, and pearls the size of peas; moreover she felt instinctively, that this unexpected visitor was the forerunner of a break-up!

Mallender had been a guest at many suppers; suppers gay, and suppers grave, but never at one that for electrical atmosphere, awkwardness, or dramatic possibilities, approached the present meal!

He observed the long stealthy glances, cast by Mrs. Rochfort, at a large coloured photograph which hung exactly opposite to her seat; the portrait of a lovely young woman, dressed in the fashion of ten years previously--the face was so vivid, and so radiantly happy, that it seemed impossible to think of the original, as lying under a flat gravestone, in Panjeverram cemetery. It was a picture of Maddalena de Rosa, the mother of the three lively children who sat at table with Sophy Rochfort and her faithless husband.

Mota--who for her age, was preternaturally sharp--had intercepted the new lady's furtive glances, and exclaimed:

"Oh--I see you are looking at the picture; it is our pretty mother; she is dead this long, long, time, before I was born"--the Major shifted uneasily in his chair, and was about to interpose, but the child chattered on in her shrill piping treble, "An old woman comes here sometimes. The ayah knows her, she is her friend, and she gives ayah money, she says, she is our _great_-grandmother, and brings flowers, and lays them before the picture, and cries and moans, and cracks her fingers over my head; she is _very_ black--and----"

At this moment, Mallender with a jerk of his elbow, knocked over his tumbler and wine-glasses; the subsequent commotion, and his voluble apologies, changed the topic--and possibly saved his host from an apoplectic seizure! Immediately after this exploit, the gallant guest (determined to give no further opening for Mota's disclosures) embarked on a series of animated questions, respecting Mrs. Rochfort's celebrated "Poms"; their prizes, weight, age, and the various shows at which they had been triumphantly exhibited; his assumed enthusiasm and Mrs. Rochfort's explanations, carried them on safely, till the end of the meal.

Immediately after supper, the master of the household motored his wife back to the Madras hotel, and when he returned in the middle of the night, he found his guest still awaiting him.

"Well--it's all settled!" he began at once, "and I've to thank _you_. If I'd followed my own instinct, I believe I'd have thrown up the sponge and cut and run, to Australia. We propose to stay in the Hills till September, and then go home. Sophy is crazy about Mota, and intends to pass her off as the orphan of a very dear friend, no one would ever suspect the child of anything but pure English blood."

That was true, thought Mallender, but her children?--what of them? They might resemble her brothers, or her grandmother! However, naturally he made no remark. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.

"And what about you?" resumed Rochfort. "I must settle about you."

"Oh, I'll be all right, don't bother about me! I'll go into Madras, and wait upon events."

"Not you, in this sweltering heat! it's bad enough here, but the walls are thick, and the old house is cool. You make this your home, as long as ever you like; stay with Dixon and the boys, and use the car, and horses. Do you realise all you have accomplished for Sophy, and me?"

"Oh, no--that was her doing!"

"But she says not; says _you influenced her_! and I believe Sophy; Mallender, you have been a trump! What's the good of your mock modesty and playing the ostrich----? Well, I understand that Francis is full of grand schemes he and your fellow have hatched out between them, and I expect they will put you on to something, before long."

"All right, I'll remain here for a little, as my head-quarters, if I may, but you must let me pay my bazaar, and consider myself a P.G."

"Do you want to _insult_ me?" cried Rochfort angrily.

"Nonsense, you know I don't, but----"

"Then say no more about it--that's my last word!"

To this injunction Mallender tamely agreed; but he secretly resolved, after his host had departed, to come to a financial understanding with "the Miss."