Chapter XXII

Although Mallender sat with his writing case open before him, his eyes wandered over the wide prospect commanded by the bungalow. What a picture of tragic solitude! In the foreground a mass of overgrown ruins, beyond these, the sun-baked plain, with its harsh orange soil, and far-away range of dim blue hills,--the whole a scene of ardent melancholy. His thoughts now turned to his own affairs, and his reflections were gloomy; he realised that his impulsive desire for results, had driven him to waste time and energies in hopeless directions,--of which the present situation was a specimen! Why, why, had fate singled him out for this adventure? He was not one inch "forrader" than months ago when full of high hopes he had embarked in Tilbury Docks. Well, he must pull himself together, decide upon a plan of action, and get out of this God-forsaken place as soon as possible: drawing the paper towards him, he began to write. Just at this moment, a visitor appeared between the stone piers of entrance to the little compound; a sturdy broad-shouldered man of thirty, dressed in kharki. He had a pleasant clean-shaven face, a square chin, and resolute jaw; as he took off his topee, he displayed a crop of thick brown hair, cut "_en brosse_."

"I say," he began rather awkwardly, "you'll excuse me I hope, but my father, General Beamish, heard of your arrival--of course everything is known in this place," and he grinned, "and that you were a British officer; so he sent me over to ask if you would be so good as to call and see him?"

"I shall be delighted," declared Mallender, in his clear, high-bred voice, "but I must not go under false pretences, I'm no longer in the service."

"That does not matter a button--you've been in it, and the old man craves for a talk with one of his own profession. Although he is ninety-five, he is still drawing the pension of a Major-General. I expect the authorities are pretty sick! Eh?"

"Won't you sit down?" said Mallender, bringing forward a chair. "No doubt your father has seen a lot of service?"

"Oh, yes, volunteered for every campaign or scrap, that was going in his day. He is feeble on his pins, and a bit deaf, but his mind is as clear as ever. He likes to talk of old times, when he is in the humour, and he loves anything to do with soldiers. He doesn't come across many soldier-men here, as you may suppose, and he is mad keen on seeing _you_."

"All right--when shall I go over?"

"About six, when he is rested after his drive, and my mother says, will you stay to supper?"

"Thank you, I shall be delighted."

"You'll find Wellunga a mighty weird sort of billet," resumed the visitor, "not much of a field for your camera. Your rum little _chokra_ told me you were a photographer."

"Yes, and he is my understudy, and very smart. How do you put in time here?"

"I don't put in much, I'm a planter--I've an estate up in Mysore, and manage another; but I run down to see the family, and this is the slack season for coffee. My sisters come up for the hot weather, but the old folks never stir, a couple of salamanders!"

"If it's not an impertinent question, what induced your father to settle here?"

"Oh, lots of things; sentiment for one, and to get out of the reach of his Europe relations, for another. You see he was married before, and my half-brothers and sisters tormented him to go back to England. He loves India, it's in his very bones, and this was the first place he came to, after he landed in the country."

"It must be pretty deadly for your sisters."

"They don't mind. Jessie is mad about poultry and tennis, and Tara--she is much younger than we are--has her books, and her horse, and is the sort of girl that's happy anywhere. Well, I notice you are writing for the dâk, it goes out at twelve, so I'll take myself off. See you this evening?" and Tom Beamish rose, jammed his pith "mushroom" on his head, and lumbered forth.

Some time after the carriage had returned, Mallender went over to the General's quarters; a fine stone-built two-storeyed abode, and well-preserved specimen of its time. It stood in a spacious compound with two gateless entrances, which met in a sweep under a high-tiled porch; many comfortable-looking buff fowls were pecking and promenading round the premises,--which wore an air of solid ease and leisure. Two gorgeous peons with scarlet belts, brass badges and enormous turbans, were in waiting and salaamed profoundly. Having shouted the usual summons "Boy!" a brisk servant appeared, salaamed, and said, "Please to come this way," and led the visitor across a centre room into a wide verandah, commanding an extensive view of river, bazaar, and distant plain and hills. Here in a high-backed chair sat or hybernated, the venerable survivor of other days; a still fine-looking old man with the remnants of a magnificent physique; his noble head was now somewhat sunken on his shoulders; attached to his white drill coat, he wore the tarnished badge of his rank, and on his breast a row of war medals. General Richard Beamish did not look his age, not by ten years--his skin was wonderfully smooth, his blue eyes keen and bright; his limbs, however, were shrunken, and his bony hands displayed the dark knotted veins of age.

"I'm glad to see ye," he called out in a shaky and excited voice, a voice unexpectedly strong, "a stranger is a great event here--what's your name, young sir?"

"Geoffrey Mallender."

"God bless me! I knew a Geoffrey Mallender thirty years ago, he was drowned--or something--there was a sort of mystery."

"He was my Uncle," announced the stranger, whose hopes were once more kindled.

"Mallender, this is my wife, Sally," he called to someone who had entered, "here is Captain Mallender; I knew his Uncle long ago."

The visitor turned and bowed, but Mrs. Beamish put out a large useful-looking hand, and gave him a motherly smile. "Motherly" was the adjective that best expressed Sally Beamish! a woman of over fifty, with a pulpy corsetless figure, a kind sensible face, a little short nose, a pair of sympathetic eyes, a drab complexion. Her abundant brown hair was combed over her ears and gathered into a tight knot, she wore a stuff skirt, a loose white jacket fastened by a magnificent diamond brooch, and berlin wool slippers.

"You will take your supper with us," she said; her accent was common, but her face radiated benevolence. "It is the Beauforts' evening, but that's no matter: and you must come over to us whenever you find it dull. It is dull alone. Now I am going to leave you, to have a chat with the General." Then suddenly dropping her voice, "He was just crazy to see you,--let the old man talk, it's so good for him, and mind, he don't like to be interrupted."

"What's she saying? What's she saying?" demanded her husband, suspiciously. His eyes had been watching her moving lips.

"That she is leaving me to have a good old talk with you, sir," explained Mallender, as the purdah swung behind a solid form.

"A good woman, a good woman! My third wife, country born, country bred, no country blood--just an apothecary's daughter, and a trained nurse; but I did not marry her for _that_. No, no. Come now, young fellow, draw your chair nearer, for I want to question you about England, and the Army, and many other things."

"All right, sir, but I left the Army this time last year."

"And you could desert the colours, you a fine, strong young man?" and he considered his visitor with reproachful blue eyes.

"I had no choice, sir," replied Mallender. "I was terribly sorry to go. I hate being out of the Service."

"Aye, my lad, and when I hung up my sword after nearly fifty years, it broke my heart. I am very old, look at me. I'm ninety-five! I was born in the year of our Lord 1818, when people talked of Waterloo, and Bony was on St. Helena! When I first arrived, a 'Griffin' as they called us then, I met an officer who had known Clive--think of it! He told me, he seemed silent and morose, it was his last spell out here, and he was full of trouble and disappointment--the man who won India!"

"He put an end to himself, did he not?"

"Yes, in his house in Berkeley Square, with a penknife. I've seen great things in my day, but if I related them, people would say I was in my dotage, and I have no witnesses _now_ to bear me out; I just sit here and look out over the plains that never change, and think of all the fine comrades I had, and their lives and deaths, and wonder if we will ever fall in together again? Well, I'll know before long--I may get the route any day! I'm just waiting for death."

Mallender hastened to turn the old man's mind to a more cheerful subject, and said:

"You must have seen a lot of service, sir?"

"Yes," and he touched his medals. "I put these on to do you honour. I only wear 'em Sundays, and Mrs. Beamish she got out her fine brooch. Here, you see, Moodkee--Aliwal--Rangoon--Pegu--and the Mutiny medals, I was all through that," he paused, and looked fixedly before him.

"Yes, I marched up to Delhi, with the first Madras Regiment, and I was in the first Brigade, under McNeil. McNeil was a hard man; hard on himself, as well as others; the forced marches were terrible; and in those days we wore shakos--no pith helmets then! At most of our halts, we had a firing-party, and left a couple or more graves. I served at the Siege of Delhi--I saw Cawnpore, when one hundred and sixty-five women and children were in the well. I--Well, young man, for all our sakes, native and British, those times are best _forgotten_. Afterwards, I served in Afghanistan, and was recommended for the Cross, but the Brigadier knew I was hard up, and I took a sum of money, and sold my glory, to pay bazaar bills."

"But surely, sir, you have had good appointments?"

"Oh, yes, after a time I had fine billets; but I was always up to my neck in debt, and half my pay went to the soucars. I was like a man in a quicksand, the more I struggled, the deeper I went. Well, now I want to hear from one who has been on the spot, what is going on at head-quarters at home? Tell me about the Army--begad, it's only a handful,--this brand-new Army of the day. I read, and I'm read to, but I want to hear by word of mouth."

The old officer then proceeded to put his companion--who patiently submitted--to a severe, not to say drastic, examination on the subject of the new guns, new regulations, and drill; the uniform, soldiers' kit, the benefit, or otherwise, of Royal Commissions; particulars of the new signalling, and airships. He listened as to a fairy-tale, when Mallender described a field instrument that can tap, or interrupt a telegraph message--as well as telephone!

"Oh, if we'd had that in my time, we'd have done real wonders, miracles--sir, miracles!"

"Yes, and you had not a rifle warranted to kill at two miles, had you?" said Mallender.

"No, only good old brown Bess. And those motors and aeroplanes that I shall never see--no more than if I had lived in the Middle Ages!"

"You could easily see a motor, sir," replied his visitor, "but I'm not so sure of an aeroplane," and as he had made an ascent, he proceeded to relate his experience. To this, the old man listened with hands on knees, parted lips, and an air of almost passionate attention.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as he leant back with a sigh of satisfaction, "at last I seem to understand the hang of the thing; you have put it before me, and I can almost imagine, that I'm sitting on a nasty cramped seat, rising steadily into the air, while all the world is falling away below me. Here is Mrs. Beamish coming to tell us that supper is waiting, and I've been keeping you. We are punctual folk--military time, sir! Come to-morrow, come to tiffin. Sally, my dear, this young fellow has done me no end of good; my mind is chock full of brand-new ideas." Then rising with tremulous difficulty, assisted by his wife, and a servant, the old veteran nodded his head, and tottered out of the verandah.

When Mallender was ushered into the dining-room, he was rather surprised to find the table almost surrounded, and supper already well started. Tom, who was apparently master of the ceremonies, jumped up and said, "Hello--here you are at last! the governor froze on to you. Captain Mallender, this is Tara, my youngest sister,"--the girl he had encountered in the cemetery--"and this is Jessie," indicating a thin plain young woman, with high cheek bones, and a bright pink blouse, actively engaged in carving a piece of cold beef. Jessie nodded, and beamed--she had her mother's smile. "Let me introduce Captain Beaufort," continued Tom waving his hand towards an enormously stout, bullet-headed man, with a massive red face, and heavy grey moustache. Captain Beaufort gave the visitor a martial look--rose, as it were at attention, shuffled his feet, and muttered a greeting.

"Miss Blanche and Miss Lily Beaufort," resumed Tom, glancing at two pretty tittering girls, with dusky complexions, elaborate white blouses, and coral necklaces and earrings.

"Now we are all acquainted, what will you have?" enquired Jessie. "Cold hump, curried fowl, or stuffed tomatoes?"

"Try the cold hump, Captain," urged Beaufort,--Beaufort was thoroughly, and aggressively, at home--"and this mango chutney is not to be sneezed at, I can tell you! and the beer is A1."

The board was spread with an ample repast, and decorated with vases of zinnias and marigolds. Miss Tara was officiating with an old French coffee-pot of the time of Louis XV., that would have brought tears of envy to the eyes of Fanny Tallboys. In fact, the appointments and surroundings were a curious and remarkable mixture; here, were rat-tailed spoons, Charles the First sugar bowls, superb candelabra, holding cheap candles (twelve to the pound), a coarse mission table-cloth, and bazaar crockery. The aristocratic side-board, and a book-case, were undoubtedly of the days of Count Lally, and seemed to shrivel up, and hold themselves aloof from the coarse "maistrey" furniture, and jail carpets,--their associates.

The company was also strangely assorted. The two Beaufort girls with the black tresses, and lovely liquid eyes, had unquestionably "four annas in the rupee." Their parent was a rough-hewn ranker. Mrs. Beamish, Jessie and Tom were a kindly commonplace trio, of the lower middle class, and Tara, who did not bear even the faintest resemblance to her relations, was of a totally different type and race, evidently a "throw back" to some of the General's ancestors. She carried her slight figure with grace, her small stag-like head was set on a long neck, her little proud face was illuminated by a pair of dark granite-grey eyes; she had beautiful taper hands,--whilst those of Jessie looked as if her fingers had been cut off at the second joint.

"I think we met this morning," said the guest, addressing her, as she paused from her labours.

"Oh, yes, in the cemetery. I go there every other day to put flowers on the graves of Daddy's friends. At first, I thought _you_ were one of them--one of the young men who had come back to look for something."

"You startled me too, I must confess. I understood Wellunga was entirely deserted."

"Not at all, Captain, not at all!" broke in Beaufort, speaking with his mouth full. "We are quite a nice little family party here; besides the General,--who is our Commander-in-Chief, and his good lady, and belongings; there is myself, and my girls, and my subordinate Perez. Then we have a Police Officer, who comes and goes, a very smart good sort of fellow."

"Indeed," exclaimed Mallender, who was evidently expected to say something.

"Oh, yes, and a Chaplain two or three times in the cold weather; I read the Service on Sunday, since the General resigned, and an inspecting Engineer, my boss, not much of a chap, in _my_ humble opinion; all for new jims and ways and worrying his subordinates."

"Have you no doctor?" enquired the new-comer.

"No, but a first-rate native apothecary and dresser,--Dorosawny is as clever as they make them!"

"My mother is the doctor," put in Tom. "She's first-class, had a training in hospital, got diplomas, and all that sort of thing."

"What do you think of the place?" softly enquired Blanche, whose brown velvet eyes had never been removed from the stranger.

"He has not seen it yet!" rejoined Mrs. Beamish, who had just bustled in, found a seat, and was being pressed to partake of her own good things by Captain Beaufort, "and I'm afraid there is very little to see."

"I hear you take photographs," said Tara. "I do wish, you would do my horse Rustum, he is such a beauty."

"The General got him down from Bombay," announced Captain Beaufort, "a Damascus Arab, out of Abdul Rayman's stables. They wanted him for racing, and so I need not tell you his price was pretty _stiff_!"

"Tara is crazy about him," supplemented her sister. "As for me, I do not ride."

"Only your hobby, buff cochins!" put in her brother.

"Now do be quiet, Tom; you are too silly!"

"The General has a stable full of splendid animals," continued Beaufort, who evidently desired to impress the visitor. "He was a fine rider once, so was _I_," and he gave a laugh that shook not only his whole frame--but also the table. "Who'd think it!"

"You come from Madras, I believe?" murmured Blanche; who was irresistibly fascinated by this stranger, who had dropped into their circle, as from the skies.

"Yes, I arrived yesterday evening."

"Everyone is still in the Hills," observed Tara. "I know Ooty well, I was at school there for seven years."

"Oo-ah, yes, and so accomplished," volunteered Blanche, with effusion. "Tara can do lovelee lace work, and play the piano, and sing--oh, soa beautifullee!"

"There, that will do, Blanche," interrupted Tara, impatiently. To Mallender, "I'm not really accomplished, not like the girls at home."

"At home!" echoed Blanche the irrepressible, "that, of course, is another thing, oh, my! how I do long to go home!"

"You'd hate it," declared the youngest Miss Beamish, with startling abruptness, and poor Blanche was once more chastened and crushed. Her father, who had finished an excellent and hearty meal, now broke in.

"You must see our great bazaar and native city, Captain, down by the river; if the cantonment is dead, the bazaar is alive and kicking, that I can tell you; it's chock full of money and rich natives. There is one chap called Rakar, who is rolling in rupees and gold mohurs. He has grand nautches--I've seen them," and he winked expressively, "the best girls from Travancore; and he keeps fighting cocks, and fighting partridges, and all sorts of horses. One of them is a holy terror; he got him from some big Rajah, a sort of processional brute, seventeen hands high, a splendid animal to look at, but a man eater, he has killed half a dozen--at least, so I'm told."

"The native city is tremendously old," broke in Tom, anxious to contribute information. "People give it fifteen hundred years, it's said to be full of _loot_. I've seen some wonderful coins and jewels myself. It was right in the middle of lots of fighting, and grew rich on plunder--of course no Europeans live there."

"I can't say I'm surprised at that," remarked Mallender, dryly.

"But there were plenty here once," said Jessie. "Two or three regiments; first there was a mutiny, then cholera, after that the county became settled, and all the soldiers went away."

"I like Wellunga," announced Tara; "I was born here; but I must admit that it is an outlandish place."

"We have queer stories about the big battles around," added her brother. "There was a heap of fighting all over this country, and the natives say, it is full of hidden treasure--guarded by devils."

"Yes," agreed Beaufort, "there is the grave of an English officer about twenty miles out, with the date 1809; I've seen it. He is worshipped as a demon, and natives bring him brandy and cheroots."

"That is true," corroborated Tara. "I sometimes ride that way, but I think they only offer arrack, and bazaar tobacco _now_."

"And I can tell you something," added Blanche, with wide-open eyes (Blanche who was extremely superstitious). "It is said, that in some directions, at sundown, or by moonlight, you can see great big camps, with men, and horses, and elephants, and standards, and hear shouts and bugles, and drums," and as she concluded, she gazed at Mallender, and shuddered affectedly.

"I've heard the drums!" was Tara's unexpected remark.

"Tara child, what nonsense you are telling," protested her mother, "you make me quite ashamed."

"No, no Mummy, no fear of that, you will never be ashamed of _me_," and she patted her arm affectionately. "Now shall we go into the next room and play bridge--we can have two tables to-night, no cut-throat!"

"Oh, all right, that will be so nice," agreed the Beaufort girls, in a breath, rising precipitately; but alas, their expectations were speedily extinguished.

"Let me see how we will play?" said Tara, looking about her. "Captain Mallender, Captain Beaufort, Jessie and I, and you two girls may have Tom and mother," and so it fell out! It was evident by many little signs and tokens, that the youngest Miss Beamish dominated the company, and was the lawgiver in her own household. They all seemed devoted to the girl, and so naïvely proud of her grace and beauty.

Two card tables were quickly arranged, and as they sat down and cut for partners, Tara announced:

"We play four annas a hundred, we used to play only for love--but love is _so_ stupid!"

"Tar, I'm surprised at you! Is that your opinion?" shouted her brother, who had overheard this speech.

"Now, Tom," said she, blushing deeply, "do not mind us--please attend to your company, or--I will talk to you about Miss _M_."

This threat had the immediate effect of silencing Tom, who sat upon his hands,--a trick of his, and looked excessively sheepish and out of countenance.

Tara's command might well have been addressed to the Misses Beaufort, whose eyes were fixed on the young lady and her partner, with long looks of unrestrained interest, and low be it spoken--envy.

Bridge, at Wellunga, was played with impressive gravity, and not a little ignorance; here, there was no joking, no scolding, no glances of interrogative dismay. The only thing that upset the composure of the players was, when an enormous black, able-bodied insect, came booming in from outside, and endeavoured to dash itself against the candle shades.

"If my ayah were here," screamed Blanche, whose attention was almost entirely given to this quartette, "she would say that was the spirit of one who had lived in this bungalow long ago----"

"I'm glad to say your ayah is _not_ here!" retorted Tara, turning her head, and speaking with indignation, "_we_ don't entertain the sweeper caste!" and poor Blanche was once more temporarily quenched.

At the end of an hour, Tara and Geoffrey rose, the losers of one rupee. The beautiful and imperious Tara was distinctly ruffled; she liked and always expected to be victorious, and first.

"Here, Jessie," she said to her sister, with a lofty air, "I give you the price of two fine fowls. Well, you must make the most of your gambling time, for when you are married to Samuel, you won't even _see_ a card!"

"Tara, you wild girl!" protested Jessie, now a brick-dust colour, "how can you say such foolish things? You know, I shall go my own way, as to games."

"But it's true; your only cards will be collecting cards--you will see."

Mrs. Beamish now interposed her pleasant personality, saying:

"Tara, what a tease you are!" Then to Mallender, "She was always so, since she was a baby. She gets all her fun out of other people. Remember we expect you over to-morrow--as early as ever you please."

The party was breaking up, the Misses Beaufort and Tom were laughing and scuffling about their wraps, and eventually Mallender and Tom escorted the ladies home. This attention appeared to be a fixed custom--as was also the bi-weekly supper and bridge.

Mallender and Captain Beaufort paired off together, despite the bold manœuvres of the Captain's daughters, and indeed it was outrageously selfish of him, to appropriate the company of the interesting new-comer! Between Papa and Tara, these unfortunate damsels had no opportunities of improving their acquaintance with the handsome stranger.

As the two men walked ahead, Beaufort said, in a bluff off-hand way:

"Of course, I'm not a 'pucka' Captain; they just give me the rank here. I was a military man--now I'm in civil employ. Since the old General has failed, _I_ take things in hand a bit. What was your regiment?"

"The Warlock Hussars."

"Oh, indeed," slightly abashed. "I never came across them. Well, if you are making any stay, I hope I and my girls will see a _lot_ of you. A new face up here does us _all_ good."

When they had arrived at their domain, once the Chaplain's Quarters, the Misses Beaufort--their father making a spacious background--overwhelmed the recent arrival with a loud and simultaneous invitation "to tea, pot luck--or tennis, whatever he pleased," to which he returned a polite, but indefinite reply. Such was the clamour and urgency of talk, that it was some time before he and Tom were able to effect their departure, and as they turned towards the Dâk Bungalow, Tom said:

"Those two are a topping good sort, and stand any amount of chaff. The most kind-hearted girls in India; they can dance and play tennis, and make scrumptious native sweets and curries. Captain Beaufort has to do with the Roads, his wife is never on show, I fancy she is a bit too dark--these people get darker as they age. It's awfully rough on them, I must say!"

"Have your sisters no other companions?" enquired Mallender.

"Not in Wellunga, but lots in the Hills. I may as well tell you, they won't be here long. Jessie is engaged to a missionary in Tinnevelly, and Tara is going to marry a young planter--a friend of my own. As the baby of the family, she may strike a stranger as a little bit spoiled--but she's as good as gold, and as good as she looks."

"She is uncommonly handsome, if you do not mind my saying so."

"No, why shouldn't you? Sometimes she carries on like a great lady, and has uncommonly high notions, I can tell you! and where she _gets_ them, beats me."

This remark brought them to the Dâk Bungalow, where a yawning Anthony awaited his master, and as his master took leave of Tom Beamish, he said:

"Can you help me to get a trap and ponies, that will take me back to the railway?"

"To be sure I can," he replied, "but not yet. You must stop with us for a little, and talk to the General; you brighten him up, and give him such pleasure,--and he has so little pleasure in life now, poor old boy. After a bit, I'll lay a dâk for you, and drive you the sixty miles myself--yes, and with the General's best horses. Come now, don't say no, see you to-morrow!" and before Mallender could argue or reply, he received a heavy thump on the back,--suggestive of ease and intimacy, and Tom Beamish was gone.