Produced by sp1nd, Mary Meehan and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)
A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE
A TALE OF ANGLO-INDIAN LIFE
BY MRS. MILNE RAE
_Author of "Bride Lorraine," "Morag: A Tale of Highland Life," etc._
HODDER AND STOUGHTON LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE
CHAPTER I.
The early dawn had given place to the golden sunlight of the Indianmorning, but there was still ample shade within certain nooks in thecompound of a pleasant-looking two-storied house in one of the leafyroads of Madras. Under an old banyan tree, with its tent-like stemsturned downwards and its dense canopy of green overhead, stood a daintybreakfast table. Early tea was over. One bamboo chair had already beenvacated by its occupant; in the other, sat a young English lady.
Only two months previously Hester Rayner had left home a bride. "She ishappy, I think," was always the remark, accompanied by a sigh, made byher anxious mother, as she passed the closely written pages of thelatest letter across the rectory breakfast table to her husband.
The young wife's letters gave no untrue expression of her state offeeling, yet there were times when the dream-like sensation whichpervaded her outlook on the new surroundings disturbed her. The spell ofthe East was strong; the tropical life, the vivid colouring, thebrown-skinned multitudes, the waving palms, all seemed to belong to abright pageant in which she was only a passing spectator. And now, withthe simple sense of duty which had marked the only daughter of thePinkthorpe Rectory, she was asking herself whether it was right to yieldso entirely to the wooing of the magic present. Even her weekly journalfrom home seemed to deepen the glamour; all in that dear distant homewas transfigured by its glow; never had the tender affection of fatherand mother felt so precious, and who would have believed that the coupleof schoolboy brothers would prove so much more demonstrative in theirfirst letters than in the days when she had painted their wickets, madesails for their boats, and was their willing helper in all schoolpreparations? And again the unexpected was on its way.
It came in the form of a letter which a white-robed peon now handed toher. It was the first she had received from her brother Charlie, now atOxford, and so notably a poor correspondent that the sight of hishandwriting awoke keen expectation.
She was not long in finding its outstanding piece of news. The fair,uncovered head was at once recklessly exposed to the strengtheningsun-rays as she hurried towards the house, though an instant object ofsolicitude to the vigilant domestic. But the lithe figure flew birdlikeacross the brown turf, and reached the safe shade of the verandah beforethe white-covered umbrella was brought to the rescue.
"Alfred, where are you?" called the gleeful voice, as she hurried in atone of the many doors which led from the verandah to the house. The roomshe entered was already carefully darkened, having its heavy green_persiennes_ closed against the solar rays, though a chink of lightserved to reveal the occupant at the writing-table, who raised his eyesfrom the blue papers scattered before him. There was a gravity andplacidity about his movements which suggested his being older than hisyears. His figure, though slender, was firmly knit. His fine-grainedskin and whole appearance gave evidence of careful culture of the body,though the long thin hands, which were resting on his papers, were thoseof a man of the desk rather than a devotee of the polo or cricket field.
"News, Alfred, delightful news! Actually a letter from Charlie to tellus that Mark Cheveril, his great friend, is on his way to Madras!"
"Cheveril! Why, that name is surely familiar! Yes, he was Mark too. Hewas one of the smaller boys when I was at Hacket's."
Suddenly Mr. Alfred Rayner's delicately-pencilled eyebrows contracted toa frown. "But, I say, Hester, he's a half-caste, actually used to boastin the most shameless manner that his mother was an Indian. Littlefool!"
"Yes, his father was a lieutenant in the Indian Army, and married anIndian princess. Wasn't it romantic? It must be from his mother he gothis good looks, he is so dark and handsome."
"But, Hester, what an arrant fool the man must be to set foot in Indiaagain--half-caste as he is!"
"Why, it's been the dream of Mark Cheveril's life to go back to hisnative land. Father always said he particularly admired that trait inhim."
"Just like one of your father's unworldly notions! Let me tell you theydon't work east of Suez. I'm afraid, for instance, that it will bedifficult for us to have anything to do with him."
Mr. Rayner tapped his papers thoughtfully with his thin hand.
"Anything to do with him," echoed Hester, her deep grey eyes dilating."But Mark Cheveril is Charlie's greatest friend. Listen to what hesays." She turned to the letter and read: "'I've just been thinking howdelightful it will be for you to see Cheveril out there. Tell Rayner Itook advantage of his _carte blanche_ to invite him to stay with you,assuring him that he would be welcome, as I remembered how Raynerexpatiated on the hospitality of Anglo-Indians----'"
"Didn't think I was to be asked to extend that hospitality tohalf-castes," muttered Mr. Rayner, bending over his writing table with asulky air.
There was a perplexed look in his wife's eyes as she glanced at him.She had not seen that expression on her husband's face before.
"And what is this noble Eurasian going to do here does your brother say?Is he going to look out for a job?"
"Oh, no, he's got work in a good service, though I don't suppose it's sogood as being a barrister like you," said Hester slowly, the gladness ofher news tempered by her husband's more than chilly attitude. "I'mreally awfully ignorant about Indian things, you see; I must coachmyself up or I shall remain a 'griffin,' I fear. Charlie writes----"Again Hester turned to her letter, but this time with a little sigh."... 'Cheveril passed the Indian Civil a year ago, as you will remember;he has since been at Oxford, and is now posted to Madras.'"
"The Indian Civil! Has the fellow really got into that?" exclaimed Mr.Rayner with undisguised astonishment. "I must have missed his name inthe lists. Well, surely he will have learnt by this time to keep thefact of his mixed blood dark. We must give him a hint to that effect. Itis silly and sentimental, to say the least of it. But seeing he's amongthe 'Covenanted Ones' he'll be worth curing of this mad freak." A smileplayed about Mr. Rayner's thin lips; then he added briskly, "Does yourbrother say what steamer he's coming by?"
"The _Bokhara_," replied Hester, her air of joyous expectation alreadyexchanged for a soberer one.
"Then he's due this very day," said her husband, starting up. "MarkCheveril may be here at any moment, Hester. I'll see if the steamer isin yet on my way to the High Court." He had evidently reconsidered hisdecision "not to know" the new arrival. "Wonder if I shall recognisehim. He was only a little chap in Etons when I knew him at Hacket's.What's he like now?"
"He's tall and has dark hair. He always looked such a contrast toCharlie, who is so fair," said Hester, with a reminiscent smile,recalling how often the two friends used to walk hatless on the emeraldlawn at home, the fair wavy hair and the dark head in close proximity.
"Yes, Charlie is too fair for a man. I love that blondeness in you,dear, but a slightly darker hue suits the masculine gender better,"returned Mr. Rayner, glancing at himself, with a self-conscious smile,in a mirror hanging on the white wall near his writing table.
In his own estimation, and it must be acknowledged, in the estimation ofothers also, he fulfilled all the requirements of good looks. His darkhair framed a beau
tiful aquiline face, though too cameo-like perhaps inits perfection. There was something unpleasant in his expression, an airof hauteur, a lack of frankness, which detracted from his undeniablyhandsome face.
It was, in fact, Alfred Rayner's perfectly chiselled features which,after a very brief wooing, had been the passport to the heart of theyoung daughter of Pinkthorpe Rectory. Hester and he had met at a largehouse-party--the girl's first appearance in society. She had lately leftschool, and was becoming pleasantly conscious that she was a free agent,no longer told to do this and that, but tacitly challenged to exercisepersonal choice. She was not exactly in love with the young barrister,but being on the verge of her life's awakening, a word, a look, a touch,was enough to rouse her. And when these forces were skilfully applied bythe wooer, aided by a good-natured hostess with the alleged femininelove of match-making, the result may be supposed. Though with the girlherself, the matter was no further advanced, even in her own account toher mother, than was consistent with saying frankly that she admired andliked the young stranger who had come into her simple days. Sweet homesecurity had wrapped her all her young life, and before her nowstretched the glamour of a happiness to come. Might it not be sweeterthan any she had ever known, whispered imaginings, indefinite but luringas the balmy air of those June days in which she gave her "promise true"to go with this man. That it was to go "over the hills and far away"added only to the fascination of the prospect.
Even the haste of the wooing had its charm for the young girl; forAlfred Rayner asked nothing less of the anxious parents than that theirprecious daughter should be given to him at once. His short furloughbeing almost expired, his urgent request was that they should be marriedwithout delay and make their honeymoon on their voyage to India.
For two years Mr. Alfred Rayner had been practising as a barrister inMadras, and was able to expatiate in glowing words on the many-sidedcharm of life for the dominant race in the tropical land. His young wifehad found as yet that those descriptions were, if anything, under themark. During those early days she used playfully to tax her gratifiedhusband that he had not conveyed to her half the charm of the brightEastern land whose spell had hitherto been unbroken. But as she stoodnow in that darkened room having told her joyful news, the shaft oflight which fell on his face revealed to her a little dark cloud in herheaven of blue. It was the first time she had felt that she and Alfredwere not entirely in unison. Nor was the recollection quite covered whenafter breakfast she watched him going down the broad, white, sunlitflight of steps from the verandah to enter his office-bandy, though hecalled to her, "I'll see if the _Bokhara_ is in and send you word."
After watching the white-covered carriage disappear along the avenueshaded by its casuarina trees, she retraced her steps slowly to herhusband's writing room. Its darkness seemed dense after the glare of theverandah. For a moment she stood oppressed by it, then with quickgestures hurried to throw open the heavy green shutters and let in thefierce sun-rays. She seated herself on her husband's chair, leaning onhis table, her cheek resting on her hand, her face shadowed by a senseof trouble. How cold had been the frown on Alfred's face as he had satthere! What a peevish reception he had given to her news, and what acomplete surprise to her was the source of his annoyance! That MarkCheveril, Charlie's best friend, who during his short visits toPinkthorpe Rectory had won golden opinions from all; that he, her owngood friend and comrade, should be viewed as a person of socialdisabilities was a revelation to her. It seemed a breach of goodfeeling, and disloyal to her home estimates, to entertain such an ideafor a moment. Nor was her husband's sudden change of front on hearingthat Charlie's friend was coming to enter the great service any moreexplicable to the carefully nurtured English girl. She must think itout!
A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life Page 1
