A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life

by Janet Milne Rae

  CHAPTER X.

  Mrs. Samptor, in her role of hostess, welcomed Mrs. Goldring withceremonious effusiveness, ignoring their parting a few minutespreviously. Every time the afternoon entertainment revolved to hercompound, Mrs. Samptor felt the delight and importance of the occasion,and certainly she spared no pains to make it pleasant. The fact of herbeing country born and bred, though it had not impaired her Britishenergy, had given her a mastery over the details of domestic life neverattained among the changing Anglo-Indian society. A notable housekeeper,she was well versed in all the tricks of native servants, and got betterservice from them than anyone else in the station, albeit she ruled themwith an iron rod. In bazaar dealing, gardening, pickle-making, and allhousewifery lore she was supreme. Being childless, her whole devotionwas given to her husband, a big, square-shouldered man with a handsome,good-natured face, who looked like a giant beside his tiny wife as hecame forward to greet the visitors.

  The only other guests as yet were the young engineer and his wife, andbeing recent comers, were patronised by the hostess. They sat obedientlyunder the safe shade of a spreading peepul tree on the lawn, where stoodthe tea-table, which was covered by a spotless linen cloth and groaningwith proofs of Mrs. Samptor's skill in the manufacture of cakes.

  The Judge at once linked his arm into the jailer's and began to strolldown a shady walk.

  "Talking shop, of course! Mrs. Goldring, you should really keep yourhusband in better order! What can a humble Superintendent of theDistrict Jail do when the Judge leads him into temptation?" said Mrs.Samptor banteringly.

  "Yes, the worst of it is, daddy promised to eat a lot of your cakes,"remarked Jane bluntly, while her mother groaned inwardly.

  "Did he now, dear? How sweet of the Judge! You just go after him, Jane,and pull his coat-tails and remind him of his promise. As for Harry, hewon't ever touch anything between tiffin and dinner. But when heeats--he eats!" said Mrs. Samptor, with pantomimic gestures.

  "And yet you tempt weaker men by your nice cakes," exclaimed the doctor,who had just arrived. "Is that quite moral?"

  "Strictly so, Dr. Campbell, since I happen to know that you haven'tbroken your fast since early breakfast!"

  "How came you to know, Mrs. Samptor? Was it one of the spirits said toinhabit peepul trees that whispered it? Really you are not canny!"

  Mrs. Goldring glanced more approvingly at the doctor than she generallydid. He was right, this divining little woman was not "canny."

  "Is my wife not here?" asked the doctor, glancing round.

  "She will be presently," answered the hostess. "I happened to send hersome quail Harry shot last night, and as I saw her driving townwards Iknow she went to share them with Noel Stenhouse, and to see how he is.No wonder he gets down with fever living among those horrid natives andslaving for the good of their souls as he does! You must have come fromyour hospital by the back way or you would have met her. Ah, there sheis! You'll be happy now, doctor!"

  Mrs. Samptor went forward to meet a sweet-faced lady who was crossingthe lawn. The doctor followed, and husband and wife exchanged greetingswhich showed that they were still lovers after years of marriage. Thesorrow which had visited them on the death of their two little childrenhad only served to draw them closer to each other.

  The little group still lingered in the vicinity of the tea-table, theliteral-minded Jane having brought her father back to partake of thenotable cakes. Presently Mrs. Samptor, with a pleased exclamation,sprang from her wicker chair.

  "Ah, here he is--the Collector has actually kept his promise for once!But who has he got with him? Oh, of course, the new Assistant! Dear me,what a handsome young man!" she murmured, and everybody glanced withinterest at the pair who came up the avenue, deep in talk.

  Mr. Felix Worsley, though such a familiar figure in the station, wasseldom seen to such advantage as at this moment.

  "If he would oftener look like that what a blessing it would be,"muttered Dr. Campbell, whose sharp eyes noted that the usually sombreface was lit up by a certain cheerful alertness; there seemed to be anew light in the dark, penetrating glance often half veiled by folds ofheavy eyelids. "What a handsome, personable man the Collector might beif he always held himself like that," further soliloquised the doctor,as he glanced at the well-proportioned figure and beautifully shapedhead showing a thick grizzly thatch as he bared it in response to Mrs.Samptor's greeting.

  "Oh, Alan, he does look nice," whispered Mrs. Campbell; whereupon thedoctor asked with a smile:

  "Which? I'm so taken up with the Collector's wakened-up appearance, I'veno eyes for the new-comer yet. Yes, but he does look a fine, straightyoung fellow," he added, glancing at Mark Cheveril with approving eyes.

  Presently introductions were effected all round, and Mark found himselfunder the peepul tree drinking tea and looking with keen interest at thenew faces which would soon become familiar to him.

  Mrs. Goldring, like the doctor, did not fail to note the Collector'sunusual air of accessibility, and decided to make hay when the sunshone. Afternoon tea being a beverage she knew he abhorred, she saw noreason why she should not draw him aside without delay and put him inpossession of the facts necessary for his guidance at this juncture."Duty obliges me to enlighten him! As Mrs. Samptor says, 'Who if not I?'What a mercy he happens to be in good humour! My task will be an easyone. Everybody knows that, gruff and ungracious as he often is, Mr.Worsley is a well-born English gentleman, and no doubt he will not brookthis latest insult of having a half-caste thrust upon him!"

  With these reflections, Mrs. Goldring, in her most sprightly manner,advanced towards the Collector.

  "Since you and I both hate croquet, which seems to be the order of theafternoon here, suppose we have a stroll, Mr. Worsley?"

  "Well, I don't object to a stroll. Gouty limbs don't take kindly to thissunset hour under a tree. But who said I loathed croquet?" asked theCollector sharply, his eye travelling towards the lawn where malletswere being chosen and all seemed in train for a social hour. "A mereassumption on your part, madam! On the contrary, I consider croquet anexcellent game and a great adjunct to sociability."

  "What a bear he is! His love of carping always comes to me like a slapon the face! But wait till he hears my piece of news. Well I know hehates natives and half-castes, and croquet into the bargain, but I'lllet him off with that for the moment," thought Mrs. Goldring, as sheprepared to play her trump card.

  Trailing her long rustling skirts across the grass while the Collectorsauntered at a safe distance, she led the way to the most sequesteredwalk in the compound. At first she only hazarded a few desultory remarksinterspersed with faint praise of her hostess's gardening powers, forthe little lady held the acknowledged palm in all floral mattersthroughout the station. But the Collector seemed to require some topicof keener interest to rouse him. How gratified she felt to think sheheld the trump card in her hand! Turning towards him, she said suddenly:"I'm really surprised to see the new Assistant such a decent-lookingyoung man!"

  "Decent! Your choice of such an adjective is hardly happy, madam," saidthe Collector, raising his bushy eyebrows. "Mr. Cheveril is a civilianlike your husband and myself."

  "Ah, but with a sad difference," cried Mrs. Goldring, clasping her handsdramatically. "I grieve to have to shock you, Mr. Worsley, but betternow than later. In fact I feel it is my bounden duty to unbosom myselfat once of this painful secret."

  "Bless my soul, what is it?" asked the Collector, pulling himself upwith a start.

  "Yes, I saw from your manner to him that you had not heard. Well, thepoor young man is actually a half-caste! Does not even deny it, I'mtold--speaks of his shame quite openly."

  "H'm, has he confided in you, madam?"

  "Now you know, Mr. Worsley, that is not possible, seeing I saw him forthe first time only five minutes ago. But, believe me, I have theinformation first hand----"

  "Would you believe it, madam, so have I? Would you be surprised to learnthat I heard it from the young man himself? I suppose I
must accept thatas 'first hand'; and I must further tell you he has rather scored in myeyes in making this avowal!"

  "What! Do you mean to say you are to be satisfied with a half-caste?"cried Mrs. Goldring, retreating a step, her face purple withindignation. "You are surely not going to expose us to such asituation. I reckoned, Collector, you had only to be told the fact tosee it to be your duty as head of this station to try at least andarrange a transference as soon as possible," she gasped, hoping thateven if no practicable step could be taken she could at least set theCollector against the young man.

  "You reckoned without your host, I fear, madam. You will require torearrange your views as to the acceptance of this new servant of theGovernment for Puranapore--that's all. I also am only a servant."

  "Pooh, as if you hadn't got young Printer spirited away quickly enoughbecause he didn't hit it off with you----"

  "That remark of yours, madam, implies a liberty to which I am unused,"said the Collector, drawing himself up with a haughty air. After amoment's silence he lifted his hat, and was about to move away when Mrs.Samptor came hurrying up.

  "Oh, Mr. Worsley, I've found you at last! Why ever did you take him tothe most forsaken part of the garden, Mrs. Goldring?--especially seeinghe comes so seldom; I'm always anxious to impress the Collectorfavourably----"

  "Which you succeed in doing," said Mr. Worsley, with a courtly bow,relieved that his _tete-a-tete_ was having such a definite interruption,for he was doubtful if he had attained his end in getting rid of theirate lady.

  "I've just come to ask you if you will take dinner with Samptor and meto-night, and bring that charming Mr. Cheveril with you. The Judge hasjust been saying what an acquisition he will be to our little circle,and I'm sure we're all of the same mind--now we've seen him," wound upthe audacious little lady, stealing a glance at Mrs. Goldring'sdiscomfited countenance.

  The Collector was inwardly much gratified that Mrs. Samptor should havebestowed on his new Assistant such a timely and hearty certificate inthe hearing of his detractor, but not even his sense of gratificationcould induce him to accept her proposal of dining out. He was too weddedto his own surroundings either in camp or bungalow to be persuaded toexchange them of an evening, but he softened his refusal by saying: "Mr.Cheveril will no doubt be delighted to be your guest one evening beforelong, meanwhile, till his luggage arrives, he has consented to be mine."

  "Oh, well, I shall wait till he takes possession of his own solitarybungalow, then I shall secure him! Oh dear, if that isn't a big goattrespassing among my precious crotons," and, tucking up her skirts, thelittle lady darted after the intruder.

  The Collector stood watching her with a comical smile on his face, whileMrs. Goldring gazed with sullen contempt on what she afterwardsdescribed as "Mrs. Samptor's vulgar antics."

  Not content with protecting the crotons, the agile lady was bent onchasing the trespasser from the compound, but the Indian black goat wasmore than a match for her. Scrambling up a tree, he clung there, lookingdown triumphantly; but the owner of the trampled crotons was not to beoutdone. Up she scrambled after him, though it was only on receivingsome stinging cuffs that the goat acknowledged himself beaten and madeoff.

  "Wonderful person that! When would you or I have energy to perform sucha feat, Mrs. Goldring?" said the Collector, shaking with laughter as hewent forward to proffer assistance. Mrs. Samptor, however, disclaimedhis help and alighted airily on the ground, making him an elegantcurtsey with outspread skirts.

  "Well done, Mrs. Samptor! My only regret is that your husband did notwitness the acrobatic performance. Mrs. Goldring and I were too small anaudience."

  The Judge's wife scorned the imputation of being one of the spectatorsof such a scene. In fact, she afterwards explained, she tried to shuther eyes during its progress. She moved off in majestic solitude, filledwith even more resentment against the little woman than she felt againstthe Collector for his scathing rebuke.

  Mrs. Samptor, meanwhile, was unconscious of treachery. Of the chameleontype, she had no scruples in changing her point of view when broughtface to face with the frank young civilian; moreover, his graciousacceptance of her hospitality had quite won her heart.

  "Let Mrs. Pate say what she likes, that boy is not an East Indian,Harry!" she whispered to her husband. "Anyhow, I'll not believe it! I'moff to warn Mrs. Goldring not to say a word about it to the Collector.She'll catch it if she does, if I'm not mistaken. I can see from thelook of his eyelids that he has taken a fancy to the young man already";and off she had bounded to the croton walk, to perceive, however, thatshe had come too late. "The fat was in the fire," she narrated to herhusband that evening as they sat in the verandah after dinner. "Icouldn't help the woman mismanaging him, could I now, Harry? If she'dhad eyes in her head she could have seen the Collector was as pleasedwith the boy as a child with its latest toy. It really wasn't my faultif she brought down his wrath upon herself, was it now?"

  The jailer was too deep in his after dinner nap to make any response,but Mrs. Samptor was used to forego responses, and frequently countedthem as spoken when the only reply was a snore.