CHAPTER II.
HER SIDE OF THE CASE.
"I feared so much that you might consider me intrusive," said MrsJardine.
"On the contrary, I consider you most kind," replied Lady Cinnamond.She sat very erect, a beautiful woman still, with her dark eyes andwhite hair. Mrs Jardine was not an imaginative person, but theoutlines of the Cinnamonds' family history had reached her, and herthoughts wandered involuntarily to the storming of Badajoz and thebeautiful Spanish girl who had sought refuge in the British camp, andshe found excuse for that infatuation on Sir Arthur Cinnamond's partwhich she had denounced bitterly when she first heard that "the newGeneral's" wife was a foreigner. Not that she felt as yet quite at herease with Lady Cinnamond. There was something that seemed to baffleher, a kind of regal willingness to hear all she had to say withcourtesy, but with no promise to follow her advice.
"You see, dear Lady Cinnamond," she went on, "how I am placed. As thechaplain's wife one has a real duty--one can't doubt it, can one?--topromote peace, and one is so sorry to see what dear Colonel Antonycalls his noble band of brothers disturbed by strife. And youbeing--may I say it?--a stranger here, and your sweet girl so young----"
"I have other daughters, and they have not been entirely withoutlovers." There was a slight quiver of amusement about the lips of theGeneral's wife.
"Oh, dear Lady Cinnamond, how could you imagine that I would suggestsuch a thing? We all know how well you have married your girls, downto dear Mrs Cowper herself. And of course, if you are satisfied, Ihave _nothing_ more to say. Only it seemed that as a true friend, if Imay say so----"
"Indeed I should be very grieved if you might not. But perhaps I oughtto tell you that Sir Arthur and I have a great idea of leaving youngpeople to settle their own affairs as much as possible. It has alwaysanswered well hitherto, but Honour is, as you say, very young, and shehas been brought up differently from the rest----"
"Yes?" said Mrs Jardine, with such breathless interest that her hostesshad not the heart to baulk her curiosity.
"We were living at Boulogne before my husband was sent to the Cape,"she said, choosing her words with care--"for the advantages ofeducation, of course, and--well, dear Mrs Jardine, you know whathalf-pay means as well as I do, and I need not apologize, need I? Twoelderly cousins of Sir Arthur's happened to pass through, and we wereable to offer them hospitality when the packet was prevented crossingby a storm. They took the greatest fancy to little Honour, and wishedto adopt her, but we refused. Then came the Cape appointment--to theEastern Province, where the climate is so dangerous to young childrenborn elsewhere, and they renewed their offer. And we consented to letthem have Honour until she was seventeen. They were most kind to her,I am sure."
"Yes?" breathed Mrs Jardine softly again.
"Really, there is little more to say. Naturally your child becomessomething of a stranger when you do not see her for fifteen years. Butpray don't imagine that I blame the Miss Cinnamonds. Honour has beenwell educated, and taught to be a companion to her elders--rather toomuch so, perhaps. She has visited the poor, and taught a class in thevillage school, and practised all the good works which Sir Arthur saysare new in England since his day, and I believe her aunts hoped to seeher married to the curate. But unfortunately he went over to Rome."
"How truly terrible!" cried Mrs Jardine, then stopped in pitiableconfusion, remembering that the lady before her had been almostcertainly born and bred a Roman Catholic, though she now attended thetomb-church Sunday by Sunday with Sir Arthur, and betrayed far lessimpatience than he did when Mr Jardine's discourses exceeded theregulation length.
"It might have been much worse," said Lady Cinnamond innocently. "Icannot discover that Honour's heart was at all touched. But as you mayimagine, her aunts were much distressed, and it was almost a relief tothem to send her out to us as soon as an escort could be found."
"Yes?" said Mrs Jardine for the third time, but as it was evident nofurther information was forthcoming, she covered her disappointmentwith a little gush of friendly interest. "And do tell me, dear LadyCinnamond, what is the dear girl's real name? As I said to Mr Jardineonly two days ago, 'You may take my word for it, Samuel, Miss Cinnamondwas baptized Honora or Honoria. Honour is merely a sweet little familyname.'"
"I suppose it may sound foolish to strangers," said Lady Cinnamond,with a calmness that suggested she did not care whether it did or not."It was a kind of joke of Sir Arthur's. I was playing with her one daywhen she was a baby, and calling her in Spanish the dearest thing inthe world, and he pounced on me at once. 'I thought honour was thedearest thing in the world?' he said--I had told him so longbefore--and after that he would not hear of calling the baby anythingbut Honour."
She paused--with a definiteness which suggested that Mrs Jardine's callhad lasted long enough, but the visitor was by this time aware that shehad been guided dexterously away from her main object, and wasdetermined to repair the omission.
"Then you are satisfied that nothing dreadful will occur at the ballto-night, dear Lady Cinnamond?" she asked anxiously. "Young men are souncontrolled nowadays, you know, and Mr Charteris, I believe, isextremely passionate. I have heard that he makes use of the mostfrightful language to his servants----"
The slightest possible gesture from the great lady stopped her.
"I have no fear whatever that either my daughter or any gentleman whomay be among the guests will transgress the laws of propriety," saidLady Cinnamond icily.
"Oh, I am so glad you think all will be well. I may tell my husbandso? He was so troubled about it, and I ventured to take the liberty ofcalling upon you, just that I might relieve his mind. You _must_ knowbest, of course."
"But what course were you intending to propose?" asked the hostess,with natural curiosity.
Mrs Jardine looked, as she felt, confused. "Oh, well," she murmured,"if Miss Cinnamond had remained away this evening----?"
"But would not that have been a little marked? I think we have allbeen making too much of a rather foolish affair, Mrs Jardine. Afterall, now that Honour has refused both of the young men, there is noreason----"
"Refused them both?" cried the visitor incredulously.
"Of course. I thought you would have been sure to know," said LadyCinnamond sweetly. She rose as she spoke, and Mrs Jardine found itwell to take her leave. Her hostess watched her depart, with a ratherworried little smile, and then passed along the verandah to thedressing-room where her two daughters were arranging their dresses forthe evening. Marian, the elder, had married her father's aide-de-campsoon after the move to Ranjitgarh, and the return from the honeymoonwas the occasion for the ball to be given by the army in their honour.Vivid scarlet geraniums were to loop up Mrs Cowper's pale amberdraperies, blush-roses to nestle in the airy folds of Honour's whitetarlatan, and the bride claimed her mother's attention at once.
"Dear Mamma, I want your opinion. You have such excellent taste.Where ought this spray to go? Honour says _here_, and I say _here_,"illustrating each position with the aid of a pin.
"Here," said Lady Cinnamond without hesitation, indicating a thirdplace, and both girls cried out in admiration. That was just right.They knew it went awkwardly before, but they could not quite see whereit should be. Their mother threw herself into their occupation,altering a fold here and pulling out a puff there, apparently engrossedin what she was doing, but conscious, through all Marian'slight-hearted chatter, of the shade on Honour's brow. Her heart achedto see it, but she would not force the girl's confidence. There wasnot between her and her youngest-born the sympathy which had made thoseother handsome, capable daughters, whose married homes were landmarksof the wanderings of Sir Arthur and his wife, regard their motheralmost in the light of an elder sister--only fifteen years older,indeed, than Charlotte, the eldest--and bring their joys and sorrowsnaturally to her. Honour was disappointed in her parents, her motherfelt; it might almost be said that she disapproved of them, and thoughthe feeling was not new to Lady Cinnamon
d in her own case, since shewas obliged in every new station to live down the disadvantage of beinga foreigner, it raised in her a tumult of indignation that any one, andmost of all his own daughter, should presume to disapprove of SirArthur. But Honour was very young, and even if time did not soften herviews, closer acquaintance must.
"Come to my room when you are dressed, Honour, and I will lend you mypearl necklace," said Lady Cinnamond, laying her hand on the girl'sshoulder. Honour's response was drowned in the noise of horse-hoofsand clanking that announced an arrival in front of the bungalow.
"Dear Papa and Charles returned already!" cried Mrs Cowper, peeringthrough the Venetians. "Fly, Mamma! Charley, Charley, come and seewhether you approve of my gown!"
Lady Cinnamond fled, in answer to the sonorous shout of "Rosa! Rosita!Sita!" which pealed through the house, and Captain Cowper entered fromthe verandah.
"Stunning!" he breathed fervently. "Horrid shame to waste it all on ahandful of politicals up in No Man's Land instead of exhibiting it atGovernment House. You wear this fallal on your head, I suppose?"
"Oh, Charley, you careless fellow!" Mrs Cowper rescued the broad stripof lace with indignation. "My beautiful berthe! It goes on thebodice--_so_, don't you know? On my head, indeed!"
"But it would look ravishing wherever you wore it," averred herhusband, dodging the geranium-spray she threw at him, and therefollowed a brisk engagement with the flowers left in the box, to whichHonour listened with some secret contempt but considerable interest, asshe sewed on her roses where her mother had pinned them. Honour waslearning lessons which ran counter to every maxim that had influencedher hitherto, and baffled all her efforts to reconstruct her vanishedworld. Those were the days when phrenology was considered anindispensable aid to instructors of youth, and a professor of thescience had duly felt Honour's bumps, and recorded, for the guidance ofher cousins, his mature opinion that, "though this young lady will notfind it easy to apply herself to fresh subjects of study, yet she willnever lose what she has once mastered." But in this case the masteringwas the difficulty. To her, life had hitherto meant a round ofrecurring duties, to be performed conscientiously as they came, andlove a blinding illumination revealing to a humble worshipper the formof a hero and a saint, but ending preferably in renunciation--ifvoluntary and wholly unnecessary so much the nobler and better. Tothink of love in connection with an ordinary, average man was somethingvery like sacrilege, and poor Honour fairly shuddered when Mrs Jardine,who bore her a grudge for unsettling Mr Jardine's mind with the newviews she had brought from home, broke to her the horrible fact thatshe had made two ordinary young men fall in love with her. It was of apiece with the disturbing discovery that whereas she had come out, asshe understood, to soothe the declining years of her aged parents,those parents, though grey-haired, were disconcertingly hale andhearty, and asked only that she would be happy and make herselfagreeable--two tasks of which Honour found the first impossible, andthe second extremely difficult.
Her daughters took a very secondary place in Lady Cinnamond's mind whenher husband was in question, and it was seldom that Sir Arthur had tocomplain of his wife's not being present to receive him when hereturned from his duties. She ran into his snuggery now like a girl,and broke into the liquid Spanish which formed such an effectivedefence against the ears of aides-de-camp or English-speaking servants.
"You are tired, my Arturo. The sitting has been very long. Were theDurbar open to reason?"
"My dearest, they have no thought but to procrastinate and obstructbusiness, and our excellent Colonel indulges them far too tenderly.Every form of ceremony must be observed, and all the long-drawncompliments duly inserted, until a whole morning is wasted over onesmall matter."
"And my poor Arturo must sit and listen to it?"
"For his sins he must." Sir Arthur smiled whimsically at his wife."Judge for yourself how contentedly he did it to-day, my sweet one.The Durbar knew that the home mail had come in, and scented a gloriousopportunity. Every man had to be satisfied of the health of herMajesty, Prince Albert, all the little princes and princesses, the Dukeof Wellington, and the Chairman of the Court of Directors. When thememory or ingenuity of one failed, his neighbour took up the tale.Then some genius remembered a precious piece of _gup_, and asked withall solemnity whether it was true that a new Governor-General had beenappointed, which led to a canvass of the merits of all possiblecandidates. There sits poor Antony with agony in his eyes, seeing histime wasted to no purpose, and all the business left undone, while hecan't bring himself to check the Sirdars in their loquacity. I sawJames Antony fuming behind him. Rose of my heart, your Arthur will beindiscreet enough to confide to you a profound secret. If the Residentgoes up to the hills, and his brother takes his place, the Sirdars willbe taught the meaning of despatch."
"So much the better for the conduct of business, then. But they willnot love him as they do the Colonel."
Sir Arthur laughed. "I fancy James can dispense with their affectionif he secures their obedience. The Colonel desired his compliments toyou, my love, and begged that you would not consider his absence thisevening in any way a slight, since his principles demand it of him.The furbelows all ready, eh?"
"Nearly. But, Arturo, I have been entertaining Mrs Jardine the greaterpart of the morning."
"Some nice new piece of scandal, eh? What was the 'real duty' thatbrought her out in the heat?"
"An earnest desire to promote peace. She thought it might be better ifHonour did not appear to-night. No, my Arturo,"--as Sir Arthur movedexplosively,--"it was a warning given out of pure kindness to me, aforeigner. I told her what had happened, and she went away, I trust,satisfied. She thought me cold, I fear, for I restrained both voiceand words."
"Better, much better. But that a woman of that kind should have it inher power to---- That Honour should contrive to get herself talkedabout!"
"She is so young, Arturo; she did not understand. And it was not allher fault."
"Which means that it was her father's. Well, but how was I to knowthat a daughter of yours and mine would turn out a fool? When sheoverwhelms me with a cool proposal to set up schools and I don't knowwhat for the European women and children, what could I do but tell herit was the chaplain's business? You won't say that I ought to haveencouraged her? Think of all the unpleasantness it would have causedin the regiments! And surely it was only natural to turn aside thematter by pointing out a sphere where her efforts would be moreacceptable? Why, if I had said such a thing to Charlotte, or Eliza, orMarian, they would have blushed prettily and said, 'Oh, Papa!' andMarian might have giggled, but would any of them ever have thought ofactually carrying it out?"
For this was the unfortunate result of Sir Arthur's ill-timedjocularity in advising his daughter to turn her enthusiasm for humanityto account in reforming some of Colonel Antony's assistants, instancingGerrard and Charteris as standing in special need of her services.Young ladies were scarce, Honour was handsome and had inherited a touchof her mother's dignity, and when she unbent and displayed a flatteringinterest in the moral and spiritual welfare of each young man, themischief was done.
"And then, to improve matters, she refuses both of them!" went on SirArthur despairingly. "What does she want? No one seems to please her."
"If we were in Spain, it would be very simple," mused Lady Cinnamond."She would go into religion."
Sir Arthur bristled up at once. "What, ma'am! a convent for mydaughter? I'd have you remember----"
His wife laughed, and patted his hand. "Calm yourself, my Arturo. Nowell-regulated convent would keep a daughter of yours within its wallsfor a day, nor would she care to stay there. Even Honour's romancewould not survive the actual experience. But since we are not inSpain, we cannot hope to cure her fancies so quickly. Still----"
"Aye, romance--all romance!" growled Sir Arthur. "For your sake andmine, my dear, I trust it may wear off soon, but I doubt it. What hopeis there of a girl who wears King Charles the First's
hair in a locket?"
Sir Arthur's pessimism did not keep him from paying Honour a fatherlycompliment on her appearance that evening--a compliment accompanied,however, as the jam by the powder, with the reminder that she might bethankful if she ever arrived within measurable distance of her motherin looks. Lady Cinnamond, in pink satin, with a black lace shawldepending from a high jewelled comb at the back of her head in a mannerreminiscent of the mantilla of her youth, laughed at the assurance, andhurried her party out to the elephant which was in waiting. The bridalpair were inclined to be pensive, privately lamenting the waste of awhole evening in public which might have been spent in a sweet_solitude a deux_ on the verandah. Ostensibly out of consideration forthe ladies' dresses, Captain Cowper had suggested that he and his wifeshould follow on a second elephant, but this was vetoed by hisfather-in-law, who declared that they would, in pure absence of mind,go for a moonlight ride through the city, and never arrive at the ball.Thus, with jests and counter-jests, they reached the great _shamiana_,erected for the occasion, and were swallowed up in an overwhelmingflood of scarlet and dark blue uniforms. When Honour took off herwrap, her mother observed with vexation that they had both forgottenthe pearl necklace, but it did not occur to her that the girl's absenceof mind was due to the fact that she was nerving herself to a desperatedeed.
With the laudable idea of discouraging gossip by behaving as if nothingunpleasant had happened, Gerrard secured a dance, and sheer pity forhis embarrassed partner impelled him to make conversation while theywaited for the music to begin. Colonel Antony disapproved of dancing,especially in India, on account of the effect on the natives, but hisbrother James had just passed them, with Marian Cowper, a radiantvision, on his arm, and Gerrard ventured a remark on the contrastbetween the stern-featured civilian and his partner. Receiving nothingbut an almost inaudible murmur of assent, he observed how well andhappy Mrs Cowper was looking.
"Oh yes. Of course, she likes India." The sigh which accompanied thewords told more than Honour had intended, and she went on hastily."She has a sort of natural connection with it, you know, for MrsHastings was her godmother."
"Mrs Hastings? Not----?"
"Yes, the widow of Warren Hastings. Doesn't it carry one back intohistory?" Honour had forgotten her embarrassment, for things of thiskind had a way of making links between Gerrard and herself.
"I should have thought it was impossible."
"Oh, she only died about ten years ago--yes, the year the Queen came tothe throne. So I am not making poor Marian out to be terribly old."
The minds of both were wandering back to Westminster Hall filled withserried rows of faces, with all eyes turned upon a small pale man inthe midst, when they were suddenly recalled to the present by theindignant approach of Bob Charteris.
"Pardon me--my dance, I think?" he said, glaring at Gerrard.
"No, excuse me--my dance," returned Gerrard, maintaining his position,and suspecting his friend unjustly of having supped early and too well.
"I really must appeal to Miss Cinnamond," said Charteris, with barelyveiled hostility. "You promised me this dance, didn't you?"
"I was under the impression that Miss Cinnamond had promised it to me,"said Gerrard, more sternly than he realised.
"Oh, please," stammered Honour, not at all in the dignified way inwhich the beautiful and stately ladies of her favourite German storieswere wont to intervene between knights contending for their favours--"Iam afraid I have behaved very badly again. I--I wanted to speak to youboth, and--and I did not know how to do it except by giving you thesame dance."
"We are only too much honoured," said Gerrard, with overwhelmingcourtesy. He was inwardly furious, but the girl looked ready to cry,and a burst of tears in public was above all things to be avoided inthe circumstances. "You find the tent too crowded? Let us look for aquieter place, then. If you could get hold of a shawl or something,Bob?"
Charteris obeyed, with exemplary outward meekness, and joined themimmediately in a smaller tent arranged as a card-room, but not yet putto its intended use. Disregarding Gerrard's movement, he put the shawlround Honour himself, and they stood waiting her pleasure in silence,while she gripped her fan so hard in both hands that it broke in two.She raised a crimson face at last.
"I wanted to speak to you together," she began again. "You both thinkI have treated you badly, but indeed I did not mean it. But that wasnot what I wished to say. I hear--some one--a friend--tells me thatyou are angry with one another on my account. It makes me so unhappy,and I don't see why----"
Her voice failed, and Charteris and Gerrard remained awkwardly silent,each intensely conscious of the extreme superfluity of the other'spresence. Alone, either might have made shift to say something, butwith his rival there, whatever was said would only make things worse.Looking up despairingly, Honour saw in their faces what made her cryout in terror.
"Oh, you wouldn't! you wouldn't! Don't make me feel that I have donesuch a dreadful thing! If you fought a duel about me I should die.There is no need. I will promise never to marry any one--ever. I willdo it willingly, gladly. Isn't that enough? What more can I do? Onlytell me, and don't do such a wicked, unchristian thing."
"For pity's sake, Hal--you have the gift of the gab," growled Charterisin Gerrard's ear, as she turned agonized eyes upon them.
"Play up to me, then," muttered Gerrard in response, and spoke aloudand cheerfully. "My dear Miss Cinnamond, pray don't distress yourself.My friend Charteris and I have no intention whatever of fighting aduel. There has been a--a temporary misunderstanding between us, butit is absolutely cleared up, I assure you."
"And as for the promise which you are good enough to offer to make, weshould regret it more than any one else, because, you see, we both hopeyou will marry one of us," said Charteris, almost with levity.
"I shall never marry any one," said Honour remorsefully. "I have donetoo much harm already."
"Harm? oh, nonsense!--if you'll forgive me for saying so," returnedCharteris. "It's done Gerrard and me a lot of good, hasn't it, my boy?(Why don't you back me up, surly?) We shall thank you for it yet--likeeels getting used to being skinned, you know----"
"On my honour, Miss Cinnamond," said Gerrard, fearing the heights ofmetaphor to which his friend's ardour might carry him, "we are bothquite prepared to abide by your decision for the present, but we thinkwe may fairly claim the right of trying to induce you to change it,after a proper interval----"
("Couldn't have put it better myself," said Charteris, with enthusiasm."Fire away, Hal.")
"But nothing is farther from our thoughts than to cause pain or anxietyto a lady whom we both admire and respect so highly," went on Gerrard,in his best manner. "We have made up our minds not to suffer ourfriendship to be broken by attempts to supplant each other secretly,and if at length one of us is so happy as to win your regard, the otherwill bow absolutely to your decision."
"Question!" said Charteris sharply, but at the sight of returninganxiety in Honour's eyes, he capitulated. "And if it would give youany pleasure to see us shake hands, Miss Cinnamond, the word is withyou."
"It would, indeed," she said, smiling gratefully--and they did it,Charteris with a wicked twinkle in his eye. Honour stood up, tearscontending with smiles in her face.
"Thank you both so much," she said. "But I think I ought to tell youthat your friendship will never be put to the test. I could never,never choose."
"Cheerful!" said Charteris. "But we will hope on."
"Please take me back to my mother," said Honour, in some confusion, asa party of elderly officers invaded the room, eager to enjoy theirhookahs, the bearers of which were waiting outside.
"You might bring Miss Cinnamond's fan, Hal," said Charteris,dexterously offering his arm first, and thus they returned to LadyCinnamond, who had been a prey to grievous anxiety, disguised with aniron will lest public attention should be attracted to Honour's absence.
"Oh, Hal, my hated r-r-rival!" breathed Charteris, sla
pping his friendon the back when they got out into the open air. "Ain't it as good asa play? But what a monster of iniquity a man feels beside a girl likethat!" he added sentimentally. "Do you wonder that I fell in love withher?"
"No, I don't," said Gerrard savagely. "But I wish with all my heartyou hadn't!"
"The same to you, my boy!" laughed Charteris.
The Path to Honour Page 2
