Nurse in India

by Juliet Armstrong

  “The last talk we had—the day you went to Bhindi—ended in a quarrel,” he observed, a note of appeal in his voice. “Let’s get together again soon, Stella. It’s absurd that you and I—of all people in the world—should do nothing but squabble.”

  “I know!” The words forced themselves out almost against her will.

  His expression lightened. “And meanwhile, what about you and Miss Jellings—if she’s well enough—coming along to dinner tonight? I want you both to meet Jim and his girl of his. Her aunt and uncle, by the way, have gone on to friends in Ajmer.”

  “I’ll ask Miss Jellings and let you know,” Stella stammered—resolved that whatever happened the answer should be a polite negative—and with an incoherent murmur of thanks to him for bringing her back to Ghasirabad and a brief goodbye, she turned swiftly and went into the rest house. She knew that she was being discourteous in leaving him like this—that he would expect to be invited to come in, if only for a few minutes. But she knew also that she dared not stay in his company a moment longer without the risk of bursting into tears—and sobbing out the whole sordid story.

  Jelly’s delight at seeing her made her shelve her troubles for the moment; indeed, her thoughts were sent sharply in another direction. Although the old woman protested gallantly that she was feeling “no’ so bad,” Stella was shocked at her looks. Certainly in making Miss Jellings’s health her excuse for leaving Bhindi Palace so hurriedly, she had not overstepped the bounds of truth. It was more than time she came back to look after her.

  For a while Jelly displayed a spurious vivacity in her eagerness to hear every detail of Stella’s, life in the notorious palace, but before long her energies flagged and she was ready to take a long siesta—and also to concur with Stella in the impossibility of accepting Roger’s invitation for dinner that evening.

  “But there is no reason at all why you shouldn’t go, my dear,” she added. “I don’t much take to Roger’s future sister-in-law myself, but I daresay you’ll get on with her well enough. Roger brought her in to see me a day or two ago, and she seemed most anxious to make your acquaintance.”

  Stella felt herself paling and turned quickly away. “I’m pretty tired myself,” she declared. “It would suit me much better to have an early dinner with you and a nice long night of rest.”

  “Very well, dear. Send a note along right away.” The old lady’s eyelids were already beginning to droop drowsily. “But mind you make the refusal charming. That Roger of yours is a sensitive creature, in spite of that rough exterior, and I’m too grateful to him for bringing you back like this, to allow him to have his feelings hurt.”

  Whether the polite little note that Stella dispatched shortly afterward to Roger would have satisfied Jelly’s idea is doubtful, but by that time she was fast asleep. And before long Stella also went to lie down.

  She felt sure that she would not sleep, that her brain was too excited. But within half an hour she had dropped off into a light lumber from which she was awakened by the subconscious feeling that, there was someone else in the room.

  It’s the old rani, she thought, imagining for the moment that she was still at Bhindi, then opening her eyes realized suddenly that she was back in her room at the Ghasirabad rest house, and that the intruder who had aroused her was none other than the girl on whom her thoughts had been centered with such intensity during the past few weeks—Allegra Glydd.

  “Excuse me for butting in like this.” Allegra, cool as ever and looking extremely ornamental in a plain but beautifully cut dress of lettuce-green silk, walked to the end of ; the bed and stood looking down at Stella. “No one was around, so I just slipped in. I thought we’d better have a word together in private—before we meet in public, as I supposed we must.”

  “Oh, yes?” Deliberately Stella resolved to lay the burden of the conversation on Allegra. It was she, after all, who had sought this interview.

  Just for a moment Allegra was taken aback by Stella’s apparent nonchalance: But she quickly recovered her poise and inquired lightly whether there was a cigarette around. She had left her case, she said, in her other handbag.

  Stella felt a flicker of ironic amusement at the request. In one respect, anyway, Allegra had not changed: she still had the scrounging habit. She nodded in the direction of the cumbersome teak chest of drawers that served as her dressing table, then watched the other girl stroll over to the shagreen box that lay there and abstract a cigarette. Observing her graceful, unhurried movements Stella’s amusement died away, and instead there came a stirring of the old anger. Child of a hard-up but aristocratic family, Allegra had not been forced to take up arduous, uncongenial work on leaving the stage. Family friends and relatives had no doubt smoothed her path and made a pleasant existence possible, for leisure and an easy life set their stamp on a person as plainly as physical labor.

  Anyone might guess, she thought bitterly, that dancing is the only hard work Allegra has ever undertaken: she’s as light on her feet as ever and buoyant as a feather. But no one, meeting me, would ever imagine I, had been anything but a drudge.

  An instant later she was ashamed of that reflection, knowing well that she should feel nothing but pride in the profession that had sheltered her and kept her during, the past five years; and she was ashamed, too, of the sense of smoldering rage that Allegra evoked in her. It was impertinent of the girl to invade her privacy in this fashion; but perhaps that insolence hid better feelings. At any rate she should hear what Allegra had to say before passing judgment on her.

  A brief minute, or two, however, made it clear that Allegra was even more unscrupulous and more brazen than she had been five years ago. She perched herself on the arm of a nearby chair, blew a succession of smoke rings and then declared blandly, “Star, my dear, there’s got to be a showdown. There’s only room for one of us in the Fendish family, and that one is yours truly.”

  “And what precisely do you mean by that?” Stella’s tone was level.

  “That I am going to marry Jim Fendish, and that you are not going to marry Roger. As a sister-in-law you would be—well, inconvenient.”

  With a strenuous effort at concealing her sick disgust and fury, Stella raised her eyebrows. “Your imagination seems as vivid as ever, Allegra. I’ve no intention of choosing a husband from the Fendish family. I can assure you that the idea of our being in any way connected is as distasteful to me as it can possibly be to you. Though of course—” and she met Allegra’s brown eyes “—it’s always a shade worse for the wrongdoer, in these cases, than for the innocent one.”

  Allegra’s glance wavered, but she threw back her sleek brown head and gave a little ripple of laughter.

  “That sort of moral maxim is a bit out-of-date,” she observed. “When people talk about the pangs of conscience they usually mean the fear of being found out.”

  “And you’ve no qualms on that score?”

  “Hardly, my dear. You see, I’ve got it all taped out. If you were to go to Roger with your version of ... of that incident of five years ago, the dear old dunderhead might believe you—if, as they say, he’s beginning to fall for you. But I think it would give even his loyalty a jolt to hear that amusing little story that’s leaked out from Bhindi—of the old rani’s emeralds actually being traced to your suitcase.”

  She blew another series of smoke rings. “I must confess I was staggered myself when I heard the rumor.”

  “I suppose you thought it was just an amazing coincidence.” It seemed miraculous to Stella that she should be able to keep her temper so firmly under control. It hardly seemed her own voice that was speaking. And then she added, raising herself a little higher on the cushions, “But it wasn’t that at all, Allegra!”

  “What do you mean?” Off her guard for a second, Allegra rapped out the question.

  Stella shrugged her shoulders. “My dear Allegra, you can’t expect me to hand you out information that might be of value to you. No one holds all the cards, all the time.”

  �
��You’re bluffing, of course!” Allegra tried to sound convinced but did not altogether succeed.

  “By no means. As I’ve said before, there is no need for any sort of a showdown because I’ve no intention of marrying Roger Fendish—or anyone else, for that matter. Miss Jellings and I will be leaving Ghasirabad very soon—and passing out of the lives of the Fendish family for good and all.”

  A sound that might have been a sob, might have been a sigh, broke from Allegra, betraying a sudden loosening of nervous tension. But almost instantly she tautened again.

  “I don’t know that I believe you,” she said venomously. “If I make up my mind to lie low and say nothing, you I may well steal a march on me—and hand Roger your version of a certain matter.”

  “Don’t judge me by your own rotten standards, please.” Stella spoke with biting contempt.

  “Still on that moral uplift tack!” Allegra got up and wretched herself deliberately like a small, sleek kitten. "Well, Star—or perhaps I’d better begin to practice calling you Miss Hantley—I shall say nothing to Roger or Jim for the moment. But if you double-cross me and start spilling any sort of a story to either of them, I won’t hesitate to retaliate. And you know as well as I do that even if I don’t, as you said just now, hold all the cards, I certainly hold that invaluable article—the odd trick.” And stubbing out her cigarette with the heel of her smart green leather shoe, she picked up her handbag and slipped out of the room as silently as she had entered it a quarter of an hour before.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Fortunately, Miss Jellings put down Stella’s haggard looks to fatigue after heavy nursing and did not question her; and after a long night’s sleep—for she was in truth too tired to be kept awake even by worry—she felt more able to cope with the situation.

  It was in the middle of the morning that the first problem arose. Three mounted orderlies appeared at the rest house, magnificent in the state livery, and two of them led other horses—small, spirited Arabs. While the pair sat like graven images, the third dismounted and coming up the veranda steps handed a large white envelope to a hovering servant who brought it into Stella with a grave, “His Highness sends his salaams to the memsahib,” and then withdrew.

  “A letter from Chawand Rao,” Stella exclaimed. “Oh, Jelly, I wonder what he has to say about my sudden disappearance!”

  “Perhaps it’s your salary to date,” Jelly retorted dryly. “You’ve never mentioned his giving you any pay for your services.”

  “Heavens! I never gave it a thought. The money side of the business did not enter my head.”

  “Very laudable, no doubt, but I hope he’s not paying you in kind, with those two very dangerous-looking animals.”

  Amused in spite of herself, Stella tore open the envelope and took out a check. It was drawn for fifty pounds, and with a quick gasp of dismay she passed it across to Miss Jellings.

  “I can’t possibly take all that,” she said frowning. “I was only there a few days.”

  “Nonsense, child; for one of these nabobs it’s quite a modest rate of pay. But there’s a letter with it. See what he says.”

  Still troubled Stella read Chawand Rao’s note. He was very distressed, he said, to hear of Miss Jellings’s bad health, and grieved, too, that he had not been able to say goodbye to “our angel” and to thank her once again for all she had done for them. He would have liked to send a check for many times the amount of the one enclosed, but feared that this might displease her; however, he assured her that if he could be of the smallest service to her, she had only to let him know. Meanwhile he hoped that she and Miss Jellings would accept the loan of two horses from his stables and—as soon as the older lady was better—enjoy some pleasant rides together.

  She had to smile as she handed the letter over to Jelly. As for that lady, she read the first half soberly enough, nodding agreement with Chawand Rao’s very proper sentiments, but threw back her head and laughed heartily as she came to the part about the horses.

  “He wants to finish me off, I Should think,” she declared. “Unless it’s just a piece of Oriental tact. He may think it’s polite to ignore my age and decrepitude—if he’s aware of them.”

  “I suppose we ought to send them back with a courteous refusal.” For the life of her Stella could not altogether banish the note of regret from her voice. Riding had always been a passion with her, and even during her hospital days she had managed to save up for an occasional canter in Richmond Park or on the Surrey Downs.

  “Not in the least necessary.” Jelly, it seemed, had no qualms on the subject. “He owes it to you to show you what kindness he can, while you’re still in Kotpura State, and it will make you independent of other people’s offers of mounts. Roger, by the way, will probably feel he ought to lend that mare of his to his future sister-in-law.”

  Stella hesitated.

  “Then shall we keep both?”

  “Certainly. You’ll have to take a groom with you, if you go far afield. But it won’t be difficult to find one.”

  That problem dealt with, another very soon presented itself. Jim Fendish, whom Stella had never met before, arrived just before lunchtime to see if Miss Jellings felt well enough to fix up another evening for the little dinner party that Roger was so keen to give.

  He was a short, slim edition of Roger and possessed pleasantly easy manners; but though he was undeniably better-looking, his face lacked the strength of purpose so evident in his brother’s, and Stella’s quick summing up w was that he was a nice boy but not a patch on Roger.

  “The party’s really in honor of Allegra,” he explained with shy pride. “Roger feels that she is having rather a tame time here, and thought it might be possible to get a few couples together for dancing—just to the record player.”

  “Then I don’t see why you want to wait for me,” Jelly observed bluntly. “Time was when I danced like a fairy—though you might not believe it to look at me now—and though my dancing days are over it’s gall and vinegar to me to sit in an armchair all the evening and watch other folks gyrating.”

  “Oh, he’s set his heart on your coming with Miss Hantley,” Jim Fendish assured her. “He’ll fix up a bridge game for you, and he’ll bring you back, he says, the minute you’re tired.”

  “I don’t know that I ought to be out dancing, either.” Stella sought wildly for an excuse to get out of the invitation. “I’m terribly behindhand with my work for Miss Jellings, and I’d planned to spend the next few evenings writing a description of the Bhindi Fire Festival.”

  “Stuff and nonsense, child.” Miss Jellings eyed her severely. “One more early night and you’ll be fit for work and for dancing, as well.” She turned to Jim. “What about the day after tomorrow? Will that give you time to collect your guests?”

  The young man beamed. “That’s the very night we hoped you’d choose. We’ve sounded several people already, and that seems the one evening that everyone can manage.”

  “Excellent. We shall be there in our best bib and tucker. Tell Roger not to fetch us; we’ll arrive in splendid independence, in the famous old Austin.”

  Having no valid reason for refusing, Stella dared make no further demur. To do so would have made some sort of explanation inevitable, and at the moment this was the last thing she wanted.

  Her wardrobe was limited, and she had no difficulty in deciding what to wear. A gold lamé dress that Jelly had bought her in Paris, en route to Marseilles, was the obvious choice: it suited her to perfection, bringing out the gold of her hair and emphasizing her delicate wild-rose complexion. As she slipped it on, she could not help rejoicing, against all logic and reason, that Roger was going to see her at her best. If she were a rational creature she would, she knew, wish to make herself as plain as possible. But she wasn’t rational; she was a foolish, loving woman who, even if her heart was breaking, could find a grain of bittersweet comfort in reading in the eyes of her beloved that he thought her beautiful.

  Jelly also took some trouble over her
toilet for the great occasion. She arrayed herself in violet lace and pearls, and made herself up with such skill and artistry that for once it was easy to believe that she was more than a dowdy old globe-trotter, engaged vaguely in literary work. In fact, in the days of her youth, under a foreign name considered more romantic-sounding than the Sarah Jellings of her birth, she had been the prima ballerina in one of the most famous ballet companies in Europe, a personage to be lionized and feted wherever she went.

  It was an ordeal for Stella, setting out with Jelly for Roger’s bungalow, for she had to hide her nervousness and pretend to share the old lady’s good spirits. But somehow, on arrival, her mood changed. Roger’s look of adoration as she slipped off her fur coat and stood revealed in the caressing folds of the golden dress—and Allegra’s simultaneous start of dismay—were balm to her wounds. A smile sprang to her warm red lips, and up went her curly blond head. Just for this evening she would forget the sorrow and trouble that lay in her path and enjoy the tributes that her youth and good looks exacted. And if Allegra did not like it—well, she could go hang! After all, she, too, had doubtless taken trouble with her appearance, and if her pink chiffon dress looked a trifle schoolgirlish beside Stella’s one Paris model, that was nobody’s fault.

  There were sixteen people, all told, to dinner, some of whom had driven in from a considerable distance, and rather to Stella’s surprise Armand Verle was among the guests. He was seated some distance from her—she being at the top of the table at Jim’s right hand—so there was no chance for conversation, but his eyes told her, and more boldly than Roger’s had done, that he thought her lovely.

  It was a relief to her that she had not been put next to Roger—he, of course, was seated between Allegra and Miss Jellings—but even to talk to Jim was embarrassing. She had the feeling that Allegra, while pretending to hang on Roger’s words, was listening to every sentence she uttered; and it was hard to resist the temptation to say things with the deliberate intention of annoying the eaves-dropper.