Nurse in India

by Juliet Armstrong

  Stella felt a pang of wild, unreasoning jealousy, as she pictured that scene, enacted evening after evening, at Roger’s bungalow. She could see Allegra, looking divinely pretty in one of those carefully unsophisticated dresses she affected, pouting charmingly if she and Roger failed to make their contact, dimpling with ingenuous delight if they were more fortunate. It was bitterly unfair, she thought, that Allegra should be able to spend every evening with him while she who loved him was thrust out into the cold. Why should Allegra have all the luck?

  And then Roger said something that sent her thoughts in another direction. “The one fly in the ointment, so far as my house party is concerned, is Hussein,” he said, frowning a little. “Bachelors’ servants always get spoiled, I suppose, because they have such an easy time. Anyway Hussein has been looking more and more sulky lately, and today he tells me that he is going to leave me. He says that the air at Ghasirabad doesn’t suit him—if you can credit such a piece of nonsense! After being with me nearly six years!”

  And then he brought himself up short, as though recollecting the strangeness of discussing his domestic affairs with a girl whom only a few minutes before he had been reproaching for refusing to marry him. “But goodness knows why I’m boring you like this.”

  “I don’t think Hussein really likes waiting on women,” Stella observed, continuing the conversation as though there had been no interruption.

  “He certainly doesn’t like waiting on Allegra. For some reason he’s got his knife into her. In fact—” and his frown deepened “—I’m beginning to think it will be a good thing when he does go—much as I shall miss the old chap.”

  “I’ guess you’re right,” Stella responded. “Come to think of it, Hussein was distinctly huffy when you first sent him to Bhindi to look after me, though he became almost genial in the end.”

  “Oh, you’re the cat’s whiskers as far as he’s concerned.” Roger gave her a satiric smile. “He’s probably learned, in the way servants do learn, that you’ve refused to marry me, and not wanting a mistress over him he’s duly grateful. Anyway, he’s always eager to come over to the rest house and inquire about Miss Jellings.”

  A slight flush tinged Stella’s cheeks, but she said, remembering Allegra’s rudeness to Hussein the afternoon she had gone across to talk to her—and the servant’s plain resentment of it, “Perhaps Allegra isn’t very tactful with him. After all, servants need careful handling.”

  “The chief thing they look for is courtesy, and Allegra is perfectly charming to everyone,” he returned quickly. “It can’t possibly be that. No, it’s just some fanatical notion the old man’s got info his turbaned head.” And then he shrugged his shoulders. “To tell you the truth, I’m fearfully sick at losing him; he’s been a friend to me as well as a damned good servant. But there you are! You can’t have your women guests glared at in this fashion. It’s altogether too nerve-racking.”

  They had reached the rest-house gate now, and as they stopped to take leave, constraint descended upon them again.

  “Goodbye,” he said stiffly. “I really ought to apologize for wearying you with all this—indeed for forcing my company on you at all. But I promise you that now I know the real reason why there’s no chance for me, I’ll do my best to avoid you in the future.”

  “Oh, Roger,” she began desperately.

  But he shook his head. “Don’t pity me, Stella,” he said roughly. I’ve still the courage to make something of my life—and the decency to wish you luck.” And before she could say another word he was gone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Many times after this encounter with Roger did she wish that she had repudiated all interest in Armand. It was all very well to discourage a man; but to do so by allowing him to imagine, quite falsely, that one was in love with someone else—and a particular someone else at that—was carrying things too far.

  Her regrets at her ill-advised silence on this point were greatly increased a few days later when Armand turned up at the rest house, dapper and beaming and full of the news that he was to be in Ghasirabad for four whole weeks.

  “His Highness is coming to spend February at the Lake Palace, just outside town,” he explained blithely as he seated himself beside her on the veranda. “And he’s bringing his entourage with him. It’s a whim of Prithviraj’s really; he wants to go boating, and there’s no water near Bhindi. Normally His Highness would take no notice of his badgering, but since that pneumonia scare he can’t do too much for the boy.”

  Stella’s heart sank. She liked Armand and enjoyed his inconsequent chatter, but in the present circumstances the idea of having him hanging around for a month was anything but pleasing. It was useless to argue with herself that it didn’t matter what Roger thought about her friendship with the young Frenchman. She shrank instinctively from giving further color to his misapprehensions.

  “You don’t seem exactly delighted.” Armand was beginning to look aggrieved. “You might pretend to be glad even if you aren’t. It’s more—well, conventional!”

  “I’m too busy to be able to let it make a great deal of difference to me,” she said hastily. “I’m very much tied these days.”

  “Oh, I shall be working, too,” was his even quicker retort. “The children will be having regular French lessons all the time we’re here. But everyone—you and I included—needs a certain amount of recreation.”

  “There isn’t much to do in Ghasirabad by way of hitting the high spots,” she observed, trying to talk lightly. “I doubt if you will find it much livelier than Bhindi. And please,” she added, putting up her hand, “don’t make the obvious complaints!”

  “I wasn’t going to, as a matter of fact,” he returned equably. “I was going to tell you that Ghasirabad is going to be a slightly gayer place in the near future.”

  She looked up, interested in spite of herself. “What! Is a regiment coming here?”

  “No—thank goodness!” His tone was disgusted. “None of you girls would look at dull fellows like us if there were a crowd of noisy soldiers about.”

  She laughed. “Sorry! But won’t you satisfy my curiosity?”

  As always, Armand’s ill-humor vanished at once.

  “His Highness is presenting the English community with a ready-made club,” he explained. “For some time now he’s been having alterations and improvements done to that biggish bungalow on the way to the golf course and all sorts of rumors were going about. Some people said he was going to establish a ladylove there; other folk declared that he was going to use it as a parking place for the old rani—who must certainly be about as trying an aunt as a man could have. No one guessed the secret.”

  “It’s very generous of him.”

  Armand nodded. “Very. But, mind you, he has other motives in making Ghasirabad attractive to Europeans. He’s very keen on bringing the benefits of civilization to his state; and he knows that the modern young Englishman is more likely to settle down in this out-of-the-way spot if he can enjoy a few of the amenities he’s been accustomed to at home.” He gave her an oblique glance. “There aren’t many men who are so wrapped up in their job as your friend Fendish.”

  “I daresay not.” She managed to control her voice. And then she added, pursuing a train of thought of her own, “It seems a pity he and Chawand Rao don’t get on better.”

  “I quite agree.” His tone was sober. “The antipathy is all on Fendish’s side, of course. He was so horrified and disgusted by some of the doings of the old raja he got to hate the whole family; couldn’t believe that Chawand Rao hadn’t inherited some of his uncle’s bad blood. And of course lately he’s been suspicious of His Highness on your account!”

  “I wonder he works for Chawand Rao, if he’s so prejudiced against him.” She flushed as she made the remark.

  Armand laughed. “Oh, he makes no secret of the fact that he regards himself as working for the poor folk of Kotpura—even though he happens to be paid by their prince. He’s as keen to help bring electricity t
o India as the missionaries are to spread the gospel.”

  “I know; he’s an idealist.” Just for a second her eyes shone. But the next moment the light faded and she observed evenly, “But aren’t you going to tell me some more about this marvelous club!”

  “My dear, you’ll see it for yourself in a few days’ time,” he told her, his lighthearted gaiety returning. “There’s to be an opening party—and you’re going to wear that marvelous gold dress and come with me.” He hesitated. “Unless you’d rather go with someone else—in other words, with—”

  “I won’t be going at all,” she interrupted him quickly. “I’m much too occupied looking after Miss Jellings to think about parties.”

  “Then you’ll seriously offend His Highness,” Armand told her. “He’s shown me the preliminary invitation, and yours is the very first name on the list. I—” he looked embarrassed “—I didn’t want you to encourage Chawand Rao in romantic dreams, by remaining up at Bhindi Palace that time. Indeed, I felt almost as strongly about that as Fendish did. But it would be an affront to His Highness if you refused to come to the opening ceremony. You don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “I certainly don’t—especially after his kindness in getting Dr. Erickson. But he’d understand my difficulties; I’m sure of that.”

  “Well, if you do decide to come, will you let me act as your escort?” he begged. “Even if we can’t be lovers, we ought to be friends after all we went through together at Bhindi. I promise not to make love to you, if you don’t want me to.” And then he added reasonably. “There’ll be dancing, so you’ll need someone to partner you, and it isn’t as though I were some pump-handling old colonel who’d spend half the evening resting on your toes.”

  She had to smile then. “I’ve met a good few of those since I came to India and for the sake of my shoe bills I’d rather dance with you. Still—”

  “That’s good enough for me,” he broke in quickly, and with his usual tact steered the conversation into other channels, telling her ridiculous stories that made her laugh in spite of herself and forget for a short time the trouble with which she was surrounded.

  Not for a moment did she intend to go to the raja’s party, but when a day or two later the imposing invitation arrived, Jelly would not hear of a refusal. Indeed, when Stella tried to persist in her resolve to stay at home with her, she became quite agitated, declaring that failure to put in an appearance for an hour or so, anyway, would be an insult.

  “Apart from all his kindness to us,” she pointed out, hoisting herself up against the pillows in order to speak with more authority, “you must remember that we are his guests as long as we’re at his rest house. We pay for the accommodation, certainly, but it’s only by his courtesy that we’re here.”

  “All right, Jelly, dear, I’ll go.” In her anxiety to quieten the old lady, Stella would have promised her almost anything.

  “I suppose there’s no chance of Roger’s taking you?” Jelly’s tone was wistful. “He never comes here these days, so I suppose things are just as hopeless between you.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Stella tried hard to sound philosophical. “As a matter of fact, Armand wants to act as my escort.”

  “Well, he’s cheerful, anyway. I often hear you laughing when he’s around.” And then she added more briskly, “Maybe Roger will get jealous, if he sees you so much with Armand. A spot of jealousy has been known to work wonders.”

  “It won’t do any good in this case, Jelly. Besides—” and she made an effort to speak lightly “—what about Armand. I don’t want to buoy him up with false hopes.”

  The old lady smiled. “I don’t think our Armand will get hurt too easily,” she observed. “He’s an accomplished squire of dames. I’m concerned about you, Stella. You don’t want to get caught on the rebound.”

  Stella opened her blue eyes very wide. “My dear Jelly! Why, I look on Armand as a mere child.”

  Miss Jellings chuckled. “That’s his line of appeal; he thinks that you’re the maternal type. But don’t forget, my dear, he’s a year or two older than you in actual age—and ten years older in experience. Mind you,” she went on more seriously, “if he had expectations...”

  It was Stella’s turn to chuckle. “Oh, he’s got those, all right,” she observed. “He mentioned them to me weeks ago.”

  “Did he, by Jove?” Miss Jellings’s amusement increased. “These Frenchmen are nothing if not practical. He’ll be asking you about your dowry next. If he does you can tell him that there’ll be a trifle for you when I’m dead and gone.”

  “Nonsense, Jelly, you’re not to think of such things.” Stella was genuinely startled.

  “My dear, the thinking’s over and done, and the result of my thoughts went to England in that last letter you mailed for me. And now take away one of my pillows and let me lie down. I’ve talked enough for one afternoon.”

  When the night of the party came, Stella dressed with a heavy heart. She was certain, she knew, to meet Roger and the Glydds, and she would have given anything to stay at home.

  Armand, on the other hand, arrived to fetch her in the highest spirits. Indeed there was something so strange in his manner, she felt puzzled and asked him teasingly if he had come into a fortune.

  He gave her one of those sidelong glances of his.

  “Maybe I have, chérie. Anyway, at an appropriate time and place I’ll tell you all about it. Not that it will exactly be news to you.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she declared. To which his only answer was a mysterious smile.

  In ordinary circumstances she would have enjoyed Chawand Rao’s party. He had invited every European of standing within a forty-mile radius of Ghasirabad, and about sixty people were gathered, most of whom, isolated for the greater part of the year in tiny stations, were bent on having a good time. There was general atmosphere of cheerfulness; everyone wanted to explore the club premises, and since the raja had fitted up the place in the most modern English manner—combining Western ideas of comfort with the utmost simplicity in decoration—the stream of praise was continuous. As she moved around piloted by the voluble young Frenchman, she looked covertly around for Roger and the rest of his party but saw nothing of them; and gradually she began to hope that for some reason or other they might not be coming.

  It was difficult to get near enough to Chawand Rao to speak, to him. Sumptuously dressed in silks and satins that made him look like some stately caliph from the Arabian Nights, he was standing at the top of the drawing room, his aunt, magnificent in a green and gold sari, with the famous emeralds flashing on her breast, close beside him. Around them surged their guests, eager to thank the raja for his generosity and to get a glimpse at close quarters of his wonderful, embroidered coat and jeweled turban, and the old rani’s splendid gems.

  At last, helped by Armand, she worked her way through the crowd and was rewarded by a welcoming smile and handshake from Chawand Rao, and a more formal greeting from the old rani.

  “This club is partly a present to you, Miss Hantley,” Chawand Rao said, very quietly. “Of all the English community, it is to you that I owe the greatest debt.”

  “You’ve more than repaid me, Your Highness.” She looked straight up into his handsome, melancholy face. “I shall never forget your kindnesses.”

  He met her eyes, and there was an expression in them now that she could not fathom. “No,” he murmured, this time so softly that no one but she could hear, “our debt to each other is still quite unequal. And yet there may come a day when I ask even more of you.”

  Startled, she dropped her eyes and moved on to speak to the old rani. But she was feeling so embarrassed now that she scarcely caught a word the old woman was saying, and had the greatest difficulty in framing even the most commonplace remarks about the beauty of the club premises and the munificence of the raja’s gift.

  Nor was her agitation lessened when, in turning back through the throng, she came f
ace to face with Roger. Just for a second they were jammed so close together that she was reminded irresistibly of that moment when they had sheltered in the ruined tomb, and as she remembered the way he had held her and kissed her then, the color swept up into her face.

  Whether his thoughts were traveling in the same direction she could not tell: she only knew that she could feel the violent beating of his heart as he tried vainly to give her room to pass. And then she heard Armand’s cheerful, possessive voice, “This way, Stella—hang onto my hand.”

  A movement in the crowd made it possible for her to step aside and follow Armand, but her flush deepened as she did so, and she could almost have cried with vexation. Roger would feel more certain than ever now that she and Armand had some sort of an understanding. He would imagine that it was on this account that she was blushing so stupidly. And though it was unreasonable to care what he thought, the idea that he supposed her to be in love with Armand made her feel thoroughly miserable and on edge.

  If only I hadn’t been forced into coming to this horrible party, she thought, poised between anger and tears. It’s not fair that I should be tortured like this. But her troubles, she found, were not yet over; for as soon as she and Armand got free of the crowd, they ran into Allegra standing with a middle-aged man and woman and had to undergo a formal introduction to Sir Cradwell and Lady Glydd.

  At the sight of them Stella’s heart missed a beat. She had an unusual memory for faces and recognized them instantly as having been in the court with Allegra’s parents on more than one day of that ghastly case. But it was plain at once that they had no recollection of having seen her before. Sir Cradwell stuck his monocle more firmly in position and regarded her with considerably more cordiality than was absolutely necessary; while Lady Glydd, perceiving this, observed in clear high-pitched tones, “Let me see now, you’re this clever young nurse we’ve all been hearing about, aren’t you? So wonderful of you to work so hard—in this climate, too. How do you do it?” And without waiting for any reply to this purely rhetorical question, she smiled and nodded and moved on.