Nurse in India

by Juliet Armstrong

  “That is so.” The rani’s face and tone was suddenly devoid of expression. And then with a return of her usual vivacity she remarked crisply, “Miss Hantley has been asking my opinion of fortune-tellers.”

  A frown settled on Chawand Rao’s olive face.

  “Frauds and rascals, all of them—battening on the superstitions of the ignorant.” He looked at Stella. “You English people laugh at them, I know, and sum them up at their true worth. But if you did not, out of mistaken kindness, give them money for amusing you, they would disappear more quickly from the countryside.”

  Stella hesitated, saying at length, “One of them came to me this morning and told me things I found disturbing.”

  Chawand Rao’s scowl was replaced by that faint, melancholy smile of his.

  “Can it be that even Englishwomen are children at heart?” he said. “Put his words out of your mind; you are far too sane and sensible to dwell on what is doubtless a pack of nonsense—colored by bazaar gossip.” And then so abruptly that she was startled, he asked, “With all her faults and all her drawbacks, do you find yourself drawn at all to this country of ours—this Mother India?”

  “Your Highnesses—” Stella looked from one to the other and the words came tumbling out “—I have had no chance to like India. Since I came here, or at any rate Kotpura, I have known nothing but trouble.”

  She stopped short, and for a moment or two there was silence, until Chawand Rao said quietly, “Perfect happiness is not to be found by any human being, in any country. But I hope that wherever fate leads you, those we call the Holy Ones may give you peace.”

  The old rani nodded. “In this existence or another.” Stella, touched by their earnestness, thanked them and then, her mind a jumble of odd thoughts and impressions made her farewells and was shown with ceremony from the palace.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  All the rest of that day Stella’s mind was full of that Grange interview, and but for the possession of the opal ring, she would have found it hard to believe that it had actually taken, place. But there it was, glowing on her finger—no formal gift, but a treasure that the old rani had parted with as a sign and symbol of her friendship. It was difficult to think of that grim old woman as a shy little bride, but Stella felt a pang of pity as she recalled all she had heard of the man who had been her husband. In those early days, when, perhaps, he had given her this very ring, it might well be that he had fulfilled all her childish dreams of romance; then gradually, the veil had been stripped away and she had learned that her handsome, smiling prince possessed the soul of a monster. Nor had that been the end of her tragedy; the sequel, her own corruption, had followed, and she too had chosen the ways of tyranny, treachery and cruelty.

  How shocked and amazed some of her former colleagues in that London hospital would be if they knew that she had formed a friendship with a woman so wholly unscrupulous and so tigerish in instinct; yet with all the old rani’s wickedness, there was a gleam of kindliness and of a perverted sense of honor. And of one thing Stella felt certain: having given her friendship, she would never take it away.

  When she saw the jewel, Miss Jellings was utterly delighted at this mark of favor to her protégée and refused to admit that there was anything odd in this change of heart on the part of the old queen.

  “She may be all kinds of an old wretch,” she declared, her pale flabby cheeks faintly flushed with excitement, “but she knows pure gold when she sees it. And that’s what you are, Stella—pure gold from your curly head to your generous heart.” She slipped back again onto her pillows but went on eagerly, “And now tell me all over, again, just what the rani’s room was like, and what she was wearing and all about that Aladdin’s treasure chest of hers.”

  With so much to think about and discuss, the incident of the fakir passed almost completely from Stella’s mind, and after dinner that night another distraction occurred. Armand arrived in his shabby little car and begged her, with earnest promise of “behaving like, an angel,” to come out for a moonlight drive with him.

  “You needn’t worry about running into Fendish and the Glydd girl,” he assured her, as she protested with truth that she was tired and wanted to turn in early. “Fendish has had to go over to the other side of the state, to see about a new installation he’s putting in.”

  “It’s not that at all, Armand.” She met his eyes steadily. “Nor for any other reason than the one I’ve given. I’m just desperately weary and want to sleep.”

  “Then may I come in for a minute or two?” he pleaded, and Stella noticed then that once again there was a note of urgency in his voice. “I’d like to see Miss Jellings, too, if I could.”

  Stella shook her head. “If you have any thrilling news to give us, Jelly, at any rate, will have to wait until tomorrow to hear it. If she’s not kept very quiet in the evenings, she doesn’t sleep; and she’s settling off now.”

  His face fell. “What a shame! I’d have liked the dear Jelly to be there when I told you of my good fortune.”

  There was something so childish in his disappointment that Stella smiled. “Look here, Armand,” she suggested, “if you feel like that, why not come to tea tomorrow and really spread yourself over this marvelous piece of news? You can be sure then of hearing all the ‘oh’s’ and ‘ah’s’ and ‘how wonderful’s’ you can possibly desire.”

  His mouth took on an even more petulant expression. “You tease me, Stella. Still, I ought to realize by now that my luck, good or bad, makes not the slightest difference to you, either way.”

  “Of course it does,” she exclaimed. “That’s not fair of you, Armand!”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Not in the sense I’d wish it to. However, my secret would only fall flat if I told you now, so I might just as well wait until tomorrow afternoon.” And with a reproachful good-night he took his departure.

  She felt rather guilty as she heard him start up his noisy little car and tear off down the driveway. Armand had been very kind to her, and she might have made the effort and treated him with a little more sympathy. But there it was! One way and another the day had been exhausting, and her chief desire, at the moment, was to tumble into bed and fall asleep.

  She looked into Miss Jellings’s room and, observing that she was already in a deep slumber, went to her own room. The curtains had not yet been pulled over the long windows, and crossing over she looked up at the sky to see if it were as beautiful a night as Armand had declared.

  And then, as she gazed upward she was gripped by the most horrible sensation she had ever before experienced—a ghastly foreboding of evil. For gleaming in the dark sky was the thin, pale crescent of the new moon, and the terrible prophecy of the fakir, charged with fresh meaning, rushed back to her.

  It’s nonsense, she told herself fiercely. If I take the slightest notice of anything that dirty old rascal said, I’m nothing but a superstitious fool. But though, trying to force her mind into channels of sanity, she put up her hand to draw across the curtains and shut out that curve of silver, she could not bring herself to do so. Her hand dropped to her side, and she stood there trembling, powerless to think or act.

  Soon, in order to control that violent shivering, she picked up her fur coat and slipped it on. And then suddenly she knew what she must do. Whether or not she made herself a laughing stock in the eyes of Ghasirabad, she must go at once to the Fendish bungalow and assure herself of Allegra’s safety.

  Her brain crystal clear now, she slipped quietly out of the house and stole around to the back veranda where, she recalled Muhammad Ali usually kept his much treasured bicycle. To her relief it was standing in its accustomed corner, and a brief examination showed her that it was in working order, even the lamp being ready for use.

  Scrambling onto it—no easy job, even in her full pleated skirt—she rode in wobbling fashion down the driveway; but as she reached the road, her confidence began to return, and she went along at a good pace toward the Fendish bungalow.

  Arriving
at the gate, she propped the bicycle against a hedge and taking off the lamp made her way on foot up the broad driveway. The house, she saw, was in darkness, and at this her heart beat faster. She had hoped to find Allegra and her aunt and uncle up. She could have told them then of the fortune-teller’s prediction, and they could have seen to it, if they thought well, that for once their night watchman stayed awake and on guard outside Allegra’s rooms instead of dozing all night in the warm cookhouse.

  She knew the position of Allegra’s suite of rooms, for her bedroom had been used as a cloakroom for the women guests on the occasion of Roger’s last dinner party, and she went quickly to that side of the bungalow, her thin slippers making little sound on the smooth gravel. A door stood ajar, and passing through she found herself, as she had anticipated, in Allegra’s bathroom. Another door, standing wide open, led into the dressing room, and entering this she came to an archway from which the curtains had been drawn aside. Stepping through she found herself in a large bedroom bathed in moonlight, at the far side of which Allegra lay apparently fast asleep, one arm flung carelessly above her dark tousled head. Straining her ears Stella could hear the sound of her faint, regular breathing, and she let out a fluttering sigh of relief. Thank God, her fears had been nothing but ridiculous fancies, she thought; she had come on a fool’s errand! And then a slight rustle caught her ears, and glancing sharply to the left she saw something that set her heart thudding so violently, she thought it must be heard all over the room. Only a few feet away from her a man in native dress was standing, staring across to where Allegra lay. His voluminous clothes and headcovering told her instantly that he was the fakir who had visited her that morning, and so great was her terror that for a moment she was completely paralyzed.

  What shall I do, she thought wildly. If I call out, and he realizes that I am only a woman, he may murder us both. He’s obviously a madman.

  And then, acting on a sudden inspiration, she seized a chair beside her and lifting it high flung it with all her strength in his direction. Missing him by a few inches, it crashed onto the stone floor, and startled out of his wits, the man wheeled and made in a panic for the doorway, while Allegra, waking up, gave a sharp cry.

  As the man rushed past her, Stella produced the bicycle lamp from the folds of her coat and flashed it full into the man’s face. He gasped and, dropping his knife with a clatter, continued his precipitate flight, leaving Stella staring after him in absolute amazement. For though the would-be assassin was certainly the fakir of that morning, he was also, beyond all shadow of doubt, Roger’s ex-servant, Hussein.

  “What on earth’s happening?” Allegra had switched on the electric lamp by her bed and was sitting up, her face chalk white with fear. “Have you gone crazy—bursting into my room like this and chucking the furniture around?”

  Without speaking, Stella stooped and picked up the wicked-looking curved knife that Hussein had dropped in making his escape, and seeing her handling it, Allegra’s voice took on an even shriller note. “If you don’t go away this minute, Star, I’ll shriek the place down!”

  “Don’t be such a fool, Allegra!” The other girl’s hysteria had the immediate effect of restoring Stella’s self-control. “If I hadn’t come in when I did, you might have had cause for letting out some squawks.” And then she added, in the same matter-of-fact tone, “God knows why I’ve bothered to save your worthless life—but that, it seems, is what I’ve done.”

  “I don’t understand, and I wish to goodness you’d put that knife away. The very sight of it gives me the creeps.” Allegra was still shaking and shuddering. “Who does it belong to, anyway?”

  “If you’d switched on the light a minute or two sooner, you’d have seen him disappearing,” Stella told her curtly.

  “Do you mean that someone was really going to assassinate me—and that you stopped him?” Allegra’s eyes grew even wider with horror.

  “I certainly do!”

  For a moment Allegra was silent, then she burst out vehemently, “Then I can guess who it was—that horrible man who’s just left Roger’s service—Hussein or whatever his name is.”

  Again Stella did not speak, and Allegra went on frantically, “I’ll get my uncle to put the police onto him; there must be police even in this godforsaken spot. And when Roger comes back—”

  “It’s not going to be quite so simple for you as that, Allegra.” Stella sank down on an ottoman nearby. “The fact that it was Hussein has cleared up something that has been puzzling me considerably today. He came to me this morning, very skillfully disguised as a Hindu fakir, and offered to tell me my fortune. But instead he sketched out a rough outline of—of what happened between us five years ago. His only prediction was that you were going to be done in on the first night of the new moon—which he evidently imagined would cause me the greatest satisfaction.”

  “Hussein!” Allegra bit her lip. “How could he know anything about that old affair?”

  “He must have hung around that day I came to see you—when you admitted that you were a thief and had tried to shield yourself by throwing the blame onto my shoulders.”

  “Nonsense. He doesn’t understand a word of English.”

  Stella gave a short laugh. “That’s just where you’re wrong. You’ve insulted him in English and thought it didn’t matter, but he’s missed singularly little of your meaning.”

  “But to try to—to kill me!” The panic returned to Allegra’s voice. And then she went on, glancing terrified around the room. “Oh, Lord—how do we know he won’t come back?”

  “It’s certainly rather drastic of him,” Stella admitted, striving with all her will to keep up her apparent nonchalance. “One would have thought blackmail would have been more appropriate. But you see, he’s got the idea you’re a thoroughly black-hearted person, and he’s determined you won’t marry his beloved master. Incidentally, he thought he’d rid me of a particularly obnoxious enemy.”

  Allegra drew a deep breath. “Are you sure this isn’t a frame-up, Star Lefreyne? Because if you think you can trick and scare me into giving Roger up—”

  Stella rose to her feet. “If you really think that—if you really suppose I’d acquiesce in letting an innocent man be accused of attempted murder—then I needn’t trouble about you anymore. I’ll say good-night and leave you.”

  “No, you’re not to go!” Fear showed itself in Allegra’s eyes again. And then, twisting her hands together, she asked frantically, “Oh, Star, what shall I do?”

  “You’d better go and sleep with your aunt,” Stella advised quietly. “And if you think of making any charges against Hussein—remember that he knows more about you than is at all convenient for you. He’s had the fright of his life, just as you—and I—have. And the odds are a hundred to one he’s already hurrying along one of the roads out of Ghasirabad. If that happens, it will be much the best thing, so far as you are concerned.”

  For a full minute Allegra, crouched among the bedclothes, pondered the situation. Then she looked across at Stella and nodded. “All right. I’ll go across to Aunt Cecily’s room and pretend I’ve had a frightful nightmare. She’ll be furious with me for waking her up, but if I make up my mind I’m going to sleep with her, I’ll get my own way somehow.” And then she gave a hysterical little giggle. “Uncle Crad always sleeps in the dressing room, and he’ll be a bit of protection. His father was in the Indian mutiny and he’s insisted on carrying on the good old tradition and keeping a revolver under his pillow ever since he landed in Bombay.”

  “Splendid!” Stella’s tone was ironic. “Now pop along to your aunt’s room as quick as you can. Oddly enough, I’m extremely anxious to get to bed myself.”

  “I—I suppose you’ll be all right!” For the first time Allegra displayed some anxiety on Stella’s account. “Suppose that awful man is still lurking around!”

  “He won’t be anywhere within miles,” Stella returned confidently. “Anyway, he has no motive for trying to murder me—and apart from that I�
�ve got his knife!” And waiting just long enough to hear Allegra admitted to her aunt’s room, she walked out again into the quiet night.

  In spite of her brave words to Allegra, she was feeling horribly shaken and nervous, and when, as she reached the gate, a figure dropped down at her knees and burst into vehement protestations, she had to stifle a cry of alarm.

  “Memsahib, may Allah reward you!” Hussein’s voice was choked with emotion. “You have saved me from a great crime. Now that the madness has departed from me I see that, vile as that woman is, to slay her, while sleeping would be shameful and cowardly.”

  Stella looked down at him coldly. “You knew, at least, that such a thing would be utterly abhorrent to me. I made no secret of that this morning, when you came to me with your playacting tricks.”

  “I know. But to see my sahib always in company with that black-hearted one and to know that she meant to marry him—”

  “Even that is no excuse.” And then, moved to pity by the tormented look on the dark face, she said more gently, “Perhaps, even if I hadn’t come in just then, you might have stopped short! Otherwise why did you stand there like a statue?”

  “It is true, memsahib.” His eyes lighted up. “Even then the madness was going from me.” And then he asked brokenly, just as Allegra had done, “Oh, what shall I do?”

  “For the moment you can see me safely back to the rest house,” Stella said steadily. “And after that you had better lie very low for a while. I shall say nothing to anyone—believing your words that the madness is gone forever, and I do not think the memsahib will speak, although she knows what you meant to do.”

  Hussein got slowly to his feet. “You speak wisdom, memsahib,” he answered quietly, and helping her onto her bicycle, he ran beside her, in a steady jog, to the gates of the rest house.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN