mrs. greaves stood on the platform of one of the largest railway stations in upper india. the lights flashed down upon a pushing, shouting throng of dark-faced, turbaned humanity, for it was eight o'clock at night, and the mail train for bombay was due to start in another few minutes. the chill, cold-weather mist of evening, creeping into the vast echoing station, seemed to compress the curious odours inseparable from an eastern crowd--the sour exhalations, the commingling of spices and perfumes and garlic--and to prevent them from dispersing.
a little group of english people stood outside the door of a first-class compartment, a saloon-shaped compartment that to those unaccustomed to travel in the east would perhaps have seemed luxurious; but in a country where journeys may last for days and nights on end a certain degree of comfort becomes a necessity. mrs. greaves had come to the station to see mrs. munro, her friend, and little trixie munro, her godchild, off to
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england; also, incidentally, to take the bereft husband back to her bungalow for dinner with herself and captain greaves. it would be cruel, she felt, to permit the poor man to return to a lonely meal in the house that would still breathe of the presence of wife and child.
within the compartment bedding had been laid out along the seats, luggage was heaped at one end--the loose, miscellaneous luggage of the anglo-indian traveller, brown canvas hold-alls, and clothes bags, sun hats, a tiffin basket, a water-bottle in a leather-case, and a lidless packing-case filled with odds and ends that might be needed on the journey down country. an ayah, enveloped in a scarlet shawl, was endeavouring to pacify the child, who, beside herself with excitement, was jumping up and down, and ordering her parents in shrill hindustani to make haste and come inside the carriage, else they would assuredly be left behind. she had not understood as yet that dadda must be left behind in any case.
at three years old little trixie munro was a beautiful baby, perfectly shaped, with masses of bright, curling hair, and luminous eyes; she was full of vitality, restless and gay as a sprite. mrs. greaves had always declared that trixie looked as though she ought to be riding, naked, on a butterfly, with a little red cap on her head. she formed a striking
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contrast to her mother who, pale and tearful, almost in a condition of collapse, was nerving herself with trembling effort for her first parting from her husband, though she hoped he was to follow her on leave in six months' time. it is a very common scene in india, such partings on platforms or on steamer decks. domestic separation is only a part of the price that is paid for service in the country, but it is a part that is by no means easy to bear, even when faced with submission and courage.
mrs. greaves's pleasant, freckled face was sad. she had been through such family partings herself, her own two robust little boys were at home, dedicated in the future to the army and the navy, and she sympathised with the husband and wife, neither of whom was very stout-hearted. ellen munro was her most intimate friend; it was a curious kind of friendship, based chiefly upon the fact that the two were old schoolfellows, and also distant connections. this had drawn them more closely together when they found themselves in the same station. but in character, as well as in looks, they were different--marion greaves being a sound and sensible little english memsahib, full of energy and common sense, with curling chestnut hair and a freckled skin that had earned her the good-natured nickname in the
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station of "the plover's egg." she loved riding and tennis and dancing, was fearless and direct. whereas ellen munro was one of those helpless, incapable beings who seem to invite misfortune, and to accept it without a struggle. her appearance was limp, her nature humble, affectionate, apologetic, and she clung with pathetic devotion to marion greaves, the staunchest of friends, who felt for her that species of protective fondness so often accorded to the weak by the strong. as for mr. munro, he was a delicate, clever young man, who would have been better at home in a government office than leading the strenuous life of an indian civilian. he could not handle a gun, he was never happy in the saddle, physically he soon tired, though his office work could not be beaten.
mrs. greaves frequently marvelled in secret how such a child as trixie had ever been born of such parents--trixie so vigorous, daring, self-willed, giving promise of a passionate, generous nature. she admired and loved her small goddaughter, and her affection for ellen munro, though tinged with contempt, was warm and sincere. therefore she felt this good-bye acutely.
a sudden calm came over the hitherto noisy platform; passengers had at last been safely packed into the train, and arrivals had finally pushed and yelled themselves out of the station. one or two
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fruit and sweetmeat sellers, and a water-carrier, still wandered up and down with droning cries; and now the munros got into the compartment together for a last embrace. mrs. greaves attracted trixie to the window by holding up a toy she had brought with her for the purpose--that the child should not interrupt the parting. and while trixie was laughing and chattering, and grabbing at her godmother's gift, her father kissed her swiftly; then, stepping white and silent from the carriage, he shut the door, and the train moved out of the station.
it was very soon after mrs. munro had sailed for england that rafella coventry arrived in the station as a bride.
mrs. greaves saw her for the first time one afternoon seated a little apart, looking rather forlorn, watching her husband play tennis in the public gardens. the turf was emerald green, the blue, far-away sky was just flecked with some little white clouds that foretold the showers of winter; the air was crisp and exhilarating, and everyone save mrs. coventry was either playing a game, or awaiting their turns for tennis and badminton courts.
rafella was suffering from a cold in her head, and her nose and eyes were inflamed. deluded
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by the perpetual sunshine she had worn summer garments to start with, ignoring her husband's advice to the contrary; but now she sat wrapped in a cape that, though useful and warm, was unbecoming both in colour and style. she felt shy and depressed, and antagonistic towards this concourse of people, who all seemed to know one another so well--who belonged to a world that was completely outside her experience.
mrs. greaves asked who she was; and a malapert subaltern told her.
"that's the bride, captain coventry's new acquisition. just the sort of raw rustic he would have chosen, with his peculiar ideas of what a woman should be. they say he discovered her in some prehistoric hamlet at home, and that she'd never seen a man till she met him, or a train till she started on her honeymoon. she looks like it. no fear of her kicking over the traces."
"you never know," laughed mrs. greaves. "and if you can forget her cape and her hat, and her obvious cold, you will observe that she is remarkably pretty, so you'd better reserve your judgment."
she had noted the beauty of the girl's eyes and complexion despite their present afflicted condition, and she guessed at the wealth of hair concealed by the unfashionable hat.
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"an angel in asses' clothing--no, that's not quite right. what is the text exactly?"
"oh! go and miss balls at tennis, and don't talk nonsense," advised mrs. greaves.
the woebegone appearance of the little bride had aroused her kind-hearted compassion. she approached rafella, though they had not been introduced, and seated herself in a basket-chair at her side.
she began the acquaintance with the usual remarks and queries that greet all the newly arrived in india. mrs. coventry had never been out here before? what did she think of the country, of an indian station? how did she like the life? what an extraordinary contrast it seemed at first, and so on.
"i remember so well," mrs. greaves chattered on in tactful sympathy, "how strange i found everything when i came out as a bride, though i was born in india and didn't go home until i was five. i made the most awful mistakes, and i thought i should never pick up hindustani! i always said exactly the opposite to what i intended--like 'come here' when i meant 'go away'--which was so awkward if i happened to be in my bath!--and all that kind of thing."
rafella's suspicions and shyness succumbed to these friendly advances. she confided to mrs.
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greaves that she was afraid she should find housekeeping dreadfully difficult--she had not been accustomed at home to an army of servants, nor to a lady's maid (as she called her ayah), nor to a carriage, nor to more than two courses at meals. it all seemed to her to savour of wicked display and extravagance; and as far as she could judge at present, people in india appeared to live for nothing but amusement and self-indulgence.
"but you must remember," admonished mrs. greaves, "that we are living under totally different conditions out here. the servants won't do each other's work, on account of their caste. we have to keep such a lot, not for our own convenience but for theirs. and you must have an ayah, unless you don't mind the menservants attending to your bedroom."
rafella flushed uncomfortably. this last remark struck her as rather indelicate.
"then as to the food," went on mrs. greaves, ignorant of having offended the taste of her hearer. "materials are a good deal cheaper out here than they are at home, and not nearly so nourishing, so that extra courses in a climate like this are not so extravagant as they might seem. it is better to give the servants plenty to do, and to keep them up to a certain standard, since we have to respect their prejudices; and there is also custom
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and prestige to be considered, which are not to be slighted in this country. that you will soon find out! if you were to reduce your establishment and your meals, and your general manner of living in your position, you'd never get a respectable servant to stay with you, and your name would be a byword in the bazaar!"
there was a pause. rafella said nothing, and mrs. greaves felt she had come up against a narrow and obstinate nature. nevertheless, she continued her well-meant harangue.
"as to amusements, what else have we to fall back upon but each other's society? we are all cut off from home and our relations and intellectual advantages; and wholesome exercise, whether tennis, riding, dancing, or sport, cannot be classed as self-indulgence when it is well within our reach financially. the men work hard for the greater part of the day--perhaps you have not yet realised how much your husband gets through before he is free to follow the recreations that suit him best? you mustn't judge indian life too quickly from the surface, or from your own standpoint."
"i wish to do good," said rafella priggishly, "and it seems to me that i have no one to be kind to but the ayah."
"don't worry about that!" advised mrs. greaves, suppressing a smile. "there's plenty of
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time. you'll find you'll have as much as you can do for the next few months getting used to india, and, if i may make a suggestion, don't be too kind to the ayah, or she'll think you're afraid of her and take every advantage. what native servants appreciate is justice and patience, not indulgence, which they always mistake for weakness."
"she certainly has asked for a great many things," rafella confessed, "but she seems so poor, and says she has such a large family, that i gave her more wages and some clothes, and a very nice lantern and a couple of warm blankets, and i have promised her an allowance of sugar and tea and the money to buy a goat."
"well, i hope you won't regret it," remarked mrs. greaves.
"have you ever regretted doing what you could for other people?" there was lofty reproach in mrs. coventry's voice.
"often!" replied mrs. greaves, unashamed. despite this admission, she did all she could for mrs. coventry during the next few weeks, having regard to the bride's youth and inexperience, for the colonel of captain coventry's regiment was a bachelor, and just then, as it happened, there were no other ladies with the battalion. she was rather missing ellen munro, and was glad
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to transfer her support and counsel to rafella coventry, imparting to her all she knew herself concerning household management in india and anglo-indian rules and customs. all about calling and precedence, and dusters and charcoal, and stores and prices, including the error of supposing that a memsahib need never go near her kitchen, or bother about the milk and the water, and pots and pans, "for," she cautioned her pupil, "that way typhoid lies!"
thus she came to know mrs. coventry rather well, though at the bottom of her heart she was reluctantly aware that she would never grow really attached to this madonna-faced young woman who so prided herself on her conscience, and was so severe on the failings of others. she was called "sweet little mrs. coventry" by the station when her cold had subsided, for her beauty, combined with her puritanical notions, formed a novel attraction. as time went on she learnt to ride, and play tennis after a fashion, also to dance quite nicely, in order, as she carefully explained, to please her husband; but as george coventry did not dance, and openly preferred racquets to tennis, and pig-sticking and polo to aimless rides, the excuse seemed a trifle superfluous. at the same time, everyone agreed that however indifferently she might ride or play tennis, her husband
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ought more often to share with her both forms of exercise.
these active accomplishments were taught her for the most part by admiring subalterns, who raved of her hair and her eyes and her seraphic disposition. later, mrs. greaves was amused to observe that rafella was making efforts to arrange her hair in the latest fashion. her hair, she told mrs. greaves, was coming out in handfuls, and she thought a change for a time might prove beneficial. then the mud-coloured dresses and high evening gowns were gradually discarded, to be replaced by white linens and serges, and simple though elegant frocks for dinners and dances. also, there came a gradual moderation in mrs. coventry's opinions, a setting aside of small scruples, significant signs of a self-confident conceit that was fostered by the opportunities and circumstances inseparable from a mode of life in direct opposition to the one in which she had been reared. the ayah found herself neglected; rafella had discovered a pleasanter method of doing good to others, that of bestowing good advice on erring young men, inviting their confidences, using her pure and virtuous influence--deluding herself and the susceptible youths with the notion that she was their mother-confessor and friend, their safeguard against the wicked temptations and wiles of the
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world. in short, though with the most innocent motives, "sweet little mrs. coventry" got herself talked about, for these secrets entailed prolonged consultations, seclusion in corners apart from the crowd, notes, and mysterious appointments.
at first captain coventry laughed and paid little attention. rafella kept nothing from him. he heard the whole history of mr. ricardo's engagement, that was such a mistake, to a girl he had ceased to care for at home. he knew all about dickie macpherson's dreadful entanglement, that he now so bitterly repented, with an unscrupulous woman; and he pretended to listen to all that rafella had preached to young grey so successfully on the subject of cards and champagne.
mrs. greaves wondered how long it would be before he awoke to the fact that his wife was indulging in pious flirtations that were regarded by the station with good-natured amusement.
one afternoon she was astonished to meet rafella riding demurely along the mall with mr. kennard. the man was a barrister, handsome, successful, in the prime of his maturity, but his moral reputation was anything but good. if rafella had schemes for reforming this gentleman, serious trouble would certainly follow. george coventry was hardly the man to look on and laugh at a dangerous friendship; rafella's little team of
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harmless young men was a different matter altogether.
mrs. greaves's expression as she returned their salutations must have betrayed her surprised apprehension, for rafella flushed as she nodded, and mr. kennard smiled with sardonic understanding.
"evidently that woman thinks i'm not a fit companion for you," he said to rafella as they rode on beneath the trees. "she's always had her knife into me, though she poses as a model of charity and soft-heartedness. what a pity it is when lemon juice is blended with the milk of human kindness! i don't know why she should try to do me harm, unless it's because i have never gone out of my way to propitiate her; but, then," he added with flattering emphasis, "there are very few women i care to make friends with."
rafella felt that this was not what she should have expected of mrs. greaves. it only showed how mistaken one might be in one's estimate of other people's natures. she answered sympathetically:
"how narrow-minded of her. i shouldn't pay any attention to what she thought or said."
"i don't," he assured her; "and may i say that i hope you won't either?"
he reined his horse a little closer to rafella's and looked into her eyes with subtle appeal.
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"of course i shouldn't," she said, returning his gaze with innocent encouragement. "i always take people as i find them, and i never listen to gossip."
he just touched her arm with his own in grateful appreciation. "that's a relief to my mind," he told her. "you don't know how hard it is to live down indiscretions, even when they may not have been all one's own fault. some day, if you will let me, i should like to tell you a lot about myself, though there is no reason why i should bother you with my affairs."
rafella's heart went out to him. all the little confidences of her boy admirers seemed trivial in comparison with the unfortunate experiences of this man of the world. she was well aware that he was ill-spoken of by the more scrupulous members of the community; but she felt convinced he was misjudged, and even if there should be truth in such reports as she had heard, surely sympathy and kindness from a woman who was good was all he needed to enable him to make amends for everything, however regrettable, that might have happened in the past.
it was only during the last ten days that mr. kennard had sought mrs. coventry's company. as a rule he consorted chiefly with the "smarter" portion of society in the station, the english
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cavalry regiment, and a few pretentious people with private incomes, who affected to order their households on lines that were more or less english, and to despise what they called "country ways." sometimes the result of such pretension was ludicrous, but, on the whole, the humble outsider was deeply impressed, while the envious raged and scorned. such a clique concerned themselves little with anyone's morals, provided their guests were as exclusive as themselves and could afford to return their festivities. it was a feeble reflection of a second-rate section of london society.
mr. kennard began his campaign by calling on mrs. coventry, without, however, the smallest apology for never having done so before, though the coventrys lived in the bungalow next to his own. it must be confessed that rafella, instead of receiving him coldly, or not receiving him at all, felt gratified rather than ruffled by this belated attention, though she condemned the circle in which he moved.
she told george of the visit with ill-concealed triumph. she knew there were several women who were anxious for mr. kennard to call on them, who even had lowered themselves so far as to send him invitations to dinner, which for the most part he did not trouble to answer. rafella
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felt she had scored. but george did not share her elation.
"that fellow!" he said contemptuously. "what infernal cheek. don't let him hang about this house, that's all."
"but, surely," argued rafella in gentle reproach, "it would be better for him to come here if it takes him away from the frivolous people he mixes with now?"
"birds of a feather," said george. "he's a beast, and i hate him."
george seemed in such a bad temper to-day that she considered it wiser at present to withhold the information that she had told mr. kennard he might come in and see her whenever he liked. sometimes george was so hard and intolerant. she wished he was rather more christian in his ideas. she made up her mind that if mr. kennard could be weaned from his bad companions it was her duty to undertake such a good work, and george would be wrong to hinder her efforts.
mr. kennard very soon came again, and she felt rather relieved that he should have chosen a time when george was absent on duty. they strolled round the garden and talked of things in the abstract. rafella was gracious and kind, and looked sweet in her soft white gown and flower-trimmed hat. mr. kennard was delightful, she
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thought. his manner was so courteous and charming, and he listened with such deferential respect to anything she had to say. evidently he felt it a privilege to be in her company. once or twice he just touched on his loneliness as a bachelor, which drove him, he hinted, to seek undesirable distractions--distractions of which, in his heart, he was weary and sometimes ashamed. it was all very subtly conveyed, and rafella felt more than ever convinced that he needed most sorely the friendship and help of a high-minded woman, and that she was the woman to provide what was wanted. he must have been "guided" to come to her, and she prayed for him hard that night.
the visits continued. sometimes she mentioned to george that mr. kennard had looked in to lend her a book, or to leave her a bunch of his violets--he was famous for his violets, that bloomed in pots three deep in his veranda. more often she held her tongue; not that she had any feeling of guilt in the matter, but because george was unreasonable about mr. kennard. he had taken to sulking whenever he saw the man at her side in the club or in the gardens, and was cross if she danced with him more often than once, or if he joined her out riding.
she was perfectly aware that george did not suspect her of anything wrong; it was mr. kennard
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he suspected; and on one occasion, when he had been almost violent because mr. kennard had given her a dog, she spoke her mind, calmly, persuasively, pointing out that mr. kennard always behaved like a gentleman, that george was not treating her fairly by making such scenes, and that he could not know how deeply her feelings were hurt.
then she broke down and cried like a child that is punished unjustly; and george took her in his arms and kissed her, trying to feel that he had been a brute, knowing all the time that his instinct was correct, that kennard was not the right man for his wife to befriend.
