Produced by sp1nd, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE A TALE OF ANGLO-INDIAN LIFE BY MRS. MILNE RAE _Author of "Bride Lorraine," "Morag: A Tale of Highland Life," etc._ HODDER AND STOUGHTON LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE CHAPTER I. The early dawn had given place to the golden sunlight of the Indian morning, but there was still ample shade within certain nooks in the compound of a pleasant-looking two-storied house in one of the leafy roads of Madras. Under an old banyan tree, with its tent-like stems turned downwards and its dense canopy of green overhead, stood a dainty breakfast table. Early tea was over. One bamboo chair had already been vacated by its occupant; in the other, sat a young English lady. Only two months previously Hester Rayner had left home a bride. "She is happy, I think," was always the remark, accompanied by a sigh, made by her anxious mother, as she passed the closely written pages of the latest letter across the rectory breakfast table to her husband. The young wife's letters gave no untrue expression of her state of feeling, yet there were times when the dream-like sensation which pervaded her outlook on the new surroundings disturbed her. The spell of the East was strong; the tropical life, the vivid colouring, the brown-skinned multitudes, the waving palms, all seemed to belong to a bright pageant in which she was only a passing spectator. And now, with the simple sense of duty which had marked the only daughter of the Pinkthorpe Rectory, she was asking herself whether it was right to yield so entirely to the wooing of the magic present. Even her weekly journal from home seemed to deepen the glamour; all in that dear distant home was transfigured by its glow; never had the tender affection of father and mother felt so precious, and who would have believed that the couple of schoolboy brothers would prove so much more demonstrative in their first letters than in the days when she had painted their wickets, made sails for their boats, and was their willing helper in all school preparations? And again the unexpected was on its way. It came in the form of a letter which a white-robed peon now handed to her. It was the first she had received from her brother Charlie, now at Oxford, and so notably a poor correspondent that the sight of his handwriting awoke keen expectation. She was not long in finding its outstanding piece of news. The fair, uncovered head was at once recklessly exposed to the strengthening sun-rays as she hurried towards the house, though an instant object of solicitude to the vigilant domestic. But the lithe figure flew birdlike across the brown turf, and reached the safe shade of the verandah before the white-covered umbrella was brought to the rescue. "Alfred, where are you?" called the gleeful voice, as she hurried in at one of the many doors which led from the verandah to the house. The room she entered was already carefully darkened, having its heavy green _persiennes_ closed against the solar rays, though a chink of light served to reveal the occupant at the writing-table, who raised his eyes from the blue papers scattered before him. There was a gravity and placidity about his movements which suggested his being older than his years. His figure, though slender, was firmly knit. His fine-grained skin and whole appearance gave evidence of careful culture of the body, though the long thin hands, which were resting on his papers, were those of a man of the desk rather than a devotee of the polo or cricket field. "News, Alfred, delightful news! Actually a letter from Charlie to tell us that Mark Cheveril, his great friend, is on his way to Madras!" "Cheveril! Why, that name is surely familiar! Yes, he was Mark too. He was one of the smaller boys when I was at Hacket's." Suddenly Mr. Alfred Rayner's delicately-pencilled eyebrows contracted to a frown. "But, I say, Hester, he's a half-caste, actually used to boast in the most shameless manner that his mother was an Indian. Little fool!" "Yes, his father was a lieutenant in the Indian Army, and married an Indian princess. Wasn't it romantic? It must be from his mother he got his good looks, he is so dark and handsome." "But, Hester, what an arrant fool the man must be to set foot in India again--half-caste as he is!" "Why, it's been the dream of Mark Cheveril's life to go back to his native land. Father always said he particularly admired that trait in him." "Just like one of your father's unworldly notions! Let me tell you they don't work east of Suez. I'm afraid, for instance, that it will be difficult for us to have anything to do with him." Mr. Rayner tapped his papers thoughtfully with his thin hand. "Anything to do with him," echoed Hester, her deep grey eyes dilating. "But Mark Cheveril is Charlie's greatest friend. Listen to what he says." She turned to the letter and read: "'I've just been thinking how delightful it will be for you to see Cheveril out there. Tell Rayner I took advantage of his _carte blanche_ to invite him to stay with you, assuring him that he would be welcome, as I remembered how Rayner expatiated on the hospitality of Anglo-Indians----'" "Didn't think I was to be asked to extend that hospitality to half-castes," muttered Mr. Rayner, bending over his writing table with a sulky air. There was a perplexed look in his wife's eyes as she glanced at him. She had not seen that expression on her husband's face before. "And what is this noble Eurasian going to do here does your brother say? Is he going to look out for a job?" "Oh, no, he's got work in a good service, though I don't suppose it's so good as being a barrister like you," said Hester slowly, the gladness of her news tempered by her husband's more than chilly attitude. "I'm really awfully ignorant about Indian things, you see; I must coach myself up or I shall remain a 'griffin,' I fear. Charlie writes----" Again Hester turned to her letter, but this time with a little sigh. "... 'Cheveril passed the Indian Civil a year ago, as you will remember; he has since been at Oxford, and is now posted to Madras.'" "The Indian Civil! Has the fellow really got into that?" exclaimed Mr. Rayner with undisguised astonishment. "I must have missed his name in the lists. Well, surely he will have learnt by this time to keep the fact of his mixed blood dark. We must give him a hint to that effect. It is silly and sentimental, to say the least of it. But seeing he's among the 'Covenanted Ones' he'll be worth curing of this mad freak." A smile played about Mr. Rayner's thin lips; then he added briskly, "Does your brother say what steamer he's coming by?" "The _Bokhara_," replied Hester, her air of joyous expectation already exchanged for a soberer one. "Then he's due this very day," said her husband, starting up. "Mark Cheveril may be here at any moment, Hester. I'll see if the steamer is in yet on my way to the High Court." He had evidently reconsidered his decision "not to know" the new arrival. "Wonder if I shall recognise him. He was only a little chap in Etons when I knew him at Hacket's. What's he like now?" "He's tall and has dark hair. He always looked such a contrast to Charlie, who is so fair," said Hester, with a reminiscent smile, recalling how often the two friends used to walk hatless on the emerald lawn at home, the fair wavy hair and the dark head in close proximity. "Yes, Charlie is too fair for a man. I love that blondeness in you, dear, but a slightly darker hue suits the masculine gender better," returned Mr. Rayner, glancing at himself, with a self-conscious smile, in a mirror hanging on the white wall near his writing table. In his own estimation, and it must be acknowledged, in the estimation of others also, he fulfilled all the requirements of good looks. His dark hair framed a beautiful aquiline face, though too cameo-like perhaps in its perfection. There was something unpleasant in his expression, an air of hauteur, a lack of frankness, which detracted from his undeniably handsome face. It was, in fact, Alfred Rayner's perfectly chiselled features which, after a very brief wooing, had been the passport to the heart of the young daughter of Pinkthorpe Rectory. Hester and he had met at a large house-party--the girl's first appearance in society. She had lately left school, and was becoming pleasantly conscious that she was a free agent, no longer told to do this and that, but tacitly challenged to exercise personal choice. She was not exactly in love with the young barrister, but being on the verge of her life's awakening, a word, a look, a touch, was enough to rouse her. And when these forces were skilfully applied by the wooer, aided by a good-natured hostess with the alleged feminine love of match-making, the result may be supposed. Though with the girl herself, the matter was no further advanced, even in her own account to her mother, than was consistent with saying frankly that she admired and liked the young stranger who had come into her simple days. Sweet home security had wrapped her all her young life, and before her now stretched the glamour of a happiness to come. Might it not be sweeter than any she had ever known, whispered imaginings, indefinite but luring as the balmy air of those June days in which she gave her "promise true" to go with this man. That it was to go "over the hills and far away" added only to the fascination of the prospect. Even the haste of the wooing had its charm for the young girl; for Alfred Rayner asked nothing less of the anxious parents than that their precious daughter should be given to him at once. His short furlough being almost expired, his urgent request was that they should be married without delay and make their honeymoon on their voyage to India. For two years Mr. Alfred Rayner had been practising as a barrister in Madras, and was able to expatiate in glowing words on the many-sided charm of life for the dominant race in the tropical land. His young wife had found as yet that those descriptions were, if anything, under the mark. During those early days she used playfully to tax her gratified husband that he had not conveyed to her half the charm of the bright Eastern land whose spell had hitherto been unbroken. But as she stood now in that darkened room having told her joyful news, the shaft of light which fell on his face revealed to her a little dark cloud in her heaven of blue. It was the first time she had felt that she and Alfred were not entirely in unison. Nor was the recollection quite covered when after breakfast she watched him going down the broad, white, sunlit flight of steps from the verandah to enter his office-bandy, though he called to her, "I'll see if the _Bokhara_ is in and send you word." After watching the white-covered carriage disappear along the avenue shaded by its casuarina trees, she retraced her steps slowly to her husband's writing room. Its darkness seemed dense after the glare of the verandah. For a moment she stood oppressed by it, then with quick gestures hurried to throw open the heavy green shutters and let in the fierce sun-rays. She seated herself on her husband's chair, leaning on his table, her cheek resting on her hand, her face shadowed by a sense of trouble. How cold had been the frown on Alfred's face as he had sat there! What a peevish reception he had given to her news, and what a complete surprise to her was the source of his annoyance! That Mark Cheveril, Charlie's best friend, who during his short visits to Pinkthorpe Rectory had won golden opinions from all; that he, her own good friend and comrade, should be viewed as a person of social disabilities was a revelation to her. It seemed a breach of good feeling, and disloyal to her home estimates, to entertain such an idea for a moment. Nor was her husband's sudden change of front on hearing that Charlie's friend was coming to enter the great service any more explicable to the carefully nurtured English girl. She must think it out! CHAPTER II. Veeraswamy, the butler, had, according to his master's standing order, lowered the heavy rattan blinds of the verandah, and duly excluded the strengthening sun-rays from the rooms under his charge. It was therefore something of a surprise to a visitor now being announced to pass from the surrounding gloom to a chamber flooded with sunshine. "Oh, this is good," he exclaimed, in a frank, ringing voice. "Why, I expected to find you a bunched-up mystery of white muslin reclining in a dark room; and here you are basking in a glorious light, delightfully like the Hester of Pinkthorpe, even to your pinky frock!" "Mark, this is a happy surprise!" cried Hester with a radiant smile, coming forward from the writing-table where she sat. "This is a joy, you are my first visitor from home!" "And you, my first welcome to my native land." "It was only this morning I heard from Charlie that you were on your way. But did you not meet my husband? He drove off meaning to meet the _Bokhara_." "Then Mr. Rayner and I must have missed each other. I'm sorry! We got in earlier than was expected, and I, with one of my fellow-passengers, drove at once to the Club, where I deposited my baggage and had breakfast; then I came on here." "Oh, but you must come and stay with us. Everybody stays with everybody here, you know. And you see what great spaces we have----" "Yes, they are most satisfactory. I've often seen them in my dreams," said the young man, bending forward, his face all aglow. "You cannot imagine the excitement, the exaltation, I felt when our steamer all at once stood still, and I looked out in the first flush of the dawn and saw the amber sands and the long straggling arms of the eastern town. I kept saying: 'This is India, the home of my mother, the wonderful land where my father came to begin his life-work, to find love and an early grave!'" Hester's attitude as she listened to these eager words would have proved wholly sympathetic had there not crept into her mind the recollection of her husband's warning. Should she break the ice at once and give a timely caution to her old friend and comrade that he must not label himself as belonging to the community said to be so despised? No, she could not, she decided; besides, surely Alfred's prejudices were like a gossamer thread which would at once snap in the presence of this strong-natured man. "You and my husband must meet at once," she said eagerly. "Our peon can fetch your luggage; you needn't even go back to the Club. We'll have tiffin and a long chat." "I only wish I could stay, but I've promised to lunch at the Club with my _ami de voyage_; and then, by the way, I believe I'm inveigled into an engagement for the afternoon. The Brigadier-General, whom I met at the Club, asked me to a garden party at his house this afternoon----" "Oh, yes, we're going to Mrs. Glanton's party. You'll meet Alfred there. Then surely we'll be allowed to take possession of you, and we'll drive home to dinner together." "Thanks, that will be delightful! I find that for three days I'm still a free man. I'm posted to Puranapore, if you know such a place. My knowledge of it dates only from this morning. My chief-to-be very considerately wrote suggesting that I should tarry a few days in Madras." "That's good. I have heard of Puranapore. Alfred has some clients there." "I've no doubt Mr. Rayner will be able to tell me much that I want to know." "Of course he will. He's been two years here, you know, and is quite an old Indian now. You and I are 'griffins,' as they call new-comers here. Alfred will be delighted to tell you all he can, I'm sure." Soon they passed to that topic so near to the heart of Anglo-Indians--the home across the sea--and to the centre of it all to the girl, the ivy-clad Pinkthorpe Rectory set amid its green fields and hedges where the sun smiled but never scorched as in this eastern land. Mark Cheveril was able to give her the latest news, for he had paid a brief farewell visit to it before he sailed. "I'm thinking of what a delightful picture I shall be able to make of you basking in the sunshine as I saw you when I came in. It will go into my letter which I promised to write to your mother by the first mail," said Mark, as he rose to go. "Then we are to meet at this said Mrs. Glanton's?" "'This said Mrs. Glanton's,' forsooth!" laughed Hester, raising her eyebrows. "I assure you she is a very formidable leader of society here. Alfred has the greatest admiration for her, thinks her a perfect model for new-comers like me. But I fear I shall never attain to her splendid manners," she added, with a little sigh. Mark Cheveril, as his eye rested on the fair young wife, involuntarily hoped that she would not model herself on any Mrs. Glanton, however much her husband might wish it, but would remain the bright girlish presence that had graced her happy English home. They were standing in the verandah now. The hired bandy which had been waiting under a tree was called, and the visitor drove off to keep his appointment at the Club. The little cloud of the morning had been chased away from Hester's heart by the spell of the revived comradeship. To be sure, no managing hostess had intervened between these two to foster any warmer feelings than good fellowship. But Hester's loyalty was well developed, and her husband's sneering words of the morning still haunted her. Should she have ventured to sound the warning note, struck no doubt from her husband's larger experience, and would it have been wiser to do so even before he began his life in the East? She had friendship enough to do so. Had they not ridden together along leafy Worcestershire lanes and talked of many things? But there was a glance in Mark Cheveril's serene hazel eye, an innate courtesy about his whole deportment which made her divine that he would receive any such warning with gentle disdain. In fact, she decided, she must warn Alfred to beware of broaching the subject. Mr. Rayner only returned from the High Court in time to join his wife on their drive to the garden party. She told him of Mark Cheveril's arrival, and of his already having found his way to Clive's Road; of the prospect of their meeting him now and of his returning with them; but she observed that her husband listened absently to the news. His preoccupation regarding the coming entertainment caused her some surprise. Social functions of the kind in the home county had never created the desire to make an impression which seemed to lurk under Alfred's excitement over his handsome new landau and the well-matched pair of Australian horses with their couple of smart syces. The queue of carriages was already far stretching on the leafy road which skirted the Glanton's compound when Mr. and Mrs. Rayner's landau took its place there; but at last it came to their turn to alight and follow the stream of guests along the broad crimson strip to the spot where the hostess had elected to receive them. Hester's eye was charmed by the picture suddenly unfolded to her on the wide flat lawn of the spreading compound, bordered by its glades of dense shrubberies intersected by winding walks. The mellow light of the late afternoon sun tinged all the landscape, turning to gold the graceful over-hanging palms, revealing glimpses of the green waters of the tank which sparkled like jets of emerald, and etherealising the Indian garden for the first time to the eyes of all new-comers. The long hot months were over, and, freshened by the recent rains, Madras was again considered suitable for the highest officials. The civil and military element was well represented. Red coats mingled picturesquely with the smart feminine toilettes just emerged from the latest box from home. The groups on the lawn vied with the bright schemes of colour in the flower beds which the gardeners had been labouring over for days with much repotting and many libations from earthenware chatties. Mr. and Mrs. Rayner soon perceived the ample form of their hostess. Their names were announced by a white-robed peon. Mrs. Glanton received the young bride graciously, and seemed gratified by her evident appreciation of the bright scene. "This promises to be a charming gathering," remarked Alfred Rayner, shaking hands with his hostess. "Yes, I thought it would prove a nice preface to the gaieties of the season. The Brigadier wanted a succession of dinner-parties first, but you understand, Mr. Rayner, the question of who will meet and mix cordially is always a thorny business, and after all the fatigue of entertaining, one often gets a hornet's nest about one's ears. So disagreeable to have people sulking at one for fancied slights, especially so early in the season." Hester's face wore a slightly puzzled expression, but her husband answered vivaciously: "That is so, Mrs. Glanton. In fact, only this morning I was explaining to my wife the Scylla and Charybdis of these social disabilities." "Ah, I see you are wise, Mr. Rayner," returned the hostess, with a responsive smile. "One cannot learn one's lessons too early, one avoids shoals of quicksands later on. Oh, the tales I could tell! And now you will understand how pleased I am to have gathered Madras together for what I call my neutral party. I felt sure I was striking the right key." "A very minor key, I should say, mother," said the daughter of the house, strolling up and lowering her parasol, then greeting the guests. "Ah, my dear Mrs. Rayner," said Mrs. Glanton, "I am so glad that you and dear Clarice are friends. She has all the experience of her first season to share with you, and you, my dear, have your home complexion;" and she lightly tapped Hester's sleeve with her fan as she moved aside to greet new relays of guests. Clarice Glanton had been reckoned the chief beauty of Madras during the last season. She had undeniably well-cut features and a graceful carriage, but though no older than the young wife, she lacked that indefinable air of youth which made Hester's chief charm. There was certainly no symptom of the "close friendship" between the two, and the girl's thin lips curled with a faint cynical smile as she heard her mother's remark. It had been her intention to pass on, being on the outlook for a guest who had not yet appeared, but now she felt it incumbent upon her to exchange a few words. "I'm afraid you'll feel dreadfully bored, Mrs. Rayner," she said in her staccato voice. "The seats are full, the sets for Badminton, archery, and croquet made up for the moment. But there will be some movement soon. You are devoted to croquet, I recollect," she added, turning to Mr. Rayner; then her attention was attracted by a tall young man advancing along the crimson strip. "Ah, this must be the gentleman my father met fresh from the steamer this morning and invited to join our party, charging me to entertain him too," remarked Clarice, her sharp eyes scanning the coming handsome figure with its easy grace. "Oh, Alfred, here he is,--here is Mark Cheveril," exclaimed Hester eagerly. "Then you know him, Mrs. Rayner? Cheveril, yes, that is his name. Wherever has my mother disappeared to? I suppose I must act as hostess." With a more gracious smile than she had previously bestowed on Hester, she went forward to meet the guest. After a brief interchange of polite words, on Miss Glanton's side marked by studied graciousness, Mark turned to greet again his old friend with a bright smile; while, with an air of nonchalance which surprised his wife, Alfred Rayner came forward to introduce himself, reminding Mark that they were old school acquaintances. "In the dear old Hacket days, of course! How could I have forgotten that it was then your name was familiar to me! I remember your face perfectly. You are very little changed except that you were then in 'jackets.'" "And you in Etons. I certainly shouldn't have recognised you, Cheveril, though I do remember some--of your talk." "Too well," he was going to add, but bit his lip and glanced at his wife. "I expect I talked a good deal of nonsense," responded Mark with a laugh, secretly wondering what of his childish prattle still lingered in the mind of this sharp-looking man with his impassive face, who was saying now with rather a patronising smile: "Well, I suppose we all live and learn." Then he added, with a neat bow: "Glad to hear you are to be our guest at Clive's Road to-night. We shall have an opportunity of talking over things new and old." Miss Glanton, in her rôle of brevet-hostess, did not mean to permit more talk between two male guests, especially as she was desirous of monopolising one of them. "May I introduce, Major Ryde, Mrs. Rayner?" she said, as a dapper-looking officer appeared, evidently with the intention of joining Miss Glanton. Divining Hester's disappointment on being separated from her friend, she added with a smile: "Believe me, Mrs. Rayner, Major Ryde is as useful to the new-comer as a well-stocked 'Lady's Companion' to a housewife. He knows everybody and everything about everybody. I used to call him the young woman's best companion last season, did I not, Major Ryde?" "I believe, Miss Glanton, you did me that honour last season, but I should put emphasis on the 'last,'" replied the major with a reproachful air. Then turning to his new charge, he piloted her towards the refreshment tent, which seemed to be the centre of popularity at the moment, to judge from the echoes of gay laughter and talk mingling with the jangle of tea cups and wine glasses which met them as they drew near. "Now, Mrs. Rayner, seeing the creature comforts have been served, I must try to live up to Miss Glanton's character of me if you will put me to the test," said Major Ryde politely, as they left the tent. "I see there is no chance of entering the croquet lists at this moment." He glanced towards the lawn where more than one game was now in progress, elderly couples poising their mallets with an air of enjoyment, the crack of the boxwood balls sounding in the clear air as they were skilfully driven to their goal. Hester had been an adept at the game on the home-lawns, but she did not feel inclined to enter the lists at the moment. "Suppose we have a stroll among the shrubberies," suggested her companion. It was among those very winding green paths that Hester had been hoping to be permitted to wander in company with her husband and her old friend, and to have the pleasure of seeing them welding together. But that would come later. She turned with gracious courtesy to respond to the amiable effort on the part of her escort and assure him that she had been longing to explore those green labyrinths. "What a pretty effect all these gay uniforms give to a garden-party. I have seen nothing like this at home, and I don't think there were any uniforms at the only party I've been to since I came to Madras." "Mrs. Teapes? You are right, Mrs. Rayner. I commend your discernment. That was a judge's house. In fact it is only at Government House, or on occasions when His Excellency or the Commander-in-Chief honours the gathering, that it is _de rigueur_ to don our war-paint. Glad you think it so attractive! The younger men are getting lazy and prefer mufti when they can get off with it. I confess I think a well-made man never looks better than in full dress. Ah, here comes our Commander-in-Chief! Perhaps you'd like to wait and have a look at him before we begin our walk." Hester saw an elderly man of gracious presence advance along the crimson strip to greet the hostess, his refined face lit up by a smile of singular sweetness. He was followed by his suite. "Very glad the Chief has put in an appearance," continued the major, "Mrs. Glanton will be gratified. Very good of him to come, he is a weary man often--has seen much service. There is the Brigadier coming to greet him." "What a fine pair of soldiers they look!" said Hester. "They are all that," assented Major Ryde warmly. "Glad we've got a man for a Brigadier at last, instead of the little spinning-top we had, who couldn't get on his horse without his syce's back for a foot-stool, and even when mounted, was so scared by his frisky mare's paces when the band began to play that he had her ears stopped with cotton wool!" Hester laughed, but inwardly commented that there was more than one officer of the spinning-top order as she glanced at her rotund companion. They had now reached the shady walks which she had longed to penetrate, and not being given to repartee of the sort which fitted her companion's topics, the conversation threatened to languish. "Your friend Clarice is a smart girl, Mrs. Rayner," he remarked, as he caught sight of a pair of strollers on a path alongside, separated by thick shrubs. "But, to my mind, she rather overdoes it at times. See how she's captured that 'griffin'? I can see her leading him about there," said the major, as he glanced maliciously through the tangled creepers. "But don't you think people must learn to talk pleasantly about everything--and nothing--when they have a great deal of entertaining to do like Miss Glanton? They seem so hospitable and invite everybody." "That's just what they do--invite 'everybody'! It's Mrs. Glanton's patent method of making herself popular. She loves the voice of the majority. Very pretty in you, however, to set it down to kindness and that sort of thing--wish we had more of the bloom of charity among us, but I fear it wears off like the lovely English bloom"; and the major cast an admiring glance on the fair face of his companion. As the talk rolled on, Hester began to think that Major Ryde's remarks were more outspoken and personal than she had been used to think quite in good taste, though she could not help feeling half amused by the smart running commentary with which he enlarged on his fellow guests, as soon as they were out of hearing. It was therefore with true pleasure that she perceived at a little distance a lady to whom she had drawn more than to any other since her coming to Madras. "Oh, yes, that's Mrs. Fellowes, from the sepoy cantonment at Royapooram," assented Major Ryde, showing in his tone the contempt he affected for the Native Infantry. Hester's smile had already beckoned the older lady. The major, perceiving that his _tête-à-tête_ was now interrupted, descried another companion and politely withdrew. CHAPTER III. The tank is an integral part of the Indian garden, but the sheet of water in Mrs. Glanton's compound was larger and more picturesque than any Hester had seen. It looked alluring now, framed by graceful over-hanging branches and flooded by the gorgeous tints of the setting sun which transfigured its stagnant green waters, making them sparkle like a bed of gems. "Oh, what lovely red water lilies!" exclaimed Hester, as she gazed with delight on the great knotted tendrils and broad green leaves where the bright floating flowers nestled. "I've only seen white lilies, and none grow on our tank. It's only a dreary little pond. Do you think, Mrs. Fellowes, I might possess myself of some of these beauties? They would add just the lacking colour to our white-walled dining-room." "Well, my dear, I shouldn't think that an unattainable desire, though the stems are strong and fibrous. Come, let's think!----This excessively long parasol of mine may prove useful for once as a hook!" But Hester, with playful agility, was already descending the flight of slippery steps which led to the darkening water, bent on capturing the prize. Stooping down she made a grasp at one of the nearest lilies, but the tangled stems were not so easily severed as she imagined. "Take care, my dear," interjected Mrs. Fellowes with anxious eyes. Suddenly Hester lost her footing on the slippery stone and found herself ankle deep in water, fortunately not overhead, for she had only slipped one step, the next flat green stone extending a good way out into the water. Her position, however, looked sufficiently alarming to her companion, who uttered a little cry and hastened to extend both her hands to help her. The signal of distress happened to be heard by two strollers in the walk alongside, divided only from the tank-path by a thin jungly brake, through which the gleam of the water was visible. There was an instant crashing among the bushes, and in a moment Mark Cheveril appeared through the creepers just as Hester emerged from the water with a smiling face, though with dripping skirts, holding her trophy in her hand. "Too late, Mr. Cheveril, in spite of your sudden display of knight-errantry!" Miss Glanton's metallic voice rang out from the cross walk where she appeared, looking by no means amiably on Hester and her companion. "You are a rash young person, Mrs. Rayner," she said, in a bantering tone. "The idea of venturing down those filthy, slithery steps! Why, some deadly snake might have been coiled on one of them! And your pretty frock entirely ruined! Mrs. Fellowes, what have you been about to let a new-comer run such risks?" she said pertly, glancing at the older lady; whereupon Hester forgot her wet shoes and stockings and ruined frock and hastened to defend her friend. "Oh, indeed, it wasn't Mrs. Fellowes' fault, I even rejected the parasol she held out--but I've secured my trophy! This, Mrs. Fellowes, is Mr. Cheveril I was telling you about," she said, introducing her friend. The older lady held out her hand cordially; and when Mark looked into the refined, kindly face he felt sure that the daughter of the Pinkthorpe Rectory would have at least one wholly congenial friend. Miss Glanton did not seem to approve of the new distribution of her guests, and said pointedly: "Now, Mr. Cheveril, I must introduce you to my mother's fern-house. We were just on our way there when we heard your despairing cry, Mrs. Rayner." "Oh, come, give me at least the credit of the 'despairing cry,' as you call it," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I confess my nerves got the better of me. Mrs. Rayner stood the test better than I did. But oh, my dear, you _are_ wet, we must see to those soaking shoes at once, they are dangerous!" "Of course they are, Mrs. Rayner," said Miss Glanton decisively. "Here comes your husband, who will no doubt carry you off at once." Hester felt rather like a naughty child when her husband surveyed her plight, with a more annoyed than sympathetic glance, and listened silently to the account of her misfortune. "Of course you must go home at once, Hester, or you'll have a sharp attack of fever." "Oh, don't be a prophet of evil, Mr. Rayner," broke in Mrs. Fellowes. "But it will be wise to go--or, we might retire. I wonder if Mrs. Glanton has one of those delightful charcoal arrangements for drying clothes?" she asked, turning to the daughter of the house. "The mater does not possess anything so useful, I fear," replied Clarice, shaking her head. "I shall go home! A just punishment for my behaviour," said Hester quickly, thinking there would be compensations, seeing that she would carry off her husband and Mark Cheveril. Her disappointment was therefore considerable when she perceived that she was to be bundled off alone. "All right, Hester," said her husband. "I'll call your carriage; and look here, when you reach home, you can tell the horse-keeper to bring round my mail-phaeton for us.... You are dining with us, I think, Cheveril? I shall drive you home." "Thanks," responded Mark, "but shall we not accompany Mrs. Rayner? Will that not be simplest?"--"and pleasantest," he was about to add, when he recollected his semi-hostess was by his side. "Oh, but you cannot escape so, Mr. Cheveril," she expostulated. "Why, you haven't even paid your respects to my mother yet!" "You are right. You cannot omit that pleasure, Cheveril," said Mr. Rayner, in a ceremonious tone. "Besides, I was in search of you. The Brigadier wants to see you; it seems you have eluded him too." Again the arrangement of the guests did not please Miss Glanton, though she felt willing to speed the parting guest. The two gentlemen disappeared and she had to be contented to bring up the rear with the ladies. The drive between the English habitations in Madras is often long in that city of "magnificent distances." The sudden tropical dusk had fallen on the landscape. Her Indian home looked dreary to Hester when she reached it. She felt, moreover, depressed by the events of the afternoon, and flung herself into a wicker chair in the verandah. Mrs. Glanton's exposition of her "neutral party" had jarred upon her. Major Ryde's talk was far from inspiring, and this stupid escapade, which had obliged her to be despatched home like a punished child, and over which Alfred had looked undeniably annoyed, was vexing. And as for Mark Cheveril, he might as well have still been on the _Bokhara_ for all she had seen of him! A suspicion of homesickness greater than she had yet felt was stealing over her. The only bright spot seemed Mrs. Fellowes' warm friendship; and she was now to have a fresh proof of it. The maty boy came dragging a big cage-like coop of bamboo into the verandah. "Dosani Fellowes done send her _jhapra_ for to hook up Missus," was Ramaswamy's rendering of her message. "What?" asked Hester, laughing. The ayah came to the rescue, having already made acquaintance with the useful article then coming into vogue in the fireless bedrooms of Madras. "Dat boy one humbug! I know all 'bout bamboo. Big chattee charcoal done put under, it make werry warm Missus clothes." "That reminds me, ayah, I've got wet shoes and stockings, and skirts too," said Hester rising, having in her depressed mood forgotten her plight and its possible consequences. "Oh, m'am, that's awfulee shockin'," cried the ayah, as she followed her mistress up-stairs and nimbly divested her of her wet garments; and, all excitement, gave directions for the placing of the _jhapra_ above the charcoal fire. Hester then dressed for dinner and hastened to send a note of thanks to Mrs. Fellowes for this new proof of her thoughtful kindliness; its promptitude revealing that her friend must have left Mrs. Glanton's party at the same time as herself in order to hasten the dispatch of the _jhapra_. "We shall make our salaams if you're inclined to go, Cheveril," Mr. Rayner was saying now, having discovered that his smart mail-phaeton was in readiness to carry him home. Mark responded with alacrity, having been secretly wondering why their departure had not been simultaneous with Hester's. Had he been nearer a banyan tree under which an extra buffet had been placed for refreshments stronger than tea and iced coffee, he would have heard, at all events, the reason assigned by a group of men evidently more perceptive than friendly. "Heartless prig that Rayner," said one. "Miss Glanton has just been telling me he let his wife drive home alone in her wet clothes. She had slipped on the steps of the tank trying to catch a water lily and got a ducking." "And do you know the reason he waited? Just that he might swagger home in that new mail-phaeton of his! I've been taking the measure of that fellow for some time. He's got all the ambition of a thorough upstart. Where he gets all his rupees from every month passes me to guess. They aren't earned in the High Court, I'll be bound, for he's only a struggling barrister like myself!" "And his wife a rector's daughter--told me so herself this afternoon when Miss Glanton bestowed her on me that she might sound the possibilities of that new-comer," chimed in Major Ryde. "You were in luck, Ryde, having Mrs. Rayner for company. She looks charming, much too good for that sinister-looking fellow. I wonder too how he manages to cut such a dash, all the more since his wife is not an heiress." "What a set of uncharitable sinners you are!" exclaimed a big youth with a benevolent face which had not lost the ruddy hue of a temperate climate. "I'll just tell you the facts. Rayner happened to volunteer them over a peg we had together at the Club the other day. First, he comes of an extremely old family, Rayner being the corrupted form of Regnier--some chap that came over with the Conqueror----" "Very corrupted form, I should say," broke in Major Ryde. "Well, what more, Stapleton?" "Oh, well, not much more, only the important fact that he has a large allowance from his people." "So that's his tale! Unembroidered, on your honour, Stapleton? Well, anyhow, we'll keep our eye on this meteor--such are not unknown on our Indian firmament," muttered a man prematurely old-looking, whose appearance suggested a youth spent in struggling with examinations. "I hear the new-comer, Cheveril, is going to be Worsley's sub. at Puranapore. Don't envy him his job!" "No, the Collector seems a thoroughly embittered man," said another speaker. "He should have risen high in the Service, but is credited with being slack. He is a favourite in the district though, and a great shikari, but there have been some quarrels in the town between the Hindus and the Mahomedans, and he is said to favour the latter unduly. He hates competition-wallahs, being of the ancient muster himself. Got on badly with his last Assistant, I believe! But I heard lately that Printer was really a _mauvais sujet_. Cheveril looks an honest, energetic fellow. I was getting into conversation with him when Rayner tacked on and led him away. Now I see they're going off together," he ended, glancing at the two retreating figures. "Well, the possibilities of Mrs. Glanton's party seem pretty nearly exhausted. I think I shall make my salaams too. More than likely I shall see Cheveril at the Club and find out what connection he has with Rayner, and perhaps give him a bit of a warning too." Gradually the group under the banyan tree began to break up. Meanwhile, Mark Cheveril had taken his seat beside his host, feeling the bond of interest deepened by the knowledge that there were older links between them than he had guessed when, as he wandered in Rhine-land, he had received a letter from his friend Charlie Bellairs, telling him that his sister was engaged to a young barrister from Madras, and was to be married in a few days. Perhaps Mark would have acknowledged that a keen pulsation of regret swept over him, for had not Hester Bellairs been the one woman of whom he had ever thought as a possible life-companion? He had solaced himself as best he could by choosing for her, as a wedding-gift, a beautiful little antique cross which specially delighted Hester. Her little note of thanks had crossed the sea with him, and lay in his pocket-book, a treasured relic.... And now he was seated by her husband's side. Mr. Rayner was too much engaged in steering his mail-phaeton and the spirited Australians through the motley crowd of carriages for any possibility of sustained conversation to be afforded. He was an expert whip and liked to display his prowess. The comparative silence was, however, welcomed by Mark. It was his first twilight hour in the wonderful eastern land, never more beautiful than in the swiftly-fading glow of the orange sunset. The evening breeze from the sea was softly stirring the feathery palms which stood sentinel-wise bordering the road. The aspen-like leaves of the peepul tree made a faint rustling murmur, while the glistening foliage was lit up by innumerable points of light, showers of sparks seemed to dart from every bush, rising even from the grass and glittering against the darkening sky. "What a wonderful illumination! It looks as if the Milky Way had come down from the firmament," said Mark. "Fireflies, merely, and like most other things in life, illusory," replied Mr. Rayner, with a dry laugh. "When you see them by daylight, they are actually only ill-shaped black flies, though they transform themselves into angels of light of an evening. Fireflies aren't our only illusion in this wilderness, Cheveril. I warn you there are many," he added, in a tone of caution, reminding himself he could not begin too early to try to batten down that strain of enthusiasm suggested by his wife's description of the young man. But just at that moment his horses were requiring his full attention. They had reached a sharp angle of the road, and had almost run down a wayfarer who seemed in such imminent danger that Mark instinctively raised his hand, calling: "Rayner, have a care!" The holder of the reins uttered an angry denunciation. "If that old man hadn't bestirred himself marvellously he would have been under your horses' hoofs," said Mark, "and yet he cleared himself with an air of dignity. I hope he isn't any the worse. I say, shouldn't we pull up for an instant and speak to the old fellow? He seems to be waiting. Look, he's standing gazing reproachfully at the chariot that so nearly wrought him destruction!" Mark's eyes were directed to where the light from one of the oil lamps, planted at intervals along the road, fell on the face of the foot-passenger, a face which instantly attracted him because of a certain wistful, expectant look it wore. "I think he expects a word of apology, Rayner," he said again. "Well, he shan't have it, that's all," said his companion shortly. "He needn't have been out on foot at this hour. He's got a carriage to drive in! He deserves to be run down. Bah, he's only a half-caste, after all!" "A half-caste, did you say?" exclaimed Mark. "He interests me all the more because of that! Perhaps you don't know, Rayner, that I too am of mixed blood. It has always given me a strong feeling of brotherhood with such----" "Take my advice, Cheveril, and pocket that fact," said Alfred Rayner, after a moment's silence. "Mind, I speak as a friend," he added, slacking his horses' pace and poising his whip. "My wife whispered to me something of this quixotic fad of yours. She, of course, is too new to India to understand, like me, the folly of it. It comes back to me that even when you were a little kid at Hacket's you used to indulge in some talk that was unwise. But now that you've got into that fine Service--and lucky you are--you must keep a quiet tongue in your head about that fact. Believe me, not even the Civil Service will carry you through if you persist in knocking your head against that post. And there's no need, Cheveril," continued his companion, glancing at him. "I was just thinking when I saw you crossing that crimson strip with Judge Teape near you, that he looked much more _chi-chi_ than you did, though he's a pucka Englishman. Not a soul will ever guess it, and depend upon it Hester and I will never breathe
{'title': 'A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life by Janet Milne Rae', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}