A Bottle in the Smoke Part 9

"Look here, little Jane, why send that big landau to the Kutchery for me? You know I prefer my little bandy."

"Of course, I know, daddy, but mother said the landau was to fetch you this afternoon."

"I did, James," said Mrs. Goldring, coming forward. "You will persist in coming straight from the Kutchery to tennis in that hideous little band-box of yours and stepping out of it like a Jack-in-the-box. You've no regard for appearances--it doesn't do! And you, Jane, are just the same, you encourage your father--"

"She does," returned the Judge, with a smile and a loving glint in his blue eyes as they rested on his daughter. "Well, I suppose I must go and make myself as gay and festive as you are," he added, looking admiringly at Jane's faded toilette without the least consciousness of its defects.

"First your cup of tea, daddy," said Jane, bounding off and returning with a special brew in a lovely Sevres cup and saucer which had been her gift to him.

"A very bad habit you're getting your father into giving him tea before he goes out. And Mrs. Samptor looks furious when he declines her cakes--not that I specially desire to save her feelings," added Mrs.

Goldring, recalling the sting of the recent interview.

"Ah, but I do," said the Judge. "So not even a single biscuit with my tea, Jane, that I may do full justice to Mrs. Samptor's cakes, which are excellent, and made by her own tiny fingers."

"Oh, don't you be paying her any compliments. She's quite conceited enough already. I've had her here not five minutes ago with no end of t.i.ttle-tattle--quite upset me!"

"No end of t.i.ttle-tattle in Puranapore! She must have a lively imagination! I'm sure I've heard nothing exciting at the Kutchery to-day."

"I shall tell you her news afterwards," said Mrs. Goldring, pursing up her lips as she rose from her chair. "We'd better not keep the horses waiting longer. I hear the Collector is to be there. I want a word with him if possible."

"By the way, I did hear a bit of news to-day after all. The new a.s.sistant has arrived! I shouldn't wonder if Worsley brings him round to the Samptors'."

"That I should think very unlikely from what I've heard this afternoon, knowing the Collector as I do," returned Mrs. Goldring with an emphatic air. "Come, Jane,--how you do loll about! Why did you not put on that new frock I took such trouble to order for you instead of that blue rag your aunts sent?"

"I was just thinking what a pretty blue it was, and how well it matches Jeannie's 'germander' eyes," said the Judge with a smile, patting his daughter on the shoulder as she followed her mother to the carriage.

CHAPTER X.

Mrs. Samptor, in her role of hostess, welcomed Mrs. Goldring with ceremonious effusiveness, ignoring their parting a few minutes previously. Every time the afternoon entertainment revolved to her compound, Mrs. Samptor felt the delight and importance of the occasion, and certainly she spared no pains to make it pleasant. The fact of her being country born and bred, though it had not impaired her British energy, had given her a mastery over the details of domestic life never attained among the changing Anglo-Indian society. A notable housekeeper, she was well versed in all the tricks of native servants, and got better service from them than anyone else in the station, albeit she ruled them with an iron rod. In bazaar dealing, gardening, pickle-making, and all housewifery lore she was supreme. Being childless, her whole devotion was given to her husband, a big, square-shouldered man with a handsome, good-natured face, who looked like a giant beside his tiny wife as he came forward to greet the visitors.

The only other guests as yet were the young engineer and his wife, and being recent comers, were patronised by the hostess. They sat obediently under the safe shade of a spreading peepul tree on the lawn, where stood the tea-table, which was covered by a spotless linen cloth and groaning with proofs of Mrs. Samptor's skill in the manufacture of cakes.

The Judge at once linked his arm into the jailer's and began to stroll down a shady walk.

"Talking shop, of course! Mrs. Goldring, you should really keep your husband in better order! What can a humble Superintendent of the District Jail do when the Judge leads him into temptation?" said Mrs.

Samptor banteringly.

"Yes, the worst of it is, daddy promised to eat a lot of your cakes,"

remarked Jane bluntly, while her mother groaned inwardly.

"Did he now, dear? How sweet of the Judge! You just go after him, Jane, and pull his coat-tails and remind him of his promise. As for Harry, he won't ever touch anything between tiffin and dinner. But when he eats--he eats!" said Mrs. Samptor, with pantomimic gestures.

"And yet you tempt weaker men by your nice cakes," exclaimed the doctor, who had just arrived. "Is that quite moral?"

"Strictly so, Dr. Campbell, since I happen to know that you haven't broken your fast since early breakfast!"

"How came you to know, Mrs. Samptor? Was it one of the spirits said to inhabit peepul trees that whispered it? Really you are not canny!"

Mrs. Goldring glanced more approvingly at the doctor than she generally did. He was right, this divining little woman was not "canny."

"Is my wife not here?" asked the doctor, glancing round.

"She will be presently," answered the hostess. "I happened to send her some quail Harry shot last night, and as I saw her driving townwards I know she went to share them with Noel Stenhouse, and to see how he is.

No wonder he gets down with fever living among those horrid natives and slaving for the good of their souls as he does! You must have come from your hospital by the back way or you would have met her. Ah, there she is! You'll be happy now, doctor!"

Mrs. Samptor went forward to meet a sweet-faced lady who was crossing the lawn. The doctor followed, and husband and wife exchanged greetings which showed that they were still lovers after years of marriage. The sorrow which had visited them on the death of their two little children had only served to draw them closer to each other.

The little group still lingered in the vicinity of the tea-table, the literal-minded Jane having brought her father back to partake of the notable cakes. Presently Mrs. Samptor, with a pleased exclamation, sprang from her wicker chair.

"Ah, here he is--the Collector has actually kept his promise for once!

But who has he got with him? Oh, of course, the new a.s.sistant! Dear me, what a handsome young man!" she murmured, and everybody glanced with interest at the pair who came up the avenue, deep in talk.

Mr. Felix Worsley, though such a familiar figure in the station, was seldom seen to such advantage as at this moment.

"If he would oftener look like that what a blessing it would be,"

muttered Dr. Campbell, whose sharp eyes noted that the usually sombre face was lit up by a certain cheerful alertness; there seemed to be a new light in the dark, penetrating glance often half veiled by folds of heavy eyelids. "What a handsome, personable man the Collector might be if he always held himself like that," further soliloquised the doctor, as he glanced at the well-proportioned figure and beautifully shaped head showing a thick grizzly thatch as he bared it in response to Mrs.

Samptor's greeting.

"Oh, Alan, he does look nice," whispered Mrs. Campbell; whereupon the doctor asked with a smile:

"Which? I'm so taken up with the Collector's wakened-up appearance, I've no eyes for the new-comer yet. Yes, but he does look a fine, straight young fellow," he added, glancing at Mark Cheveril with approving eyes.

Presently introductions were effected all round, and Mark found himself under the peepul tree drinking tea and looking with keen interest at the new faces which would soon become familiar to him.

Mrs. Goldring, like the doctor, did not fail to note the Collector's unusual air of accessibility, and decided to make hay when the sun shone. Afternoon tea being a beverage she knew he abhorred, she saw no reason why she should not draw him aside without delay and put him in possession of the facts necessary for his guidance at this juncture.

"Duty obliges me to enlighten him! As Mrs. Samptor says, 'Who if not I?'

What a mercy he happens to be in good humour! My task will be an easy one. Everybody knows that, gruff and ungracious as he often is, Mr.

Worsley is a well-born English gentleman, and no doubt he will not brook this latest insult of having a half-caste thrust upon him!"

With these reflections, Mrs. Goldring, in her most sprightly manner, advanced towards the Collector.

"Since you and I both hate croquet, which seems to be the order of the afternoon here, suppose we have a stroll, Mr. Worsley?"

"Well, I don't object to a stroll. Gouty limbs don't take kindly to this sunset hour under a tree. But who said I loathed croquet?" asked the Collector sharply, his eye travelling towards the lawn where mallets were being chosen and all seemed in train for a social hour. "A mere a.s.sumption on your part, madam! On the contrary, I consider croquet an excellent game and a great adjunct to sociability."

"What a bear he is! His love of carping always comes to me like a slap on the face! But wait till he hears my piece of news. Well I know he hates natives and half-castes, and croquet into the bargain, but I'll let him off with that for the moment," thought Mrs. Goldring, as she prepared to play her trump card.

Trailing her long rustling skirts across the gra.s.s while the Collector sauntered at a safe distance, she led the way to the most sequestered walk in the compound. At first she only hazarded a few desultory remarks interspersed with faint praise of her hostess's gardening powers, for the little lady held the acknowledged palm in all floral matters throughout the station. But the Collector seemed to require some topic of keener interest to rouse him. How gratified she felt to think she held the trump card in her hand! Turning towards him, she said suddenly: "I'm really surprised to see the new a.s.sistant such a decent-looking young man!"

"Decent! Your choice of such an adjective is hardly happy, madam," said the Collector, raising his bushy eyebrows. "Mr. Cheveril is a civilian like your husband and myself."

"Ah, but with a sad difference," cried Mrs. Goldring, clasping her hands dramatically. "I grieve to have to shock you, Mr. Worsley, but better now than later. In fact I feel it is my bounden duty to unbosom myself at once of this painful secret."

"Bless my soul, what is it?" asked the Collector, pulling himself up with a start.