The Pool in the Desert Part 19

By the time the monkeys began to scramble about the roof in the early creeping of the dawn among the deodars, Madeline had groped her way to a tolerably clear conception of what might happen. The impeding circ.u.mstance everywhere, it must be acknowledged, was Frederick Prendergast's coffin. The case, had convict No. 1596 been still alive and working out his debt to society, would have been transcendentally simple, she told herself. Even a convict has a right--a prospective right--to his wife, and no honest man should be compelled to retain a criminal's property. This was an odd reflection, perhaps, to be made by Madeline Anderson, but the situation as a whole might be described as curious. And there was no doubt about the coffin.

Chapter 3.VI.

The veranda of which Miss Anderson's little sitting-room claimed its section hung over the road, and it seemed to her that she heard the sound of Mrs. Innes's arrival about ten minutes after breakfast.

On the contrary, she had spent two whole hours contemplating, with very fixed attention, first the domestic circ.u.mstances of Colonel Horace Innes and their possible development, and then, with a pang of profoundest acknowledgment, the moral qualities which he would bring to bear upon them. She was further from knowing what course she personally intended to pursue than ever, when she heard the wheels roll up underneath; and she had worked herself into a state of sufficient detachment from the whole problem to reflect upon the absurdity of a bigamist rattling forth to discuss her probable ruin in the fanciful gaiety of a rickshaw. The circ.u.mstances had its value though; it lightened all responsibility for the lady concerned. As Madeline heard her jump out and give p.r.o.nounced orders for the securing of an accompanying dachshund, it did not seem to matter so particularly what became of Violet Prendergast.

Mrs. Innes's footsteps came briskly along the veranda. Madeline noted that there was no lagging. 'Number seven,' she said aloud; as she pa.s.sed other doors, 'Number eight--number nine! Ah! there you are.' The door was open. 'I wouldn't let them bring up my card for fear of some mistake. How do you do? Now please don't get up--you look so comfortable with your book. What is it? Oh, yes, of course, THAT. People were talking about it a good deal when I left London, but I haven't read it.

Is it good?'

'I like it,' said Madeline. She half rose as Mrs. Innes entered; but as the lady did not seem to miss the ceremony of greeting, she was glad to sink back in her chair.

'And how do you like Simla? Charming in many ways, isn't it? A little too flippant, I always say--rather TOO much champagne and silliness. But awfully bracing.'

'The Snows are magnificent,' Madeline said, 'when you can see them. And there's a lot of good work done here.'

'Aren't they divine? I did nothing, absolutely nothing, my first season but paint them. And the shops--they're not bad, are they, for the size of the place? Though today, upon my soul, there doesn't seem to be a yard of white spotted veiling among them.'

'That is annoying,' said Madeline, 'if you want spotted veiling.'

'Isn't it? Well'--Mrs. Innes take a deep breath--'you DIDN'T tell him last night?'

'N--no,' said Madeline, with deliberation.

'I WAS grateful. I knew I could rely upon you not to. It would have been too cruel when we have only just been reunited--dear Horace would have had to sleep in the--'

'Pray--'

'Well, Horace is the soul of honour. Is your ayah in there?' Mrs. Innes nodded towards the bedroom door. 'You can not imagine what long ears she has.'

'I have no ayah. There is only Brookes;' and as that excellent woman pa.s.sed through the room with a towel over her arm, Madeline said, 'You can go now, Brookes, and see about that alpaca. Take the rickshaw; it looks very threatening.'

'Maid! You ARE a swell! There are only four genuine maids in Simla that I know of--the rest are really nurse-girls. What a comfort she must be!

THE luxury of all others that I long for; but alas! army pay, you know.

I did once bring a dear thing out with me from Nice--you should have seen Horace's face.'

'I couldn't very well go about quite alone; it would be uncomfortable.'

'Except that you Americans are so perfectly independent.'

'On the contrary. If I could order about a servant the way an Englishwoman does--'

'Say you are not going to tell him! I've got such a lot of other calls to make,' exclaimed Mrs. Innes. 'Dear Lady Bloomfield won't understand it if I don't call today, especially after the baby. What people in that position want with more babies I can not comprehend. Of course you haven't noticed it, but a baby is such a shock to Simla.'

'Don't let me keep you,' Madeline said, rising.

'But you haven't promised. Do promise, Miss Anderson. You gain nothing by telling him, except your revenge; and I should think by this time you would have forgiven me for taking Frederick away from you. He didn't turn out so well! You can't still bear me malice over that convict in Sing Sing.'

'For his sake, poor fellow, I might.'

'Coming along I said to myself, "She CAN score off me badly, but surely she doesn't want to so much as all that." Besides, I really only took your leavings, you know. You threw poor Fred Prendergast over.'

'I am not prepared to discuss that,' Madeline said, at no pains to smooth the curve out of her lip.

'Then I thought, "Perhaps--you never can tell with people--she will think it her DUTY to make a fuss."'

'That is a possible point of view.'

'I know. You think I'm an imposter on society and I ought to be exposed, and I suppose you could shut every door in Simla against me if you liked. But you are a friend of my husband's, Miss Anderson. You would not turn his whole married life into a scandal and ruin his career?'

'Ruin his career?'

'Of course. Government is awfully particular. It mayn't be his fault in the least, but no man is likely to get any big position with a cloud over his domestic affairs. Horace would resign, naturally.'

'Or take long leave,' Mrs. Innes added to herself, but she did not give Madeline this alternative. A line or two of nervous irritation marked themselves about her eyes, and her colour had faded. Her hat was less becoming than it had been, and she had pulled a b.u.t.ton off her glove.

'Besides,' she went on quickly, 'it isn't as if you could do any good, you know. The harm was done once for all when I let him think he'd married me. I thought then--well, I had to take it or leave it--and every week I expected to hear of Frederick's death. Then I meant to tell Horace myself, and have the ceremony over again. He couldn't refuse.

And all these years it's been like living on a volcano, in the fear of meeting New York people. Out here there never are any, but in England I dye my hair, and alter my complexion.'

'Why did you change your mind,' Madeline asked, 'about telling Colonel Innes?'

'I haven't! Why should I change my mind? For my own protection, I mean to get things put straight instantly--when the time comes.'

'When the time comes,' Madeline repeated; and her eyes, as she fixed them on Mrs. Innes, were suddenly so lightened with a new idea that she dropped the lids over them as she waited for the answer.

'When poor Frederick does pa.s.s away,' Mrs. Innes said, with an air of observing the proprieties. 'When they put him in prison it was a matter of months, the doctors said. That was one reason why I went abroad. I couldn't bear to stay there and see him dying by inches, poor fellow.'

'Couldn't you?'

'Oh, I couldn't. And the idea of the hard labour made me SICK. But it seems to have improved his health, and now--there is no telling! I sometimes believe he will live out his sentence. Should you think that possible in the case of a man with half a lung?'

'I have no knowledge of pulmonary disease,' Madeline said. She forced the words from her lips and carefully looked away, taking this second key to the situation mechanically, and for a moment groping with it.

'What arrangement did you make to be informed about--about him?' she asked, and instantly regretted having gone so perilously near provoking a direct question.

'I subscribe to the "New York World". I used to see lots of things in it--about the shock the news of my death gave him--'

A flash of hysterical amus.e.m.e.nt shot into Mrs. Innes's eyes, and she questioned Madeline's face to see whether it responded to her humour.

Then she put her own features straight behind her handkerchief and went on.

'And about his failing health, and then about his being so much better.

But nothing now for ages.'

'Did the "World" tell you,' asked Miss Anderson, with sudden interest, 'that Mr. Prendergast came into a considerable fortune before--about two years ago?'

Mrs. Innes's face turned suddenly blank. 'How much?' she exclaimed.