An American Girl in India/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
THREE OLD MAIDS
At Bombay I said good-bye to Lady Manifold and Marjory. They were going up to stay with friends in Jeypore and then on to Delhi, where we should meet again. I'm sorry, but I must confess it, that I parted from Marjory without regret. She had been all very well as a casual sort of acquaintance at home, but after having lived with her for over a fortnight, I hadn't anything left to say to her. She was one of those people who make you feel positively tired after you've lived with them a bit. She made me just dumb, and I'm not often taken that way. I guess it is that she isn't a woman's woman. She has got plenty to say to anything that calls itself a man, but I suppose it is she doesn't take the trouble to make herself pleasant to women. It's a mistake, because a man at heart really likes a woman's woman best. He'll flirt right enough with the one, but he'll marry the other.
Berengaria was stationed at Slumpanuggur, a fearsome railway journey distant from Bombay, and thither, after a few days' sight seeing, Ermyntrude and I set out to join her. The train left at night after dinner, and being warned, I had taken the precaution to book our seats well ahead. The crush of traffic consequent on the Great Durbar had aheady begun, and we were fully prepared to find the train service a bit erratic. Yet as I walked down the platform, accompanied by Lady Manifold and Marjory, who had come to see me off, I still cherished fond hopes that I might find a carriage all to myself. It isn't that I'm unsociable, but when I travel I like to spread myself, and you can't do that in a railway carriage with four other people trying to do the same. It isn't that I'm modest either, but I confess I don't like getting undressed with three pairs of eyes upon me. Still less do I like trying to hang all my garments on one peg. Besides, every one of us has her own little ways about things that one doesn't want to expose to the ridicule of the public gaze.
Imagine my disgust when I found the names of Mrs. and Miss Cardew over two of the other three berths in my compartment They were some of the many uninteresting people on board the Arethusa whom I haven't mentioned. Mrs. Cardew was a bore, and Miss Cardew was plain and pimply, and I hadn't any use for either of them. Now I always believe in acting promptly. So I quickly and quietly removed the cards that bore their names from over the berths and tearing them up into small and unrecognisable pieces, I dropped them out on to the line. Then I turned round quite pleased with myself to find the guard looking in at me with a curious smile-on-the-face-of-the-tiger sort of expression. There was no mistaking the fact that he had seen what I had done. I had to say something.
'Oh, guard,' I said sweetly, 'do you think I shall be quite safe travelling in this carriage all alone?'
'But you won't be alone, miss, there's two other ladies coming in here,' he replied, still with that same amused smile. He really was rather a nice-looking guard.
'Oh no, there isn't,' I said, smiling back at him. 'See, there's no other berth reserved except mine.'
'That's strange,' he said, putting his head in at the window and looking round; 'I'd swear I put three names in here.'
He brought out a plan from his pocket and consulted it. I looked at that plan as a prisoner must look at a witness who is giving incriminating evidence against him.
'Yes,' he said, reading out the names. 'Mrs. and Miss Cardew. I thought so.'
We looked at one another for the fraction of a second.
'I must have forgotten to put their names up,' he said smiling. 'I'll go and fetch some more cards.'
He was actually moving away.
'Guard,' I called in my sweetest voice. Then I drew back. Ermyntrude was stolidly making my bed on the further lower berth. Lady Manifold and Marjory had gone to book their own berths for their own departure on the morrow. What could one say to a guard to induce him to neglect his duty? Of course at home I should have given him a tip, but somehow in India every white man seems to be such a superior being that I didn't like to offer him even a ten rupee note. Besides, this particular guard was so smart and nice-looking. What could I say?
Fortunately just then Lady Manifold bustled up.
'I hope you are all right?' she said.
'Yes,' I answered, 'isn't it delightful? I've got a carriage all to myself, and the guard'—with my sweetest smile in his direction—'has promised to see that I have it to myself all the way to Bandalpur Junction, where I have to change.'
That guard was really nice-looking, and especially so when he smiled as he did then.
'I'll do my best, miss,' he said, as he touched his hat and went off. I smiled upon him, and felt sure that if that guard had any influence on board that train I had got the carriage to myself just as far as ever I wanted it. I've always had a great belief in the power of a smile well placed.
Bombay station is a very fine affair, but it's about the hottest place I think I've ever been in. It made Lady Manifold feel apoplectic, so I said good-bye and sent her off back to the hotel before the train started. Erymntrude shut up the jhilmils, and I proceeded to go to bed. The train wasn't due to start for another fifteen minutes, but I thought it just as well to go to bed, so that if Mrs. and Miss Cardew did force their way into the carriage I should be all right and could pretend to be asleep. I will say this for an Indian first-class railway carriage that it is a most comfortable affair if you've got it to yourself. But if there are four people in it for the night, and you have to climb up into an upper berth where the ventilation isn't good, you don't feel just overflowing with the milk of human kindness for those who have got the berths below.
'Ermyntrude,' I said, as I made myself comfortable for the night, 'I hope you are all right in the second-class.'
Ermyntrude was disposing of my garments in her usual precise and careful manner. She paused with a stocking in her hand.
'There are three women, miss, and three children in my compartment,' she said impressively, 'and one of them is the fattest woman I have ever seen.'
'Poor thing, how hot she must feel it,' I laughed, as I discarded everything in the way of outer covering except a sheet. 'But you have got your lower berth all right?'
'Yes, miss, but little use it will be,' Ermyntrude sniffed anxiously. I knew that something must be wrong.
'Oh, why not?' I asked cheerfully. 'If you've got the lower berth you can go to bed quite comfortably.'
'That's just what I can't do, miss,' Ermyntrude replied mysteriously.
I raised myself on my elbow and looked at her.
'My dear, good Ermyntrude,' I said, 'what's wrong?'
Ermyntrude turned and looked at me reproachfully.
'Haven't I told you, miss, that there are three women and three children in that carriage?'
I was puzzled.
'But I don't see how that prevents your going to bed.'
Ermyntrude dropped her eyes and positively blushed.
'It ought not to be allowed, miss, indeed it didn't. Three children, miss, and the eldest a boy of seven!'
I found out afterwards that Ermyntrude had sat up stiff and erect all night in the corner of the carriage on account of that boy of seven. There's nothing like privacy, I admit, but when you can't get it I believe in being just as comfortable as you can without it.
To my great joy the train started with no sign of Mrs. and Miss Cardew. Whether they had not turned up, or whether they had been beguiled by that nice-looking guard into another carriage, I was left to wonder. I settled down comfortably for the night with a sigh of perfect content.
I must have fallen very sound asleep straight away, for I remember nothing more until I woke up with a nasty, uncanny sort of feeling, to find a vague shadowy form looming close up against me. I jumped up with a cry of alarm and promptly hit my head against the upper berth, which must have been lowered while I slept, but as I fell back I made a grab at the shadowy form and caught hold of something solid. There was a faint squeak from up above, and the thing that I held wriggled horribly. I clung on tighter, only half awake and real scared. Suddenly I realised that it was a leg I had caught on to, but before I could let go the whole thing fell flop down on the floor of the carriage with a shriek like a steam whistle. Out of the darkness from the other side of the carriage came a terrified voice.
'Martha, oh, Martha, what is it? What has happened?'
I jumped up, almost falling over the heap on the floor, and drew back the green baize from the nearest lamp. Then I saw one of the most comic sights I have ever seen, and in the sudden reaction from the real scare I had had, I sank back on my berth laughing hysterically, and feeling as if I should never stop. On the floor crouched a mass of grey dressing-gown with a terrified wrinkled face peeping out of it, surmounted by a grey woollen nightcap, while huddled up on the two opposite berths were two exact counterparts of the figure on the floor. At first I thought I must be dreaming and that they couldn't be real. They looked perfectly uncanny, and they were gazing at me with sort of bulgy eyes like that kitmatgar servant in the Bombay hotel when he caught me fast asleep. But it was downright fear that made these old ladies' eyes bulgy. I sat on still and laughed. I must have caught this poor inoffensive, old lady by the leg as she was climbing laboriously into the upper berth. And now they all three sat looking at me with fear showing every moment stronger in their eyes. I am afraid they must have begun to think me mad, but the whole thing was so comic and unexpected that only pity for their helplessness and obvious fright at last conquered my amusement. I stopped laughing, duly apologised, and proceeded to help the mass of grey dressing-gown off the floor into the upper berth. It's a nasty climb for an unathletic old lady into the upper berth of an Indian railway carriage, but it's quite funny from the spectator's point of view, and the sight of a skinny leg dangling down just in the place where I had caught hold of it a few minutes before nearly upset my gravity again. But with great self control I outwardly preserved a sympathetic air, and by gently pushing and shoving the grey dressing gown in various places finally landed it safely in the upper berth. All three old ladies were profuse in their acknowledgments as I once more lowered the green baize over the lights, and bidding them good-night, again composed myself to sleep.
My first thought when I awoke was of Aunt Agatha's woollen things peacefully reposing at the bottom of my biggest trunk labelled 'Not wanted on voyage.' To my intense surprise and disgust it was bitterly cold, and I positively shivered under a good thick rug, and thought with regret even of the heat of Bombay station. It made me feel particularly annoyed with Lord Hendley too. Is there anything more annoying than a man who tells you something that you don't believe at the time but that comes true afterwards? He had told me that it would be cold, and I had only smiled. Now it would have been Lord Hendley's turn to smile if he could have seen me huddled up in a cotton night-dress, seeking all the warmth that a sheet and a rug could give. Of course, he would have been much too well-bred to have said 'I told you so,' but I don't think even he could have helped looking it. And if there is one thing that drives a woman wild it's the knowledge that she's given a man the chance of saying, 'I told you so,' even if he doesn't say it.
I felt warmer after Ermyntrude had brought me some tea. Ermyntrude looked worn and tired but very faithful, with the grim resigned sort of look about the corners of her mouth that I knew so well. I know better than to start a conversation when Ermyntrude looks like that, so I took my tea with a grateful word and smile, and let her retire again to the unknown terrors of the second-class. Then I thought it time to begin to make friends with the three old ladies, who had just begun to get up. I made no reference at all to the previous night, and we were soon on the most amiable terms. They bore no resentment evidently for the fright I had given them, and only seemed too anxious to make friends. The best way to do this, they appeared to think, was to agree with everything I said. Now, in most people, that would have annoyed me straight away, but these dear old ladies were so harmless and anxious to please that one couldn't be annoyed. If there is one thing that's irritating, it's people agreeing with whatever one says, I don't want anyone to argue with me. That annoys me even more. But I do like people to have minds of their own. I like to hear their views on subjects. I've an open sort of mind myself, always ready to learn, and I'm not above storing up someone else's epigrams for future use. But you can't learn much from an echo. It's very pleasant for a time, but it isn't exactly instructive, and it soon gets badly on the nerves.
At first, I think, those quaint old ladies still imagined I was mad. But after I had behaved quite properly and sanely for an hour or so in spite of an almost irresistible desire to laugh at them, they got more easy in their minds. If you want to make people quite sure that you are sane and respectable, be dull and solemn—especially dull. Never by any chance say anything witty or original. An Englishman doesn't understand, and gets suspicious of anything of that kind right away. He'll eye you askance at once as an eccentric sort of Johnny, if he doesn't call you mad outright. But if you are very dull, and never say anything that he might not have said himself, then he'll pass you as all right. I suppose it is that nothing annoys an Englishman more than to find anybody who can say cleverer things than he can himself. If you want to impress an Englishman, be dull and respectable, and don't show that you are clever or light-hearted whatever you do. Though there's an epigram or something real witty on the tip of your tongue, hold on, and don't let go. If you do you're bound to become an object of suspicion straight away in the average Englishman's mind, and days of dull respectability won't quite wipe out that first fatal suspicion.
So I was just as dull and solemn before those dear old ladies as I could possibly be. I didn't even laugh when they told me they had brought out enough water in casks to last them all the time they were in India, because they had heard that the water out there was always full of microbes.
'We're so afraid of cholera,' said one.
'And enteric,' said another.
'And hermataphrosis,' said the third.
'Great heavens!' I exclaimed. 'What's that?'
The third old lady positively blushed.
'It's very dreadful,' she murmured, in such a shy way that I felt it would be positively indecent to pursue the subject further.
'You are carrying enough drinking water along with you to last the whole trip!' I said in amazement. If my eyes had grown bulgy at the doings of these old ladies there might have been some excuse.
'Yes, and most of our food as well,' said the one who was called Martha.
Then Jane took up the tale.
'We had six casks of water when we landed at Bombay, and from there we distributed them all over our line of route, which we had carefully planned before we set out. One we have with us on this train, one has gone to Calcutta, one to Lucknow, one to Jeypore, and one to Mehernugger, and we've allowed ourselves one for the Delhi Durbar. We've calculated to such a nicety what we drink every day that we can't possibly run short.'
'Unless, of course, Providence intervenes, dear Jane,' said Martha.
'Or the casks leak,' I murmured.
Consternation wrote itself large on the face of each.
'Oh, Heaven forbid,' they chimed in chorus, and passed on to another subject, as if that were too awful a catastrophe to contemplate.
'And we need eat very little of the food of this country, for we've brought a large supply in tins,' said the third one, whom they called Anne.
'With, of course, plenty of condensed milk,' added Martha.
'In fact,' said Jane primly, 'you might say that we are absolutely self-provided, and we hope to eat as little as possible beyond what we have brought out from home, and of course, on no account shall we drink anything except from our own casks.'
'And, of course, we shall avoid all native fruit,' added Martha.
'Which we have always heard is the source of so much disease,' echoed Anne.
'Good gracious!' I exclaimed—if my eyes weren't bulgy, they might well have been—'why on earth did you come if you feel like that?'
A look of great but shy affection that went straight to my heart passed over the faces of all three old ladies.
'We have a nephew,' they said in unison.
'At Mehernugger,' added Martha.
'A civilian,' smiled Jane.
'Whom we haven't seen for five years,' murmured Jane shyly, her face alight with a look of expectation.
I felt right down sorry for those three aunts and that nephew straight away. For which I ought to be the more sorry I couldn't tell. That much depended on what like the nephew was. Supposing he was a smart, up-to-date, go-ahead good all-round sort of man, what use could he have in Mehernugger for three old frumps like these, however much he might have loved them in his youth in their own home? Perhaps they had lived in some charming old-fashioned Manor House, where they fitted into the quaint, time-worn setting like some old picture into its age-dimmed frame, where everybody knew them and loved them, and where their dowdiness and their little peculiarities had always been accepted and forgotten. But why—oh, why, hadn't they stayed in that charming old Manor House? Any nephew might have continued to like them there, but in Mehernugger! No man likes owning up to dowdy relatives, and India has no use for frumpy old maids. My heart went out to that nephew. And yet supposing he proved a snob and let his aunts see what he felt. Supposing he hurt these dear old ladies by his rudeness and indifference; supposing they, who had come all this way, looking forward to seeing him, were destined to make the long journey home again, sad at heart and disillusioned.
'He doesn't know that we are coming,' said Martha, nodding at me with a mysterious, delighted smile.
'We thought we would give him a surprise,' chirped Jane.
'He has so often suggested our coming, but I don't think he ever really thought that we should come,' smiled Anne, troubled by no shadow of a doubt as to the welcome they would receive.
Young men of India, however much you want to flatter your aged female relatives, don't ask them to come out and pay you a visit, or, improbable as it may seem, they may take you at your word. My sympathies now went quite over to that nephew in Mehernugger. Just imagine an unfortunate young man having three aunts sprung upon him suddenly like that in India. What on earth could he do with them?
'You see, he couldn't get the leave he expected this year,' Martha was saying.
'So, as he could not come to see us, we determined that we would come to see him,' added Jane.
'Only to think that it's five years he has been away from us,' sighed Anne, 'and it had never been as many months before.'
I suddenly felt that that nephew must have warning both for his own sake and that of the poor old ladies, for I don't think that any nephew, however much he loved them, could quite control his expression at such a sudden and unexpected event as the arrival of three frumpy maiden aunts in Mehernugger. I made up my mind at once. I would send him a wire from Bandalpur Junction. I suppose it was really an unwarrantable interference with other people's affairs, but I felt I couldn't just let those three aunts and that nephew clash straight away without some warning.
At Bandalpur Junction Ermyntrude and I disembarked to catch the train for Slumpanugger, and I bade the old ladies an affectionate farewell. They had quite forgotten that they had thought me mad the night before and did so hope we should meet again. They even said that I must come to see them at home, and presented me with their cards, whereupon I discovered they were Ladies—real Ladies as Ermyntrude would call them, that is, entitled to wear the appellation before their Christian names. Of course, that might make a difference, but it couldn't altogether equalise matters, and I determined on that telegram all the same. So we parted, saying we should be sure to meet at Delhi. Nobody could possibly miss them, even in the densest crowd if they kept together, and looked anything like they did then. The last I saw of them they were opening out a well-filled tiffin-basket and lighting a neat little travelling-stove, preparatory to making tea with their English water and condensed milk.
I left Ermyntrude seated on my biggest trunk, daintily pulling up her skirts out of the way of a crowd of disreputable-looking coolies waiting for the job of putting the luggage into the Slumpanugger train, and went off to send that telegram. The aunts had talked of nothing but their nephew and their plans all day so there was no difficulty that way.
'Aunt Martha, Aunt Jane, and Aunt Anne arriving Allahabad to-morrow,' I wrote, 'and Mehernugger on Monday.'
I guessed that would give him a bit of a shock. The only fear was that he might think it a joke, and take no notice of it. Anyway, I couldn't help it. The only difficulty was, what should I sign it? I've such a contempt for anonymous people, so I felt I must put something. Yet to put my own name didn't seem quite right and proper. Suddenly I had an inspiration. Ermyntrude should sign it. I went over to her at once.
'Will you please sign this, Ermyntrude?' I asked, giving her the form.
She read it carefully through from beginning to end. Ermyntrude is eminently cautious.
'I suppose it's all right, miss,' she asked doubtfully, as she signed it. 'It won't bring me within the arm of the law?'
'No, it won't bring you within the arm of the law, I 'said mock-seriously. Ermyntrude always roused in me the spirit of mischief. 'But, of course, it may bring you within some other arm, you never can tell, you know,' I added.
Ermyntrude, in the full consciousness of never having been encircled by an arm in the whole of her life, looked up horror-struck.
Then, fortunately, the train came in, and Ermyntrude, unconsciously protected by the arm of the law in the shape of a railway constable, fought her way through to a second-class carriage.