CHAPTER XIII: THE PLEASURE COLONY

A town on the hill-tops; a town of clubs, churches, and hotels, of luxury shops, of pretty villas set in lovely gardens bright with English flowers and shaded by great orchid-clad trees; of broad, well-kept roads—such is Darjeeling, seven thousand feet above the sea.

At first sight there is nothing Oriental about it except the Gurkha policemen on point duty or the laughing groups of fair-skinned, rosy-cheeked Lepcha women that go chattering by him. But on one side the steep hills are crowded with the confused jumble of houses in the native bazaar, built higgledy-piggledy one on top of the other and lining the narrow streets and lanes that are thronged all day by a bright-garbed medley of Eastern races—Sikkimese, Bhuttias, Hindus, Tibetans, Lepchas. Set in a beautiful glen are the lovely Botanical Gardens, which look down past slopes trimly planted with rows of tea-bushes into the deep valleys far below.

As Noreen was borne along in her dandy she thought that she had never seen a more delightful spot. Everything and everyone attracted her attention—the scenery, the buildings, the varied folk that passed her on the road, from well set-up British soldiers in red coats and white helmets, smartly-dressed ladies in rickshas, Englishmen in breeches and gaiters riding sleek-coated ponies, to yellow-gowned lamas and Lepcha girls with massive silver necklaces and turquoise ornaments. She longed to turn her chair-coolies down the hill and begin at once the exploration of the attractive-looking native bazaar—until she reached the English shops with the newest fashions of female wear from London and Paris, set out behind their plate-glass windows. Here she forgot the bazaar and would willingly have lingered to look, but Ida’s dandy kept steadily alongside hers and its occupant chattered incessantly of the many forth-coming social gaieties, until they turned into the courtyard of their hotel and stepped out of their chairs.

When Ida had shown her friend into the room reserved for her she said:

“Take off your hat, dear, and let me see how you look after all these years. Why, you’ve grown into quite a pretty girl. What a nice colour your hair is! Do you use anything for it? I don’t remember its being as golden as all that at school.”

The girl laughed and shook the sunlit waves of it down, for it had got untidy under her sun-hat.

“No, Ida darling, of course I don’t use anything. The colour is quite natural, I assure you. Have you forgotten you used sometimes to call me Goldylocks at school?”

“Did I? I don’t remember. I say, Noreen, you’re a lucky girl to have made such a hit straight away with Captain Charlesworth. He’s quite the rage with the women here.”

“Is he? Why?” asked the girl carelessly, pinning up her hair.

“Why? My dear, he’s the smartest man in a very smart regiment. Very well off; has lots of money and a beautiful place at home, I believe. Comes from an excellent family. And then he’s so handsome. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes; he’s rather good-looking. But he struck me as being somewhat foppish.”

“Oh, he’s always beautifully dressed, if that’s what you mean. You saw that, even when he had just come off a train journey. He’s a beautiful dancer. I’m so glad he asked me for a couple of dances at the L.G.’s ball. I’ll see he doesn’t forget them. I’ll keep him up to his word, though Bertie won’t like it. He’s fearfully jealous of me, but I don’t care.”

“Bertie? Who is—? I thought that your husband’s name was William?” said Noreen wonderingly.

Ida burst into a peal of laughter.

“Good gracious, child! I’m not talking of my husband. Bill’s hundreds of miles away, thank goodness! I wouldn’t mind if he were thousands. No; I’m speaking of Captain Bain, a great friend of mine from the Bombay side. He’s stationed in Poona, which is quite a jolly place in the Season, though of course not a patch on this. But he got leave and came here because I did.”

“Oh, yes, I see,” replied Noreen vaguely, puzzled by Ida’s remark about her husband. She had seen the Civil Servant at the wedding and remembered him as a stolid, middle-aged, and apparently uninteresting individual. But the girl was still ignorant enough of life not to understand why a woman after two years of marriage should be thankful that her husband was far away from her and wish him farther.

“But I’m not going to let Bertie monopolise me up here,” continued Mrs. Smith, taking off her hat and pulling and patting her hair before the mirror. “I like a change. I’ve come here to have a good time. I think I’ll go in and cut you out with Captain Charlesworth. He’s awfully attractive.”

“You are quite welcome to him, dear,” said the girl.

“Oh, wait until you see the fuss the other women make of him. He’s a great catch; and all the mothers here with marriageable daughters and the spins themselves are ready to scratch each other’s eyes out over him.”

“Don’t be uncharitable, Ida dearest.”

“It’s a fact, darling. But I warn you that he’s not a marrying man. He has the reputation of being a terrible flirt. I don’t think you’ll hold him long. He’s afraid of girls—afraid they’ll try to catch him. He prefers married women. He knows we’re safe.”

Noreen said nothing, but began to open and unpack her trunks. In India, the land of servants, where a bachelor officer has seven or more, a lady has usually to do without a maid, for the ayah, or native female domestic, is generally a failure in that capacity. In the hotels Indian “boys” replace the chambermaids of Europe.

Ida rattled on.

“Of course, Bertie’s awfully useful. A tame cat—and he’s a well-trained one—is a handy thing to have about you, especially up here. You need someone to take you to races and gymkhanas and to fill up blanks on your programme at dances, as well as getting your ricksha or dandy for you when they’re over.”

Noreen laughed, amused at the frankness of the statement.

“And where is the redoubtable Captain Bain, dear?”

“You’ll see him soon. I let him off today until it’s time for him to call to take us to the Amusement Club. He was anxious to see you. He wanted to come with me to the station, but I said he’d only be in the way. I knew Miguel would be much more useful in getting your luggage. Bertie’s so slow. Still, he’s rather a dear. Remember, he’s my property. You mustn’t poach.”

Noreen laughed again and said:

“If he admires you, dear, I’m sure no one could take him from you.”

“My dear girl, you never can trust any man,” said her friend seriously. Then, glancing at herself in the mirror, she continued modestly:

“I know I’m not bad-looking, and lots of men do admire me. Bertie says I’m a ripper.”

She certainly was decidedly pretty, though of a type of beauty that would fade early. Vain and empty-headed, she was, nevertheless, popular with the class of men who are content with a shallow, silly woman with whom it is easy to flirt. They described her as “good fun and not a bit strait-laced.” Noreen knew nothing of this side of her friend, for she had not seen her since her marriage, and honestly thought her beautiful and fascinating.

Ida picked up her hat and parasol and said:

“Now I’ll leave you to get straight, darling child, and come back to you later on.” She looked into the glass again and went on:

“It’s so nice to have you here. A woman alone is rather out of it, especially if she comes from the other side of India and doesn’t know Calcutta people. Now it’ll be all right when there are two of us. The cats can’t say horrid things about me and Bertie—though it’s only the old frumps that can’t get a man who do. I am glad you’ve come. We’ll have such fun.”

Captain Bain, a dapper little man, designed by Nature to be the “tame cat” of some married woman, was punctual when the time came to take the two ladies to the Amusement Club. Noreen had very dubiously donned her smartest frock which, having just been taken out of a trunk after a long journey, seemed very crushed, creased, and dowdy compared with the freshness and daintiness of Ida’s toilette. Men as a rule understand nothing of the agonies endured by a woman who must face the unfriendly stares of other women in a gown that she feels will invite pitiless criticism.

But for the moment the girl forgot her worries as they turned out of the hotel gate and reached the Chaurasta, the meeting of the “four-ways,” nearly as busy a cross-roads as (and infinitely more beautiful than) Carfax at Oxford or the Quattro Canti in Palermo. To the east the hill of Jalapahar towered a thousand feet above Darjeeling, crowned with bungalows and barracks. To the north the ground fell as sharply; and a thousand feet below Darjeeling lay Lebong, set out on a flattened hilltop. On three sides of this military suburb the hill sloped steeply to the valleys below. But beyond them, tumbled mass upon mass, rose the great mountains barring the way to Sikkim and Tibet, towering to the clouds that hid the white summits of the Eternal Snows.

Bain walked his pony beside Noreen’s chair and named the various points of the scenery around them. Then, when Noreen had inscribed her name in the Visitors’ Book at Government House, they entered the Amusement Club.

Noreen was overcome with shyness at finding herself, after her months of isolation, among scores of white folk, all strangers to her. Ida unconcernedly led the way into the large hall which was used as a roller-skating rink, along one side of which were set out dozens of little tables around which sat ladies in smart frocks that made the girl more painfully conscious of what she considered to be the deficiencies of her own costume. She saw one or two of the women that had travelled up in the train that day stare at her and then lean forward and make some remark about her to their companions at the table. She was profoundly thankful when the ordeal was over and, in Ida’s wake, she had got out of the rink. Conscious only of the critical glances of her own sex, she was not aware of the admiring looks cast at her by many men in the groups around the tables.

But later on in the evening she found herself seated at one of those same tables that an hour before had seemed to her a bench of stern judges. She formed one of a laughing, chattering group of Ida’s acquaintances. More at ease now, the girl watched the people around her with interest. For a year she had seen no larger gathering of her own race than the weekly meetings at the planters’ little club in the jungle, with the one exception of a durbar at Jalpaiguri.

Yet despite Ida’s company she was feeling lonely and a little depressed, a stranger in a crowd, when she saw Captain Charlesworth enter the rink, accompanied by another man. Recent as had been their meeting, he seemed quite an old friend among all these unknown people about her, and she almost hoped that he would come and speak to her. He sauntered through the hall, bowing casually to many ladies, some of whom, the girl noticed, made rather obvious efforts to detain him. But he ignored them and looked around, as if in search of some particular person. Suddenly his eyes met Noreen’s, and he promptly came straight to her table. He shook hands with Mrs. Smith and bowed to the other ladies in the group, introduced his companion, a new arrival to his battalion, and, securing a chair beside Noreen, plunged into a light and animated conversation with her. The girl could not help feeling a little pleased when she saw the looks of surprise and annoyance on the faces of some of the women at the other tables. But Charlesworth was not allowed to have it all his own way with her. Bain and an Indian Army officer named Melville also claimed her attention. The knowledge that we are appreciated tends to make most of us appear at our best, and Noreen soon forgot her shyness and loneliness and became her usual natural, bright self. Ida looked on indulgently and smiled at her patronisingly, as though Noreen’s little personal triumph were due to her.