CHAPTER XVIII: THE CAT AND THE TIGER

Several weeks had passed since the Durgá Puja Festival. Over the Indian Empire the dark clouds were gathering fast. The Pathan tribes along the North-west Frontier were straining at the leash; Afridis, Yusufzais, Mohmands, all the Pukhtana, were restless and excited. The mullahs were preaching a holy war; and the maliks, or tribal elders, could not restrain their young men. Raids into British Indian territory were frequent.

There was worse menace behind. The Afghan troops, organised, trained, and equipped as they had never been before in their history, were massing near the Khyber Pass. Some of the Penlops, the great feudal chieftains of little-known Bhutan, were rumoured to have broken out into rebellion against the Maharajah because, loyal to his treaties with the Government of India, he had refused a Chinese army free passage through the country. All the masterless Bhuttia rogues on both sides of the border were sharpening their dahs and looking down greedily on the fertile plains below.

All India itself seemed trembling on the verge of revolt. The Punjaub was honeycombed with sedition. Men said that the warlike castes and races that had helped Britain to hold the land in the Black Year of the Mutiny would be the first to tear it from her now. In the Bengals outrages and open disloyalty were the order of the day. The curs that had fattened under England’s protection were the first to snap at her heels. The Day of Doom seemed very near. Only the great feudatories of the King-Emperor, the noble Princes of India, faithful to their oaths, were loyal.

Through the borderland of Bhutan Dermot and Badshah still ranged, watching the many gates through the walls of mountains better than battalions of spies. The man rarely slept in a bed. His nights were passed beside his faithful friend high up in the Himalayan passes, where the snow was already falling, or down in the jungles still reeking of fever and sweltering in tropic heat. By his instructions Parker and his two hundred sepoys toiled to improve the defences of Ranga Duar; and the subaltern was happy in the possession of several machine guns wrung from the Ordnance Department with difficulty.

Often, as Dermot sat high perched on the mountain side, searching the narrow valleys and deep ravines of Bhutan with powerful glasses, his thoughts flew to Noreen safe beyond the giant hills at his back. It cheered him to know that he was watching over her safety as well as guarding the peace of hundreds of millions in the same land. He had seldom seen her since their return from Lalpuri, and on the rare occasions of their meeting she seemed to avoid him more than ever. Chunerbutty was always by her side. Could there be truth, then, in this fresh story that Ida Smith had told him on their last night at the Palace, when she said that she had discovered that she was mistaken in believing in Noreen’s approaching betrothal to Charlesworth, of which she had assured him in Darjeeling? For at Lalpuri she said she had extracted from the girl the confession that she had refused the Rifleman and others for love of someone in the Plains below. And Ida, judging from Chunerbutty’s constant attendance on, and proprietorial manner with Noreen, confided to Dermot her firm belief that the Bengali was the man.

The thought was unbearable to the soldier. As he sat in his lonely eyrie he knew now that he loved the girl, that it would be unbearable for him to see her another’s wife. Those few days at Lalpuri, when first he felt the estrangement between them, had revealed the truth to him. When in the courtyard of the Palace he saw Death rushing on him he had given her what he believed would be his last thought.

He recalled her charm, her delightful comradeship, her brightness, and her beauty. It was hateful to think that she would dower this renegade Hindu with them all. Dermot had no unjust prejudice against the natives of the land in which so much of his life was passed. Like every officer in the Indian Army he loved his sepoys and regarded them as his children. Their troubles, their welfare, were his. He respected the men of those gallant warrior races that once had faced the British valiantly in battle and fought as loyally beside them since. But for the effeminate and cowardly peoples of India, that ever crawled to kiss the feet of each conqueror of the peninsula in turn and then stabbed him in the back if they could, he had the contempt that every member of the martial races of the land, every Sikh, Rajput, Gurkha, Punjaubi had.

The girl would scarcely have refused so good a match as Charlesworth or come away heart-whole from Darjeeling, where so many had striven for her favour, if she had gone there without a prior attachment. That she cared for no man in England he was sure, for she had often told him that she had no desire to return to that country. He had seen her among the planters of the district and was certain that she loved none of them. Only Chunerbutty was left; it must indeed be he.

He shut up his binoculars and climbed down the rocky pinnacle on which he had been perched, and went to eat a cheerless meal where Badshah grazed a thousand feet below.

In Malpura Noreen was suffering bitterly for her foolish pride and jealous readiness to believe evil of the man she loved. She knew that she was entirely to blame for her estrangement from him. He never came to their garden now; and to her dismay her brother ignored all hints to invite him. For the boy was divided between loyalty to Chunerbutty (whom he had to thank for his chance in life) and the man who had twice saved his sister. Chunerbutty had reproached him with forgetting what he, the now despised Hindu, had done for him in the past, and complained sadly that Miss Daleham looked down on him for the colour of his skin. So Fred felt that he must choose between two friends and that honour demanded his clinging to the older one. Therefore he begged Noreen for his sake not to hurt the engineer’s feelings and to treat him kindly. She could not refuse, and Chunerbutty took every advantage of her sisterly obedience. Whenever they went to the club he tried to monopolise her, and delighted in exhibiting the terms of friendship on which they appeared to be. The girl felt that even her old friends were beginning at last to look askance at her; consequently she tried to avoid going to the weekly gatherings.

It happened that on the occasion when Dermot, having arrived at Salchini on a visit to Payne, again made his appearance at the club, Daleham had insisted on his sister accompanying him there, much against her will. Chunerbutty was unable to go with them, being confined to his bungalow with a slight touch of fever.

That afternoon Noreen was more than ever conscious of a strained feeling and an unmistakable coldness to her on the part of the men whom she knew best. And worse, it seemed to her that some young fellows who had only recently come to the district and with whom she was little acquainted, were inclined to treat her with less respect than usual. She had seen Dermot arrive with his host; but, although Payne came to sit down beside her and chat, his guest merely greeted her courteously and passed on at once.

All that afternoon it seemed to the girl that something in the atmosphere was miserably wrong, but what it was she could not tell. She was bitterly disappointed that Dermot kept away from her. It was not the smart of a hurt pride, but the bewildered pain of a child that finds that the one it values most does not need it. Indeed her best friends, all except Payne, seemed to have agreed to ignore her.

Mrs. Rice, however, was even sweeter in her manner than usual when she spoke to the girl.

“Where is Mr. Chunerbutty today, dear?” she asked after lunch from where she sat on the verandah beside Dermot. Noreen was standing further along it with Payne, watching the play on the tennis-court in front of the club house.

“He isn’t very well,” replied the girl. “He’s suffering from fever.”

“Oh, really? I am so sorry to hear that,” exclaimed the older woman. “So sad for you, dear. However did you force yourself to leave him?”

Noreen looked at her in surprise.

“Why not? We could do nothing for him,” she said. “We sent him soup and jelly made by our cook, and Fred went to see him before we started. But he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Mrs. Rice’s manner grew even more sweetly sympathetic.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “How worried you must be!”

The girl stared at her in astonishment. She had never expected to find Mrs. Rice seriously concerned about any one, and least of all the Hindu, who was no favourite of hers.

“Oh, there’s really nothing to worry about,” she exclaimed impatiently. “Fred said he hadn’t much of a temperature.”

“Yes, I daresay. But you can’t help being anxious, I know. I wonder that you were able to bring yourself to come here at all, dear,” said the older woman in honeyed tones.

“But why shouldn’t I?”

Noreen’s eyebrows were raised in bewilderment. She felt instinctively that there was some hidden unfriendliness at the back of Mrs. Rice’s sympathetic words. She felt that Dermot was watching her.

“Oh, forgive me, dear. I am afraid I’m being indiscreet. I forgot,” said the other woman. She rose from her chair and turned to the man beside her.

“Major, do take me out to see how the coolies are getting on with the polo ground. I hope when it’s finished you’ll come here to play regularly. These boys want someone to show them the game. You military men are the only ones who know how it should be played.”

She put up her green-lined white sun-umbrella and led the way down the verandah steps. With a puckered brow Noreen watched her and her companion until they were out of sight round the corner of the little wooden building.

“What does Mrs. Rice mean?” she demanded. “I’m sure there’s something behind her words. She never pretended to like Mr. Chunerbutty. Why should she be concerned about him now? Why does she seem to expect me to stay behind to nurse him? Of course I would, if he were dangerously ill. But he’s not.”

Payne glanced around. Some of the men, who were sitting near, had heard the conversation with Mrs. Rice, and Noreen felt that there was something hostile in the way in which they looked at her.

Payne answered in a careless tone:

“Let’s sit down. There are a couple of chairs. We’ll bag them.”

He pointed to two at the far end of the verandah and led the way to them.

When they were seated he said:

“Haven’t you any idea of what she means, Miss Daleham?”

The girl stared at him anxiously.

“Then she does mean something, and you know it. Mr. Payne, you have always been good to me. Won’t you help me? Everyone seems to have grown suddenly very unfriendly.”

The grey-haired man looked pityingly at her.

“Will you be honest with me, child?” he asked. “Are you engaged to Chunerbutty?”

“Engaged? What—to marry him? Good gracious, no!” exclaimed the astonished girl, half rising from her chair.

“Will you tell me frankly—have you any intention of marrying him?” he persisted.

Noreen stared at him, her cheeks flaming.

“Marry Mr. Chunerbutty? Of course not. How could you think so! Why, he’s not even a white man.”

“Thank God!” Payne exclaimed fervently. “I’m delighted to hear it. I couldn’t believe it—yet one never knows.”

“But what on earth put such a preposterous idea into your head, Mr. Payne?” asked Noreen. “And what has this got to do with Mrs. Rice?”

“Because Mrs. Rice said that you were engaged to Chunerbutty.”

For a moment Noreen could find no words. Then she leaned forward, her eyes flashing.

“Oh, how could she—how could she think so?”

“Perhaps she didn’t. But she wanted us to. She said that you had told her you were engaged to him, but wanted it kept secret for the present. So naturally she told everyone.”

“Told everyone that I was going to marry a native? Oh, how cruel of her! How could she be so wicked!” exclaimed the girl, much distressed. Then she added: “Did you believe it?”

Payne shook his head.

“Candidly, child, I didn’t know what to think. I hoped it wasn’t true. But of late that damned Bengali seemed so intimate with you. He apparently wanted everyone to see on what very friendly terms you and he were.”

“Did Major Dermot believe it too?”

“I don’t know,” said Payne doubtfully. “Dermot’s not the fellow to talk about women. He’s never mentioned you.”

“But how do you know that Mrs. Rice said such a thing? Did she tell you?”

“No; she knows that I am your friend, and I daresay she was afraid to tell me such a lie. But she told others.”

He turned in his chair and called to a young fellow standing near the bar of the club.

“I say, Travers, do you mind coming here a moment? Pull up a chair and sit down.”

Travers was a straight, clean-minded boy, one of those of their community whom Noreen liked best, and she had felt hurt at his marked avoidance of her all the afternoon.

“Look here, youngster,” said Payne in a low voice, “did Mrs. Rice tell you that Miss Daleham was engaged to Chunerbutty?”

Travers looked at him in surprise.

“Yes. I told you so the other day. She said that Miss Daleham had confided to her that they were engaged, but wanted it kept secret for a time until he could get another job.”

“Then, my boy, you’ll be pleased to hear it’s a damned lie,” said Payne impressively. “Miss Daleham would never marry a black man.”

The boy’s face lit up.

“I am glad!” he cried impulsively. “I’m very, very sorry, Miss Daleham, for helping to spread the lie. But I only told Payne. I knew he was a friend of yours, and I hoped he’d be able to contradict the yarn. For I felt very sick about it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Travers,” the girl said gratefully. “But I’m glad that you did tell him. Otherwise I might not have heard it, at least not from a friend.”

Just then the four men on the tennis-court finished their game and came in to the bar. Fred Daleham and another took their places and began a single. Mrs. Rice, with Dermot and several other men, came up the steps of the verandah, and, sitting down, ordered tea for the party.