CHAPTER IX
A MOMENT OF RELAXATION
On leaving the Brights' dinner-party, Captain Dalton made his way to hiscar and sped out upon the moonlit road. An appreciable hesitation at thegate ended in his taking a course in an opposite direction to that inwhich lay Sombari and his patient.
A misty peacefulness of smoke and quietude brooded over the Station.Darkened bungalows looked like sightless monsters dead to the world, andthe silent lanes were alive alone with fireflies scintillating likemyriad stars in a firmament of leaves. At Muktiarbad, there was littleelse for the English residents to do after the Club had closed its doorat nine, but eat, drink, and sleep. Theatres never patronised _mafasil_stations, and cinemas had not yet found their way so far into ruralBengal. In the bazaar also, which was strictly the native quarter of thetown, the night was silent save for intermittent tom-tomming on thefavourite _dholuk_,[10] or, here and there, the murmur of gossiping indoorways. Behind mat walls men gambled or slept, and by the pale lightof the moon could be seen the smoke of burning cow-dung--kindled for thedestruction of mosquitoes--curling upward from the clusters of thatchedhuts, and filling the air with opalescent mist.
[Footnote 10: Indian drum.]
But Captain Dalton had no business in the bazaar.
If Honor Bright could have seen him then, she would have been surprisedat the look of indecision on his usually determined face. Freed from therestraint of curious eyes watching for revelations of himself, the man'sface wore a more human expression; his peculiar half-smile oftoleration, or contempt, relaxing the lines of his stern mouth.
For a couple of furlongs he drove fast, then slowed down to a noiselessglide as he ran past the tall cactus fence bordering the Collector'sdomain. At the end of the fence where it turned at right angles dividingthe "compound" from a paddock, the engines were reversed in the narrowlane, till the car came back to the rustic gate beyond the culvert.
It lay hospitably open in the usual way of gates in the Station, andgave access to the grounds. There was only a momentary pause whileDalton seemed to make sure of his intention, and the next instant he wasmoving slowly up the drive between the handsome goldmohur trees of theavenue. In the dark shadow of one of these, he shut off his engines andstepped to the ground.
All about him, the garden was bathed in silver light, each shrub andarbour steeped in tranquil loveliness, while footpaths gleamed whiteamidst stretches of dusky lawns; the whole presenting a scene ofveritable enchantment under the soft radiance of the moon; a gentlebreeze, the while, rustling among the leaves.
In front of him lay the wide, squat bungalow with its flat roofornamented by a castellated balustrade of masonry, and supported by tallpillars. The verandah was in darkness but for a hurricane hand lanternon the top step.
He was not sure that he had the right to intrude at that late hour evenwith the pretext of a semi-official inquiry ... but lights in thedrawing-room and the tones of the piano, rich and sweet, ended hisindecision. The staff of servants being reduced by their master'srequirements in camp, there was no one at hand to announce his arrival.Even the peon, supposed to keep watch against the intrusion of toads andsnakes, had betaken himself to the servants' quarters behind thebungalow, for his last smoke before shutting up the house for the night.
Joyce was playing Liszt's _Liebestraum_ with diligence, but no feeling.Her execution was good, but her soul being yet unawakened, she playedwithout understanding, and Dalton's musical sense suffered tortures ashe listened for a few moments; then, abruptly parting the curtains, heruthlessly interrupted the performance by his entrance, conscious on theinstant of the alluring picture she made,--or, rather, would make, tosenses that were impressionable. Having outlived that stage, he couldonly survey at his leisure the curve of her youthful cheek and the smallbow of her mouth that seemed to demand kisses; watch the lights dance inthe gold of her hair, and amuse himself with the play of her eyelashes.She was dressed in rich simplicity, the only colour about her, apartfrom the shell-pink of her face and the natural crimson of her lips, wasa deep, red rose in her bosom. He inhaled its perfume as she ran to himand seized his hand in impetuous welcome, while he could not butappreciate the exceptional opportunity afforded him of improving theiracquaintance.
"How did you know that I was longing to send for you but lacking incourage?" she asked, holding his hand in both hers with extremecordiality, born of her gratitude for his late services. Her manner wasthat of a child towards a respected senior, and was not without acertain charm.
"You did not come to dinner," he replied with his grudging smile, "so Ihad to call and see why. You are such a grave responsibility to me inyour husband's absence."
"Does it weigh very heavily on you?" she asked coquettishly.
"As you see, it dragged me here at this late hour!"
"Poor you!" she sympathised; then instantly pulled a long face andexplained her alarms deprecatingly while she drew him--still holding hishand--to her bedroom that he might see the child for himself and judgeof his condition.
It was her habit to have the baby's crib by her bed, and the ayah closeat hand in case of disturbed nights, while Meredith was compelled toretire to a separate suite, adjoining hers. "Such a young infant needshis mother, you selfish old Daddy, and must not be deprived." Argumentsrespecting the advantages of employing an English nurse and establishinga nursery had been swept aside as arbitrary and unfeeling. As if shecould ever consent to a hireling occupying her place with her belovedchild! Others might do as they pleased and lose their place in theirlittle ones' affections, but not she! Fathers should consider theiroffspring before themselves. When Meredith had looked unconvinced andinjured, she had tried to soften the blow by cajoleries, in the use ofwhich she was past-mistress. Silly goose! as if the same roof did notcover them both! and didn't she belong to him and no one else in theworld?--"Was he going to be a cross boy, then, and make his littlegirl's life miserable with big, ugly frowns?..."
The doctor gave the child a brief examination as he and Joyce leant overthe crib, shoulder to shoulder. She seemed so unconscious of the closecontact and of its effect on the average masculine nature that hementally decided she was either a simpleton or a practised flirt, givento playing with fire.
"I shall sleep so much better tonight now that I know there is nothingseriously wrong with my precious darling!" she said, returning besidehim to the drawing-room and tantalising him with brief glances from hershy, sweet eyes.
"You worry quite unnecessarily, take it from me," he returned. "Don'tput him in a glass case, and he will do all right. You should go outmore."
"I shall, when Ray comes back. He has the car."
"Play tennis every afternoon at the Club."
"I daren't! I play so badly," she pouted.
"Then come driving with me," he said on an impulse which he regrettedthe moment after, for it would deprive him of the scant leisure heusually devoted to a treatise he was writing. It was not his habit tosacrifice himself to strangers and people in whom he was not greatlyinterested. However, the study of the little spoiled beauty might proveentertaining since she was not as transparent as he had imagined. Themystery of her undeveloped nature, her childish outlook on life, heringenuousness and coquetry, were all somewhat unusual and appealing. Hecould not quite gauge her feeling for her husband who worshipped theground she trod on. She probably took him for granted as she took thesolar system, and was not above practising her arts innocently on othersto relieve the monotony of her days. Like most pretty women, he judgedher fully aware of her prettiness, and not bound by too rigid a sense ofpropriety. It might amuse him to test how far she would permit herselfto go--or the men who admired her physical beauty; and as he had nofriendship for her husband, he was not troubled by too many qualms onMeredith's account. With a big score to settle against Life, heconsidered himself at liberty to choose the nature of his compensation,and so be even with Fate.
"I should dearly love to drive with you," Joyce said engagingly,thinking of his perfect littl
e car and the triumph it would be to tamethis unsociable and reserved person in the eyes of all the Station. Whata score for her little self!
Being essentially of a friendly disposition, she saw no reason why heshould not become her particular friend. Not as if she were a creaturelike Mrs. Fox, or other women who flirted--perish the thought! Therecould therefore be no possible wrong.
"Have you ever driven your car?" he asked indulgently.
"Never."
"Nervous?"
"I don't think so, only no one ever showed me how."
"Shall I teach you?"
"Will you? What a dear you are!" she cried with eyes sparkling anddimples in full play as she seized the lapels of his coat and made himswear not to back out. "It will be great! What a surprise for Ray--youwon't mention it? I can fancy myself hopping into the chauffeur's seat,and whoof! gliding away before his eyes. I shall dream of it all night."
"And of me?" he asked looking at his watch and recalling his intentionto visit Sombari before midnight.
"Of course. That goes without saying if it is about your car!" twirlinglightly on her toe with the grace of a born dancer.
"I find it difficult to believe you are married," he said with a crookedsmile. "Your husband should call you 'Joy.'"
"He invents all sorts of pet names far sweeter."
"Anyhow, I shall think of you as 'Joy,'" he amended, taking up his capfrom the piano.
"I can't fancy you thinking of any one so frivolous as myself," shelaughed. "But you are not going, surely? We haven't even begun to talk!"
The open piano and her frank disappointment drew him to dally withtemptation, and he seated himself on the music stool, uninvited, to runhis fingers over the keys. "You were playing the _Liebestraum_. Will youlet me play it to you?" he coolly suggested, anxious to give her alesson as to how it should be interpreted; and without waiting for herconsent, began to play.
Joyce drew up full of interest and pleasure to listen and watch,instantly aware that he was no self-advertised musician. As she had noconceit in regard to her one and only accomplishment, she was ready andwilling to learn from him.
Dalton played with the technique and sympathy of a great artist. Thoughthe opening movement was soft and low, every note fell like drops ofliquid sweetness, clear and true--the melody thrilling her with itstender appeal. Insensibly it grew stronger and louder, the pacequickened, till the crash of chords and the rippling rush of soundcaused her to hold her breath in an ecstasy lest she should be robbed ofa single delight. Now and then, she glanced at his face and she knewthat, for the moment, she had ceased to exist for him. His strange,jade-green eyes with their flecked irids had widened as though withinspiration. He saw visions as he played, gazing intently into space;Joyce wondered what he saw, sure that it was beautiful, and passionatelysad. Gradually, the passion and dignity of the music having reached itsclimax, it grew weary and spent. The glorious melody sighed its ownrequiem and softly died away on a single note.
For a moment neither spoke, till Joyce gave a hysterical sob that brokethe spell. "It is too wonderful--the way you play!" she criedbreathlessly. "It makes my flesh creep and my heart stand still. I knownow why you chose to play the _Liebestraum_!----"
He smiled back at her like the culprit he was.
"I had dared to attempt its murder!--believe me, I shall never play itagain!"
"I wanted to show you how it might be played, but I do not dare tocriticise."
"You have done so, scathingly!--Oh! I feel so small."
"Then I am sorry I played it."
"I am infinitely glad. You will have to teach me something more thanmotoring," she said wistfully, her blue eyes pleading. "You will have totell me how I should play. I want to hear you all day long!"
He smiled at her enthusiasm. "I shall be delighted to give you all thehelp I can."
"Honor Bright said yesterday that you once sang to her--I am jealous!Won't you sing to me?"
"Did she tell you of the occasion?"
"Yes, and how good you were to her."
"She is a heroine--_Honor Bright_," he repeated her name with curioustenderness.
"She thinks you are a wonderful person, altogether."
"Does she?" he asked quickly, a shadow falling suddenly over his face ata thought which was evidently disturbing. "How am I wonderful?"
"I don't know. She said something about great depths in your nature. Shebelieves you are tremendously good, inside, but that you will not showit because you have been hit very hard and feel like hitting back."
He was silenced for a moment.
"What made her say that?" he asked while continuing to draw subduedharmonies from the instrument.
"It was to explain your attitude towards people. You are so hard andcold. But what does all that matter? The main thing is, I want you tosing, and you must!" She laid her hands over his on the keys with prettyimperativeness, and put an end to the chords.
"Look at the time," said he, drawing attention to the gilt clock on anoccasional table. The phrase "hard and cold" echoed in his ears to mockhim.
"It is certainly late!" she gasped, as she realised that the handspointed to a quarter past eleven. "But I am so lonely and dull. Do singto me!"
A mischievous smile twisted his lips as he struck the opening bars of_The Dear Homeland_. "It's an old ballad and will probably bore you totears," he said, before beginning to sing. Joyce had often heard itsung, but never with the feeling Captain Dalton threw into it for herbenefit alone. It was a strong and direct appeal to nostalgia, and thequality of his voice, together with the words, dissolved her into tearsof positive distress. When he had finished, she was weeping silentlyinto her little hands,--unaffectedly and sincerely.
"I cannot bear it!" she sobbed childishly. "Why did you choose that whenyou knew how I am longing for home and the home faces!"
"I am a brute, am I not?" he said repentantly, taking down her hands anddrying her eyes with his handkerchief. "Was it a nasty fellow, then, totease?"
"It was," she laughed hysterically with downcast lids and sobbingbreath, looking adorable with her saddened wet eyes and crimson flush.
"Come, I'll make up for it and sing you something quite different." Andhe was as good as his word, singing passionate love-songs that sworeeternal devotion to a mythical "Beloved," till a clock, striking twelve,brought him abruptly to his feet.
"Do you always allow your visitors to stay so late?" he asked whilesaying good-night.
"I never have visitors at night when I am alone," she returned,surprised. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you are too pretty and will have to be careful. Pretty womenhave enemies of both sexes."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that men will want to make love to you if you are too kind, andwomen will tear your reputation to shreds."
He watched the flush deepen in her cheeks: she was uncertain how to takehis remark, but decided he had not meant a liberty.
"I think I shall always fear women more than men," she said finally,thinking of the slanderous tongues of her sex.
"Am I forgiven for having made you cry?" he asked.
"Of course. Thank you so much for the songs. You sing like an angel."
"A very bad one I'm afraid," he returned. "With your leave I shall takethis rose as a pledge," he said drawing it from the brooch at her bosomand laying it against his lips. "Look, it is fading fast. Will you fixit in my coat?"
Joyce unaffectedly complied. He was welcome to the rose as a reward forhis beautiful music. "When you get home, put it in water, and it willfill your room with fragrance," she said patting it into position.
"--And my mind of you?" he suggested tentatively, knowing full well thathe would forget all about her and her rose the moment he was out ofsight of her dwelling. Already he was wondering why he had allowedhimself to waste so much of his valuable time in trifling and whether hewould have dared the same liberty with the rose had it been resting onHonor Bright's bosom. With Honor, somehow, a man would have
to plead forfavours and value them for their rarity when obtained. No man in theStation took liberties with Honor Bright, and every man thoroughlyrespected her. Dalton shook his mind free of the thought of HonorBright.
"I shan't mind if the rose recalls me to you, so long as you promise toforget my _Liebestraum_!" said Joyce.
"I shall remember only the tears I caused you to shed, and never be socruel again." Dalton passed out into the verandah accompanied by hishostess who desired to speed the parting guest. "When does your husbandreturn?" he asked.
"Tomorrow night. I am counting the hours," she replied. "Haven't youheard that 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'?"
"I don't subscribe to that sentiment," he retorted with a disagreeablelaugh as he walked towards the car.
She certainly had the makings of a dangerous flirt, he decided, though,at present, she was only feeling her way. Time would develop her powersand then, God help the young idiots who would lose their heads! Most ofall, God help her fool-husband--the besotted idealist! In a few years,Joyce Meredith would be no better than most lovely women in theEast--notably such as flourished in the hill stations of India.
Dalton was amused, and laughed aloud at his own weakness and folly. Hehad not wanted her rose--yet, at the moment, the propinquity of herbeauty had magnetised him and given him the desire for a closerintimacy--possibly a kiss!--so he had put his lips to the rose! Femininewitchery had made utter fools of men through the ages! Given furtherchances of intimacy, a rose might not again suffice!
By the time Dalton had reached the crossroads, indecision had againtaken possession of him, and he hesitated at the wheel. He had left theBrights' party fully intending to run out to Sombari, but had beendiverted; and now it was too late. They would not be expecting him aftermidnight. He yawned, thoroughly tired, as he had had a strenuous day,and decided to call at the Mission fairly early in the morning, instead.There was nothing he could do for the sufferer more than was being doneby the trained nurse he had procured for the case.
Satisfied in mind that bed was the best place for tired people, Daltonturned his car and drove it to his own bungalow next door to theBrights'.