Chapter 24: In which the danger of judging by appearance is notablyexemplified.
"Sure 'tis a most pleasant engaging young man," said Mrs. Merriman, asher boat dropped down the river towards Chandernagore. "Don't you thinkso, Phyllis?"
"Why, mamma, it does seem so. But 'tis too soon to make up my mind in tenminutes."
"Indeed, miss! Let me tell you I made up my mind about your father infive. La, how Merriman will laugh when he hears 'twas Mr. Burke gave himthat scar--
"What is the matter, Munnoo Khan?"
The boat had stopped with a jerk, and the boatmen were looking at oneanother with some anxiety. The serang explained that ill luck had causedthe boat to strike a snag in the river, and she was taking in water.
"You clumsy man! The Sahib will be angry with you. Make haste, then; rowharder."
"Mamma, 'tis impossible!" cried Phyllis in alarm. "See, the water iscoming in fast; we shall be swamped in a few minutes!"
"Mercy me. 'Tis as you say! Munnoo Khan, row to the nearest ghat; you seeit there! Sure 'tis a private ghat, belonging to the house of one of theFrench merchants. He will lend us a boat. 'Twill be vastly annoying if wedo not reach home before dark."
The men just succeeded in reaching the ghat, on the left bank of theriver about a mile below Chandernagore, before the boat sank. When theparty had landed, Mrs. Merriman sent her jamadar up to the house to askfor the loan of a boat, or for shelter while one was being obtained fromChandernagore.
"Tell the Sahib 'tis the bibi of an English sahib," she said. "He willnot refuse to do English ladies a service."
The jamadar shortly returned, followed by a tall dark-featured Europeanin white clothes. He bowed and smiled pleasantly when he came down to theghat, and addressed Mrs. Merriman in French.
"I am happy to be of service, Madam. Alas! I have no boat at hand, but Ishall send instantly to Chandernagore for one. Meanwhile, if you willhave the goodness to come to my house, my wife will be proud to offer yourefreshments, and we shall do our best to entertain you until the boatarrives.
"Permit me, Madam."
He offered his left hand to assist the lady up the steps.
"I had the mischance to injure my right hand the other day," heexplained. "It is needful to keep it from the air."
It was thrust into the pocket of his coat.
"The Frenchman is vastly polite," said Mrs. Merriman to her daughter, asthey preceded him up the path to the house. "But there, that is the waywith their nation."
"Hush, mamma!" said Phyllis, "he may understand English.
"I do not like his smile," she added in a whisper.
"La, my dear, it means nothing; it comes natural to a Frenchman. He looksquite genteel, you must confess; I should not be surprised if he were asomebody in his own land."
As if in response to the implied question, the man moved to her side,and, in a manner of great deference, said:
"Your jamadar named you to me, Madam; I feel that I ought to explain whoI am. My name is Jacques de Bonnefon--a name, I may say it withoutboasting, once even better known at the court of his Majesty, King Louisthe Fifteenth, than in Chandernagore. Alas, Madam fortune is a ficklejade. Here I am now, in Bengal, slowly retrieving by honest commerce apatrimony of which my lamented father was not too careful."
"There! What did I say?" whispered Mrs. Merriman to her daughter asMonsieur de Bonnefon went forward to meet them on the threshold of hisveranda. "A noble in misfortune! I only hope his wife is presentable."
They entered the house and were shown into a room opening on the veranda.
"You will pardon my leaving you for a few moments, Mesdames," said theirobliging host. "I shall bring my wife to welcome you, and send toChandernagore for a boat."
With a bow he left them, closing the door behind him.
"Madame de Bonnefon was taken by surprise, I suppose," said Mrs.Merriman, "and is making her toilet. The vanity of these French people,my dear!"
Minutes passed. Evening was coming on apace; little light filteredthrough the chiks. The ladies sat, wondering why their hostess did notappear.
"Madame takes a long time, my dear," said Mrs. Merriman.
"I don't like it, mamma. I wish we hadn't come into the stranger'shouse."
"Why, my love, what nonsense! The man is not a savage. The French are notat war with us, and if they were, they do not war on women. Something hashappened to delay Monsieur de Bonnefon."
"I can't help it, mamma; I don't like his looks; I fear something, Idon't know what. Oh, I wish father were here!"
She got up and walked to and fro restlessly. Then, as by a suddenimpulse, she went quickly to the door and turned the handle, She gave alow cry under her breath, and sprang round.
"Mamma! Mamma!" she cried. "I knew it! The door is locked."
Mrs. Merriman rose immediately.
"Nonsense, my dear! He would not dare do such a thing!"
But the door did not yield to her hand, though she pulled and shook itviolently.
"The insolent villain!" she exclaimed.
She had plenty of courage, and if her voice shook, it was with anger, notfear. She went to the window opening on the veranda, loosed the bars, andlooked out.
"We can get out here," she said. "We will walk instantly toChandernagore, and demand assistance from the governor."
But the next moment she shrank back into the room. Two armed peons stoodin the veranda, one on each side of the window. Recovering herself, Mrs.Merriman went to the window again.
"They will not dare to stop us," she said.
"Let me pass, you men; I will not be kept here."
But the natives did not budge from their post. Only, as the angry ladyflung open one of the folding doors, they closed together and barred theway with their pikes. Accustomed to absolute subservience from her ownpeons, Mrs. Merriman saw at once that insistence was useless. If thesemen did not obey instantly they would not obey at all.
"I cannot fight them," she said, again turning back. "The wretches! Ifonly your father were here!"
"Or Mr. Burke," said Phyllis. "Oh, how I wish he had come with us!"
"Wishing is no use, my dear. I vow the Frenchman shall pay dearly forthis insolence. We must make the best of it."
Meanwhile Monsieur de Bonnefon had gone down to the ghat. But he did notsend a messenger to Chandernagore as he had promised. He told thejamadar, in Urdu, that his mistress and the chota bibi would remain athis house for the night. They feared another accident if they shouldproceed in the darkness. He bade the man bring his party to the house,where they would all find accommodation until the morning.
In the small hours of that night there was a short sharp scuffle in theservants' quarters. The Merriman boatmen and peons were set upon by ascore of sturdy men who promptly roped them together, and, hauling themdown to the ghat and into a boat, rowed them up to Hugli. There they werethrown into the common prison.
In the morning a charge of dacoity {gang robbery} was laid against them.The story was that they had been apprehended in the act of breaking intothe house of Monsieur Sinfray. Plenty of witnesses were forthcoming togive evidence against them; such can be purchased outside any cutcherryin India for a few rupees. The men were convicted. Some were given achoice between execution and service in the Nawab's army; others weresentenced offhand to a term of imprisonment, and these consideredthemselves lucky in escaping with their lives. In vain they protestedtheir innocence and pleaded that a messenger might be sent to Calcutta;the Nawab was known to be so much incensed against the English that thefact of their being Company's servants would probably avail them nothing.
About the same time that the men were being condemned, a two-ox hackeri,such as was used for the conveyance of pardarnishin {literally, sittingbehind screens} women, left the house of Monsieur de Bonnefon and droveinland for some five miles. The curtains were closely drawn, and thepeople who met it on the road wondered from what zenana the ladies thusscreened from the public gaze had come. The te
am halted at a lonely housesurrounded by a high wall, once the residence of a zamindar, now owned byCoja Solomon of Cossimbazar, and leased to a fellow Armenian ofChandernagore. It had been hired more than once by Monsieur Sinfray, thesecretary to the Council at Chandernagore and a persona grata with theNawab, for al fresco entertainments got up in imitation of the fetes atVersailles. But of late Monsieur Sinfray had had too much importantbusiness on hand to spare time for such delights. He was believed to bewith Sirajuddaula at Murshidabad, and the house had remained untenanted.
The hackeri pulled up at the gate in the wall. The curtains were drawnaside; a group of peons surrounded the cart to fend off prying eyes; andthe passengers descended--two ladies clad in long white saris {garment inone piece, covering the body from head to foot} and closely veiled. Asleek Bengali had already got out from a palanquin which had accompaniedthe hackeri; in a second palanquin sat Monsieur de Bonnefon, who did nottake the trouble to alight.
With many salaams the Bengali led the ladies through the gate and acrossthe compound towards the house. They both walked proudly erect, with agait very different from that of the native ladies who time and again hadfollowed the same path. They entered the house; the heavy door was shut;and from behind the screens of the room to which they were led they heardthe hackeri rumbling away.
Monsieur de Bonnefon, as his palanquin was borne off, soliloquized,ticking off imaginary accounts on the fingers of his left hand; the righthand was partly hidden by a black velvet mitten. His reckoning ransomewhat as follows:
"In account with Edward Merriman:
"Credit--to the hounding out of the Company by his friend Clive: nominal:I made more outside; to scurrilous abuse in public and private: merewords; say fifty rupees; to threat to hang me: mere words again: sayfifty rupees. Total credit, say a hundred rupees.
"Debit--to ransom for wife and daughter: two lakhs.
"Balance in my favor, say a hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine hundredrupees.
"In a few weeks, Mr. Edward Merriman, I shall trouble you for asettlement."