CHAPTER IV
THE SERPENT IN THE DESERT
The battalion was ordered back to Kurrumpore for the winter months,ostensibly to go into a camp of exercise, though whispers of some deepermotive for the move were occasionally heard. Markestan, though outwardlycalm and well-behaved, was not regarded with any great confidence by theGovernment, so it was said, though, officially, no one had the smallestsuspicion of danger.
It was with mixed feelings that Stella returned at length to The GreenBungalow, nearly three months after her baby's birth. During that timeshe had seen a good deal of her brother-in-law, who, nothing daunted bythe discomforts of the journey, went to and fro several times betweenBhulwana and the Plains. They had become close friends, and Stella hadgrown to regard his presence as a safeguard and protection against thenameless evils that surrounded Everard, though she could not have saidwherefore.
He it was who, with Peter's help, prepared the bungalow for her coming.It had been standing empty all through the hot weather and the rains.The compound was a mass of overgrown verdure, and the bungalow itselfwas in some places thick with fungus.
When Stella came to it, however, all the most noticeable traces ofneglect had been removed. The place was scrubbed clean. The ragged roseshad been trained along the verandah-trellis, and fresh Indian mattinghad been laid down everywhere.
The garden was still a wilderness, but Bernard declared that he wouldhave it in order before many weeks had passed. It was curious how, withhis very limited knowledge of natives and their ways, he managed toextract the most willing labour from them. Peter the Great smiled withgratified pride whenever he gave him an order, and all the otherservants seemed to entertain a similar veneration for the big, blue-eyed_sahib_ who was never heard to speak in anger or impatience, and yetwhose word was one which somehow no one found it possible to disregard.
Tommy had become fond of him also. He was wont to say that Bernard wasthe most likable fellow he had ever met. An indefinable barrier hadgrown up between him and his brother-in-law, which, desperately thoughhe had striven against it, had made the old easy intercourse impossible.Bernard was in a fashion the link between them. Strangely they werealways more intimate in his presence than when alone, less conscious ofunknown ground, of reserves that could not be broached.
Strive as he might, Tommy could not forget that evening at the mess--thehistoric occasion, as he had lightly named it--when like an evil magicat work he had witnessed the smirching of his hero's honour. He hadsought to bury the matter deep, to thrust it out of all remembrance, butthe evil wrought was too subtle and too potent. It reared itself againsthim and would not be trampled down.
Had any of his brother-officers dared to mention the affair to him, hewould have been furious, would strenuously have defended that whichapparently his friend did not deem it worth his while to defend. But noone ever spoke of it. It dwelt among them, a shameful thing, ignored yetever present.
Everard came and went as before, only more reticent, more grim, moreunapproachable than he had ever been in the old days. His utterindifference to the cold courtesy accorded him was beyond all scorn. Hesimply did not see when men avoided him. He was supremely unaware of thecoldness that made Tommy writhe in impotent rebellion. He had nevermixed very freely with his fellows. Upon Tommy alone had he bestowed hisactual friendship, and to Tommy alone did he now display any definitechange of front. His demeanour towards the boy was curiously gentle. Henever treated him confidentially or spoke of intimate things. Thatinvincible barrier which Tommy strove so hard to ignore, he seemed totake for granted. But he was invariably kind in all his dealings withhim, as if he realized that Tommy had lost the one possession he prizedabove all others and were sorry for him.
Whatever Tommy's mood, and his moods varied considerably, he was neverother than patient with him, bearing with him as he would never haveborne in the byegone happier days of their good comradeship. He neverrebuked him, never offered him advice, never attempted in any fashion totest the influence that yet remained to him. And his very forbearancehurt Tommy more poignantly than any open rupture or even tacit avoidancecould have hurt him. There were times when he would have sacrificed allhe had, even down to his own honour, to have forced an understandingwith Monck, to have compelled him to yield up his secret. But wheneverhe braced himself to ask for an explanation, he found himself held back.There was a boundary he could not pass, a force relentless andirresistible, that checked him at the very outset. He lacked thestrength to batter down the iron will that opposed him behind thatunaccustomed gentleness. He could only bow miserably to the unspokenword of command that kept him at a distance.
He was too loyal ever to discuss the matter with Bernard, though heoften wondered how the latter regarded his brother's attitude. At leastthere was no strain in their relationship though he was fairly convincedthat Everard had not taken Bernard into his confidence. This fact held asubtle solace for him, for it meant that Bernard, who was as open as theday, was content to be in the dark, and satisfied that it held nothingof an evil nature. This unquestioning faith on Bernard's part wasTommy's one ray of light. He knew instinctively that Bernard was not aman to compromise with evil. He carried his banner that all might see.He was not ashamed to confess his Master before all men, and Tommymutely admired him for it.
He marked with pleasure the intimacy that existed between this man andhis sister. Like Stella, though in a different sense, he had grownimperceptibly to look upon him as a safeguard. He was a sure antidote tonervous forebodings. The advent of the baby also gave him keen delight.Tommy was a lover of all things youthful. He declared he had never feltso much at home in India before.
Peter also was almost as much in the baby's company as was its _ayah_.The administration of the bottle was Peter's proudest privilege, and hewould walk soft-footed to and fro for any length of time carrying theinfant in his arms. Stella was always content when the baby was in hischarge. Her confidence in Peter's devotion was unbounded. The child wasnot very strong and needed great care. The care Peter lavished upon itwas as tender as her own. There was something of a feud between him andthe _ayah_, but no trace of this was ever apparent in her presence. Asfor the baby, he seemed to love Peter better than any one else, and wasgenerally at his best when in his arms.
The Green Bungalow became a favourite meeting-place with the ladies ofthe station, somewhat, to Stella's dismay. Lady Harriet swept in at allhours to hold inspections of the infant's progress and give advice, andeveryone who had ever had a baby seemed to have some fresh warning orword of instruction to bestow.
They were all very kind to her. She received many invitations to tea,and smiled over her sudden popularity. But--it dawned upon her when, shehad been about three weeks in the station--no one but the Ralstonsseemed to think of asking her and her husband to dine. She thought butlittle of the omission at first. Evening entertainments held but slightattraction for her, but as time went on and Christmas festivities drewnear, she could not avoid noticing that practically every invitation shereceived was worded in so strictly personal a fashion that there couldbe no doubt that Everard was not included in it. Bernard was often askedseparately, but he generally refused on the score of the evening beinghis best working time.
Also, after a while, she could not fail to notice that Tommy was nolonger at his ease in Everard's presence. The old careless _camaraderie_between them was gone, and she missed it at first vaguely, later withan uneasiness that she could not stifle. There was something in Tommy'sattitude towards his friend that hurt her. She knew by instinct that theboy was not happy. She wondered at first if there could be some quarrelbetween them, but decided in face of Everard's unvarying kindness toTommy that this could not be.
Another thing struck her as time went on. Everard always checked alltalk of his prospects. He was so repressive on the subject that shecould not possibly pursue it, and she came at last to conclude that hishope of preferment had vanished like a mirage in the desert.
He was very good to her, but his ab
sences continued in the oldunaccountable way, and her dread of Rustam Karin, which Bernard'spresence had in a measure allayed, revived again till at times it wasalmost more than she could bear.
She did not talk of it any further to Bernard. She had told him all herfears, and she knew he was on guard, knew instinctively that she couldcount upon him though he never reverted to the matter. Somehow she couldnot bring herself to speak to him of the strange avoidance of herhusband that was being practised by the rest of the station either. Sheendured it dumbly, holding herself more and more aloof in consequence ofit as the days went by. Ever since the days of her own ostracism she hadplaced a very light price upon social popularity. The love of such womenas Mary Ralston--and the love of little Tessa--were of infinitelygreater value in her eyes.
Tessa and her mother were once more guests in the Ralstons' bungalow.Netta had desired to stay at the new hotel which--as also atUdalkland--native enterprise had erected near the Club; but Mrs. Ralstonhad vetoed this plan with much firmness, and after a little petulantargument Netta had given in. She did not greatly care for staying withthe Ralstons. Mary was a dear good soul of course, but inclined to beinterfering, and now that the zest of life was returning to Netta, herdesire for her own way was beginning to reassert itself. However, theRalstons' bungalow also was in close proximity to the Club, and inconsideration of this she consented to take up her abode there. Her daysof seclusion were over. She had emerged from them with a fevered cravingfor excitement of any description mingled with that odd defiance thathad characterized her almost ever since her husband's death. She hadnever kept any very great control upon her tongue, but now it waspositively venomous. She seemed to bear a grudge against all the world.
Tessa, with her beloved Scooter, went her own way as of yore, and spentmost of her time at The Green Bungalow where there was always someone towelcome her. She arrived there one day in a state of great indignation,Scooter as usual clinging to her hair and trying his utmost to escape.
Like a whirlwind she burst upon Stella, who was sitting with her babyin the French window of her room.
"Aunt Stella," she cried breathlessly, "Mother says she's sure you andUncle Everard won't go to the officers' picnic at Khanmulla this year.It isn't true, is it, Aunt Stella? You will go, and you'll take me withyou, won't you?"
The officers' picnic at Khanmulla! The words called up a flood of memoryin Stella's heart. She looked at Tessa, the smile of welcome still uponher face; but she did not see her. She was standing once more in themoonlight, listening to the tread of a man's feet on the path below her,waiting--waiting with a throbbing heart--for the sound of a man's quietvoice.
Tessa came nearer to her, looking at her with an odd species ofspeculation. "Aunt Stella," she said, "that wasn't--all--Mother said.She made me very, very angry. Shall I tell you--would you like toknow--why?"
Stella's eyes ceased to gaze into distance. She looked at the child.Some vague misgiving stirred within her. It was the instinct ofself-defence that moved her to say, "I don't want to listen to any sillygossip, Tessa darling."
"It isn't silly!" declared Tessa. "It's much worse than that. And I'mgoing to tell you, cos I think I'd better. She said that everybody saysthat Uncle Everard won't go to the picnic on Christmas Eve cos he'sashamed to look people in the face. I said it wasn't true." Verystoutly Tessa brought out the assertion; then, a moment later, with aqueer sidelong glance into Stella's face, "It isn't true, dear, is it?"
Ashamed! Everard ashamed! Stella's hands clasped each otherunconsciously about the sleeping baby on her lap. Strangely her ownvoice came to her while she was not even aware of uttering the words."Why should he be ashamed?"
Tessa's eyes were dark with mystery. She pressed against Stella with asmall protective gesture. "Darling, she said horrid things, but theyaren't true any of them. If Uncle Everard had been there, she wouldn'thave dared. I told her so."
With an effort Stella unclasped her hands. She put her arm around thelittle girl. "Tell me what they are saying, Tessa," she said. "I thinkwith you that I had better know."
Tessa suffered Scooter to escape in order to hug Stella close. "They aresaying things about when he went on leave just after you married CaptainDacre, how he said he wanted to go to England and didn't go, andhow--how--" Tessa checked herself abruptly. "It came out at mess onenight," she ended.
A faint smile of relief shone, in Stella's eyes. "But I knew that,Tessa," she said. "He told me himself. Is that all?"
"You knew?" Tessa's eyes shone with sudden triumph. "Oh, then do tellthem what he was doing and stop their horrid talking! It was Mrs.Burton began it. I always did hate her."
"I can't tell them what he was doing," Stella said, feeling her heartsink again.
"You can't? Oh!" Keen disappointment sounded in Tessa's voice. "Butp'raps he would," she added reflectively, "if he knew what beasts theyall are. Shall I ask him to, Aunt Stella?"
"Tell me first what they are saying!" Stella said, bracing herself toface the inevitable.
Tessa looked at her dubiously for a moment. Somehow she would have foundit easier to tell this thing to Monck himself than to Stella. And yetshe had a feeling that it must be told, that Stella ought to know. Sheclung a little closer to her.
"I always did hate Major Burton," she said sweepingly. "I know hestarted it in the first place. He said--and now she says--that--thatit's very funny that the leave Uncle Everard had when he pretended to goto England should have come just at the time that Captain Dacre waskilled in the mountains, and that a horrid old man Uncle Everard knowscalled Rustam Karin who lives in the bazaar was away at the sametime. And they just wonder if p'raps he--the old man--had anythingto do with Captain Dacre dying like he did, and if Uncle Everardknows--something--about it. That's how they put it, Aunt Stella. Motheronly told me to tease me, but that's what they say."
She stopped, pressing Stella's hand very tightly to her little quiveringbosom, and there followed a pause, a deep silence that seemed to have init something of an almost suffocating quality.
Tessa moved at last because it became unbearable, moved and looked downinto Stella's face as if half afraid. She could not have said what sheexpected to see there, but she was undoubtedly relieved when thebeautiful face, white as death though it was, smiled back at her withouta tremor.
Stella kissed her tenderly and let her go. "Thank you for telling me,darling," she said gently. "It is just as well that I should know whatpeople say, even though it is nothing but idle gossip--idle gossip." Sherepeated the words with emphasis. "Run and find Scooter, sweetheart!"she said. "And put all this silly nonsense out of your dear little headfor good! I must take baby to _ayah_ now. By and by we will read afairy-tale together and enjoy ourselves."
Tessa ran away comforted, yet also vaguely uneasy. Her tendernessnotwithstanding, there was something not quite normal about Stella'sdismissal of her. This kind friend of hers had never sent her away quiteso summarily before. It was almost as if she were half afraid that Tessamight see--or guess--too much.
As for Stella, she carried her baby to the _ayah_, and then shut herselfinto her own room where she remained for a long time face to face withthese new doubts.
He had loved her before her marriage; he had called their union Kismet.He wielded a strange, almost an uncanny power among natives. And therewas Rustam Karin whom long ago she had secretly credited with RalphDacre's death--the serpent in the garden--the serpent in the desertalso--whose evil coils, it seemed to her, were daily tightening roundher heart.