Nurse in India (2 page)

“Very wise of her.” For the life of her Stella could not keep the bitterness out of her tone. But Roger, it was plain, noticed nothing. He said, frowning a little, “Maybe I shouldn
’
t be talking about it, but—well, I don
’
t know if you
’
re aware of it, Stella, but you
’
re the kind of girl who invites confidences. There
’
s something so sympathetic about you, so
... so warming.”

“That
’
s the trained-nurse manner!” Queer that she should be able to find words so easily—and such flippant words at that—when her brain felt half-paralyzed.

“You may remember the case,” he continued, a little frown creasing his forehead. “There was another girl concerned—a girl two or three years older than Allegra; Star Lefreyne, I think her name was. Anyway, from what I can gather, she was the real culprit, though—”

And then, just as Stella was thinking wildly,
I must stop him
—
I
must,
there was the sound of voices in the hall.

A servant, noiselessly parting the curtains, announced softly, “The
sahibs
are here.”

“Very well, Hussein.” He turned to Stella. “If you
’
ll wait here, I
’
ll fetch them. We may as well have our cocktails in here. Take that big chair and make yourself comfortable.”

Thankful at being alone, even for a few seconds, Stella sank down into an armchair and tried to regain some semblance of composure. She had looked forward so eagerly to this little dinner at Roger
’
s, and now—oh, she would give anything she possessed to escape the ordeal of being in his company, to have the chance of an evening
’
s solitude in
which to bring some sort of order to the chaos of her mind.

What a bitterly ironic thing life could be! An hour or two ago, she had been wishing she could talk to Miss Jellings about that dreadful time five years before, when the bottom had dropped out of her world, but had decided that she could not bear to let her thoughts wander to the past. Now, without the slightest preparation, her mind had been forced back violently to those grim days; she had been compelled to meet—if only from a photograph
—
those smiling, too innocent brown eyes she had striven so hard all these years to shut from her memory.

Allegra—pretty as a flower, treacherous as an adder! What misery she had brought to the handful of people who had tried to protect and befriend her! What ruin! Her theft of jewels from that rich old woman at the Golden Shoe dance club—bad as it was—might have been forgiven. Everyone knew how hard up she was for money, and how that snobbish pride of hers in an old and honored name revolted against taking help from her fellow workers. But to shield herself, when faced with arrest, by planting the gems on the girl she was living with...!

She shuddered as she recalled the torment of those days when she had seen herself, in imagination, thrust into prison for something with which she had not the smallest connection. Ho
w
she had escaped that fate still seemed a miracle. The evidence was too conflicting, it appeared, to allow actually convicting anyone. But the undeserved punishment she had had to bear had been bitter enough: hard words from the magistrate about exercising a bad influence on a girl so much younger than herself—words flung in black streamers across the pages of the popular press—and the swift realization that her stage career, which had begun
so brightly, was finished.

She was not the only one, of course, who had suffered. There was not a boy or girl in Allegra
’
s immediate set who did not come under the lash of the magisterial tongue. Even Allegra, though treated by the bench and in the press as an innocent child, heartlessly fooled by those who should have protected her, had found it expedient to turn her back on the theater. But none, surely, had suffered half as cruelly as she herself—the “Star Lefreyne” of whom Allegra had always been so queerly, so wickedly jealous. For apart
from receiving the lion
’
s share of that horrible publicity, none of the others had been so set on making a success of a dancing career, nor had had such rosy prospects.

One thing is certain,
she told herself feverishly, as she heard the voices of Roger and his guests coming nearer.
If Allegra is going to be a member of the Fendish family, this friendship between Roger and myself must come to an end. It
’
s a mercy that that nonsense of Jelly
’
s is nonsense; that neither of us will be hurt!
She tried desperately to make herself believe that those last brave words were true.

Torturing as these reflections were, the few moments alone had made it possible for Stella to. pull herself together, and she was able to greet her fellow guests with the appearance, at least, of smiling serenity. The Reverend Basil Blonson was a middle-aged man, with kindly, shortsighted eyes and a permanent stoop; a few long hairs were combed carefully across his bald head, and the skin on his face hung as untidily about his features as his clothes about his person. He seemed a little shy, Stella thought, as though unused, after long years in this forgotten corner of India, to meeting Englishwomen in sophisticated evening dress. Not so Armand Verle, the good-looking young Frenchman, who had left Paris only eighteen months earlier to take up the post of tutor in the raja
’
s palace, twenty miles away at Bhindi. His brown eyes were alight with appreciation as they traveled swiftly over her, and holding her hand for a little longer than courtesy demanded, he told her in excellent English that the sight of a well-dressed European woman was as refreshing as an iced drink at the end of a long hot day.

“I haven
’
t seen a woman in an evening gown since I came to Kotpura State,” he informed her sadly. “Of course at Bhindi, where Englishwomen never penetrate, one does not expect it. But here in Ghasirabad, where there is a trickle of tourists during the cold weather—well, I think it is shameful the way the women—English and American—leave all their pretty dresses packed away in their wardrobe trunks and treat us to their dowdiest garments.”

Roger gave his rumbling laugh, looking at the Frenchman much as a mastiff might look at a too exuberant Pekingese.

“Ghasirabad has no attractions in the way of dances or horse racing. It
’
s only natural that most women should
want to save up their finest feathers for Delhi and Simla. Be reasonable, Verle.
”

“Tonight I have no need to be reasonable!” Armand Verle, smiling now, had turned his gaze back to Stella. “Tonight I am—grateful! Thank you, Miss Hantley, for looking so lovely.”

Stella, still tortured with thoughts of Allegra, responded to his compliments with a mechanical smile. But suddenly meeting Roger
’
s eyes she caught an expression there that brought a swift flush to her cheeks: a look of such adoration, such passion, as to make the Frenchman
’
s admiration seem almost trivial. Roger
’
s face, too, reddened; he was discomposed, evidently, at being caught off his guard. And when, a second later, he suggested that they should go in to dinner, he was his usual genial self, and that fleeting moment might never have been.

During the meal talk was more interesting than t
h
e station gossip that Stella had so often encountered during this Indian tour with Miss Jellings. As a worker herself she was as keen to hear about the jobs that these three men were doing as they were to talk about them. Roger, in charge of the state electricity plant, was full of enthusiasm over the influence electricity would one day have on Indian society. Looking ahead through the years, he saw dirt and disease being swept away by this great natural force, saw light penetrating to the darkest corners where filth and ignorance now lurked unseen.

Mr. Blonson, shaking his head over the fancied benefits of what he called “Western materialism,” had the missionary
’
s point of view to expound.

Only Armand, eating his roast sand grouse with enjoyment, declared that he was in India for one purpose, and one only: to make as much money as possible in, the shortest time.

“Of course I
’
m out to enjoy myself, too,” he added. “And as I
’
m not in the least concerned about improving either the country or the people, I can get amusement from scenes that would probably scandalize the reformers.”

“But if you
’
re educating the raja
’
s children,” Stella began, smiling in spite of herself at his flippant frankness.

“I
’
m not educating anyone,” he assured her briskly. “I
’
m instructing them in the French language—quite a different matter. If anyone is acquiring an education it is myself.” And then, leaning across the table, he told Stella earnestly, “Just because you and Miss Jellings have come to a native state you think you are seeing the real India.
But Ghasirabad is positively modern compared with Bhindi. If you want to step back a thousand
,
two thousand years, you must visit Bhindi. You can see a ceremonial dance there, this very week—”

“I hardly think—” Mr. Blonson began gently, and at the same time Roger interrupted with a more robust protest.

“It
’
s a rotten idea, Verle,” he said brusquely. “It
’
s been an understood thing for years that Englishwomen don
’
t go to Bhindi. I don
’
t want to say anything in front of Miss Hantley about what happened there once—”

“That was in the old raja
’
s time,” Armand broke in quickly. “The new man—not even a son, but a nephew—is quite different.”

“I
’
d need to be very sure of that before I encouraged any woman I liked to go near that palace,” was Roger
’
s grim retort. “When you have been in the East a little longer, my boy, you
’
ll realize that you don
’
t get to know an Indian potentate inside out in eighteen months.”

Armand shrugged his shoulders. “Personally I like Chawand Rao, and I think if Miss Hantley misses seeing Bhindi it will be a sin and a shame,” he said with urbane obstinacy. And then, in order to retain the last word on the subject, he deftly steered the conversation into other channels.

Had circumstances been different Stella would have thoroughly enjoyed that evening. There was always a thrill for her in being in Roger
’
s company, but apart from that the three men laid themselves out to entertain her, and the rubber of bridge that followed the well-planned and leisurely dinner was a lighthearted affair with no postmortems as its primary convention.

But try as she might she could not, for an instant, banish the thought of Allegra from her mind. When she looked across the table at Roger, Allegra
’
s lovely little flowerlike face rose up between them, with that ironic smile she so well remembered; when she tried to laugh at his small, foolish jokes Allegra
’
s rippling laughter echoed in her ears, mocking her.

How could fate be so cruel, she wondered passionately.
She had thought to break every link with the old life when she turned to nursing as a career; and yet, after all the years of hard work and self-discipline, at the very moment when happiness beckoned her, the past had risen up in her pu
s
h to bar her from the future.

Already, under her stage name, she was blackened in the eyes of Roger and his family, and her only means of defense was one that she could not use. It was unthinkable
t
hat she should try to expose Allegra to Roger and his brother. Even if they were to take her word against that of the other girl—which was problematical
—
w
hat a miserable state of affairs must result. Family feuds, maybe; great unhappiness, certainly.

No! She must be brave, and surely, after all, it would not need great heroism to end a six-day friendship. She a
nd
Roger were strongly attracted to each other; there was no denying that fact. But a little coolness on her part now would soon chill his ardor. In spite of all that was said to the contrary, few men cared to pursue a woman in the face of rebuff.

She could not bring herself to be less friendly to him while she was a guest under his roof, but when the time came for breaking up the party, she found an opportunity to give him the first taste of discouragement. He had planned to drive her back to the rest house, as she well knew, but when Armand protested that it was quite unnecessary to get out his car as he himself had to pass the rest house on his way to the bungalow where he was staying, she expressed immediate agreement in such a decided way that Roger could do nothing but strive to hide his disappointment. It was misery to her to do it, but now that she had made up her mind on the course she was to follow, she was resolute. She must stop Roger from falling any further in love with her, and to make her task easier she must persuade Jelly to leave Ghasirabad at the first possible moment.