Nurse in India (23 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Of
course, Your Highness.”
Although completely taken aback by his words, she spoke with a calm courtesy that matched his own.

“She was a distant cousin of mine,” he said softly, “and we had been betrothed, after the custom of our race, since babyhood. But it was a love match for all that. She had been educated in a Christian school for Indian ladies of rank and, like myself, had imbibed a good many Western ideas, particularly on social questions; so you see, there was a mental companionship between us that is all too rare in Indian marriages.” He paused and raised his dark, melancholy eyes to her face. “Does this bore you? Because if
so—”

She shook her head, though wondering nervously where this story was leading. And he went on, still in that low voice, “She gave me three children, as you know: Prithviraj, of course, was the eldest. And then when she was still only nineteen and nursing her youngest, the rainy season brought an epidemic
of dengue fever and malaria, and in five days she was dead.”

“What a tragedy!” And then she shivered. “This India of yours strikes so swiftly—so relentlessly.
”

“But don
’
t you see, Miss Hantley—” he was speaking eagerly now “—disease in this country is all-powerful simply because there are so few people with the skill
and
knowledge to fight it! We need doctors and nurses from Europe in the hundreds, not only to tend our sick, but to train our own folk in modern methods.”

He was silent for a moment, then went on quietly, “When my wife died, I made a vow—that for all time, I would give up the thought of remarriage. I had heirs enough to satisfy any doubts about the continuance of the dynasty and to perform the necessary rites
when I myself should pass away. And I vowed at the same time that when I came to reign in my uncle
’
s place, I would do all in my power for the welfare of my people and to ensure that my subjects should not die, as my young wife had died, without even a sporting chance of pulling through.” He leaned forward. “Miss Hantley,
I know you to be a clever and devoted nurse. Erickson and I are planning to start a small hospital for women and children at Bhindi, and we want you to come and help us.”

If she had been taken aback before, she was utterly dumbfounded now. To think that all this time she—a
nd
others—had been suspecting Chawand Rao of amorous designs, when what he wanted of her was that she should lead a life of toil and asceticism, devoting herself to th
e
cure of loathsome diseases and malignant fevers, training untaught Indian girls in the principles of elementary nursing and hygiene.

“Does Dr. Erickson know that you are asking me to do this?” That was the first question that came to her lips.

‘
Certainly. Does that surprise you?
”

“It does,” she returned frankly. “I should have thought he would have realized, even if you hadn
’
t Your Highness, that a girl of twenty-five couldn
’
t possibly cope with position of such responsibility. You want a competent, thoroughly experienced woman of forty or so.”

His expression did not change. “We both foresaw that that would be your first reaction. And I admit that if you had had rather more experience, it would have been all to the good. Indeed, it was our original idea that after you returned to England with Miss Jellings, you should take a short course in tropical diseases at your old hospital—and
then come back to us. As things have turned out, however—well, here you are, and here we should like you to
stay. Erickson is ready to teach you all he can, and—
”

“But, Your Highness, you speak as though you had been in touch with Dr. Erickson since—since Miss Jellings died.”

He nodded. “I had a long-distance telephone conversation with him that same morning; and by the way, I
’
m expecting him at the palace any moment. Perhaps you
’
d care to come up and see him; you
’
ll need to talk to him about the certificate, anyway.”

“You think of everything, Your Highness,” she said warmly—finding it far easier to be spontaneous with him now that all fear of his making love to her was gone. “Mr. Verle told me you were sending for him.”

“But I am still your debtor,” he said simply, “and if you grant me this tremendous favor that I
’
m asking of you, the debt will be increased a thousandfold.”

She shook her head. “I
’
m afraid it
’
s too big a thing for me, Your Highness,” she told him. And then she asked, trying to speak casually, “Doesn
’
t it occur to you that I might want to lead a more ordinary life, to marry...?”

He hesitated. “News and gossip travel on the wind, in India. I heard that you, like myself, had given up all thought of marriage.” And then he looked her full in the face, pityingly, for she had gone very white. “A hint came to me that you felt as I did—that if one might not have the beloved at one
’
s side for the journey through life, then no one else would do.”

“You heard the truth.” Almost against her will the words forced themselves from her mouth. “But how it came to your ears is beyond me to guess.
”

“But I read it also in your face,” he said. “You have the lost look of one whose world has crashed around her—and this look was there long before Miss Jellings died.” He paused. “I am not a Christian, but I have a philosophy of life. I have learned through experience that the only cure for aching grief and loneliness is to get outside oneself and work for others.”

“I know that, too. As I told you and the old rani once, I have been made very unhappy since I came to India. I meant to go back to London and teach myself to forget by working hard at my nursing career.”

He made a little gesture of appeal. “In London there are so many nurses! In Bhindi there is no one with even the rudiments of medical knowledge.”

“But it
’
s impossible,” she exclaimed. “I
’
ve been aching for weeks past to leave India—”

“You haven
’
t given India a chance to show her real self to you,” he interrupted. “Naturally I don
’
t expect you to make up your mind at once. All I ask now is that you will
think the matter over.” He glanced down at his wrist
w
atch. “Suppose I leave you in peace for a couple of hours and then send a car to bring you to the palace. Erickson will be there by then, for certain, and my aunt wants to talk to you, I know.” And then he smiled. “We can even offer you an English dinner. Preparations have already been made for the good doctor.
”

She tried to return his smile. “I
’
ll come for a few minutes, anyway,” she said, “but I
’
m afraid I can give you no hope of the answer you want.”

He left her then,
and she pressed her hands to her throb
b
ing forehead. How desperately tired she was! It wasn
’
t fair that she should be bothered and badgered like this. Had Chawand Rao and Dr. Erickson gone crazy? How could a raw girl of twenty-five set about the herculean task of organizing and equipping a modern hospital? Besides—hadn
’
t she been praying for the chance of escaping from Kotpura? Was it likely she would forge heavy chains to keep herself a prisoner here?

But your main motive in wanting to leave this place is to
get away from Roger Fendish,
a small voice argued at the back of her brain.
In a very short while he and Allegra
—
and even Armand—will be gone from here.

She dragged her weary limbs up and down the room, turning the matter over and over in her mind. She had told Chawand Rao definitely that she could not accept his invitation, but was she right, after all, in rejecting it? She might feel herself to be young and ignorant, but with a man like Erickson at hand to guide and help her—and to believe in her—surely she could not fail completely. If she went back to London now, was it not possible that she would regret her lack of courage and self-confidence? Would she ever find any place, in all the world, where she was more sorely needed than at Bhindi?

Two hours later when the car arrived to take her to the Lake Palace she was still in a state of indecision and quite exhausted by her efforts to think clearly. One moment she was telling herself that the idea was preposterous; a
t
the next she was wondering whether, in a task so difficult and laborious, she would not find the quickest cure for her terrible heartache.
Jelly would have told me I was a fool
even to consider the project,
she reflected,
but then she never understood the utter impossibility of my marrying anyone, if I couldn
’
t have Roger for my husband. Chawand Rao sees deeper than she did there.

Another thought, too, came to her as she drove through the scented dusk. Only a few weeks ago she had shuddered with horror at the notion of being driven to the raja
’
s palace; only a few weeks ago she had feared death at the hands of the old rani—and not without reason. Yet here she was. going of her own free will to eat with them and to discuss their suggestion that she should spend the rest of her life in the service of their people.

As on her previous visit to the Lake Palace, she was received by the raja
’
s retinue with the greatest warmth and deference. Indeed there was something in their glances and smiles that made her think they already knew what was being mooted between herself and their prince. Was it impossible, she wondered, to keep even the deepest secret of one
’
s heart from these alien folk of India? Had they some occult power to pierce the veil that should hide one
’
s thoughts from them? She remembered the old rani had pooh-poohed that idea. Yet surely there was something in it; surely they had an intuition denied to Europeans. Otherwise how had Chawand Rao, for instance, come by the knowledge of her thwarted love for Roger and her determination to take no other man for her husband?

She was shown at once into the rani
’
s drawing room, and suddenly remembered, as the old lady got up from her cushions to greet her, that she had not yet opened the clumsy brown-paper package that Chawand Rao had brought her.

“You will think me extremely rude and ungrateful, Your Highness,” she observed, when the old rani had finished her brief condolences, “but my mind has been so full of the raja
’
s surprising plan for me that I forgot to examine the gift you sent me.”

The old rani gave a dry smile. “Let us hope, then, that your servants have more scruples about meddling with other people
’
s possessions than your friend, for the former rani of Kotpura. There are three thousand rupees in that parcel, my girl—about two hundred pounds of your English money.”

Stella
’
s blue eyes widened. “Your Highness, is that because Armand Verle spoke to you?”

“By no means!” There was something of the old acerbity in the reedy voice. “Before Mr. Verle had mentioned your need to me, I had thought of it myself and had counted out the notes.” And then she added in a gentler tone, leading Stella toward the great pile of brightly colored cushions, “I wanted you to know that your rejection of my nephew
’
s suggestion—which after all is a bit steep, as you say in your slang—would make me no less anxious to help you. The first time you came to us in our need, you were tricked and forced into it; this time, it must be as a free agent. It must never be said that you took on this work at Bhindi because you were stranded here with no money for your passage to England.”

“I appreciate that more than I can say.” Stella pressed the clawlike hand.

“Well, I only hope the money is not stolen by now.” The grim smile returned to the wrinkled brown face. And then she looked up, listening. “But here they come!” she exclaimed, calling out almost in the same breath, “Jeythoo, bring the sherry wine for the doctor and the
memsahib
,
and the sherbet for His Highness.”

A second later Stella, too, caught the sound of approaching footsteps. Soon the kindly Swedish doctor was holding her by both hands, assuring her comfortingly that nothing she could have done would have made any difference; that the chances of Miss Jellings
’
s recovery, even if she had rallied sufficiently, for the journey to Delhi, would have been remote in the extreme; that it would be an unkindness to wish her back to a life that could only hold sickness and inactivity.

For a short while they all sat around on cushions native fashion, sipping their drinks and making small talk. But presently they made a move to the raja
’
s apartment where a well-planned, well-cooked English dinner was served, to which only Stella, still deadly weary, failed to do justice. And then at last the subject of the hospital was broached.

It was Dr. Erickson who set the ball rolling, and he started off by describing in some detail the dream hospital that he and Chawand Rao planned to raise in Bhindi. Its beginnings were to be very modest; a small building was to be put up on a slight eminence a mile out of town and equipped for the treatment of women and children suffering from such common but dangerous illnesses as malignant malaria, dengue fever, typhoid and dysentery. In due course a wing would be built and staffed, and later on there would be provision for male patients and even, in time, for surgical cases.

“By that time, of course,” Dr. Erickson said, smiling, “the hospital will be so famous that doctors and nurses will be clamoring to come on the staff. It is now, before it is even in being, that we
m
ay have difficulty in finding helpers—men and women with limitless faith and limitless courage who believe that obstacles only exist to be overcome.”

The raja nodded, his face grave. “It is the people themselves, whom we are trying to save, who will hamper us most,” he declared. “The Brahmans will try to keep them bound in their fetters of ignorance and fear.
”

The old rani gave her hard, metallic chuckle. “Nonsense! It is the elderly women who will make the most trouble. There are as many Mrs. Grundys in India as in England—and a great many more.”
She helped herself plentifully to curried prawns. “I
’
m with them myself at heart; I loathe all this so-called Western progress. But unlike a good many of them I have a head as well as a heart, and since I
’
ve seen the way Miss Hantley nursed Prithviraj—and how she pulled Mr. Verle out of that
... that curious fainting attack of his—I
’
ve come to believe there must be something in these new European methods.”