Nurse in India (17 page)

“Of course, Armand.” Without another word, she let him help her out of th
e
car and walked slowly back to the club building, from which the strains of music were still issuing.

Conscious of looking flushed and disheveled, she made her way toward the cloakroom, hoping earnestly to escape running into anyone she knew. But luck was against her. Standing, smoking at the entrance was Roger, and his eyes as they rested on her briefly, and with faint contempt, told her that he missed no detail of her ruffled looks and was drawing his own conclusions as to their cause. And when, brushing past him in angry silence, she reached the shelter of the cloakroom, she found that even here there was no peace for her. The only occupant of the daintily furnished room was a girl, peering intently at herself in a mirror and reshaping her lips with a scarlet lipstick; and the girl was Allegra.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

She saw Stella
’
s reflection in the mirror and turning around observed with faint malice, “Hallo, Star! Having a good time? You look like it!”

Stella came in and shut the door behind her. “Now that we
’
ve met like this—alone—” she said, her voice shaking with anger, “there
’
s a question I
’
d like to ask you.”

“Sounds like the Christy Minstrels—but go on, dear!” Allegra continued, tracing out a Cupid
’
s bow.

“What do you mean by telling Armand Verle that I was in love with him? It
’
s a lie—as you
’
ve very good reason to know.”

“My dear girl, I had it on the best authority.” Allegra put away her lipstick and took a small eyebrow brush from her handbag. “Roger was so down in the mouth the other day, I drew him out to confide in me
—
the sympathetic little sister touch, you know
—
and he told me you had given him to understand there was no chance for him because you
’
d set your affections on Armand Verle.”

“And you repeat his confidences!” It was all Stella could do to refrain from taking Allegra by her slim shoulders and giving her a good shaking.

“You shouldn
’
t be such a siren, Star! Poor Armand came to me, too, a few days later, with a
similar tale of woe—how he adored you, and you wouldn
’
t look at him. So I thought,
‘
Well, here
’
s my good deed for the day. I
’
ll make one poor wretch happier.
’
And I passed on the glad tidings.”

“Knowing that—whatever Roger might have said or thought—there wasn
’
t a grain of truth in it!” Stella
’
s voice was charged with bitterness.

“I certainly hoped it was true.” Allegra seemed no whit discomposed by Stella
’
s fury. “I knew you were keen on Roger not so long ago, but people have been known to change their affections before now.” And then snapping
t
ogether the clasps of her handbag, she folded her arms and looked up brazenly at Stella. “As a matter of fact, I may do a bit of changing around myself. I
’
m not at all sure
I
haven
’
t made a mistake in getting engaged to Jim.”

Just for a second Stella
’
s heart gave a leap of joy. If Allegra were to jilt Jim Fendish, all her troubles would be removed. There would no longer be any reason for holding her tongue over those incidents of the past; nor was it likely that either Roger or Jim would disbelieve her.

But the next instant her castle in the air dissolved in mist, for Allegra finished her sentence by saying, very slowly and deliberately, “Now that I
’
ve got to know Roger so well.”

“You little cad!” Stella exclaimed. And then she gave a scornful laugh. “If you think Roger would dream of marrying you, Allegra, you
’
re very much mistaken.”

For the first time, Allegra
’
s cool indifference showed signs of cracking. An angry flush rose to her cheeks and she observed quickly,
“
Is that a challenge to me? Do you suppose your attractions are so very superior to mine?”

“If you understood Roger at all, you wouldn
’
t take my remark that way.” Stella
’
s disdain was increasing. “You know that he
’
d never reach out for happiness at the expense of a favorite brother—nor take it if it was offered him. It
’
s for precisely that reason that I haven
’
t blown your gaff long ago—or tried to! Roger loves me, but we should never be really happy together if he was feeling all the time that our marriage was built on Jim
’
s misery.”

“What a peroration!” Allegra was recovering her aplomb. “I wonder you don
’
t take up lecturing: it
’
s supposed to be a paying game. However—” and sh
e
rose to her feet “—I
’
m afraid I can
’
t stop and listen to your flow of eloquence any longer. Roger
’
s waiting to dance with me.” And with one backward glance at herself in the mirror, she swept out of the room.

Mechanically Stella set about tidying herself, running a comb through her untidy curls and trying with the aid of her powder puff to tone down the scarlet of her cheeks.

It had been, she decided, one of the most wretched evenings she had ever spent. Chawand Rao
’
s cryptic remark had been enough to set her off worrying; and on top of this there had been Armand
’
s outburst of passion and Roger
’
s deepened contempt and hostility. But it was this hint of Allegra
’
s, that she was going to set her cap for Roger, that disturbed her most. It was easy to boast that Roger was too decent and too chivalrous to rob his brother of his
fiancée.
As Armand had observed only the other day, Allegra was the type of girl who could twist any man—or nearly any man—around her little finger. Was it so very unlikely that she might use her wiles successfully on Roger? Already she had wormed her way into his confidence and persuaded him, reserved as he was, to open his heart to her. To arouse his passionate nature, making him feel that he must at all costs possess her, even at the expense of his brother
’
s happiness, was not a very far step from this; and his present soreness would make her task all the easier.

Well, if he
’
s shallow enough to fall for a piece of rubbish like Allegra, that
’
s his funeral,
she told herself bitterly, as she prepared to go back and mingle with the other guests. But she knew in her heart of hearts that the thought of seeing him caught in Allegra
’
s net was sheer agony; a torment too great to be borne.

From that evening onward,
she was filled with one overmastering desire—to shake the dust, not only of Ghasirabad but of India itself from her feet and set sail for home
.

She had looked forward so keenly to coming to “the gorgeous East,” and her first few weeks in this strange and colorful land had thrilled her to the core. After her hard work in the nursing home, it had seemed to her that she had been set free to wander in an Arabian Nights fairy tale. She had visited out-of-the-way cities and villages where Europeans seldom penetrated, and where life had been flowing in the same currents for well upon two thousand years; had witnessed age-old dances and ceremonies, sometimes breathtakingly beautiful, sometimes majestic and awe-inspiring, of which the ordinary tourist never heard. But of late she had been oppressed with misery, and it seemed to her as though this Mother India, who had held out such alluring arms, had become a sullen enemy, laying
on her the curse that every step she took within her borders, every friendship she made, should lead only to sorrow and disillusionment.

But long as she might to break away, she was held there a prisoner until her patient should recover sufficiently to make the journey to Delhi; nor was she permitted to follow her own inclination and spend her whole time in th
e
rest house and grounds. She must, Jelly insisted, join in the life of the English community, whether she and Roger were on good terms or not; she must go to the club and meet new people. She would get ill herself if she were cooped up day in, day out with a querulous old invalid.

Had Jelly been stronger Stella would have explained the whole situation to her. But in the old lady
’
s present low condition it was unthinkable to burden her with her troubles; to do so would cause her to worry and fret, and might even retard her recovery.

She went out as little as possible, although Armand, rather subdued these days, pressed her continually with invitations to go riding or golfing with him, or to drop in at the club for a cocktail and a game of darts. But whenever she allowed herself to be persuaded into acceptance of his hospitality, she had to endure the misery of seeing Roger and Allegra together. Truly, she thought, the feeling that a curse was laid on her went beyond the bounds of mere imagination. If she and Armand went to the golf course, Roger and Allegra were certain to have chosen that afternoon for a round; if a ride was the program, the road they chose would always be that favored by the other pair; and at the club it was a safe bet that wherever Allegra might be, Roger would not be far away.

Chawand Rao she saw but seldom, and then only in the distance. Having handed over the club premises to the English residents of his state, he disclaimed all right to go there without a direct invitation, and even when invited, he was always ready with a courteous refusal. Without
ex
plicitly saying so, he implied that if he formed the habit of visiting the club, other Indians of standing might expect to become members, and that this would inevitably lead to embarrassments. The club had been started for the benefit of Europeans, and if Englishmen and Indians wished to
make social contacts they could very well do so on the polo ground or cricket field.

“It
’
s the feminine attitude that makes the color bar such
a
grim reality,” Armand explained to a slightly mystified ;
’
Stella. “If the custom of purdah could be swept away, it would be far easier for the two races to get together. But there it is! In an old-fashioned state like Kotpura, hardly an Indian lady of good family would be found who would dream of coming to a mixed gathering; yet her male rela
t
ives expect to mingle freely with Englishwomen. It makes the whole thing artificial—as Chawand Rao is sensible enough to realize. That
’
s why—” and he frowned a little “—I can
’
t understand His Highness making passes at you, Stella. He must know that it
’
s no use.”

“He hasn
’
t been making passes at me!” Stella retorted irritably, adding a moment later, with a vehemence that startled the Frenchman, “if you only knew how I ache to leave this dreadful country! It
’
s positively sinister the way everything has gone wrong for me since I came here. I shall bless the day when I
’
m out of this strained, emotional atmosphere and back in matter-of-fact England.”

An outburst that made Armand look very pained and that launched him on a fresh endeavor to take her out of herself by showering invitations into her lap.

She knew that she was slipping into a morbid state of mind and tried hard to regain her normal balance; but so far had she drifted from the ultrasensible self of a few weeks earlier that when, one morning, as she sat sewing on the veranda, a disreputable-looking old fakir came limping up the drive and begged whiningly to be allowed to tell her fortune, she was seized with an urge to hear what he had to say. And instead of sending him packing, she gave him a rupee and settled down to listen to his droning prophecies.

I know I
’
m being a fool to waste time and money like this,
she t
o
ld herself as she let him take her hand in his dirty fingers and peer at the lines of her palm.
It
will be just
the usual stream of nonsense one hears from fortune-
tellers all the world over
.

But after the first muttered sentences that dropped from the old man
’
s lips, her eyes widened; for he was delving not in the future but in the past, and painting her a rough pic
t
ure that, blurred as the outlines were, awoke instant and painful recollections in her heart.

“Years ago,” he murmured, “when you were at the threshold of womanhood, one who you thought your friend and sister showed herself to be a treacherous foe. Her tongue dropped lies and her heart was a black stone, and she brought great trouble on you, so that you wept by night and day for many moons.”

With a sharp intake of breath she snatched her hand away.

“This is a trick you play upon me,” she exclaimed. “Who are you?”

“The
memsahib
is angry because I speak truth.” There was a peevish frown on the wrinkled face. “No matter. I will give you back your silver and go my way. But it is always the same. If one tells the
sahibs
what they know to be truth one is a trickster, and if one tells them lies one is a fool.”

He hunted in the folds of his voluminous garments and producing her rupee held it out to her.

“No, you
’
d better go on,” she said brusquely. “I
’
ll listen for a few minutes, anyway.”

Without comment he replaced the coin in its hiding place, then brought out, after much searching, a crystal.