Nurse in India (3 page)

CHAPTER TWO

The chance
to turn her back on Ghasirabad came more quickly than Stella had dared to hope. On the drive home that evening, Armand had returned with Gallic exuberance to the subject of Bhindi and its interest for sightseers willing to leave the beaten track. And the next morning he came hurrying around to the rest house to convert Miss Jellings to his point of view.

All his charm, all his vivacity were brought into play. And watching him Stella had to admit not only that he was good-looking, in his slim, rather boyish way, but that he possessed a distinctly attractive personality. A great many girls, she knew, would have had no time for a sobersides like Roger while Armand was in the offing.

Certainly Jelly was swept away by his witty and persuasive tongue. Although she was looking painfully tired, her plain old face soon began to light up as he spoke of dances and ceremonies so antique that their origins were lost in the mists of time. And before long she was announcing that whatever the difficulties of transport might be
—
for Armand had to confess that the road to Bhindi was little better than a bullock track—she was definitely going to fall in with his suggestion. As for her comfort when she arrived there, she did not believe, she declared a shade tartly, that any lodging could demand more stoical endurance than this so-called rest house.

Hearing that note of irritation in her voice, Stella felt suddenly anxious. Undeniably the rest house was not luxurious, but it was no worse—indeed in some respects it was better—than many of the quarters with which they had been provided during their Indian tour. Could it be that this weariness of Jelly
’
s deserved a more serious term? Was she herself forgetting, in her role of secretary-companion, that she had been engaged also as a nurse?

She dared not, in front of Armand, breathe a word
about her employer
’
s health, for on this point Jelly was hypersensitive. But when the handsome young Frenchman, beaming with pleasure at the success of his mission, left them alone, she asked her patient a few incisive questions and as a result of the grudgingly given admissions, insisted on her lying down for the remainder of the day. She would have liked to stay within call, but the old lady would not hear of this. She had given way to the extent of resting far more than was necessary, but she was not going to be fussed after as though she was an invalid. As soon as Stella had finished typing out that last chapter she must get out in the fresh air; and if she could find some nice man with whom to ride or play tennis—and here she gave Stella a faint, satiric grin—so much the better.

Stella, catching that teasing smile, pretended not to notice it—though she was quite unable to check a slight rise of color. Some day or another she might have to explain to Jelly that there was nothing, after all, in her friendship with Roger, but for the moment it was better to let the matter rest. On their return from Bhindi it would probably be necessary to move on at once to their next stopping place, and in the bustle of the journey, and the excitement of new scenes and fresh faces, Jelly might well forget that Roger Fendish had ever aroused any particular interest in her mind.

After lunch, pressed by Jelly
’
s adjurations, she sent for a tonga and drove to the city. The bazaar, with its narrow, twisting streets, thronged with dark-skinned folk in clothes of every brilliant hue was much like the many others that Stella had visited since coming to India. But she felt she would never tire of the color and noise, the unending variety of open-fronted shops where keen-eyed merchants squatted, scanning the crowds for likely customers
and crying out vociferously in praise of their wares.

Presently she stopped the driver and, telling him to wait, got down and proceeded on foot. He called after her something that she did not catch, but imagining that he was anxious about his fare she repeated, in the best Hindustani she could muster, that she would return to the tonga in a few minutes
’
time, and then set off at a leisurely pace.

She had been long enough in India to grow accustomed to the curious stares that the sight of a strange woman
aroused among the populace, and for a short time sauntered along the busy street making small purchases here and there without the slightest misgiving. True, a few beggars were collecting, but there was nothing odd in that, in this land of mendicants. Nor did it trouble her when, here and there, she encountered the baleful glance of an ash-smeared fakir.

But presently she found that the street she had entered was changing its character. Shops and stalls were giving place to crude flower-garlanded shrines, and a short way ahead there loomed up a mass of masonry, rose red and carved all over with grotesque figures, that she recognized as a Hindu temple.

And now indeed
she began to feel frightened and to wish that she had remained safely in the tonga, under the protection of the scrubby little driver. For down the temple steps there came rushing or hobbling a veritable horde of beggars, many of them in an indescribable state of dirt and disease, and all of them intent on claiming baksheesh from the stranger in their midst.

Whining voices echoed in her ears, skinny fingers clutched at her sleeves, and when she tried to retrace her steps she found herself encircled by the rapacious mob.

There
’
s nothing to get seriously scared about,
she told herself firmly, but when she found that she could not pass—and when a scoffing remark by a passing Brahman priest brought a jeer from the crowd and renewed demands for money—it was all she could do to fight down her rising panic.

And then the sound of hooves reached her from the direction from which she herself had come, and the throng melted to reveal the figure of Roger Fendish cantering toward her.

In less than a minute he was at her side, dismounting. “What on earth are you doing here, Miss Hantley?” he demanded brusquely.

“I might ask you the same question,” she retorted, conscious that her heart was beating even more violently now than a moment earlier when she had been feeling so horribly scared.

“My answer
’
s simple enough,” he told her coldly. “I was passing the city gate just now when a tonga driver
stopped me, almost in tears, to tell me that a
memsahib
whom he had been driving had persisted on going alone, on foot, through the Street of Shrines. He had warned her against doing so, he said, but she had refused to listen.
”

Stella colored a little at his unfriendly tone. “I didn
’
t understand in the least what he was saying,” she explained stiffly. “I know a smattering of Hindustani, but—”

“Exactly,” he broke in impatiently. “Lord! If you globe-trotters would
o
nly learn the language properly, what a peck of trouble would be saved.”

Her color deepened. “I apologize for giving you any bother,” she began, and then, seeing his expression suddenly change, stopped abruptly.

“It
’
s for me to apologize for being so beastly to you,” he exclaimed, contritely. “But I guessed it was you the tonga driver meant, and I was feeling distinctly perturbed. Some of the priests who hang around that particular temple are pretty fanatical; and though you would not have come to any bodily harm, you might have been insulted
—
and even more badly frightened than you were
!”

She did not answer; she was too afraid of betraying the emotion that, despite all her efforts, was flooding her being, as she heard the note of tenderness in his tone
.
And he went on eagerly, “What about wiping away this unpleasant memory by coming for a gallop with me this afternoon? You
’
ve told me you love riding, and I have a new mare that would just about suit you.
”

“I
’
m afraid I can
’
t.” If only he could have known how cruelly hard it was to frame that brief sentence.

“Do you mean that?” His unmistakable disappointment made it more difficult than ever to persist in a refusal. There was something so simple, so straightforward, about this big man who, for good or ill, showed his feelings so plainly. It was wretched having to hurt him.

“Miss Jellings isn
’
t very well,” she explained, unable to resist softening the blow. “I don
’
t like leaving her for any length of time.”

His face cleared, and he nodded understandingly. “I see. In that case I must make the best of a bad job and content myself with escorting you home. And you might remember, Stella, dear,” he added, slipping his arm in hers and piloting her through the now decorous crowd, “that if
you want to explore the native quarter again I
’
ll be very happy to act as bodyguard.”

She was afraid
that her return to the rest house so soon after setting out would provoke some embarrassing questions from Miss Jellings, if not an actual scolding. But when she stole into her employer
’
s bedroom she found her in a heavy sleep. Bending over, her anxiously, she decided that she had been right to insist on her resting. Even asleep the old woman looked unutterably weary, and the thought came to Stella that their next move might well be to Bombay, en route for England, rather than to Bhindi.

Toward five o
’
clock Jelly woke up, and Muhammad Ali, the bearded servant who had accompanied them on their journeyings through India, brought in the tea tray. Usually this little meal was the liveliest of the day, but on this occasion Jelly was queerly silent, evidently plunged in deep thought.

Stella knew her too well to plague her with questions and it was not until the following morning—after having spent a very bad night—that the old lady spoke of what was in her mind.

“Would you be scared of going to Bhindi by yourself?” she demanded abruptly.

Stella hesitated, unable to prevent herself from conjuring up a vision of Roger
’
s horrified face. And Jelly went on calmly, “The truth is, Stella, I don
’
t believe my miserable old body would stand twenty miles jolting over a bullock track at the present moment; on the other hand, from what Armand Verle says, I
’
m inclined to think that to finish this book of mine, without any description of this famous fire dance, would be a fearful mistake.” She groaned and shifted restlessly in the hard, uncomfortable bed. “To think that Bhindi is barely twenty miles away
—
and that this particular dance is performed only once in as many years. It
’
s absolutely maddening.”

Still Stella made no answer, and at last her silence began to irritate the sick woman. “I know your beloved Roger Fendish won
’
t like the notion,” she observed testily. “And I daresay it
’
s natural. But he ought to realize that you are not just a tourist
..
.
that you
’
re a serious worker. I
’
ll have another word with Armand Verle before he goes back to
Bhindi tomorrow, and if he promises faithfully to look
a
fter you—well, I shall ask you to think
t
he matter over very seriously.”

And then, as always, her ill humor vanished as quickly as it had come. “You needn
’
t think I
’
m going to nag you over it all the same,” she declared. “If you refuse to go, there
’
ll
be nothing said—and nothing thought!”

Stella found her voice at last. “I
’
m by no means sure I ought to be leaving you. I
’
m your nurse as well as your secretary, you know.”

“You needn
’
t worry about me. I shall simply stay in bed until you get back.” The old woman wore a resolute expression. “As a matter of fact, it will just give me nice time to pick up my strength before we start on the hundred-mile train journey to our next port of call
—
Rajdor. It
’
s a shame to separate you from your Roger,” she added more gently. “But if the pair of you are serious, you ought to be able to fix things up before we leave.”

An observation to which Stella, her heart surging with misery, could not even attempt to make a reply.

It seemed to Stella
as she turned the project over in her mind that whether she shrank from it or not, it presented a cast-iron opportunity of breaking with Roger. He was a busy man, and the twenty miles of bad road would put an effectual barrier between them. Also his anger with her for embarking on what he believed to be a criminally foolish course would probably mean the end of his affection for her. He would feel that she had more faith in Armand
’
s judgment than in his own, and that, she was sure, would be too much for his quick temper and his pride.