Authors: Juliet Armstrong
“Extremely well, thanks!” Allegra continued to sip her; cocktail, but Stella observed that her hand was shaking! a little. “Why do you ask? You
’
re not usually so solicitous!”
Stella eyed her with contempt. “How dare you say suc
h
a thing after what happened last night!
”
Allegra shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, that! I
’
m afraid, my dear, I
’
ve come to the conclusion that it was—as I suggested at the time—a rather clever frame-up on your part. You meant to scare me, and for a little while, I
’
ll admit, you succeeded.”
“I wonder if you really mean that.” Stella
’
s voice was very quiet. “You
’
re such a born liar, Allegra, one just can
’
t tell.”
“If you are going to be rude, I shall get up and walk into the lounge,” Allegra declared. “I don
’
t choose to be stuck here in this corner while you abuse me.” For a fraction of a second she met Stella
’
s steady look, and the expression that lurked in her eyes so belied her smooth tones and casual manner that Stella was startled; she would have sworn Allegra, for all her brave words, was very much afraid. But the next moment that impression was removed
.
A man—almost a stranger to Stella—came smiling across to them, and after greeting them pleasantly, asked Allegra whether she was all on her own that evening.
Allegra shook her sleek brown head. “By no means! Roger
’
s been out of the station for a day or two, but he comes back this evening; he
’
s made a particular date with me because it
’
s
his birthday.”
Stella felt anger flaming up in her and bitter jealousy, too. That Allegra, who was proving, after all, to be void of
that one spark of decency, should be calmly preparing to celebrate Roger
’
s birthday with him—while she, out in the cold altogether, had not even been aware that it was his birthday at all!
And then Armand, seeing that the two girls were no longer engaged in a private conversation, strolled up to join them.
“Do I hear talk of birthday celebrations?” he exclaimed genially. “That
’
s a very tame business. I
’
ve persuaded Stella to come and drink a toast or two to something far more exciting and unusual.”
“Really?” Allegra flashed him an indulgent smile. “Are you going to tell us you
’
ve come into a fortune
?”
“Precisely that,” Armand declared urbanely. “Now what are you all going to have? Yours is a gin and lime, I suppose, Stella! What
’
s your tipple, Miss Glydd?”
But Allegra was far too amazed at his calm answer to her teasing question to avail herself at once of his invitation.
“You
’
re pulling
our legs,” she asserted. “Snap out of it, my dear boy, and talk sense.”
“I tell you nothing but the truth,” Armand protested. And Stella, unable to resist the temptation for sarcasm, observed sweetly, “Allegra
’
s always a doubting Thomas, you know; even if you show her positive proof, Armand, she probably won
’
t believe you.”
“Then she must do the other thing.” Armand was smiling again. “I
’
m not going around to all the young ladies of Ghasirabad, showing them my private letters. Stella believes me; and if other people think I
’
m telling lies
—
well, it
’
s a dreadful reflection on their own veracity, that
’
s all I can say.”
His pleasant manner took the sting from his words, but Allegra was not pleased, all the same. Before she could make a sweetly sharp rejoinder, however, Roger made his appearance, and she called out to him in a possessive tone that caused Stella yet another prick of jealousy.
“Come along, Roger! Armand Verle is buying drinks all around. He says he
’
s suddenly become a millionaire—or something of the sort!”
Looking rather red and embarrassed, Roger approached the group at the bar. “Congratulations, Verle,” he observed stiffly, after a brief interchange of greetings. And
though he did not actually include Stella in the toast that he drank a minute or two later, she felt miserably certain that he was under the definite impression that she would soon be sharing Armand
’
s newfound wealth.
Other members of the club, drifting in, were hailed by Armand and made to join in the celebrations; even they, Stella thought, seemed to take it for granted that she also was to be congratulated on the windfall. Nothing was put into words, but much was implied by smiles and gestures, and it was a relief to her when the party broke up. Her troubles, however, were not yet over. Armand, who had been drinking as much as he could carry, could not be pe
r
suaded to drive her back, there and then, to the rest house
. I
n in answer to her reminders, which grew more and more urgent, that she ought to be back looking after Mis
s
Jellings, he promised that he was “coming this minute, m
’
dear,” and promptly discovered some newcomer to whom he had not yet offered a drink. After nearly an hour of delays and postponements, Stella began to get really worried, but at last Armand, flushed and beaming and not too steady on his legs, declared that he was ready to take her immediately to wherever she wished to go—“even if it is to the other side of the jolly old world, darling!”
I
t occurred to Stella then for the first time that he was hardly in a condition to drive her back, and visions of them both landing in a ditch, with the car on top of them; flooded into her brain.
But while she looked at him dubiously, deliverance came, and from a totally unexpected quarter. Roger, who
had been playing darts with Allegra and some other peop
l
e, strolled up to her and Armand and, smiling at the Frenchman, suggested that if Miss Hantley was really in a hurry to get back, he could very well drive her. “I
’
m sure,” he said pleasantly, “you don
’
t want to tear yourself away from the club just yet, Verle. Why not let me act as
your deputy?”
Armand hesitated, but the sight of two fresh faces was too much for him. “If you
’
re quite sure, old chap!” he began. “
’
S matter of fact, I
’
ve just spotted two fellow
s
who haven
’
t had a drink with me yet, and—”
“That
’
s all right,” Roger said quickly. And then turning to Stella, who was torn between irritation with Armand
and agitation at the thought of a solitary drive with Roger, he asked evenly, “Is that all right by you?”
And then Allegra intervened. She came floating up to them and remarked nonchalantly, “Personally I
’
m ready to leave, too, Roger. We could drop Stella on the way, couldn
’
t we!”
“Of course.” Roger
’
s face was expressionless. And a few minutes later the three of them were in his car and on the road to the rest house.
Characteristically Allegra had settled herself in the seat next to the driver
’
s, leaving Stella in solitary state at the back; but when they reached the rest house, Roger gave Stella the opportunity she wished for, of thanking him for his tact and consideration. He insisted on seeing her safely into the building, and when she stammered out her gratitude as they stood on the threshold, he gave her a wintry smile.
“I felt much more like giving Verle the rough side of my tongue than soft-soaping him,” he said. “But I was afraid of getting him worked up into a paddy. He was just at that delicate stage when amiability might suddenly change into desire for a free fight. Anyway, I didn
’
t see why he should be allowed to run the risk of breaking your neck.”
“It was awfully kind and generous of you,” Stella murmured.
“Nothing of the sort. I
’
d have done the same for any girl,” he assured her brusquely. A second later he added in a gentler tone, “He
’
s quite a good chap, Verle, and you oughtn
’
t to feel too sore with him. Most of us would be tempted to lift the elbow a bit on the news we
’
d just come into a fortune.” And with that he gave a hasty goodbye and left her—to the torturing reflection that the idea of her linking her future to Armand
’
s no longer gave him, it seemed, the least cause for regret.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She knew that
the thought that Roger had ceased to care for her ought rightly to cause her a deep relief. If one really loved a man, she argued, one ought to put his happiness before everything else; there should be room for nothing but satisfaction in the knowledge that he was no longer suffering. But try as she might to rejoice in his apparent indifference, she could not bring herself to do so.
I
’
m all kinds of a fool
, she told herself fiercely as having seen Miss Jellings comfortably settled for the night, she undressed and went to bed.
I set myself deliberately to
make Roger stop loving me, and now that I
’
ve succeeded
I
’
m in torment.
As on so many occasions during the last few weeks, she tossed and turned, obsessed with the longing to leave Ghasirabad and India and to put behind her all the miseries, disappointments and disillusionments that this ill-fated tour had brought her. Why must she stay here to endure such torture? Was there to be no end to the cruel tricks fate was playing on her? When, oh, when was Jelly going to feel strong enough to make the move to Delhi
—
the first step toward the journey home?
So badly did she sleep, and so restless did she feel, that she rose the next morning nearly two hours before her usual time, and slipping down to the servants
’
quarters she t
o
ld Muhammad Ali to have one of her horses saddled for her at once.
“The
memsahib
will take a groom with her?” Muhammad Ali inquired—in tones that implied that in his opinion no self-respecting young lady would consider riding without an attendant.
“Oh, very well, Muhammad Ali.” She tried not to sound impatient. “But tell him to keep the horses out here
a
t the backhand we
’
ll ride out by the side entrance. I particularly don
’
t want to wake Miss Jellings up.”
He nodded, pleased to have won his point. “It shall be as you say. And I will bring your early-tea within five minutes. You shall not have to wait at all.”
Knowing the usual length of the servant
’
s five minutes, she would have infinitely preferred to forgo her early tea until her return from her ride; but to do anything so unorthodox would, she was aware, upset all Muhammad Ali
’
s notions of correct English behavior, and she curbed her restlessness as best she might. On this occasion, however, Muhammad Ali was reasonably speedy, and less than half an hour later she rode out into the fresh morning air, a sleepy groom following some twenty yards behind.
She turned her horse
’
s head automatically in the direction of a flat, smooth stretch of ground known optimistically in the district as One Tree Meadow. It was a dry, dusty spot, but the best place for miles around for a good canter; and although there were at least half a dozen riders there every morning, she felt reasonably sure that at this hour she would have it to herself.
To her disgust, however, she was not even the first arrival. Already, a horseman, galloping as though his life depended on it, was kicking up the dust, and her annoyance was by no means lessened when, as he came tearing along in her direction, she saw that it was Armand.
He for his part was utterly delighted at the unexpected encounter, and as he reined in beside her-rather breathless from the exercise, he told her that it was “like a miracle” seeing her approaching.
“I was thinking about you at that very moment,” he declared. “I was trying to frame a convincing apology for my really abominable behavior yesterday evening.
”
Stella looked at him coolly. “I should be sorry to think that worry on my account got you up at this unreasonable hour,” she observed.
He gave a comical grin. “Alas, I cannot pretend that was the sole and only reason.” And then slapping his hand to his head, he continued dramatically, “If you only knew what a head I had after that—that carouse. At dawn this morning everything was still going around, and as soon as I dared, I got up and came out riding to see if I could put an end to the horrid business.”
“And have you succeeded?” Stella asked dryly.
“
Ma foi
, yes! Last night when I looked at you I saw triplets. I assure you, ravishingly beautiful triplets! Now I see—may I say it—the one and only woman.”
For once in a way she did not smile at his sally. She said coldly, “I daresay you
’
ll think I
’
m a prig and a spoilsport, but you might have driven me back to the rest house and then returned to finish your orgy. I was very worried about Miss Jellings.”
“I know, and that is why I have been trying so hard to make up a really good apology.” He was looking graver now, and the next moment he went on earnestly, “It was very decent of Fendish to butt in the way he did. I wasn
’
t too far gone to realize that. And what do you think? He actually turned up later at the club, dosed me with black coffee and took me back to the palace. And by the
way, he did it, according to him, on your account; that
’
s what he said, anyway.”
Feeling more wretched than ever at this confirmation of her fears that Roger actually welcomed the idea of her marriage to Armand, Stella found it difficult to make a reply that was even civil. Indeed, she asked rather sharply,
‘
”
And what did you say to that?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Quite frankly, I can
’
t remember. I have some recollection of raving about you
—
your personality, your looks and everything else—but beyond that, I
’
m quite vague.” And then he continued with a note of appeal in his tone, “I hope you aren
’
t absolutely fed up with me, Stella. It
’
s not a habit of mine to get drunk. In fact, I don
’
t believe it
’
s ever happened to me before.”
“Oh, it
’
s all right.” She still found it hard to control her irritation.
A little aggrieved, Armand looked at her searchingly and then exclaimed, “I suppose you
’
re angry because I didn
’
t tell Roger that he was under a misapprehension
—
that there was nothing
between us! But it was not for me to say that; in France, anyway, to deny an engagement is the lady
’
s privilege!”
Taken aback by Armand
’
s attack, Stella said nothing, and he went on crossly. “I really can
’
t understand your extraordinary attitude to Fendish. If you wanted him, why wouldn
’
t you say so before he got entangled with Allegra? You would only have had to lift up a finger, and he would have been at your feet.”
“You don
’
t quite appreciate my point of view,” Stella tried to recover h
e
r dignity. “It isn
’
t a question of Roger, in particular, being misinformed about me—I should feel the same whoever it was.”
Armand lifted his eyebrows, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “It is also a French convention that a lady is always speaking the truth, no matter what strange remarks fall from her pretty lips,” he observed.
“I think you
’
re being perfectly hateful,” Stella burst out, her cheeks scarlet and her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You may not realize it, but when you accuse Roger of falling for Allegra, you
’
re practically saying that he has no sense of honor. I may not know much about French traditions, but in England a man who tried to rob his brother of the woman to whom he is engaged is usually considered a cad.”
“My dear, you
’
re being grossly unfair, and you know it.” Armand was becoming his normal, imperturbable self. “It
’
s common gossip that Roger
i
s
f
alling head over heels in love with Allegra, but everyone agrees that he hardly realizes it himself as yet.” He shook his head sagely. “Why, he probably imagines, poor boob, that when he trots around after her like a faithful watchdog, he
’
s looking after her for Jim
’
s sake; and if he wants to kiss her, he doubtless kids himself that what he feels is nothing more than brotherly affection for his dear sister-in-law-to-be. It
’
s amazing how far a fellow
’
s self-deception can go when he
’
s the upright type like Roger Fendish.”
She struggled vainly for words, and he went on reflectively, “Of course, Allegra is perfectly well aware of what
’
s happening to Roger, and one can
’
t help wondering what the end of it will be. At the moment I don
’
t believe she knows herself which of the brothers she prefers.”
“Personally I don
’
t want to hear another word about the Fendishes, nor about Allegra Glydd.” She found her tongue at last, but misery and vexation made
her voice tremble so badly, she knew that he must notice it.
“Fine, let
’
s forget them. And now—we
’
ve been walking our horses for the last ten minutes! What about a canter? Frankly, I came out here for exercise!”
“So did I—and for solitude!” she countered sharply, and giving her horse a light flick with her riding crop she
went flying across the plain, with Armand in close pursuit, and the groom following at a decorous distance.
Her annoyance at the young Frenchman’s persistence knew no bounds. As though it were not enough to bring up a subject that he knew must distress her to discuss, he must now force his company on her. It was insufferable, considering how plain she had made it that she wished to be along.
She determined that if she could not shake him off, she could at least refuse to enter into conversation with him; and when he caught up with her and tried to tease her into a good humor, she coolly and resolutely ignored him.
Another man might have gone off in a huff, but not Armand. Finding that his remarks met with no response, he broke into song, waking the echoes now with snatches of sentimental ballads, now with gay and decidedly naughty
chansons
of the cabaret type, but always keeping close at her side.
More and more angry did she feel with him when, after half an hour of this persecution, she saw Roger in the distance, riding along in their direction.
“I’m going home now,” she exclaimed abruptly, adding vehemently, “and I only wish that going home meant starting for England. I’m sick of you and Roger and everyone else in Ghasirabad. I shall bless the day when I’m free to leave.”
With a casual wave to Roger, she turned her horse’s head and started cantering toward the road, feeling certain now that Armand would drop out, but the next moment something happened that caused her to rein in her horse sharply. Roger was shouting to her, and at the same time Armand, who was between the two of them, called out in a tone tense with anxiety, “Stop Stella dear! Roger has bad news for you.”
All the fury transmitted in a second to fear, and she waiting until the two men, riding together now, caught up with her.
It was Roger who spoke first. He said, his face very troubled, “I’ve just met Muhammad Ali. He was out in the road near the rest house looking for you. Miss Jellings is not so well. Stella, you must go back at once.” And then he added, with a quick glance at Armand, “We’ll both come with you, if we may.”
“Do you mean she has had a heart attack?” She was white to the lips when she asked the question.
“It seems like it,” he answered steadily.
“Good God! Then there’s not a minute to be lost.” And whipping her horse, she went galloping hell-bent-for-leather toward the road, with the two men close behind.
But as soon as she reached the gate of the rest house she knew instinctively that all this mad speed was to no avail.
Muhammad Ali was standing there, the tears trickling down his brown face, and in the distance, from the direction of the native city, a pariah dog howled and howled.
“It was when I took in her early tea,” the servant blubbered. “I thought at first she was asleep, but when I looked again—”
“Pull yourself together, Muhammad Ali!” Roger spoke firmly. “Miss Hantley doesn’t want to hang around at the gate, she wants to get inside.”
Feeling utterly dazed and as though she had just been dealt a terrific blow on the head, Stella rode up with Roger and Armand to the front entrance, and dismounting, went at once and alone into Miss Jellings’ bedroom. One glance at the bed was enough, and sinking down onto the floor, she buried her face in the bedclothes, too stunned, too broken, for the easy relief of tears.
She had ached—prayed, indeed—for the moment to come when she would be free to shake the dust of Ghasirabad from her feet. But little had she dreamed of the tragic, heartbreaking way in which that agonized prayer of hers would be answered.