The Maid and the Idol. A tangled story of Poona

Front matter

NEW COPYRIGHT WORKS specially written for A. H. Wheeler & Co.'s Indian Railway Library. '. "Soldiers Three:" Stories of Barrack-Room Eife. By Rudyard Kipling. 2. " The Story of the Gadsbys :" A Tale without a Plot. Do. 3 "In Black and White:" Stories of Native Life. Do. 4* " Under the Deodars : " In Social Eyeways. Do. %* The above four numbers are illustrative of the four main features of Anglo-Indian Life, viz., The Military, Domestic, Native, aud Social. 5* '' The Phantom 'Rickshaw," and other Eerie Tales. By Rudyard Kipling. 6. " Wee Willie Winkie," and other Child Stories. Do. 7. "The Colonel's Crime:" A Romance of To-Day. By Ivan O'Beirne. 8. " The Heart Of a Maid." By Beatrice Grange. 9. " Closer than a Brother." By G. B* Stuart. 10. '■ The Subaltern, The Policeman, and The Little Girl."

By Brownlow Fforde. (Illustrated.) 11. " Doctor Victor." By Ivan O'Beirne. 12. " The Trotter." By Brownlow Fforde. (Illustrated.) 13. "Whiffs." By "Lunkaii." 14 "The City of Dreadful Night." By Rudyard Kipling. IS* " The Maid and the Idol." By Brownlow Fforde. ( Illustrated. ) In specially-designed Picture Covers. Price, One Rupee. The above fifteen numbers are now procurable at all Railway Bookstalls, or from A. H. Wheeler & Co., Allahabad. ALSO, " Letters of Marque." By Rudyard Kipling. Cloth cover, Rs. 2-S. IN THE PRESS, AND TO BE ISSUED SHORTLY, Further numbers of the Railway Library Series : — "Doctor Rollenson's Dilemma." By L. E. Tiddeman. " Major Craik's Craze." By Ivan O'Beirne. " That little Owl." By Brownlow Fforde. (Illustrated.) " The Widow Lampost" By S. K. Yeats. For opinions of the press, see overleaf. ©pinions of the §n.<j...

The Spectator says : — As a wholesome corrective to what may be called the oleographic style of depicting military life now so much in vogue, Mr. Kip ling's brilliant sketches of the barrack-room, realistic in the best sense of the word, deserve a hearty welcome. Here be no inanities of the officers' mess, no apotheosis of the gilded and tawny-moustachioed dragoon, no languid and lisping lancer, no child-sweethearts — none, in fact, of the sentimental paraphernalia familiar to readers of modern military fiction. Here, instead, we have Tommy Atkins as the central figure, and not Tommy Atkins on parade, but in those moods when the natural man finds freest expression — amorous, pugnacious, and thievish — a somewhat earthy personage on the whole, but with occasional gleams of chivalry and devotion lighting up his clouded humanity.

Chapter I. Mr

SEYMOUR SLEEPS. Tired with aU these, for restful death I cry, Shakespeare—" Sonnets.' R. SEYMOUR!" called the servant, standing at the door with hisv shaving water. " Mr. Seymour, sir." She had knocked several times, but could get no answer. Alice Seymour, his daughter, passed along the corridor just then. " What is the matter, Jane ? " " Please, miss, master won't come for the water." "Well, never mind, Jane; don't waken him. He seemed tired and worried last night, and I daresay he is sound asleep. I told him he looked as if he wanted a real good rest." Alice descended to the breakfast room, where her cousin, Samuel Greaney, who was on a visit, was waiting for her. '' If you are in a hurry, Samuel, I will give you your breakfast now. You need not wait for papa. He is rather late— tired, I think."

" I am in no hurry, thank you, Alice ; you always seem to wish I was," replied Samuel Greaney, with an affectionate and deprecative grimace, which was the nearest approach he could make to a loving smile. He was too long and lank and awkward to be effective, and he was dismally and desperately in love with his cousin. Samuel stood in front of a mirror, which hung over the mantelpiece and Alice looked out of the window. There was a view from it of the typical London square, and the morning was bright and clear, though it was in winter. Samuel did not look at his cousin, but was enjoying the sight of her reflection in the glass ; because she used to complain that he made her feel damp when he gazed at her. His eyes were very watery and weak, poor fellow ! As he was tenderly watching the very pretty figure t; Tlie Maid and tlie Idol. and profile he saw reflected there, he heard a noise upstairs, and Alice turned round.

"They'll wake papa," she said, annoyed. "Really, Jane is always dropping something. I wish you would go and see what they are doing. Samuel, and if papa is awake. If not, please don't awaken him. And you might get a pocket handkerchief at the same time, Samuel. You really do sniff so." "I've got one," replied he, reproachfully, "and I do my best not to sniff." Samuel went out rather sad, because he felt that Alice was, in some sort, the immediate cause of that demonstration, which was, after all, only real feeling, inconveniently displayed. He went slowly up the stairs, feeling hurt. He was sure there could not be anything in the world more tragic than unrequited love. Nothing could be worse than the sufferings it caused. She had alluded to his sniffs in a most unkindly manner, and his weak but loving eyes were filled with tears of heartfelt despair.

When he reached the landing, he stopped to brush away a tear. There was something on the floor, lying in a heap, further up the corridor, opposite his uncle's bedroom. It looked as if some one had dropped clothes there, "They might have removed them, at any rate,'' he thought, "instead of letting them lie where they fell." There was not much light where he stood, and the window was at the opposite end of the corridor, so that the heap of clothes was a dark lump of no distinguishable colour. Samuel was going to call a servant, but on second thoughts he went on. When he reached the heap he saw that there were clothes, but that they belonged to Jane the servant, who was lying in a peculiar position, doubled up on the floor He stooped down and looked at the figure. She had fallen with her head on one side, her cheek resting on the floor, and her arm bent back underneath her.

There was a jug upset close by. Samuel at first thought she was in a fit, but she was quite motionless. Then he thought he would call Alice, concluding that Jane had fainted ; for he felt helpless in such a case, never having seen any one in a faint. But he feared Alice might despise him for his helplessness. He had heard that water thrown on the face was a good thing to revive people who had fainted. There was none in the jug, but a good deal on the floorcloth. Samuel dipped his handkerchief in the moisture, and patted the girl's face with it, but it had no effect. As he removed it, he saw the handkerchief was stained red. " She has cut her face, poor thing," thought Samuel. " I had better call Alice, or one of the servants." But again he hesitated, and looked at the door of the bed-room.

It was ajar. Then bis uncle must be awake, and would at any rate tell him what to do. Mr. Seymour Sleeps. 3 " Uncle !" he called, rather softly, in case he might possibly be still asleep. There was no reply. Samuel pushed open the door, and looked in. By the morning light, filtered through the blinds, he could see Mr. Seymour's figure in bed. He then thought he could enter softly, and get some water from the jug on the washstand. He stepped quietly on tiptoe, keeping an eye on his uncle's figure. His foot slipped on some thing greasy, and he fell forward. With disgust at his clumsiness, and some fear lest Alice should have heard his fall, he picked himself up, and felt that his hands were quite wet. He saw, as he looked at them, that they were red. Something must have stained the floor. Samuel looked again at his uncle, to see if he had been awakened by the sound of his fall.

But Mr. Seymour lay still on his back. One arm hung over the edge of the bed. Samuel felt uncomfortable somehow, by reason of this stillness. He approached the bed. Mr. Seymour's eyes were open and looked dull. There was no sound of breathing. Samuel's foot struck against something hard. He stooped down and took up a small pistol. Then, with a feeling of intense alarm, he put a trembling hand on his uncle's shoulder, and shook it. Mr. Seymour did not wake. He shook him again, and the face fell slowly to one side, exposing the back of the head. Samuel gave a cry of horror. His feet slipped from under him, and he fell, clutching the bed-clothes with his hands. They left prints of red singers where they touched the white coverlet. He recovered his footing and turned, with the horror in his eyes, to see Alice standing in the doorway.

"Why did you wake him?" she began, and then she saw the look on his face. — " Ah ! what is it ? " The jury returned a verdict of "Suicide while in a state of unsound mind." Samuel Greaney's evidence was against this verdict. He had found the pistol on the ground, and Mr. Seymour's arm was hanging over the side of the bed. It was argued that he could not have thrown his arm into that position after shooting himself. The shot had been fired through the mouth, and the back of the skull was blown away. The hand and the pistol would naturally have remained in the position necessary for the shot to have been fired. But Samuel's demeanour was so unsettled, and his general recollections so muddled, that, in the face of other evidence, his did not take great value, though he held to his description of the position of the body.

What decided the jury was the evidence of Mr. Smith, the cashier of the Bank of which Mr. Seymour was manager. Mr. Smith was a very respectable man, and when he heard of the death of Mr. Seymour, he shook his head. When Mr. Smith shook his head, he was so respectable that his friends shook theirs too. There was good reason for the attitude of Mr. Smith. It was found on the day after the event, that a sum of £r4,coo, in notes, was missing from the strong room of the bank, It is true that there was no evidence to connect this with Mr. Seymour, except that only he and the cashier had access to the safe. All his affairs were in order, and he had left his daughter Alice well off, by a will in due form. No trace of the notes could be discovered, nor any reason why Mr. Seymour should have taken the money.

Still, the fact had a decisive effect on the jury, and they could not account for the event, except by attributing it to suicide. Perhaps Samuel Greaney was the only one who did not believe in the verdict. Alice was not sure. She had remembered her father's tired and worried appearance on the previous evening, and she doubted. Alice Seymour did not fall seriously ill. The shock was great, but her cousin had the presence of mind to stop her from entering that room, and she did not see the body of her father in all its horror. She lost her health and pined, for grief is a disease. After some time, however, her grief became, what it mercifully does become, a loving regret. She was able to speak of it to Samuel, to whom she was drawn in a sisterly way. It was several months after, that the following conversation took place.

Mr. Smith had resigned his position in the Bank, being unable, he said, to continue in it any longer, since the sad end of his old and respected friend, Mr. Seymour. The directors offered him the post of manager, but he refused, and retired on his savings, with a handsome gratuity. " If I could only be sure !" said Alice, with tears in her eyes. " I am," replied Samuel, " I am sure of it. It wasn't suicide." "Then what was it, and who did it, Samuel ?" " I don't know, but somebody did. I shall ask Mr. Smith." "What is the use of that Samuel ? You are foolish. He told all he knew, and he is a most respectable man." " I don't know if he is, I've never seen him, but he may know some thing to give me a clue. What we want, Alice, is a clue." "A clue to what, Samuel? The police tried to find a clue to the notes, and they couldn't." " It's the same thing, you know.

Whoever has the notes is the man I'll ask Mr. Smith ." " He has said all he knows. What is the use of being silly, Samuel?" " I don't care. I'm not so silly as that, Alice ; you really are so unkind. If I find the man and the notes, dear Alice, may I ? " " No, certainly not. I don't want to hurt you, dear, good, poor Samuel But can't you see ? " Samuel Greaney sighed, but he went to the Bank and found out Mr. Smith's address. Next day he went to Camberwell, where that gentleman lived in a most respectable street. He knocked, and rang the bell, and an old woman appeared. "Is Mr. Smith in?" " Mr. what ? " Mr. Seymour Sleeps. 5 " Smith." "Eh?" "Mr. Smith." "Which one?" " Are there two ? " "Oh, if you want to arst questions, young man, go to the p'lice," The woman was about to shut the door, when Samuel was inspired.

He held out a shilling, and the old woman took it, in an absent manner. " If it's Mr. Smith of the Bank, he left this mornin' early. I'm the charwoman. Him and Mrs. Smith. If it's Mr. Smith, his brother, the one from Injiar, he left a week come Toosday, and you'd better go home, young man." She was about to shut the door. Samuel produced another shilling. " What did he leave for ? " Lord ! how do I know ? A young man came from the Bank, and — but two ain't much " " Here's another," said Samuel, feeling that he was on the track. " I don't know. Him and the young man, and the missus was together, and then they packed up." " Oh, please, did you happen to be at the key-hole ? " " It's worth a suvvering to me to be at the key-hole, young man I'm not there under that figger." Samuel felt it was expensive, but he pro duced a sovereign, because he was sure he had a clue, or rather that he could get twenty shillings' worth of clue from that old hag.

She calmly pocketed the sovereign, and continued :— "He said, 'There's bin a gent arstin for you at the Bank,' and he said ' Who ?' and that's all I heard, which it was by accident, young man." The old woman shut the door, and left Samuel outside, with his clue. He stood and looked at the door for a minute in disgust, and went sadly away. On his way home Samuel pondered over the matter. It was an unfortunate habit of his to jump to conclusions. Mr. Smith had heard someone was asking for him at the Bank ; he immediately packed up and left. It was suspicious. Then there was the brother in India. He returned to Alice, who was staying with friends in town. " What is the name of Mr. Smith's brother ?" he asked. " His brother ? Oh! I know. He wrote once to papa from India. I remember: H. Vernon Smith.

But what are you thinking of now, Samuel ?" " Alice, Mr. H. Vernon Smith has those notes 1" " Don't be silly, Samuel ! Why shouldn't Mr. Smith himself have them, if either of them has ? What nonsense ! " "I tell you, Alice, it is not nonsense. You see Mr. Smith left sudden ly when he heard of my coming, and his brother had gone a week before. Mr. Smith was afraid to meet me. Oh, you needn't amile, Alice ; of course he would be." " Really, Samuel, you are too foolish." " 1 don't care. I'm sure his brother has those notes, or knows where he is.'' " What on earth do you mean ? Knows where who is _ ' "His brother, of course. Naturally he wouldn't take them himself. It's not likely. He would give them to his brother, to put me off the scent, and then he would run away." " What rubbish." " No, it's not.

I've looked in the papers, as I came along, and Mr. H. V. Smith is going to India by the steamer Massilia. I'm going too. I've made up my mind, Alice ; I have indeed. I'll worm myself into his confidence, and find it all out." " Well, come to-morrow and talk it over, Samuel," replied Alice, who knew his obstinacy, when he had got any idea into his head, however absurd. " I shall have a piece of news for you then, and perhaps you won't need to go to India." " You never will believe me, Alice," said Samuel mournfully, and went sadly away. He did not come next day, nor the day after, and he sent no message, because he was already on the way to India, to catch the P. and O. mail steamer Massilia. This was a pity, for Alice intended to tell him that bhe too was going to India, to her uncle Colonel Seymour, whose regiment was in Poona.

He and her aunt had written affectionately to her, asking her to come to them, in hopes that the change might do her good. They were her only near relatives, and she had decided to go.

Chapter II. Diversions Of Poona

She loved as man may his brother, Of which love she zoos wondrous lar», Chaucer — ",Booke of tlie Dutcliessc HERE is coolness in Poona in the months of June and July, and there are also garden-parties, and revelry of other kinds. It is the abode ofthe gods who are called by earthly names ; such as the Governor, the Commander-in-Chief, et cetera. Alice Seymour is on her way back from a garden-party at Gunnesh-khind, where the Governor lives. She has seen some of the Hierarchy, and spoken to them. " How did you like Mr. Smith, Alice ?" asked her aunt, Mrs. Seymour. " I really had no time to judge, Auntie. All I could gather was that he rows, and that his liver is often out of order." " My dear," said Mrs. Seymour, solemnly, " he draws over three thousand a month !" '• He didn't say he was an artist, Aunt, but Mr. Mincer, a detestable man, asked me if I could draw."

" Haw ! haw !" laughed Colonel Seymour. " Draws three thousand rupees. That's what your Aunt means, Alice." " His pay," explained Mrs. Seymour, " is three thousand rupees a month, dear, and I want you to understand these things, and he's a bachelor and a most estimable man." '■I daresay he is," replied Alice, carelessly. "He esteems himself, I thought." "And quite right, too. You young girls don't think enough of these matters. Now, Mr. Mincer is a most rising young man. Twelve hundred a month, and certain never to be out of the Secretariat." "Judging from what I saw of him, Aunt, I should say that the less he is out of it the better, — for the sake of those ladies who may have to endure him." "I'm sure he's quite a good-looking young man, Alice ; and several other girls think so, too." " He thinks so himself, Aunt, and the other girls may be quite right, but he is utterly detestable."

" Haw ! haw ! what's he been saying ? He's been saying something to you, Alice, eh ?" asked her Uncle, who was a good, honest old gentleman enough, and rather ponderous. " Now, Tom don't you make Alice worse. She will soon learn not to turn up her nose at a Secretary to Government, or a Commissioner. "Well, it's a very pretty nose, Alice, — by George it is, — and if they're impertinent to you, come to your old Uncle and he'll call them out. Wigs on the green, Alice ! ! " "You are a dear old Uncle, and Auntie is only joking, and, really, I enjoyed myself very much. The scenery is delightful." " And only man is vile, Alice Haw ! haw I Old Smith is vile ! Well, there's plenty of time, plenty of time, and you're a good girl, Alice, that you are, and a pretty one, too, begad ; and I don't wonder if the whole lot of 'em don't go down on their knees and propose to you. / would, begad, to-morrow, if I wasn't your Uncle, and your Aunt would let me."

" Please, Uncle, please don't talk like that. You are the best of Uncles, but I really don't like it. I know you are only in fun, and perhaps I am silly, but I don't like it." " Well, well, you're a good girl, Alice. You can do what you like with your Uncle, and your Aunt too," he said, nodding to his wife. She, placid woman, nodded gently, saying, "We'll wait, we'll wait. Alice is young yet.'' "That's right, dear Auntie. When I'm older I shall know all about the committee men, and " '• Commissioner, dear." " Commissionaires, and drawing pays, and sacred,— whatever it is.; " Secretariat, Alice." "Very well, Auntie, never mind. Look at the moon over the hills, and we are passing the bridge. It is a pretty river, and it looks as if it would be nice to row upon. Uncle, you must let me row you up some day."

" Oh, don't ask me to row, Alice ! I gave that up long ago, when my waist left me." " No, I'll row you up. I've often rowed Tom and Jim, lazy boys, up by Marlow.'' "By George ! my sons are a lazy pair of young ruffians! So they let themselves be rowed by you, did they ? It wasn't so in my young days, by George !" It never is so. Laudator has not changed. Through the ages you find him, grey-haired always, like the Wandering Jew, who no doubt compares to-day unfavourably with the Judæa of his youth. The ' young dogs' the Colonel called them. Well, the world was younger, and less blase —la belle jeunesse ; and perhaps the youth of his time rowed the girls and held to heart the lesson of Fideliter Artes, who softened their manners and did not permit them to be ferocious. But Fideliter was not a crammer.

Having turned the old gentleman's thoughts into a safe, inoffensive channel, the girl let him run on ; which he did with perfect content till they reached home. Diversions of Poona. 9 Next door to Colonel Seymour lived Captain Harley of his regiment, the 99th Bombay Native Infantry. Beyond him was the house of Mr. and Mrs. Beaucham. No one knew much about Mr. Beaucham except that he apparently lived on patent medicines and was an amateur mechanic. Mrs. Beaucham dressed well, but you always noticed her dress. This was partly because of her peculiar face. Very dark blue eyes that looked almost black, in a fair face, with light golden hair. A peculiarly impassive face, with a strange, almost hard look in it. When you had got over the impression of her face you noticed her dress, and fancied, somehow, that there was either too much or too little of it.

In the evening she showed her arms too much. They were very pretty arms indeed, but there was a superfluity of them. Then when she sat down she showed her stockings too much. They were very pretty stockings, but, well, you could not help seeing them quite plainly. She had many adorers and they were her own. They devoted them selves exclusively to her, and when not in her company, they did not appear with other women. Other women, when asked, replied, "Oh ! no. It was not that they minded. She was welcome to those men. But " And they vivisected Mrs. Beaucham. During the time she had been in Poona— since the beginning of the "rains" — she had held her own court. It had grown larger by degrees, and it was her own. None of them knew who she was, and she rarely spoke of her " family " or of her husband's. Beyond the Beauchams' lived Major Marland, second in command of Colonel Seymour's regiment.

He was a grizzled man, tall and broad shouldered, with a kindly face. He was a clever amateur artist, and painted admirably in water colours. He and Harley were intimate friends. They intended to have shared the same house, but there was not enough stabling. Major Marland did not like Mrs. Beaucham. " Why are you always there, Jim ? " he asked of Harley one day. "Where?" " Those people next door, of course. Where else ?" " No particular reason. She's a clever woman and very well read, and she has ideas, which most of the women here have not. I don't think she's quite happy altogether, and I understand her, you see, so we get on very well." '• Do Borston, and Sharling, and the rest of them understand her, do you think ? I don't like women who require to be understood, Jim. Beware of females who demand these luxuries.

That woman has a history some where, and volume one or more has been completed." " I daresay, old man. I don't care. What do I care ? I think you're a bit hard on her. Her husband is an ass, and " " I don't like women who have husbands that are asses. Did she tell you so? For a man who don't care, you are heated, Jim, you are heated." The Maid ami the Idol. " No, she's not the sort to abuse her husband, but I've gathered from little things, things she didn't know 1 saw, that he is scarcely worthy of her." " Little things, she didn't know you saw ! Jim ! Jim ! " continued Mar land, lighting a match, " this is a pastime which is dangerous." " Bosh, old man ! I can take care of myself, even if she be what you think she is." "I think nothing, dear boy, I think nothing. I only know that women who need a dozen men to understand them may be all right, but I should, if I were you, leave the task to the remaining eleven, and stay outside.

It's a good cricket number, and about as many as the lady can employ. It generally ends in a selection of one, and then it is peculiarly unpleasant. That is a nice little lady with the Seymours. Now, there is an English girl. Why don't you try to understand her?" " Why don't you, old man, for the matter of that ? " " I ! Oh, I care for nothing, nothing of that sort, nothing but these daubs. It is for you young ones to go in and win. By George, sir ! it does one good to see a pretty girl, and a lady. It is a bit of the dear old country, and a sweet bit, too. There is no Southsea or Cheltenham about that little lady." " There are nice girls enough in Cheltenham, and Southsea, Marland." " Plenty, but they keep quiet. They don't represent the electorate. So you want to drop the subject ? Well, Jim, take an old friend's advice and drop the Beaucham.

The lady is, of course, all that is good and proper, and I hope she will be understood. She takes pains to that end." Harley was not at all in love with Mrs. Beaucham. He merely thought she was a pretty and pleasant woman, and he supposed that was the attitude of her other male friends. He had met Alice Seymour at the garden party, liked her, and he was to meet her again that evening at a dinner party. Alice had liked him too, and she had seen him with Mrs. Beaucham, and was struck with the latter's appearance, but could not quite say, whether favourably or not. The dinner party was at the house of Mr. Poggle, the Judge. Mrs. Beaucham was there, but Mr. Beaucham could not come. He did not feel very well. Mr. Smith was at the dinner, and the Collector, and his wife, — Mr. and Mrs Chard. The Executive Engineer was there, and his wife and daughter, and several others.

Alice was taken in to dinner by Mr. Smith, to the placid joy of Mrs. Seymour. On the other side of her was Mr. Smiler, and nearly opposite was Captain Harley, next to Mrs. Beaucham, whom he had taken in. Mr. Poggle was a little, bald man, of a jovial disposition ; a widower with one daughter, who appeared to have the feminine equivalent of joviality, but was not bald. Mr. Smith set to work in solemn silence upon the caviare, and did not speak till after the soup. Smiler glanced at Alice, thought she was a pretty girl, and opened a conversation. He had Diversions of Poona. 11 spoken to her before dinner, in the drawing-room. She seemed to him to be quite new to the country. " Have you been long in Poona, Miss Seymour ? '' " No, I have only been a few days," she replied, resignedly awaiting the catechism, which she already knew.