The Karma of Love (Bantam Series No. 14) (3 page)

Charles did not answer for a moment and Orissa knew he was thinking. Then he said:

“I have an idea!”

“What is it?”

“To tell the truth I was wondering just now how I was going to raise your fare. I am badly dipped at the moment.”

“Pretty ladies are ... I understand ... very expensive,” Orissa teased.

“You are right there,” Charles confessed. “So quite frankly, although I suppose I could borrow it from somewhere, it would be very difficult unless you agree to another suggestion.”

“What is that?” Orissa asked.

“I was in the office this morning taking instructions about our classes for tomorrow when General Sir Arthur Critchley came in. He is the General Officer Commanding, Bombay.”

Orissa did not speak but her eyes were watching her brother’s face intently.

“The General asked the Adjutant,” Charles went on, “if he knew of any officers’ waves who were travelling out on the
Dorunda.

“ ‘No, Sir,’ the Adjutant answered.

‘“I have to find someone,’ the General went on, ‘who wall look after my small grandson during the voyage. A cousin was coming with us, but unfortunately she has had an accident and has cancelled her trip at the last moment.’

“ ‘Sorry to hear that, Sir,’ the Adjutant remarked. “‘It is a cursed nuisance,’ the General said. ‘I cannot expect my wife to be responsible for a child of five during the whole voyage. It would be too much for her.’

“‘No, Sir.’

“‘And there is not much point in taking out a
Nanny when my daughter-in-law has an Ayah waiting in Bombay
.”

“ ‘No, Sir, I can see that,’ the Adjutant agreed. “‘Perhaps you had better get on to the Shipping Line for me,’ the General said. ‘See if there is a lady travelling to India who would look after the child in return for her First Class Fare. I am quite willing to pay that—one way, of course!’

“
I
understand, Sir,’ the Adjutant answered.”

When Charles stopped speaking Orissa looked at him and exclaimed excitedly:

“And you think I might go? But supposing t
hey have found someone already?”

“They will not have done that,” Charles answered. “How do you know?” Orissa asked.

Her brother grinned at her.

“The Adjutant told me to find Hughes, who is a newly-joined Lieutenant, and tell him to get on to the Shipping Line. As I was in a hurry I forgot all about it!”

“Oh, Charles!” Orissa exclaimed. “That is just like you!”

“If you ask me, it is fate!” Charles said positively.

“It does seem like it,” Orissa agreed, “and how are you going to introduce me?”

Charles thought for a moment “I can tell you one thing,” he said at length. “I know Lady Critchley. She will not want to chaperon a young, unmarried girl. She has always set her face against it, even in Bombay. She thinks they are a nuisance hanging around the Subalterns, and makes disparaging remarks about those who come out to India merely with the hope of getting married.”

Orissa looked dismayed.

“Then she will not want me.”

“Not—if she thinks you are unmarried!”

Orissa looked at him quickly.

“You mean I could pretend to be married?” she questioned.

“Why not?” her brother asked. “After all, if people
know who you are, they will think it very strange that you are going out to India alone. They would certainly expect you to have a Chaperon on the voyage and there would be a lot of explaining to do.”

He smiled.

“If you simply turn up as Mrs. Something or Other and take charge of the child, who is going to argue or ask questions?”

“No, of course not,” Orissa cried. “Oh, Charles, you are brilliant!”

“I always thought I had a brain hidden away somewhere,” her brother said modestly. “As a matter of fact I am quite certain my report on this course will be as good, if not better, than the others get.”

"I am sure you will top them all,” Orissa said. “Now what am I to do?”

“First of all, we have to find you a name and a wedding-ring.”

“I have mama’s ring. And who is my husband supposed to be?”

“Say he is in the East India Company,” her brother answered. “That covers a pretty wide field—and you should call yourself something quite ordinary, like Smith or Brown.”

“I refuse!” Orissa protested. “I could not bear to have such an uninteresting name.”

“Well, anything but Fane,” Charles acceded.

“Then I will be Lane—Mrs. Lane,” Orissa decided. “It is always wise to have a name as much like one’s own as possible, and Mrs. Lane, wife of a gentleman in the East India Company sounds eminently respectable.”

“What I will do first thing tomorrow morning,” Charles said, “is to tell the Adjutant to inform Lady Critchley that he has found exactly the right person to look after her grandchild. They will not be able to see you until you are on board, as there is so little time before the ship sails the day after tomorrow.”

“So soon!” Orissa exclaimed, but she was not complaining.

“I will give you your fare to Tilbury,” Charles continued, “and all you have to do is get yourself there. The Adjutant will tell the Ship’s Agents that you are to be one of the passengers and of course the General will arrange the cabin and all that sort of thing.”

“Oh, Charles, it is all too wonderful to be true!” Orissa cried.

“It certainly solves your problem,” her brother said with satisfaction.

“I hate to mention it,” Orissa said, “but I shall have to have some money. After all there will be the train fare from Bombay to Delhi. I don’t suppose the General will pay that.”

“He will not pay a penny more than he has to—you can be sure of that!” Charles answered, “I will let you have what I can. But, as I have already told you, it is not easy at the moment.”

“I hate to be a drag on you,” Orissa said softly.

“To tell the truth,” Charles replied, “I am feeling rather guilty that I have not done something about you before. I knew things were bad at home, but not as bad as they are.”

“It does not matter now. Nothing matters!” Orissa smiled, “as long as I can get away, and be with Uncle Henry and in India!”

Her brother, seeing her face radiant in the light of the flames, thought that she was unlikely to be on her Uncle’s hands for long. He had not seen his sister for two years and he was astounded by the difference those years had made.

From being rather a thin, scraggy little girl she had grown into a strangely beautiful young woman.

She was not, he thought, like anyone else he had ever seen, and there was in fact something almost Eastern in the darkness of her hair and the mystery of her huge eyes.

“Do you know, Orissa,” he said, following the train of his thoughts, “you might almost pass as a Rajput Princess.”

“You could not
pay me a bigger compliment,” Or
issa answered. “In my dreams I am always a part of India. I never belonged to the cold and misery that I have found here.”

She paused and added:

“England has never been home to me. Home was being with Mama.”

“And so when you talk of going home you mean India?”

“When I return to India I shall be hom
e.
”

Charles laughed affectionately.

‘Well, as long as you are happy I will be able to go off to Egypt with a clear conscience.”

Orissa gave a quick sigh as if she just remembered the danger he would be in.

“If only you were coming with me.”

“I do not suppose it will be long before I am back with the Regiment” Charles answered. ‘We have sent an Indian force to Egypt. They should be disembarking now at Port Said. I shall join up with them as soon as I arrive.”

There was an enthusiasm in his voice which told Orissa he was looking forward to what lay ahead.

Charles had always loved his Regimental duties and had always been a success.

He was six years older than she was and she had adored him ever since she had been a small child.

She had not even been jealous that her mother had undoubtedly loved Charles more than she had loved her.

Orissa had understood. Charles had been the first, the only son, and there was between mother and son a closeness, an. indefinable link that there could never be between mother and daughter.

Yet she had adored her beautiful and gentle mother and it had been a tragedy beyond words when she had died of cholera, because she would tend the small children of one of their native servants.

Even now Orissa could not bear the memory of the small white coffin being carried from their house in Delhi through the streets and into the churchyard. It
did not seem real, but an evil dream from which she must wake and find it was all untrue.

But instead there had been the long voyage home; the agony of saying good-bye to everything she had loved and which had seemed an indivisible part of herself.

“What a very unattractive child!” she had heard someone say to the Colonel’s wife on board the ship taking her to England. “It seems strange when her mother was so pretty.”

“Plain children often turn into pretty women,” the Colonel’s wife had replied.

Orissa had often remembered those words. Because the beauty of India was steeped deep into her soul, she had resented her own plainness.

She had not realised then that much of it was because after her mother’s death she had forgotten how to smile, and more often than not she looked at people with a scowl on her face.

There was little to make her smile or feel happy after her father re-married, and yet gradually, because youth is resilient, she learned to find in little things the beauty for which she hungered.

A mass of golden flowers being sold in a florist-shop would remind her of the marigolds that were made into garlands in India, and for a moment their vivid colour seemed like a ray of happiness in the darkness of her despair.

She would watch for the blossoms of spring, and the small white petals of the fruit trees would make her think of the pure loveliness of a lotus flower opening in their garden.

Sometimes in summer she would listen to the song of the English birds and imagine it was the noisy chatter, cawings and flutter of wings among the orange trees as dawn broke, vivid in the Indian sky.

“What is the matter with you?” her Step-mother once had asked Orissa savagely and Orissa answered truthfully:

“I am home-sick.”

It was not surprising that the Countess had not understood.

“Oh, Charles! Charles!” Orissa cried now, “how can I ever thank you? I might have known you would not fail me
.
”

“You will have to act your part well,” Charles answered. “I shall be in a worse mess than usual if the General discovers who you are.”

“Suppose later I visit Bombay with Uncle Henry?”

‘It is not likely, as the Regiment is always in the North,” Charles said confidently. “But if you do, just keep out of the General’s way!”

“I will try.”

“And now, for Heaven’s sake,” Charles begged, “do not give me any more problems to solve. I am worn out with thinking about them. What we have to decide now is where you are to sleep tonight.”

‘
I
could go to an Hotel,” Orissa said doubtfully.

“What decent Hotel would take in a young woman at this time of night without even a piece of luggage?” he asked.

Orissa smiled at him.

“Then I shall have to stay here.”

“I suppose so, but let us hope that Meredith does not get to hear about it. He will think the worst—and let him think it! But I do not want to have to make explanations to anyone. I only pray that most of them do not realise that Father is alive.”

“They must not see him now,” Orissa said quickly. “They must remember him as he was ... as we remember him when we were young.”

“And that is why you have to be clever,” Charles said sharply. “You will be Mrs. Lane or whatever you call yourself, until you get to Bombay. Then vanish!”

“I will do that,” Orissa promised, “and thank you, darling Charles! You are the most wonderful brother anyone could ever have!”

“I must say I think I am rather clever!” Viscount Dillingham said with some satisfaction.

CHAPTER
TWO

Orissa moved quietly about the cabin so as not to disturb the sleeping child.

He had been excited during the railway journey to Tilbury, and when his grand-mother brought him on board he ran wildly about the ship thrilled by everything he saw.

Orissa had taken the precaution of leaving London on an earlier train so that she would not encounter the General and his wife until they were on board the
Dorunda.

Charles of course had not been able to see her off for fear someone should recognise him at the Station.

But he had collected her in a cab from Eaton Place and set her down at Waterloo.

“You cannot get into much trouble,” he said, “if you walk straight to the waiting train.”

Orissa laughed.

“Have you forgotten I am a married woman, quite competent to look after myself?”

“If I were not certain that Lady Critchley is a dragon who will keep all prospective suitors well
away, I should be worried about you on the voyage,” Charles said.

“Do not worry,” Orissa begged, “and take care of yourself, dearest. I shall be thinking of you and praying you will be safe.”

She had kissed her brother good-bye and stepped out of the cab with a sense of adventure lighting her eyes and making her feel as if she walked on air.

She could hardly believe it was true! All the obstacles seemed to have dispersed and she was really starting on her journey to India.

There had, as it happened, been quite a number of things to worry about.

The first had been getting away from Charles's lodgings early in the morning.

After quite a fierce argument, Orissa had insisted on sleeping on the sofa while Charles occupied the bed.

“You are too big for the sofa, while for me it will be quite comfortable,” she said. “Besides, I can hardly undress if I have nothing else to put on!”

Charles had finally given way and with several blankets and an eiderdown on top of her, which Charles had scornfully said he never used, she was warm and slept quite well.

Charles had fortunately told his servant to call him at six o’clock as he was going riding before he went to the Barracks.

The man was considerably surprised when he entered the small Sitting-Room which adjoined the bed-room to find Orissa curled up on the sofa.

“We have to get my sister out of the place without her being seen, Dawkins,” Charles told him.

“That’ll be easy, Sir,” Dawkins replied. “Her Ladyship can go out the back way.”

Dawkins paused and looking at Orissa’s evening gown, observed:

“It’s real cold this morning, M’Lady.”

“What can I find you to wear?” Charles asked, now
that his sister’s inadequate clothing had been brought to his attention.

Orissa looked round helpless. It was Dawkins who solved the problem.

He took down one of the velvet curtains in the Sitting-Room, cut off the brass rings, and Orissa found it made her quite an adequate cloak.

“I’ll fetch it back, M’Lady, when the Captain can spare me. We mustn’t dispose of Government property.”

“Certainly not!” Orissa smiled. “And thank you.”

She felt quite warm and not so conspicuous with a cloak over her gown.

It was agreed that Dawkins should find a Hackney carriage and bring it to the back of the building.

“You’ll be able to see when I’ve got one, M’Lady, if you look out of the window of the bed-room,” Dawkins said to Orissa. “All you’ve got to do then is to come downstairs, turn sharp left when you reach the bottom and you’ll find a door straight ahead of you.”

Orissa had therefore watched as instructed and although it had taken Dawkins some time so early in the morning to find a Hackney cab, she had finally seen one draw up outside.

Saying good-bye to her brother she hurried downstairs.

The gas-lights had been extinguished and as there was still very little light outside, the stairs were dark. So she held tightly on to the bannisters in case she should trip.

The place seemed very quiet. It was only when she reached the first floor that one of the doors opened and a man emerged.

With a frightened leap of her heart, Orissa knew it was Major Meredith.

It was too late for her to go back up the stairs again, and the only thing was to hurry past hoping he would not see her face.

At the same time she could not help glancing at
him, and she thought that even in the half-light she could distinguish a look of contempt in his eyes.

She ran on and hurried down the next flight of stairs with a speed that made it appear that all the hounds of hell were at her heels.

She found the back door which Dawkins had described to her and the safety of the Hackney cab.

She did not tell Charles what had happened because she could not bear to upset
him
the last few moments of their time together.

He had said that he might come and see her that evening, but instead he had sent her a note to say he was unable to do so, but that everything had worked out splendidly.

“Lady Critchley,” he wrote, “is delighted that a Mrs. Lane will look after her grandchild on their journey to India!”

Charles had however arrived the following morning, by which time Orissa had packed her trunks and broken the news both to her father and Step-mother that she was leaving.

She had thought when she returned the previous day that the Countess was slightly shame-faced, feeling perhaps that in turning Orissa out of the house, she had for once gone too far.

They neither of them referred to
the
fact that Orissa had been away all night, but it was obvious that the Countess was on the defensive when Charles arrived.

“I should have thought that it would have been polite,” she said accusingly, “to have asked your father’s and my permission before arranging for Orissa to live with her Uncle.”

Charles had looked with disgust at the fat, blowzy woman who bore his father’s name.

“Obviously she cannot stay here and suffer from the manner in which you behaved to her the night before last,” he answered.

“I’ve done my best fo
r your sister,” the Countess re
torted angrily. “If she’s been telling you tales about me, I can assure you they’re untrue!”

Charles had not deigned to reply and the Countess had continued
belligerently
:

“I’ve a good mind to prevent Orissa leaving. Her father is her Guardian, not you, and if he tells her to stay, she’ll have to obey him.”

“I can assure you of one thing,” Charles said, “that I would not permit Orissa to remain under this roof any longer whatever you might say or do.”

He had walked away from the Countess to find his father in the small Sitting-Room at the back of the house where he sat and drank.

For once the Earl was comparatively sober and when he said good-bye Orissa felt he was genuinely sorry to lose her.

Because he felt generous, or perhaps because he was ashamed of his wife’s behaviour, he gave Orissa five pounds. This she accepted gratefully.

Charles had sent her twenty pounds the day before with his note and she had, although she felt it was wrong to do so, expended a few pounds in buying materials to make herself some dresses.

They were pretty muslins and they had been very cheap. She had felt she could not arrive in India almost in rags, and she certainly did not wish her Uncle to feel embarrassed at her shabby appearance.

Colonel Hobart was well off and Orissa was certain that he would, in his usual generous manner, provide her with enough money to buy herself clothes once she was living in his house. But in the meantime, she was ashamed of her wardrobe.

Everything in it she had made herself and apart from one evening gown which was only six months old she had bought nothing new for two or three years.

It was amazing however, she thought, what one could do with a few yards of ribbon and some lengths of tulle, combined with the fact that she was extremely skilful with her needle.

When she received her father’s gift, she was thankful that she had been a little extravagant in buying the few things she had!

It would give her something to do aboard ship, and the brightly coloured muslins were eminently suitable for the heat of India.

Her travelling outfit, a woollen dress of deep blue with a cloak to match, was old. Orissa thought it was almost threadbare and did not realise that anyone looking at her would see only the brightness of her eyes, the happiness of her smile and the perfect magnolia whiteness of her skin.

“Take care of yourself,” Charles said.

Standing in the Station she gave him a last wave of her hand as she turned and followed a porter who had put her baggage on a truck.

Then to the cab-driver he said:

“Take me to Wellington Barracks.”

As the cab drove away his thoughts were of himself and the journey he in his turn would be undertaking within a few days.

It was only when she had gone on board that Orissa remembered she had not reminded Charles to send a telegram to her Uncle after the ship sailed.

They had agreed that it would be a mistake to dispatch one before she had actually left England, in case Colonel Hobart made objections or tried to postpone her visit.

“Once you are on the high seas he can do nothing,” Charles said confidently.

“You really think he will want me?” Orissa asked nervously.

She was suddenly afraid that she was being presumptuous in assuming that her Uncle would welcome her company.

“I know he will!” Charles answered. “At the same time we will take no chances. I will send him a telegram after you have left.”

They had not spoken of it again and Orissa had
meant to remind him, but she was sure there was no need.

Charles, despite his proverbial bad memory, could not forget anything so important!

Then she forgot her worries, anxieties and everything else in the joy of knowing that the great adventure had begun.

She took care to look demure, and she hoped, very respectable when the General and Lady Critchley came on board, and a Steward was sent to bring her to their cabin.

The black-hulled
Dorunda,
a full-rigged, four-masted, screw-propelled ship was one of
the
latest vessels on the run to India.

Orissa had hardly been on board for ten minutes before a Steward explained with pride that the engines were of a novel and exceptionally economical type and that her full boiler-power drove her at 15.31 knots in her trial runs in the Clyde.

What Orissa found more interesting were the passenger arrangements which were quite different from those on the ship in which she had travelled back from India six years earlier.

In the long covered space under the spar-deck there were on each side two rows of First Class cabins with berths for ninety-five passengers.

The State-Rooms, of which she and her charge occupied one, were fitted so that the upper berths folded out of the way and the lower berths divided into two, sliding aside into seats so that a table could be placed between them.

In this way a cabin which measured nine feet by six feet could become a Sitting-Room in the day time.

The public Saloons were very spacious and impressive extending from side to side of the Citadel house.

“There are sufficient centre and side-tables in the Dining-Saloon,” a Steward told Orissa proudly, “to dine one hundred passengers!”

What was far more sensational was that the ship was lit at night by i
ncandescent electric lights! Be
sides this wonder there was an organ, an excellent piano and, what delighted Orissa, an elegantly carved bookcase containing three hundred volumes.

She did not see the Second Class accommodation nor that of the Third Class, but she was told they were unusually comfortable.

“It is a very big ship,” little Neil kept saying to her after she had taken him into her charge. And she had to agree that it was indeed a big ship, the biggest she had ever seen.

The General, as might be expected, was obviously a military man, lean, wiry, with a skin like leather.

He had a commanding manner, so that Orissa thought that even when he was trying to be pleasant he addressed her rather as if he was ordering about a new recruit.

Lady Critchley was in fact far more awe-inspiring.

She was a cold, severe type of woman who must have been extremely handsome in her youth. But the Indian climate had taken its toll of her complexion, and although she could not have been much over fifty, her hair was dead-white.

It seemed to Orissa strange that Neil who looked fragile should be going back to India, until his grand-mother explained:

“The child is delicate, and we thought as the Indian climate seemed bad for him he would improve in health if we sent him home.”

She looked at her grandson as she spoke and there was a look of displeasure in her eyes as she continued:

“He has however pined continually for his mother, and my sister with whom he was staying felt the only solution was for him to return to her.”

“I can understand his wanting to be with his own family,” Orissa said softly, thinking of herself and her own misery at being sent to England.