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Miss Hughes, who sensed that she was being found attractive, permitted herself to cheer up a little and asked the young men to call her Lucy. They needn’t think though, that she was going to the Residency with them. She could not bear the shame of everyone knowing she bad been ruined. The frankness with which she spoke of her “ruin” rather took one’s breath away at first, but one soon got used to it. It was evident that she was still resolved to kill herself, if the sepoys did not do so first. And no matter how hard they tried to persuade her they were quite unable to make her yield on this point. The most that she was prepared to concede was that she might notify them once she had decided not to delay the fatal act any longer, to allow them “a last chance” (provided she did not get drunk again and kill herself spontaneously the way she almost had the other day) … it was purely out of friendship towards them that she agreed to this, and on condition that they did not bring the Padre.
“Oh, it’s trying to bite me again!” she exclaimed. “You said you wouldn’t let it!” And the rest of the visit passed pleasantly enough with Harry sitting on one side of her bed and Fleury on the other, each keeping a watch on one of her arms to prevent the mosquito from again ravishing the unfortunate girl.
Talking it over later, Fleury said: “Look here, we should be asking ourselves why Lucy won’t come into the Residency … Instead of which we waste our time thinking of plans to kidnap her or reasons why life is worth living.”
“She won’t come because she’s ashamed of what that cad did to her. I should like to give him a deuced good thrashing.” Harry, lying on his mattress in the banqueting hall looked as if he would have given a great deal to have a horsewhip and the offending officer placed within reach.
“Precisely. She’s ashamed. But above all it’s the ladies who make her feel ashamed. I mean she doesn’t seem to mind us. Now if we could get one of the ladies to go and visit her and act as if being seduced wasn’t the end of the world … D’you see what I’m getting at?”
“That sounds a good idea … but who would go?”
“I’m sure Miriam would go willingly but she’s got her migraine at the moment. You don’t think we could ask Louise?”
“Oh, I say, she’s my sister! And she doesn’t know anything about … you know, being seduced and all that not. She wouldn’t be any good at all at that sort of thing.”
“But she doesn’t have to know anything about it. She would just have to go along with us and ask her to come to the Residency.”
“Oh no, George, steady on. You probably don’t know how gup spreads in India. One has to think of her reputation, after all. She is my sister, you know.”
And that seemed to be the end of the matter. But they both wondered whether one morning they would wake up to hear that Lucy had been found lifeless.
9
Fleury had been so busy with one thing and another that he had not had the chance of seeing very much of Louise. This was a pity because he still had not settled the question of the spaniel, Chloë. It was not a very suitable time to start giving people dogs. A dog must eat and perhaps food would soon be in short supply. On the other hand, although he did not care for dogs he had grown sentimental about the idea of Chloë as a gift for Louise: he wanted to see the golden ringlets of Chloë’s ears beside Louise’s golden tresses (afterwards, Chloë could be got rid of in some way or another).
At last, on the eighth day after the mutiny at Captainganj, Fleury found an opportunity for a private word with Louise. Harry, who was still busy reinforcing the banqueting hall, had sent Fleury to invite his sister to visit his battery, of which he was very proud. He found her attending the Sunday school which the Padre was holding in the vestry: it was her custom to bring little Fa
The Padre, who had decided, perhaps rashly, to address the children on the subject of the Great Exhibition, was telling them about the wonders to be found in the Palace of Glass: the machines, the jewels and the statues.
“And yet, children, all these wonderful things were only the natural products of the earth put into more useful and beautiful forms: trees into furniture, wool into garments and so on. Man is able to make these things but he isn’t clever enough to make trees, flowers and animals. They must have been made by someone with far greater knowledge than us, in other words …”
“By God,” piped up a little boy with a shining halo of curls.
“Precisely. Only God could produce something so complicated in its structure and workings. Everywhere in the world we see design and that, of course, plainly shows that there must have been a designer …”
“Oh Padre!” cried Fleury who had unfortunately heard these words and was unable to let them pass, “should we not rather speak to these little ones of the love of God we find in our hearts than about design, production and calculation? Only too soon the materialism of the adult world will smother these i
“Mr Fleury,” he muttered. “I must ask you not to interrupt. I was merely proving the existence of God by logical means to these little ones, so that they might know that they are completely in His power … so that they might know that of themselves they are nothing but si
But the children were waiting so he began cautiously to talk about the lighthouse he had seen at the Exhibition, a splendid lighthouse with a fixed light and moving prisms. What did it remind him of?
“Of God,” piped up the little boy with glittering curls.
“Well, not exactly. It reminded me of the Bible. Why? Because I thought of the many lives it had saved the way a lighthouse saves men from shipwreck. The Bible is the lighthouse of the world. Those nations which are not governed by it are heathenish and idolatrous. Men without the Bible worship stars and stones. For example, ancient history gives an account of two hundred children being burned to death as a sacrifice to Saturn … which is, of course, the Moloch of the Scriptures.” The Padre surveyed the class. “You wouldn’t like that, children, would you?” The children agreed that they would not care for it in the least.
Presently it was time for the Sunday school to disband. The Padre went to a cupboard and took out a large, flat wooden box. This box he brought over to the children and when he had opened it they uttered a gasp, for inside there nestled rows of crystallized fruit glowing amber, ruby and emerald. Some of the smaller children could not resist reaching out their tiny fingers to this box. But the Padre said: “I’m going to give you each a piece of sugar fruit, children, but you must not eat it yourselves, for we have been taught that it is better to give than to receive. Outside the gate you will see some poor Christian natives sitting on the ground … I shall now go to the gate with you and there you must each give your piece of sugar fruit to one of these unfortunate men.”