CHAPTER XIV
IN THE COURTYARD
The investiture was over, and the guests, thronging from the Hall ofAudience, came out beneath arches and saw the whole length of the greatmarble court spread before them. A vast canopy roofed it in, and a softdim light pervaded it. To those who came from the glitter of theceremonies it brought a sense of coolness and of peace. From the arches abroad flight of steps led downwards to the floor, where water gleameddarkly in a marble basin. Lilies floated upon its surface, and marblepaths crossed it to the steps at the far end; and here and there, in itsdepth, the reflection of a lamp burned steadily. At the far end stepsrose again to a great platform and to gilded arches through which lightspoured in a blaze, and gave to that end almost the appearance of alighted stage, and made of the courtyard a darkened auditorium. From oneflight of steps to the other, in the dim cool light, the guests passedacross the floor of the court, soldiers in uniforms, civilians in theirdress of state, jewelled princes of the native kingdoms, ladies in theirbravest array. But now and again one or two would slip from the throng,and, leaving the procession, take their own way about the Fort. Amongthose who slipped away was Violet Oliver. She went to the side of thecourtyard where a couch stood empty. There she seated herself and waited.In front of her the stream of people passed by talking and laughing,within view, within earshot if only one raised one's voice a trifle abovethe ordinary note. Yet there was no other couch near. One might talk atwill and not be overheard. It was, to Violet Oliver's thinking, a goodstrategic position, and there she proposed to remain till Shere Ali foundher, and after he had found her, until he went away.
She wondered in what guise he would come to her: a picturesque figurewith a turban of some delicate shade upon his head and pearls about histhroat, or--as she wondered, a young man in the evening dress of anEnglishman stepped aside from the press of visitors and came towards her.Before she could, in that dim light, distinguish his face, she recognisedhim by the lightness of his step and the suppleness of his figure. Sheraised herself into a position a little more upright, and held out herhand. She made room for him on the couch beside her, and when he hadtaken his seat, she turned at once to speak.
But Shere Ali raised his hand in a gesture of entreaty.
"Hush!" he said with a smile; and the smile pleaded with her as much asdid his words. "Just for a moment! We can argue afterwards. Just for amoment, let us pretend."
Violet Oliver had expected anger, accusations, prayers. Even for somethreat, some act of violence, she had come prepared. But the quietwistfulness of his manner, as of a man too tired greatly to long foranything, took her at a disadvantage. But the one thing which she surelyunderstood was the danger of pretence. There had been too much ofpretence already.
"No," she said.
"Just for a moment," he insisted. He sat beside her, watching the clearprofile of her face, the slender throat, the heavy masses of hair sodaintily coiled upon her head. "The last eight months have notbeen--could not be. Yesterday we were at Richmond, just you and I. It wasSunday--you remember. I called on you in the afternoon, and for a wonderyou were alone. We drove down together to Richmond, and dined together inthe little room at the end of the passage--the room with the big windows,and the name of the woman who was murdered in France scratched upon theglass. That was yesterday."
"It was last year," said Violet.
"Yesterday," Shere Ali persisted. "I dreamt last night that I had goneback to Chiltistan; but it was only a dream."
"It was the truth," and the quiet assurance of her voice dispelled ShereAli's own effort at pretence. He leaned forward suddenly, clasping hishands upon his knees in an attitude familiar to her as characteristic ofthe man. There was a tenseness which gave to him even in repose a lookof activity.
"Well, it's the truth, then," he said, and his voice took on an accent ofbitterness. "And here's more truth. I never thought to see you hereto-night."
"Did you think that I should be afraid?" asked Violet Oliver in a low,steady voice.
"Afraid!" Shere Ali turned towards her in surprise and met hergaze. "No."
"Why, then, should I break my word? Have I done it so often?"
Shere Ali did not answer her directly.
"You promised to write to me," he said, and Violet Oliver replied atonce:
"Yes. And I did write."
"You wrote twice," he cried bitterly. "Oh, yes, you kept your word.There's a post every day, winter and summer, into Chiltistan. Sometimesan avalanche or a snowstorm delays it; but on most days it comes. If youcould only have guessed how eagerly I looked forward to your letters,you would have written, I think, more often. There's a path over a highridge by which the courier must come. I could see it from the casementof the tower. I used to watch it through a pair of field-glasses, that Imight catch the first glimpse of the man as he rose against the sky.Each day I thought 'Perhaps there's a letter in your handwriting.' Andyou wrote twice, and in neither letter was there a hint that you werecoming out to India."
He was speaking in a low, passionate voice. In spite of herself, VioletOliver was moved. The picture of him watching from his window in thetower for the black speck against the skyline was clear before her mind,and troubled her. Her voice grew gentle.
"I did not write more often on purpose," she said.
"It was on purpose, too, that you left out all mention of your visitto India?"
Violet nodded her head.
"Yes," she said.
"You did not want to see me again."
Violet turned her face towards him, and leaned forward a little.
"I don't say that," she said softly. "But I thought it would be betterthat we two should not meet again, if meeting could be avoided. I sawthat you cared--I may say that, mayn't I?" and for a second she laid herhand gently upon his sleeve. "I saw that you cared too much. It seemed tome best that it should end altogether."
Shere Ali lifted his head, and turned quickly towards her.
"Why should it end at all?" he cried. His eyes kindled and sought hers."Violet, why should it end at all?"
Violet Oliver drew back. She cast a glance to the courtyard. Only a fewpaces away the stream of people passed up and down.
"It must end," she answered. "You know that as well as I."
"I don't know it. I won't know it," he replied. He reached out his handtowards hers, but she was too quick for him. He bent nearer to her.
"Violet," he whispered, "marry me!"
Violet Oliver glanced again to the courtyard. But it was no longer toassure herself that friends of her own race were comfortably near athand. Now she was anxious that they should not be near enough to listenand overhear.
"That's impossible!" she answered in a startled voice.
"It's not impossible! It's not!" And the desperation in his voicebetrayed him. In the depths of his heart he knew that, for this woman, atall events, it was impossible. But he would not listen to that knowledge.
"Other women, here in India, have had the courage."
"And what have their lives been afterwards?" she asked. She had notherself any very strong feeling on the subject of colour. She was notrepelled, as men are repelled. But she was aware, nevertheless, howstrong the feeling was in others. She had not lived in India for nothing.Marriage with Shere Ali was impossible, even had she wished for it. Itmeant ostracism and social suicide.
"Where should I live?" she went on. "In Chiltistan? What life would therebe there for me?"
"No," he replied. "I would not ask it. I never thought of it. InEngland. We could live there!" and, ceasing to insist, he beganwistfully to plead. "Oh, if you knew how I have hated these past months.I used to sit at night, alone, alone, alone, eating my heart for want ofyou; for want of everything I care for. I could not sleep. I used to seethe morning break. Perhaps here and there a drum would begin to beat,the cries of children would rise up from the streets, and I would lie inmy bed with my hands clenched, thinking of the jingle of a hansom cabalong the streets of London, and the gas lamps
paling as the grey lightspread. Violet!"
Violet twisted her hands one within the other. This was just what she hadthought to avoid, to shut out from her mind--the knowledge that he hadsuffered. But the evidence of his pain was too indisputable. There was noshutting it out. It sounded loud in his voice, it showed in his looks.His face had grown white and haggard, the face of a tortured man; hishands trembled, his eyes were fierce with longing.
"Oh, don't," she cried, and so great was her trouble that for once shedid not choose her words. "You know that it's impossible. We can't alterthese things."
She meant by "these things" the natural law that white shall mate withwhite, and brown with brown; and so Shere Ali understood her. He ceasedto plead. There came a dreadful look upon his face.
"Oh, I know," he exclaimed brutally. "You would be marrying a nigger."
"I never said that," Violet interrupted hastily.
"But you meant it," and he began to laugh bitterly and very quietly. ToViolet that laughter was horrible. It frightened her. "Oh, yes, yes," hesaid. "When we come over to England we are very fine people. Womenwelcome us and are kind, men make us their friends. But out here! Wequickly learn out here that we are the inferior people. Suppose that Iwanted to be a soldier, not an officer of my levies, but a soldier inyour army with a soldier's chances of promotion and high rank! Do youknow what would happen? I might serve for twenty years, and at the end ofit the youngest subaltern out of Sandhurst, with a moustache he can'tfeel upon his lip, would in case of war step over my head and command me.Why, I couldn't win the Victoria Cross, even though I had earned it tentimes over. We are the subject races," and he turned to her abruptly. "Iam in disfavour to-night. Do you know why? Because I am not dressed in asilk jacket; because I am not wearing jewels like a woman, as thosePrinces are," and he waved his hand contemptuously towards a group ofthem. "They are content," he cried. "But I was brought up in England, andI am not."
He buried his face in his hands and was silent; and as he sat thus,Violet Oliver said to him with a gentle reproach:
"When we parted in London last year you spoke in a different way--abetter way. I remember very well what you said. For I was glad to hearit. You said: 'I have not forgotten really that there is much to do in myown country. I have not forgotten that I can thank all of you here whohave shown me so much kindness by more than mere words. For I can help inChiltistan--I can really help.'"
Shere All raised his face from his hands with the air of a man listeningto strange and curious words.
"I said that?"
"Yes," and in her turn Violet Oliver began to plead. "I wish thatto-night you could recapture that fine spirit. I should be very glad ofit. For I am troubled by your unhappiness."
But Shere Ali shook his head.
"I have been in Chiltistan since I spoke those words. And they will notlet me help."
"There's the road."
"It must not be continued."
"There is, at all events, your father," Violet suggested. "You canhelp him."
And again Shere Ali laughed. But this time the bitterness had gone fromhis voice. He laughed with a sense of humour, almost, it seemed toViolet, with enjoyment.
"My father!" he said. "I'll tell you about my father," and his facecleared for a moment of its distress as he turned towards her. "Hereceived me in the audience chamber of his palace at Kohara. I had notseen him for ten years. How do you think he received me? He was sittingon a chair of brocade with silver legs in great magnificence, and acrosshis knees he held a loaded rifle at full cock. It was a Snider, so that Icould be quite sure it was cocked."
Violet stared at him, not understanding.
"But why?" she asked.
"Well, he knew quite well that I was brought back to Kohara in order toreplace him, if he didn't mend his ways and spend less money. And hedidn't mean to be replaced." The smile broke out again on Shere Ali'sface as he remembered the scene. "He sat there with his great beard, dyedred, spreading across his chest, a long velvet coat covering his knees,and the loaded rifle laid over the coat. His eyes watched me, while hisfingers played about the trigger."
Violet Oliver was horrified.
"You mean--that he meant to kill you!" she cried incredulously.
"Yes," said Shere Ali calmly. "I think he meant to do that. It's not sovery unusual in our family. He probably thought that I might try to killhim. However, he didn't do it. You see, my father's very fond of theEnglish, so I at once began to talk to him about England. It was eveningwhen I went into the reception chamber; but it was broad daylight when Icame out. I talked for my life that night--and won. He became sointerested that he forgot to shoot me; and at the end I was wise enoughto assure him that there was a great deal more to tell."
The ways of the Princes in the States beyond the Frontier were unknown toViolet Oliver. The ruling family of Chiltistan was no exception to thegeneral rule. In its annals there was hardly a page which was not stainedwith blood. When the son succeeded to the throne, it was, as often asnot, after murdering his brothers, and if he omitted that precaution, asoften as not he paid the penalty. Shere Ali was fortunate in that he hadno brothers. But, on the other hand, he had a father, and there was nogreat security. Violet was startled, and almost as much bewildered as shewas startled. She could not understand Shere Ali's composure. He spoke inso matter-of-fact a tone.
"However," she said, grasping at the fact, "he has not killed you. He hasnot since tried to kill you."
"No. I don't think he has," said Shere Ali slowly. But he spoke like onein doubt. "You see he realised very soon that I was not after allacceptable to the English. I wouldn't quite do what they wanted," and thehumour died out of his face.
"What did they want?"
Shere Ali looked at her in hesitation.
"Shall I tell you? I will. They wanted me to marry--one of my own people.They wanted me to forget," and he broke out in a passionate scorn. "As ifI could do either--after I had known you."
"Hush!" said she.
But he was not to be checked.
"You said it was impossible that you should marry me. It's no lessimpossible that I should marry now one of my own race. You know that. Youcan't deny it."
Violet did not try to. He was speaking truth then, she was well aware. Agreat pity swelled up in her heart for him. She turned to him with asmile, in which there was much tenderness. His life was all awry; andboth were quite helpless to set it right.
"I am very sorry," she said in a whisper of remorse. "I did not think. Ihave done you grave harm."
"Not you," he said quietly. "You may be quite sure of that. Those whohave done me harm are those who sent me, ten years ago, to England."