CHAPTER XXI.
It was a foregone conclusion in Calcutta that the name of the ChiefCommissioner of Assam should figure prominently in the Birthday Honoursof the season. On the 24th of that very hot May people sat in theirverandahs in early morning dishabille, and consumed tea and toast andplantains, and read in the local extras that a Knight Commandership ofthe Star of India had fluttered down upon the head of Mr. Lewis Ancram,without surprise. Doubtless the “Modern Influence of the Vedic Books”was to be reckoned with to some extent in the decorative result, but thegeneral public gave it less importance than Sir Walter Besant, forexample, would be disposed to do. The general public reflected ratherupon the Chief Commissioner’s conspicuous usefulness in Assam,especially the dexterity with which he had trapped border raids upontea-plantations. The general public remembered how often it had seen Mr.Lewis Ancram’s name in the newspapers, and in what invariably approvedconnections. So the men in pyjamas on the verandahs languidly regardedthe wide flat spreading red-and-yellow bouquets of the gold mohur treeswhere the crows were gasping and swearing on the Maidan, and declared,with unanimous yawns, that Ancram was “just the fellow to get it.”
The Supreme Government at Simla was even better acquainted with LewisAncram’s achievements and potentialities than the general public,however. There had been occasions, when Mr. Ancram was a modest ChiefSecretary only, upon which the Supreme Government had cause tocongratulate itself privately as to Mr. Ancram’s extraordinaryadroitness in political moves affecting the “advanced” Bengali. Sincehis triumph over the College Grants Notification the advanced Bengalihad become increasingly outrageous. An idea in this connection so faremerged from official representations at headquarters as to becomealmost obvious, as to leave no alternative—which is a very remarkablething in the business of the Government of India. It was to the effectthat the capacity to outwit the Bengali should be the singleindispensable qualification of the next Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal.
“No merely straightforward chap will do,” said Lord Scansleigh, with asigh, “however able he may be. Of course,” he added, “I don’t mean tosay that we want a crooked fellow, but our man must understandcrookedness and be equal to it. That, poor Church never was.”
The Viceroy delivered himself thus because Sir Griffiths Spence’sretirement was imminent, and he had his choice for Bengal to make overagain. Simplicity and directness apparently disqualified a number ofgentleman of seniority and distinction, for ten days later it wasannounced that the appointment had fallen to Sir Lewis Ancram, K.C.S.I.Again the little world of Calcutta declined to be surprised: nothing,apparently, exceeded the popular ambition for the Chief Commissioner ofAssam. Hawkins, of the Board of Revenue, was commiserated for a day ortwo, but it was very generally admitted that men like Hawkins of theBoard of Revenue, solid, unpretentious fellows like that, were extremelyapt, somehow, to be overlooked. People said generally that Scansleighhad done the right thing—that Ancram would know how to manage thenatives. It was perceived that the new King of Bengal would bring acertain picturesqueness to the sceptre, he was so comparatively youngand so superlatively clever. In view of this the feelings of Hawkins ofthe Board of Revenue were lost sight of. And nothing could have beenmore signal than the approbation of the native newspapers. Mohendra LalChuckerbutty, in the _Bengal Free Press_, wept tears of joy in leadingarticles every day for a week. “Bengal,” said Mohendra, editorially,“has been given a man after her own heart.” By which Sir Lewis Ancramwas ungrateful enough to be annoyed.
Judith grew very white over the letter which brought her the news,remembering many things. It was a careful letter, but there was a throbof triumph in it—a suggestion, just perceptible, of the dramatic valueof the situation. She told herself that this was inevitable and natural,just as inevitable and natural as all the rest; but at the same time shefelt that her philosophy was not quite equal to the remarkablecompleteness of Ancram’s succession. With all her pride in him, in herheart of hearts she would infinitely have preferred to share somedegradation with him rather than this; she would have liked the taste ofany bitterness of his misfortune better than this perpetual savour ofhis usurpation. It was a mere phase of feeling, which presently she putaside, but for the moment her mind dwelt with curious insistence uponone or two little pictorial memories of the other master of Belvedere,while tears stood in her eyes and a foolish resentment at this fortunateturn of destiny tugged at her heart-strings. In a little while she foundherself able to rejoice for Ancram with sincerity, but all day sheinvoluntarily recurred, with deep, gentle irritation, to the associationof the living idea and the dead one.
Perhaps the liveliest pang inflicted by Sir Lewis Ancram’s appointmentwas experienced by Mrs. Daye. Mrs. Daye confided to her husband that shenever saw the Belvedere carriage, with its guard of Bengal cavalrytrotting behind, without thinking that if things had turned outdifferently she might be sitting in it, with His Honour her son-in-law.From which the constancy and keenness of Mrs. Daye’s regrets may be in ameasure inferred. She said to privileged intimate friends that she knewshe was a silly, worldly thing, but really it did bring out one’ssilliness and worldliness to have one’s daughter jilt aLieutenant-Governor, in a way that nobody could understand whosedaughter hadn’t done it. Mrs. Daye took what comfort she could out ofthe fact that this limitation excluded every woman she knew. She wouldadd, with her brow raised in three little wrinkles of deprecation, thatof course they were immensely pleased with Rhoda’s ultimate choice: Mr.Doyle was a dear, sweet man, but she, Mrs. Daye, could not help having asort of sisterly regard for him, which towards one’s son-in-law wasridiculous. He certainly had charming manners—the very man to appreciatea cup of tea and one’s poor little efforts at conversation—if he didn’thappen to be married to one’s daughter. It was ludicrously impossible tohave a seriously enjoyable _tête-à-tête_ with a man who was married toone’s daughter!