A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian LifeRae, Janet Milne
History
A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life
Rae, Janet Milne
India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
"Come, mother, I'll tell you what she was dressed in. It'll shorten the
road," said the girl, with an effort to be cheerful, as she cast a
pitying glance at the stumbling figure by her side, and drew her
mother's arm into hers.
"Well, her dress wasn't silk, it wasn't even fine sprigged muslin, but
just cotton, think of that--no better than bazaar dungerie, or your own
morning wrapper. But, oh, it was such a beautee! It was pale blue, and
it had lovelee gathers on the bodice, smockin', I think they call it.
You see it in the fashion plates. It's my belief I could imitate thatt
if only money weren't so hard to get," she wound up with a sigh.
"Trust me, Leila, I'll have another and a bigger note out of him in no
time. I've taken the measure of him. He's a coward as well as a villain.
I declare he's no better than if he was a native. Did you ever notice
his hands? There's no strength there--just slim, long fingers like a
half-caste's. Yes, I'll be even with that young man yet," cried the
woman, with undaunted spirit as she trudged along, weary and footsore.
The chairs and tables of the verandah at Clive's Road were still strewn
with Hester's purchases when her husband returned from the High Court.
She was delighted with his sympathetic attitude and with his approval of
her choice of gifts. He was eager also to help her in affixing cards
with the names, so dear and familiar to her, and loving Christmas wishes
on each. His zeal even reached the unwonted climax of rummaging in a
godown for tin-lined cases and helping her to pack her offerings. At
length all was finished, and they sank on their lounging chairs with a
sense of a well-earned rest.
Never had Hester felt in closer unison with her husband or more
radiantly happy. The deal packing case lay near, requiring only the
coming of the "tinie-smith" in the morning to solder its lining down.
Every now and then she cast loving looks upon it, seeing visions of what
pleasure its arrival would bring to the beloved inmates of the Rectory,
while her husband gaily congratulated her in having made a hundred
rupees buy so many pretty things. "And from Ismail too, a hard-fisted
rascal, follows the profession of a _soukar_, a money-lender--as well as
that of a hawker--swindled a client of mine lately."
"Oh, that reminds me, Alfred. There was a client of yours in search of
you here just before tiffin----"
"A client? Young Hyde from Palaveram?"
"Oh, no, I wish it had been, poor fellow! No, it was a haughty,
inscrutable-looking young woman, to whom Mrs. Fellowes seemed to take an
instinctive dislike, and she's generally so charitable. Poor thing, I
thought at first she was coming to enrol for our 'Friendly.' But I think
I once asked you before if you knew her by name," said Hester, suddenly
pausing. She certainly had not connected Alfred's outburst of temper
with the name of this girl, but she felt she ought to have remembered
that the very mention of any Eurasian seemed to make her husband angry.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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