The Complete Tales of Sir Walter Scott. Walter Scott
steady, and deliberate in forming his opinions. Hartley found it easy to turn the subject on the Queen of Sheba, by asking whether her Majesty was not somewhat of an adventuress.
“On my word, I cannot say,” answered Esdale, smiling; “we are all upon the adventure in India, more or less; but I do not see that the Begum Montreville is more so than the rest.”
“Why, that Amazonian dress and manner,” said Hartley, “savour a little of the picaresca.”
“You must not,” said Esdale, “expect a woman who has commanded soldiers, and may again, to dress and look entirely like an ordinary person. But I assure you, that even at this time of day, if she wished to marry, she might easily find a respectable match.”
“Why, I heard that she had betrayed her husband’s fort to Hyder.”
“Ay, that is a specimen of Madras gossip. The fact is, that she defended the place long after her husband fell, and afterwards surrendered it by capitulation. Hyder, who piques himself on observing the rules of justice, would not otherwise have admitted her to such intimacy.”
“Yes, I have heard,” replied Hartley, “that their intimacy was rather of the closest.”
“Another calumny, if you mean any scandal,” answered Esdale. “Hyder is too zealous a Mahomedan to entertain a Christian mistress; and, besides, to enjoy the sort of rank which is yielded to a woman in her condition, she must refrain, in appearance at least, from all correspondence in the way of gallantry. Just so they said that the poor woman had a connexion with poor Middlemas of the –- regiment.”
“And was that also a false report?” said Hartley, in breathless anxiety.
“On my soul, I believe it was,” answered Mr. Esdale. “They were friends, Europeans in an Indian court, and therefore intimate; but I believe nothing more. By the by, though, I believe there was some quarrel between Middlemas, poor fellow, and you; yet I am sure that you will be glad to hear there is a chance of his affair being made up.”
“Indeed!” was again the only word which Hartley could utter.
“Ay, indeed,” answered Esdale. “The duel is an old story now; and it must be allowed that poor Middlemas, though he was rash in that business, had provocation.”
“But his desertion—his accepting of command under Hyder—his treatment of our prisoners—How can all these be passed over?” replied Hartley.
“Why, it is possible—I speak to you as a cautious man, and in confidence—that he may do us better service in Hyder’s capital, or Tippoo’s camp, than he could have done if serving with his own regiment. And then, for his treatment of prisoners, I am sure I can speak nothing but good of him in that particular. He was obliged to take the office, because those that serve Hyder Naig must do or die. But he told me himself—and I believe him—that he accepted the office chiefly because, while he made a great bullying at us before the black fellows, he could privately be of assistance to us. Some fools could not understand this, and answered him with abuse and lampoons; and he was obliged to punish them, to avoid suspicion. Yes, yes, I and others can prove he was willing to be kind, if men would give him leave. I hope to thank him at Madras one day soon—All this in confidence—Good-morrow to you.”
Distracted by the contradictory intelligence he had received, Hartley went next to question old Captain Capstern, the Captain of the Indiaman, whom he had observed in attendance upon the Begum Montreville. On enquiring after that commander’s female passengers, he heard a pretty long catalogue of names, in which that he was so much interested in did not occur. On closer enquiry, Capstern recollected that Menie Gray, a young Scotchwoman, had come out under charge of Mrs. Duffer, the master’s wife. “A good decent girl,” Capstern said, “and kept the mates and guinea-pigs at a respectable distance. She came out,” he believed, “to be a sort of female companion, or upper servant in Madame Montreville’s family. Snug berth enough,” he concluded, “if she can find the length of the old girl’s foot.”
This was all that could be made of Capstern; so Hartley was compelled to remain in a state of uncertainty until the next morning, when an explanation might be expected with Menie Gray in person.
Chapter XI
The exact hour assigned found Hartley at the door of the rich native merchant, who, having some reasons for wishing to oblige the Begum Mon treville, had relinquished, for her accommodation and that of her numerous retinue, almost the whole of his large and sumptuous residence in the Black Town of Madras, as that district of the city is called which the natives occupy.
A domestic, at the first summons, ushered the visitor into an apartment, where he expected to be joined by Miss Gray. The room opened on one side into a small garden or parterre, filled with the brilliant-coloured flowers of Eastern climates; in the midst of which the waters of a fountain rose upwards in a sparkling jet, and fell back again into a white marble cistern.
A thousand dizzy recollections thronged on the mind of Hartley, whose early feelings towards the companion of his youth, if they had slumbered during distance and the various casualties of a busy life, were revived when he found himself placed so near her, and in circumstances which interested from their unexpected occurrence and mysterious character. A step was heard—the door opened—a female appeared—but it was the portly form of Madame de Montreville.
“What do you please to want, sir?” said the lady; “that is, if you have found your tongue this morning, which you had lost yesterday.”
“I proposed myself the honour of waiting upon the young person, whom I saw in your excellency’s company yesterday morning,” answered Hartley, with assumed respect. “I have had long the honour of being known to her in Europe, and I desire to offer my services to her in India.”
“Much obliged—much obliged; but Miss Gray is gone out, and does not return for one or two days. You may leave your commands with me.”
“Pardon me, madam,” replied Hartley; “but I have some reason to hope you may be mistaken in this matter—And here comes the lady herself.”
“How is this, my dear?” said Mrs. Montreville, with unruffled front, to Menie, as she entered; “are you not gone out for two or three days, as I tell this gentleman?—mais c’est egal—it is all one thing. You will say, How d’ye do, and goodbye, to Monsieur, who is so polite as to come to ask after our healths, and as he sees us both very well, he will go away home again.”
“I believe, madam,” said Miss Gray, with appearance of effort, “that I must speak with this gentleman for a few minutes in private, if you will permit me.”
“That is to say, get you gone? but I do not allow that—I do not like private conversation between young man and pretty young woman; cela n’est pas honnete. It cannot be in my house.”
“It may be out of it, then, madam,” answered Miss Gray, not pettishly nor pertly, but with the utmost simplicity.—”Mr. Hartley, will you step into that garden?—and, you, madam, may observe us from the window, if it be the fashion of the country to watch so closely.”
As she spoke this she stepped through a lattice-door into the garden, and with an air so simple, that she seemed as if she wished to comply with her patroness’s ideas of decorum, though they appeared strange to her. The Queen of Sheba, notwithstanding her natural assurance, was disconcerted by the composure of Miss Gray’s manner, and left the room, apparently in displeasure. Menie turned back to the door which opened into the garden, and said in the same manner as before, but with less nonchalance,—
“I am sure I would not willingly break through the rules of a foreign country; but I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of speaking to so old a friend,—if indeed,” she added, pausing and looking at Hartley, who was much embarrassed, “it be as much pleasure to Mr. Hartley as it is to me.”