Читать книгу Trapped by Malays: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris - George Manville Fenn - Страница 14

“Oh, here you are, Mrs. Smithers. Aunt was saying just now that she wondered you had not been up. I told her perhaps it was on account of the hot weather, for it has been terribly trying.”

“Oh, bless your heart, Miss Minnie!” said the tall, sturdy, buxom-looking woman who had just set down a big basket in the veranda, “the weather doesn’t make no difference to me. Whether it’s hot or whether it’s cold, I have got to get my bit of washing done; though I am a bit tried when it comes to that mounsoon, or mounseer, or whatever they call it, when it’s such strange, hard work to get the things dry. But even then it ain’t fair to complain, for the soft water’s lovely, and plenty of it. But I am late again this week, and it has been very hard work to get the officers washed. ’Tain’t half-an-hour since I took young Mr. Maine’s home to his quarters. I hope your aunt ain’t cross with me.”

“Oh no, she’s not angry. She knew there must be some good reason. We were half-afraid you were ill.”

“Not me, Miss Minnie! I’ve never no time to be ill; and if I had been, no matter how bad I was I should have been up here to the Doctor for one of his exhibitions, as he calls them. I’ve brought his white suit, miss, and it looks lovely. Shall I show it you?”

“I know how it will be, Mrs. Smithers,” said Minnie, smiling. “I am glad there has been nothing wrong.”

“Oh, don’t you be glad, miss. It’s sorry I am.”

“Why, what’s the trouble?”

“Trouble, miss? Oh, my master again. He will never be happy till he is having the Rogues’ March played over him, and the buttons that I keep sewed on tighter than those of any man in his company cut off his beautiful uniform, and him drummed out as a disgrace to the regiment.”

“Dear, dear!” said Minnie. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Smithers.”

“Yes; I knowed you would be, my dear, if you will forgive me for calling you so. You see, I have known you so long as such a dear, sweet young lady, with no more pride in you than there is in one of our Jenny-wrens at home.”

“But what is the matter, Mrs. Smithers?” said Minnie hastily, in an effort to change the flow of the bronzed, burly woman’s words into another direction.

“You needn’t ask, my dear. The old thing.”

“What! surely not drinking again? I thought he had taken the pledge, and that Sergeant Ripsy had promised you that he would keep a sharp eye over your husband.”

“Oh yes, miss, that’s all right; and he daren’t go to the canteen, for they wouldn’t admit him. But what’s the use of that when he can manage to get some of that nasty rack, as they call it, from the first Malay fellow he meets? I’d like to rack ’em!”

“It’s such a pity,” said Minnie. “Such a good soldier as he is, too. I’ve heard Mr. Maine say that there isn’t a smarter-looking man in his company; and my uncle praises him too.”

“Praises him, my dear!” said the woman, looking at the speaker round-eyed. “Praises him! A-mussy me, what for?”

“He says he’s such a fine-looking man.”

“Fine-looking? Oh yes, he’s fine-looking enough,” said the woman scornfully.

“And that he is so strong and manly and hearty, and that he never wants to come on the sick-list.”

“Sick-list! No, my dear, he dursen’t. He knows only too well that your dear uncle would know at once what was the matter with him.”

“But he’s such a smart-looking fellow—so clean, Mr. Maine says, that he is quite a pattern to the others when he comes on parade.”

“Oh yes, that’s all right, my dear; but who makes him smart? Who cleans his buttons and buckles, and pipeclays him, but his poor wife? Why, many’s the time I have had to flannel his face and hands before he went on parade.”

“Well, well,” said Minnie compassionately, “let’s hope he will improve.”

“Improve, my dear? I’ve give up hopes. He says that the climate don’t agree with him, but when we was at Colchester he used to say he was obliged to take a little to keep off the colic, for the wind off the east coast was so keen; and the same when we were in Canada. That was when we were first married, and I was allowed to come on the strength of the regiment, many long years ago, my dear; and I have done the officers’ washing ever since, or I don’t know what we should have done. Then when we came out to Injy and it was so hot, he used to say if he didn’t have a little something he should be a dead man, because it was so horrid dry; and now we are stationed here he sticks out that he only takes a little to keep off the jungle fever. Any one would think he was fighting against being invalided home, but he don’t deceive the Sergeant, and he tells me that Joe will go too far one of these days; and he will break my heart if he does, and I’m always in a skeer as I think and think and wonder how far he will have to go before being sent home. I don’t know what’s to become of me if I am sent there. Home, sweet home, they calls it, Miss Minnie. I suppose you would like to go?”

“Well, for some things, yes, Mrs. Smithers; but I am very happy here.”

“Of course you are, my dear. You are so young and pretty and good.”

“Oh, nonsense, Mrs. Smithers! I am very happy here because I think aunt likes me being companion to her, and dear uncle wouldn’t like me to go away.”

“Of course he wouldn’t, my dear, bless him! for he’s a good, true man, though he does talk a bit hard sometimes, and every one likes him. See how good he is to all these Malay folk, who have no call upon him at all. Oh dear! it will be a hard time for every one when you do go away. I know I shall about cry my eyes out.”

“But I am not going away, Mrs. Smithers,” said Minnie laughingly.

“Not going away, my dear? No, not this week, nor next week, nor next year perhaps. But you needn’t tell me; it would be against Nature for you to stop here always. Such a young lady as you can’t be allowed to do as she likes. All the same, though, my dear, I should be glad to see you go home.”

“You would, Mrs. Smithers?”

“Yes, my dear, for I don’t think it’s nice for English womenkind to be out here amongst these betel-chewing, half-black people, going about in their cotton and silk plaid sarongs, as they call them, and every man with one of those nasty ugly krises stuck in his waist. Krises I suppose they call them because they keep them rolled-up in the creases of their Scotch kilt things. I often lie in bed of a night feeling thankful that I have got a good, big, strong husband to take care of me, bad as he is. For my Joe can fight. Yes, I often feel that we womenkind aren’t safe here.”

“Oh, for shame, Mrs. Smithers! Who could feel afraid with about three hundred brave British soldiers to take care of them?”

“I could, miss, and do often. It’s all very well to talk, and I know that if these heathens rose up against us our British Grenadiers would close up and close up till the last man dropped. But what’s the good of that when we should be left with no one to take care of us? Oh, my dear! my dear!” said the woman, with a look of horror crossing the big brown face.

“Mrs. Smithers, you must have been upset this week, to talk like that.”

“I—I ’ave, my dear; and it’s a shame of me to stand here putting such miserable ideas into your head; but I had a very hard day yesterday, for my Joe had been extra trying, and I couldn’t get a wink of sleep, for after being so angry with him that I could have hit him, I lay crying and thinking what a wicked woman I was for half-wishing that he was dead; for he is my husband, my dear, after all, and—Morning, ma’am—I mean, good-afternoon,” cried the woman respectfully. “I am so sorry to be late this week, and I hope the Doctor’s quite well.”