The Road to Mandalay Part 19

"I know she is subject to it, but surely she does not require you to be with her _all_ day?"

"No, but Herr Krauss is at home now; the old cook has departed after a fearful explosion, and housekeeping is a struggle; servants are so difficult to find and deal with, especially by a strange 'missy' like myself. And Herr Krauss is particular about punctuality and the plates being hot, and all that sort of thing; I have to make Russian salads, confitures and sauces, so I have really had no spare time."

"Yes, I can imagine your hands have been pretty full. But do you mean to tell me that _you_ run the house?"

"I don't exactly run it, but I do my best to drag it along--and it's rather awkward from my being a new-comer; pice and rupees are novelties, and everything is supposed to be in German fas.h.i.+on."

"German fas.h.i.+on!" echoed Shafto. "What's that?"

"Oh, particular hours, particular food, _Blutwurst_, sausages, Russian salads, cakes, creams, and plenty of them."

"Well, I must say Krauss looks sleek and well fed; he does you credit!

But don't you ever get your Sunday off or your day out?"

"I suppose I do in a way. I have been to dine with one or two of our neighbours, and we had some really first-rate music; and then, you see, we live at a long distance from the Cantonment and the Gymkhana."

"But what about the car?"

"Herr Krauss uses it; he is away most of the day."

"But you have a horse to ride?"

"Yes, there was one; rather a nice-looking little bay, but soon after I arrived, he was borrowed by a man who has taken it up to Prome."

Mrs. Gregory had been listening to this conversation, making mental notes and setting down bad marks! Her cousin was returning from Mandalay on the following day, and she determined that she and Milly would wait upon Mrs. Krauss, and request her to liberate this prisoner.

Mrs. Krauss was a charming, indolent, clinging sort of individual, who had latterly sunken into a somnolent existence and rarely appeared above the social surface. Formerly she had been a brilliant figure in Rangoon society, gave excellent dinners, danced, rode and played bridge and tennis; but, by degrees, she seemed to have dropped out of things, and Mrs. Gregory remembered how, once upon a time, when riding together, she had lamented that she had no children and no particular interests, and that her energy, such as it was, was ebbing rapidly. Of course, she had been too long in Lower Burma--eight years of Lower Burma, merely diluted with an occasional few weeks at May Myo, was enough to undermine any woman's mental and bodily state.

"And so your aunt has been ill?" she asked after a long pause.

"Yes, but she is much better now and very cheerful, so I was able to leave her and accept Mrs. Muller's invitation to accompany her to this play."

"You have seen nothing so far?"

"Well, not much, but there is lots of time."

Mrs. Gregory glanced at the girl and, in the searching electric light, noticed that her lovely colour was already fading, the lines of the face seemed a trifle sharper; beauty is fleeting in Lower Burma.

Meanwhile Shafto, sitting so silent at the ladies' feet, was secretly boiling with rage.

So the fat old German, in spite of his wealth, had made his wife's niece both sick nurse and house-keeper; one of these tasks was ample for any girl; Miss Leigh had been six weeks in Rangoon and had never even seen the PaG.o.da!

"I know you are fond of riding," he began; "do you think you could come for a gallop if I produced a pony?"

"And a chaperon," supplemented Mrs. Gregory. "I can offer my services and a mount, and I'll call for you at seven o'clock on Thursday morning. You may come, too," she added, turning to Shafto, "and we will go to the Pineapple Forest."

"How delightful, and how very kind of you!" said Sophy. "I am sure I can manage--as long as I am in by nine o'clock."

"But why nine o'clock, my dear Cinderella?"

"Because I have to interview the cook when he returns from the bazaar.

Herr Krauss is something of a gourmand and rather querulous about his food, and he often brings in one or two men to tiffin or dinner."

"A nice, amusing change," said Shafto. "You must find old Krauss a bit monotonous. What does he talk about? Wolfram or sausages?"

"He talks a good deal about my aunt--he really is devoted to her."

"Well, I'll mark him up one for that. I suppose the guests are his own compatriots?"

"Yes, they come on business, and are nearly always the same. They talk German all the time, which I cannot understand--only when they stare at me and say something about 'Englanderin'; after dinner we have music and Herr Krauss and I play duets. His instrument is the violin--most of the neighbours are musical, first-rate musicians and so critical; I appreciate that--it keeps me up to the mark."

"I think, among them, they all keep you up to the mark," observed Mrs.

Gregory, and whatever she was about to add was abruptly interrupted by a loud, swelling, unanimous murmur of "Ah Wah, Ah Wah," which suddenly rose from a thousand throats. This rapturous acclamation hailed the appearance of Po Sine, the star of the Burmese theatre--unsurpa.s.sed and unapproachable in either tragedy or comedy. Po Sine was nothing to look at--a thin, ordinary, little man, but endowed with genius; even those who could not understand a word he said immediately recognised the great actor.

This particular play was a favourite comedy; shouts of laughter shook the audience and the encompa.s.sing walls of matting, and in this Shafto and his companion could not help joining.

"I wonder what it is all about," said Sophy. "I know it's very amusing. What was that funny thing he said last?" she asked as the shrieks died down.

Shafto coloured guiltily. Although far from being an expert in the Burmese language, he had caught the drift of this sentence--a coa.r.s.e _double entendre_, which he could not possibly interpret to a girl.

Burmese plays are not always decorous; this particular performance was an odd mixture of ancient and modern. The lovers, who were, as usual, princes and princesses, played stately roles and moved about with majestic dignity and in gorgeous raiment--their prototypes dated from the days of Buddha; on the other hand, the clown and the country men, who enacted the parts of villains and devils, were essentially modern--as quick with patter songs and up-to-date local events and jokes as the cleverest music-hall artist. At intervals the weird Burmese band, with its clas.h.i.+ng cymbals, harps and clarions, discoursed the latest Burmese operatic airs.

It was one o'clock and the great bell in the heart of the PaG.o.da had throbbed out its long deep note, when Mrs. Gregory rose and collected her party.

"I'm so sorry I can't take you with me," she said to Sophy. "I hope your German friends will not remain all night. However, I shall depute Mr. Shafto to look after you. Please tell your aunt that I hope to call and see her very shortly--and do not forget that you are to ride with me on Thursday morning."

As if it was likely! Then Mrs. Gregory took her departure, leaving Sophy and her companion to a _tete-a-tete_.

"I think we will move up closer to your friends," he said; "I see two empty seats behind them. Our people can't stick this for more than three or four hours."

"How have you been getting on?" inquired Sophy, "and how do you like Burma?"

"Burma suits me down to the ground; I like it most awfully. I've been very busy learning my job, but I've seen a good deal outside business hours."

"What have you seen?"

"Oh, well, wrestling, tattooing and c.o.c.k-fights; I have been once up the river as far as Prome, and to several native shows, including a funeral."

"How have you managed that?"

"Salter, a fellow in our house, took me; the funeral was a strange affair--not a bit like ours; everyone in gala clothes, great feasting and a band in the house; altogether a lively entertainment. When a man is dying, his friends come and gather round and cheer him, and tell him of all the good deeds he has done in his lifetime. At the graveside there is an extraordinary business with a silk handkerchief, in which the nearest relation is supposed to catch and enclose the departed spirit, now in the form of a white b.u.t.terfly--and dangerous to mortals for seven days and nights. I have seen a good deal of native life already."

"How lucky you are!" exclaimed the girl; "and I've seen nothing but Germans."

"Salter has taken me about and naturally he has extra opportunities, being married to a Burmese."

"Married to a Burmese?" echoed Sophy; her tone was incredulous.

"Yes. At one time it was quite a common thing. Mrs. Salter--her real name is Mee Lay--is sitting over there in about the fifth row back, behind the fellow with the scarlet handkerchief twisted round his head.

Presently you must turn and look at her. She is a nice, cheery woman, and Salter is an interesting, original sort of man. I dine with them now and then. Mee Lay is uncommonly businesslike--has a good deal of land and a flouris.h.i.+ng rice concern."