The Road to Mandalay Part 32

"I am searching for the hypodermic syringe by which you reduce my aunt," pointing to the bed, "to this horrible condition. Come with me, Lily," leading the way to the outer room. "I have something to say to you."

The ayah's face was almost green; she was shaking all over, but after a moment's hesitation she ultimately obeyed in sullen silence.

"I was not aware until two days ago," resumed Sophy, "that my aunt took drugs and that you supplied them."

"I don't know what the missy is talking about," stammered Lily.

"Oh yes, you understand, and Mr. Krauss will understand. At present he has no idea of my aunt's real ailment."

"Missy going to tell _him_? Well, if I am sent away to Madras and the drug taken from the missis she will soon die--you will see!"

Lily's tone was more triumphant than regretful.

"She will die anyway," rejoined Sophy, "and it were better that she should die in her senses than a drugged victim to cocaine. How long has this been going on?"

"Two, three years--maybe four years."

"Four years!" repeated Sophy incredulously.

"Yes, missis plenty sick--no sleep getting; doctor ordering small dose sleep mixture; missis liking too much, taking more and more, and more."

"And you have kept her supplied--you get it from Ah Shee?"

"If not me, then some other woman. I plenty fond of missis and I kept her secret."

"And, no doubt, she has paid you well."

"Yes, giving money; but too much trouble to get morphia and cocaine and to keep people from talk. One or two times she took too big dose, and then nearly die--but missis will have it all the same--die or no die!"

"Well, now, if I promise you one thing will you promise me another? I will not say a word to Mr. Krauss if you will agree to buy no more cocaine."

"I will promise not to give so much; but no more cocaine taking at all, missis would shrivel up and go out like one bit of paper in a candle!

I will do what I can, missy, but missis always taking plenty--two grains is nothing."

"I am astonished," said Sophy, "that my aunt has never been suspected of taking drugs."

"Missy, you never suspect it yourself, and yet you have lived in same house for fifteen months. It was hard to keep it dark, but all the servants know. Of course, that is no matter, and as for the big mem-sahibs, they do not come here _now_."

"It seems so strange," said Sophy, "that my aunt should have sunk into this state--all through one little dose of morphia."

"Well, you see, missy, she was ill; it was in the rains; she was awfullee melancholy and depressed, and she had not much to fill her mind. She did not sew or ride or make music, like you do. Mr. Krauss was away, she was sick and lonely, and so she got the doctor's prescription made up over and over again. If she could have gone to Europe two years ago she might have cured herself of taking the stuff.

Two--three times she has begun to stop it, but it was no good. I have talked to her and given her wise words and tried to help her--and _cheat_ her, but she always found me out; so all I can do or have done is to stand between her and the other mem-sahibs and hide her--trouble."

The sound of light footsteps stealing across the veranda caused Lily to pause--then she added under her breath:

"It is that Moti ayah, missy; she very cunning, same like little snake and we had better go. I will keep my promise, though it will be plenty bother; I am glad that you know--for it will make business more easy for me now there is one less to hide it from."

Thus the conspirators parted, Sophy having maintained from first to last her mastery of the situation.

It was not long before Mrs. Krauss became aware, more by instinct than actual knowledge, that her niece had discovered the real cause of her illness. One evening as Sophy bent over to kiss her and say good night, she took her hand in both of hers and, with tears trickling down her face, whispered:

"Sophy darling, I've tried--it's no use; whatever happens, keep it from _him_!"

And this was the sole occasion on which Aunt Flora ever alluded to her failing.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

ON DUTY

The veil that shrouded her aunt's secret being now withdrawn, by a strange paradox a heavy cloud of darkness descended upon Sophy; she seemed to have suddenly pa.s.sed from a warm glow of sunlight into a cold shadow-land of mystery and fear. Before Herr Krauss and the outer world she still carried a buoyant standard of false high spirits. Her rippling laughter and cheerful repartees were to be heard where young people were a.s.sembled at the Gymkhana, or elsewhere; but this Sophy wore another aspect when she sat on duty in her aunt's bedroom, whiling away restlessness and want of sleep with reading and talk, and even cards. Many a time the dawn was breaking before she was at liberty to go to bed. No wonder that she looked pale and f.a.gged--no wonder people gazed at her keenly and inquired about her health. It is not easy even for a girl of two-and-twenty thus to burn the candle at both ends!

Riding, dancing, and playing tennis in the daytime, and then sitting up half the night, with a restless and fretful patient. It was _this_ Sophy who conferred so long and earnestly with Lily ayah, respecting methods to be adopted, pretences effected, infinitesimal doses exchanged for the usual amount, and the patient craftily beguiled--but it is almost impossible to beguile a person who is suffering from the fierce craving for a drug; and the want of her normal supply soon began to make itself apparent in Mrs. Krauss, and there were not a few exhausting scenes.

Sophy found it necessary to take her ayah Moti into her confidence--a humiliating obligation (as it happened, Moti had always been in the secret), and among the three it was arranged that the mistress of the house was to be watched and never left alone. Occasionally Mrs. Krauss had disputes and dreadful altercations with Lily; but by degrees she appeared to acquiesce; her strength was unequal to a prolonged struggle, and the victim of cocaine would throw herself down on her bed and moan like some dying animal. These moans pierced the heart of her unhappy niece.

Herr Krauss was seldom at home, but, when in residence, his personality obtruded itself in all directions, and it was surprising to Sophy that he never noticed any cause for anxiety in his wife's appearance, she looked so ill and emaciated; it was true that he was preoccupied with important affairs, and that he only saw her of an evening when the lights were shaded. She still appeared in the afternoon and at dinner, particularly if they were alone. When she received visitors, especially her German neighbours, Sophy felt exceedingly uncomfortable.

It seemed to her--although this might be imagination--that the ladies exchanged coughs and significant glances, and noticed the trembling hand with which Mrs. Krauss helped herself to cake, her sudden lapses into silence, her abrupt interruptions and cavernous yawns. For years Mrs. Krauss had been at home once a week to her German neighbours.

They are a gregarious nation, and the "Kaffee-Gesellschaft"--an afternoon affair, beginning at four o'clock--is greatly beloved by German women. Here they enjoy strong coffee, chocolate flavoured with vanilla and whipped cream, and every description of rich cake. These coffee parties are generally an orgy of scandal, and that at "Heidelberg" was no exception. Whether Mrs. Krauss was well or ill, the guests never failed to arrive. It was a standing inst.i.tution and enjoyed their approval and countenance.

One bright hope upheld Sophy; Herr Krauss now talked of returning home--that is, to Germany.

"Business is booming, my dear old lady; I shall close down, and we will all depart. You have been in Burma too long, but in six months we shall be aboard the mail boat and watch the gold PaG.o.da gradually sinking out of sight. I shall take a handsome place in the neighbourhood of Frankfort, and entertain all my good friends. Then we will make music, and eat, drink, and be merry."

His talk was invariably in this hopeful strain; he never exhibited the least anxiety with regard to his wife's illness; it had become her normal condition, and he spoke of it as "that confounded neuralgia" and cursed the Burmese climate.

Sophy listened and marvelled, and yet she herself had been equally dense. Neuralgia covers various infirmities, just as the cloak of charity covers a mult.i.tude of sins. She had become excessively sensitive and suspicious, a sort of domestic detective--a post that was by no means to her taste. She had thought long and earnestly over the situation, and from her reflections emerged the solid word "Duty." It was her duty to fight for her aunt, to contend against the demon drug--and fight she did. Oh, if she could only maintain the struggle until her charge was en route home, what a victory!

Mrs. Krauss never alluded to her illness--a remarkable contrast to many invalids; but one afternoon, as Sophy sat beside her in the dimly-lit lounge, she suddenly broke an unusually long silence:

"Life is very difficult, Sophy, my dear; death is easy, and I shall soon know all about it."

"Oh, Aunt Flo, why do you say this?"

"Because, before long, I shall die. Karl is full of great plans and talks of our wonderful future. I see no future for myself in Europe; I shall remain behind when you and he go down the Irrawaddy--but I am not afraid. On the contrary, I look forward."

"As for death, I hope you are mistaken, Aunt Flora, but I confess that yours is a most enviable frame of mind."

"It is, dear, I suppose, from living so long in the East, I have imbibed some of the people's ideas. In all the world these Burmans cannot be matched for their radiant cheerfulness--they make the best of the present, and, as they say, 'merely die to live again.' There is not one of them who does not believe in and speak of his past life, and look forward to a future existence; this is why they wear such an air of happiness and contentment."

"And do you really believe there is anything in this comfortable faith, Aunt Flora?"

"Yes, my dear, I have a sincere confidence that my soul, not this miserable wicked body, will live again, and be given an opportunity of being better in another world."

"Well, at any rate that is a consoling creed. For my own part, I know little about Buddhism, but I can see that the Burmans are a religious people, much given to wors.h.i.+p and offerings, and with a good deal of gaiety in their ceremonies; but, Aunt Flora, although they are delightfully picturesque, and so merry and cheerful, as a ma.s.s they are terribly pleasure-loving and lazy; no Burman will work if he can help it; even the women are difficult to get hold of. Mrs. Blake, who is in the District, told me that her ayah, who never exerted herself, had put in for a _year's_ holiday and rest."

"But what had that to do with religion, my dear?"