# An American Girl in India/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII
THE TRIUMPH OF MR. ELGEE POTTS
We left for Delhi next day. The departure of Berengaria was exciting to herself and to everybody else anywhere near by. It took the united efforts of John, an ayah, six chaprassis, and various other dusky, ill-clad bodies to accomplish it. But we were off at last, and the train was not more than an hour late. Berengaria said that that was lucky as it was often much later than that on branch lines in India. We were to get to Bandalnagger at five o'clock that afternoon, where we joined the main line, and we were due at Delhi at the unbecoming hour of six o'clock next morning, though from all accounts we were not likely to arrive there anything like as early as that. The block in the traffic, they told us, all along the line was awful. Even that branch line, where nothing ever happened, felt it. It did its best to buck up, and actually succeeded in landing us at Bandalnagger Junction only two hours and fifteen minutes late.
There we had dinner at the refreshment-room—a huge long dinner of many courses, very solid, and ​ending up with curry, all for two rupees. Then we disposed ourselves to wait for the Lieutenant-Governor's train, which was due at nine o'clock. Once we joined that, Berengaria said, we should be all right. Being the Lieutenant-Governor's guests, everything would be done for us right along, and we need not worry ourselves about anything any more all through. Berengaria was a great friend of Lady Mullins. Hence the invitation. John's official position, it seemed, though a high one, did not entitle him to be asked as a Government guest at the Durbar. The invitation was solely due to Berengaria. Berengaria consequently was much elated at having accomplished socially what John had not been able to do officially.
'It's all very well to say that the days of our influence are over in India,' Berengaria said as we sat waiting the arrival of the train, while John paced up and down the platform. 'But there's no denying the fact that we women can still have things pretty much our own way if we like. I always do all I can on principle. I've married John, and I regard it as my duty to do all I can for him in every way.'
Berengaria paused. My thoughts flew homewards. I realised with something of regret how very little there would be that I could do in that way for the one round whom those thoughts centred. What could a wife hope to do for a man who was going to be a Duke and a millionaire. I could have almost wished just then that he was none of these things, but just a simple commoner unknown to ​fame for whom a wife might do so much. I looked at Berengaria and almost envied her. She was so strong, so vigorous, so full of energy. What did she not represent to John? What would he be without her? I think Berengaria felt my unspoken sympathy. She grew confidential.
'John is so unambitious,' she said with a sigh. 'He's perfectly content with what he is, and that's fatal. Contentment may be a great gain in one way, but it's absolutely fatal in a service like ours. You must push. It's vulgar, it's deteriorating, it's horrible, but it must be done. If you don't do it you get left. If it had not been for me I really don't know what would have happened to John. He would have been left stuck away in some dreadful station where only two sorts of people congregate—those who are sent there in disgrace and those who are too content or too apathetic to worry Government to transfer them.'
Just then John strolled up and joined us.
'Any news of the train?' asked Berengaria.
'None,' said John, in his cheerful, absent-minded way. 'Not left Mandalghur yet.' He stood and beamed upon us for a moment, pipe in hand, and then passed on.
'There,' said Berengaria smilingly, with a little helpless gesture of her hands, 'what would have become of a man like that without me? He's perfectly content to go on walking that platform until the train comes. He's not a bit impatient. Fortunately that train will come some time or other, but it isn't always the same with promotion if you ​only sit still and wait for it. I really believe John would have jogged along quite contentedly in the dreadful little station I found him in when I married him if I had not gone round and stirred things up.'
'I always wonder,' I put in, 'just exactly how women do use the influence one hears so much about.'
Berengaria smiled in a wise, subtle sort of way.
'As you are not a rival I will give you the clue,' she laughed. 'An ounce of tact and a well placed smile are all the weapons you want. If you happen to have a pair of fine eyes you can use them too; but they are not essential. The tact and the smile will carry you through.'
'Ah, but you must have something to go upon first,' I interrupted. 'You must be charming to start with or the tact and the smile won't work.'
'There I don't agree with you at all,' said Berengaria. 'Acquire tact and a smile, and you can't fail to be charming. To be tactful means to be everything that is desirable, and to get what you want in the nicest possible way. Now look at Mrs. Croydon. She's plain. She's no longer young; she's not even a good conversationalist; she's not even clever beyond having discovered the power of tact and a smile. But just see what she has done. Mr. Croydon is nothing brilliant in any way, yet he has held practically all the coveted posts there are, which nobody dreams for a moment he would have got but for Mrs. Croydon. And how ​has she done it? Simply by tact and the cultivation of a smile. She has never offended anybody, and she has used her smiles so well and wisely upon those in authority that she has had half a dozen of them at her feet at once. The present Chief Secretary is her devoted admirer, and would do anything she wants, while all the ambitious younger men in the service crowd round her like a swarm of flies. They say she has made up her mind to be Lady Croydon and L.-G.'s wife, and I should not be surprised if she did it. She is the most deadly rival I've got.'
Berengaria's sigh of commiseration was lost in the clanging of the bell that heralded the approach of the L.-G.'s train. At least, I called it the clanging of the bell from force of habit, but they don't have bells in India as far as I have seen. They use a piece of iron rail hung up with a little bit of string which a coolie strikes in a manner to deafen everything with ears within reach of it.
Berengaria and I discovered our names on the door of our compartment without much difficulty. But, alas! the other two occupants had been before us, and, of course, they had taken the lower berths. The carriage looked absolutely full already, with any number of trunks and boxes, and lots of clothes and sundries hanging up on pegs beside the two well-tucked-up sleeping forms on the lower berths. At least, they were not sleeping forms any longer from the moment we tried to get in. How they must have anathematised us. One of them had to get up to drag a huge dressing-case away from ​the door to let us get in. Then dreadful, half-naked coolies clambered in to haul up our luggage, jabbering unintelligible things and letting in lots of nasty raw cold air. I got in first, and tried to make our belongings look as small as possible, while Berengaria superintended from the platform. It would not have been an easy task at the best of times to make Berengaria's trunks look small, but with at least one if not two pairs of eyes glaring at you with a glare that seemed to make you grow smaller and your luggage grow larger every moment, it was embarrassing in the extreme. Berengaria had insisted on bringing practically everything that would get through the doorway into the carriage with us.
'You will learn two things by experience when you have done a little more Indian travelling,' was all she had remarked, when I ventured a mild protest. 'The first and foremost is never by any chance to travel without a luncheon-basket, for you never know where you may get stranded, and India is no place for a hungry white man to be stranded in. The second is, never lose sight of your luggage if you have any desire for it to arrive with you at the end of the journey.'
So one after another those trunks and dressing-cases and hat boxes were handed in till the carriage seemed full of them, and it was a question how Berengaria was to get in at all. But she achieved it in the determined way she tackled most things, and by clambering up on to two big boxes she managed to shut the door behind her and the train ​was off. I trusted Ermyntrude was safe on board, but I couldn't get near enough to a window to put my head out, so I had to content myself with the hope. Ermyntrude left behind on the Bandalnugger railway platform was too awful a catastrophe to contemplate.
Berengaria stood by the door, surveying the medley of luggage that filled the carriage with the air of a conquerer surveying a fallen city. Then her eyes fell on the nearer of the two forms tucked up in bed.
'Why, it's Mrs. Croydon,' she exclaimed. Then I knew what Berengaria had meant. I saw the tact and the smile at the same time. It must have been horribly annoying to be awakened like that in the middle of a cold winter's night. Yet Mrs. Croydon smiled. She seemed to take a real personal interest in us both straight away.
'The question is,' she said, after the first preliminary greetings which had envolved an introduction to myself were over, 'how are you going to get to bed?'
We all laughed. I was at one end of the carriage and Berengaria was at the other. A medley of trunks and boxes rose up like a rugged range of hills between us. Bitterly cold as it was, Mrs. Croydon even got up and helped us to clear the floor a bit. She came to my rescue as I struggled with the upper berth, which I tried in vain to lower—it's really quite an art to do it if you are not particularly strong and there happens to be a sleeping form on the berth below. The woman on that lower berth ​had long since turned her face to the wall, and, metaphorically speaking, passed us by on the other side. But Mrs. Croydon was quite unwearied in helping us. She just won my heart straight away. Berengaria might call it tact, but I called it something a good deal more. That woman had the heart of a real good Samaritan.
That night was the first time in my life that I had ever made my own bed. It was certainly the most awkward bed to make that you could possibly imagine. You had to stand on the edge of the lower berth, where an irate would-be-asleep form lay, cling on with one hand and spread out your sheets and rugs as best you could with the other. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Croydon I don't think I should ever have done it, and I should probably have slept all night in a bundled up sort of heap, with half my clothes on instead of properly like an ordinary respectable being in bed. The last difficulty, however, was climbing up into that bed after you had made it. I can't rightly say what I looked like as I did it, but Berengaria hoisting herself heavily up, greatly impeded by a pink night-dress, was truly a sight for the gods. It was Mrs. Croydon who pulled the green shades over the lamps and kind of tucked us up, and bade us a smiling good-night.
I was a bit afraid at first of falling out of my exalted berth during the night, but I soon fell asleep, and slept quite soundly in spite of the rattling of the train and several stoppages at noisy wayside stations. It was bitterly cold when I woke up, ​and already quite light. I looked out over the edge of my berth, and Mrs. Croydon's pleasant face was the first thing I saw.
'Good-morning,' she said, 'I hope you have slept well.'
'Most remarkably well,' I answered shivering.
'But, my! how cold it is, and how are we going to get dressed in a tiny space like that?'
I surveyed the few square feet of floor that peeped out from among our boxes with dismay. Mrs. Croydon laughed gaily. I believe she laughed at everything that came along all life through. It's much the best way to look at life if you can, but you have to be built that way to do it.
'Oh, we shall manage all right if we get up one by one,' she said cheerfully. 'The train is frightfully late, so there is no chance of our reaching Delhi yet, and we needn't hurry. We shall probably have breakfast on the train. But the one thing I am pining for is my morning cup of tea.'
Even as she spoke we drew up at a station, and the faithful Ermyntrude appeared with a kitmatgar carrying the welcome tray. At that Berengaria awoke too, and we all fell upon the tea and toast and bananas and devoured them.
When we had finished I began to get up. It was quite obvious that we should have to do it one by one, so as I always take an age to get dressed, even with Ermyntrude to help me—and Ermyntrude couldn't possibly be got inside the carriage now—I thought at half-past seven that it was time one of us made a start. Did ever train jolt and ​sway like that one? Painfully, with many bumps and much difficulty, I finally succeeded in getting fully clothed, and sat down on a box in a corner to make room for other people.
The unknown, who had occupied the berth below mine, was the last to get up. I wondered if I looked quite such a wreck as she did. I guess no woman looks her best when she first gets out of bed in the morning, in spite of all the poets say. This woman certainly didn't, and she evidently knew it. She scrambled into her clothes in real lightning speed. The improvement in her when she was fully dressed was wonderful. I wondered who she was. Evidently neither Mrs. Croydon nor Berengaria knew her. I had scarcely seen her full face until she sat down opposite me. Then I knew that I had seen her before. But where? For a moment I was puzzled, but only for a moment. Then I recognised her. It was Fluffy. But a Fluffy so changed that it was not surprising I had not recognised her straight away at first sight.
The old Fluffy was gone. There was hardly a vestige of her left. The framework was the same, but, after all, it isn't the framework that matters most to a woman with determination. So long as you've got a head with eyes and nose and mouth, and a skin to cover it, you can rig it out pretty much as you like. A quantity of somebody else's hair and teeth, and plenty of powder and paint work wonders. It was only about ten days before that I had seen Fluffy being married in Bombay in all the glory of her war-paint, fully ​rigged out, and looking in the distance like a gay young thing of twenty-five. She had grown twenty years older every way in those ten days. Her hair was no longer fluffy, and it wasn't gold any more. It was quite a proper, respectable brown, and it was done up neatly in an entirely unnoticable way. Her complexion was no more pink and white, but the ordinary rather-the-worse-for-wear complexion of a woman of forty-five. As for the gay and festive costumes that Fluffy used to wear on every occasion, in season and out of season, one wondered what fate had befallen them. Fluffy was dressed modestly and soberly as a woman of forty-five on a long railway journey should be.
Fluffy's eyes met mine full. I tried to keep the bulginess out of mine as much as I could, but I guess they looked a bit surprised. And then what do you think happened? Fluffy cut me dead! I had never been cut in my life before, so far as I knew, and at first I didn't quite know how I felt after it. It was done in the coolest, most collected way possible, but there was no mistaking it. Now I suppose there must be some satisfaction in cutting people or no one would do it. But for Fluffy to go and cut me was about the most suicidal thing she could do if she didn't want the people in that camp to know all about her. If she had been just ordinarily polite, and behaved herself, I might have hesitated before giving her away, thinking she wanted to lead a new life, and all that sort of thing. I believe in giving everybody a chance But to go and behave like an ​ostrich with its head in the sand, and imagine that her past didn't rise up at once and stare me in the face, was too absurd. It was not to be expected of human nature not to give her away. So I told Berengaria all about her, and, of course, Berengaria told everybody else. I'm afraid she had rather a bad time in that camp. I always wondered how long she would think it worth while to remain dull and respectable.
We were still miles away from Delhi, so we had breakfast on board the train. But as ours was not a corridor carriage we had to get out at a wayside station in order to get in at the dining car. Then we had to sit in the dining car for about an hour after we had finished breakfast, waiting for another station to get down at and back to our own compartment. It was not a good arrangement, but quite Indian. I guess we in the States think England a delightfully antiquated place, but India is a good bit more so, though, to do it justice, I imagine it has made a pretty good step forward during the last fifty years. I often thought how delightful it would be if one could get a glimpse of India as it was a hundred years ago. Everything is getting horribly modern out there now, and the new clothes on the old garments look patchy. Just imagine travelling thousands and thousands of miles across India before the days of railways came. It must have been charmingly picturesque and interesting, but just a bit slow. Though I guess if you had never gone any faster you wouldn't notice it, and probably think yourself quite rapid ​and very far advanced. It all depends on what you've been accustomed to.
We were only five hours late, and we were nearing Delhi at last. We could hear the guns announcing the arrival of some Indian prince or big official. Our train, containing the Lieutenant-Governor, whom I had not yet seen, would be greeted with a salute of thirteen guns. I felt aglow with reflected glory at the thought of those thirteen guns. Is there anything quite like the sound of a salute to give you a prickly sort of feeling all down the back? How delightful it must be to hear them booming out just for you alone. But, alas, like most things in life, those guns generally come too late. Just when you are almost on the shelf, and just about worn out after thirty years' service, and retirement looms ahead, then you may with great luck hear those guns, but every time they thunder out they must seem to bring with them the sound of a farewell.
But, although we were so near to Delhi, we were not to get in yet. Some way outside we came to a dead stop on what seemed to be a side line. And there we waited. It was long after we were due, but even now it seemed that they weren't ready for us. Presently, up behind us, came another train, which drew up also on a side line across the way. It was the Lieutenant-Governor's train of another province, but it also had to wait. It was just a trifle damping when I had counted on sweeping into Delhi in such state to the accompaniment of those thirteen guns. Nobody knew what we ​were waiting for. John came and talked to us, and told us he had asked the driver and the guard why we were delayed, but they neither of them knew. It grew to nearly half an hour that we had waited there, and still no signs came of our getting in. Then at last there was a rush and a roar, and a train swept by us and dashed on into Delhi. We were all very excited to know what important personage it could contain that it had kept two Lieutenant-Governors' trains waiting all that time. Berengaria was particularly indignant.
'It must be either the Governor of Bombay or the Governor of Madras,' she declared, 'or else the Nizam of Hyderabad. They would never dare to keep a Lieutenant-Governor waiting for anybody else.'
At last our time came, and we did sweep in, followed by the other Lieutenant-Governor's train. So they only gave us thirteen guns between us, which I thought was mean. But they sounded all right, and there was such confusion worse confounded going on in Delhi Station that I don't think it really much mattered. Then at last we found out for whom we had been kept waiting. It was for Mr. Elgee Potts, of U.S.A.! Oh, Indian officialdom, oh, autocratic Litutenant-Governors! how was it that this came to pass? The almighty dollar had stormed the last defences, and triumphed even over the Indian Beaurocracy. Mr. Elgee Potts, in his special train, had bought the right, at some enormous figure that makes the lay mind reel, to travel through first everywhere before everybody, save ​only the Viceroy himself. I suppose I ought to have felt real proud of my own countryman and the almighty dollar, but as it was sympathy for Berengaria's indignation and for Indian officialdom so rudely cast aside took entire possession of me. I and that Lieutenant-Governor's party entered Delhi just the least little bit subdued and thoughtful.