Tales of terror
IV
‘RED LILY’
On one of the wildest nights for which the Bay of Biscay is notorious,
the sailing ship ‘Sirocco’ was ploughing her way under close-reefed
topsails across that stormy sea. The ‘Sirocco’ was a large, full-rigged
vessel, bound from Bombay towards England, her destination being
London. She had a mixed cargo, though a large percentage of it was
composed of jute. Four months had passed since she cleared from her
port of lading, and was towed out of the beautiful harbour of Bombay
in a dead calm. For many days after the tug left her the ‘Sirocco’ did
nothing but drift with the current. She was as ‘a painted ship upon a
painted ocean.’ No breath came out of the sultry heavens to waft her
towards her haven in far-away England. It was a bad beginning to the
voyage. The time was about the middle of August, and all on board were
anxiously looking forward to reaching their destination in time to
spend Christmas at home. But as August wore out and September came in,
and still the horrid calms continued, pleasant anticipations gave place
to despair, for many a thousand leagues of watery wastes had to be
sailed before the white cliffs of Albion would gladden the eyes of the
wanderers.
The crew of the vessel numbered sixty hands all told, and in addition
there were twenty saloon passengers. With two of these passengers we
have now to deal. The one is a fair young girl, slender, tall, and
delicate. She is exceedingly pretty. Her features are regular and
delicately chiselled. Her hair is a soft, wavy, golden brown, and her
brown eyes are as liquid and gentle as a fawn’s. The pure whiteness of
her neck and temples is contrasted by the most exquisite tinge of rose
colour in the cheeks, which puts, as it were, a finish upon a perfect
picture. The whiteness of her skin, the delicate flush in the face,
the brown, flossy hair, the tall, slender, graceful figure were all so
suggestive of the purest of flowers that her friends for many years
had called her ‘Red Lily.’ Her name was Lily Hetherington, and she yet
wanted some months to the completion of her twenty-first birthday.
Lily was the daughter of an officer of the Hon. East India Company’s
Service--his only daughter, and by him worshipped. For many years he
had been stationed in India, and at last, seeing no chance of returning
to his wife and family, which consisted of two sons in addition to
the girl, he requested them to join him in the East. This request
was quickly and gladly complied with, and Mrs. Hetherington and her
children started on their journey. Mr. Hetherington at that time was
well off, for he had invested all his savings in the Agra and Masterman
Bank, and held shares to a large amount in the concern, the stability
of which, at that period, no one would have dared to have doubted.
Indian officers throughout India swore by it, and they congratulated
themselves, as they entrusted their hard won money to the Bank, that
they were making splendid provision for their wives and children when
those wives and children should become widows and orphans.
As Mr. Hetherington possessed considerable influence he had no
difficulty in quickly procuring his sons suitable appointments. Fond
as he was of his lads, who were aged respectively twenty-two and
twenty-four, his love for them was as nothing when compared with that
he bore for his beautiful daughter, his ‘Bonnie Red Lily,’ as he called
her. Nor was Lily less fond of her father. She was a mere child when he
left England, but she had never forgotten him, and never a mail left
but it bore from Lily a long and loving epistle to the lonely officer,
who was bravely doing his duty in the distant eastern land.
One day, soon after her arrival, Mr. Hetherington said to his daughter
as they sat in the verandah of the bungalow, ‘Lily, my pet, I have got
a little surprise for you.’
‘Have you, pa dear; and pray what is it?’ she answered. ‘You are such a
dear, good kind papa that you are always giving me pleasant surprises.’
‘Well, yes, of course, I like to give you pleasant surprises, but this
one is different from any of the others,’ he returned with a smile, at
the same time stroking her soft brown hair, and looking proudly into
her beautiful face.
‘Oh, do tell me what it is,’ she exclaimed, as he paused in a
tantalising way; ‘do you hear, pa? Don’t keep me in suspense.’
‘Restrain that woman’s curiosity of yours, my darling, and don’t be
impatient.’
‘I declare you are awfully wicked, papa,’ she returned, with a pretty
pout of her red lips. ‘Tell me instantly what it is. I demand to know.’
‘And so you shall,’ he answered, as he kissed her fondly and patted her
head. ‘To-morrow, then, I have a visitor coming to stay with us for a
week or two.’
‘Indeed. Is it a lady or gentleman?’
‘A gentleman.’
‘Oh, do tell me what he’s like.’
‘Well, well, you are a little Miss Curious,’ Mr. Hetherington laughed
heartily as he blew a cloud of blue smoke from his cigar into the
stagnant air. ‘Not to keep you in suspense any longer, then, the
name of my visitor is Dick Fenton, Richard Cronmire Joyce Fenton, to
give him his full name. He is a year or two your senior, and a fine,
handsome, manly young fellow to boot.’
‘Indeed,’ muttered Lily, thoughtfully, as she fancied that her father’s
words had a hidden meaning.
‘Yes. His father was a very old friend of mine, and we saw long service
together. He died some four or five years ago, but before dying he
made me promise I would look after his boy, who was an only child and
motherless. Of course, I gladly gave this promise, and have sacredly
carried it out.’
‘Ah, what a good, kind, generous man you are,’ Lily said, as she
nestled closer to him, and tightened her little white fingers round his
brown, hairy hand.
‘I saw there was stuff in the lad, and I took to him almost as if he
had been my own son. Unfortunately, my good friend Fenton died poor,
and was only enabled to leave three thousand pounds, for which he had
insured his life, for his son’s education. I succeeded in getting Dick
into one of the Company’s training establishments, and the marked
ability he displayed very soon pushed him forward, and having gone
through his cadetship with honour and credit, he was appointed a year
ago to what in time will be a most lucrative post. I have watched the
lad closely, and seen with pride the many noble qualities he possesses,
and I have no doubt at all he will distinguish himself. During the
years that he has been my _protégé_ I have constantly said to myself,
“If my Lily should like Dick, and Dick should like my Lily, they shall
be man and wife.”’
‘Oh, papa!’ exclaimed Lily, as the beautiful tinge in her face deepened
to scarlet, that spread to her neck and temples.
‘Why, my darling, why do you blush so? It is surely every honest
woman’s desire to become a wife, and I am very anxious to see you
comfortably married before I die. Men go off very suddenly in this
treacherous country, and I am well worn with service, and cannot hope
to last much longer. But, understand me, Lily, pet, your own will and
womanly instincts must guide you in this matter. I shall not seek to
influence you in any way, and if you have already given your heart to
another, if he is an honest and worthy man, even though he be poor as
a church mouse, I shall not offer the slightest opposition to your
wishes. It is your future happiness I study, and I am not selfish
enough to attempt to coerce you into an objectionable union.’
Lily rose and twined her arms round her father’s neck, and pressing her
soft, white face to his bronzed cheeks, said:
‘My dear, dear father, I have not given my heart to anyone, and your
wishes are mine.’
On the morrow Fenton duly arrived at Mr. Hetherington’s bungalow.
He had travelled by dawk from a station near Calcutta; and when he
had refreshed himself with a bath, and made himself presentable,
Hetherington took him on one side, and said:
‘Dick, lad, I have repeatedly spoken to you about my daughter, and
before I introduce you to her, let me say that I shall be proud to
have you as a son-in-law, providing that there is the most perfect
reciprocal feeling between you and my Lily. I am not a man of many
words, and I will content myself with remarking that your father was
the very soul of honour. Never disgrace him, and never betray the
confidence I repose in you.’
‘Do not doubt me, sir,’ said Dick. ‘I am indebted to you for
everything, and I should be base if I did anything that could inflict
pain upon you or yours.’
‘Bravely said, my boy. God prosper you. Win Lily if you can; but win
her as a man should.’
Hetherington had previously made known his wishes to his wife, and she
had readily acquiesced in them.
Fenton was, as his guardian had described him, a fine, manly, handsome
young fellow. His frank, open bearing was well calculated to find
favour with women, even if he had not been possessed of good looks.
Hetherington and his wife watched the young people narrowly, and
they soon saw that a mutual liking for each other was springing up,
and before Dick’s leave of two months had expired he and Lily were
betrothed, while the bond between them was that of the most perfect
love.
Dick returned to his station, and Mr. and Mrs. Hetherington
congratulated themselves on having, so far as they were able, provided
for their daughter’s future, a future that seemed likely to be one
of unclouded happiness. ‘L’homme propose, et Dieu dispose,’ says
the French proverb, and never was the proverb more fully borne out
than in this case. Within six months of Dick’s return to his duties,
all civilised India was shocked to its inmost heart by a terrific
commercial convulsion--for so only can it be described. Through the
length and breadth of the land, the fearful rumour spread on the wings
of the wind that the great bank of Agra and Masterman had broken.
Men stood aghast, and women paled with fright, for, to hundreds and
thousands of households in all parts of the world, it meant utter ruin,
as many and many a one at the present day knows to his bitter cost.
Many a widow living in poverty now might have reposed in the lap of
luxury, and many a young man and woman, now in ignorance and want,
might have been otherwise but for this cruel collapse of the great
banking firm. It was so essentially an Indian bank, a depository for
the earnings of Indian servants of the Company, that it affected a
class of people who for the most part had been tenderly nurtured and
led to believe that they occupied, and were destined to occupy so long
as they might live, a good position in life, and to take their stand
among the great middle class of society.
At first men doubted the rumour, but soon the awful truth became too
apparent to be longer questioned, and those who had grown grey and
feeble beneath the burning Indian sun saw now that their few remaining
days must be passed in poverty and misery. It was bitter, very bitter,
but it was fate, and could not be averted.
Amongst the greatest sufferers was Mr. Hetherington. He had invested,
one way and another, nearly one hundred thousand pounds in that bank,
and now every penny piece was gone. The shock came upon him with great
severity. His health had long been failing, and he had looked forward
with great eagerness to retiring from the service in another year and
‘going home’ with his family. But that was never to be now. For a time
he was stunned. He tried to bear up against the blow, but he was only
human; his brain gave way, and in a moment of temporary aberration he
shot himself.
This new grief almost crushed the unhappy widow and her family.
Fortunately ‘the boys’ had good appointments that held out every
promise of improvement, but their incomes at that time were scarcely