The Siege of Krishnapur - J. G. Farrell [15]
“White ants?” The Doctor suffered a moment’s alarm, remembering the violin and the owls. “No, I don’t think so. At least, I suppose there may be, somewhere...”
“I’ve brought a lot of books. I just wondered whether I should take measures to protect them.’
“Oh, I see what you mean,” exclaimed the Doctor with relief. “I don’t think you need worry about that. In Krishnapur, perhaps, but not here.” He had given himself a fright about nothing! He could hardly have been more rattled if Fleury had asked him outright for some white ants steamed in a pie! What an old fool he was becoming, to be sure.
Now at last the ladies could be heard descending and the Doctor and Fleury moved towards the door to greet them. As they did so, the Doctor’s sleeve brushed a vase standing on a small table and it shattered on the floor. The ladies entered with cries of grief and alarm to find the two gentlemen picking up the pieces.
“My dear fellow,” the Doctor was saying consolingly to Fleury. “Please don’t apologize. It wasn’t in the least your fault and, besides, it was an object of small value.” And he smiled benignly at Fleury, who stared back at him in amazement. What on earth did the Doctor mean? Of course it was not his fault. How could it have been?
This accident to the vase would not have particularly mattered, Mrs Dunstaple explained rather stiffly to Fleury, if it had been theirs; unfortunately, it happened to belong to the people who had let the house to them. However, there was no point in worrying about it now.
“I’m frightfully sorry,” murmured Fleury, in spite of himself. He was painfully conscious of the loveliness of Louise who had come forward to watch this regrettable scene.
“Really, Dobbin!” said Miriam crossly. “You’re so clumsy. Why don’t you look what you’re doing?” Fleury blushed and glared at his sister; he had told her a hundred times not to call him “Dobbin”. And this was the worst possible moment for her to forget, with the lovely, slightly disdainful Louise standing there. But perhaps Louise had failed to notice.
The slight feeling of awkwardness which attended Fleury’s clumsiness was soon forgotten, however, in the news that Mr Hopkins, the Collector of Krishnapur, and Mrs Hopkins had just then called to pay their respects and to allow Mrs Hopkins to say farewell to her dear friends, the Dunstaples, before embarking for England. Close on the heels of this announcement came Mrs Hopkins herself, and both Fleury and Miriam were concerned to see how harrowed and grief-stricken she looked. She was already sobbing as she advanced to embrace Louise and Mrs Dunstaple.
“Carrie, dear, you must not upset yourself. I shall have to take you away if you continue.” The Collector had followed his wife into the drawing-room with such a silent tread that Fleury jumped at these words, spoken without warning at his elbow. He turned to see a man who looked like a massive cat standing beside him; a faint perfume of verbena drifted from his impressive whiskers.
Mrs Hopkins stood away weakly from Mrs Dunstaple, still weeping but attempting to dry her eyes. Ignoring the introductions that the Doctor was trying to effect, she said to Miriam: “I’m so sorry, you must forgive me...My nerves are very poor, you see, my youngest child, a boy, died just six months ago during the hot weather...ever since then I find that the least thing will upset me. He was just a baby, you see...and when we buried him all we could think of was to put a daguerrotype of his father and myself in his little arms...It was made by one of the native gentlemen and we had been meaning to send it home to England but we decided it would be better to put it in the baby’s coffin with some roses...You know, perhaps you will think me foolish but I feel just as sad to be leaving the country where his grave lies as I am to be leaving all my dearest friends...”
Fleury had the