A RESCUE
The winter had been long and dreary, and held no bright gleams for Nancy, who was sensible of a continuous atmosphere of suppression and oppression! It was now the capricious month of April, and in sympathy with its showers, she secretly shed many tears. Mrs. Jenkins had arrived at the definite decision, that her niece was "unsatisfactory"! This expression had been specially coined by Mrs. Taylor, who put it into daily currency. It was true that now and then the girl had absented herself for an hour or two in the afternoon, taking prolonged walks round the Park, or Kensington Gardens,—attended exclusively by the Pom.—She wasted time in the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Natural History Museum, and had even penetrated to the National Gallery!
Also, she had found her tongue, and ventured to talk to and make acquaintance with the elderly crowd assembled every Tuesday. More than all, she had become careless! She had broken a pet vase, value three francs, and—incredible enormity!—lost a library book—dropped it into the street from the top of a motor-'bus. Her last misdeed was of such gravity, that she had been formally summoned to the drawing-room, there to appear before her judges, and be sharply reprimanded. As Mrs. Jenkins, Miss Dolling, and Mrs. Taylor awaited the culprit, the latter said:
"My dear, you can see for yourself, how that girl is growing worse and worse, and becoming more unsatisfactory every day."
(It should be here explained, that Miss Dolling took a lenient view of Nancy's delinquencies, and was on occasion her ineffectual champion. She had even offered to take her to places of amusement—these invitations never came to Nancy's ears—for Miss Dolling cherished a mild, sentimental regard, for the daughter of her one and only love,—whose photograph, enshrined in silver, she treasured as a sacred relic).
Nancy's latest misdeed was of far-reaching consequence. Detailed to fetch her aunt's best transformation from the hairdressers' (where recently it had been renovated), she had left it in the Tube; abandoned it to the heartless jeers of railway officials, and the publicity of the Lost Property Office! The truth was, that Nancy had that morning heard of the death of Mr. Fletcher, and her thoughts were sad, and far away, as she travelled to South Kensington.—This valuable work of hair art, had cost no less than twelve guineas,—and what was poor Mrs. Jenkins to wear that evening at dinner?
The scolding had been so bitter, and impassioned, that Nancy's humility had at last given way, and as, with heightened colour and shining eyes, she seemed inclined to protest and expostulate, the enemy brought heavier guns to bear.
"Is it true?" demanded Mrs. Jenkins, sitting Buddha-like, with folded arms, "that you write to young men?"
"Yes," replied Nancy, "I do."
"She couldn't deny it!" broke in Mrs. Taylor; "I've seen the letters myself, lying upon the hall table."
"And you smoke cigarettes up in your own room," she added.
"Yes, occasionally," admitted the sinner.
"And waste the electric light, reading in bed," resumed Mrs. Jenkins, raising her voice with each accusation. "Mrs. Taylor saw the light under your door after eleven o'clock at night!"
"I do read in bed,—I've no time to read in the day," answered the girl defiantly.
"Keep your temper, miss!—that is not the way to speak to me," shouted her aunt, in an angry voice.
"No indeed, darling," chimed in Mrs. Taylor, "and after all you have done for her—taken her in, when she was a penniless orphan, and——"
"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Jenkins, "and I hear you have gone behind my back, and complained to Mrs. Devine,—oh, you abominable, ungrateful, double-faced minx!"
"To Mrs. Devine?" repeated Nancy. "I have never spoken to her in my life!"
"I don't believe you!" declared the accuser, her face alarmingly aflame; at this sharp crisis, the door was pushed open, and Galpin announced:
"Mrs. De Wolfe."
Mrs. De Wolfe, handsomely dressed, and completely self-possessed, walked forward to where Nancy stood before her accusers, and said in her masculine bass:
"Oh, my dear Nancy, I'm delighted to find you in at last! Pray introduce me to your aunt?" and she glanced at Mrs. Taylor,—who was still heaving with virtuous indignation.
The atmosphere was heavily charged with electricity, and for a moment Nancy was speechless. Then, hastily recovering herself:
"This is my aunt, Mrs. Jenkins. Aunt Arabella, here is Mrs. De Wolfe, with whom I travelled home in the Patna."
The shock of such an unexpected interruption had suddenly sobered Mrs. Jenkins: for a moment, she had been threatened with palpitation,—but thrust the temptation aside. Recently, she had heard Mrs. De Wolfe referred to as a woman of wealth and social importance; she therefore made an effort to recover her poise, and accord her a gracious reception. After a somewhat breathless and incoherent conversation with her hostess, Mrs. De Wolfe turned to Nancy.
"Have you been here ever since you came home?"
"Yes," she replied, and then boldly added: "I have not taken a situation yet; but I intend to see about one immediately," and she looked straight at her aunt, who encountered her gaze with sullen hostility.
This unexpected reinforcement by Mrs. De Wolfe had given Nancy a species of ephemeral, or "Dutch" courage.
"Oh, are you, my dear? But before you arrange anything definite, I hope you will come and pay me a little visit. I am staying for a couple of weeks at Brown's Hotel, in Dover Street, and shall be glad to have your company at once."
The eyes of Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Taylor met; their expression was significant.
"You are very kind," replied the former, now addressing her visitor, "but my niece is not leaving me—as far as I am aware—but I shall be pleased to spare her to you, for a few days."
"Thank you very much," replied Mrs. De Wolfe. "Then if you will allow me, I will call for her to-morrow."
At this moment other visitors were announced, and Nancy's ally rose and took leave. As she pressed the girl's hand she murmured:
"Had you not better come down with me to the hall,—and see that I don't carry off the umbrellas?"
On the landing, she halted opposite the stuffed dog, and said:
"My poor dear child! The door was ajar, and I heard every word about the cigarettes, the electric light, the reading in bed, the penniless orphan, and Mrs. Devine. What people! As for the big, dark woman, with the red face, positively she frightened me!—she is like a Gorgon!"
"I was getting on all right until just before Christmas when Mrs. Taylor arrived," replied Nancy; "she is dreadfully poor; she hates me, and thinks I am an interloper, and a fortune-hunter. Ever since she came into the house, Aunt Arabella is completely changed."
"I intend that you shall be completely changed," declared Mrs. De Wolfe. "Oh, I must go! I see the man is waiting at the door. I'll call for you to-morrow before twelve o'clock,—and I think you had better bring most of your luggage."
A visit to Mrs. De Wolfe proved a change indeed. Nancy felt another creature, living in another atmosphere, and another city. Oh, the blessed relief, from hearing the ponderous tread of Mrs. Taylor, Galpin's pompous announcements, and the Pom's maddening bark!
She and her hostess shopped in the mornings, motored in the afternoons, and at night, went to concerts, lectures, and the theatre. Within a few days, it had been decided, that Nancy was to be Mrs. De Wolfe's companion for the present,—and to receive sixty pounds a year, on which to dress. Already the girl had felt the stimulating effects of a new and fashionable outfit!
"Without flattering myself, I think I may say, that you will be happier with me, than with Mrs. Jenkins," observed her benefactress; "though I am by no means an angel! Every character has its odd corners, its limits, and its secrets. You are too young to harbour any secrets yet—whilst I have dozens!"
She also added, that later, should anything more satisfactory turn up, Nancy was not to consider herself bound in any way; and so the arrangement, or engagement, was concluded—an engagement which existed for little more than a week.
One afternoon, Nancy, who had just returned from the Park, was informed, that someone who had brought a message, particularly wanted to see her, and she was a good deal surprised, when the door of the sitting-room was opened, and no less a person than Galpin emerged from the passage. He was surprised, too,—as he subsequently confessed, when he imparted particulars of his visit to the lady's maid.
"There was Miss Travers, looking like another girl! her hair all fluffed out, wearing a great big hat covered with feathers—quite the fashionable young lady. I declare to you, Miss Baker, I hardly knew her!"
Galpin, who carried a packet of letters in his hand, peered cautiously round the room, made a stiff little bow, coughed, and said:
"Mrs. Jenkins sent me over special with these letters for you, Miss. She said, there was one that looked like a business matter, and is anxious to know what it is all about? She thinks, as you have been doing secretary work for her—that maybe there's a mistake in the name—as it's from a firm of lawyers. I was to bring back the letter, Miss, and to give Mrs. Jenkins' love, and to tell you how the Pom misses you."
Nancy received and hastily examined the letters. The Indian Mail was in. There was a thick one from Finchie, a thin one from Nellie Meach, and a postcard from Francis, on which was inscribed, "The dog Togo is too well." Besides these, one was in a blue envelope, on the flap of which was printed, the name of a legal firm. She sat down to open this,—in order to at once satisfy her aunt; whilst Galpin waited, hat in hand, with an air of respectful curiosity.
As Nancy glanced over the neatly-written lines, she faintly grasped an almost incredible fact. Mr. Fletcher's will had recently been read; he had endowed her with Fairplains, and an income of two thousand a year! This was the substance of what she gathered, through a maze of legal expressions. For a moment, she imagined that she must be dreaming. Then she slowly went over the pages, and noted, that the firm requested an immediate interview, and that one of their clerks would wait upon her at an hour, and date, to be hereafter fixed.
For a moment or two she sat motionless, endeavouring to collect her faculties; then, with considerably heightened colour, she raised her head, and looked up at Galpin,—who almost conveyed the impression that he was in attendance at table, and waiting to remove her plate!
"Please tell Aunt Arabella, that the letter was really for me, and contains good news. I will write to her to-night."
"Very well, Miss. Is that all—ahem—no particulars?" Galpin's tone expressed extreme disappointment.
"No particulars," rising as she spoke; "good afternoon, Galpin, I think you can find your way down," and she indicated the door.
As soon as this had closed behind Galpin's broad back, Nancy, letter in hand, rushed into Mrs. De Wolfe's bedroom. The old lady, who had only recently come in, was changing her boots, assisted by the invaluable Haynes.
"I've just had this," announced the girl breathlessly. "Aunt Arabella sent it over by Galpin; she wanted so much to know what it was all about? Do look at it—and tell me if you think it's real?"
Mrs. De Wolfe hastily dismissed her maid, and with one boot on, and one boot off, assumed her glasses and deliberately studied the letter; then she looked up at Nancy, and said:
"An heiress, I declare! My dear, I congratulate you. I am glad."
"Do you think it's true? I can hardly believe it! Oh, I feel I'd like to run about, and tell the whole hotel of my wonderful good fortune. It's not the money so much,—but Fairplains—how splendid of Mr. Fletcher, and oh, if father were only alive!"
"Fairplains. Yes, it was your father's once, now it is yours; you were born there, and love it; but a solid income is a satisfactory fact. Well, now you are independent, and can engage a companion—or a chaperone."
"I want to stay with you!"
"But what will Mrs. Jenkins say?" and Mrs. De Wolfe laughed. "How I should like to see her face, when she hears that you are no longer 'a penniless orphan!'"
When Mrs. Jenkins received the news, she was so startled, and upset, that she felt compelled to ring for Baker to bring her some special heart drops; and yet she was gratified in a way. To have a niece who was an heiress, increased—if that were possible—her sense of her own importance. Mrs. Taylor was also gratified. There would now be no question of the return of Nancy to Queen's Gate; no fear of her inheriting Mrs. Jenkins' substantial fortune; she would without further exertions, have the house, and the, so to speak, "field" to herself.
When the heiress arrived to pay her formal visit to Queen's Gate, she found her aunt in her most agreeable temper. Nancy might almost have been a titled acquaintance, so effusive was her welcome! After a few preliminaries, she said:
"Well, Nancy, so you've come in for a coffee estate, and a large sum of money! That is nice for you."
"I suppose there's no fear of the will being disputed?" said Mrs. Taylor—ever ready with disagreeable suggestions.
"I think not," replied the heiress. "I remember Mr. Fletcher telling us, that he was the last of his family."
"You won't know what to do with all your money," declared Mrs. Jenkins with a complacent smile. "Of course you will return here."
"Return!" repeated the girl blankly.
"Why, certainly, you must live with me; it is your natural home. It would be most extraordinary if you did not! What would people say? I am your only near relative. You will be putting off your mourning, and I shall take you out this season,—and perhaps give a dance for you. You shall have a room on the next floor,—and I daresay you can keep a maid."
Mrs. Taylor's face clouded over as she listened to these luxurious arrangements. How close Arabella had been; the sly old thing had never dropped a word of these plans, during their nightly conferences.
"Thank you, Aunt Arabella," replied Nancy, "but I am going to travel with Mrs. De Wolfe. We shall probably be abroad for a year. I have never been on the Continent; and I think we shall start as soon as the lawyers have finished with my affairs."
"That is a monstrous idea; I shall not give my consent," declared her aunt with a very pink face. "Mrs. De Wolfe is a complete stranger. Ten days, or a fortnight, is all very well, but you cannot go about the world with a woman who is nothing to you beyond being a fellow passenger. It would be most unseemly. Remember that you are not of age yet,—and have no right to do just as you please."
"I see no objection," murmured Nancy.
"You see me," announced Mrs. Jenkins with emphasis, "I am the objection. You cannot deny, that I stand to you in the place of a parent—that I have received you,—and adopted you"—here she paused to sneeze.
"I was not aware that you had adopted me, Aunt Arabella; and I think I had better say at once, that I should be sorry to have any disagreement with you, but I cannot admit that you have any right to control me. Mrs. De Wolfe and I, are starting for Italy in a few days, and this visit is not merely to tell you about my plans,—but to say good-bye."
"My dear, I think Nancy is very wise," proclaimed Mrs. Taylor, advancing unexpectedly to her rescue. "You know, that she has seen nothing of the world as yet; and she is so young; the tour will complete her education. Mrs. De Wolfe is a friend of the dear Foresters, and the aunt of Lady Bincaster, quite all that she ought to be! Judging by my own feelings, I am sure that Nancy would not care to go into company yet; and anyway, the state of your health could never stand the strain of playing chaperone, and keeping late hours. Now could it?" laying her heavy hand upon her friend's fat arm. "Of course we all know, that you are always only too ready to sacrifice yourself for others; but your friends could never permit you to undertake, what would be practically, a sort of prolonged suicide!"
"Well, I suppose there is something in what you say," admitted Mrs. Jenkins, after a moment's reflection, reluctantly releasing the vision of a wealthy niece on show—and so to speak, bearing her own train.
Indeed, such was the effect of Mrs. Taylor's soothing, and cooling remarks, that by degrees, her old school-fellow recovered her temper and complacency. She talked about the Continent, of her triumphal progress through various cities, and related the tale of a tragic experience in the Tyrol, where it had been whispered "that a gallant young Austrian officer had precipitated himself from a mountain peak, solely on her account!"
After half an hour's discourse,—chiefly reminiscent,—Mrs. Jenkins had talked herself into a condition of the utmost good humour, and with the promises of letters, and many picture postcards, the visitor was permitted to take leave.
As Nancy departed, she noticed Baker peering at her over the banisters, and nodded to her affably, as she descended the stairs,—on which she had made many weary journeys—also it seemed to her, that Galpin the pompous, held the hall door extra wide, and was impressively benignant, as she passed forth.