AS POOR RELATION
Nancy soon fell into the routine of the household, and led an active, useful life at 900, Queen's Gate. Undoubtedly it was good for her, that she had no leisure, nor any opportunity for reflection and solitude, save when in bed. Then she was so thoroughly tired, that she fell asleep almost as soon as her head was on the pillow. After all, the daily régime of this elderly establishment, was not so irksome to a girl who had been for years, accustomed to the strict discipline of a boarding school.
Within a week, the new arrival had learnt her aunt's chief ailments and requirements, taken a sharp impression of her character, and was not a little amazed at her own capabilities in measuring drops, picking up stitches, and writing notes. She also read aloud, and went endless messages. Many a tiresome errand did she save Baker, and the cook; many a toilsome journey did she make up those long flights of stairs: the excuse for such constant perambulation, being, "that she was young!"
At first, her visit had been spoken of as "temporary," Mrs. Taylor and Miss Dolling being actively engaged in searching for a suitable post for the interloper. The former, was particularly anxious to be rid of this too useful, and obedient relative,—who accomplished her tasks without complaint or murmur. The truth was, that Nancy had not forgotten Mrs. De Wolfe's wise counsel, and inwardly soothed her amour propre by saying to herself, "Aunt Arabella is Daddy's sister, and I must try to please her; though lots of the things I have to do, are hateful,—and Mrs. Taylor is more detestable than everything put together!"
Her most unwelcome task, was that of exercising the Pom twice daily on a lead—a job that really belonged to Baker. He was a little animal with an odious character,—and not a gentleman; quarrelsome, and insulting to other dogs, shamelessly greedy and inquisitive, and with a bark, that was almost worse than a bite!
Meanwhile Nancy plodded along, buoyed up by hope and letters,—hope that "Finchie" would be home in the spring, and find her a nice situation—with payment. Here, naturally, she received no salary; her wealthy aunt was in some ways surprisingly stingy; a miser with respect to stamps, and extraordinarily mean in the matter of coal, electric light, cab fares, and newspapers. As for the electric light, they often sat in semi-darkness, and yet Mrs. Jenkins thought nothing of paying from twenty to thirty guineas for a gown, or a shilling for a plover's egg!
Nancy's happiest moments were when the Indian mail arrived, and brought her long despatches from "Finchie," from Francis, from the Hicks family, and Teddy Dawson. The latter had once enclosed in a letter what is known as a "fat" cheque, amounting to sixty-three pounds and some odd shillings, which had been paid into Ted's account on her behalf by Mayne. This cheque was promptly returned, and Nancy scribbled at white heat, "I will not touch this money; please do not offer it again, or ever mention Captain Mayne; all that is a dreadful dream, which I am doing my best to forget."
Letters from India were not the only ones addressed to Miss Travers from the outer world. She had received a short note from Mrs. De Wolfe, and several ill-spelt scrawls, indited by Mr. Fletcher's valet. He was now living in a sanatorium in Switzerland, a confirmed invalid; indeed the valet, who was a Scotchman, informed Nancy that his master was "far through." Mr. Fletcher wished to hear how his little Nancy was faring? if she had need of money, and if her aunt kept her well supplied? otherwise she knew where to come for it. He would be her banker. But poor as she was, Nancy preferred to be independent. A portion of her savings, still remained intact.
She sent frequent letters to her old friend, gratefully declining his offer—telling him everything about herself, that she thought might interest or please him,—carefully omitting all disagreeables; she also added scraps of news, gleaned from her Indian correspondence; in short, Nancy had the art of composing cheery epistles, which were deeply appreciated by a sick, and solitary exile.
In August, Mrs. Jenkins journeyed to Harrogate, bearing Nancy and Baker in her train. The lady much preferred Scarborough, and cast many wistful thoughts in that direction, but then Baker had a married sister living at Harrogate, so there it was—or rather, there she was!
Mrs. Jenkins stayed for several weeks at a fashionable hotel, consulted a new doctor, sat about the gardens, sipped the waters, and compared gossip and symptoms with her friends. During the latter part of the visit, she allowed Nancy to spend a short time with Mrs. Briscoe at Eastbourne, whilst Mrs. Taylor, who had been languishing in her poky little flat, stepped nimbly into her shoes.
Nine hundred, Queen's Gate, was reopened at the end of September. The charwoman's parties came to an end, and the carriage horses no longer took the coachman's friends to Hampton Court, Kew, or "the pictures." Everything gradually settled into the usual routine, as far as Nancy was concerned; exercising the Pom, changing the library books, shopping at the Stores, and attending upon her relative.
One afternoon, as laden with parcels, she re-entered the house, Galpin handed her a card, on which was inscribed, "Mrs. De Wolfe, Newenham Court. So very sorry to miss you." The card was presently followed by a note, inviting Nancy to lunch with Mrs. De Wolfe at her hotel, but this, alas! she was compelled to decline, as the date fixed, happened to be her aunt's weekly "day," and she was on duty with the teapot.
A second note from Mrs. De Wolfe, repeated her disappointment at not seeing her young friend, especially as she was about to leave London, in order to spend the winter in the West Indies. Her disappointment was as nothing to Nancy's, for in her case, it was increased by despondency.
Ever since her arrival, under her aunt's roof, Mrs. Taylor had been ceaselessly endeavouring to remove her elsewhere. She had sought out, and suggested several situations, but these on examination had not proved to be satisfactory. One, was as an apprentice in a ladies' blouse and hat shop—to assist in the showroom and workroom, hours eight to six, dinner provided—no remuneration, but then "it was such a good opening," that Mrs. Taylor was enthusiastic. Another "opportunity," of which Nancy refused to avail herself, was as typist to a rising young dentist—and to give some assistance with the patients!
"But I'm afraid of dentists, and I cannot type!" protested Nancy. "If Aunt Arabella wishes, I can find a situation. Mrs. Briscoe will arrange for me—she has offered to do so."
Greatly to her friend's dismay, Mrs. Jenkins was not at present disposed to part with her useful slave, and sternly commanded Henrietta to postpone the search.
Autumn passed without any particular change; Nancy developed into a sort of extra lady's-maid, companion, secretary, and butt; Mrs. Jenkins saw a good deal of company: when her health permitted she was at home on "Tuesdays," and received many visitors,—as her teas were proverbially well provided—fruit and ices, were not unknown. These Tuesday afternoons, entailed weary hours for her niece, who stood pouring out, handing cakes, and generally assisting Galpin.
Mrs. Jenkins also gave occasional solemn dinners. These banquets were usually attended by various elderly men of her acquaintance, as she had a notable cook, and a famous bin of superior old port. At such festivities, Nancy was not expected to appear; her mourning was too deep. It was for this reason also, that Nancy was never invited to accompany her relative to any place of amusement. Mrs. Jenkins declared, that she could not possibly go into society for a full twelve-month. Her idea on the subject of mourning, was strict, and old-fashioned—mourning by the year,—crêpe by the yard. When the banquets took place, Nancy wrote out the menus, and name cards, arranged the flowers, and Bridge tables, and then thankfully retreated to the breakfast-room with a novel, and the Pom.
Sometimes she felt that this life was almost too difficult! Mrs. Taylor's poisonous influence told heavily against her; her enemy was so often with her in the Gate; she lunched or dined two or three times a week,—and having a genuine appetite for small doles, carried away fresh eggs, extra flowers, half-cut cakes, a box of scented soap, and similar useful largesse! After her visits, Nancy always found her aunt more than usually snappy, and ill to please; yet on the other hand, Mrs. Jenkins had what her niece mentally called "her good days." On these, she would talk glibly enough about her brother Laurence; his mad pranks, his high spirits, his good looks, extraordinary love for animals, and general popularity with old and young.
It also seemed to the girl—who was gifted with a vivid imagination—that now and then, in her aunt's conversation, she caught a faint echo of familiar expressions, and that she saw at long intervals on the face of her despotic relative, a glimmer of her father's smile! For these somewhat far-fetched, and flimsy reasons, Nancy still clung to her post. After all, Aunt Arabella, with her funny ways, was her only near relative. She was Daddy's sister too, they had been brought up in the very same nursery, and had shared the same home.
The talks of "old times" at Lambourne, were considerably discounted by Mrs. Jenkins' rosy and prosy reminiscences of her own personal triumphs. On this subject, she could expatiate for hours,—content with a silent audience, or an occasional ejaculation.
"I daresay, my dear," she remarked to her niece, "that your father often told you, that I was the beauty of Blankshire, and how people would stand upon the road to look at me, and push and fight each other, to travel in the same railway carriage. The County ball was actually postponed, until I had returned home. After I was married, when I had a box at the theatre, it was most unpleasant the way the audience stared—every opera-glass levelled at poor me—and people waited in the vestibule, to see me pass out. Once when we were dining at a foreign restaurant, the prince of a royal house, sent round to inquire my name? Your uncle was furious, and I am sure it was the prince who sent me every morning, a most beautiful bouquet of flowers!"
She also related at considerable length, how several great artists had humbly implored permission to paint her portrait, but had been rudely snubbed by dearest Samuel: who had never allowed her picture to be on public exhibition.
Nancy listened with attentive interest to these tales of triumph, and faithfully believed in them. It may have been due to this artless confidence and appropriate deference, that she and her aunt were perceptibly drawing closer to one another; Nancy would receive an occasional kiss, a little patting of her hand, or even a word of praise, and thanks.
Alas, shortly before Christmas, a slump in Mrs. Taylor's dividends and a severe financial crisis, figuratively cast that lady at the feet of her wealthy school-fellow. Dearest Henrietta was received with open arms, offered the best spare bedroom, the second best, and most comfortable arm-chair, and soon settled down with remarkable ease into the position of an established resident.
Not long after this acquisition to the family circle, Mrs. Jenkins' manner to her niece underwent a change; she became querulous and fault-finding, and her "good days" were rare. Once, when the girl had ventured to speak of her old home, her friends, the far-away blue hills, and the coffee estate, Mrs. Taylor had coughed significantly, and her aunt had said:
"There, that will do, Nancy, that will do! I don't want to hear anything about those people; I am not interested."
As there were visitors present, Nancy was overwhelmed, and put to open shame by such a resounding slap in the face. Perhaps, after all, it was excellent discipline; Nancy the impulsive, was rapidly mastering the noble art of self-effacement and self-control. Her sorest trial was experienced of an evening, when Bridge was played, and Miss Dolling made a fourth. The scoldings administered to Nancy—especially when playing with Mrs. Taylor—made her so nervous that her mistakes were flagrant. She had actually been known to trump her partner's best card; more than once, she had been driven from the table in disgrace, and the rubber had ended in "cut throat."
Only for Mrs. Taylor (whose dislike amounted to personal enmity), Nancy believed that her aunt would have given her a small share of her heart; and for her own part, she made a great effort to storm her affections; but her attempts were invariably foiled by the sinister influence of Mrs. Taylor, who had marked "darling Arabella" for her own! She had reason to believe that her name was in "the will"—and naturally the fewer legatees the better!
Arabella was so weak and impressionable, she might take it into her head to make this niece her heiress! The girl was apparently good-tempered, and willing—but in reality, cunning, and deceitful. Arabella was of full habit; an apoplectic seizure might carry her off in a few hours, and she (Henrietta Taylor) was bound to be on her guard, and to take the situation firmly in hand. With this virtuous intention, she made stinging speeches, transformed harmless remarks, accused Nancy of untruth, and impertinence, and did her utmost to figuratively crush her out of existence like a black beetle, and create a wide breach between aunt and niece. Mrs. Taylor was particularly careful never to leave the pair alone; a tête-à-tête was always a serious danger to be avoided: precisely as if Mrs. Jenkins was a lovely young heiress—and Nancy, some unprincipled and discountenanced suitor! If by chance, she entered a room and there discovered the girl established with her relative, she looked so alarmingly black and lowering, that Nancy received an impression, that she had been caught in the act of stealing something that was the property of Aunt Arabella's old friend!
On the other hand, when Nancy found the couple together, her appearance was the signal for an abrupt and significant silence,—undoubtedly she and her short-comings, had been the topic of conversation.
In spite of this, Nancy had an instinctive impression that her aunt was a little afraid of her towering, black-browed inmate; once, when she made her a trifling and inexpensive present, she added:
"Don't show it to Henrietta," and on several occasions, she had whispered, "Not a word of this, to Mrs. T.!"
Mrs. Taylor was now enjoying what might be called "the time of her life." Of an afternoon, she accompanied her friend in the comfortable landau, behind a pair of fat brown horses,—royally arrayed in a superior, if secondhand, ermine stole, and muff. She was carried to theatres, lectures, concerts, and At homes: was suffered to make the first pounce upon new novels, enjoy breakfast in bed at pleasure,—and glasses of port at discreet intervals. Moreover, she had been endowed with several imposing costumes; and yet she was not happy! for Nancy Travers represented "Mordecai the Jew," in Queen's Gate,—and until she was dislodged, her enemy could know no peace.
It was ten months since Nancy had arrived from India, ten months of suppressed grief, hard work, and complete isolation. She had recovered her health,—thanks to incessant occupation, early hours, and good plain food. "The girl was picking up," as her aunt expressed it, and once or twice, she had actually been moved to remark, that in Nancy's now flawless skin, she saw something of "the family complexion!" (meaning her own). In spite of "the family complexion," Nancy was not treated as a relative, but an employée; her status in the establishment was that of a superior "tweenie"; as time went on, there were no longer any references to "old days at Lambourne," no affectionate pattings or strokings, no confidences, or small gifts—much less a condescending kiss.
Mrs. Taylor made as much mischief as lay in her power, and fomented and instigated "rows." She never gave her adversary credit for one good trait, but held up all her short-comings, in the domestic limelight. Late at night, when established at her ease in her friend's bedroom, she "talked over" the iniquities of the day with unctuous eloquence.
She (the chief parasite) loudly bewailed her poor darling Arabella's fate, in being compelled to support a thankless hanger-on! Pointed out, that Nancy was secretive, that she wrote too many letters, wasting her time and stamps; that she was cruel to the Pom, and flirted with the new doctor—even going so far as to lie in wait for him in the hall! Every one of these indictments was a deliberate and inexcusable falsehood; and perhaps Mrs. Jenkins, at the back of her mind, reminded herself that Henrietta "exaggerated"; but at last, after many vigorous efforts, Henrietta succeeded in rousing her effectually. One night, as soon as she had settled herself for the usual talk, she began abruptly:
"I do believe that girl has been complaining to Mrs. Devine, telling her that she is miserable here,—at least, that is what I inferred, from what Mrs. Devine said to me to-day. She was quite sniffy and stand-off, and refused a cup of tea."
"What did she say?" demanded Mrs. Jenkins fiercely.
"She said, that it was noticed how Miss Travers always went about alone; quite a well-known figure in Kensington Gardens, a tall girl in mourning, taking a Pom for exercise. That she was never to be seen with her aunt in the carriage, or at any place of amusement."
"Why, of course not!" burst out Mrs. Jenkins; "her year of mourning is not nearly up. What else?" she demanded dramatically.
"That she appeared to have no young friends."
"Is it likely, my good Henrietta, that I would allow my house to be overrun and turned upside down by a pack of young people, simply to amuse a girl who has to look to me, for her daily bread? I never cared for Mrs. Devine, but I had intended to invite her to my next large dinner-party. Now I shall cross her name off the list—she shall eat no more dinners or luncheons, here!"
"I should hope not!" said Mrs. Taylor emphatically, "for Mrs. Murray told me privately, how Mrs. Devine had remarked to her, that the girl was treated more like a servant, than a relative: said she was shabbily dressed, neglected, and snubbed, and that if Miss Travers had a spark of spirit, she would find another situation—and clear out!"
This conversation proved extremely agitating to Mrs. Jenkins. It came as a revelation; a shattering mental avalanche: that anyone among her acquaintance should dare to find fault with her! The extraordinary influence of Mrs. Taylor, was entirely due to her unfailing supply of the most honeyed flattery! Misguided Arabella, was invariably told the things she wished to hear, and lived under the impression, that she was beyond the reach of criticism; everything she did was right; she had felt complacently assured that her neighbours and friends unanimously applauded her, for her benevolence in giving a home to her orphan niece!
The recent exciting and unexpected information, brought on a sharp attack of nervous palpitation.—Whenever Mrs. Jenkins was annoyed, she immediately complained of "palpitation."—Mrs. Taylor had swift recourse to the usual remedy, a bottle of drops—and as she handed the wine-glass to her patroness, she said impressively:
"Darling Arabella, you know, you will never have any comfort or peace, until you get rid of that girl. She is accomplished, I understand, and now she is nineteen, and looks years older than when she arrived, surely her friend Mrs. Briscoe can find her a situation as governess?"
"No, no," protested Mrs. Jenkins, "I won't have that—Nancy is useful; clever with her fingers, active on her feet; the Pom is fond of her, and you know how few people he likes! Baker, too, though terribly against Nancy at first, thinks her a nice young lady. Of course, I need not tell you, that I never bargained for a girl in the house; and I daresay I should be happier without her, but if I were to allow Nancy to go away, and take a situation—just think of the talk!"
"It would be much better to have one big talk,—and get it over," declared Mrs. Taylor philosophically, "better to clear the air, than to have perpetual whispering. Some people are never happy, unless they are picking holes in such as you—whose shoes they are not fit to clean. And now, dearest Arabella, I cannot bear to see you worried,—as you know. If you could only make up your mind to let Nancy take a situation, we should all be so much more comfortable. Remember she is not actually your own niece; only your stepbrother's daughter. Do, do, think it over—good-night, my own—darling!"
"Good-night, Henrietta, and be sure you turn out the electric light on your landing. Last week, you left it on all night, and just think of how that will add to my quarterly bill!"