"FINCHIE"
The Honourable Mrs. Ffinch was a woman of forty; thin, dark, rather sallow, and not specially noticeable, until she spoke—then her face became transformed; the half-closed, greenish-grey eyes, lit up; the ugly wide mouth revealed beautiful teeth, and an enchanting smile. "Finchie" as her intimates called her, had been endowed with an attractive voice, inexhaustible vitality, and a big brain.
Even her enemies—and these were not a few—admitted her cleverness, and powers of fascination; whilst her friends deplored the lamentable fact that poor "Finchie's" great talents, had no suitable outlet within the circumscribed orbit of a planter's wife. She was gifted with the capabilities of a brilliant hostess, and could have held a salon, or seriously engaged in political and diplomatic affairs; having the gift of a strategic silence, wonderful success in extracting confidences, and the capacity for holding strings;—unfortunately her talents transcended her opportunities!
As the eldest girl of a well-born, but impecunious family, she had, so to speak, "taken the bush out of the gap," for her five sisters, sacrificed her Romance, and married Hector Ffinch; a prosperous tea-planter, whose stolid reserved character, found an irresistible attraction in vivacious Julia Lamerton,—who had the power of imposing her personality on all her surroundings.
After a short and undemonstrative courtship, a quiet wedding and handsome settlements, he carried off his bride to the East. India fell far beneath the lady's expectations; a vivid imagination had misled her; at "Clouds Rest" she found no gay, amusing cantonment, or gorgeous, and amazing entourage—merely a vast tea estate, a large, half-empty bungalow, and a tribe of brown retainers,—last, not least, a dull enough husband! Hector was as heavy and immovable as a block of granite; she, as mobile and restless, as a bit of quicksilver.
For a time, she secretly wept, and bitterly bewailed her fate. It was all so utterly different to what she had expected! Alas, for her plan of inviting her sisters one by one, and marrying them off with success and éclat! "Clouds Rest" was as hopeless (from a matrimonial point of view) as any dead-and-alive rural village.
However, she had one solid consolation—money; also, the still undimmed halo of "the bride"; so she exercised her gifts of oratory and persuasion, and pleaded most eloquently for the company of guests, for a motor, for quantities of new furniture, and a trip home,—at least once in three years. To all these requests, Hector lent a favourable ear; even his lethargic mind realized what the change of surroundings meant to a member of a large and talkative family, and any amount of lively society. The couple had now been married twelve years; and in spite of various visits to England, and many gay excursions to the plains, Julia Ffinch was beginning to weary of this comfortable exile; she could never be happy without a certain amount of excitement—excitement was as necessary to her well-being, as petrol to an engine.
She did a little racing (under the rose)—the telegraph peon's red turban looming along through the tea bushes, gave her appropriate thrills; she played Bridge for rather high stakes; but what afforded her the keenest enjoyment, was intruding into other people's lives; pulling strings, directing their affairs, and making her puppets dance right merrily! This, she considered to be a legitimate and delightful entertainment, and by dint of clever manipulation, contrived to make her immediate neighbours perform with praiseworthy success!
It was thanks to her offices, that a planter's wife at Tirraputty had left her home in a cloud of mystery; she had stage-managed the engagement between Blanche Meach, and a civilian; a notable match,—but then Blanche was very pretty. On the other hand, to her, was attributed the rupture of the affair between Fanny Hicks, and a young fellow in the Woods and Forests, and the dire disgrace of a German Missionary. Many and various matters in which Mrs. Ffinch had taken a part, afforded scope for interviews, letters, stormy scenes (at which she assisted), cables, telegrams, sudden entrances and exits. All of these, the clever operator of the puppet-play, most heartily enjoyed.
Mrs. Ffinch descended the steps with leisurely precision,—offering as she did so, an interesting display of brown silk stockings, and neat brown shoes.—She was immediately followed by her grey-haired, square-headed, and somewhat paunchy lord; and also a guest; a slim, well-groomed gentleman, with closely set black eyes, and a slightly vulpine nose. Some people thought Captain Calvert handsome; to others, he unpleasantly recalled a well-bred greyhound with an uncertain temper.
"Well, Nancy darling," Mrs. Ffinch began in her clear high voice, "so here we are at last! We had a smash—ran into a bullock bandy at a corner—the bandy, like the 'Coo,' got the worst of it!"
Her glance travelled to Mayne, and as her eyes rested on him, they brightened,—after the manner of a hunter who sees game afoot!
A tall, well set-up young fellow, with clear-cut features, candid dark eyes, and an air of distinction—quite a find!
"This is Captain Mayne," explained the hostess, "Captain Mayne—Mrs. Ffinch. He only arrived last evening," she added.
"Oh, really!" murmured the lady; then turning to address him, "I did not hear you were expected, and we always know our neighbours' affairs, as soon as they do themselves."
"Sooner," growled Dawson, who had joined the group, in a hideous green and yellow blazer.
"As a matter of fact," said Mayne, "I was not expected—but came."
"As an agreeable surprise, I am sure!" interrupted Mrs. Ffinch, with one of her radiant smiles. "I must hear all about it later. Nancy, if we are to finish before dark, there's not a second to lose. Do let us begin? I shall choose Captain Mayne, and you Nancy, had better take on Captain Calvert."
"Oh, but I'm booked to play with father!" she protested.
"Nonsense, child! how ridiculous you are! You and he can play all day to-morrow—now you must entertain your guests."
It happened precisely as predicted by Mrs. Hicks,—who made a valiant but useless attempt to retain the young man of her choice,—the Commander-in-chief took all arrangements upon herself. Mayne was secretly amused to see the tall thin figure in a panama hat, the centre of an eager and well-disciplined crowd—who presently scattered—each to their allotted post.
After winning a hardly contested set, Mrs. Ffinch retired to a seat, and called upon her partner to supply her with refreshments. At a long table in their vicinity, two white-clad servants dispensed iced drinks, and a tempting variety of cakes, and sandwiches. As Mrs. Ffinch sipped claret cup, she asked for details respecting Mayne's visit, and remarked as he concluded:
"So you fell from the skies into a crowd of strangers! Well, at any rate Laurence Travers can get you fine sport. You have come to the right shop for that!"
"Yes, but I am rather ashamed to take up his time; he is most awfully busy just now."
"That's true; he works like a horse for another man, and yet he would not put out a finger to save the estate, when it was his own. I suppose you have heard the tale?"
"Well—Dawson did say something about trouble, and absence——"
"Yes, the death of his wife broke Laurence Travers' heart, and the loss of the child nearly sent him off his head."
"He seems fairly sane now," remarked her listener.
"Yes, case of locking the stable door when the steed—or the estate—is gone. Laurence is much too emotional for a man; it was lucky for him that Fairplains was bought by Tom Fletcher, who was sent out here for his health. He is rich, entirely independent of coffee; such a good old fellow, who always looks kindly on the under dog!"
"And Travers was very much under?"
"In the depths," was the emphatic reply; "he was dragged into unknown liabilities by Doria, his manager—an absconding thief. Thanks to Tom Fletcher, he has been set on his legs again; but he only has his monthly screw—should anything happen to Laurence, that girl will be destitute."
"Well, we will hope for the best," said Mayne cheerfully. "Travers looks as active as if he were five and twenty—more than a match for young Byng," nodding towards the players. "I hope he may live long, and be always as happy as he is now!"
"Happy! that is just the word. Did you ever behold anything like the absolute adoration that exists between father and daughter? She is a dear child, but too elemental to be sophisticated, in spite of her eleven years at home. You see her heart was always out here. She is quite a unique flapper, and plays tennis like a boy. What a strong service—do look!"
Mayne looked as desired, and saw the light figure skimming about the court, and noted the remarkable contrast between her brown face and arms, and snow white linen frock; also the uncovered masses of rough reddish hair that now and then caught a gleam of gold.
"No beauty, poor darling, is she?" murmured Mrs. Ffinch.
"If she would only give her complexion a chance!"
"She won't. She is making up now for years of strict hat and glove wearing; and doesn't bother about her personal appearance; all she really cares for are—her father, and Sam the bull terrier. She is also rather devoted to me." A pause. "Well, Captain Mayne," and she laughed, "I'm waiting for you to say, 'I'm not surprised at that!'"
He coloured a little, laughed too, and said:
"Somehow I don't fancy such a compliment would go down up here."
"You are right! We are a simple, and primitive community. If you will dispose of my glass, I'll make you out a social A B C."
"All right," he agreed, as he resumed his seat.
"There is my husband, aged fifty-five, a hard-working enthusiast, who lives for coffee, and sales; sales, and coffee. Ted Dawson too—though he is a bit of a boor—is also an enthusiast, and will also be rich by the time he is fifty—unless he finds gold."
"Gold," repeated Mayne. "What—up here!"
"No, down nearer the plains—some believe there are great reefs and old workings swallowed up in the jungle. Learned people say that Herodotus wrote of how the Indians paid Darius tribute in gold; also that Malabar is Ophir! You know we are not far from there."
"I've just come up from the coast,—and there's no sign of gold—that I am prepared to swear."
"Dr. Hicks believes in the reefs, and he is a very shrewd little man. There you see the family. Mrs. Hicks has money; they say she was a publican's widow; he doctors us all gratis, has a son in a Bank in Madras, and the two girls, Fanny and Jessie. Jessie was extremely pretty at sixteen; then suddenly her nose began to grow! We were afraid it would never stop, but become a real proboscis—only for this feature, Jessie is a beauty. She would look lovely in a Yashmak—her eyes are so fine. Their mother is such an anxiety to those girls."
"It's usually the other way on!"
"Or rather it was—domestic affairs are upside down in these days. The girls cannot control their parent's free and easy manners, her love for bright colours, and dancing, and a good coarse story—a man's story! Do look at her now, leaping up and down like a great india-rubber ball! Isn't it depressing to watch such misdirected energy?"
After a moment's pause, she resumed: "There are two or three of the Meaches here. Their old tyrant usually keeps them at home, toiling for him, that he may gobble up all manner of delicacies, and live on the fat of this land! I'm speaking of Major Meach, who owns a large family, a small estate, and is our champion vampire; bleeds his descendants white, and terrorizes over them all, from his chair in the verandah—he always makes me think of a sick tiger."
"Your neighbours don't seem to be very attractive," remarked Mayne dryly.
"I am beginning with the least interesting—keeping some as a bonne bouche. Nancy, is what you see; refreshingly young, plastic, and impulsive. The Meach sisters are remarkably pretty; their poor mother is a dear martyred saint. The Pollards—those fair-haired boys and the pink girl—are nice young people, but unfortunately a good way off. Mrs. Pollard has a tongue! she cannot be too far! Fairplains is central and here we all meet. India provides its own amusements. How Captain Calvert is enjoying himself with Nancy! Her saucy answers delight him; he has a ridiculous fancy for very young girls, and—parle du diable—here he comes!"
"Hullo, Mayne," he said, mopping his face as he lounged up, "I believe we have met before—on board ship, eh?"
"Yes, the Medina, coming out last September."
"Fancy our forgathering on the hill top like this! Making any stay?"
"A few weeks—I've come for a shoot."
"Lucky chap! Well, I hope you'll have good sport. Can I get you anything, dear lady?" turning to Mrs. Ffinch with anxious solicitude.
"Yes, a match; I'm simply dying for a smoke."
As he bent over her, Mayne rose and relinquished his chair to Mrs. Hicks, who painfully out of breath, was clamouring for "a real big tumbler of hiced 'Ock cup."
The refreshment table was now besieged by a noisy intimate and animated crowd, making fixtures for tennis, picnics, or shoots; in short all manner of social meetings and amenities, and into the midst of them, Mrs. Ffinch glided, in order to contribute her veto, arguments, commands, or consent.
Presently the sudden Indian dusk began to fall, enshrouding the view; a cold blue haze was creeping nearer and nearer, and the congenial company prepared to disperse.
A great "Napier" car belonging to "Clouds Rest" lingered after the Hicks, Meaches, and Pollards had ridden away, and when the lamps were lighted, Mrs. Ffinch said:
"Captain Mayne, I do hope we shall often see you; when Laurence Travers is busy, come up to us. Nancy child, good-bye," embracing her with motherly affection; "I intend to steal your new friend—whenever he is bored here, send him to me," and with these words still trembling in the air, the great motor slid silently away.
"That was not very complimentary to you, was it?" said Mayne, turning to Nancy.
"Oh, she didn't intend it in that way," protested the girl. "She says a great deal she does not mean—so do I!" and she laughed. "There are no end of attractions at 'Clouds Rest'; a billiard table, an electric piano, the motor, and a 'mug' cook, and here we have so little to offer. No indeed—I'm not fishing! but when father has an extra heavy day, and you are idle, I do hope you will not worry about us—but just take Finchie at her word, and ride over to 'Clouds Rest.'"