MRS. FFINCH INTERVENES
The Honourable Mrs. Ffinch was not merely the happy possessor of an energetic mind, but of an elastic physique. As soon as she had recovered from the shock of Travers' death, heart and soul she set about arranging his affairs—naturally beginning with his orphan daughter!
Accordingly the afternoon after the funeral, the Clouds Rest car once more glided up to Fairplains. On this occasion the visitor was immediately admitted to see Nancy; who thanks to Mrs. Hicks' almost violent insistence, had rested and eaten a mid-day meal. The white and tearless girl submitted very patiently to her friend's caresses and condolence. At last Mrs. Ffinch released her, and sat down,—still holding her hand, as if she feared her escape,—began to talk to her most seriously.
"Well, my dear child, I've settled everything! your room at Clouds Rest is ready, the Dirzee is waiting to fit your mourning, and I have come to fetch you away,—for I don't intend to leave you another day with Mrs. Hicks."
"She has been so very, very kind," murmured Nancy, "I don't know what I should have done without her."
The visitor dismissed this statement, with an impatient gesture, as she resumed:
"And there's Captain Mayne! What is he waiting for?"
"I suppose he is waiting for me," was the unexpected reply.
Mrs. Ffinch's large thin-lipped mouth opened, but no words came forth, she merely gaped upon her young friend.
"We were married on Friday," calmly announced the bride.
"You were—what?" cried Mrs. Ffinch, hastily rising and towering over the speaker.
"Married—married in the drawing-room here. Father wished it."
"And you?" demanded her breathless inquisitor.
"Oh no."
Here, within a few hours, was the second shock which Mrs. Ffinch had sustained. To return to a hum-drum neighbourhood, after merely a week's absence, and to find awaiting her, not only a sudden death, but a sudden, amazing, and crazy marriage! Her head felt swimming; yet such was the lady's ruling passion and ardour for managing, that even this unparalleled situation, presented its compensations! With admirable persistence and patience, she succeeded in dragging some facts from her half-stunned and apathetic companion; and when all was made clear, she said:
"Fancy! of all people in the world—you and Derek Mayne! Such a hopelessly unsuitable couple to be chained together for life! What have you in common?"
Nancy shook her head. She was not in a frame of mind to furnish either reasons, or arguments.
"Nothing whatever," resumed Mrs. Ffinch, answering her own question. "Certainly not sport—you merely went shooting, so as to be with your Daddy: you know you hate killing things; you and Mayne agreed to sacrifice yourselves, just to give that poor fellow an easy mind. My dear, have you thought of the future?"
Nancy made no reply, her eyes were fastened on the corner of the room. Undoubtedly her thoughts were miles away from her companion.
"Has Captain Mayne any plans? Come, come, Nancy, don't look so dull, and dazed."
"I don't know."
"Don't know," repeated her friend, in a tone of exasperation. "My dear good child, do try and rouse yourself, and think."
"I think," said the girl, speaking very deliberately and as if talking was an immense effort, "that he is going away the day after to-morrow."
"And you too?"
"I suppose so," assented the bride, in a tone of stolid indifference.
"Good heavens—you 'suppose,' and you 'don't know.' Have you talked it over together?"
"No," was the whispered reply.
Mrs. Ffinch threw up her shapely hands with a gesture of despair.
"This private marriage has taken place simply because your father saved your husband's life."
"Don't call him my husband!" burst out Nancy, with a lightning flash of her former self.
"Well, dear, I won't, if you don't like it. Your poor Daddy has left you alone—and from what I hear—almost penniless."
These were hard words, and facts; but the Honourable Julia Ffinch never flinched from the plainest of plain-speaking.
"And Mayne naturally feels bound in honour to provide for you."
An expressive silence followed this bald statement.
"Dear me, how you do stare, child! You know, I'm fond of you, Nancy, darling, and I'm most frightfully upset about all this terrible trouble; but just at the moment, I want to put my own feelings entirely aside, and try and act for your benefit. I had no idea, that we were in the least likely to lose you, or that you were on the brink of such an awful leap in the dark. There's no time to be lost; now is the moment for action. I shall go and have a good square talk with Captain Mayne. I see him wandering about outside, looking for all the world as if he were a lost dog."
As Mrs. Ffinch stepped down from the verandah to accost him, her first words were:
"So you and Nancy are married!"
"Yes," he replied. "Don't you approve?"
"I am simply horrified," she answered, with deliberate emphasis. "Yes, I am."
"But why?" he asked. "It was quite a sound thing to do."
"Only for the circumstances of the case, neither of you would ever have dreamt of such a mad proceeding. Come, would you—honour bright?"
"Well, I don't suppose we should," he admitted reluctantly.
"Now look here, Captain Mayne," turning to pace beside him. "I must speak my mind. You don't care a pin for one another. Nancy is a mere child of freedom, a child still in many ways, and totally inexperienced; you spend your life in military harness. What will become of her as a regimental lady?"
Mayne coloured, and gave a short uneasy laugh.
"Oh, she'll be all right, I daresay."
"Why, only the other day you solemnly assured me, that you wouldn't marry for years—if ever. I remember you quoted Kipling, 'He travels fastest, who travels alone.'"
"That's true," he admitted, "but unexpected things happen. One never can tell. I daresay Nancy and I will worry along as well as other people."
"What a nice, cheerful way of looking at it," exclaimed Mrs. Ffinch.
"Well, of course we have made an awkward sort of start; and at present Nancy, who used to be my best friend, cannot endure me in her sight. I shall let her have everything her own way—anyhow for a time—for I can thoroughly understand her feelings. Only for me, her father might be here talking to you at this moment. However, I intend to do my big best. Perhaps once Nancy has left these surroundings, she may not take things so desperately hard. Our Colonel's wife is a rare good sort, and will mother her; and I'll bring along the old ayah, the pony, and the dog, so that she won't feel altogether too strange. I must go down the day after to-morrow; and there are lots of things to settle up before that."
"You will come over, and say good-bye to us, won't you? Hector would like to see you, to talk business. He is arranging for a temporary manager until he hears from Mr. Fletcher. He sent him a cable yesterday."
After a little conversation respecting the new manager, and the winding-up of the household, Mrs. Ffinch returned to Nancy, whom she found precisely as she had left her, sitting with clasped hands, and downcast eyes, staring hard at the floor.
"Come, come, my dear!" she protested briskly, "try and put away your grief for a few minutes, and listen to me,—for I'm going to talk to you, for your life-long good."
Nancy raised herself with an effort, and gazed at her adviser with a pair of large, lack-lustre, eyes.
"Nancy, I have come to the conclusion, that you and Captain Mayne can never be happy together. He is not one bit in love—I suppose you realize that. He married you simply to fulfil what he considered a duty,—the payment of an enormous debt! He belongs to a totally different class—County people. I know his uncle—and I know his mother—an odious, overbearing, cat! A super cat! I daresay you are just as well born, but you will find that between you, and his people, a great gulf is fixed. They will forget the true reason for the match, and declare that he has been 'run in.' He has assured me more than once that he had no intention of marrying; and is excessively anxious to get on in his profession. I remember him saying that his sword was is helpmate, and I know from my own experience, that an officer hampered by a wife with no fortune, no helpful connections, is too heavily weighted."
"Then what do you advise me to do?" murmured Nancy, almost inaudibly.
"Remain with me at Clouds Rest, and let him return to Cananore alone. Leave details to me; I can arrange everything,—I shall love doing it! Scarcely a soul knows of the ceremony, and we shall keep it dark. When once you are comfortably established with us, you shall write to Captain Mayne, and tell him that he is absolutely released."
"But will it not be breaking a promise to father?" and Nancy rose out of her chair, and stood before her adviser, a limp, and dejected figure—an almost unrecognizable Nancy!
"No, my dearest child; you know, as well as I do, that your Daddy's sole idea was for your happiness. This scrambled up 'shilling shocker' affair would be for your misery."
Mrs. Ffinch waxed eloquent. She warmed with her subject; excitement, and enthusiasm carried to her feet, and she stalked about the room, declaiming with both hands. On more than one occasion, she had made a marriage; here was a notable opportunity to break one! This idea, to do her justice, was not the sole cause of her energetic intervention. Nancy, more dead than alive, had apparently no interest in her future; and was willing to drift wherever a miserable fate would take her; but Julia Ffinch was not the woman to suffer a favourite puppet to be lost to her in such a fashion! Nancy should have another chance, recover her health, and spirits at Clouds Rest—and let Captain Mayne go his own way.
Mrs. Ffinch had mapped out Nancy's future with a bewildering thoroughness, and continued her exposition, and arguments with unabated zeal. As for Captain Mayne, he would thankfully snatch at such a chance of liberty; for never had she seen a young man so alarmingly altered, and depressed.
"If you and Captain Mayne stick to one another, it will be," she announced, "a deplorable calamity for both,—and his professional ruin. If either of you were in love, of course I would not say a word; but this is really too cold-blooded! Mayne married you to pay the price for his life—you married him—because your father was naturally anxious to see you provided for; there is the whole affair in a nutshell," extending two expressive hands, "and in my opinion, the kernel is rotten!
"If I had been at home, this preposterous ceremony would never have taken place. Thank goodness, it can be hushed up, and smothered here—among the coffee bushes. Should it ever try to come to life, the marriage must be annulled. As far as witnesses are concerned, there will be no difficulty. Doctor and Mrs. Hicks won't talk; and Mr. Brownlow is about to settle in Tasmania. You will come and live with me, and be my daughter," then with a cautious afterthought, "at any rate for the present. As for Captain Mayne, he will rejoin his regiment, and there won't be a whisper! He is coming over to-morrow to Clouds Rest. I'll have a serious interview with him, and tell him that he must really leave you with me. I know he will jump at the offer, and be only too thankful to go off alone. Then as soon as he has cleared out, you and I will put our heads together, and write him such a clear, decisive letter, and put the matter so effectively, that he will withdraw all claim."
Here Mrs. Ffinch paused, a little out of breath from this long oration, and surveyed her companion judicially.
"Now what do you say, Nancy? Take your choice? Will you come to me?—or go to him?"
"I hate him!" was the startling rejoinder.
"Ah, so I see you've made up your mind! Then the day after to-morrow, I'll fetch you; I shall tell your ayah to put your things together. I've given you the big room—so that you can have all your own particular belongings round you—and I've ordered lots of mourning paper. Well now, good-bye my own darling, don't think too much; don't let Mrs. Hicks worry you, and don't see more of him than you can help," and she nodded her head expressively.
Then Mrs. Ffinch went forth, and was ceremoniously conducted to her car by Captain Mayne, who, as he walked beside her, dropping a casual "yes" or "no," little dreamt of the scheme that was maturing in his companion's ever active brain.