THE AVOWAL
It was mid October and the woods round Newenham were not now dressed in green, but clothed in various shades of brown, dark red, and deep orange; in the grounds, one no longer heard the continual rattle of the mowing machine; the gardeners were busy with barrows and brooms, sweeping up, and removing, the endless showers of withered leaves. Within, the atmosphere was gay and sunny, here were various congenial guests: Roger De Wolfe and Major Horne had come for the pheasant shooting. Mrs. Horne, Billy and Baby Miller were of the party, and Mrs. Hicks who had rushed down on a flying visit, before she sailed for India, also Mrs. Ffinch, and Mr. Mayne.
The solitary old gentleman, had seemed so dull and depressed, that Mrs. De Wolfe insisted that he should join her circle—even for a few days. To Nancy she said, "I've no doubt that the gossips will think that we are going to be married at last; they settled a match years and years ago, and how my boys used to laugh and chaff me! You will look after him, Nancy, the old man is devoted to you, and you are devoted to him, and I must confess, I admire the courage with which you take him on at Bridge; a most hopeless and expensive partner, who doubles and re-doubles, even if he holds a Yarborough; the old gambling spirit re-appearing in a milder form!"
It was five o'clock in the afternoon, the party were collected round the tea table in the hall,—a table laden with rare old silver, a fine Crown Derby tea-service, hot scones—savoury sandwiches and cakes too numerous to mention—and Mrs. Ffinch,—who never lost sight of an opportunity,—had cleverly manœuvred dull Roger De Wolfe into a seat next to lively Baby Miller. In the opinion of this astute matron, it was full time that Roger was married; he was forty, his hair was thinning on the top, his figure was thickening; in short, she was resolved upon this match. Glancing over the girls in the neighbourhood, she found none so suitable to be the future mistress of the Court, as pretty, red-haired "Baby."
She could see that Roger was already dazzled and fascinated, and it would be a most desirable alliance. Roger was plain, silent, and worthy; Baby was a charming chatterbox, and a nice, good, clever girl; some day, she would and should be the châtelaine of this dear old house, and take charge of the precious family treasures, when their present owner had passed away. There was a loud hum of talking, and laughing, Major Horne and Roger De Wolfe were discussing their day's sport, Mr. Mayne and Mrs. De Wolfe were still wrangling about their last rubber, when Sutton entered, salver in hand.
"Your letters have just come, sir," he said, approaching Mr. Mayne. "Are there any orders for Graham?"
The old gentleman took up his letters, glanced at them indifferently, and answered, "No, not to-day," turning to Mrs. De Wolfe he added:
"Only a bill from my saddler, and a letter from Julia Torquilstone. I wonder what the deuce she is writing about?" he added peevishly—"sure to want something," and he laid it unopened by his plate. "I was hoping to hear from my boy. I know the mail came in two days ago."
Nancy too had hoped for a letter; but her hopes had been doomed to disappointment.
As soon as Mr. Mayne had disposed of Mrs. De Wolfe's argument, and a second cup of tea, he opened the neglected epistle from his sister-in-law,—and read it with a frowning face.
"Here's bad news!" he exclaimed, in a tone which silenced every other voice. "Julia has had a line from the War Office, to say that Derek has been dangerously wounded in some action with the hill tribes. Oh, these little wars, and what they cost us!"
"Are there any particulars?" inquired Mrs. De Wolfe.
"There you are!" handing her an official telegram. "I suppose," and his voice was husky, "he will leave his bones out there, like his father."
When Mrs. De Wolfe had glanced over the slip of paper, she was not a little surprised, to see Nancy rise from her place, and stretch out a trembling hand.
"May I see it too?" she asked. The question was so clear and so unexpected, that every eye was riveted on the pale girl, whose gaze was bent on the telegram,—that is to say every eye, save those of Mr. Mayne, who was apparently engulfed in his own trouble.
"I suppose he will die out there alone!" he groaned. "Of course Julia won't stir, I'm too old,—and there's nobody else to go."
"I will go," announced Nancy, steadying herself by a tall Charles the First chair, and looking round the assembled company, with a white and rigid face. "I must tell you all at last, and now,—that—that—" and her voice sank till it became a whisper—but an audible whisper, "I am his wife!"
"Nancy!" ejaculated Mrs. De Wolfe, in a key of contrasting depth.
"It's true," she continued with livid lips, "we were married by my father's deathbed, two and a half years ago, and——" here she completely broke down.
"Nancy, child, don't, I'll tell it," volunteered Mrs. Ffinch, stretching out her arm. "No, she is not raving, as you might naturally suppose," she added, glancing at her companions. "I know all about it,—and Mrs. Hicks was present,—she saw them married!"
"Yes," corroborated Mrs. Hicks, "I did, and it's about the only secret I've ever been able to keep!"
"But why a secret?" demanded Mrs. De Wolfe, who had recovered her composure.
"We were married to relieve my father's mind," replied Nancy, who had also reclaimed her self-possession. "I was alone in the world, and very poor, and he was dreadfully unhappy about me; Captain Mayne and I did not care for one another—in those days! Please!" looking round the circle—"do forgive me for deceiving you,—but we agreed to keep the marriage secret, and to be strangers always, and I must confess, that I behaved very badly. I was distracted, and I ran away; but I was so young, and so heart-broken! It is different now; I shall leave with Mrs. Hicks on Friday, and pray that I may be in time.—I am going to send off a cable," and looking like the wraith of Nancy Travers, she left them.
The old mahogany door closed upon a long expressive silence, presently to be broken by Mrs. Ffinch, who gladly took up her parable. Here was her hour! what an opening for her natural eloquence, and love of dominating a situation! As she unravelled Nancy's past, she had the supreme happiness of knowing, that her listeners actually hung upon her words,—especially old Mr. Mayne, with his head advanced, and hand behind his left and best, ear!
In a few short and telling sentences, she described Nancy's adoration of her father, their ideally happy life,—the terrible scene with the panther, Mayne's bad shot, his rescue by Travers, and how when Travers was dying, Mayne had come forward, and undertaken the charge of Nancy. How immediately after the funeral Nancy, in a condition of frenzied grief, had written a letter of farewell and repudiation to Mayne,—and taken refuge with her old nurse at Coimbatore.
"Aye, it really was a terrible letter," chimed in Mrs. Hicks, "I was there, when he read it, and he looked knocked all of a 'eap.—First he showed it to Teddy Dawson, and then to me. She said as how she blamed him, and how she hated him,—and so he let her go,—what else could he do?"—throwing herself back in her chair, and folding her arms with an air of finality—then added as an afterthought, "but he made her a good allowance!"
"Which she never touched," supplemented Mrs. Ffinch, "the money has lain all this time in Grindlay's Bank; they held no communication with one another, each went their own way: he as a bachelor, she, as an unmarried girl, until they came to London,—where Fate threw them together, in spite of themselves."
"So all the time, there was a girl in the background!—a girl to whom he sent money," said Mrs. Horne,—who had a wonderful faculty for remembering—but not disseminating—scraps of gossip. "There's never smoke without a fire, and to think, that all the time it should be Nancy."
"It was a case of a foolish, hasty, wedding," declared Mrs. Ffinch judicially; "had I been at home, I would never have allowed it to take place. Unfortunately I happened to be absent for a few days, and in those few days, occurred Nancy's marriage, and her father's death. I think that Derek Mayne,—though he meant well,—behaved like a lunatic!"
"No," corrected his uncle, thumping on the table, "he behaved like a man of honour! I was always fond of Derek, and now I'm proud of him! I'll just go and see what that girl is doing?" and taking his stick, he hobbled out of the room.
When Nancy found Mrs. De Wolfe alone, she said, "Hundreds of times I've wanted to speak, and to tell you,—but I dared not; for I felt, that if I opened my lips, the secret would spread; if I told one, I might tell another; and when I saw Derek, I realized that we were to be strangers,—in fact he said so in the plainest terms. There was nothing for it but silence,—at first."
"And now?" inquired her friend, with grave significance.
"Now,—only for my money,—I believe he would have made it up! Money, or no money, I'm going out on Friday; I have already secured my berth, by telephone,—but oh, dear, dear Auntie, supposing I am too late!"—and as she sank on her knees and buried her face on the old lady's lap,—her sobs were heartbreaking.
"Don't meet trouble half way, my child," said Mrs. De Wolfe, "though crying will relieve your poor heart. It is only the young, the lucky young, who can weep. Remember that the Maynes are as tough as leather; why, look at that old man downstairs; four months ago, a horse rolled upon him, and broke his leg, and three ribs; to-day, he was out shooting pheasants! Oh, Nancy my dear, how often I've wished that you, and Derek would take to one another,—and only to think, that you were married all the time! Well, in my long, and not uneventful life, you have given me the most stunning surprise, I have ever experienced! Now I can understand why Derek never came to the house, and went out of his way to avoid me."
"Everything is my fault. Auntie Wolfe," sobbed Nancy, "I'm afraid you will never care for me any more, nor trust me: everyone will think me so secretive, and deceitful,—and so I was!"
"It will be all right, my dear, if only Derek recovers, and you make him happy,—as I believe you can. By and by you will both come home, and settle among us,—and your strange story will be forgotten."
As soon as Captain Mayne was convalescent, he and his wife travelled down to Fairplains, where they were the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Dawson; and in that familiar and unchanged verandah, he once more occupied his favourite shabby chair, and surveyed from his place, the dim blue plains. All the neighbours and employees flocked to the bungalow, to hail and welcome Nancy. Francis received his "Little Missy" with rapturous joy, and a few trickling tears.—As for Togo, that faithful heart was always hers.
When Miss Travers, at a few hours' notice, had hurried out to India, to marry, and nurse, Captain Mayne; it was generally believed that this was but the romantic sequel, to a long and mysterious engagement.
Not more than two or three hundred people are in possession of the truth!
THE END
By the same Author
Each in Cloth
A RASH EXPERIMENT
WHAT SHE OVERHEARD
IN OLD MADRAS
THE SERPENT'S TOOTH
Printed in Great Britain by Ebenezer Baylis & Son, Worcester.