THE INDIAN MAIL
When Nancy found herself in her own room, she locked the door, and sat down to face this unexpected situation,—this new trouble. She was well aware of the reason of Derek's abrupt departure, but surely it was impossible for him to believe that she had run away with Sir Dudley? he must have heard from his uncle, that she was still at the Court. However, it was evident, that he had received a bad impression of her character, and would have nothing further to say to her! She immediately determined to write to him, and found wonderful comfort in the conviction, that she could clear herself by pen and paper,—but unfortunately the letter would have to wait for days before it could be dispatched. This important epistle she wrote, re-wrote, corrected, and copied, over and over again. Sometimes she found that it said too much, sometimes too little; sometimes it was too bold, sometimes too formal,—and always too long. After many hours of meditation, and changing her mind, and destroying much note-paper, she completed in two sheets, an explanation, which she believed would do,—and leave no disagreeable arrière pensée upon her conscience.
With considerable diplomacy she obtained the correct address from Mr. Mayne, motored over to Maynesfort alone, took tea with the old gentleman, entertained him with lively talk, made a casual inquiry, and accomplished her errand! On mail day, the momentous dispatch was duly posted by her own hand.
The next event in Nancy's existence, was the death of Mrs. Jenkins. A sudden seizure of apoplexy carried her off in a few hours; her will proved to be a surprising document, and a bitter disappointment to Mrs. Taylor. To her dear friend Henrietta Taylor, she only left one hundred pounds, to Miss Dolling, fifty pounds,—for the purchase of a mourning ring,—the Pom and a substantial sum were bequeathed to the butler; three hundred a year and her wardrobe, to Baker, her faithful maid; her pearls and her portrait to her dear niece, Nancy Travers, as well as the Travers silver and books; all the remainder—including lease of house and investments—were to his great surprise bequeathed to the nephew of her late husband, Samuel Jenkins.
After all, it was but just and fair, that the Jenkins money, should return to the Jenkins purse? But why should poor Mrs. Taylor be cut off with a hundred pounds?—alas! the sad truth must be disclosed. Although Mrs. Taylor enjoyed prolonged midnight conferences, it was Baker, the maid, who had the very last word, when putting her lady to bed. Baker cordially hated Mrs. Taylor,—naturally it was painful for her to witness the valuable presents, and beautiful dresses, that the weak-minded old lady bestowed upon her toady.—By gradual degrees, the crafty woman dropped some poisonous truths into her mistress's ear; she even inferred, that Mrs. Taylor was a double-faced friend; who said one thing to her lady's face, and another behind her back!
"I know for a fact, that she told Mrs. Seymour as how your memory was going," boldly announced Baker,—with her mistress's little rat tail of back hair, tightly clenched in her hand, "and that you really wanted someone like herself, to look after you, and your affairs."
Although Mrs. Jenkins had angrily repudiated this information, and commanded the maid to hold her tongue, nevertheless the dart rankled, and went far to counteract Mrs. Taylor's honeyed speeches, and audacious flatteries. To these, Mrs. Jenkins listened greedily,—but she was a sly old thing, and took notes. One or two of her visitors, had ventured hints respecting Mrs. Taylor and her pretensions,—for her arrogance had become insupportable. It had been whispered, that she had already decided what she intended to do with the house in Queen's Gate, when it was her property; and had more than once rashly intimated, that her dear friend Mrs. Jenkins was "breaking up!"
Nancy, who was much surprised at the news of her legacy, stored the picture, sent the pearls to her bank, and went into slight mourning. In these days, she felt nearly as dull and silent as Roger De Wolfe,—although she made a valiant effort to appear otherwise: she was counting the very hours, until she could receive an answer to her letter,—but perhaps Derek would not reply?
Her hopes went up and down, like a see-saw—at one moment she was sanguine—the next visited by despair. Undoubtedly it was an agreeable distraction to Nancy, and a pleasure to her other friends, when Mrs. Ffinch appeared upon the scene. She looked thin, and weather-beaten, but as active, and energetic as ever. At first she came down to stay with the Hillsides,—and later to the Court,—a much more comfortable abode. She had frequently visited there as a girl, and now made herself thoroughly at home. Naturally she saw a great change in her protégée; here was another Nancy from the flapper of Fairplains,—and the two, had long and intimate talks: having many topics, and one secret in common.
"And so you had Mayne at home," said Finchie.
With this abrupt remark, she had opened their first tête-à-tête. "Yes. By accident you fell not 'among thieves,' but, among his friends! That marriage was a terrible disaster. If I had not happened to be away,—it would never have taken place. Just see, what a fix you are in; a girl of your appearance and position, could marry almost anybody,—including my poor Tony. Dear me, Nancy, how much I should like you for a niece! Perhaps it could come off after all; for I suppose you are aware, that Captain Mayne could get rid of you if he liked.—Desertion! but what an esclandre! You would have to go back to Fairplains, and bury yourself temporarily among the coffee bushes! You and he have met I know,—and met often, I believe he was actually staying here!"
Nancy nodded.
"And there it ended for the present? I understand he has returned to India. I do not know what he and Josie have been up to,—at least I can guess what she has been doing,—flirting for all she is worth,—but she has her knife into Derek Mayne up to the hilt; and for what reason?—the rest is silence! Ah! here is the postman coming up the back avenue, let us go down and waylay him, for this is Indian Mail day, and I am expecting the usual screed from my old man."
As the ladies waited whilst the postman sorted out "the Court letters," Nancy's heart almost stood still; would there be one for her, or not? There was! She turned her back upon her two companions, and opened it with trembling fingers.
Hawari Camp,
Darwaza Hills,
N. W. Frontier.
My dear Nancy,
I was very glad to receive your letter, which makes everything clear. Fate was dead against that interview, perhaps I may get home when this bit of a scrap is over; we are expecting to have a brush with the tribes at once. If I do manage leave, I shall return immediately, and hope our meeting may come off,—the third time is the charm. I write in desperate haste to catch the Dâk just going down, as I want you to have this answer without delay. My hands are so frozen, I can scarcely hold my pen; will write again next week.
Yours always,
D. M.
This letter filled Nancy with a glow of happiness and a sense of joy and relief, such as she had not known for many a long day. She hurried up the avenue clutching her treasure, half afraid that Finchie would overtake and cross-examine her, but looking back she noticed, that Finchie, with a large bundle of correspondence in her hand, was still gossiping with the postman.