"THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES"
During these sunny summer days, although Nancy looked remarkably gay and pretty, and went what is called "everywhere," she was secretly miserable,—but bravely concealed her sufferings and kept her anxieties to herself. For more than two years, she had lived in a sort of fool's paradise, or as if she had been in a dream. Now, she had been awakened with a shock, and like a newly-aroused sleeper, began to look about her, and realized a changed world. She had never supposed that Derek Mayne would re-enter her life: he was in India,—that land of vague and indefinite banishments,—and she was in England.
How could they ever meet? Then she had his promise: his letter, treasured in her jewel-case. Nevertheless, here he was in London, actually within a few streets, and he had it in his power to ruin and upset the whole of her life; he could if he chose. She recalled his expression of cool scrutiny, and aloofness, as he looked at her across the railway carriage: his glance was direct, dominating, and almost stern.
Although the future horizon was vague and misty, recently life had gone smoothly for Nancy; she had been gliding along, as it were on a wide placid river; now all at once she seemed to be approaching unknown falls, and to hear the roar of the rapids! In her short life, she had known days, and days of intense mental anguish,—the agony of bereavement. This present pain was neither so sharp, or so poignant, but of an unceasing aching, and gnawing description.
She slept badly; she had little appetite for food, or amusement; each succeeding day she expected the sword to fall! Every time she and her chaperon re-entered their suite, her first impulse was to rush to the table, where cards and letters awaited them, and these she turned over, and examined with a throbbing heart. Would Derek Mayne call, and seek an interview with Mrs. De Wolfe? Would he claim her? He might try,—but she would resist,—or would he merely inform people that she was his lawful wife, and leave her, so to speak, to face the music!
By an amazing coincidence, two of the witnesses to her marriage were in London: Teddy and Mrs. Hicks; and she lived in quaking fear that they would open the subject! Much to her relief, it had never been approached. At present, Teddy and his future mother-in-law were far too much engrossed in their own more interesting affairs.
Lady Belmont's long expected and belated ball, eventually took place at the "Ritz"; and more than fulfilled the most exigeant anticipations. Many of the best people, the pretty girls, and the smart young men were present. Nancy and her chaperon,—who, surprising to relate, delighted in a ball,—were early arrivals. Nancy loved dancing, danced beautifully, and was much improved since Dudley Villars had been her constant partner. She looked very lovely, and a little out of breath as she came up to Mrs. De Wolfe at the end of a long waltz, and found the old lady talking with unusual animation to some man,—who, when he turned about, she saw to her consternation, was Captain Mayne!
"Nancy," said her chaperon, "I want you to give a dance to an old friend of mine; one of my boys, Captain Mayne!—Derek, this is my young friend, Miss Travers."
Captain Mayne bowed, and said, "Miss Travers and I have met before. May I?" looking at her steadily, "have the honour of a waltz?"
Nancy, who had paled rather suddenly, glanced down at her crammed programme, and murmured, "Number twelve," and with a bow, he backed away into the crowd.
Nancy's card had been filled ever since she had appeared in the ball-room; nevertheless, she mentally threw over Lord Lanark—whose name was scribbled before number twelve waltz, "Destiny." She must speak to Captain Mayne, and learn the worst! what he intended to do? or not to do? and face this horrible ordeal.
Waiting and uncertainty had become unbearable; and yet the dread of the approaching interview, filled her with terror. For a moment she was seized by an overwhelming reluctance. All the fears of the last weeks, had now become real, and verified. She was fired by a wild desire, to feign illness, and rush home; but soon overcame this preposterous temptation. It was imperative to stand to her promise, and to listen to what her partner had to say—nothing agreeable, that was certain—she had glanced into his face, and there read an expression of cool and absolute indifference.
However, now they had been formally made known to one another, and were liable to meet, she must learn the rules of the game in which she was expected to take part! There it was, the first part of "Destiny!" and here he came; edging his way towards her through the crowd. She accepted his arm in dead silence, and in another moment they were launched among the whirling throng. Mayne danced extremely well,—steering his course with remarkable skill. (Nancy had noticed him waltzing with Josie; their steps suited admirably; graceful, lissom Josie, moving with a sort of foreign swing and abandon, murmuring into his ear all the time they floated round,—unquestionably they were old friends). He was not perhaps so accomplished a performer as Sir Dudley, but he held his partner with greater respect, and did not use an Oriental perfume on his sleek dark hair.
They exchanged one or two formal remarks about the floor, and the band, danced until the music ceased, and people began to pour out of the ball-room; then Mayne led his companion to a secluded little settee, and took a chair close by. Here was the supreme moment! He looked at Nancy narrowly: how young, fresh, and slim,—and yet how woefully white, and scared!—he could actually see a little pulse throbbing in her throat, her hands were tightly locked in her lap. Yes! brutal thought, he was getting a little of his own back! At last he said:
"Well!"
Nancy raised her frightened eyes, glanced at him quickly, and looked down; and there ensued an expressive silence, more eloquent than words. The pause was broken by Mayne, who quietly quoted:
"Gentlemen of the French Guard,—fire first!"
"I suppose you mean that I am to speak," said Nancy in a low voice.
He nodded shortly.
"But I don't know what to say."
Nevertheless she realized that she was fencing with her future life.
"Oh, of course I don't expect you to say you are glad to see me," and he gave an abrupt laugh.
Nancy made no reply,—but her lower lip quivered.
"May I offer you my congratulations?" he continued. "I hear you are now a great heiress; a goldmine! and Fairplains."
"Fairplains, yes! Oh, if only Daddy had been alive!"
"Yes, I know," he assented promptly, "please don't spare me! If I hadn't missed the panther——"
"I'm not quite so malicious as you imagine," she interrupted, "and you need not be so bitter—for you know as well as I do, how Daddy adored Fairplains."
"Pray accept my apologies," he said coolly, "I was not aware that you had modified your opinions. I wished to speak to you,—and here is my golden opportunity! You see, by most shocking bad luck, we happen to find ourselves in the same set! Your chaperon, Mrs. De Wolfe, belongs to my part of the world; she knew me in pinafores, so I am afraid we shall often knock up against one another."
"I suppose so," asserted Nancy, without raising her eyes.
"We may even find ourselves staying in the same house, and this would be a bit awkward; for if we were dead cuts, it might excite remark! However, this preposterous position, won't last long; I shall be returning to India." He paused for a moment and then added, with a smile, "Ah! I see you look relieved!"
"Do I? I did not know,—I rather wish I was going back too!"
"What, tired of the gay world already?"
To this she made no answer.
"Well, Nancy, you and I are in a queer fix, if ever there was one! God knows I meant to do the square thing," he went on gravely, "but I made a most awful hash of the whole business!"
"I believe you did mean well," she murmured, speaking with evident effort, "and I behaved—ungratefully; but I was crazy with grief. Everything was so awfully sudden, and, and——" she hesitated.
"And you couldn't bear the sight of me," he interjected, "and I accepted the situation. You made everything fairly plain in your letter,—didn't you?"—Another immense pause.
Nancy wondered how long this hateful scene was to continue—it seemed to have lasted for hours. Then in a meditative tone Mayne began:
"Now I wonder, if I had followed you to your hiding-place, and dragged you off to Cananore, how would that have answered?"
"It would have made me hate, and abhor you, as long as I lived," she rejoined with startling vehemence.
"Oh! and do you hate, and abhor, me now?"
She raised her eyes, and considered him gravely; but made no reply—she did not wish to be his wife, but in her secret heart, she knew she would be glad to be friends. Something in his voice, and his honest eyes, recalled old days, and the many happy hours, they two had spent together. Then he was so manly, and good-looking; also she began to feel, that she was not really afraid of him.
"What I wished to say to you," he continued, "is this: that, owing to the pressure of circumstances, we must meet, and pretend to be friends."
"Or be friends, and pretend?" she corrected timidly.
"What an explosion, if the truth ever leaked out! Think of your friends and relations; my friends and my regiment. However, you may rely upon me to keep my promise,—and to hold my tongue." After a moment's silence, he added: "How do you hit it off with Mrs. De Wolfe?"
"Extremely well,—I am very fond of her."
"Somehow I shouldn't have thought that she was your sort!—I've seen you going about, with her godson, that fellow Villars."
"Yes, he noticed you that day at Sandown, and he was speaking about you," replied Nancy, who had somewhat recovered her colour, and her courage.
"That was kind of him,—I am flattered. What did he say, anything libellous?"
"Oh no indeed; he only told me, that your uncle, is very anxious for you to marry."
"Well that's a true bill,—he is!"
"But can you?"
"What a funny question. No, not unless I wish to be run in for bigamy,—a Mrs. Mayne already exists."
"You mean me?"
"Yes, who else?" slowly turning his head to look at her. The question was sarcastically enforced.
After a short silence she murmured: "And is there no way out?"
"I imagine there is; but you see, I've not had much to do with matrimonial intricacies,—I believe, I could divorce you—for desertion!"
"Oh!" putting her hands up to cover her face, "and it would be in all the papers!"
"It would; and probably headed, 'Great military scandal,' and illustrated with our portraits."
"And what would Mrs. De Wolfe say?"
"Mrs. De Wolfe can stand a good deal,—she's had some pretty bad shocks in her time; and is a regular old brick; and you would achieve notoriety!—Then on the other hand, I might give you reason to divorce me," and he looked at Nancy with keen significance.
Nancy blushed to the roots of her hair: her very ears were red.
"But make your mind easy," he continued, "I am not going to wade through mud,—even to break our chain."
"And is there no way out of it?" she repeated with a sort of sob.
"I'm afraid not. With every good intention, your father and I made a serious mistake. It is not so easy, to order the lives of other people,—each must go his own road. You have no wish to walk in mine; or I in yours. I don't want you as a wife,—official or otherwise,—and I have excellent reason to know, that you have no desire to play the rôle of Mrs. Mayne."
His tone and expression, made Nancy wince—and yet this announcement was a profound relief. She glanced at him, as he sat in a favourite attitude, nursing his foot,—a very neat foot, and well turned ankle, in black silk hose.—She remembered how her father had chaffed him, and he said, "When I was at school I hurt my foot rather badly at rugger, and nursed it on my knee to keep it out of harm's way,—the trick has grown on me, I do it unconsciously."
"May I look at this?" he said, leaning forward and picking her programme off her lap.
"I'm not sure that it isn't one of my prerogatives. Hullo! so you threw over Lanark, and gave me his dance; I hope he won't shoot me? eh! Villars, Villars, Villars,—toujours Villars, why so much Villars?"
"Oh, because I know him rather well."
"I bet you don't."
"I see you don't like him."
"No: a fellow who can't play cricket, either physically or morally, who can't box, or shoot; just a good-looking blighter, with a glib tongue, and a face of brass."
"At any rate, he is clever, and accomplished; he sings and plays the violin, paints better than many professionals,—he dances like a dream."
"So you seem to think!"
"But everyone thinks it! I've been told, that girls have actually wept, because he ignored them at a ball."
"More fools they! shall I ever see the proud day, when a girl howls, because I haven't asked her to dance? Look here, Nancy," and his voice took a certain peremptoriness, "don't have anything to do with that chap Villars,—he is not a safe acquaintance!"
Nancy made no reply, and apparently assuming that silence gave consent, he continued—"I see our old friend Cathcart here, no doubt repairing his shattered nerves, after a spasm of work! He appears to be in great force. You have not favoured him,—how is that?"
"He didn't ask me for a dance."
"What!" staring at her. "Oh, so you've had a row!"
"Not exactly a row," and she hesitated.
"Exactly what? come, own up, we are not likely to have another interview, for some time."
"Well then if you must know,—he asked me to marry him!"
"To marry him!" echoed her companion, now no longer nursing his foot, and sitting erect.
"And was very angry indeed, when I said no, in fact he has cut me dead ever since."
For some time Mayne was silent, at last he said:
"Asked you to marry him; by Jove, that was too funny! I think I must propose to some girl,—so as to make us quits; though it might be rather awkward, if she happened to say 'yes'! However, of course I could easily jilt her!" Then in quite another tone, "No doubt you encouraged his hopes?"
"I did nothing of the kind," she answered hotly, "I've always disliked him."
"Ah! Well on one point we agree; I don't love him either. There's your programme; I wonder if you are aware, that we have sat out two whole dances? Time has flown,—hasn't it? Look here, one word before we part. We are bound to meet at home,—I mean in Moonshire. Mrs. De Wolfe and my uncle are tremendous chums, old lovers and that sort of thing, and I daresay she will wonder, that since we knew one another in India,—why you have kept me so dark? You must play up! You'd better say,—we had a quarrel."
"Very well," assented the girl.
"And don't let her run away with the idea,—that it was a lovers' quarrel," he added, rising as he spoke.
To this, Nancy made no reply, and they returned to the ball-room in absolute silence. The moment she appeared, she was instantly claimed by Sir Dudley Villars, who upbraided her with having "cut his dance." Meanwhile Mayne walked off in search of his own partner.
How pretty Nancy was; indeed lovely! How her colour went and came, and how her little under lip, had trembled. Perhaps he had been a bit rough on her! The old outspoken, spirited, Nancy he remembered, was gone! At first, she had seemed as frightened as a newly caught bird. But, after all, why should he not bully her a little? considering that he was her lawful lord, and master; and that his share, so far, had been the kicks,—whilst she, had collared all the half-pence!