CHAPTER XVII
AS POOR RELATION
Nancy soon fell into the routine of the household, and led an active, useful life at 900, Queen's Gate. Undoubtedly it was good for her, that she had no leisure, nor any opportunity for reflection and solitude, save when in bed. Then she was so thoroughly tired, that she fell asleep almost as soon as her head was on the pillow. After all, the daily régime of this elderly establishment, was not so irksome to a girl who had been for years, accustomed to the strict discipline of a boarding school.
Within a week, the new arrival had learnt her aunt's chief ailments and requirements, taken a sharp impression of her character, and was not a little amazed at her own capabilities in measuring drops, picking up stitches, and writing notes. She also read aloud, and went endless messages. Many a tiresome errand did she save Baker, and the cook; many a toilsome journey did she make up those long flights of stairs: the excuse for such constant perambulation, being, "that she was young!"
At first, her visit had been spoken of as "temporary," Mrs. Taylor and Miss Dolling being actively engaged in searching for a suitable post for the interloper. The former, was particularly anxious to be rid of this too useful, and obedient relative,—who accomplished her tasks without complaint or murmur. The truth was, that Nancy had not forgotten Mrs. De Wolfe's wise counsel, and inwardly soothed her amour propre by saying to herself, "Aunt Arabella is Daddy's sister, and I must try to please her; though lots of the things I have to do, are hateful,—and Mrs. Taylor is more detestable than everything put together!"
Her most unwelcome task, was that of exercising the Pom twice daily on a lead—a job that really belonged to Baker. He was a little animal with an odious character,—and not a gentleman; quarrelsome, and insulting to other dogs, shamelessly greedy and inquisitive, and with a bark, that was almost worse than a bite!
Meanwhile Nancy plodded along, buoyed up by hope and letters,—hope that "Finchie" would be home in the spring, and find her a nice situation—with payment. Here, naturally, she received no salary; her wealthy aunt was in some ways surprisingly stingy; a miser with respect to stamps, and extraordinarily mean in the matter of coal, electric light, cab fares, and newspapers. As for the electric light, they often sat in semi-darkness, and yet Mrs. Jenkins thought nothing of paying from twenty to thirty guineas for a gown, or a shilling for a plover's egg!
Nancy's happiest moments were when the Indian mail arrived, and brought her long despatches from "Finchie," from Francis, from the Hicks family, and Teddy Dawson. The latter had once enclosed in a letter what is known as a "fat" cheque, amounting to sixty-three pounds and some odd shillings, which had been paid into Ted's account on her behalf by Mayne. This cheque was promptly returned, and Nancy scribbled at white heat, "I will not touch this money; please do not offer it again, or ever mention Captain Mayne; all that is a dreadful dream, which I am doing my best to forget."
Letters from India were not the only ones addressed to Miss Travers from the outer world. She had received a short note from Mrs. De Wolfe, and several ill-spelt scrawls, indited by Mr. Fletcher's valet. He was now living in a sanatorium in Switzerland, a confirmed invalid; indeed the valet, who was a Scotchman, informed Nancy that his master was "far through." Mr. Fletcher wished to hear how his little Nancy was faring? if she had need of money, and if her aunt kept her well supplied? otherwise she knew where to come for it. He would be her banker. But poor as she was, Nancy preferred to be independent. A portion of her savings, still remained intact.
She sent frequent letters to her old friend, gratefully declining his offer—telling him everything about herself, that she thought might interest or please him,—carefully omitting all disagreeables; she also added scraps of news, gleaned from her Indian correspondence; in short, Nancy had the art of composing cheery epistles, which were deeply appreciated by a sick, and solitary exile.