Only for Mrs. Taylor (whose dislike amounted to personal enmity), Nancy believed that her aunt would have given her a small share of her heart; and for her own part, she made a great effort to storm her affections; but her attempts were invariably foiled by the sinister influence of Mrs. Taylor, who had marked "darling Arabella" for her own! She had reason to believe that her name was in "the will"—and naturally the fewer legatees the better!
Arabella was so weak and impressionable, she might take it into her head to make this niece her heiress! The girl was apparently good-tempered, and willing—but in reality, cunning, and deceitful. Arabella was of full habit; an apoplectic seizure might carry her off in a few hours, and she (Henrietta Taylor) was bound to be on her guard, and to take the situation firmly in hand. With this virtuous intention, she made stinging speeches, transformed harmless remarks, accused Nancy of untruth, and impertinence, and did her utmost to figuratively crush her out of existence like a black beetle, and create a wide breach between aunt and niece. Mrs. Taylor was particularly careful never to leave the pair alone; a tête-à-tête was always a serious danger to be avoided: precisely as if Mrs. Jenkins was a lovely young heiress—and Nancy, some unprincipled and discountenanced suitor! If by chance, she entered a room and there discovered the girl established with her relative, she looked so alarmingly black and lowering, that Nancy received an impression, that she had been caught in the act of stealing something that was the property of Aunt Arabella's old friend!
On the other hand, when Nancy found the couple together, her appearance was the signal for an abrupt and significant silence,—undoubtedly she and her short-comings, had been the topic of conversation.
In spite of this, Nancy had an instinctive impression that her aunt was a little afraid of her towering, black-browed inmate; once, when she made her a trifling and inexpensive present, she added:
"Don't show it to Henrietta," and on several occasions, she had whispered, "Not a word of this, to Mrs. T.!"
Mrs. Taylor was now enjoying what might be called "the time of her life." Of an afternoon, she accompanied her friend in the comfortable landau, behind a pair of fat brown horses,—royally arrayed in a superior, if secondhand, ermine stole, and muff. She was carried to theatres, lectures, concerts, and At homes: was suffered to make the first pounce upon new novels, enjoy breakfast in bed at pleasure,—and glasses of port at discreet intervals. Moreover, she had been endowed with several imposing costumes; and yet she was not happy! for Nancy Travers represented "Mordecai the Jew," in Queen's Gate,—and until she was dislodged, her enemy could know no peace.
It was ten months since Nancy had arrived from India, ten months of suppressed grief, hard work, and complete isolation. She had recovered her health,—thanks to incessant occupation, early hours, and good plain food. "The girl was picking up," as her aunt expressed it, and once or twice, she had actually been moved to remark, that in Nancy's now flawless skin, she saw something of "the family complexion!" (meaning her own). In spite of "the family complexion," Nancy was not treated as a relative, but an employée; her status in the establishment was that of a superior "tweenie"; as time went on, there were no longer any references to "old days at Lambourne," no affectionate pattings or strokings, no confidences, or small gifts—much less a condescending kiss.
Mrs. Taylor made as much mischief as lay in her power, and fomented and instigated "rows." She never gave her adversary credit for one good trait, but held up all her short-comings, in the domestic limelight. Late at night, when established at her ease in her friend's bedroom, she "talked over" the iniquities of the day with unctuous eloquence.
She (the chief parasite) loudly bewailed her poor darling Arabella's fate, in being compelled to support a thankless hanger-on! Pointed out, that Nancy was secretive, that she wrote too many letters, wasting her time and stamps; that she was cruel to the Pom, and flirted with the new doctor—even going so far as to lie in wait for him in the hall! Every one of these indictments was a deliberate and inexcusable falsehood; and perhaps Mrs. Jenkins, at the back of her mind, reminded herself that Henrietta "exaggerated"; but at last, after many vigorous efforts, Henrietta succeeded in rousing her effectually. One night, as soon as she had settled herself for the usual talk, she began abruptly:
"I do believe that girl has been complaining to Mrs. Devine, telling her that she is miserable here,—at least, that is what I inferred, from what Mrs. Devine said to me to-day. She was quite sniffy and stand-off, and refused a cup of tea."