"Gone back to India," repeated Nancy, "but why? I heard he had got an extension of leave."
"Yes, but there is some trouble on the frontier, they say, and Derek is high up among the captains of his regiment, and I have always heard a very keen soldier; Mrs. Horne and I have put our heads together, and come to the conclusion that there's something more in his departure, than meets the eye.—Perhaps we shall all know some day? Well, anyway, Nancy, the news does not affect you, for somehow, you and Derek were never particularly friendly."
To this, Nancy made no answer, and if her old friend had not been engaged in returning the caresses of three dogs, she might have noticed that her young friend looked strangely pale.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
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!