THE GIRL AT FAIRPLAINS
Proceeding through the coffee estate at a sort of dog's trot, Mayne
was sorely exercised in his mind; being filled with serious misgivings
concerning the planter's daughter; probably a pert, autocratic little
minx, after the manner of the usual "apples of eyes," who would no
doubt prove--as far as he was concerned--a real spoil-sport! For days
he had indulged in glowing visions of a rough outdoor life; of camps,
long marches, exciting stalks, heavy spoils, and freedom!
Could a manager leave his estate? and if he did, and brought his
encumbrance, how hateful and irksome to have this girl tacked on to
the party! Well, he could soon see how the land lay, and if the
outlook was too discouraging, would hurry off and spend his leave in
Ceylon--where he might,--with any luck--get an elephant or two.
It was a lovely starlight evening, and after the hot and clammy
atmosphere of Cananore, the thin cool hill air, with its tang of
eucalyptus, was as refreshing as a draught of spring water. Up various
steep coolie paths, bordered by clumps of aromatic blue gum, and ragged
bushes, and round many sharp corners, Mayne followed his light-footed
leader. Presently they came upon a good metalled road, running through
coffee, and above them, on a raised plateau, stood Fairplains, with
lighted windows, and lanterns flickering like fire-flies about the
premises.
As Mayne approached, the barking of many dogs was deafening, and he
halted just below the bungalow. When he did so, the majestic figure
of an elderly butler, appeared at the top of a flight of stone steps,
brandishing a lantern in one hand, and salaaming profoundly with the
other.
"Is the sahib at home?" inquired Mayne.
"Yes, saar, please to come up, saar?"
Thus invited, the visitor dismounted, and ascended to the verandah; and
as he did so, caught sight, within a room, of a girl reading. By the
light of a shaded lamp, he invisioned a wisp-like figure in white, and
a bent head crowned with a mass of hair.
"Francis!" called out a clear young voice, "why are those dogs making
such a noise? Is it the panther again?"
"No, missy," replied the servant reassuringly, "no panther
to-night--only one gentleman."
Missy lifted her head, and beheld Mayne standing in the doorway. As she
rose to her feet, he discovered that the word "little" did not fit Miss
Nancy Travers, who was rather tall than otherwise.
"I hope you will pardon this late and audacious intrusion," he began,
removing his topee as he spoke. "My name is Mayne--Mr. Fletcher, my
uncle's old friend, invited me up here for some shooting. I only
discovered a couple of hours ago, that Mr. Fletcher has gone home, and
had no time to make other arrangements--but----"
"It is quite all right," she declared with serene composure, "this is
Mr. Fletcher's bungalow, and naturally you are welcome. Francis will
get you some supper at once."
"I suppose you had no letter--you did not expect me?" he inquired,
advancing to the table.
"No, but that makes no difference. We are accustomed to stray
visitors, and always glad to see them. Planters, doctors, chaplains,
and missionaries, drop in from time to time. Won't you sit down?"
indicating a chair; a half-finished game of chess was on the table
between them. "Father and I were playing, when he was sent for to see
to a sick coolie. He will be back in a few minutes."
"Did I hear you say something about a panther just now?" asked Mayne
abruptly.
"Yes, they come down from the rocks above us, and prowl round after
dark, and carry off dogs if they can; last week one of them took the
dhoby's best goat!"
"Then the shooting about here must be good?"
"I'm afraid father has not left much in the immediate neighbourhood;
for real sport, you have to go down the ghât--I mean for bison and
tiger--hereabouts, there are only sambur, and wild pig."
"And panthers?" supplemented Mayne.
"Yes, too many of them! Such treacherous, cruel, brutes, and very bold.
More dangerous in their way than tiger--Father says the tiger is a
gentleman--the panther a bounder."
"I wish I could get a shot at one."
"No doubt you will have a chance. Did you come far to-day?"
"From the railway. I arrived from Cananore last night, and stopped at
the Dâk bungalow. My guns and traps are following me, but I really
don't like to billet myself on you, and your father."
Since he had been in the company of Miss Travers, Mayne had been
anxiously endeavouring to distinguish her appearance; but a heavily
shaded lamp left, beyond the mere outline, everything to conjecture;
and, save an impression that she had a small face, large eyes, and a
thin brown hand,--the lady's looks, remained an unknown quantity.
At this moment, Travers, who had been prescribing for a stomach-ache
in the coolie lines, reappeared, unaware of the arrival of a visitor.
As he stepped into the verandah, he heard talking--a strange voice,
vibrant and attractive,--the voice of a gentleman; and there, sitting
in his own pet chair, was someone whose sleek dark head, and white
collar, appeared above its cushions.
He entered promptly, received a hasty and apologetic explanation, and
became at once the cordial and hospitable host. The dark-haired young
fellow, was evidently an Army man, with pleasant easy manners.
A description of his journey was presently cut short by the
announcement that "Supper was ready on the table," and as Travers
hurried his guest into the dining-room, the young lady disappeared.
Supper was laid out with an unexpected display of fine damask, cut
glass, and shining silver, and the new-comer did ample justice to an
excellent meal of which the _pièce de résistance_ was cold hump. There
was a sameness in the planters' homes, not only confined to food; here
again were dead trophies, and not a few live dogs; but dogs, trophies,
and surroundings, were all on a superior, and more imposing scale, than
that of the _ménage_ at "The Corner."
Travers, noticing his guest's attention fixed upon a valuable old
sideboard, said:
"I see you are looking at the Chippendale! This place is no mushroom,
and been established over eighty years. I took it from the executors
of a very old planter, who started it, and collected no end of good
furniture, plate and glass, from auctions and sales--the break-up of
families, who were pioneers in these hills."
Presently the conversation turned to the subject nearest to the
wayfarer's heart, "shikar." On such a topic, the two were in the
most profound, and, so to speak, deadly sympathy. Mayne listened
enthralled--to an excellent supper--to vivid descriptions of beats and
bags, "near shaves," and glorious triumphs. Afterwards the sportsmen
smoked in the verandah, and exchanged views on a surprising variety of
subjects, from the stars in their courses, to the preserving of skins,
and the imperative use of arsenical soap.
Later, as Travers escorted his guest to the spare room, he said:
"I expect we shall be able to show you some fairly good sport."
"I'm sure of it," responded Mayne, "but by no means so sure, that I
ought to trespass on your good nature. For all _you_ know, I may be an
impudent impostor!"
"Oh, I'll risk that," replied Travers with a hearty laugh, then as he
turned to withdraw, "Make yourself at home--and sleep well."
* * * * *
Next morning, the dâk-wallah's brown leather bag carried the English
mail to Fairplains, and among papers and advertisements were two or
three letters for Travers, including one from Mr. Fletcher. He wrote
from a nursing home in London, and gave a belated notice of the
prospective arrival of the nephew of his old friend, Richard Mayne:
"I don't know the young man personally," he said, "but if he is like
his uncle, he will be all right. Mayne is in the Porcupines on the
West Coast, is mad keen to see some sport, and could not be in better
hands than yours. His father is dead, and his mother has married again.
My friend, a bachelor, is a man of large property, and I fancy your
visitor will be his heir. He has a little money of his own--and they
say, brains. Let him have my guns, and the brown pony, do your best
for him, and don't let him flirt with Nancy. I'm not much better, and
the doctors talk of having another 'go' at me. How did our ancestors
live without these operations? They died, I suppose. Well, we must all
go--sometime----"
The remainder of the letter was filled up with business directions,
suggestions, and interrogations.
* * * * *
When Mayne came out of his room in the morning, he sat on the steps,
and greedily devoured the delicious pearly prospect; it was similar to
the one from "The Corner," but finer, and more extensive.
"Isn't it lovely?" said a clear voice, and looking round he beheld Miss
Travers.
Seen by the clear and impartial light of day, her appearance was
disappointing; a tall slip of a girl with deeply sunburnt face, in
which was set a pair of wide-open grey eyes; and Mayne was struck by
the intensely youthful expression of these eyes--that now regarded him
curiously; her hair, very thick and wavy, was of a tawny red--almost
the same shade as her complexion; a white linen frock emphasized a
slim, rather boyish figure, and made no attempt to hide a pair of
surpassingly neat ankles. Nancy's age was possibly sixteen, and to sum
up her personality in one word, Mayne's hostess was neither more nor
less, than a happy-looking, well-grown flapper!
"I never tire of it," she resumed; "if I am bored, or in a bad temper,
I just sit here and stare--and it always soothes me."
"Are you ever in a bad temper?" inquired Mayne, who had risen, and was
looking up at her.
"Don't ask _me_--ask Daddy," she answered with a gay smile, revealing a
set of perfect teeth, "I'm afraid he will say it's--fiery!"
"May be your hair has something to say to it?"
"Probably! When I was a small child, it was much worse,--other girls
pretended to warm their hands on my head. It has grown deeper in shade,
and I have hopes, that it may yet be black."
"It will be white before that."
"How smart of you!" she exclaimed, seating herself. "How did you sleep?"
"Like an infant."
"Really? Sometimes they scream all night! 'An infant crying in the
night,'" she quoted. "And so you lost your way yesterday?"
"I believe so--and only for two good Samaritans, I might be wandering
still."
"You met Mr. Dawson, and Mr. Byng?"
"Yes, they were kind enough to put me up, and to lend me a guide. I
say, what an oddly-matched couple to run in double harness!"
"They are; but it's so good for them; they counteract each other's
failings, and get on splendidly--the same as people who marry their
opposites."
"Do they? I see you know all about it!" said Mayne, now sitting down
beside her, and warding off the attentions of a fine bull terrier.
"Go away, Sammy," commanded his mistress, "I'll talk to _you_ by and
by." Then to Mayne, "Are you trying to be sarcastic?"
"Perish the thought!"
"And I _do_ know all about it--within our small circle, every married
person is the exact contrast to their partner. You will soon be able to
judge for yourself--as for Teddy Dawson--we are all christian names up
here----"
"May I call you by yours?" asked Mayne audaciously.
"In a few days--perhaps----"
"Thank you; and you were speaking about Teddy Dawson?"
"So I was; he is so practical and hard-working, and loves
coffee-planting, but is rather rough and untidy. If you had only seen
'The Corner' before Nicky arrived! The Bungalow was crammed with sacks
of coffee, tins of kerosine, and packs of dogs--scarcely a chair to sit
on. Ah! here is father at last!"
As Travers dismounted from a shaggy estate pony, and approached,
Mayne realized that he was undeniably handsome; dark, with finely cut
features, and noble bearing; the gallant air, that descends in certain
families, from generation to generation.
"Too hot for the steps, Nance!" he said, laying his hand on her head,
"and no topee! Away with you into the verandah." But Nancy merely
lifted a slender arm to thrust back a hair-pin. "How are you, Mayne? I
heard all about you this morning."
"_All_, sir? That's rather a large order; but I gather that you have
had a letter from Fletcher?"
"Yes, poor old boy, I'm afraid he is in a bad way. He is anxious you
should have good sport. I believe I can manage a big beat next week,
and I've arranged to draw a small sholah this afternoon." (A sholah is
a deep fold in the hills indicated by trees and undergrowth). "We may
get a jungle sheep, or a pig."
"Anything will be a novelty to me," declared Mayne.
"I can lend you Fletcher's rifle, till your own comes up; in fact, he
said you were to use his battery and----"
"But, father," interrupted the girl, "you have forgotten that this is
tennis day! The Hicks, the Ffinches, and the 'Corner' boys, are coming."
"Oh, by Jove, yes! but you will be all right without us. You can
tackle more than that, my little Nance." Aside to Mayne, "She manages
everyone."
"Now you are thinking of Mrs. Ffinch," protested Nancy, "what excuse
could I offer? You know Captain Calvert is still at 'Clouds Rest,' and
with the Hicks, Andrew Meach, and the Pollards, she said we ought to
make up three sets."
"To-day or to-morrow is all one to me," was Mayne's generous
announcement,--for he was secretly longing to be off within the hour.
"Oh, well, Mr.--or is it Captain--Mayne?" He nodded. "I will try and
arrange the tennis somehow, and let father carry you off to draw the
'Bandy' sholah."
The immediate result of such magnanimous permission, was an animated
dispute; each party clamouring to yield to the other; finally it was
decided, that the sportsmen were to remain at home.
"It will give you an opportunity of meeting some of our neighbours,"
said Travers; then turning to his daughter, "Nancy child, five minutes
ago, I asked you to go in out of the sun."
"Yes, dear, but you know very well that my hair is as thick as a roof
thatch, and my skull is bomb-proof."
"Ah, I'm afraid this is a day, when you don't feel very good?"
"Oh, Daddy--please----!"
"Come along," he interrupted, taking her gently under the arms, raising
her to her feet, and drawing her into the verandah. Then to Mayne--who
had followed them, "When this sun-worshipper was a small, and unruly
mite, she obligingly prepared me for the worst, by announcing, 'Daddy,
I don't feel very good to-day.'"
"Oh, that story has been told all over the hills since I was two years
old!" protested Miss Nancy. "People are always quoting it. Don't you
think, Captain Mayne, that it is too bad of Daddy to give me away?"
"Make your mind easy, my dear child, your old Daddy will never give you
away. Now come along into the dining-room, and give us some breakfast,
and let Captain Mayne sample our famous Fairplains coffee."