EIGHTEEN ON TUESDAY
For two days after the loss of Sam, Nancy remained inconsolable; she
could neither eat nor rest, her face looked small, her tragic eyes
sunken and dim; also she wept for hours,--utterly indifferent to
consolation, or chocolates. "The Corner" after the day's work, ascended
to sympathize, Mrs. Ffinch descended with a similar kind intention, and
expressed shocked concern; but her kissing, endearments, and honeyed
words, were a waste of time and breath.
"I shall never get over it, Finchie, never!" moaned the girl, "and I
won't rest till the panther has been killed, and _skinned_. Daddy has
offered a reward of thirty rupees,--but so far it is no use."
"Take her out riding--_make_ her go," commanded Mrs. Ffinch, "she can't
sit here all day nursing her grief. Try what you can do, Captain Mayne,
take her up to the Meaches, Nellie has returned home, and Major Meach
always amuses Nancy."
"I don't think anything would amuse her now," he answered.
"Look at Togo," burst out Nancy, "_he_ knows. All yesterday he lay with
his face to the wall--here in the verandah--and he has not touched a
morsel since it happened. Oh, my poor Sam!" The name was almost a cry.
"If you and Togo starve yourselves, my dear, what good will that do
poor Sam?" inquired the practical visitor, "I'm sure he would not like
you to die too. You really must cheer up, for your father's sake. I am
awfully sorry myself; as the son of our dear old Dan, Sam was a sort of
nephew. We will all give him a great funeral----"
She stopped abruptly as it flashed into her mind that there were no
remains. Ultimately her powers of persuasion, proved effectual, and
Nancy reluctantly agreed to give her pony some exercise, and not to
indulge her emotions in such frantic ungovernable native fashion.
Travers was as usual busy among his coolies, and Mayne and Nancy set
off alone, and rode over to the Meaches, precisely as Mrs. Ffinch had
ordained.
It was a cheerful breezy trip; sometimes the road lay in hollows,
winding round a valley, and between blackberry bushes, wattles, ash
trees, and wild roses, recalling an English lane; or again, over grassy
uplands, with a delightful breeze, driving white clouds overhead.
By and by, Nancy recovered her self-control, and her tongue,--a member
that was never long mislaid.
The Meach family lived eight miles from Fairplains, on a poor worn out,
and out of the way estate; Major Meach, having spent all he possessed,
invested his wife's little fortune in this, so to speak "refuge," and
here she and her offspring slaved and struggled, in order to provide
their old man of the sea, with everything he demanded in the way of
attention, and comfort.
Part of the estate was let to a native, part was worked by Andy,
whilst Mrs. Meach and her three pretty daughters kept cows and
poultry, and sold eggs and butter among their neighbours. Blanche, the
beauty,--thanks to Mrs. Ffinch,--was satisfactorily married; Tom, the
youngest son, slaved in an office, and sent all he could spare to his
harassed mother who struggled to keep house, and maintain a presentable
family, on one hundred rupees a month.
The Misses Meach emerged into the verandah when they heard the glad
sound of voices, accompanied by the clatter of hoofs, and Gladys and
Nellie joyfully hailed Nancy, who instantly in a strangled voice,
claimed their sympathy for her irreparable loss.
"The dear faithful fellow!--how dreadful!" said Nellie. "I remember one
time, you went home by the old road, he missed you, and came back here,
and lay all night by the chair you had been sitting on."
"Bah! what's a dog!" snarled Major Meach, a preposterously fat man, who
now appeared, and with a curt salute to Mayne, sank with heavy violence
into a creaking wicker chair. "Lots to be had! We can give you half a
dozen--greedy, good-for-nothing brutes!"
Mrs. Meach, a worn, thin woman, with remarkably red hands, and a still
pretty face, who had been ordering tea, now came forward to welcome
her guests. Poor lady! her life had been, and was, a tragedy. Once a
beauty, she was thought to have made a fine match when she married
Captain Meach of the Light Lancers,--a man with a nice fortune. The
nice fortune, he squandered on himself; and poor Amy Meach, after
knocking about the world from garrison town to cantonment, saving,
pinching, rearing a family, and keeping up appearances, was now the
drudge, and servant, of her selfish and unwieldy tyrant.
Her hope, comfort, and joy, was in her children; possibly some day, she
may be in a position to sit down and be served by other people, to read
a novel, or even to take a morning in bed!
Everything at Panora seemed cheap and faded,--except the fat helpless
old Major, and his three pretty girls. He insisted on keeping up "his
position," as he called it; the shabby, timid-looking servants, wore
in their turbans, the badge of a regiment that had been only too
thankful to get rid of their master!
He, who was a notorious slacker, now posed as a former martinet, and
present authority, and his faithful family believed in the fable. The
truth was, that but for Mrs. Meach, who was popular, and for whom
everyone was sorry, he would not have been "let down," so to speak,
without a nasty jar.
The Tyrant liked to fasten on Mayne,--who occasionally escorted Nancy,
when she came to see her friends,--and to question him sharply on Army
matters, and utter high boastings of "my old regiment--Cavalry--_I_
never could stand being a mud-crusher!" and as he knew that Mayne was
an Infantry officer, this remark was, to say the least, tactless.
When they all sat at tea, he talked with his mouth full, helped himself
to hot cakes--two at a time--bragged, snubbed his family, laid down
the law, and made rude personal remarks. With regard to his daughter
Nellie, he said:
"We sent Nellie down to try her luck in Bangalore; but there was no
market, no buyers--and here she is, back on our hands like a bad penny."
Poor Nellie blushed till there were tears in her eyes.
"I'll give her to anyone with a pound of tea--ha! ha! ha!"
"If you were _my_ father, and made such rude speeches," said Nancy
fiercely, "I'd be very glad to give _you_ away, with a whole
plantation!"
"There you go, spitfire!" he exclaimed.--He rather liked Nancy, because
she boldly opposed him.--"You've been spoiled, my good girl; if your
father had given you some _sound_ thrashings, you would not be so
cocksey--and such a bad example to other young women."
"I think," said Mayne, rising, "it is time for us to make a start," and
he eyed the old bully, with a menacing stare.
"Oh, ho!" and he chuckled. "Nancy is used to me--aren't you, red poll?
_You_ don't mind!"
"I'll overlook the outrage this time, but as an apology, I must have
Gladys and Nellie to spend the day on Monday."
"Can't be done--no ponies!"
"Then I'll borrow the Clouds Rest car."
"Will you! You've cheek enough for anything! If you can get the car,
you shall have the girls, and the Missus thrown in--there's an offer
for you!"
Mayne, who felt a touch of sincere pity for poor Mrs. Meach and her
browbeaten daughters, experienced a sense of profound relief when the
farewells were over, and he and Nancy rode away.
"Look in again soon, young fellow!" shouted Major Meach. "Nancy, tell
your father to send me up a bag of his number one coffee--it can come
in the car."
"I don't know about that bag of coffee," said Mayne; "but old Meach
won't see _me_ again."
"Isn't he a horror?"
"I'm awfully sorry for his daughters; when he told the fair one to
'shut up,' I felt inclined to shy a plate at him!"
"And he is such an ungrateful old monster! Only for the way those girls
work, and go without things, there would be no cigars, no Europe hams,
tinned stores, or whisky and soda. He _must_ have everything he wants,
or he yells, and storms like a madman. I've told him one or two plain
truths about his selfishness."
"Have you? I must say you are fairly plucky."
"Nicky Byng admires Nellie, but it's no good; all the same, if I _do_
get the car, I'll let him know."
"Fancy trying your hand at match-making,--a child like _you_!" and
Mayne turned in his saddle, and surveyed his companion, with a broad
smile.
"Of course, I know it's no use. Finchie throws buckets of cold water
on the affair; she hopes to marry Nellie off, the same as Blanche
Sandilands. Blanche has a splendid car, lives in a big house on the
Adyar, and entertains half Madras. All the same, I think Nellie likes
Nicky."
"Then why mind Mrs. Ffinch, and her cold water?"
"We all mind her; she is so far-sighted, and clever--all but Ned, he
thinks her too meddlesome, and anyway, she _did_ talk Jessie Hicks out
of accepting him."
"Do you suppose, that Mrs. Ffinch could talk you out of accepting
anyone?"
"How can you be so silly! Anyway, there will be no occasion, for I
don't intend to marry."
"Bosh! Wait till you are older, and then we shall see what we shall
see."
"I'm quite old enough to know my own mind."
"Not you!"
"Don't be rude. Do you know, that I shall be eighteen on Tuesday?"
"I know that you are trying to pull my leg, miss! You are not an hour
over sixteen--if so much. I should put you down at fourteen if I were
asked."
"Well, if you won't believe me, you can see the certificate of birth
and baptism.--I was born at Fairplains."
"But, Nancy," suddenly pulling up his cob, "I've always understood you
were a mere child--if you really _are_ eighteen--I--I feel completely
_bouleversé_; in other words, shattered; for I've been treating you as
a little girl, and all the time, you are a young lady! I declare, I'm
so upset, I shall tumble off the cob!"
"Don't tumble yet; stick on, and I'll explain. Daddy likes me to look
a mere child, and can't endure the idea of my growing up. So I always
wear simple frocks, and short skirts--it was only the other day, I put
my hair up."
"Did you wear a pig-tail?"
"Yes, of course I did--it was a beauty, too."
"And I know I'd have pulled it! that's one temptation removed! Well,
let me here and now apologize for my many enormities. I'm most
frightfully sorry; I wish you were only sixteen."
"You may go on just as if I were. They all do."
"Thank you, Nancy. And so Mrs. Ffinch is law-maker, the local dictator,
and match-maker?"
"Yes. She is immensely proud of the Meach affair; but not so proud
of Fred Pollard's match. She married him off to a girl who was most
unsuitable--so much so, that Fred fled to Ceylon, and the Pollards are
not very good friends with Finchie! She does not wish Ted to marry
Jessie Hicks; for then Nicky would have to move out of The Corner, and
he might take it into his head, to run away with Nellie--and she has
magnificent plans for her."
"Wheels within wheels," exclaimed Mayne. "It strikes me all the same,
that these young people are not desperately in love; if they were,
they'd never take all this so tamely, or so to speak, lying down."
"Well you see, they are all very busy one way or another, and have no
time. When they _do_ meet at tennis, Finchie mixes the sets, and sorts
them out, as you saw!"
"Yes, I saw; but I must confess I did not notice the usual interesting
signs of mutual attachment."
"No? What are the signs?"
"I don't know much about it, but sitting in one another's pockets,
holding one another's hands, and obviously wishing us all at Jericho."
"Yes. Haven't you been in love yourself? You _must_--you are getting
on!"
"Getting on, you rude child! Why, I'm only seven and twenty. As to
being in love--no, never what you may call, seriously."
"Seriously?"
"That is to say unable to eat, or sleep--living solely to see _her_--or
if not her--the postman, who carries her priceless letters."
"Ah, you jeer at love! Perhaps it may pay you out one day."
"Perhaps! And what about you, Nancy? Has no smart young tennis champion
awakened your interest?"
She burst into a peal of laughter--her first laugh for four whole days.
"No, I've never been in love--or ever will; I haven't a tiny scrap to
spare from Daddy; and here he comes to meet us--with poor lonely Togo."
"Well, Nance," he called out, "I've just fixed up a splendid treat for
your birthday."
"What is it? Oh, tell me quickly--quickly!"
"We are going down to Holikul for three days for a shoot. There is a
big native holiday that draws off our coolies, and I've invited the
Corner boys; you shall undertake the commissariat, and play the queen
of the party."
"How delightful, Daddy!" cried Nancy; then as she glanced at Mayne,
"Oh, poor Captain Mayne!--your jaw has dropped four cubic inches; but
I do assure you, it will be all right--when I'm out on a beat, and sit
up in a machan, I'm so deadly, deadly, quiet, that you might hear a fly
sneeze!"