MRS. FFINCH INTERVENES
The Honourable Mrs. Ffinch was not merely the happy possessor of
an energetic mind, but of an elastic physique. As soon as she had
recovered from the shock of Travers' death, heart and soul she set
about arranging his affairs--naturally beginning with his orphan
daughter!
Accordingly the afternoon after the funeral, the Clouds Rest car
once more glided up to Fairplains. On this occasion the visitor was
immediately admitted to see Nancy; who thanks to Mrs. Hicks' almost
violent insistence, had rested and eaten a mid-day meal. The white and
tearless girl submitted very patiently to her friend's caresses and
condolence. At last Mrs. Ffinch released her, and sat down,--still
holding her hand, as if she feared her escape,--began to talk to her
most seriously.
"Well, my dear child, I've settled everything! your room at Clouds Rest
is ready, the Dirzee is waiting to fit your mourning, and I have come
to fetch you away,--for I don't intend to leave you another day with
Mrs. Hicks."
"She has been so very, very kind," murmured Nancy, "I don't know what I
should have done without her."
The visitor dismissed this statement, with an impatient gesture, as she
resumed:
"And there's Captain Mayne! What is _he_ waiting for?"
"I suppose he is waiting for _me_," was the unexpected reply.
Mrs. Ffinch's large thin-lipped mouth opened, but no words came forth,
she merely gaped upon her young friend.
"We were married on Friday," calmly announced the bride.
"You were--_what_?" cried Mrs. Ffinch, hastily rising and towering over
the speaker.
"Married--married in the drawing-room here. Father wished it."
"And _you_?" demanded her breathless inquisitor.
"Oh no."
Here, within a few hours, was the second shock which Mrs. Ffinch had
sustained. To return to a hum-drum neighbourhood, after merely a week's
absence, and to find awaiting her, not only a sudden death, but a
sudden, amazing, and crazy marriage! Her head felt swimming; yet such
was the lady's ruling passion and ardour for managing, that even this
unparalleled situation, presented its compensations! With admirable
persistence and patience, she succeeded in dragging some facts from her
half-stunned and apathetic companion; and when all was made clear, she
said:
"Fancy! of all people in the world--you and Derek Mayne! Such a
hopelessly unsuitable couple to be chained together for life! _What_
have you in common?"
Nancy shook her head. She was not in a frame of mind to furnish either
reasons, or arguments.
"Nothing whatever," resumed Mrs. Ffinch, answering her own question.
"Certainly not sport--you merely went shooting, so as to be with your
Daddy: you know you hate killing things; you and Mayne agreed to
sacrifice yourselves, just to give that poor fellow an easy mind. My
dear, have you thought of the future?"
Nancy made no reply, her eyes were fastened on the corner of the room.
Undoubtedly her thoughts were miles away from her companion.
"Has Captain Mayne any plans? Come, come, Nancy, don't look so dull,
and dazed."
"I don't know."
"Don't know," repeated her friend, in a tone of exasperation. "My dear
good child, do try and rouse yourself, and think."
"I think," said the girl, speaking very deliberately and as if talking
was an immense effort, "that he is going away the day after to-morrow."
"And you too?"
"I suppose so," assented the bride, in a tone of stolid indifference.
"Good heavens--you 'suppose,' and you 'don't know.' Have you talked it
over together?"
"No," was the whispered reply.
Mrs. Ffinch threw up her shapely hands with a gesture of despair.
"This private marriage has taken place simply because your father saved
your husband's life."
"Don't call him my husband!" burst out Nancy, with a lightning flash of
her former self.
"Well, dear, I won't, if you don't like it. Your poor Daddy has left
you alone--and from what I hear--almost penniless."
These were hard words, and facts; but the Honourable Julia Ffinch never
flinched from the plainest of plain-speaking.
"And Mayne naturally feels bound in honour to provide for you."
An expressive silence followed this bald statement.
"Dear me, how you do stare, child! You know, I'm fond of you, Nancy,
darling, and I'm most frightfully upset about all this terrible
trouble; but just at the moment, I want to put my own feelings
_entirely_ aside, and try and act for your benefit. I had no idea, that
we were in the least likely to lose you, or that you were on the brink
of such an _awful_ leap in the dark. There's no time to be lost; now
is the moment for action. I shall go and have a good square talk with
Captain Mayne. I see him wandering about outside, looking for all the
world as if he were a lost dog."
As Mrs. Ffinch stepped down from the verandah to accost him, her first
words were:
"So you and Nancy are married!"
"Yes," he replied. "Don't you approve?"
"I am simply horrified," she answered, with deliberate emphasis. "Yes,
I _am_."
"But why?" he asked. "It was quite a sound thing to do."
"Only for the circumstances of the case, neither of you would ever have
dreamt of such a mad proceeding. Come, would you--honour bright?"
"Well, I don't suppose we should," he admitted reluctantly.
"Now look here, Captain Mayne," turning to pace beside him. "I
must speak my mind. You don't care a pin for one another. Nancy is
a mere child of freedom, a child still in many ways, and totally
inexperienced; you spend your life in military harness. What will
become of her as a regimental lady?"
Mayne coloured, and gave a short uneasy laugh.
"Oh, she'll be all right, I daresay."
"Why, only the other day you solemnly assured me, that you wouldn't
marry for years--if ever. I remember you quoted Kipling, 'He travels
fastest, who travels alone.'"
"That's true," he admitted, "but unexpected things happen. One never
can tell. I daresay Nancy and I will worry along as well as other
people."
"What a nice, cheerful way of looking at it," exclaimed Mrs. Ffinch.
"Well, of course we have made an awkward sort of start; and at present
Nancy, who used to be my best friend, cannot endure me in her sight.
I shall let her have everything her own way--anyhow for a time--for I
can thoroughly understand her feelings. Only for _me_, her father might
be here talking to you at this moment. However, I intend to do my big
best. Perhaps once Nancy has left these surroundings, she may not take
things so desperately hard. Our Colonel's wife is a rare good sort, and
will mother her; and I'll bring along the old ayah, the pony, and the
dog, so that she won't feel altogether too strange. I must go down the
day after to-morrow; and there are lots of things to settle up before
that."
"You will come over, and say good-bye to us, won't you? Hector would
like to see you, to talk business. He is arranging for a temporary
manager until he hears from Mr. Fletcher. He sent him a cable
yesterday."
After a little conversation respecting the new manager, and the
winding-up of the household, Mrs. Ffinch returned to Nancy, whom she
found precisely as she had left her, sitting with clasped hands, and
downcast eyes, staring hard at the floor.
"Come, come, my dear!" she protested briskly, "try and put away your
grief for a few minutes, and listen to me,--for I'm going to talk to
you, for your life-long good."
Nancy raised herself with an effort, and gazed at her adviser with a
pair of large, lack-lustre, eyes.
"Nancy, I have come to the conclusion, that you and Captain Mayne can
never be happy together. He is not one bit in love--I suppose you
realize _that_. He married you simply to fulfil what he considered
a duty,--the payment of an enormous debt! He belongs to a totally
different class--County people. I know his uncle--and I know his
mother--an odious, overbearing, cat! A super cat! I daresay you are
just as well born, but you will find that between you, and his people,
a great gulf is fixed. They will forget the true reason for the match,
and declare that he has been 'run in.' He has assured me more than once
that he had no intention of marrying; and is excessively anxious to
get on in his profession. I remember him saying that his sword was is
helpmate, and I know from my own experience, that an officer hampered
by a wife with no fortune, no helpful connections, is _too_ heavily
weighted."
"Then what do you advise me to do?" murmured Nancy, almost inaudibly.
"Remain with me at Clouds Rest, and let him return to Cananore alone.
Leave details to _me_; I can arrange everything,--I shall love doing
it! Scarcely a soul knows of the ceremony, and we shall keep it dark.
When once you are comfortably established with us, you shall write to
Captain Mayne, and tell him that he is absolutely released."
"But will it not be breaking a promise to father?" and Nancy rose
out of her chair, and stood before her adviser, a limp, and dejected
figure--an almost unrecognizable Nancy!
"No, my dearest child; you know, as well as I do, that your Daddy's
sole idea was for your _happiness_. This scrambled up 'shilling
shocker' affair would be for your _misery_."
Mrs. Ffinch waxed eloquent. She warmed with her subject; excitement,
and enthusiasm carried to her feet, and she stalked about the room,
declaiming with both hands. On more than one occasion, she had made a
marriage; here was a notable opportunity to break one! This idea, to
do her justice, was not the sole cause of her energetic intervention.
Nancy, more dead than alive, had apparently no interest in her future;
and was willing to drift wherever a miserable fate would take her; but
Julia Ffinch was not the woman to suffer a favourite puppet to be lost
to her in such a fashion! Nancy should have another chance, recover her
health, and spirits at Clouds Rest--and let Captain Mayne go his own
way.
Mrs. Ffinch had mapped out Nancy's future with a bewildering
thoroughness, and continued her exposition, and arguments with unabated
zeal. As for Captain Mayne, he would thankfully snatch at such a chance
of liberty; for never had she seen a young man so alarmingly altered,
and depressed.
"If you and Captain Mayne stick to one another, it will be," she
announced, "a deplorable calamity for both,--and his professional
ruin. If either of you were in love, of course I would not say a
word; but this is really _too_ cold-blooded! Mayne married you to
pay the price for his life--you married him--because your father was
naturally anxious to see you provided for; there is the whole affair in
a nutshell," extending two expressive hands, "and in my opinion, the
kernel is rotten!
"If I had been at home, this preposterous ceremony would never have
taken place. Thank goodness, it can be hushed up, and smothered
here--among the coffee bushes. Should it ever try to come to life,
the marriage must be annulled. As far as witnesses are concerned,
there will be _no_ difficulty. Doctor and Mrs. Hicks won't talk; and
Mr. Brownlow is about to settle in Tasmania. You will come and live
with me, and be my daughter," then with a cautious afterthought, "at
any rate for the present. As for Captain Mayne, he will rejoin his
regiment, and there won't be a whisper! He is coming over to-morrow
to Clouds Rest. I'll have a serious interview with him, and tell him
that he must really leave you with _me_. I know he will jump at the
offer, and be only too thankful to go off alone. Then as soon as he has
cleared out, you and I will put our heads together, and write him such
a clear, decisive letter, and put the matter so effectively, that he
will withdraw all claim."
Here Mrs. Ffinch paused, a little out of breath from this long oration,
and surveyed her companion judicially.
"Now what do you say, Nancy? Take your choice? Will you come to
_me_?--or go to _him_?"
"I hate him!" was the startling rejoinder.
"Ah, so I see you've made up your mind! Then the day after to-morrow,
I'll fetch you; I shall tell your ayah to put your things together.
I've given you the big room--so that you can have all your own
particular belongings round you--and I've ordered lots of mourning
paper. Well now, good-bye my own darling, don't think _too_ much; don't
let Mrs. Hicks worry you, and don't see more of _him_ than you can
help," and she nodded her head expressively.
Then Mrs. Ffinch went forth, and was ceremoniously conducted to her
car by Captain Mayne, who, as he walked beside her, dropping a casual
"yes" or "no," little dreamt of the scheme that was maturing in his
companion's ever active brain.