IN BLACK AND WHITE
Mayne, an early riser, was generally the first to appear at chotah
hazri; and when, with an impressive gesture, Francis laid Nancy's
letter on the table beside him, he instantly recognized the writing,
and felt a premonition that there was something in the wind! With
admirably concealed impatience, he waited until the servant had
retired, to open this, the first communication from his wife. He read
it standing; then he sat down with a sudden plunge, and went slowly
over it again, whilst a curious, rather grim expression stole across
his face. Nancy's strange attitude was here most fully, and frankly
explained. Her look of cold dislike, her frigid silence, and pointed
avoidance, were amply accounted for, by the fact that she hated the
man, whom in her heart she accused of being the cause of her father's
death. Her love for _him_, was so absolute and overwhelming, that it
had changed her kindly liking for Mayne, into horror, and detestation,
and she spurned what she termed his "payment." The information was
before his eyes in clear black and white--the girl wrote a good,
legible hand--she had shot her bolt and fled. So after all his anxious
heart-searchings, stifled reluctance, and sincere good-will, Nancy had
deserted him, and gone her own way, to live her own life!
His feelings were an extraordinary mixture; various and unusual
sensations, in turn swept over him; anger, humiliation,
astonishment--then finally, relief. It was a relief, to be free
from the desperate embarrassment of being married to a girl, a mere
playfellow, with whom he had never exchanged a word of love, nor for
whom he had ever felt the smallest touch of passion; yet on the
other hand, Nancy was his legal wife, and--in spite of her ignorant
confidence, and offer of release--to the best of his belief, it was
impossible to sever the bond between them. Also, he was in the position
of being sole executor of her father's will, and scanty personal estate.
The actual fact of the marriage was known to few. He could now
rejoin his regiment as a bachelor; and the distasteful vision, of
presenting himself at Cananore, in company with a stony-faced, abjectly
miserable bride, faded away into the background. He would still
continue to live at the Mess, and if later, there were any awkward
developments--"sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof!"
Mayne paused in his tramp to and fro, and was about to pour himself out
a cup of tea, when he beheld the shiny, copper-coloured face of Teddy
Dawson, appearing above the steps.
"So I hear you are off this afternoon," he began, "and I have just
looked in to know if I can do anything to help? I was the first to
welcome you, and I should like to be the last to speed you, from this
part of the world."
"You have come at an opportune moment," said Mayne, holding out his
hand; "the very fellow I particularly want to see. But first let me get
you a cup of tea."
"All right, I don't mind," said Ted, tossing down his battered topee,
and taking a seat at the table. "How is Nancy?"
"Nancy has gone."
"Gone! What the Dickens do you mean?--Nancy gone! Gone where?"
"As you were at the marriage, and are altogether behind the scenes,
also my first friend here,--I think I may show you her letter," said
Mayne, and he handed it across to his gaping _vis-à-vis_.
Dawson read it with irritating deliberation; going back over sentences,
and frowning heavily as he did so. When he came to the end, he looked
up and said:
"Nancy was always a queer child, and you will have to let her alone.
You couldn't well follow her, and drag her back--could you?"
"I shall not move a finger," said Mayne, with deliberate emphasis.
"It's just like one of her tempers; she'll cool down all right."
"And where do I come in?" inquired Mayne. "She has made a pretty good
fool of _me_!"
"Oh, you'll forgive her some day, for you're a real white man! I'm
awfully fond of Nan; she is clean, through and through--couldn't lie if
she tried; knows nothing whatever of love; or what's called 'sex,' and
that sort of thing. Her heart and soul were given to her Daddy; and now
that he is gone, the poor child feels that her life is smashed to bits."
"That's true," assented Mayne, "and I can understand her grief. I have
made every allowance, and never intruded on her for a moment. I have
not laid eyes on Nancy since the funeral; she has remained shut up in
her own room. This," holding up the note, "is the first sign that she
has recognized my existence, and it gives me my dismissal, or 'jawaub.'"
"Well, well," resumed Dawson, after an expressive pause (during which
he disposed of a large cup of tea), "it's rather a facer, I'll allow. I
believe I can trace the delicate hand of Mrs. Ffinch in it--she always
has a finger in every one's pie--and hitherto she has looked upon Nancy
as her own particular property. By the way, have you made any fresh
plans?"
"Yes. I leave early this afternoon. Nancy's baggage will, of course,
remain, and as not a word of this business is known to anyone, bar the
Hicks, Mrs. Ffinch, and yourself, I shall rejoin my regiment, as if
nothing had happened."
"And keep up the delusion?" said Ted, opening his large blue eyes;
"that won't be easy."
"Why not? I don't intend to follow, or to trace Nancy: she can go her
own way. Money affairs, I'll arrange with you. I shall make her an
allowance, paid half-yearly to your bankers. Who are they?"
"Grindlay and Co., but you may spare yourself the trouble, for Nancy
won't accept a penny--if _I_ know her."
"I shall lodge it all the same," said Mayne, looking obstinate. "Two
hundred and fifty pounds a year. I won't have her governessing, or any
of that nonsense. The inventory here has been seen to by Mrs. Hicks,
and the station-writer; I have wound up a few business matters, paid
off the servants, and, excepting a couple of yearly cheques, I shall
have no more to say to--Mrs. Mayne!"
"Is that so?"
"Certainly; it is Nancy who has left me,--and, as the natives say, 'one
hand cannot clap.'"
"I must confess, I don't wonder you feel a bit hurt."
"Hurt!" repeated Mayne, with an angry laugh.
"I've a good idea where Nancy is. She has gone down to her old nurse in
Coimbatore; an excellent woman, who married a chap in the Telegraphs.
Nance could not be better fixed up, for the present; the girl feels
like a mortally wounded animal, that wants to hide from its own sort.
It would have been a terrible ordeal for a child like Nancy, with her
hurt, so to speak, _raw_, to find herself launched amongst complete
strangers, with no one to hold on to, but a fellow she had known for a
few weeks. One of my coolies told me, that last night he had seen the
ghost of a woman on a white horse riding down the ghât road. Of course,
that was Nancy, making for the railway station."
"I'm fairly broad-minded," said Mayne, "and I can see the matter from
your point of view; naturally, you hold a brief for Nancy. I remember
the first time we met, you told me she was the apple of your eye!"
"Aye. And what queer things have happened, since we overtook you that
day on your way here. Now I wonder, if I had turned you back, would it
have made any difference?"
"No--I believe it was 'Kismet.' I wish to goodness, Kismet had left me
alone. However, I shall give the girl a wide berth,--and her freedom."
"Oh, will you?" Dawson's tone implied doubt.
"Yes, I shall hold my tongue; none of my brother officers would dream
of my having got married up on a coffee estate. Later, it may be a
bit awkward. You see I am my uncle's heir." He paused for a moment,
and fumbled with his tobacco pouch,--which, all unconscious, he was
holding upside down. "However, I'll manage somehow--even if there _are_
complications."
"And how about Nancy? When she has recovered from this blow, has gone
to England and grown up, how will it be, if she comes across a fellow
she takes to? If ever she falls in love, it will be the devil of a
business. A case of all--or nothing. What will happen then, eh?"
"There's no good in looking so far ahead," declared Mayne, preparing
to light his pipe. "Why meet trouble half way--one of us may die----"
"Who is talking of dying?" inquired Mrs. Hicks, suddenly launching
herself into the verandah. "Boys, I've overslept myself most
disgracefully! and I'm shockingly late; but I always _was_ a
lazybones,--and fond of my little bed. I've not even been in to see
Nancy yet."
When it had been carefully explained to her, that there was no Nancy to
see, her fat, florid face was a study.
"Well, this _is_ a nice how-do-you-do!" she exclaimed. "If I hadn't
been an old silly, I might have had my suspicions, from her being so
quiet. Well, well, well! Fancy her running away! I didn't think she 'ad
it in her."
"Oh, there's a lot in Nancy," declared her champion.
"She kissed me something extra last night," resumed Mrs. Hicks, "and I
suppose it was for _good-bye_. Lors! what will people say!"
"Nothing," replied Mayne emphatically. "They don't know anything about
_me_, and they will think it only natural that she should--as Dawson
suspects--have gone to her old nurse."
"And so it's--you know what I mean--to be a dead letter, and hushed up?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Hicks gave a shrill, unladylike whistle.
"Well, I declare! All the servants are 'in the know,'--but that doesn't
count; folks don't ever believe 'bazaar' talk, and of course Hicks and
I will 'old our tongues--you bet."
"That will be very kind of you, Mrs. Hicks--but----"
"But," nodding her head expressively, "if either of you go and marry
other people, it will be bigamy, eh?"
"I suppose so," replied Mayne. "There is one thing positively certain."
"What's that?"
"That I have been married for the first, and last, time."
"Well, there's no saying; queer things 'appen. I'm sure this day week,
you never dreamt you'd be a married man to-day; and you and Nancy are
married, just as tight as 'Icks and me. You've got the certificate?"
"I have, and I do not intend to shirk all my responsibilities. I shall
make Nancy an allowance; but I'll never see her again."
"Many's the woman that will be thankful to be married on _those_
terms," chuckled Mrs. Hicks, now lighting up.
The good lady was enjoying a thorough holiday, and being as free and
easy, and talkative as she pleased; far removed from the irritating
criticisms of her daughters. She and her would-be son-in-law were pals!
It was Jessie, influenced by Mrs. Ffinch--and Dr. Hicks--ambitious for
his daughter--who were the real obstacles to the alliance.
"I'll run down to Coimbatore," she announced, "and see the child. Hicks
doesn't like the look of her, and I'll just tell her what I think of
her, for giving me the slip, the sly little toad! I suppose you don't
send her no message?" suddenly turning to Mayne.
"Well, yes, perhaps I'd better. I'll go and write a line now, no time
like the present," and he rose and went towards the den.
Mrs. Hicks' eyes followed him steadily. Then she burst out:
"Nancy has been a fool!--fine, upstanding young fellows like him aren't
to be found on every coffee-bush, that I can tell you."
"Maybe it'll come all right yet," said Dawson soothingly.
"Maybe not. She has given him a nasty whack, and I think myself he has
a pride. My old boy will fetch me to-day, and everything here is now
settled, and cleared up, and the Travers' belongings are packed and
ready for the road. I believe the new acting-manager comes to-morrow.
My, what a change!" she added gloomily; "and all in one little week."
"Yes, and somehow I can't realize it," said Dawson. "As I sit here,
I half expect to see Travers riding up from the Factory on his brown
pony, and Nancy flying along this verandah, like a gale of wind."
"Aye, that's true," assented Mrs. Hicks, and she heaved a great sigh;
"we have all had good times here, and the Travers' can never be
replaced," and again she sighed heavily.
Meanwhile Mayne was writing rapidly on the estate note-paper:
DEAR NANCY,
I have received your letter, and accept the situation, all shall
be as you wish. I am sorry to find that you dislike me so
inveterately, and decline what you describe as 'Payment'--but it
cannot be helped. Let me assure you, that I have no intention of
coming into your life, and the marriage, as far as I am concerned,
shall be as though it had never taken place. I have arranged to
make you a yearly allowance (£250) which will be paid to our
mutual friend, Ted Dawson. The estate and personal affairs have
been satisfactorily settled.
Yours faithfully,
DEREK DANVERS MAYNE.
When he handed this note to Mrs. Hicks, she turned it over, looked at
the superscription, and remarked:
"I see you've addressed it to 'Miss Travers.'"
"Well, why not?" he protested; "I feel sure Nancy would not have opened
it, had it been addressed to 'Mrs. Mayne.'"
* * * * *
Early that same afternoon Mayne rode down the ghât,--in what a
different frame of mind, to the blithe expectations with which he had
gaily ascended the same road! Near the foot of the hills he encountered
a syce, who salaamed to him profoundly! Could there be anything
ironical in that salute? The man was leading a remarkably hot grey
pony; the pony was carrying a side-saddle.--An episode was closed.