THE MEDITATIONS OF DEREK MAYNE
The cable dispatched to Mayne, had been so urgent and alarming, that
he half expected to hear bad news when the mail steamer called at
Port Said,--however, neither cable nor letter awaited him. Arriving
in London early one May morning, he drove up to his mother's house in
Charles Street,--intending to ask for news and a meal. The door was
opened by a somewhat dishevelled footman, who informed him that "her
ladyship was out of town."
"But was I not expected?" inquired the caller, glancing at his
luggage-laden taxi, "I am Captain Mayne."
"Oh yes, sir, you were ex_pected_, but her ladyship said as 'ow you
couldn't possibly be here before Monday, and she and his lordship has
gone down to Brighton for the week-end."
This was but a tepid welcome after an absence of some years; however,
there was nothing for Mayne to do, but re-enter the cab and have
himself driven to his club. Here, he encountered various old friends,
lunched, paid a hasty visit to his tailor, bought an umbrella, and took
the afternoon express to Campfield, the nearest station to Maynesfort.
Maynesfort was a venerable, but well preserved Jacobean house (with
artfully hidden Georgian patches), and stood amidst delightful and
rural surroundings. On the south side, lay a prim Dutch garden,
beyond that, an undulating heavily wooded park,--both overlooked by
the windows of a once famous library. This library was now the chief
reception room; ever since the death of Mrs. Mayne, the drawing-rooms
had been closed!
Here, the master of the house received his guests and tenants, here he
smoked, gossiped and read the newspapers--_The Times_, _The Field_,
_Country Life_, and with special avidity, the local Rag,--but he
never opened a book,--although encompassed by thousands of neglected
volumes.--He was not, as he boastfully declared, "a reading man."
"Jorrocks" was his favourite hero; his, was an outdoor temperament;
hunting, shooting, gardening, and farming were all to his taste; and
the house was merely a sort of refuge, where he ate, and slept; four
weeks' incarceration indoors, was to him an unexampled experience. On
a lounge in the library, surrounded by a volume of tobacco smoke, and
attended by a buxom nurse, the invalid was found by his nephew and heir.
Richard Mayne, J.P. and D.L., was a remarkably active little man, some
years over seventy; he had keen dark eyes, flexible brows, a firm,
clean shaven mouth, and a pleasant smile. The arrival of his nephew,
afforded him real and unqualified pleasure, and he greeted him with
outstretched hands, and a full resonant voice--by no means the feeble
squeak of an invalid.--"Got your wire this morning, sent the car, glad
to see you, my boy--very glad!"
"And how are you, Uncle Dick? you look fairly fit. Going on all right,
eh, nurse!" glancing at his companion.
"Yes, Mr. Mayne has made a remarkable recovery," she rejoined, "I
expect in a few weeks, he will be quite out of my hands," and she rose
and retired, leaving the uncle and nephew to themselves.
"It's the healthy outdoor life, eh, 'um, 'um, that's what has stood to
me--but I tell you, when that brute rolled on me, I thought it was a
case for the undertaker!
"Yes," assented his nephew, "from that cable, I was afraid you were in
a bad way, Uncle Dick, and I'm awfully glad to find you so well."
"We wrote to Port Said to tell you I was going on all right,--but I
daresay we missed the mail. You are looking uncommonly fit, not a bit
yellow or tucked up! India has taken no toll off _you_: good stations,
good sport, 'um, 'um?"
After such a long absence from home, there was much for Mayne to hear,
and for his uncle to impart; the old gentleman was a fluent talker,
and enchanted to get hold of a listener, to whom all his news was
absolutely fresh. He was ten times more anxious to relate, than to
listen, and unfolded a heavy budget,--without displaying any curiosity
as to what the traveller might have to offer in exchange?
First, there were the full details of his accident,--including the
weather, the condition of the ground, the character, and pedigree of
the horse; then came "the case," the doctors, the specialist, and a
warm eulogium of his nurses. After this, the county news; succeeded by
estate and domestic intelligence; who had come, and who had gone, how
the pheasants had done; how the great fig tree was dead,--also the hen
swan, and the old woman at the west lodge.
Mayne found the place but little changed--everything in the same
apple-pie order. Maynesfort was his uncle's hobby, he loved the old
place with an absorbing passion,--and to tell the truth found her a
very extravagant mistress! A series of reckless predecessors, had
dissipated and gambled away the property, till but about a thousand
acres remained; and although the owner lived, so to speak, rent free,
there was much to maintain; the ancient house like its kind, was in
constant want of repair; the drains, the roof, the chimneys, called for
outlay, and supervision; the gardens, greenhouses, and avenues, had to
be kept up,--as Maynesfort had a reputation to support, and there were
no nice fat farms, to bring in a steady revenue.
The late Mrs. Mayne, had been a woman of fortune, and her money
had assisted to maintain Maynesfort, as a sort of show place.--Its
mullioned windows and heavy chimney stacks, were a great feature on the
local post cards.
As the long May days went by, the heir of Maynesfort found time to hang
heavily on his hands,--although he successfully concealed the fact.
There was no shooting, except a few pigeon of an evening; naturally
there was no hunting, he was not a fisherman; most of the neighbours
were in London for the season, and the Parsonage was in quarantine
with scarlet fever. Mayne rode about the lanes on an elderly cob,
strolled through the park and gardens, played cricket with the village
team,--but still the days were long and empty.
He read the papers to his uncle, played dominoes and backgammon, and
even "cut-throat" Bridge with him and the nurse. He smoked many pipes,
and listened to many stories: descriptions of the season's good runs,
and best days' shooting.
Strange to say, the old gentleman exhibited but little or no interest
in Indian sport,--nor wished to hear, in what way his nephew had passed
the last four years? It was sufficient for him to know that he was
there, sitting opposite to him, looking a little older,--but both hale,
and hearty.
Richard Mayne was a man of one idea at a time,--but that idea, excluded
all others, and would occasionally hold the fort of his mind for
months. His present obsession, was, that Mayne should, could, and
must, marry,--and that without delay. At first his nephew had put
the suggestion aside with a joke, and a laugh; but he soon realized
that indifference and frivolity raised his uncle's ire; the flexible
eyebrows went up and down, or met, alarmingly; the "'um, 'um, 'ums"
came thick, and fast,--he resigned himself to the situation, and
suffered the old gentleman to talk and talk, and even to arrange a
formal, and imaginary parade of all the available spinsters in the
county!
"You see, my dear boy," he urged, "that time, when I was lying on my
back, and they were not quite sure, if I was internally injured, I
could not help thinking of this dear old place,--and its new master."
"What nonsense, Uncle Dick," protested Mayne, "you will be master here
for years, and years."
"No, no," waving away the idea, "if I'd snuffed out, you would have
had to come back, and take over my shoes, and sit here all alone; no
mistress for the house; so I made up my mind, that if I recovered, I'd
take right good care to see you _married_; married to some nice girl
with money; family not so important, you have enough family for both!
Now tell me, Derek, is there any young woman, you have a fancy for?"
"No, not one."
"Well, then, my dear boy, you must look round, now you are at home, and
find a pretty girl, with a pretty fortune, that will keep the old place
on its legs,--otherwise it might have to be _let_, and if that came to
pass, I believe I'd come out of the family vault! You know your aunt's
money goes back to her own people; the property itself is not worth
much. There is the grazing, and the woods, and Jones sells some of the
garden stuff, but the men's wages and coal and coke, run into hundreds
a year; our gambling ancestors staked farms and livings, and fishing
rights on the length of a straw, or the activity of a snail, and I tell
you, my blood boils when I think of them!"
"To marry, to look out for a nice girl with money," was the "motive,"
which, like the ever recurring air in an opera, ran through all Mr.
Mayne's jokes, reminiscences, and solemn exhortations to his nephew;
the subject became intolerable; his good nature and patience were
wearing a little thin, and it was an immense relief to escape into the
park of an afternoon, whilst the invalid dozed, there to wander about,
accompanied by two happy brown spaniels.
To find himself thrown entirely upon his own society, was a rare
experience for Derek Mayne; opportunities to meditate, and hold counsel
with his subconscious self, were invariably passed over and neglected;
his impulse was for action, to be up and doing, not thinking, or
mooning; but for once he found his thoughts arrested, and intensely
occupied, by his uncle's "idea," for once, he approached a subject,
with which he had hitherto refused to grapple,--and a swarm of
thoughts, not hitherto entertained, suddenly invaded his brain.
It was his nature to face things--but there was one stern fact, he had
always thrust aside. "Nancy!--their marriage! What was to be the end
of that coil?" Was he to go through life alone?--to live in that place
in the hollow, with no companionship, and no affection,--save what was
offered by the dogs? He might, he believed,--though he had never looked
into the subject,--obtain a divorce for desertion; but the idea was
repugnant,--such an action impossible!
He thought of Travers, who had given his life for him,--his anxiety
about the future of his little girl; the subsequent relief, and
gratitude he had read in those dying eyes; how could he drag "the
little girl" into the blaze and publicity of "a case in the courts";
oh, it was altogether a deadly business, and yet, where had he gone
wrong? Possibly, when he had suffered a mere chit of eighteen, to
take command of the situation; on the other hand, he recalled with a
guilty qualm, his sense of profound relief, and satisfaction, when he
discovered that she had cut the knot, severed their bonds, and fled!
The haunting vision of a miserable, white-faced, blighted, flapper,
accompanying him back to Cannanore, had undoubtedly had its terrors;
his colonel did not encourage matrimony,--it spoiled the mess,--and all
his little world would marvel at his choice! He wondered what Nancy was
like now? and what were her surroundings? Possibly she lived in some
third rate suburban circle, was prominent in the local tennis club,
wore home-made frocks, adored (platonically) some preacher or actor,
and led her old aunt by the nose. Only for the secret tie, which held
him, he might have been married long ere this. There was that lively
little girl up at Murree. What marvellous red hair, how she danced and
chattered; and she had liked him too,--but he had never gone beyond
the flirting stage, or dropped into serious love-making; the memory of
Fairplains constrained him.
A pretty face, had always appealed to Mayne, and certainly Nancy was
no beauty,--possibly by now, she had improved in appearance,--when her
complexion was no longer exposed to the sun, and her hair was properly
dressed, she might pass in a crowd; she would always be quick witted,
quick footed, and quick tempered. After much serious reflection, and
many pipes, he came to the conclusion, that now he was at home, it
was his business to find out something about _Mrs. Mayne_. The name
made him pause, and laugh aloud,--to the great bewilderment of the two
spaniels.--He need not necessarily seek an interview, no, far from it;
but he might as well make cautious inquiries, and discover where she
lived? and what she was doing?
Mrs. Ffinch was the right woman to lend him a helping hand, and as she
was expected home within the next few weeks, he would ask her to look
up Nancy, without bringing him into the question. Here was a field for
her particular activities; it was just the sort of commission she would
eagerly undertake, and thoroughly enjoy.
At the end of a fortnight, Mayne prepared to take his departure for
London; not without a half expected, and feared, opposition on the part
of his uncle; but to his surprise and joy, the old gentleman received
his hint of a move, without demur,--for he assured himself, that Derek
was about to act on his advice, and "look about him," and the sooner
he commenced his quest, the better. It was true that he had given no
definite promise; he had said but little; just lounged, and smoked,
and stared at the carpet, or out of the window; however, it was a well
known, and well proved adage, that "silence gives consent."
It was with a blissful sense of escape, that Mayne found himself seated
in the car, and once more bound for Campfield station. The sensation
was unusual,--for it was the first time, that he had ever felt glad to
leave Maynesfort, and he was secretly ashamed of his joyful relief. The
old man, accustomed to a life of constant outdoor activity, was putting
in a dull time,--and it had enlivened his empty hours, to build castles
in the air,--instead of model cottages,--and reckon upon the future
of his successor's wife, yes--and children! The nurseries had not been
occupied for nearly fifty years; but as the car skimmed round the last
bend in the avenue, and the tall chimney stacks sank out of sight,
Mayne, as he lighted his cigar, sternly assured himself, that as far as
_he_ was concerned,--Maynesfort would never have a mistress.