THE INDIAN MAIL
When Nancy found herself in her own room, she locked the door, and
sat down to face this unexpected situation,--this new trouble. She
was well aware of the reason of Derek's abrupt departure, but surely
it was impossible for him to believe that she had run away with Sir
Dudley? he must have heard from his uncle, that she was still at the
Court. However, it was evident, that he had received a bad impression
of her character, and would have nothing further to say to her! She
immediately determined to write to him, and found wonderful comfort in
the conviction, that she could clear herself by pen and paper,--but
unfortunately the letter would have to wait for days before it could
be dispatched. This important epistle she wrote, re-wrote, corrected,
and copied, over and over again. Sometimes she found that it said too
much, sometimes too little; sometimes it was too bold, sometimes too
formal,--and always too _long_. After many hours of meditation, and
changing her mind, and destroying much note-paper, she completed in
two sheets, an explanation, which she believed would do,--and leave no
disagreeable _arrière pensée_ upon her conscience.
With considerable diplomacy she obtained the correct address from
Mr. Mayne, motored over to Maynesfort alone, took tea with the old
gentleman, entertained him with lively talk, made a casual inquiry, and
accomplished her errand! On mail day, the momentous dispatch was duly
posted by her own hand.
The next event in Nancy's existence, was the death of Mrs. Jenkins. A
sudden seizure of apoplexy carried her off in a few hours; her will
proved to be a surprising document, and a bitter disappointment to Mrs.
Taylor. To her dear friend Henrietta Taylor, she only left one hundred
pounds, to Miss Dolling, fifty pounds,--for the purchase of a mourning
ring,--the Pom and a substantial sum were bequeathed to the butler;
three hundred a year and her wardrobe, to Baker, her faithful maid;
her pearls and her portrait to her dear niece, Nancy Travers, as well
as the Travers silver and books; all the remainder--including lease of
house and investments--were to his great surprise bequeathed to the
nephew of her late husband, Samuel Jenkins.
After all, it was but just and fair, that the Jenkins money, should
return to the Jenkins purse? But why should poor Mrs. Taylor be cut
off with a hundred pounds?--alas! the sad truth must be disclosed.
Although Mrs. Taylor enjoyed prolonged midnight conferences, it was
Baker, the maid, who had the very _last_ word, when putting her lady to
bed. Baker cordially hated Mrs. Taylor,--naturally it was painful for
her to witness the valuable presents, and beautiful dresses, that the
weak-minded old lady bestowed upon her toady.--By gradual degrees, the
crafty woman dropped some poisonous truths into her mistress's ear; she
even inferred, that Mrs. Taylor was a double-faced friend; who said one
thing to her lady's face, and another behind her back!
"I know for a fact, that she told Mrs. Seymour as how your memory was
going," boldly announced Baker,--with her mistress's little rat tail of
back hair, tightly clenched in her hand, "and that you really wanted
someone like herself, to look after you, and your affairs."
Although Mrs. Jenkins had angrily repudiated this information, and
commanded the maid to hold her tongue, nevertheless the dart rankled,
and went far to counteract Mrs. Taylor's honeyed speeches, and
audacious flatteries. To these, Mrs. Jenkins listened greedily,--but
she was a sly old thing, and took notes. One or two of her visitors,
had ventured hints respecting Mrs. Taylor and her pretensions,--for her
arrogance had become insupportable. It had been whispered, that she had
already decided what she intended to do with the house in Queen's Gate,
when it was her property; and had more than once rashly intimated,
that her dear friend Mrs. Jenkins was "breaking up!"
Nancy, who was much surprised at the news of her legacy, stored the
picture, sent the pearls to her bank, and went into slight mourning.
In these days, she felt nearly as dull and silent as Roger De
Wolfe,--although she made a valiant effort to appear otherwise: she
was counting the very hours, until she could receive an answer to her
letter,--but perhaps Derek would not reply?
Her hopes went up and down, like a see-saw--at one moment she was
sanguine--the next visited by despair. Undoubtedly it was an agreeable
distraction to Nancy, and a pleasure to her other friends, when Mrs.
Ffinch appeared upon the scene. She looked thin, and weather-beaten,
but as active, and energetic as ever. At first she came down to stay
with the Hillsides,--and later to the Court,--a much more comfortable
abode. She had frequently visited there as a girl, and now made herself
thoroughly at home. Naturally she saw a great change in her protégée;
here was another Nancy from the flapper of Fairplains,--and the two,
had long and intimate talks: having many topics, and one secret in
common.
"And so you had Mayne at home," said Finchie.
With this abrupt remark, she had opened their first _tête-à-tête_.
"Yes. By accident you fell not 'among thieves,' but, among his friends!
That marriage was a terrible disaster. If I had not happened to be
away,--it would never have taken place. Just see, what a fix you
are in; a girl of your appearance and position, could marry almost
anybody,--including my poor Tony. Dear me, Nancy, how much I should
like you for a niece! Perhaps it could come off after all; for I
suppose you are aware, that Captain Mayne could get rid of you if he
liked.--Desertion! but what an _esclandre_! You would have to go back
to Fairplains, and bury yourself temporarily among the coffee bushes!
You and he have met I know,--and met often, I believe he was actually
staying here!"
Nancy nodded.
"And there it ended for the present? I understand he has returned to
India. I do not know what he and Josie have been up to,--at least I can
guess what _she_ has been doing,--flirting for all she is worth,--but
she has her knife into Derek Mayne up to the hilt; and for what
reason?--the rest is silence! Ah! here is the postman coming up the
back avenue, let us go down and waylay him, for this is Indian Mail
day, and I am expecting the usual screed from my old man."
As the ladies waited whilst the postman sorted out "the Court letters,"
Nancy's heart almost stood still; would there be one for her, or not?
There _was_! She turned her back upon her two companions, and opened it
with trembling fingers.
Hawari Camp,
Darwaza Hills,
N. W. Frontier.
MY DEAR NANCY,
I was _very_ glad to receive your letter, which makes everything
clear. Fate was dead against that interview, perhaps I may get
home when this bit of a scrap is over; we are expecting to have a
brush with the tribes at once. If I do manage leave, I shall return
immediately, and hope our meeting may come off,--the third time is
the charm. I write in desperate haste to catch the Dâk just going
down, as I want you to have this answer without delay. My hands
are so frozen, I can scarcely hold my pen; will write again next
week.
Yours always,
D. M.
This letter filled Nancy with a glow of happiness and a sense of joy
and relief, such as she had not known for many a long day. She hurried
up the avenue clutching her treasure, half afraid that Finchie would
overtake and cross-examine her, but looking back she noticed, that
Finchie, with a large bundle of correspondence in her hand, was still
gossiping with the postman.