During these sunny summer days, although Nancy looked remarkably gay and pretty, and went what is called "everywhere," she was secretly miserable,—but bravely concealed her sufferings and kept her anxieties to herself. For more than two years, she had lived in a sort of fool's paradise, or as if she had been in a dream. Now, she had been awakened with a shock, and like a newly-aroused sleeper, began to look about her, and realized a changed world. She had never supposed that Derek Mayne would re-enter her life: he was in India,—that land of vague and indefinite banishments,—and she was in England.
How could they ever meet? Then she had his promise: his letter, treasured in her jewel-case. Nevertheless, here he was in London, actually within a few streets, and he had it in his power to ruin and upset the whole of her life; he could if he chose. She recalled his expression of cool scrutiny, and aloofness, as he looked at her across the railway carriage: his glance was direct, dominating, and almost stern.
Although the future horizon was vague and misty, recently life had gone smoothly for Nancy; she had been gliding along, as it were on a wide placid river; now all at once she seemed to be approaching unknown falls, and to hear the roar of the rapids! In her short life, she had known days, and days of intense mental anguish,—the agony of bereavement. This present pain was neither so sharp, or so poignant, but of an unceasing aching, and gnawing description.
She slept badly; she had little appetite for food, or amusement; each succeeding day she expected the sword to fall! Every time she and her chaperon re-entered their suite, her first impulse was to rush to the table, where cards and letters awaited them, and these she turned over, and examined with a throbbing heart. Would Derek Mayne call, and seek an interview with Mrs. De Wolfe? Would he claim her? He might try,—but she would resist,—or would he merely inform people that she was his lawful wife, and leave her, so to speak, to face the music!
By an amazing coincidence, two of the witnesses to her marriage were in London: Teddy and Mrs. Hicks; and she lived in quaking fear thattheywould open the subject! Much to her relief, it had never been approached. At present, Teddy and his future mother-in-law were far too much engrossed in their own more interesting affairs.
Lady Belmont's long expected and belated ball, eventually took place at the "Ritz"; and more than fulfilled the most exigeant anticipations. Many of the best people, the pretty girls, and the smart young men were present. Nancy and her chaperon,—who, surprising to relate, delighted in a ball,—were early arrivals. Nancy loved dancing, danced beautifully, and was much improved since Dudley Villars had been her constant partner. She looked very lovely, and a little out of breath as she came up to Mrs. De Wolfe at the end of a long waltz, and found the old lady talking with unusual animation to some man,—who, when he turned about, she saw to her consternation, was Captain Mayne!
"Nancy," said her chaperon, "I want you to give a dance to an old friend of mine; one of my boys, Captain Mayne!—Derek, this is my young friend, Miss Travers."
Captain Mayne bowed, and said, "Miss Travers and I have met before. May I?" looking at her steadily, "have the honour of a waltz?"
Nancy, who had paled rather suddenly, glanced down at her crammed programme, and murmured, "Number twelve," and with a bow, he backed away into the crowd.
Nancy's card had been filled ever since she had appeared in the ball-room; nevertheless, she mentally threw over Lord Lanark—whose name was scribbled before number twelve waltz, "Destiny." She must speak to Captain Mayne, and learn the worst! what he intended to do? or not to do? and face this horrible ordeal.
Waiting and uncertainty had become unbearable; and yet the dread of the approaching interview, filled her with terror. For a moment she was seized by an overwhelming reluctance. All the fears of the last weeks, had now become real, and verified. She was fired by a wild desire, to feign illness, and rush home; but soon overcame this preposterous temptation. It was imperative to stand to her promise, and to listen to what her partner had to say—nothing agreeable, that was certain—she had glanced into his face, and there read an expression of cool and absolute indifference.
However, now they had been formally made known to one another, and were liable to meet, she must learn the rules of the game in which she was expected to take part! There it was, the first part of "Destiny!" and here he came; edging his way towards her through the crowd. She accepted his arm in dead silence, and in another moment they were launched among the whirling throng. Mayne danced extremely well,—steering his course with remarkable skill. (Nancy had noticed him waltzing with Josie; their steps suited admirably; graceful, lissom Josie, moving with a sort of foreign swing and abandon, murmuring into his ear all the time they floated round,—unquestionably they wereoldfriends). He was not perhaps so accomplished a performer as Sir Dudley, but he held his partner with greater respect, and did not use an Oriental perfume on his sleek dark hair.
They exchanged one or two formal remarks about the floor, and the band, danced until the music ceased, and people began to pour out of the ball-room; then Mayne led his companion to a secluded little settee, and took a chair close by. Here was the supreme moment! He looked at Nancy narrowly: how young, fresh, and slim,—and yet how woefully white, and scared!—he could actually see a little pulse throbbing in her throat, her hands were tightly locked in her lap. Yes! brutal thought, he was getting a little of his own back! At last he said:
"Well!"
Nancy raised her frightened eyes, glanced at him quickly, and looked down; and there ensued an expressive silence, more eloquent than words. The pause was broken by Mayne, who quietly quoted:
"Gentlemen of the French Guard,—fire first!"
"I suppose you mean thatIam to speak," said Nancy in a low voice.
He nodded shortly.
"But I don't know what to say."
Nevertheless she realized that she was fencing with her future life.
"Oh, of course I don't expect you to say you aregladto see me," and he gave an abrupt laugh.
Nancy made no reply,—but her lower lip quivered.
"May I offer you my congratulations?" he continued. "I hear you are now a great heiress; a goldmine! and Fairplains."
"Fairplains, yes! Oh, if only Daddy had been alive!"
"Yes, I know," he assented promptly, "please don'tspareme! If I hadn't missed the panther——"
"I'm not quite so malicious as you imagine," she interrupted, "and you need not be so bitter—for you know as well as I do, how Daddy adored Fairplains."
"Pray accept my apologies," he said coolly, "I was not aware that you had modified your opinions. I wished to speak to you,—and here is my golden opportunity! You see, by most shocking bad luck, we happen to find ourselves in the same set! Your chaperon, Mrs. De Wolfe, belongs to my part of the world; she knew me in pinafores, so I am afraid we shall often knock up against one another."
"I suppose so," asserted Nancy, without raising her eyes.
"We may even find ourselves staying in the same house, and this would be a bit awkward; for if we were dead cuts, it might excite remark! However, this preposterous position, won't last long; I shall be returning to India." He paused for a moment and then added, with a smile, "Ah! I see you look relieved!"
"Do I? I did not know,—I rather wish I was going back too!"
"What, tired of the gay world already?"
To this she made no answer.
"Well, Nancy, you and I are in a queer fix, if ever there was one! God knows I meant to do the square thing," he went on gravely, "but I made a most awful hash of the whole business!"
"I believe youdidmean well," she murmured, speaking with evident effort, "and I behaved—ungratefully; but I was crazy with grief. Everything was so awfully sudden, and, and——" she hesitated.
"And you couldn't bear the sight of me," he interjected, "and I accepted the situation. You made everything fairly plain in your letter,—didn't you?"—Another immense pause.
Nancy wondered how long this hateful scene was to continue—it seemed to have lasted for hours. Then in a meditative tone Mayne began:
"Now I wonder, if I had followed you to your hiding-place, and dragged you off to Cananore, how would that have answered?"
"It would have made me hate, and abhor you, as long as I lived," she rejoined with startling vehemence.
"Oh! and do you hate, and abhor, me now?"
She raised her eyes, and considered him gravely; but made no reply—she did not wish to be his wife, but in her secret heart, she knew she would be glad to be friends. Something in his voice, and his honest eyes, recalled old days, and the many happy hours, they two had spent together. Then he was so manly, and good-looking; also she began to feel, that she was not really afraid of him.
"What I wished to say to you," he continued, "is this: that, owing to the pressure of circumstances, we must meet, and pretend to be friends."
"Or be friends, and pretend?" she corrected timidly.
"What an explosion, if the truth ever leaked out! Think of your friends and relations; my friends and my regiment. However, you may rely upon me to keep my promise,—and to hold my tongue." After a moment's silence, he added: "How do you hit it off with Mrs. De Wolfe?"
"Extremely well,—I am very fond of her."
"Somehow I shouldn't have thought that she was your sort!—I've seen you going about, with her godson, that fellow Villars."
"Yes, he noticed you that day at Sandown, and he was speaking about you," replied Nancy, who had somewhat recovered her colour, and her courage.
"That was kind of him,—I am flattered. What did he say, anything libellous?"
"Oh no indeed; he only told me, that your uncle, is very anxious for you to marry."
"Well that's a true bill,—heis!"
"Butcanyou?"
"What a funny question. No, not unless I wish to be run in for bigamy,—a Mrs. Mayne already exists."
"You mean me?"
"Yes, who else?" slowly turning his head to look at her. The question was sarcastically enforced.
After a short silence she murmured: "And is therenoway out?"
"I imagine there is; but you see, I've not had much to do with matrimonial intricacies,—I believe, I could divorce you—for desertion!"
"Oh!" putting her hands up to cover her face, "and it would be in all the papers!"
"It would; and probably headed, 'Great military scandal,' and illustrated with our portraits."
"And whatwouldMrs. De Wolfe say?"
"Mrs. De Wolfe can stand a good deal,—she's had some pretty bad shocks in her time; and is a regular old brick; and you would achieve notoriety!—Then on the other hand,Imight give you reason to divorceme," and he looked at Nancy with keen significance.
Nancy blushed to the roots of her hair: her very ears were red.
"But make your mind easy," he continued, "I am not going to wade through mud,—even to break our chain."
"And is therenoway out of it?" she repeated with a sort of sob.
"I'm afraid not. With every good intention, your father and I made a serious mistake. It is not so easy, to order the lives of other people,—each must go his own road. You have no wish to walk in mine; or I in yours. I don't want you as a wife,—official or otherwise,—and I have excellent reason to know, that you have no desire to play the rôle of Mrs. Mayne."
His tone and expression, made Nancy wince—and yet this announcement was a profound relief. She glanced at him, as he sat in a favourite attitude, nursing his foot,—a very neat foot, and well turned ankle, in black silk hose.—She remembered how her father had chaffed him, and he said, "When I was at school I hurt my foot rather badly at rugger, and nursed it on my knee to keep it out of harm's way,—the trick has grown on me, I do it unconsciously."
"May I look at this?" he said, leaning forward and picking her programme off her lap.
"I'm not sure that it isn't one of my prerogatives. Hullo! so you threw over Lanark, and gavemehis dance; I hope he won't shoot me? eh! Villars, Villars, Villars,—toujoursVillars,whyso much Villars?"
"Oh, because I know him rather well."
"I bet youdon't."
"I see you don't like him."
"No: a fellow who can't play cricket, either physically or morally, who can't box, or shoot; just a good-looking blighter, with a glib tongue, and a face of brass."
"At any rate, he is clever, and accomplished; he sings and plays the violin, paints better than many professionals,—he dances like a dream."
"Soyouseem to think!"
"Buteveryonethinks it! I've been told, that girls have actually wept, because he ignored them at a ball."
"More fools they! shallIever see the proud day, when a girl howls, because I haven't asked her to dance? Look here, Nancy," and his voice took a certain peremptoriness, "don't have anything to do with that chap Villars,—he isnota safe acquaintance!"
Nancy made no reply, and apparently assuming that silence gave consent, he continued—"I see our old friend Cathcart here, no doubt repairing his shattered nerves, after a spasm of work! He appears to be in great force. You have not favoured him,—how is that?"
"He didn't ask me for a dance."
"What!" staring at her. "Oh, so you've had a row!"
"Not exactly a row," and she hesitated.
"Exactly what? come, own up, we are not likely to have another interview, for some time."
"Well then if youmustknow,—he asked me to marry him!"
"To marry him!" echoed her companion, now no longer nursing his foot, and sitting erect.
"And was very angry indeed, when I said no, in fact he has cut me dead ever since."
For some time Mayne was silent, at last he said:
"Asked you to marry him; by Jove, that was too funny! I think I must propose to some girl,—so as to make us quits; though it might be rather awkward, if she happened to say 'yes'! However, of course I could easily jilt her!" Then in quite another tone, "No doubt you encouraged his hopes?"
"I did nothing of the kind," she answered hotly, "I've always disliked him."
"Ah! Well on one point we agree; I don't love him either. There's your programme; I wonder if you are aware, that we have sat out two whole dances? Time has flown,—hasn't it? Look here, one word before we part. We are bound to meet at home,—I mean in Moonshire. Mrs. De Wolfe and my uncle are tremendous chums, old lovers and that sort of thing, and I daresay she will wonder, that since we knew one another in India,—why you have kept me sodark? You must play up! You'd better say,—we had a quarrel."
"Very well," assented the girl.
"And don't let her run away with the idea,—that it was alovers'quarrel," he added, rising as he spoke.
To this, Nancy made no reply, and they returned to the ball-room in absolute silence. The moment she appeared, she was instantly claimed by Sir Dudley Villars, who upbraided her with having "cut his dance." Meanwhile Mayne walked off in search of his own partner.
How pretty Nancy was; indeed lovely! How her colour went and came, and how her little under lip, had trembled. Perhaps he had been a bit rough on her! The old outspoken, spirited, Nancy he remembered, was gone! At first, she had seemed as frightened as a newly caught bird. But, after all, why should he not bully her a little? considering that he was her lawful lord, and master; and that his share, so far, had been the kicks,—whilst she, had collared all the half-pence!
Captain Mayne's remark with regard to no further interview, proved correct; he and Nancy merely encountered one another as very slight acquaintances, who have friends in common. She noticed him riding in the Park with Josie,—they never joined her, but merely cantered by with a cheery salute. At a polo match at Ranelagh, where Mayne had played and distinguished himself, she looked on, whilst friends gathered round to congratulate him, and she saw Josie go up and pat the damp neck of his considerably blown pony. That same day, at the polo match, his mother, Lady Torquilstone, was pointed out to her by Mrs. De Wolfe; a tall, supremely well dressed, well preserved, arrogant woman, who looked as if the whole of Ranelagh was her private property, and most of the crowd, insufferable intruders.
"So that was her mother-in-law!" said Nancy to herself. Her mother-in-law's husband, was a dapper, prancing sort of little man, with fierce eyebrows, and a hard stare.
As Mrs. De Wolfe and her companion were motoring back to town, they passed Captain Mayne, who waved to them from the coach.
"It's most extraordinary," said the old lady, "that since he has come home, I've seen so little of Derek. Long ago when with his uncle, he was in and out of my place like a dog in a fair! Now he has merely left a formal card, and although I have twice asked him to dinner, he has been engaged.Myconscience is clear, I have not offended him in any way, and I can't bear to be dropped by my young friends, to say nothing of old ones. By the way, Nancy," glancing at her companion, "perhaps you are the guilty party. Did he by any chance make love to you?"
"Oh, no; no indeed," replied Nancy, with reassuring emphasis.
"Well of course in those days, you must have been a little girl in short skirts, with your hair down your back, and I'm quite sure that Derek Mayne would never look at a flapper."
Although Nancy and Captain Mayne maintained a cautious distance, they were brought in spite of themselves into close contact at the Hicks—Dawson, wedding. The ceremony was a grand affair; everything was done in a lavish, if somewhat showy way. Nancy was not a bridesmaid, for Mrs. Hicks had intervened, and helped her out, with a series of the most extraordinary excuses,—these being accepted by Jessie, with a somewhat indifferent grace.
The church, which was rather small, was handsomely decorated, and crammed to the doors. With respect to the guests, Mrs. Hicks had figuratively "gone forth to the highways and hedges, and compelled them to come in." Old planter friends; recent fellow-passengers, and even the inmates of her "family hotel." Mrs. De Wolfe and Nancy were among early arrivals at the church, and the latter drew many admiring eyes; her gown and hat were white; she looked bridal herself! white suited her wonderful complexion, and reddish-brown hair. Almost at the last moment, and when the bridesmaids were actually assembled in the porch, Captain Mayne,—very smart in frock-coat, and lavender gloves,—came strolling up the aisle, glancing from side to side, in search of an empty space! Mrs. De Wolfe's quick eye caught his. She made a little signal, he crushed into her pew, and took a seat between Nancy, and the door.
The organ pealed, the choir leading the procession, advanced slowly up the aisle. Jessie, carrying herself with dignified self-possession, looked unusually well,—indeed quite at her best. Not so, the waiting bridegroom; for if his new coat was creaseless, his countenance was painfully distorted. He appeared to be pitiably nervous, and was struggling with a (happily groundless) fear, that he had lost the ring! Jessie was staunchly supported by her mother, rustling in a brilliant blue costume,—destined to open the eyes of the Meaches, and other neighbours. Meanwhile Nancy, whose attention had been riveted on Jessie, became suddenly alive to the appalling consciousness, that the last time she listened to these prayers, and adjurations, they had been addressed to herself,—and the man who stood beside her! She felt overwhelmed by the shock of this poignant memory; how mean and cruel of fate to drag them together in such a heartless fashion; each sentence now felt like a separate stab.
At Fairplains, the service had fallen on more or less deaf ears; here, she was acutely alive to every syllable. Did her companion remember? She stole a swift glance at Mayne; he was looking straight before him, and his profile was absolutely impassive. Such were the close quarters in the pew, that their elbows were almost touching: could he feel how she was trembling? When it came to the words, "forsaking all other, keeping only to him, as long as ye both shall live," Nancy, in spite of a determined effort at self-control, felt herself shaking from head to foot. The position was to the last degree embarrassing, and painful; compelled to listen to the celebration of Holy Matrimony, side by side with the man to whom she had been married,—and from whom she had run away! was an ordeal almost too terrible to be endured. Her face seemed to be on fire, her lips were twitching convulsively, as she kept her head down, and supported herself by the front of the pew.
Oh! what a relief, when they knelt, and she could more or less hide herself; but she was so unstrung and agitated that she let fall her prayer-book and her bag! Mayne picked them both up, and as he gravely restored them, he glanced at her heightened colour, and averted eyes. It seemed positively cruel to scrutinize her,—his bride of two and a half years! for in spite of his apparent composure he had not failed to realize the extraordinary situation, and Nancy's miserable confusion.
Strange to say, Mrs. De Wolfe was totally unaware of the little drama beside her; her attention had been closely engaged in viewing with much amusement the extraordinary collection of people that Mrs. Hicks' cards of invitation had assembled.—The end of the service found Nancy calmer; bodily release was at hand; but her mind had been grasped by a penetrating thought. She had made a vow more than two years ago; a vow to this man beside her, a vow she had deliberately broken. Would God punish her? It was the first time she had been invaded by this idea.—She glanced instinctively at her companion. Apparently he had not given the situation a moment's thought; and was carefully extracting from its haven of refuge, a beautiful, glossy new hat. And now the bride and bridegroom came pacing down the aisle, and Teddy, who had completely recovered his poise, halted as he passed, and said "You two," glancing from Mayne to Nancy, "must come out, and sign."
There was nothing else for it! Mayne at once stepped forth, Nancy followed him, and they fell into line behind the bridesmaids, and not a few who saw them, thought, "What a strikingly good-looking couple!"
They entirely eclipsed the real pair. Such a crowd in the vestry, such kissing and chattering!—Mrs. Hicks' voice, high above every other, Jessie radiant, with veil thrown back, kissed Nancy,—and Mayne kissedher!
When it was his turn to sign the register, he wrote, "Derek D. Mayne, Captain," then passed the pen to Nancy. For a moment she hesitated; she felt his eyes fixed upon her, and with a sudden and inexplicable impulse, and a very shaky hand, she scrawled, "Nancy Mayne": it was almost illegible; an inkstained spider could have done as well, if not better. She happened to be the last to sign, and no one looked over the register, except Mrs. Hicks,—who saw to everything;—little escaped that sharp-eyed matron, who instantly recognizing this unexpected signature, glanced quickly from the page to Mayne, and gave him a bold, and unmistakable wink.
The reception, which took place at a neighbouring hotel, was very crowded, very noisy, and very lively,—precisely what was to be expected from anything in which Mrs. Hicks had a hand! The presents on show, were well worthy of exhibition,—the refreshments were first-rate, the band not too blatant, and the champagne unexceptional. It was agreed by their many friends, that the Hicks' had spared no expense, and given the marriage "Tasmasha" in great style.
The crowd, crush, heat, and striving to be gay, natural, and like herself, left Nancy to return to her temporary home, figuratively in the condition of some half-dead, battered flower!
The memory of the ceremony, held her in a vice-like grip; as for signing the register,—whathad possessed her? Was it a compelling look in Mayne's eyes, or was it a spasmodic effort of conscience? In the crush, at the reception, although she did not actually come across Mayne, she had seen him more than once. He had assisted to tie a shoe at the back of the motor which was to bear the happy couple away, and was active and prominent among the mob that threw rice. There had been neither slipper, nor rice, attheirwedding!
Soon after this eventful occasion, one morning in the Row, Mrs. Speyde rode up to Nancy, and said to her escort, "Do you go away, Tony,—I want to have a talk with Nancy."
"No fear!" was the brotherly reply.
"But you reallymust," she persisted. "I particularly want to tell Nancy a secret,—though Mrs. De Wolfe says she can't keep one,—and that her face always gives her away."
"One of your good stories, I suppose; well,Imay as well hear it too!"
"No, no," protested Nancy, with a nervous laugh, "I never listen to Josie's stories,—one, was more than enough!"
Mrs. Speyde knew from long experience, that her brother could be stubborn when it suited him, so she said, "Well, don't ask me to oblige you, dear Tony, next time you are in a hole, or otherwise." Then turning to Nancy, "I'll come in early this evening and talk, whilst you are dressing," and with a nod, she wheeled her horse about, and rode away.
At half-past seven, as Nancy, seated before her glass, was taking down her masses of hair, there was a sharp knock at the door, which the maid opened, and Mrs. Speyde sailed in. A shimmering cloak covered her smart French gown, and a diamond bandeau sparkled in her black hair. As she advanced, she discarded the mantle, and displayed a smart, and verydécolletéred gown.
"I've got 'em all on to-night!" she announced. Then, as the maid disappeared, she sat down, crossed her knees, and took out a cigarette. "A cigarette makes me talk," she added. "This is a Doucet frock, Nancy, what do you think of it? My maid says the body has no back!"
"Nor much front either," said Nancy, as she inspected her friend; "indeed I call it anaffront," and she laughed.
"How dare you?"
"Oh, I'm so thin, it's all right! Now on you,—it might be——" and she hesitated.
"Impossible!" declared Nancy.
"Dear, beautiful young creature, what a lovely neck! However, I didn't dress an hour earlier, and rush over here, to discuss necks, and bodies; I've come to break it to you gently, that I'm thinking of settling down at last."
"You mean getting married?"
"Yes. Giving up little suppers in Soho, racing, and gambling,—and turning over a new leaf."
"And who is to be the happiest of men?"
"I should think you might easily guess."
"Not so easily,—you have such crowds of men friends. Is it Colonel Deloraine?"
"Is it my grandfather!" she scoffed. "No! a thousand times no! Well, I won't keep you on tenterhooks,—it's Derek Mayne! You know him." A slight pause, and a quick glance. "I say! Nancy, why do you look so funny, and surprised?—I'm not poaching onyourpreserves, I know!"
"I'm not looking funny or surprised," she managed to protest, and Josie was too much wrapped up in her subject, too anxious to talk, to notice that she was more or less confused.
"He is such a dear fellow, straight as a die! one of the living best; not very emotional, you know,—keeps his feelings to himself, hates spooning, and all that sort of thing! Remember long ago, when I kissed him under the mistletoe,—he didn't like it a little bit!"
"Did he not?" said Nancy, who was carefully collecting hairpins. "I'm rather surprised at that."
"I'm dining and doing a theatre with him to-night.—I expect he has got another man and girl,—he is so frightfully proper. Well, my dear, the whole thing will suit me down to the ground; I shall love to go to India, just to see the Land of Regrets, and later on, we'll settle ourselves comfortably in our own county."
"Yes, er ... er ... will you?"
"Why of course,—at Maynesfort—our ancestral home. What fun I shall have turning out the garrets! I believe they are full of lovely old things, hustled away by the late Mrs. Mayne, who was a Victorian lady, and loved crewel-work antimacassars, chromo-lithographs; bead mats, and wax flowers!"
"Is anything settled?" inquired Nancy, with her eyes fixed upon her hairpins.
"Not yet, the fact is there is a little bit of a hitch,—and I believe you are just the one person who can help me,—and that's why I'm here! Oh yes, my dear, although you look so calmly indifferent, and can only throw me a casual yes or no; you knew Derek in India! Tell me honestly, Nancy,—did you ever hear a story about him and agirl? No, don't get so red, I'm not going to tell you one ofmine, I want to know one ofhis! The uncle seems to have an idea, that Derek got himself into a mess—a nasty scrape—with some woman in India,—black, for choice,—but I'm sure that wouldn't be Derek's form. The old man is anxious; he has talked to me,—I may tell you that he adores me, for I amuse him and flirt with him.—Derek was out there for four years, and I need not assure you, one can manage to get through a good deal of mischief, inthattime.—I've done my level best to pump Derek, but it was no go; I had better luck with one of his pals, Major Sanders, who is in the same regiment.—I screwed it out ofhim, that he believes thereissomething,—although he cannot name the lady. For the last couple of years, Derek has been short of money; he doesn't join in things as he used to do, and he sold two ripping polo ponies. Major Sanders thinks there may be some horrible creature, who claws half his income, as blackmail!"
Nancy, who had been brushing her hair, now swept a quantity over her face, which was burning.Shewas the horrible creature who twice a year, received, but rejected, the half of Captain Mayne's income.
"Tell me, Nance, didyouever hear anything?—what was he like, in those days?"
"Much the same as now," she murmured, through her veil of shining locks.
"More cheery and go-ahead?"
"Oh yes,—I think perhaps he was."
"I feel I knew Derek, and I'm certain, there's something on his mind,—somesecret; but whatever it is, cart-horses would not drag it from him! He knows Aunt Julia, of course. If only she were at home, she would throw a search-light on the mystery. I never met such a woman for getting to the bottom of a business; but she won't be back till September! Tell me, Nancy, did Derek Mayne know any girls, when you met him?"
"Oh yes; he knew three or four planters' daughters."
"Did he flirt with them?"
"No, never, that I saw: he only cared for sport, and tennis."
"Well, I have reason to know that Derek likesme; we've been pals since we were children, and if only this little mystery was cleared up, I'd be perfectly happy! After all, there may be nothing in it,—what do you say?"
Nancy threw back her flowing hair, and looked up at Josie, who had risen, and was standing beside her,—one hand on her slim hip—the other fingering a cigarette. "I say ..." she paused ... and then, taking her courage in both hands, "I say, that from what I know of Captain Mayne,—I don't think he will ever marry!"
"What preposterous nonsense!" exclaimed her visitor. "I know it's not envy on your part, my child, for you don't like one another,—as anyone can see with half an eye. He will marry: in fact he must marry, and soon. His uncle is getting rampageous, and declares, that if Derek hangs back,—he will take a wife himself. Derek and I, will get on splendidly together," announced Josie, now walking about the room, "he is so steady, and I'm just exactly the opposite!—I won't be sorry to have a home of my own,—for I'm dead tired of my present existence; a sort of life, the American summed up as, 'One damned thing after another!'—Ah, here comes your maid with your frock; oh, my dear, what a dream!—so I'll clear out and leave you, to put on your rouge.—Joking apart, darling, you do look white; you've not been up to the mark just lately, I expect you want a tonic."
"Oh no," said Nancy, rising. "Of course going about from morning till night, and dancing from night till morning,israther fagging, but I'm all right."
"Well, my sweet lamb, allIcan say is, that youlookall wrong; however, I suppose you know best. Mind you keep my little secret."
She halted on her way to the door, and looked back with eyes of expressive significance, then, satisfied with a nod, she swept out.
Newenham was a real eighteenth-century village, chiefly composed of red brick flat-faced houses,—some shyly withdrawn from the road, behind prim little gardens, others standing boldly upon the street. There was a dumpy, contented-looking old church, an ivy-clad parsonage, and an ancient inn, formerly a noted posting-house; now resuscitated, after nearly a century of neglect, as a halting-place and garage. The Court was situated in a land of heavy trees, green slopes and great peace; its back entrance opened directly into the village, but from an opposite direction a long and imposing avenue, with gates guarded by a pair of fierce stone wolves, wound up to the hall door.
The Court was a mixture of the Georgian and Victorian period, without any claim to architectural beauty; but it had the dignity of mellow age, and solid prosperity. The entrance faced north, and looked upon wide grass slopes, crowned by heavy plantations. In the interior was a vast hall, popular as a lounge and general sitting-room. Here people sat, read, had tea, played Bridge and had liberty to smoke. A spacious drawing-room, library, dining and billiard-rooms opened to right and left.
Almost every window in the Court commanded a view, and most of the sitting-rooms had French windows opening to the ground. Upstairs the passages were narrow, and rambling, with very low ceilings, and unexpected steps,—but the adjoining bedrooms dwelt long in the affectionate memory of many guests. These were furnished to suit the period, with large four-posters, and small looking-glasses, but were supplied with modern mattresses, comfortable armchairs, and the latest thing in Jacobean chintz! Here were writing-tables, well supplied,—including stamps,—fresh flowers, the newest books, and in season, the most cheerful fires.
Mrs. De Wolfe escorted her young friend all over the premises; she saw not only the kitchen, the still-room, the Justice's room, but the two apartments once occupied by the old lady's sons,—and now closed. Their mother displayed their books, and toys, of childhood,—as well as the trophies, and treasures of later years. The south side of the Court, overlooked a well-timbered park, and winding river; immediately in front, lay smooth green lawns, bounded right and left, by long herbaceous borders, and rose-covered pergolas. Somehow this unusual display gave the impression that an army corps of flowers, had escaped from the grim walled garden,—which lay half concealed beyond the shrubberies—and encamped in the grounds; immediately below the lawns were tennis courts; these were pointed out to Nancy by her hostess, as one of the chief features of the place.
"It is not for its gardens,—which as you see, are quite unique,—having boldly come out of bounds, and run into the park,—nor yet, for some very remarkable old furniture, nor even for its good dinners, that the Court is celebrated," said its mistress. "It is famed, for having the best tennis courts on this side of the county! My two boys were wonderful players,—Hughie was a champion, and in their day, the great tennis week took placehere. There was always an immense gathering, we provided lunch and refreshments in big tents,—and the house was packed to the garret! When I am at home, I still endeavour to keep up Newenham Tennis week. I needn't tell you, that I never played tennis myself,—mygame was croquet, in the good old days when croquet hoops were a generous size; but I still like to keep the tennis going,—indeed I don't suppose my neighbours would allow me to drop it; they consider it hard case, that it is not an annual fixture; but when Iamhere, I do my best to hold the meeting in all its glory. It is true, that, as it has been hinted to me, 'I now do very little for the county in the way of entertaining,' so I feel bound to put my best foot forward, once in a way. I fill the house with tennis-playing neighbours, I invite the residents for miles, I engage a band that I board in the village,—two extra cooks, tents, waiters, and supply all the delicacies of the season, and I offer, last not least, prizes that are worth while. There is tennis, more or less all day, the young people dance in the racquet court at night, others play Bridge, or billiards; oh, what a week it is! You will see, that I shall not be at home, more than a few days,—before letters come pouring in, to inquire the date of the Newenham Tennis Tournament?"
"It must be an immense undertaking for you," said Nancy, "but personally I think it will be great fun! I will help you, write out the invitations, and do the flowers, and any odd jobs you can find for me."
"Thank you, my dear, I'm sure you will be useful, but I generally get a man, to arrange dates, events, handicaps and so on, and more or less to run the show. I give himcarte blanche; you shall be deputy hostess, and I will sit in my arm-chair,—and take all the credit! Four years ago, Derek Mayne was my helper,—I don't know who I shall have this time; perhaps Dudley Villars? he is not much of a tennis player, nor what I call practical, but he knows how to lay out money, and to make things go smoothly."
"And when do you think, you will have this tournament?"
"In about a fortnight,—or three weeks. First of all, I must go round, and look up my friends; and as soon as I have put the house in order, and reported myself to my people in the village, and had the Rectory people up to dinner, you and I will sally forth, and pay a round of calls."
Nancy had been given a delightful bedroom; it faced due south, her windows commanded the park, the shining river, a far-away distant blur of hills, immediately below lay the velvet lawns, and wide grassy walks, under rose-shaded pergolas. The whole place, seemed to be enveloped in an atmosphere of peace and good-will. "Only for one thing," she said to herself, "how veryveryhappy I should be here!"
The afternoon when Nancy and her friend set forth in a new motor to pay a round of visits, the old lady said, "My first, must be to Richard Mayne; my old friend met with an accident a couple of months ago, and has been laid up ever since. I believe he is a shocking patient, impossible to keep indoors."
As they sped noiselessly along, she continued to talk about him. "He has been a widower for fifteen years,—his wife was always a delicate creature. She had a good deal of money,—which as they have no family, goes back to her relations. The Maynes,—the real name was Delamaine, but a Puritan ancestor chopped it up—the Maynes, have always been spendthrifts, and compelled to marry money! The property, has dwindled down to about a thousand acres, thanks to Mayne's ancestors' rage for gambling. It is said, that when they could find no other method, they used to racewormsupon a deal table! The table is still exhibited at Maynesfort, and I have an idea, that the old gentleman is quite proud of it. If it were my property,—it would have been burnt long ago."
Maynesfort was ten miles from Newenham,—a distance soon covered by Mrs. De Wolfe's new "Rolls-Royce." As they turned into the gates, she said to Nancy, "You see it is a fine old place, and well kept up. It's a sort of estate, which having a great deal of wood, and vast gardens, and no fat farms, more or less eats its head off! Derek Mayne is bound to marry money, and I must say this,—that whoever he does marry, will be a lucky girl!"
Old Mr. Mayne, supported by a nurse, received the two ladies in the library: he was able to rise and hobble towards them, leaning upon a stick,—and offered his friend a most affectionate welcome.
"Well Elizabeth!" he said, "I'm delighted to see you, it's a good sight for old eyes," shaking her by the hand. "This time, I hope, you have come home to stay."
"Oh, I make no rash promises," she answered with a laugh. "Now, Richard, please sit down—and don't do company manners for us. This is my young friend, Miss Travers," she added, presenting Nancy.
"Oh yes, Miss Travers,—I have heard of you before. Was it not to you, that my old friend Fletcher left his property?"
"Yes," she answered, "a most unexpected legacy."
"Your father was his manager, I understand?"
"He was, but Fairplains originally belonged to him."
"Oh!" exclaimed the old gentleman with a look of blank surprise.
"And I'm afraid, he lost it throughme."
"My dear young lady, surely you are not serious!"
"Yes, as I was delicate, I had to be sent to England, when I was a small child, and he was constantly coming over to see me, leaving a manager to look after the estate, the manager robbed him, and ran away with the money, leaving no end of debts, and difficulties for father."
"Well, I am glad it has gone back toyou," said Mr. Mayne politely. "By the way, you knew my nephew Derek, I believe he stayed at Fairplains?"
"Yes,—for a short time."
"A nice fellow, isn't he, and a capitalshot?"
Nancy hesitated for a moment, and then replied: "I—suppose he is."
"Ah! I see he is not your sort.—He never was much of a ladies' man, was he?" looking over at Mrs. De Wolfe, who had been conferring with the old gentleman's nurse. "I expect, we shall have him down in a week or two for the cricket and tennis."
Old Mr. Mayne then proceeded to talk about himself,—he gave full particulars of his accident, how the horse, had slipped up and rolled upon him, and then galloped home: the terrible consternation there had been when Rufus had appeared in the stable yard—without his master; next he discussed his doctor, the London specialist, and finally dropped into the local gossip.
During the latter part of this séance, Nancy had been sent out in charge of the nurse, to see the picture gallery and the gardens, and she received an impression of age, refinement, and large outlay. Certainly Maynesfort was a beautiful old place, and she did not wonder that its present owner was so pathetically anxious, that it should remain in the family,—and never endure the degradation of being let!
This visit to old Mr. Mayne proved to be the first of a long series. The Hillsides were at home, also the Millers, in fact most of Mrs. De Wolfe's friends, had shifted their quarters from London or Cowes, into the nice cool green country. No, not cool, for the weather in August proved to be unusually warm, the grass was burnt to a yellow brown; Mrs. De Wolfe's gardeners were kept incessantly occupied with hose, and water can: at times, there was scarcely a breath of air, and the great trees stood solid in the heat haze. After sundown, Nancy would run out to the garden, and gather fruit for dessert—apricots in mellow perfection, off the hot brick wall; she would also go round, and inspect the village cattle trough, and see that their own dogs, had water in their bowls, and cheer up Bob, a gasping brown spaniel.
In a month's time, she had contrived to make herself thoroughly at home amid her new surroundings, had been presented to the village, and parsonage, and made friends with most of the old women, and children in Newenham, also with the village dogs,—and indeed the post-office dog, a mongrel, like Togo, exhibited an ardent desire to attach himself to the "new young lady," as she was generally called. As August advanced, Mr. Mayne, attended by nurse, and valet, was convalescing at the seaside, his nephew was shooting in Scotland, but the remainder of the neighbours were at home, making the most of the very shining hours, at picnics, cricket matches, and little impromptu dances. The Hillsides were particularly gay, and entertained a large house party.
Although a certain amount of state was maintained, such as big stepping horses, and powdered men-servants, theménageat the castle, was never taken very seriously; her ladyship was frequently in trouble with servants; household matters rarely ran smoothly, meals were unpunctual and indifferent,—it was a young people's house; and the friends of Josie and Tony, as long as they could have freedom, and dancing, and smoking and jokes, were not super-critical.
It was whispered that Lady Hillside was so intensely engrossed in works of philanthropy, that she sometimes forgot she had invited guests, and when they were ushered in by a bewildered butler, she would blandly inquire "where they were staying?" or she would order a dinner for twenty-four, and find that she had a party of eight, and when the party were seated, what frightful gaps at the table!
What was even more serious, she would invite two dozen of her confiding neighbours, and order the cook-housekeeper to provide for six. Then what awful waits ensued, whilst the distracted staff in the kitchen, scrambled together an impromptu meal, and the men-servants elongated the dinner table. Such an erratic mistress, drove her retinue almost crazy. Good and efficient servants took their departure, with the result, that elderly guests who visited the castle,—rarely repeated the experiment.
The last week of August, was fixed upon for the tennis tournament, and for a long time previously, Mrs. De Wolfe and Nancy had been engaged in making preparations. There would be a number of guests staying in the house. Talking over the list, Mrs. De Wolfe announced:
"I shall get Dudley to do master of the ceremonies, and ask Roger De Wolfe,—he is my heir, such a dear good stupid fellow,—to help to manage the scoring, handicapping, and judging.
"There will be Tony and Josie, two Miller girls, Major Horne and his mother, young Wynne of the Blues, Cobden Gray, our great tennis player, Miss Strong the lady champion, old Sir Hubert Hamilton, to sit about and walk withme, and of course Derek Mayne,—he must be back from Scotland by this time."
"But why do you ask him to stay in the house?" inquired Nancy.
"Because it will save his going backwards and forwards to Maynesfort twice a day. The old man is very stingy of petrol; everyone has their pet economy: his is petrol,—and mine is string. I'm fond of Derek,—though he has given me the cold shoulder,—still I intend to have him here. Of course, I knowyoudo not like him, but as a Roland for my Oliver, I shall invite one of your friends,—what do you say to Mrs. Hicks?"
"Mrs. Hicks?"
"Yes! why not? I fancy she is at a loose end just now. She told me she had never stayed much in the country,—at least it will be a novelty."
"And so willshe! It is very good of you to think of her, and I'm sure she would love to come; the neighbours may think her a bit odd, and loud,—and I shall take it upon myself to tone down some of her costumes; but she has the best heart in the world: I shall never forget her kindness to me,—when my father was dying; and in one way, she will find herself in her element here, she is a wonderfully strong tennis player."
"You don't mean to tell me, that sheplays?"
"I should rather think she did!—and I venture to say, will carry off one of your beautiful and valuable trophies. Where shall we put her?"
"In the blue bedroom next to you, so that you can talk old times to your hearts' content. Shall I write, or will you?"
"Oh, I think the invitation should go from the lady of the house."
"Very well, my dear, I will ask her to come a couple of days before the crowd, and I'll send off a note by this very post."
A letter from Mrs. Hicks, Newenham Court, Moonshire, to B. Hicks, Esq., M.D., Panora, near Khotagheri, Nilgiris, India: