Read Ebook: Given in Marriage by Croker B M Bithia Mary

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Ebook has 1420 lines and 83957 words, and 29 pages

o! I can't imagine why he does not chuck all this? Everyone knows he is quite too grossly prosperous--and she, with her talents, and her energy, is thrown away out here."

"Yes," agreed Mayne, "she's awfully clever, and go-ahead."

"I say, what amazing pictures you have in your mind's eye," said Mayne--who was not imaginative, "a cinematograph isn't in it!"

"Oh, here she comes at last!" said Calvert, tossing away his cheroot, and rising, he added with his most courtly air, "Welcome, welcome, dear lady--as the sun upon a darkened world."

Immediately after breakfast, Mayne ordered the cob, and rode away in spite of Mrs. Ffinch's urgent appeals for him to remain, and "spend a nice long day." He felt that at present, he could not endure any more of Calvert's society. What a poisonous tongue,--what a shameless climber; and there was such calculation and method in his schemes. He, by his own confession, made a point of cultivating the right people--chiefly through their womenkind--and cherished well-founded hopes of a comfortable, and prominent post on someone's staff.

That same night after the household had retired, and the premises were supposed to be wrapped in sleep Mayne was aroused by a wild piercing scream. He jumped out of bed, and as he hurried on some clothes, saw a bare-footed white figure, lamp in hand, flash down the verandah shrieking:

"Sam! Sam! A panther has taken him! Daddy--Daddy--hurry!"

With bobbing lanterns, crashing sticks, and loud harsh shouts, the whole of the rocks were most thoroughly beaten, but without result; of dog or panther there was not a trace. After an hour's exhaustive search, Mayne returned to the bungalow--his lamp had gone out. Here in the verandah he distinguished a sobbing figure; Nancy, alone and in uncontrollable grief. Between her sobs she moaned:

They were the same height, and in the dark, she had mistaken him for her father,--who was still pursuing a hopeless search among the rocks,--but the situation was not the less embarrassing,--especially as the girl clung to her supposed parent, with both arms clasped tightly round his neck, and her face buried in his coat. Suddenly she realized her mistake, and with a violent jerk, drew herself away.

"Why, you're not Daddy!" she gasped out, breathlessly, "I know by the feel of your coat. It's Captain Mayne--I've been--hugging."

"It's all right, Nancy," taking her hands in his. "Poor little girl! I'm just as sorry for you, as ever I can be, and I'll never rest, till I bring you in the skin of the brute that has killed Sam. Here is your father now," and Mayne tactfully withdrew, and abandoned the pair to their grief,--Nancy's the wildest, and most poignant, that he had ever witnessed.

The following day, Francis the butler, mysteriously imparted to Mayne the news, that Sam's collar, and one paw had been found.

"But say not one word to the Missy. We bury in dogs' graveyard; the beast is a big female with young cubs, therefore is she overbold. That dog Sam," and his black eyes looked moist, "I also loved him, too much."

EIGHTEEN ON TUESDAY

For two days after the loss of Sam, Nancy remained inconsolable; she could neither eat nor rest, her face looked small, her tragic eyes sunken and dim; also she wept for hours,--utterly indifferent to consolation, or chocolates. "The Corner" after the day's work, ascended to sympathize, Mrs. Ffinch descended with a similar kind intention, and expressed shocked concern; but her kissing, endearments, and honeyed words, were a waste of time and breath.

"I don't think anything would amuse her now," he answered.

She stopped abruptly as it flashed into her mind that there were no remains. Ultimately her powers of persuasion, proved effectual, and Nancy reluctantly agreed to give her pony some exercise, and not to indulge her emotions in such frantic ungovernable native fashion. Travers was as usual busy among his coolies, and Mayne and Nancy set off alone, and rode over to the Meaches, precisely as Mrs. Ffinch had ordained.

It was a cheerful breezy trip; sometimes the road lay in hollows, winding round a valley, and between blackberry bushes, wattles, ash trees, and wild roses, recalling an English lane; or again, over grassy uplands, with a delightful breeze, driving white clouds overhead.

The Meach family lived eight miles from Fairplains, on a poor worn out, and out of the way estate; Major Meach, having spent all he possessed, invested his wife's little fortune in this, so to speak "refuge," and here she and her offspring slaved and struggled, in order to provide their old man of the sea, with everything he demanded in the way of attention, and comfort.

Part of the estate was let to a native, part was worked by Andy, whilst Mrs. Meach and her three pretty daughters kept cows and poultry, and sold eggs and butter among their neighbours. Blanche, the beauty,--thanks to Mrs. Ffinch,--was satisfactorily married; Tom, the youngest son, slaved in an office, and sent all he could spare to his harassed mother who struggled to keep house, and maintain a presentable family, on one hundred rupees a month.

The Misses Meach emerged into the verandah when they heard the glad sound of voices, accompanied by the clatter of hoofs, and Gladys and Nellie joyfully hailed Nancy, who instantly in a strangled voice, claimed their sympathy for her irreparable loss.

"The dear faithful fellow!--how dreadful!" said Nellie. "I remember one time, you went home by the old road, he missed you, and came back here, and lay all night by the chair you had been sitting on."

"Bah! what's a dog!" snarled Major Meach, a preposterously fat man, who now appeared, and with a curt salute to Mayne, sank with heavy violence into a creaking wicker chair. "Lots to be had! We can give you half a dozen--greedy, good-for-nothing brutes!"

Mrs. Meach, a worn, thin woman, with remarkably red hands, and a still pretty face, who had been ordering tea, now came forward to welcome her guests. Poor lady! her life had been, and was, a tragedy. Once a beauty, she was thought to have made a fine match when she married Captain Meach of the Light Lancers,--a man with a nice fortune. The nice fortune, he squandered on himself; and poor Amy Meach, after knocking about the world from garrison town to cantonment, saving, pinching, rearing a family, and keeping up appearances, was now the drudge, and servant, of her selfish and unwieldy tyrant.

Her hope, comfort, and joy, was in her children; possibly some day, she may be in a position to sit down and be served by other people, to read a novel, or even to take a morning in bed!

Everything at Panora seemed cheap and faded,--except the fat helpless old Major, and his three pretty girls. He insisted on keeping up "his position," as he called it; the shabby, timid-looking servants, wore in their turbans, the badge of a regiment that had been only too thankful to get rid of their master!

He, who was a notorious slacker, now posed as a former martinet, and present authority, and his faithful family believed in the fable. The truth was, that but for Mrs. Meach, who was popular, and for whom everyone was sorry, he would not have been "let down," so to speak, without a nasty jar.

When they all sat at tea, he talked with his mouth full, helped himself to hot cakes--two at a time--bragged, snubbed his family, laid down the law, and made rude personal remarks. With regard to his daughter Nellie, he said:

"We sent Nellie down to try her luck in Bangalore; but there was no market, no buyers--and here she is, back on our hands like a bad penny."

Poor Nellie blushed till there were tears in her eyes.

"I'll give her to anyone with a pound of tea--ha! ha! ha!"

"I think," said Mayne, rising, "it is time for us to make a start," and he eyed the old bully, with a menacing stare.

"I'll overlook the outrage this time, but as an apology, I must have Gladys and Nellie to spend the day on Monday."

"Can't be done--no ponies!"

"Then I'll borrow the Clouds Rest car."

"Will you! You've cheek enough for anything! If you can get the car, you shall have the girls, and the Missus thrown in--there's an offer for you!"

Mayne, who felt a touch of sincere pity for poor Mrs. Meach and her browbeaten daughters, experienced a sense of profound relief when the farewells were over, and he and Nancy rode away.

"Look in again soon, young fellow!" shouted Major Meach. "Nancy, tell your father to send me up a bag of his number one coffee--it can come in the car."

"Isn't he a horror?"

"I'm awfully sorry for his daughters; when he told the fair one to 'shut up,' I felt inclined to shy a plate at him!"

"Have you? I must say you are fairly plucky."

"Of course, I know it's no use. Finchie throws buckets of cold water on the affair; she hopes to marry Nellie off, the same as Blanche Sandilands. Blanche has a splendid car, lives in a big house on the Adyar, and entertains half Madras. All the same, I think Nellie likes Nicky."

"Then why mind Mrs. Ffinch, and her cold water?"

"Do you suppose, that Mrs. Ffinch could talk you out of accepting anyone?"

"How can you be so silly! Anyway, there will be no occasion, for I don't intend to marry."

"Bosh! Wait till you are older, and then we shall see what we shall see."

"I'm quite old enough to know my own mind."

"Not you!"

"Don't be rude. Do you know, that I shall be eighteen on Tuesday?"

"I know that you are trying to pull my leg, miss! You are not an hour over sixteen--if so much. I should put you down at fourteen if I were asked."

"Well, if you won't believe me, you can see the certificate of birth and baptism.--I was born at Fairplains."

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