CRUISE FOR CINDERELLA

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 124, 7 March 1941, Page 7

CRUISE FOR CINDERELLA

CHAPTER. IX. IN THE DOCK—AND OUT ‘‘Owing to lack of evidence, Your Honor, we don’t wish to proceed with this ease.” Tho magistrate glanced at the police inspector over his spectacles, and then began shuffling his .papers before him. Bridget was standing in the dock. Nobody said anything to her. She didn’t know what they meant to do, until the constable gestured to her to leave the box. “Next case, please,’’ said the clerk of the court. • There was a sluggish milling about of parties and police. A solicitor at the back of the couj-t was bn his feet talking about something else. It was the quickness of it all that astounded Bridget most. Five minutes before she came into court in misery and trepidation—now she was free, walking towards the door with Salt.

“So far so good,” he said, as they drove away in a taxi. “And not a word about our being married!” “I thought the police woulcl be suro to bring it up,” said Bridget. “I thought the magistrate would ask ' questions!” “He doesn’t as a rule, Crowther says. Besides which, I gather from Crowther that Mrs Wertheim isn’t in very good odour with the police. Apparently they had her necklace valued and found it wasn’t worth a quarter of what she said it was. She made a terrific fuss all along, the Inspector told Morton Menzies at one time that she made it look too much like a case of malicious per* secution. I gather she was throwing fits in the police station when she heard they weren’t going on with the case, and they had to send for Menzies to take her away. The Inspector told Crowther in Court just now that he 1 was thankful to drop the charge. So you see,” Salt finished, looking at Bridget with a faintly grim smile, “You’re free! And remarkably few people know that you were ever anything else.” 1 “Thanks to you,” said Bridget. “You’ve done everything for me!” “Forget it! Now about this tour. I don’t know whether your aunt wants to go on with it. It may be best if she doesn’t. In which ease, you and I will meet in England, some time next year, and take steps to get an annulment.” She nodded. It was. impossible then, as feeling began to come back into her bruised nerves, not to be painfully conscious of the difference between what this marriage was, and what it might have been. But she was too warm with gratitude for more than a single stab of pain. Mrs Carforth was waiting at the hotel on Salt’s persuasion. Mrs Garforth had been only too glad to it to him to be present in court, and get out of a humiliating situation. “It’s wonderful,” she sighed, to Diana and Joyce, as she lay with a cold compress on her forehead, “how much Mark does for me—how much he tries to save me! I feel very much the sympathy between myself and Mark! Discrepancy of age between men and women means so much less than girls of your age imagine.” “Does it?” said Diana. “What do you mean, ‘does it’?” said Mrs Garforth. “I only said ‘does it’?” “Well, don’t say-‘does it’.” “I may not talk in here, I can’t ever read properly because the blinds aro down,” complained Diana, bitterly. They continued to snap at one another until Mrs Garforth cried out: “How can you go on like this while that ghastly tragedy is going on, while that poor girl is going through that terrible ordeal, probably being sentenced to years of imprisonment ” Joyce, in the semi-gloom, announced in a solmen voice: “I wrote to that woman. I wrote a letter to Mrs Wertheim last night.”

“You wrote to her?” said Mrs Garforth. “Why didn’t you tell me? What did. you say? You shouldn’t have written!” “Yes, I should. I told her that Bridget was innocent, and that in any case it was terribly wicked to ruin the life of a girl of Bridget’s age. ■ I said she had her pearls, anyhow, and what more did she want?” . “You awful little fool!” said Diana. “Why must you do these things!” cried Mrs Garforth. “Why don’t you consult me first ? I wouldn’t have you write to that woman for the world!” She was in the middle of describing her agonies of humiliation when Bridget walked in. “Bridget!’’ Mrs Garforth sprang up from her couch of collapse, Joyce snapped up the blinds. “They withdrew the charge,” Bridget explained. She was quivering inside with the guilt of her secret. “I was only there for a moment— ” “Then you’re free?” “Yes, I’m . . . free.” “But why did they withdraw it?” “They said because of lack of evidence.” “Joyce!” cried Mrs Garforth in a great, glad voice. “Your letter, Joyce! Your letter worked on that cruel, intolerant woman to make her see how abominably she had behaved. She withdrew her charge! It was because of your letter, Joyce—l’m sure of it!” SALT SPEAKS HIS MIND. Mrs Garforth, having found her own explanations for things, Bridget was in no need to say anything. She had no opportunity for explaining that Mark Salt had married her, even if she wanted to; Mrs Garforth talked so fast. Now it was all over, she to lament, because the tour had been spoiled. “We shall have to hide our heads, go back to England. Impossible to go on now. Really, I can’t forgivo that beast of a woman, even though she did do the decent thing in tho end!” “I suppose Mark will go on with tho tour,” said Joyce, coming down from

By BENTLEY RIDGE. ::

The Story of a Feminine Triangle.

(Copyright)

tlio heights to which she had risen on the thought that her impassioned little letter had saved Bridget from the law. “Well, it’s his job, isn’t it?” said Diana, irritably. Mrs Garforth looked deeply thoughtful. Bridget took the opportunity to step into her own room and close the door. It was over—over for them. But for her—her thoughts were still a tumult, cverthing an unsolved problem. Who had put those pearls in her coat? How had it happened? She was free, but she wasn’t cleared. Many people might still think she was a thief. What she had done in letting Mark marry her so that she wouldn’t be tried, was almost an admission of guilt. Now the first relief was over, she felt as bad as ever. But he had been so insistent, so certain. Now sho began to feel that if one was innocent, things might he very terrible, but it was best to face them. Mrs Garforth tapped on the door and came in. “Bridget, I have been thinking!” Her manner was positively regal. “Really, I feel it would bo wrong to run away. Besides, Mark assures me that no one in the tour knows anything about this-,affair. Your name was suppressed by the papers. I see no reason—.” “N<o reason what?”

“No reason why we should not go on and rejoin the others at Mount Kosciusko. It shall never be said that we ran away.” “No,” said Bridget. ““No. Perhaps you’re right.” “I know I’m right. My mind is made up. I shall ring Mark and get him to book our seats immediately.’ “Yes, 1 think you should go. But I i don’t think I can. I—l don’t feel I could, Aunt Miriam.” “What do you mean? Of course, you can! Besides, what will Ido ? I must have a secretary. You know I have two books to finish before February.” “Yes, I know,” Bridget saw how impossible it was to insist. Who was to pay her fare homo except her aunt? “You must face it, too,” Mrs Garforth looked at her dramatically. “This is your regeneration, Bridget.” ‘ ‘My regeneration ?’ ’ “Part of your regeneration.” And Mrs Garforth walked solemnly out of the room. “What on earth does she mean by that?” sighed Bridget, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. . The painful thought struck her that her aunt really did think her a criminal; but on consideration she decided that Mrs Garforth was only trying to make a dramatic effect.

Salt was staying round the corner at another hotel, and Mrs Garforth rang and made 1 arrangements with him. He rang hack later to say they were to leave for Mount. Kosciusko on tho following morning. What would he think, Bridget wondered. She was hgunted now by a perpetual question. He had never said a word which could make her sure that he really believed her about the pearls. Did he believe her ? Had he helped her purely because she had saved his life ? Was it possible that lie really thought her a thief? Mrs Garforth decided to make a fresh start by going to the theatre that night but Bridget felt too tired to sit through a play. When her aunt and tho girls had gone she sat down in the lounge to write a long-overdue letter to her mother. She had writen nothing about the matter of the pearls, and she decided that she had better Ibave the unhappy story until she went home. She couldn’t keep her mind on the string of nothings she was trying to write. She could not forget her uncertainty about Salt. Her heart gave a leap of relief when she saw him come in suddenly through the doors of tho lounge. He wore a dinner jacket; she was sharply aware of how splendid-looking he was as he came briskly across the lounge towards her. Thought of the situation made her colour hotly, in spite of tho anxiety in her heart. “Yoiu- aunt is out?’ he asked. “Yes, they’ve goue to the theatre,” she told him nervously. “I want to have a word with you. Could you come over to my room at the ‘Tasman,’ where we can talk?” , “Yes, of course,” said Bridget, folding her letter into its envelope, and rising at once. She was thankful for the opportunity. She told herself she would ask him outright what ho really thought. She was wearing a light summer coat over her “old navy blue” and she went out with him as she was. She began at once, as they walked along the street where the crowds moved to and fro in front of the lighted display windows: “I wondered what you would think