ST. MARTIN’S FLOW

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 249, 2 August 1941, Page 7

ST. MARTIN’S FLOW

By MARJORIE BOWEN.

CHAPTER IX.

MARr AS BRIBE: MOTHER:

WIDOW.

Mary took the advice of her lawyers and married Mr Thorpe, the quiet, likeable gentleman who was Willing to take the name of Pettigrew-.- She ruled with her husband at the old Mansion House, and bore one son, Simon. When her husband died, drifting out of life as indifferently, it seemed, lie had drifted into it, she was left a widow managing,diminishing property for the heir. A pain tightened round liel* heart when she considered how much was bound up with Simon Pettigrew. Never, had she tailed to point opt to him with reverence, the tombs, the alabaster monuments and the chanceries in St. Martin’s Church with the name of Pettigrew. ‘Things Were changing, there was no doubt of that. The industrial age was upon them, and those who remained upon the land, were losing money rapidly. „ To belong to an ancient Norman family and to own the old Mansion House and the estate had mattered a . great deal in the past. And now it mattered a great deal to Mary, as she looked at her , son, Simon, and wondered which way he would incline. In everything liis education had been orthodox, and she tended carefully every step of his training. Of the Boults, who had intermarried with the Medways, Mary knew little. *J'hey kept their distance, though slid understood that they made money almost as fast as she was, well, not losing it, hut failing to make it. 'they were still subtly beneath the Pettigrews ias sociap v StptUs, though financially they were very superior. iThe Boults had one daughter, Hilda. Mary was waiting uneasily in the library for her son, who had declared with some impatience that he had something to say to her. . He came before her, well-shaped and upright with a dark and manly complexion. , • . j Mary, supposed that what Simon had to say to her was of a certain importance, at least to himself. He was nearly twenty-one years of age. Still at college, but leaving soon, his term up, this a few days' begged from, ms tutor.

“Simon, I suppose you, want an * account of my stewardship, or soon will. Mr Mervyn, who has been looicing after our affairs for us, will ten yoii all the business side of the matter.” •; • “I’ve not come to speak to you oi things like that. You brought me up .to be the Squire here, didn’t you mother ?” “What else? You have no-other gift or talent that I know of. It may be that all that is jo you old and out-of-date is not so useless.” The young'man looked at her uneasily, he admired and loved her, yet • she represented to him an obstacle. He did not want to he hampered by all the'conditions and conventions that she represented. And she felt his rebellion, his distress, his uneasiness, and she said with the fine self-sacrifice of the women of her type; . , , ~ “Say what you please, Simon, tell me what you want.” “I couldn’t suppose that you whll, as happy as you might have been.” ! She turned aside at that. He felt re-

morse and at the same time resent-

ment pull at his heart. He had not wanted her sacrifice or her, devotion, v “What is it you want, Simon?” in- ’ sisted his mother. “Come, you must tell me.” '

The truth was that he did not want the customs and useless inheritance that she had so loyally and patiently preserved for liim. He knew that a man to be anything nowadays must be in business or the Services, shining above his fellows. And lie resented, most unjustly, his mother, as being some kind of a drag on liis own ambition,. But he made an effort to be both honest and frank and, coming uf> to the desk where she sat, said: “I want to marry Hilda.”

For a moment she did not .know whom he meant, for Hilda belonged to a different, world from her own, and had no place in her thoughts. She looked at hqp patiently and he coloured to his cheekbones and said':

“I suppose she’s beneath your notice?” '

“How could she ;be beneath my notice, ‘Simon—the woman you want to marry? Who is this—Hilda, why, you mean Hilda Boult? Or does she,” said the lady, carefully, “call herself Medway?”

“They call themselves Boult-Med-way, “ replied, the young man awkwardly. “Hilda inherits all the money and property of both the Boults and the Med Ways. You lcnow their descent.”

■ “I knew Harry Medway quite well. I didn’t! know you’d met Hilda, though.”

“Well, mother, what do you think qf it? They’ve a great deal of money and she’s been finely educated. Jeremiah Boult could buy this place up again and again.” “What’s that to do with it, Simon?” cried Mary Pettigrew, rising suddenly. “What’s that to do with it—the money?” : “Don’t you see that it would mean that we should all combine—the Medways and the Boults are one already, and I and Hilda now represent these three families?”

“Don't talk to me, Simon, for a moment. Let me go away and think ” “You don’t like her, mother, I can see,” replied the young man sullenly. “As I remember, Hilda is always bright and pleasant. And I’ve not a word to say against her, Simon." ’ “There’s many a man who would be proud to have her and I’ll be .lucky if I am accepted.” “Oh, you’ve not been accepted yefc?” she asked, with a gleam of hope. “You’re not sure?”

7 “No, I’m not sure,” admitted he, sullenly. “After all, what have I got to offer? Everyone knows the condition the estate’s in. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, mother, but an old church and a few tombs and an old house like this—they don’t mean much nowadays. The Boults have got more money in a month than we have in a year, mother.” “What’s money to do with it? I’m thinking in terms of race and breed and, nobility.”

A Tale of the End of an Epoch.

(Copyright).

“Then you’re thinking in terms of the past generation,” said the young man violently. “I tell you I’ve got to scringe, I’ve got to go on my knees to get Hilda to accept me.” ; “Simon I 'Simon ! What are you saying to me? Is it for this that I sent ;you ” She checked herself, feeling that she was on the verge of an (absurdity; she had meant to quote ithe name of his ancient school and (college. “YOU’RE LAUGHING AT ME.”

I Instead she said: “I’ve no doubt, my dear, that Hilda is- a very fine girl. My life has largely been negation, I should like you to do something more worth while with yours., Say that you have the good fortune to get this wealthy, pretty young girl whom you like so much, what to do you intend ito do with the rest of your life?” Ho seemed a little dunmbfounded at :her question. “Why, if I married Hilda there wouldn’t be any question of anything else. I’d look after her property. She’s the sole heiress, you know.” I “Then I suppose that you would Intend to combine her property with ours and rest on your laurels ?” said 'Mary. “Til any case I don’t suppose ‘your Hilda, if you win her, will care to live here. It will he a braiid-new house somewhere else. Neither this, (nor the old Mansion Farm would be good enough.” “I’ve got to get her first. She’s full of new ideas, of course.’’ | “Newer than yours?” asked Mary Pettigrew, “You’re laughing at me, mother,” he replied suddenly. “If I’m laughing ati anyone I’m laughing at myself. I’m here to welcome Hilda whenever you can win her. But I’d like to know what else you intend to do besides just being 'the steward of her estates.”

“I don’t know,” he replied uneasily. “You’ve heard the talk that there might be a war. Well, if there is a war, I shall volunteer. And Hilda, I suppose, will wait for me.” “I suppose she would if slie loved you, or cared for you. What you say makes me feel very distressed, uneasy. A war?”

“YeSj between France and Germany and We coming in to help France, x suppose. I didn’t take much interest in ! politics myself. I never went to all ;the debates they had at Oxford nor j listened to those learned chaps threshing it out.” “Well, Simon, if there was a war, x : suppose you’d nave to go “Why don’t you finish your sentence, : mother and say I should have to go like imy forebears Went to Agilicourt and to fight the Armada and at Waterloo and Trafalgar and all the rest of it?”

She did not like the way he spoke, his tone almost seemed to contain a sneer. She took the little basket from the deck in front of her and from .it sorted her keys, “You must tell Hilda when you teil her that you love her, that I love her, too. And I can’t say any more, can 1, Simon?”

She rose with a smile and a gesture that silenced him and crossing to where he stood weht up to him put her haners ion his shoulders, and kissed his cheeks. That afternoon of that pure May day, Simon Pettigrew put his fate to the (test; and the spot was not far from that which had been chosen by Miles Pettigrew and Rose Bartlett two generations before —where the river, St. 'Martin’s Flow, came down from the ancient mill.

Ho knew that Hilda, with her books and her dogs, often went there of an • evening. It was, in a way, an unacknowledged tryst between the two young people; sometimes she would not come, but oftener she Was there and they :would talk together about the future and “the new world,” and even argue in their ingenuous way how they might help to put things right. But Simon did not take Hilda’s ideals very seriously. He had even heard it said that Hilda sometimes spoke “on platforms'" and “made speeches in public.” All nonsense, of course, the kind of schoolgirl rubbish that soon could be swept away when he was her lord and master. And there was Hilda coming- towards ‘him in her red jersey and her blue skirt with a satchel of books under her arm and her bright, earnest eyes ana her black hair knotted hack at her neck . . •j■ -\ He intended to-night to force the romantic note.. After all, he would soon be 21 and she would soon be 19, and their future must bo settled •. . The evening was cool and perfumed, the church of St. Martin’s standing out darkly against the fading sky. “Put down all those books/ Hilda, and forget all that stuff,” he demanded impetuously, “I want to talk to you of something important.” “But all this is important- . That’s something you men will never understand.” “I don’t'know what you mean.” • “We don’t live in the times of our grandfathers. Don’t you understand, Simon, that times are changing?” “I understand, Hilda, that there is something that never will change. 1 don’t know what’s got into your head. I was speaking to my mother- to-day— • “Well, what’s that got to do wren me?" she broke in sharply on the defence. “Well, something, 1 suppose. You like my mother, don’t you?” “Why, of course. Everyone likes and respects Mrs Pettigrew. And yet, at the same time, we all feel that she’s the kind of woman who stands in the way.” “What do you mean—stands in the way Hilda?” * “She won’t progress, she won’t even listen, she just smiles when we talk of —well, women’s suffrage or any of the hundred and one things we are interested in. Forgive me, Simon ” “Oh, yes, I forgive you, Hilda. Mother, would be: quite, amused to bear you.” “Yes, that’s the worst of it,” cried Hilda, angrily, “she would bo amused! Anl I suppose you’re amused, too, you don’t take me seriously!” •“Oh, Hilda, I’ve come hero to-night to ask you to be my wife. That shows how seriously I take you!” (To Bo Continued).

The characters In this story are entirely imaginary. No reference is intended to any living person or to any public or private company.