Miranda of the Movies.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 135, 9 June 1926, Page 22

Miranda of the Movies.

By ERIC LEACROFT.

Author of "Winter Corn," "Silversande," Etc.. Etc CHAPTER V. Although the Press did, in fact, make some reference to the affair that so disgraced Janet Thorpe in the eyes of Mrs. Pellew and of all right thinking women, it did not reach the eyes of Mr. Constantine Thorpe in his grey stronghold at the head of Thorpedale. For one thing, it appeared in the wrong newspaper—in his eyes only one newspaper was right—and he read no other. For another, it would have made no difference if he had read Miss Kingdom's explicit and sprightly account; for reasons that will appear. Nevertheless, that August morning was not a happy one for the lord of Thorpe. Tlio post had brought him two sealed letters among a number that were not sealed, and, having read them, he at onco betook himself to the stables. After passing along a row of eight empty loose boxes, lie came to two that were occupied, one by a chestnut mare, the other by a roan gelding. The gelding greeted him with forwardpricked ears, a rolling eye, and a friendly, independent toss of the head. The marc, more demonstrative, hurried forward with a suppressed whinny, and muzzled the lapel of his coat. Her name was fierce. Pushing her gently away, Mr. Thorpe stood back, and for a full minute contemplated the two animals in silence. The stable clock ticked overhead. He had not noticed before how loud it sounded when the stables were nearly empty. He stepped forward again, and laid a hand on the glossy brown neck. "Poor old girl," said the owner of Thorpe in that abrupt voice that may have helped to distinguish him in the mare's mind from the stable man, who addressed her in the soft Northumbrian drawl. She lifted a dainty foreleg and scratched the half-door of her box, regarding him the while out of unfathomable brown eyes. "Poor old devil," said Mr. Thorpe: and, turning quickly, went in to breakfast. Mrs. Thorpe's chair was being wheeled in as he entered through the French windows. ''Nice morning," he said as he took his place at the head of the table. "Where arc the girls?" "You mean Betty?" "Why—ah—yes. Of course I mean Betty." "She breakfasted early," said Mrs. Thorpe. "There's a meet of the otter pack at Grime's Cross." "Legsl" said Mr. Thorpe, complacently. "Seven miles to the Cross if it's an inch. Then, Lord knows how many behind hounds. Then home, another seven, or more if they run upstream. Legs, what?" Mrs. Thorpo smiled a little grimly. She was in pain this morning. Her own legs, crushed in the hunting field fifteen years before, had lost all power except the power to hurt her whenever there was wet weather in the offing. A barometer on wheels, sho called herself. Mr. Thorpe was not quite himself Not that ho betrayed the fact by so much as the drooping of an eyelid. It has been noted that the Thorpe countenance is not expressive, and even Mrs. Thorpe, who knew it was there, would have been hard put to it to say how sho recognised the shadow, the hint of a difference that enveloped her lord as he drank coffee and ate smoked badger's ham (that traditional delicacy of Thorpedale) with all his usual "appetite. Ho ate and drank steadily for five minutes, then remarked: "Been looking at the horses." Mrs. Thorpe's eyebrows went up ever so little. This was a more definite symptom. Mr. Thorpe usually paid his first visit to the stables immediately after breakfast. But she waited in silence while he helped himself to another slice of badger. "Young Heseltine," he said, and filled his mouth. Again Mrs. Thorpe exercised patience. "No judge of horses," said Mr. Thorpe. "More coffee, please. Offered a hundred guineas for Merce last market day." "Indeed? I didn't think the dear thing was worth so much." "She ain't," said Mr. Thorpe. "Told him so. Said I'd ask eighty if I asked anything, but didn't want to sell.". "Oh, poor thing!" said Mrs. Thorpe. Like many wives sho answered her husbad's meaning rather than his words, and she knew as well as if he had said it that yet another of the Thorpe mounts was to go. But sho had to wait until ho had' finished breakfast before she learned why. "Oswald," said her husband, and threw a letter across the table. It demanded, respectfully but firmly, an immediate advance of fifty pounds on the struggling guardsman's next half-yearly allowance. It said nothing of Janet, and thero was no sign that the writer was aware of the bad tidings that Wie had brought him in such haste from Thorpe. "Don't you think," ventured Mrs. Thorpe, "that Oswald ought to be told ?" "Told what?" asked Mr. Thorpe. His wife hesitated long over her answer and ended by not answering. It seemed easy enough to say: "Oswald ought to be told that we are on our last legs, that his patrimony is mortgaged away, and that it is only through his father's obstinacy that he continues to receive any allowance at all." Plain, undeniable truths—but they had never yet been put into words in Mr. Thorpe's presence. His wife would have found it hard to explain why she could not bring herself to say them. It might have been through something of tenderness for the man who refused to believe that he was beaten. Since facts must clearly disillusion him so soon, why should she of all people, hasten that stark moment? But it was not only that. Mr. Thorpe would have been more angry than hurt, and his rare anger was a thing that she had learned to fear. And, worst of all, the words would not have carried any conviction. It would be like showing a blind man the chasm gaping at his feet: or like informing the dome of St. Paul's that it was about to fall down. '•'Told what?" repeated Mr. Thorpe. "Well—that it isn't very convenient to let him have more money at the moment." "Pooh!" said Mr. Thorpe. And then, with a sudden note of irritation: "He must.keep up his position. I always kept up my position when I was in the Guards. Jly father never talked about inconvenience." Mrs. Thorpe sighed audibly. To the world's eye, Mr. Thorpe was *)ill a great man, a representative of <!1 that is most solid and enduring in ' s-.lish life, an adequate son of a race t !* »M as the neighbouring Percies, if of •;:..iv> local renown. He co regarded Ynwlf: and although he admitted in ' ■•<• Hint. ho. like Uio roet of hi" fines.

was being taxed out of existence, he had never yet been short of fifty pounds when fifty pounds was needed. He had continued to dip and draw until the reservoir was nearly empty. And even now, he told himself—and perhaps succeeded in believing—it was only a temporary emptiness; things would look up again soon. In this he differed from hie wife. Mrs. Thorpe hated accounts; they made her head ache. But she had set herself, with much stubbornness, to master her husband's affairs, and had more or less succeeded. She knew that they were so nearly hopeless that nothing short of a miracle could redeem them if Lord Heeeltine intended to persist in his unneighbourly attitude towards the mortgages. She, at any rate, had done all that could be done by one woman in a wheeled chair. And she had still two marriageable daughters. True, she did not deliberately include Janet and Elizabeth in her calculations of the declining assets of Thorpe. But where everything was so nearly hopeless, it would not have been human to dismiss as irrelevant the fact that the daughters of Thorpe had always married well. To them, at least, clung some of the vanishing glory of that proud and distinguished line. On the other hand, time was short, and ruin seemed very near. And the girls had moved in a very narrow circle since they had given up going to London for the season. There were possibilities; but if ever she were tempted to think of them, it was only to brush them aside. After all, Betty* was barely out of the schoolroom. Anil Janet had disappeared—no ine knew where. This matter of Janet's disappearance had made curiously little stir at Thorpe. She had always run wild, and no one questioned her coming and going. On the day after her departure a letter had arrived, bearing a London postmark, inviting her mother not to worry about her, and adding that she did not intend to return home for the present—a casual, not to say airy communication, that Mrs. Thorpe hail handed to her husband with a tremor. She expected a storm, but none came. "Pig-headed little brute," remarked Mr. Thorpe. "What's she up to?" Mrs. Thorpe had hastened to disown any knowledge of the escapade. She was sure, though, that Jane could be trusted not to get into mischief. "Oh, quite," said Mr. Thorpe, serenely. "If she couldn't, I should not have let her go." Seeing that Janet had stolen away without a word to anybody, this remark did not eeem to be very much to the point: but it was all he chose to say, and Mrs. Thorpe kept her anxiety to herself. | As for the other letter that he received on the morning when he visited the etables before- breakfast, he would have had to be gifted with second sight to connect it in any way with his errant daughter. He did not throw it across the table to Mrs. Thorpe, but read it aloud with a kind of heavy sprightliness that indicated that he was amused. "My dear Mr. Thorpe—" "But don't suppose that it's anyone we know, because I've never heard of the feller in my life." "This company is in process of filming an exceptionally high-grade story of old-time life on the Anglo-Scottish border. It is a story of 'old unhappy far-off things, and battles long ago,' in the very locality of which you are a distinguished resident. We are sparing no pains or expense to secure that it shall be historically accurate in every particular, and to that end we are arranging for the whole of the action to take place in the beautiful scenery of Thorpedale, of which your venerable pile is, we are informed, the most striking historic feature, dating as it does from the thirteenth century and remaining in all essential respects unchanged since that time. "Kow, we have come to a decision which we venture to think will give you pleasure. We should like to feature the great hall of Thorpe House in a number of our principal scenes. We are confi-1 dent that you will recognise the artistic and educational value of this project and will be ready to assist iw in carrying it out worthily. "If you look with favour on this eugjrestion, as we feel sure that you will. we shall be delighted to send a representative to call upon you to discuss the financial side of the matter, which we shall bo ready to approach in the most liberal and accommodating spirit. I remain, my dear Mr. Thorpe, "Very sincerely yours, "F. VAN - QUISTEN. "Managing Director Millenium Films, Ltd. "P.S. —I enclose a scenario of history and a list of our all-star cast. "Mr. C. Thorpe, J.P." Mr. Thorpe laid down tlje letter and stared at his wife with open mouth and eyes goggling, his usual manner of registering extreme amusement. "But what," asked Mrs. Thorpe, "is' an all-star cast!" "Lord knows. But I've a good mind to see their man, just for the pleasure of putting him in his place." Mrs. Thorpe smiled. Her husband excelled at putting people in their place, and she could quite easily imagine f the interview, which was likely to be one-sided. But her smile was a little rueful. "Perhaps it would be better not to take any notice," she suggested. "Just as you like," said Mr. Thorpe, and tore the letter up. But he did it with a hint of reluctance, for the open-1 ing phrases of the interview had already \ begun to shape themselves in his mind, j He had no sooner done so than the j butler entered with a card. Mr. Van | Quieten believed in following up his at-1 tacks without loss of time. The card \ bore the name of Mr. Parhamdieur, and an address in Wardour Street. The light of battle rose in Mr. Thorpe's eyes. He had once before been visited by a gentleman from Wardour Street, who had come armed with what he described as a very advantageous offer for certain suits of armour that had been accumu- j lating dust in the long gallery at Thorpe ! for half a dozen generations. j "I'll see him." lie announced promptly.! "in the study."' \ (To be contmued daily.) j