JOAN

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 141, 16 June 1928, Page 9 (Supplement)

JOAN

By i IX R, Huddleston j

Good-bye! That morning, in the little two-seater that had served her so well since Billy ur>nt awry, Joan Garland went into the ■village and said good-bye. Sho wiis really settling bills that, known to her, had been outstanding for \ arving lengths of time—some for years. '< ft. in fpite of the flavour tliis gave ' J" vi-it, it was actually good-bye she was raying, for slie lm<l known all of i In-ill — from old Hetty George, the aged l"i-t-mistresH and village storekeeper, to even older Hen Darling, who owned the coal-yard, joiner's shop, and the Matfen Jmii—xinco slie was a very small girl. Xever ill all her life had the dear, 7'lacid little ]>laco seemed so sweet. ft Was a 1111111111 time, and the trees around ffco village Mjuare —which was no more, §rl.ually, than a grazing ground for the village cattle as they were driven home in the evening—glowed with the coppery tint that brought memories flooding t.) her of tho days before she had grown lip.

Matfen, lost in the heart of Northumberland, completely hidden from the wayward eyo and protected from the encroachment of motor buses by the narrow old-fashioned roads, seemed dearer than ever to licr on this fateful da v.

Old Betty George, true to that peasant loyalty that stretches back into the dim ages, bobbed and curtsied behind her counter as soon aa Joan entered. The dear old soul, seeing Joan still in black, tried to combine a look of commiseration with a smile of wclcome.

"fiood muruing, ma'am," she began, and then broke forth: "Oh, honey, honey, you do look palo! Have they been treating you right since your father died?" Joan had to laugh, and thereby accentuated tho change that had come over licr iu tho last month —for the largh was low and subdued.

"You mean Lucille and old Jane?" sho asked. "Betty—how could you?" sho ended, with a reproachful smile. Betty, for twenty-five years or more, had held veiled warfare with Lucille. Lucille, who had come to tlio Manor as a smart lady's maid, had stayed to develop into a placid, slightly heavy, kindly and comfortable woman, who had Joan's interests very much at heart. But Betty had never been able to forget the rather dashing and foreign pseudonym Lucille clung to. It was just a bit of peasant dislike for what sounded worldly and strange —and Joan had to laugh again as she thought of it. "If that be so, ma'am," said Betty with an aggressive snap of lur jaw, "why are you going to foreign parts, as I've heard tell? Somebody was saying the other night that you were going to India, honey. That's not true, is it?" "It is, Betty," affirmed Joan, striving to banish the comic picture the words brought up—that of herself driven from the Manor to "foreign parts" by kindly Lucille and Jane, the housekeeper. "It is, Betty—and Lucille is coming with me, to look after me!" Betty went rather silent at this undoubted proof of Lucille's good intentions, and then she asked:

"Why aro you going, Miss Joan? Surely you're not leaving the Manor in the hands of strangers?"

"It is just becaiiso X <1° n °t want si rangers to get hold of the .Manor eventually, that I am going," Joan explained. "You will have almost as much knowledge of the staty of affairs with tho Manor as I have, Betty. I did not know until father died that things were so bad. Indeed they are bad, Betty, and unless something is done in the way of reorga nation and retrenchment. I am afraid the day will soon come when we 6lia.il have to sell out." Betty nodded her head. For long *nougl/she had known that Joan's father, fjir Gilbert Garland, philosopher, antiquarian and deep delver into subjects far removed from the practical proposition of making ends meet, had allowed things to run to seed. Indeed she had been owed money for a matter of seven or eight years now. "But what about your brother, William?" she countered. "Where is he, that he cannot take charge. \on was a lad that could grapple with things—as I know that had the chasing of him out cf this shop, many a time! "It is to find Billy that I am going to India," said Joan. "We—l have had no word from him for over five months, now, Betty. There hasn't even been a reply to the cable I sent him about father's death!" , "Then what can havo happened him, honey? You don't think"No, nothing like that, I am sure, Betty! Perhaps you don t know t actual story, but this is it. Billy was given the leadership cf an' c *pl°»°B expedition—that is, an expcd.t.on to find things out. What they had to hnd out Hetty, was the unknown course of ai rivei that Hows through the Himalaya Mm •• tains in upper India. It was a ter.ilicallv important expedition from lnunj points of view, though with not n « > money attached to it. I doni what has happened to keep Bnly < out there, for by now the exploration snould have ended. He is not dead, I know. Perhaps something else is keeping him, and I am going out to home at once, from wherever he is. _ •'Then you'll have to find him in these Himlaver Mountains?" Betty demanded. "Either that, or hire an expert to look after things here at home," admitted Joan. "And as there is no knowing how long Billy will be away yet, I have decided that the trip out there and back will be cheapest and best in the end. '•[ wish you luck in your journeying, honcv, but oh! it's a long and dangerous loud'you have to go," old Betty said. And thus, settling and saying goodie, and explaining things to her humble but loyal creditors, Joan at length diove back to tho Manor. Jouii Garland was 22. As the daughter ot the local squire she was well enough educated—indeed, as she now realised, extraordinarily well educated, considerin" what it must have cost her father. Nile took an interest in everything girls of her a rr e took an interest in, but until this morning she had not sensed that that interest had been passive. There had been so much for her -o do around about home, so many purely loea interests had gained her attention and enthusiasm that she had never fee craving for what is generally known as society, but is more often mere tinselly show. The villagers with their Blow speech, broad Northumbrian accent, and <|uict, sincere ways had been all in all to her. Nho would never meet their like cihcwhere. she was sure, but she rather wi>li« d now, when she thought of what rrnilie ahead, that she had gone out into tho world more often. At the very least it might have made the final p&rting less hard to bear.

As she sat down to an early lunch and thought over things she experienced a tightening of the throat that made her fight off purely sentimental feelings. that day she was travelling to Scotland by her small ear, to save expense— where her father had owned other estates in just as much need of skilful management and repair. After some thought slie had decided to sell the smallest of them to cover expenses and meet pressing demands in the north. And when that was done she would travel to London where Lucille would meet her with the baggage, and there embark on a P. and O. boat for Bombay. The programme as she had mapped it out seemed perfectly simple and straightforward—until it came to this last moment; and she lingered over lunch until warned by Lucille that it was time to go. Lucille of the dashing name and homely appearance accompanied her to the car, after she had bidden adieu to the small retinue of servants left. She had given them their instructions how to carry on in her absence, and she was sure those instructions would be carried out to the letter. Lucille, whose real name was plain Eliza Briggs and who came from the south country, also seemed to be feeling tho approaching parting from what had come to be her home. She drew Joan to her suddenly, just before she stepped into the car, so that in the end it was Joan who had to exercise self-possession and leadership. But when she drove oir for tho main north road, her hands were gripping the steering-wheel with quite unnecessary force. On the top of the rise she slowed down and looked back, and with the last look at the place she was going to save there came a curious lightening of her load. It was worth it this trip to the East for Billy—well worth it, if it meant retaining Matfen Manor and the acres beyond.

With tho first cheerful smile for many days on her lips, she pressed the accelerator and slid into top gear. She was off on the beginning of her adventure, and with action came surcease from strain. Captain McNeill Intervenes. Glen Arroch Lodge lies south of Glasgow and to the west. Joan came to it in the evening when a pale sickle moon hung low over Arroch Castle across the glen. She was met at the door by the old Scottish housekeeper whose husband acted as a kind of bailiff of the adjoining estate. Advised by telegram, Mrs. Sutherland had prepared her room for her, the room that, as a child, she had often occupied.

This was the estate that Joan had decided to sell, and she heartily disliked the duty of informing the two good souls of lier intention. It meant change for them, that was all, but not unnaturally they would anticipate more, possibly the loss of their posts. But Joan had quite made up her mind that a clause should be inserted in the bill Of sale, providing against this contingency. Sutherland had had his hands tied by lack of ready capital, as he deftly explained to her when he presented the rather sorry report on affairs around the Lodge. It was losing heavily, upkeep charges were nowhere near balanced by other charges, and Joan became more convinced than ever that her decision to sell before sailing was the right decision. It gave her an opportunity of broaching the subject, and her mind was relieved enormously when she saw how the two old folk took it.

" Aye, the missus had been raither expecting this," said Donald. " There's a pickle o' money wanted to put this place to rights, Miss, as I often told the laird, ye'r guid father. Nae doot whatever gets it after ye will have what ye'r father lacked, guid mon. That being so, I hae nae fear o' my post, for I can put things right here, as wha couldna, wi' the money to do it? " Tho report digested, Joan made arrangements for the transportation of several objects of sentimental rather than intrinsic worth. An old cheval glass of her mother's, and similar things, were to be sent down to Matfen; and it was while engaged in this pleasant duty hat Mrs. Sutherland suddenly recollected something she had intended to tell earlier.

"It's about that Captain McNeill over tho glen," she explained. " Ye'll maybe remind him frae the time ho played wi' ye when ye were young?" she added; then went on:

" He's grown into a fine braw man now, Miss, but wi' far ower big ideas o' himsel'. Ye'll mind ho was always like that, even as a ganglin' young loon? Now, ye must understand, Misa, that we hae a few farm-hands who are young and foolish. They got to poacliin' on the Captain's preserves, and the Captain himself took tho trouble o' layin' for them and catching them. « "He gied them a guid skelpin'! They wcro big enough to stand it, anyway, and they deserved it by all I hae hoard, lie called them ' thievin' Garland rubbish,' or something, and sent them home. I juist thought I would tell ye, Miss, in case yo meet him later and hear other-

wise! " Joan laughed—until she again thought of tho " thieving Garland rubbish " bit, and then she frowned. It was years and years since she had last met Dick McNeill, but she still remembered him clearly a tall, powciful boy, with what she had considered rather" stubborn ways and streaks of most winning kindness. As boy and girl they had played and quarrelled, and she now detected in the phrase he had used about her employees that high-and-mightiness that, as a child, had so often aggravated her. Thieving Garland rubbish,' indeed! " she told herself indignantly, quite overlooking the fact that Dick McNeill had taken °the least public way out of the poaching incident. "If I meet him before I leave I shall remind him of his words!" It was astonishing how the personality of the boy she had not met for years sprang up before her inner eye. The old combativeness with which she used to meet him iu a quarrel came to her again, and though she knew the words were not meant for her she nevertheless resented them as if they had been spoken to her personally. ! Certainly she would tell Mm something when she met him, she vowed; and next morning it was the first thought in her mind when she came down to breakfast. But other considerations soon dismissed it. That day her solicitor was coming from Glasgow with various offers lie had received for the sale of the Lodge. She grew rather faint at the prospect of the heap of business she had to discuss with him, and wished sho were already on the high seas, bound for Bombay.

Mr. Hoyle, a typical lawyer even to the cravat he wore, duly arrived, and with many dry coughs intended to convey discreet sympathy, plunged into business.

The market for land of this sort was bad, he said. It was made worse by the faet # that so few foreigners—Americans he meant—were in the market for desirable Scottish dwellings. It was unfor tunate that tho Lodge had never been developed as a grouse shoot, for if it had —Joan was left to imagine heaps of money she had missed through no fault of her own! It transpired ho bad received five offers, four of which were not worth considering. The lifth he put to her at once. " You remember Richard McNeill, your neighbour in the Castle across the glen? " he asked. "If I recollect rightly, you used to play with him when»you were—er, a mere child." Joan stiffened and looked at him keenly. "I remember him," she said, somewhat coldly. " Well it is an offer from him that 1 want you to consider," he continued urbanely. "I understand that he vVishes to add this estate to his own, thus holding both sides of the glen. Knowing this estate is in the market lie has come forward with a most handsome offer—nothing niggardly about it, probably for auld association's sake, but also because of his—ah, sympathy with you in your difficult position! " If Lawyer Hoyle had tried for months he could not have struck a line of argument better calculated to bring out every ounco of opposition in Joan's nature.

Far from being spoilt, slie yet had streaks of temper tlint flamed in the most unaccountable ways when occasion offered. In this instance she was on lie feet in an instant, her cheeks flushed and hands clenched. "Sympathy!" she said. "Old association's sake? He might have though:, of that when ho called my men ' thieving Garland rubbish,' the other day 1 I cannot consider his offer, Mr. Hoyle, and you had better get in communication with some of those other people and see what they can do. I shall be gone for an hour, and when I return I shall hear what has happened. Use the telephone in the hall, please!" With that she left the room, and going to the window a moment later, Lawyer Hoyle saw her, to his surprise and awe, driving oil down the road at a slashing pace.

Such a speed did she set, urged by her feelings, that as she round a corner she almost drove into a tall, bronzed man in rough tweeds. He had a dog at his heels, she noticed —and then she knew him for Captain Dick McNeill, her old plav-fellow. But it was only a flashing glance she got of his face. It was less than a Hashing glance he got of hers, for with a mighty leap he cleared off the road, his dog following him. Tnen she was past in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes, roaring at an ever greater pace out of sight. Tight-lipped, she laughed at what had happened—and went through Glen Arroch village like a whirlwind. She surprised many people in that mad burst, including the village con stable and an old genteman of undoubted local authority; for when she had wliisted out of sight this gentleman signed the constable to him and said; "You got her number, Blair?"

"I did, sirr—r." "Well, we'll hae her up in the morn ing, Blair! Come round to my house later and I'll sign the summons!" Blair resumed his post, jjttniir down Joan's number, while the old gentleman puffed off in high dudgeon. A Difficult Situation! Captain Dick McNeill, R.N., when the two-seater had passed him, stepped out into the road again and passed a hand over his brow. It was indeed remarkable that Joan had recognised him in the fleeting glance she had got of him. The explanation perhaps lay in the fact that this very man had been in her mind these last few hours, for otherwise he was tremendously changed from the lanky boy she had known.

Even the slack and rough tweeds he wore could not disguise the. breadth, height, and fine manliness of him; and the blue eyes that gazed humorously after the speeding car lK'td a glint of anger that gave additional charactcr to his face.

"Um —mm! I wonder who that was?" he asked himself. "Regular little daredevil, whoever she is. By gad, she nearly had us, Rex, old hoy. I guess she must be running away from somebody—probably a husband who is aftr-r her with a riding-whip! Sliouldu't be surprised, at that, by her actions." The car gone, Dick McNeLl turned and strode up the road. He was bound for Glen Arroch Lodge in obedience to a telephone message he had received from old Lawyer Hoyle, who was his solicitor also. (To bo continued daily.) X