THE MARRIAGE LINES

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 242, 12 October 1929, Page 12 (Supplement)

THE MARRIAGE LINES

' ~-., By J. S. FLETCHER —■*— :

SYNOPSIS OP PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. MARTIN MUSCROFT, a prosperous and industrious inill-owncr, discovering that he may drop dead at any moment, confesses, under an oath of secrecy, to JUDITH, his niece, that her fiancee and his .son, . ■.....', MICHAEL, was t>orn out of wedlock. In order to prevent Michael's dissolute br0ther)... ..'..'... , . . STEPHEN, from inheriting his property, Martin has had a new will drawn .up. He dies, however, before signing it. JAEL ' QUINCE, the sinister old housekeeper, not knowing the will is unsigned, tries to steal it, but Judith struggles with her. In the struggle J.ael suddenly cotlapsps and, dies. Judith disposes of the body in a desolate place called Hobuian's Hole, and gives it out that Jael has gone on one of her periodic visits to a' relative.

CHAPTER IX.. ;

To Judith the Mine which elapsed 'between Michael's home-coming and the burial of hie father passed as a dream passes. She eaw everything and comprehended nothing; all that she was conscious of was a dull, aching endurance of pain which weighed like iron upon her and could not be driven away, j • Michael was experiencing : trouble enough. The solicitor had informed him that, although the title deeds of Martin's property were Safely bestowed in a tin box at his office, he knew; nothing of any will disposing of the dead man's estate, nor did he believe that his client had made one. ■ He advised Michael to summon Stephen, :and, to search their father's desk for papers; it was possible that Martin had made a will and put it away somewhere. But Stephen, on the strength, of his expectations, had contrived to borrow five pounds from the gamekeeper, and had never been sober since. And as Michael flatly refused to unlock the desk until Stephen was present there was nothing for it but to wait. All that he could-do was to visit hie brother, and beg him to keep off the drink until their father was /buried. And Stephen, having wept vinouely, promised, and, in furtherance of his good motive, took forthwith to his bed and kept it until the morning of the obsequies, when he arose, very white and shaky, and had perforce to be dosed with brandy before he could proceed to his proper station in the processions To Judith the day of i'ns funeral was as a nightmare. The house seemed to be turned upside-down. Martin Muscroft, having been a much-respected man, and well known throughout the neighbourhood, large numbers of people came from all parts of the counti-ysidc to pay, the last tribute of regard to him, and all expected entertainment. The parlour, the house-place, the kitchens, big and little, were filled; eating and drinking went on from an early hour of the morn-' ing; pipes and cigars were smoked free/y; What with the fumes of tobacco, the smell of baked meats, the odour of spirits, the place, thought Judith, was more reminiscent of a crowded tavern than a respectable house.' Aiid in spite of the presence of death, everybody talked. True, everybody talked of the dead man, his virtues, his character, his peculiarities, his this-that-and-the-other, but still they talked, and loudly. It was all distasteful and trying; so, too,

was the funeral procession to the church, in which she was obliged to walk with Sherratt behind the two brothers. Sherratt made extensive use of a.new black bordered handkerchief, liberally saturated with the strongest lavender water, but Judith kept hers in her pocket, and was unconscious that she had even put it there. She had riot shed a tear since Martin's death—not even when Michael, meeting her in the lane, and seeing the

agony in her face, had leapt from his horse and taken her into his arms. ■ The people who lined the village street and the .narrow lane leading to the church paid that Judith walked to and from the mill /like a wooden image. Certainly the proceedings left her un'affected, and she was still apathetic and listless when,-the family having returned to the house with the solicitor, it became necessary to eat the formal funeral feast in state. By that time the place was quiet; all the folk of high and low degree who had come to the obsequies had drunk a last g/ass to ■ Martin's memory and dispersed in their various different directions. Michael and Judith, Stephen and Sherratt, were all the relatives that Martin had on earth, so far a'e they.kiiew; the solicitor, of course, they regarded as much a part of the proceedings as the sirloin; juicy and . wellbrowned, which Ann Piper was about to set on the table. Michael drew Judith aside. * "Judith," he eaid, laying his hand on her arm! with a fond pressure, "you've always at the one end of the table in my father's time, but to-day you ihuSt let Stephen sit there. It's his right. I shall take my father's seat. You'll not mind? It'll only be for the day." \ . "I*don't.care where Stephen sits," she answered. "It I could have my'.- way, Michael, I- wouldn't sit down -at all,' Must i?" ■ : ■.•■' '•■'.'■ .■;

Michael was naturally old-fashioned and conservative; to interfere ' '■ with a .time-honoured precedent seemed a serious thing to him. "We 11,.1 think you'd better, Judith," he answered gently. "It's always done, and it'll soon be over. And —I don't expect Stephen and his wife'll be for stopping. Then we can talk—l've scarce seen you since I came back." Judith made no answer. Talk! —what was she to talk about? The one thing that, her whole being was aching to talk about was what must never be mentioned. Talk! She felt as if she had been turned to stone or marble. ' Michael took his father's place at the head, of the table without hesitation or comment. AM Sherratt, who had never joined the .family circle before, felt en.coufaged to anticipate that what, she 1 hoped for; would cpme to pass, and that the presence of the brothers at the head and foot of the. table denoted their equality. , talked much over the funeral feast; what conversation took place was chiefly between the three men; There was a" constraint upon it; no one spoke freely. But when Ann Piper had cleared away the last remains, Michael, who was well accustomed to the countryside ritual on these occasions, produced decanters and invited them to take a glass of wine with him while the business that had brought the?n together was. discuss&l/ Arid after-the final sip of the generous *port which Martin had carefully laid down many years before he turned to the solicitor. .

■. "Now, Mr. Marcher," he said, "I suppose you'll have something to say to us. But, first of all,. I've a word, to.-say to my brother, there. ' Now, Stephen, Mr. Marcher willtellyou that when I came home t'other .day, I. found him here,. As ■you present, ..we sealed, up my lather's desk, and I gave Mr. Marcher the key. The desk hasn't been ■ opened since. When Mr. Marcher has said what he's got to say, you and me'll open it in

his presence. I hope that's agreeable and fair." "Oh, that's right enough, that is!" assented Stephen. "Nobody could say naught fairer than that." Michael turned to the solicitor. "Well, sir," he said, "we'll waste no time, then. What have you to tell us?" Mr. Marcher, an elderly man of the old-fashioned ■ type of family lawyer, pulled down his waistcoat and shook his head. "Well, Mr. Michael —I beg pardon, Mr. Muscroft, I should have said," he began, "the truth is, I've nothing much to say. Of-course, we all know why we're here. It's always' iisttftl, on , these occasions, for families to meet together in order to hear the will of its late head read. Well, now, although I 'believe I enjoyed my late client's confidence to a considerable extent, although he entrusted the title deeds of his property to me (they're all in his own box, with its patent lock, to which I always hold a duplicate key; this, always carried with my own), and although I know to within a pound or two what he was worth, I know nothing whatever about his having made a will. He certainly never gave me instructions for one. I have looked through his papers —in the box aforementioned —as a formality, you. understand, but as I knew, of course,, that no will would be found there, my own impression is that my client' never made a will. I have often' said td him, sometimes seriously, sometimes jestingly, that it was time he made a testamentary disposition of his estate,- hut he • always put me off. I can only : repeat what I have said; I know of no will."

"He never'spoke to me of. making a will," said Michael. "Did he ever mention the matter to you, Step Tien?" "Stephen shook his head. He had managed to eat a good dinner; the sound old port was spurring his brain; he was beginning to think clearly. "No, never," he answered. "Never spoke a word to me, at no time." Michael turned to Judith, who was listlessly trifling with the shells of the two , or three walnuts which she had cracked. Although she was not looking at him, she knew what was coming, and she felt an inward shrinking. "Did you ever hear aught about it, Judith?" he asked.

Judith was seeking for the right word. But only one word occurred to her. She spoke it listlessly, apathetically. . "No," she replied. Mr. Marcher sipped his port and smacked his lips a little. .. , "Of course," he remarked. "Of course, it's possible there's a will, in existence. Your father was candid and frank to a degree, but he also knew how to keep his own counsel; he could'be as silent as the grave if he chose to be. But I dare say you know that better than I do. What I was going to say was this: he may have made a will unknown to anybody'. He may have wished that even I shouldn't know all his affairs. Now, there was nothing to prevent him from having his will made when he went to ork, or to Leeds, of to Wakefield; as I believe he often did. Some solicitor may have it in keeping, or it may be in the desk which we sealed up the other day. My advice to you is, anen that desk and see what it contains." Michael glanced at his brother across the table. "What say you, Stephen? And, if agreeable, we'll do it now." "I'm agreeable," replied Stephen. "Of course. We may as well know where we are and how matters stand. (To be continued daily.)