THE MARRIAGE LINES

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 243, 14 October 1929, Page 18

THE MARRIAGE LINES

2 SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, 3 MARTIN MUSCROFT, a prosperous and 2 industrious mill-owner, discovering that 1 he may drop dead, at any moment, conj fesses under an oath of secrecy, to 5 JUDITH, his niece, that her fiance and his • ••• so]li i : MICHAEL, was born out of wedlock. In - order to prevent Michael's dissolute J brother, ! STEPHEN, from inheriting his property 1 Martin has had a new will drawn up j He dies, however, before signing it. j JAEL QUINCE, the sinister old housej keeper, not knowing the will is unsigned ■ ' tries to steal it, but Judith struggles witli ! her. In the struggle Jael suddenly colI lapses and dies, j uditli disposes of tut | body in a desolate place called Hobman's : Hole, and gives it out that Jael has gone j on one of her periodic visits to a relative | CHAPTER X. j He was still endeavouring- to puzzle j tilings out; still asking iiimself how it i would be with him if no will was found j He had a nasty idea, a vague inipresj sion, chiefly gathered from pot-house j conversation, tiiat Michael's priority ol j birth made some difference, but he was • not sure whether it was a great or smal. j one. Anyway, it was beyond him tc | believe that their father could have made j distinction between them, and he wat | not going to ask Mr. Marcher's opinior j at that moment; he would wait the | turning out -of the contents of his j father's desk. At Michael's suggestion j he helped him to lift the desk from tlu i little parlour into the one in which the) | were assembled. Mr. Marcher broke the i seal which he had placed on it, and proj duced the key. The two brothers, side i by side, began their search, the women i sat by, silent, ivatching. The old solii citor, a glass jf port in one hand, the j swallow-tails of his old-fashion coat i supported by the other, hovered about, viewing the proceedings from over the rims of his spectacles. Both the yciung men were well acquainted with the general aspect of their father's desk when it was '■ opened. An old oak bureau of great age, it had its full complement of drawers and divisions, and Martin had always been most particular about keeping it in strict order and scrupulous tidiness. There were simple books of account in one place, letters in another. It was evident that the dead man had posted up everything connected with his business to the very hour of his death. But there was very little of a private nature, and there was no will, nor memorandum relating to a will. Within an hour they had examined every scrap of paper in the desk, and looked between the leaves of all the account books without result. And Judith sat miserably by, knowing that all this was waste of time, and unable to say so. "Well, that seems a blank covert," remarked Michael, trying to infuse an air of cheeriness into the company. "I'm afraid it's as you 6ay, Mr. Marcher, unless it's hiclden away somewhere in the house, which doesn't seem likely." "You; can advertise if you like," said the solicitor. But his tone indicated that he had no* great belief in advertisement. And presently he addeel, signiiicantty, "Personally, I don't believe your father ever made a will." There was a brief silence, during which Michael occupied himself in replacing the books and papers in the bureau. Stephen sat down again at the table, and, replenishing hi-j glass, thrust his hands • into his pockets and stared at the decanters. Sherratt kicked him under cover of the mahogany; he glanced at her and. scowled, knowing very well what she wanted him to do. And, seeing that he was, for maintaining a dogged silence, she sudelenly spoke, a little hurriedly, a little tremblingly, her fingers picking at a tiny crack in the polished surface on which her hand rested. "And—and if there isn't a will, Mr. Marcher, what would the eil'ect. be't" she asked. "As it's all amongst the family, like, it's well that we should know." Michael started a little and glanced at his sister-in-law sharply. His eyes turned from her to the solicitor. Mr. Marcher took a sip at his glass, set it down, and folded his hands. "Well, ma'am," he said, glancing left and right at the two brothers. "I was prepared to made a statement on that point. If Mr. Muscroft and Mr. Stephen have no objection——" "Say on," said Michael. "I've none." "Let's be knowing," said Stephen. "Well, I know exactly how your father's affairs stand. He was a well-to-do man, but nearly everything lie died possessed of is in real estate,'' continued the solicitor. "There's this house and land and mill; there's Hopewell Farm, in the valley there, there are the two streets in Sicaster, Muscroft Street and Muscroft Place, which he built when the town began to spread, and called after himself. That's the real estate land and houses. Then I suppose there'll be money lying at the banks and debts owing." Michael produced a small account book and bank:book. "There's about £1400 at the bank, and a matter of some £200 out," lie said. "Say £1600 in cash," said Mr. Marcher. "Well, the position then is this. If there's no will, the personal estate— this money just referred to, you know— will be divided between you two young men. As for the real estate, the' property —well, it all goes to the eldest son." In the pause 'which followed this announcement, Michael continued to clear ■ away the papers, Judith absentmindedly passing them to him from the table. Stephen made no remark; he still sat staring at the decanters. And presently Sherratt discharged a fierce interrogation Jnto the silence. "What—all the property?" she demanded. "All?" Mr. Marcher bowed his haad. He had been quick to observe the nervous tremour in- the woman's hands, the terrible frightened eagerness in her voice. "Yes, ma'am," he answered quietly. "All," • :.7 "And is "that —is that the law?" she asked. "Can —can lie," she jerked her head at Michael, who had just then turned away from lief,, "can he stand to tfike this house and mill, and, land and that farm and yon property that you spoke of, while Stephen's left without stone or stick? Can he?" '"As eldest son, Mr. Muscroft succeeds to all the real estate, ma'am," answered the solicitor. "As things are, that's the law." ' "And we—we get naught but onehalf of that £1600?" exclaimed Sherratt. "Is that it?" "Your husband is entitled to one-half of the personal estate—as you say," replied Mr. Marcher. "Perhaps it may -be more than is anticipated." Sherratt turned savagely on Stephen. "D'you hear that ?" she demanded savagely. "That's all you're to have, after all your grand talk to me, and all your fine promises'! And there you sit as quiet as a ( mouse, and say naught when you see yotirself robbed and me robbed, too! Why--doii'.t-,you sa.y something, yon—" .• '< •*, 1

By J. S. FLETCHER

"What's the use of saying aught?" muttered Stephen, who was already foreseeing for himself a good time with the ' £800 which was certain. "I can't help • it! My father—" Michael turned round, having locked the desk with a vigorous snap of the keys. He dropped into his chair again. "Say naught about our father, Stephen, my lad," he said. "He's dead and gone. You listen to me. I've a good deal to say, and though I shall no doubt say it to you again when we're by ourselves, I'll say it now before your wife, and Judith, who's going to be mine, ! and Mr. Marcher. Now, I'd some notion of this —I'd an idea that there was no will, and I knew how matters would i stand. I had an idea, too, how my father meant 'em to stand —as they are. He'd a motive in his mind. He knew that I should take care of what he left. And so I shall, becausc I reckon myself As naught but trustee for it. But you mun remember this, Stephen, and you, missis, as you're Stephen's wife, for it's the fact, as Mr. Marcher there can tell you, what my father left is mine! Mine! and nobody else's." Michael brought his fist down on the table at the last words, and looked with a certain defiant resolution around the faces bent upon him. Theu ne smiled. "But now I'll tell you what I mean to do," he went on. "I've thought it all out, more tlian once, for I was certain there'd be no will. I'm not the sort to keep a man, and specially my own brother, out of what he's a natural right to. I intend to share with you, Stephen." He stopped amidst a dead silence, stopped, to lean forward, looking his brother keenly in the face and tapping the table with his forefinger, as if to emphasise every word. • "But, upon conditions," he continued. "Upon conditions. You'll stop drinking and gambling and living as you do. You'll work, steady and regular. If you'll keep to them conditions for three years from now, I'll share everything equal.with you, my lad, and account for every penny that comes in from now to then. And during that three years I'll do what I know my father had intended. I'll see that you and your wife want for naught, neither for meat nor clothes, nor naught proper and reasonable. You shall be as well done to as I'd do to my own self. And if things are as I hope they will be at the end of the three years, why, nobody'll be gladder than I shall! It's all in your own hands, Stephen, my lad, to make a man' or a mouse of yourself, and you'll be a fool, and worse, if you don't see it in the right light. But, don't let there be any ill-feeling about it. I'm doing what I know to be the right thing, d'ye see, and I want you and your wifo to see it, and all. And now, then, I've spoken out, and let's say no more about it, for I'm as fixed on it as our old mill's fixed in the hillside. But I wish ye well, Stephen, and—that's all!" Then Michael rose and abruptly left the room, and presently Stephen and Sherratt walked away, talking in low tones, arid Mr. Marcher followed, to find Devery Ball and get his pony; and Judith, left alone, went upstairs and stared out of her window at the desolate landscape. Ilobman's Hole and its tree lay directly in her field of vision, and she knew that even if she shut her eyes they would- never be out of her sight. (To be', continued daily.)