THE MARRIAGE LINES

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 256, 29 October 1929, Page 20

THE MARRIAGE LINES

By J. S. FLETCHER

chapter; xxiv. Devery Ball, journeying villagewards, walked into the Hooded Hawk with pleasurable anticipations, of a < full pot. In the inn parlourj; lazily occupied with glasses and pipes, eat the landlord and gamekeeper, and the .broken-down solicitor, Hellinthwaite. All three men turned to,looked at him. "Ha' ye heard ye'er maister say owt about this here "railway 'at's bahn to come thro' yon valley?" demanded the landlord. "Hes he said owt to ye, like?" Devery shook his head. "No," he answered. "I've heerd nowt —he's nivver said nowt to me about noa railroads. But he's gotten Lawyer Markill wi' him this afternoon; they're agaate o' summat or other ower their cigars an' glasses i' t' house." "That'll be it,' ; said the landlord. "1 expect lawyers mun come in at it, Hellinthwaite—what? There'll be pickin's for them, I'll warrant!" Hellinthwaite made no answer to this sly hit, and the gamekeeper shook his head dolefully. "Aye, he's had t' luck, has Michael," remarked the landlord. "Now, Stivven, he had no luck." "Why, but accordin' to what's come out," said the gamekeeper, "accordin' to what's come out, I say, I understan' 'at Michael's goin' to share wi' Stivven's. widow, just as he wor goin' to do wi' Stivven. Now, if she gets-half o'-all this here brass 'at ye say'll come'fro' 1 1' railway company, she'll be a rich woman, 'cause we happen to know how Stivven left things, what, Hellenthwaite?" "Why, then, as neyther on yer*s wed," said the landlord, "ye owt to be makin' up to her! She's a rare good-looking tit, and one bairn's nowt of an encumbrance when theer's brass wi' it.", . Devery Ball finished the contents of his pot and went into the sunlight full of news. He turned up the land in which stood Sherratt's house. Sherratt, along in the kitchen, her maid being out with the child, opened the' door:, to Devery. "Missis!" he said, as Sherratt set a jug and a glass at his elbow, "Missis, ha' yer heerd o' this news about a railroad?" "What news, and what railroad?" asked Sherratt. Devery poured ale into his glass and drank. "Here's my best respects to' you. and t' young maister," he said. "Aye—why, I heerd Mestur Hellinthwaite, and t' gam'keeper, and t' landlord o' t' Hawk talkin' about it just now. They say 'at theer's bahn to be a railroad made thro' t' valley yonder, and 'at Sir Thomas and our maister'll hev to sell 'em land to mak' it on,.and 'at they'll get eoa much for t' land 'at they'll be reight rich men. Heaps o' brass, he said, did Mestur Hellinthwaite." ■ "Oh!" exclaimed Sherratt, who, having kept, her,, ears open to many conversations of a commercial nature, was fully alive to the importance of this piece of news. "No, I hadn't heard anything." "Nor me," observed Devery. "Our maister niver said nowt to me about it. Howsumivver, Mestur Markill t' lawyer, he cam', t this afternoon, and him an' t' maister's agaate discussin' summat" or other, so I expect it's that there. Them theer 'at wor talkin' about it at t' Hawk, they said 'at t' family 'ud become reight wealthy ower t' job." Sherratt began to wonder why Michael had not told her of • this important change in the family, prospects. .She had no more faith in honesty of purpose nor in absolute disinterestedness than Markill had, and she at once formed the idea that Michael was withholding information from her for reasons of his own. And she had no sooner extracted all the news 'from Devery Ball that he was possessed'of thaii she made up her mind to go straight to the 5 millhouse to ask Michael what value that news had. She knew' how to be. suave and diplomatic; she would put it ;to 'her, brother-in-law that she had heard'the; news/ and wanted to know what it meant'and signified. But before Sherratt could put on shawl and'bonnet there came a knock at her front door. She opened it to find Markill outside. And Markill ■ smiled at her in his most ingratiating way. "I was just wondering IE "it "wasn't about your tea time," he eaid suavely, as he stepped.in. "Is it, now?"' • "It can be," answered Sherratt. She motioned, him /into f the- >, parlour,, and followed him there. "You've juat come from the mill," she continued, eyeing him steadily. "I heard you were,there." "And who - told you that?" he.' asked, still smiling. 7: "Devery Ball/' she answered. "He's just been in with some flour.' And he told me something else, too. What's all this about a new railrqad coming through .the valley and Ranting, the Mus.cr.oft land, Mr.- Markill? I expect yon know." , . ... ; t ■■■ .'•{ .v, Markill. rubbed his hands and showed his teeth; He*'was thinking that "Sherratt looked very well in her black gown and white cuffs and collar —a fine, smart, handsome woman. 'Yes—l know," he i answered slyly.

Always, in those days, Judith asked herself one question; she asked it of herself a hundred times a day. Was she ever going to tell her secret to Michael? She had been on the point of telling it to him on several occasions of note in therr lives, but at the critical moment her tongue had become tied. And now, whenever she asked herself the question, she also asked another —what good would it do to tell him? Jael Quince was gone; there seemed little prospect of her body's disinterment from the cavity in Hobman's Hole; of detection, Judith had no fear. And nothing could alter the facts that were—Martin had died without signing the will, and Michael held what he did hold by a mere thread. The truth regarding his birth might never come to light, but it might, in spite of probability, and at any moment. There would be trouble enough, then; why should she add to it by letting her husband know that her hands were not* guiltless of another's, blood? i'.',. '

But Judith possessed the elemental sense which in certain elementary women becomes acentuated as they grow older. She was candid and truthful; it was a distress to her to know that she kept something from the man she idolised. Michael told her everything, had always made her his confidante; it was her great desire to have no secret from him. And at times, during that period ,of abundant leisure for reflection, she found herself wondering how it was that she had not thrown herself into his arms and told him everything long since.

.. She ;was thinking of. ..these things' when Michael; having watched Markill' walk away from the mill-house, .went. up~ the stairs -to -teU his - wife what'had

happened. In that house of many sp:

chambers and of unused nooks and corners, there was room enough and to spare,for a nursery, and Judith, now up and about, had desired one which she meant to be a special reserve for the son and heir. There Michael found her.

Judith knew that something had happened as soon as Michael entered the little room.

She looked at him steadily. i "What is it, Michael ?" she asked. { "Only what I might have expected if I'd thought a bit more, lass. It's found out." Judith started. She had always faced the possibility of this, but she felt the sucldenness of discovery, notwithstanding a constant preparedness. "The —the worst?" she whispered. "Aye! Secret —call it what you like. I reckon them things is like murders. Can't be hid, nohow," he answered. "Who's found it out?" she asked, turning to glance out of the window, as if she expected some sign of her own secret. "Who?"

"Yon rascal Markill, t' lawyer. For he is a rascal! Not for finding that out, though. I expect that was in his way of business. But there's where it is—he's found it out, all of it. And so lie thought he'd got me in his power. Me! In his power! Likely!"

And he laughed savagely, but not without enjoyment, remembering how he had just turned the solicitor out of doors.

"Ho doesn't know me, doesn't Mar kill," he added.

"Is that what he came for to-day?" asked Judith, who had seen Markill's arrival at the mill.

"What he came for," answered Michael, "was to find out how much he was likely to get out of me. He's a rascal and a scoundrel is that! Talked and palavered about what a rich man I should be when all's sold and settled, and then told me, bold as brass, that I should get naught unless he liked to let me, 'cause he'd happened to find out that I wasn't entitled to aught of it —not to a half-pennyworth! And then ho wanted to know how much I'd pay him to hold his tongue. Damn such-like!"

Judith made no answer. She was thinking of Martin and the unsigned will. And Michael's next words made her think of both still more.

"I'll tell you how t' ferret —for that's what Markill is—had found things out," he continued. "It seems that my fathered been sort of pumpihg Markill with questions about how to make a will, and t' feller had begun to smell a rat. Then he'd found out about the money that's been paid to the old lass yonder in the north country, and that put him up to going that way and making inquiries. And so, what with piecing things together, and ferreting things out, he got at t' truth. And I tell you what's struck me, Judith, and I'm glad of it, necause it clears up something I never could understand, and 'at I wanted to understand—bad. I'm sure now that what my poor father was aiming at when he asked Markill them questions was to make a will for himself, leaving me what he meant for me in my proper legal name, which is, of course, my mother's. That's what he'd been after. Well,, I'm thankful to know it. I knew my father 'ud never forget me. And if he'hadn't died so suddcu, I shouldn't be left, as I am—now."

Judith felt almost unable to breathe. Should she tell? Was this the moment? Should ehe speak—once and for all? ■ "Oh, Michael!" she said. "Michael!" But "the baby stirred and whimpered a little, and she tried to quieten it, and Michael misunderstood the meaning that lay in her exclamation and went on speaking. "But don't think I'm repining at aught, lass," he said hastily. "It's of no use. I'm none afraid. I've got a bit of what's my awn, and I've got you and the bairn, and the world's before us. For it may be, my lass, that we shall have to turn out of it. Aye, as yon damned scoundrel said!" He felt his blood run hot as he remembered Markill'e last words, and he involuntarily clenched his fists at the recollection of Markill'e eneer. "Aye!—but do you know what it would ha' meant, Judith, if I'd fallen in with what Markill suggested?" he went on. "'I don't believe anybody'll ever find out your secret,' ho says. 'I believe it's absolutely safe,' he says. Til never let it out,' lie says,.'if you'll make it worth my Avhile.' Wanted me to square him, d'ye see, my lass; wanted me to pay him to keep his mouth shut. D'ye see what that 'ud ha' meant, Judith?"

"You'd have been at his. mercy," she answered.

"Mercy, aye, and a pretty sort o' mercy, an' all —as I telled him!" said Michael, with a grim laugh. "About as much iriercy as a hawk 'ud give to a pigeon when it's gotten its claws in it. I've heard o' that sort, such as Markill. He'd ha' tried the squeezin' game on me—he'd ha' sucked up all he could, as a sponge sucks up water. I wouldn't bargain for silence with a man like yon on no account!—l'd as soon go and hang myself to one o' them mill sails. No — I knew it were no good, as soon as Markill said he'd found t' secret out. No good trying to keep it any longer— it'll have to come to light now. So, my lass, instead of having what I'm certain sure my father meant me to have, I've naught! I'm a poor man."

Judith flung her arms round his neck and drew his face down to hers. And presently Michael laughed—cheerily and confidently.

"By. God, but it's a rare good thing to feel strong and young, lass, when trouble comes!"'he said. "There—wi' that kiss, and wi' you and the young 'un, I eare for naught—l'll make a fortune for young Michael there, see if I don't! And, who knows—happen Sherratt'll do for me as I was doing for her." Judith started and stared at her husband. ; "Sherratt!" she exclaimed. Sherratt? What has Sherratt to do with it?" "Why, lass, Sherratt has all to do with it," he answered. "Because, you see, everything is Sherratt's. That's why." "Sherratt's—everything Sherratt's," she said. "I don't, understand." "Plain enough, though," replied Michael. "You see, when my father died, me being:born as I was, and him having made- no will, everything became Stephen's property—eveiything, down to these . chairs we're ntting on. Well, Stephen's dead, and 'ie left all .-he had and:.all. to come to him to Sherratt, his wife. ; All's hers. All!" .(To - J»e continued- daily.)