The Mysterious Masquerade

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 263, 5 November 1932, Page 14 (Supplement)

The Mysterious Masquerade

by . • « > J. R. ' WILMOT

CHAPTER XVII. Release at Last. Major Aldous Carstairs had been back in England exactly a week, and, quite frankly, he was puzzled. He had always been a man subtly conscious of "atmosphere." He had experienced it, at times quite vividly, during his residence in India. On occasions it had been exceptionally useful to him. Once his peculiar sense had warned him of lurking danger in the wild mountain fastnesses, and lie liad heeded that warning and saved not only his own life, but the lives of a hundred men under his command. From that day he had respected his strange gift, and never neglected to take due heed of the warning it invariably gave. There was nothing particularly supernatural about it—just a keen sense of the perceptions allied to a sensitive and delicately tuned mind. After the first excitement of his return to England had died down, Major Carstairs became aware that there was a strange atmosphere about Lawn House. The Silvers appeared, to him, an ideally happy couple. They seemed prosperous, too, and the Major was much too refined a person f'o inquire, or even to indulge in hints concerning the source of Paul Silver's income. After all, he told himself, Paul Silver had ever been a man of infinite resource and much water had flowed under the bridge since last he had met the man travelling in India. No, it was not the Silvers that gave him cause for apprehension. It was Molly. Even discounting the fact that she was suffering from a temporary loss of memory, there were moments when she appeared to be abjectly afraid. In his diplomatic way he ,had inquired whether she was not completely happy, but she had answered him that she was wonderfully happy. And it was wliep slie smiled up into his face and wound one of her arms around his neck, that his fears melted and he began to believe that his "sixth sense" was beginning to play tricks with him. Major Carstairs had cautiously mapped out his and Molly's immediate future. It would, he told her, be a week or two before; formalities at the War Office were completed and he was, to all intents and purposes, a free lance civilian once more, able to follow his own dictates and, in fact, do just as lie jolly well liked. He had intimated to Paul Silver the day following his arrival that, charmed as he would ffiive been to accept the Silvers' hospitality indefinitely, it was his intention to take a flat in town and to remain there until such time as he and Molly had finally decided on what plans the future was to be built. "And you can't blame me, Paul," the Major had smiled, "if I should wish to have my little girl all to myself for a' bit." Paul Silver had nodded encouragingly. He had recovered from the blow delivered to his composure by the realisation that the Major had no intention whatsover of returning to India and that he would be settling down. After all, he argued, some way out of the dilemma was sure to be found. If the worst came to the worst, the girl could always conveniently disappear again, and, like "the other one," perhaps she would not be quite so readily discovered. As a fact, Silver was rather relieved to hear that it was the Major's intention to take Molly to town to live with him. So long as Carstairs remained at Lawn House those little gaming parties were quite out of the question, and while their cessation had, perhaps, been providential since the "mishap" to ypung Carruthers, things could not continue like this indefinitely. One had to keep one's funds in a healthy state. It was one of the 'few economic laws about which Paul Silver knew anything at all. \ Flora Silver was rather more perturbed at the hearing of it. She didn't trust "that girl." Anything might happen. Once away from the restraining influence of Lawn House, Molly might be constrained to tell Major': Carstairs everything, and that "everything" might result ii» a spot of unpleasantness for the Silvers. Once again she devoutly wished that Paul had listened to her and had got out while the going was good. What was the loss of a few hundred a year, she argued with pointed logic, to the risk of incarceration behind the coldly forbidding walls of a prison. As for Molly, her eniotions were rather mixed. Having recovered from the first shock of hearing that her newly-found "father," instead of being home merely on leave from India, was actually settling down in England, she was forced to admit that Major Carstairs wae one of the most delightfully charming men ■she had ever met in her life. No, she was wrong there. There was another, and his name wa6 Roger Barling, for despite his strange behaviour when she had encountered him on the stairs at "Lawn House," she could not erase from her mind that happy time he had given her at "The Cygnet Club." And while Molly had never yet been consciously in love with any man, she imagined that her feelings for Roger Barling were quite the nearest approach to that sacred emotion. Molly's problem, as a result of Major Carstairs' decision, was rather different from what it had been. She had now seriously to face the possibility of failing to discover the Major's real daughter. He had accepted hpr, she believed, in all good faith. He really thought she was the baby girl he had sent home from India with the Silvers twenty years ago. That he loved her as a father should love a daughter there was in her mind not the slightest suspicion of doubt. Yet all the time she was conscious of her deceit —that deceit the Silvers had imposed upon her, and the worst of it was that now there could be no going back. She had realised that from the beginning, but then Paul Silver had hinted that the Major. would be returning abroad in a few months. It was one thing masquerading as another man's daughter for a few weeks, and quite another finding that the deception might have to continue indefinitely. When she thought of that a tremor of fear surged through her, because she realised that the longer the deception continued the harder it would be to unmask, and the greater would be the pain which she must cause to the man who had accepted' her in all good faith as his daughter. As soon as they moved out of "Lawn House" and down to the city she thought that she might have a better opportunity of setting about her task of finding the real Molly Carstairs. Towards the end of the week Molly and the Major found exactly the type of flat for which they had been searching. It was v "thirta ajmutes' wijus

of the Green Park; in fact, from one of the bedrooms at the back one could catch a glimpse of the lean bare branches of the trees, with here and there a few curled and crumpled leaves hanging disconsolate. "I think it's beautiful," cried Molly, when Major Carstairs asked her how it suited her. It was attractively furnished, too. Its owner had evidently been a gentleman of considerable artistic appreciation. The chairs were Chippendale, and in the living room there was a genuine Adams fireplace. The walls were adorned mostly with BurneJones prints, and a tall Botjer vase stood in austere grandeur 011 a low, delicately carved ebony stand. The parting from the Silvers was, Molly thought, rather effusive. "But we're not going away for ever," smiled the Major. "Molly and I just want to be alone for a little, don't we?" he added, turning to the girl, and Molly coloured prettily and nodded her head vigorously. Flora Silver appeared almost on the brink of tears —a form of hysteria not altogether unknown to neurologists. Her husband was effusively tactful. It would be a great wrench parting with Molly after all these years, wouldn't it, Flora? He didn't really know what the house would be like without her. However, he might have known that they could never have hoped to have kept Molly always. He doubted not but what there would have come a time when ... "I know it's hard on you, old man," said the Major sincerely, "but I won't forget all you've done for Molly. Just give us time to settle down for a bit and £hen . . . well," he fakered, grasping Paul Silver's plumply flabby hand, "we'll just leave it till then, shall we ?" So Molly and Major Aldous Carstairs departed from "Lawn House" arid both of them with thankful hearts, but for quite different reasons.

CHAPTER XVHI. The Shadow Between

Molly and the Major had lived through a deliriously happy week. She had taken him to see all manner of places that had previously 'been unattainable, and he had taken her to see some of the places he still remembered —the rivet at Maidenhead; Hampton Court, Richmond, and one day they had driven down to Brighton which was, as he said, "just like old times." Those days were sheer joy for Molly. Never before had she known such happiness as this. It was a life she had never believed possible, and so happy was she that she scarcely ever remembered that-she was a fraud. The word is euphoniously an unpleasant one and its interpretation equally so, yet in the light of cold, calculating fact there was no escaping from it and its significance. They had had dinner at the Ritz, and had afterwards gone 011 to a theatre. After the theatre there had been a "bit of supper" at The Trocadero and a dance between the sups. Molly was agreeably surprised how well Major Carstairs danced and she had commented upon it. He laughed, merrily. "There, you see I'm not such an old frump as you imagined. That's good. I'd hate you to think of me as being old. I rather want us to live our lives together—to keep in step, so to speak." Molly looked up at him as she danced. "I'd just love to do that," she told him, her voice suddenly serious, "but perhaps some day I might have to leave you." When the Major spoke his voice was serious, too. "I hadn't altogether ruled out the possibility of your marriage," he said, quietly, "but just for the moment,"don't you think I have a greater claim to you ?" What couM she say to this? There was only one honest answer, yet she could not bring herself to give it to him. Instead she said: "Of course you have, and I haven't the least intention of getting married—yet." , But for the remainder of the evening, strive as both of them did, there was just the faintest suspicion of a little cloud between them making everything a little indistinct. When they reached the flat Molly felt tired. Major Carstairs iook off her evening cloak and laid it with due reverence 011 one of the chairs. Then he switched on the electric fire and pulled out a cosy armchair for hei;. "What, not going to bed yet," asked Molly, surprised. "I should have thought you would have been ever so tired." He stood looking down at her, a wonderfully erect figure and smiled at her concern for him. "I want to have a little talk with you, Molly," he intimated, settling himself into a chair on the other side of the hearth. "Ever since I landed we've both been so busy that although we've been together a great deal there never seems to have been time for a little quiet chat." Molly felt fear growing in her heart. This was one of the moments she had dreaded for so long. "You see," he went on before she had time to frame a reply, "my coming like this makes it just a little difficult for me to get everything in its right perspective. I suspect that that's because of your memory. If it hadn't been for that—and God knows I've tried desperately hard to resist mentioning it— perhaps things would have been different, but I'm afraid, Molly, my dear, there's something between that neither of lis can explain. I felt it almost from the first time I set eyes on you, but I've never yet been able to define it. Sometimes I fancy you're afraid of me—that I'm not quite what you expected me to be. Isn't it possible that our hearts could couio a little closer together?" Molly's face had gone paler. She felt that at last she was face to face with reality, but also she realised that the time for confession was not yet. "As you say, if only I could remembeii? everything would be all right, and I do want you to' believe that it is equally hard for me as it is for you. You see, dear, there is so much that I can remember and so much that I can't, but I'm hoping that some day, this funny old head of mine will sort things out for me and then I'll understand. And please, I won't have you saying that I am disappointed with you. If only you would understand how much you really mean to me!" ehe ended with a deep sigh.? He leaned across and impulsively took bo*2i. Jiat hands in his.

"I'm sorry, Molly, darling," he whispered, and she could see that his eyes were misty as he uttered the words. "But I did so want to talk to you. You know as I looked at you often to-night I have been vividly reminded of your mother. Perhaps I'm a sentimeltal old man," he mused, tenderly, "bfit I -loved vour mother more than anything else on earth, and now that I've found you, the joy of being with you is the joy I seem to have recaptured from the dimly veiled past. That's why you mean so much to me, Molly." The ■ girl's throat had grown lumpy, she wanted to cry—wanted to fling henself out of; her chair and escape to her bedroom. The beauty of the mans words only added increased horror to her own thoughts. What a despicable being she was! Oh, why liadn t she nfade another desperate effort to escape from that house at Hampstead before this had happened. » Mutely she gazed at him. If he had not looked so happy, breaking point must surely liave com© for at that moment. Yet how could she disillusion him now? He had made it all the harder for her —but he was not to know that. "I do so want to in'ako you happy, she burst out, suddenly. "I really do. And please don't take any notice of my moods. I'm afraid I'm one of those awful persons who possess a temperament," she told liim, regaining her lightness of tone. "If ever I fail to ma,ke you happy, you've got to be stern with me. You've got to say: 'Molly, you're forgetting yourself,' and 111 under stand." Ho laughed. "But tell me, were you really serious when you said to-night that .you might ■ret married?" . , "Of course I was, deadly serious. What girl isn't when it's a question of marrying?" "What I mean is—is there anyone in view?" The note of eager apprehension in his words amused her. "There is and there isn't," slie laughed. "I'm not at all sure yet. You see tins memory of mine is rather awkward. 1 can't remember whether anyone s proposed to me or not, and when you realise that, at this moment there may be some forlorn swain walking up and down lus bed-chamber wondering what has happened to his betrothed, the problem assumes really forbidding proportions. But instead of smiling Major Carstair's face was a study in seriousness. "That is rather difficult, he conceded. "But do you really think that somethin" of the kind may have happened in the interval of your losing your memory and the policeman finding you in Chelsea?" "That's just what I don't quite know. Why, I might even a married woman?" she exclaimed with horror. "Let's hope not—let's sincerely hops not that," ejaculated the major w, th equal alarm. ,"But what can we do about it?" "Nothing," replied Molly, briskly. "We've just got to wait and see what turns up." , "There's another matter I wanted to mention to you," he went on, heedless of the latelicss of the hour. I have been thinking that I ought to make Paul Silver and his wife a little present for all their kindness to you while I have been away. They must have been verv good to you—you know." Molly realised quickly that here was something she might do; something she might do; something eminently practical. "I'd rather you didn t do that—at least not just yet," she told liim, earnestly. Major Carstairs stiffened with su»prise. "But why not, Molly? "I don't know—l wish I did," she said. "You see, if oply I could remember it would be different. You see " she pursued, quickly, "that is something I can't remember. I can't place the Silvers. It may be as you suggest that they have been good to me. . . " "You surely don't suggest that they weren't?" There was a sudden fierceness about the man's words that startled her, yet it gave her an unexpected glimpse of yet another side to his character that she had not, as yet, suspected. It revealed to her the man who could be as firm as a judge —as ruthless as the law and as exacting in taking toll. "I'm not suggesting anything," she hastened to assure him, "but don't you see how unwise it would be of you to do anything you might at some future date regret." -For a minute he did not answer her. He was telling himself that there was a great deal here he did not understand. Once again the shadow came between tliein—the same old shadow that had haunted him since he had landed in England. Yet lie had to admit that what the girl had said was true. He'd better wait. His mouth became suddenly firm and his lower jaw obtruded. "I'm glad I mentioned it to you," he said, quietly, but deliberately. "I was thinking that if they'd been decent to you and carried out all my instructions that a little cheque for £500 wouldn't be amiss." "But you won't do anything—just yet? You'll promise me that?" she pleaded. - "I'd promise you anything, Molly," lie told her, as he climbed out of his chair, "anything at all." Molly arose, too, and glanced at her watch. "I wonder," slie mused, with a smile, as she kissed him. "I wonder if you would." For a moment he watched her disappear towards her room, and there was a perplexed locjk on his tanned face. "Now what the devil does the minx mean by that?" he asked himself. (To bo continued daily.)