FREDA ALONE

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 117, 19 May 1934, Page 12

FREDA ALONE

By KATHARINE TYNAN

Author of "Peggy, tho Daughter," "Wary Gray." ate.

CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.) It was quite different going into the East End with this kind friend by her side. Freda had thought she never could go that way again. They went part of the way by train, the rest by omnibus. Even the Wliitechapel Eoad seemed a cheerful place seen from the top of an omnibus, with so kind and interesting a companion, who had so much to tell her of the places they passed, and their association with great names and happenings. Nor, though she -was frightened a. little of the hospital before she entered it, did she find it so terrible a place. The wards were so large and lofty and clean, and the freshness and brightness of flowers, and the nurses' faces, strove with the smell of disinfectants, and the shadow of death and sickness. "Remember," said Dr. Cronin, as they went upstairs to the accident ward, "that they are curing here, not killing. This place is one of the strongholds of the life-savers; death here is only an inevitable accident." A rosy-faced little nurse, with bright brown eyes, took them to Patsy's bedside, and stood looking down at his closed eyes for a second or two with a discouraged expression before she scurried off again, quiet and quick as a little rabbit. Dr. Cronin put his hand over the hand that lay on the coverlet, strangely white as though the red blood had been drained from it. Patsy opened his languid eyes. His face had become spiritualised sineo Freda had last seen it. It was a harmless and simple face now, as it lay on the white pillow, somehow innocent, somehow washed again as though the stream of his life blood draining away from the shrunken and impoverished body had carried away with it the stains of his manhood. "It is the lady to see you," Dr. Cronin said. "You wanted to see her, didn't you, Patsy, Avourneen?" "Slio wasn't hurted much ?" said Patsy weakly. "Not a scratch. I came in good time, and the police followed close. But even if we hadn't come I believe you'd have done something for her yourself, now wouldn't you, Patsy? You wouldn't stand by and see a bit of girsha murdered, I'll be bound." "Thank you kindly, sir." said Patsy, "maybe I would, and maybe I wouldn't. I was two men, God help me — the greatest ould villain unhung when the drink was in me, an' poor Patsy Dempsey when it was out. Anyhow, the young lady forgives me?" "I do, indeed," said Freda. "If you could only get well?" "Sure, what 'ud I be doin' gettin' well?" asked Patsy, in a weak, argumentivc voice. "No, indeed, miss, dear. The Mercy that's Above knows better than that. Glory be to goodness all the doctors and all the nurses couldn't keep me alive. Sure, what would the likes of me be doin' with livin' ? The likes o' me is better dead. An' yet," he laughed, a queer rattling laugh that was most uncanny—"you'd think I was the greatest use to somebody, the way they're all tryin' to keep me alive. Sometimes I do think 'tis in heaven I am, wid the comfort and the kindness. Only 'tisn't in heaven I'll be, not for many a day yet, if—ever—l get there. I—wouldn't make so bould as to think it, if it wasn't for—the woman —that wouldn't be happy—without me—God help her."

His voice trailed off into silence; and the little brown-eyed nurse came up and looked at them reproachfully. "Tell her when you see her, Patsy," said Dr. Gronin, "that the last thing you did was to save the life maybe of the young lady and myself." CHAPTER XVJ. The Sentence, There was still an ordeal before Freda of which she knew nothing. Levi, the Jew, had got clean off, bul the other man, Jerry Bates, was under arrest, charged with the murder of Patsy Dempsey who had died the day following Freda's visit to the hospital. He was to be tried at the Old Bailey some time during the month of November; and Freda would have to appear as a witness for the Crown.

It was kept from her as long as possible, and while Mrs. Maitland was still absent the kind doctor devoted a deal of his time to Freda, for whom lie had conceived an affection and interest which liad something paternal in them. He wanted to get her back to her normal cheerfulness before springing upon her the intelligence that she was to help in the conviction of a murderer. It was through his good offices that she had not needed to appear before the magistrate at Bow Street on the day following her adventure in the East End. If she had been a reader of newspapers, or had any concern at the moment for the things that were interesting the world at she must have known that Jerry Bates had been arrested and sent for trial to the Old Bailey, but as yet England was something of a foreign country to Freda. The last thing she would have thought of would be to read a newspaper. 1

Dr. Cronin, who watched her with an eye as though ho kept his finger on her pulse, broke the news to , her as gently as might be. She took it better than he expected. Her first feeling was one of wonder that she had not anticipated such a thing. "AVill he be hanged?" she asked in a low voice. "That lies with the jury. The question is whether he knew what he was doing. You see Levy put the knife into his hand, and he jabbed away blindly with it. I'm bound to say that poor Patsy was giving a good account of himself. If he had had the knife, and not Jerry the charge might have been the other way about. With my evidence they may bring it in manslaughter." "And that would mean—?" "A long term of imprisonment. It might even be life. Jerry has an uncommonly bad record." "Then I don't think I shall mind," the girl said with gentle deliberation. "Horrible as he was I don't think 1 should like to help to kill him." "And it will be a good thing to put him away," Dr. Cronin went on cheerfully, "a very good thing for the community at large, and for Jerry himself, since it will keep him from committing any more crimes. He is an uncommonly bad lot, is Jerry. When I think of Jerry's old mother now, I am not sure that I shouldn't like to see Jerry hanged."

In his own mind he made reservations. He had taken duty for a prison doctor once upon a time, and he had had the experience of seeing a criminal hang. He remembered it —the morning of wintpr sunshine which seemed to have filtered through a golden haze; the little procession along the prison corridor, while the condemned man laughed and

jested, having eaten an excellent breakfast. Then the emerging into the chill air; tho first sight of the scaffold; the glint of sunshine on something bright, metallic, of the scaffold fittings; and suddenly the collapse of the prisoner— the desperate hunted look as of a rat caught in a trap with no way of escape. Tho memory had a way of coming back to him. He had gained during a life of hard work and incessant selfcontrol much of what he had lost in that other life when he liad toppled down from a high and honourable position to the very gutter, where many a man had .been content to wallow, but he had had the desperate courage to scramble out and begin again. Many years had gone by since he had lost everything, and had had to begin again at the lowest rung, fighting his way painfully back to self-respect and the confidence of his fellows. And he had regained his nerves, which at one time had seemed shattered beyond repair. Many dreadful things had come liis way in tho East End as in the West End. for the West is by no means immune from sordid and tragic happenings. But even yet the collapse of the condemned man had power to shake him. He passed his handkerchief stealthily across his face as lie stood by the window with his back turned to Freda. "It is almost sure to bo manslaughter/' ho said, coming back. "It might be kinder to Jerry if it wasn't from Jerry's point of view, but—l think you may take it it will be manslaughter, and I agree with you that you couldn't make a worse uso of a man than to hang him." To Mrs. Maitland he spoke in high commendation of tho girl's pluck. "It's a higli-mettled thing," he said. "It reminds me of a little mare I once had in Tipperary—God be with the days!—she was the prettiest thing—Miss Vann looked at me to-day with the eye of tho mare when she faced the stone wall that broke her pretty back." Ho sighed absently and seemed to bring himself back to the present with an effort. "She'll just get through it. She's a well-plucked one," he said. "After it's over I'd get her away, ma'am. Don't let her smell London again for a year at least. Pack her into the green country, where she won't be lonely. Give her something to do. She has brains and imagination. I'm glad I kept her from going to Bow Street. It's better for her to take it in a stride like the mare—" Mrs. Maitland confessed that Dr. Cronin rather puzzled her. She was not sure how much was Freda and how much tho mare. But she had taken a fancy to tho doctor, being well-affected toward his native country. She had it on tho tip of her tongue to tell him of Freda'* search for a name and a position. But, after all, what had he to do with it? And if Freda had not told him herself—! The old lady, who had a punctilious sense of honour, uncommon in women, felt relieved in her own mind that she had refrained from telling Freda' 6 secret. "What would I do with the child here," she asked in that murmur of shrill rhetoric which made the doctor smile quietly to himself. "Is this a house, I ask you, Doctor Cronin, in which to shut up youth and beauty?" "Bedad, maybo it isn't, ma'am," the doctor interjected, but Mrs. Maitland had not waited for him.

"What society is there for such as Freda?" sho went on. "What society 1 ask you? A society of frumpy—of frumps. A worn-out, dowdy, ancient, rag-bag, that's what the society of the Crescent is. And do you mean to tell mo the beautiful young creature is to bo condemned to such a society?" "Upon my word 1 didn't," the doctor said confusedly. "The satin skin of her, is as like the mare as two peas, and when her little nostrils quiver." "If you had, Dr. Cronin, you would not be the man I take you for. It is different for myself. What have I to look forward to but the cemetery—the cemetery? Frumps are good enough for me. But I should be criminal to condemn that child to it." "Come, come, ma'am," the doctor remonstrated. "You're far enough off the cemetery yet. An uncommonly fine woman I call you for your age; not that I know your age; but you'd be an uncommonly fine woman for any age. You're thrown away in a place like this." Mrs. Maitland beamed at him and called him a. flatterer, waving away further compliments with a large black Spanish fan. "I've arranged for the- child," fclie said. "My friend, Lady Vanston, has helped me. Through Lady Vanston I've heard of a most desirable position for Freda as companion to a young lady. The young lady is an only child —the daughter of Sir Roland Darlington. She has the wilful ways of a spoilt only child, 1 but she is good at heart; so Lady Vanston tells me, else she wouldn't have my Freda. Sir Roland is immersed in his books, and cannot always accompany his daughter 011 her various expeditions. Lady Vanston is the girl's godmother, and'tliere will be 110 difficulty. Almoners is a beautiful place —and not too far from town. There is a good deal of society, and my girl will be well-treated. My friend assures me of that. I thought tlio thing was providential coming just at this moment."

"It sounds very well," the doctor acknowledged, "and, anyhow, if Miss Freda doesn't like it she can run away home. Change of scene, of occupation, kind people, a country life, only let it be as soon as possible when the trial is over— What is it, ma'am?" Mrs. Maitland was staring at him as though she had noticed something for the first time. "You reminded me for a moment," she said, "of a man I saw once or twice more than a dozen years ago. But, of course, you couldn't be the same. The odd thing is that he was a namesake of yours —a doctor, too. They said he was a very promising young man, and building up a West End practice fast. I wonder what became of him. To be sure I've had troubles of my own." "To be sure we all have," the doctor said hastily. "As for my namesake, 'tisn't likely now he'd have left his West End practice for an East End one, not even for the love of the thing. Sixpence for advice and medicine and bring your own jug—that's about what I've been doing —and often . enough not even the sixpence. You were, saying, ma'am " They all tried to distract Freda. Dr. Cronin gave up the holiday he had earned hard, and spent the time in making her acquainted with the ont-of-tho way London he loved. Mrs. Maitland's friend Lady Vanston, came frequently in her motor car, and thought nothing of lunching herself with Freda at Brighton, and bringing her back to the Crescent in time for tea. Mrs. Maitland carried Freda off to "the wonderful shops where she was buying her an outfit, simple and yet elegant, so that she should not be amiss when she was Vere Darlington's companion. When Freda protested she

was silenced by the old lady's uplifted hands and eyes, and the question—"lf she could not do so much for a girl who had become so daughter-like to her that unless sho packed her off at the first possible moment she would end by not being able to do without her altogether, without being talked to about it." "I wish you would keep me," said Freda; and yet she did not want to stay in the Crescent. London still was full of terrors for her. The day came at last, apprehended fearfully for so long when she found herself like a creature in an evil dream in the witness-box at the Old Bailey. She saw as in a mist the scarlet and ermine of the judge, the keen face under its immense wig leaning forward to look at her. There were a couple of candles 011 the. judge's table, for the morning was inclined to be foggy,' and the Court was full of a yellowish haze, with a dim sunlight trying to struggle through. Sho had heard her own name called, and had felt herself half pushed, hah' led into the box. Someone handed her a book and told her to kiss it. She obeyed mechanically. Opposite to her were a couple of rows of faces under the strange wigs. Beside her in a sort of pew there were twelve citizens, variously clad in tweed and broadcloth. Someone standing up at a little distance, also bewigged, his hands in the pockets of his stuff gown, seemed to be addressing her. For a second the Court swam in her vision. The two little blurs of light 011 the judge's desk danced up and down. There was a patch of scarlet like blood against the background of the panelled walls.

Then she understood. They were asking her to tell the details of what had happened 011 the afternoon of the Bth of October. Step by step the bewigged gentleman standing up led her to tell tlio story of what had happened to her in Moxon Street. All the eyes in the Court were directed on her face. The judge listened with a hand behind his ear. On either side of him gentlemen also in scarlet and fur, with golden chains across their shirt-fronts, stared at her as it seemed with a hard intensity. She heard a very gentle voice suggesting that she should have a chair to sit upon, and someone gave her a chair. She had no idda that the suggestion came from the judge. Someone also handed her a glass of water, from which she sipped. She heard her voice as though it were someone else's reconstructing that terrible scene in the hallway in Moxon Street. Freda cried out, and caught at the table to steady herself. A shudder shook her slender body from head to foot. "Can you identify the prisoner at the bar?" went on the easy voice.

"Yes," she said, hearing herself as though from a distance. "I can identify him. He was there. He was the one who held me by the throat." She swayed while she said it with a sickly memory of the hideous hands, of the unclean smell which had seemed to cling to her for days and weeks afterwards. "He was the one who stabbed Patsy Dempsey as they struggled on the ground." "Ah, tli.ank you. I think, my lord, we shall not need to ask the young lady any further questions." Freda stumbled out of the witness box, someone assisting her, she knew not whom. Her ordeal was over; but it should be a long, long time before she ceasedSto be haunted by the wolfish eyes of Jerry Bates as they had scott- '1 at her from the dock. (To be continued daily.) I