The Money Maid

Hawera Star, Volume XLV, 21 July 1925, Page 6

The Money Maid

By WINIFRED CARTER, Author of the successful novel, “Lass o’ Laughter,” “The Marriage Tangle,” and many other serial stories.

CHAPTER XXI. The door of the bedroom opened and Jim entered. He gave an eager look at Joan hoping against hope, that instead of a chill little greeting she gave him now in the mornings, he -would catch a glimpse of the old loving, fare-free Joan. This morning her fac©, was flushed, but she did not look at him. “I’ve brought a- letter here from Sheila. It’s addressed to me, but the letter inside is for you. Such a silly mistake.” For a moment Joan gave a little twisted smile, and thrust the tell-tale letter which she had received from Sheila by mistake too, into obscurity. “Sheila is a bit careless!” she admitted. “Just when she should be most careful, arid has reason for .discretiopv slie should, certainly ac.t;with great' foner thought. But there',' she is 'perfection in your eyes.*’ “Whatever makes you say that, Joan?” said Jim astounded. “Once upon a time I did think Sheila a bit of an exception, but that was when I was young and callow. Experience has taught me differently. Why, bless my heart!” A sudden ' illumination broke over him, and he dropped to his knees and tok her hand and laid it against his face. It was hot, and for a moment almost scorched him. “Was it jealous?” said Jim tenderly. “Joan, beloved, perhaps I ought to have told you that once upon a time Sheila and I were engaged. But you do know, when she went away and left me, with, out saying a word of regret, I didn’t miss, her as much as I imagined 1 would. I was so stricken at my father’s death, so upset, to find he had so recklessly squandered his inheritance that, everything else paled, and I think 1 was asleep until you came along, and then —ah, never be jealous, sweetheart!’ There was a lump in his throat. Could it possibly be that that was the reason that Joan had been so cold and lifeless lately? Bless her a thousand, thousand times! The past was blotted out, to-day was all he asked of paradise. She lifted her hand up and drew it away sharply, her eyes scornful. How could he! Oh, how could h e . talk like that! Yet every ounce of her ached to respond.

Doyle’s face was troubled. Suddenly he laid his hand on Jim’s. “Jim,” he said, simply, “I’ve been watching you for some time, my boy, and the proposition I’m going to put before you is the result of much thought. Jim, I’m pleased with you. You’re knuckling down to the work oi this office splendidly! Now, I’ve got an idea that if you cared you could open a branch in New York. It’s needed there. On the other hand, you might go slowly—l might retire.” Jim looked startled, then ing“No, uncle! It’s a great mistake for a man to retire, I always think aretired man is a man with one foot in the grave. I’m speaking strongly be-cause-it’s. one of niv big-beliefs.” Stephen'Doyle nodded thoughtfully. “I’rp.,with you there* my boy,. But if I retire from this I shan’t consider mvself on the shelf. I’m going to live at Four Elms. all the year round and be my own bailiff, and farm the place. I’ve wanted to do it for a long time,” he confessed, “but I was afraid of trusting the business, to a youngster such its you a re. But I’ve watched you and I’ve seen that you’re steady, and you’re a real organiser. I thought of offering you the head of the new American branch, but I’m nob sure. After all, there are other things in life than making money. Jim, will you take tho burden of this business on your shoulders —sit in ray shoes. I shall be a sleeping partner, but you will he the active one. What do you say, my boy ’’ For a moment Jim was inarticulate. Nobody knew how the idea of Joan’s money weighed on his spirit, especially now that there had been this quarrel. It seemed to Jim as though that money had forced itself into the breach to make it wider. But if he. became a partner in his uncle’s firm, then indeed things would be more even. His face wag indicative of his extreme pleasure at what Steplieen Do.vle had told him. He thrust a hand out.

“Thank you, sir I” he said, and his voice shook a little. “You’ve done me a great honour, and you’v e done more than that, you’re helping me in a domestic crisis.

“Haven’t you got that right yet?” said Setphen gjloomiljy. It’s _ a pity your mother is getting married just now. If she hadn’t been s o taken up with her preparations she might have helped about it. A woman’s perceptions are more acute than a' man’s, but Angela was ever on e for one idea at a time. And she certainly is wrapped up in Mark Passon.” “I’m glad,” said Jim. “I hate for mother to be lonely. Besides, Mark’s got a wholesome influence on her, and he certainly worships her.” “I misjudged your mother, Jim; she’s got some splendid qualities.” At the church Joan met both men, but her little pale face became pinched as she saw Sheila sweep forward to J im. Sheila was looking exquisite. Joan was conscious that she looked far from her best. She had been crying, and her eyes were red, and even now her mouth kept trembling at the corners. But Sheila was absolutely radiant, more beautiful than anything on earth, was Joan’s despairing thought. In a wonderful chinchilla wrap, thrown back to disclose the grey and gold of her attire, Sheila was like some exotic bird, preening its plumage unci asking for' admiration. Lord Allerton wa s there, too, his eyes intent on-Sheila, ]ik e a predatory bird and Joan turned away. There could be no tender passages between Jim and Sheila while Lord Allerton was there, but if there were, Joan was too proud to interfere, but it was all a species of exquisite torture. Through that service Joan seemed blinded and deafened by pain. It was al[ one blur to her, and during the reception she slipped away, conscious that she could endure no more, that Jim and his mother could not ask her to undergo another moment of this sickening heart anguish.

Then she laughed wildly. “Well, well! So you’d have me believe that you don’t car© for Sheila any longer? But what does it matter, you and I are married! We’r e happy enough, I suppose. The usual run of marriages are no more successful than ours.”

Jim jumped to his feet, staring at her in alarm. He had thought his marriage most successful —until lately. “Joan! I don’t understand you—but I intend to,” he said grimly. “If it is anything to do with Sheila I have a right to hear.” “No,” said Joan, and a sob rose in her throat, but was chocked fiercely away. “No! It’s not that!” “Then tlier© can he nothing else.” “So you admit I might have reasons to be jealous of Sheila!” said Joan in a low, bitter voice, which made bewildered Jim more puzzled still. “Well, women folk beat me!” he muttered. “I don’t understand you, Joan, in the least. Will you believe me if I tell you that I love you, and von alone? And there’s nothing in life lor me, now, except my little wife! I don’t know what you’ve heard, what whispers, what lies, but I love you, Joan!Will you believe me?” Perhaps had he taken her in his arms then she might have shown him the getter, but Jim was afraid. He literally dared not touch her. He was quite out of his depth, afraid to upset her, afraid to eares s her, although he desired to lift her up and hold her against his heart. And she was so miserable —so appallingly desolate and lonely. She wanted to love him —but she dared not. The letter seemed to burn her breast where -she had hidden it.

She flung herself against the pillows and buried her .face there, sobbing wildly, exazil}’. “ I want you to go!”'* she said in a muffled voice. “I can’t bear you in here another moment.”

- CHAPTER, XXII. She went home, but could not rest. She was amazed at herself. Joan had always believed she wanted to do right and to ..think righteously. Here she found herself so jealous that it absolutely sickened her. It spoiled everything. It was as if an evil spirit suggested hateful things all the time. She forgot she had any duty to Jim—she Qnly knew she suffered intolerably through jealousy during that bitter day, and, what was more, she fought it so freely that she could not hope to conquer. He came back presently, his face anxious and worried. “Joan, I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you might have told me you were coining home,” he reproached her. “I wasn’t well,” said Joan, and she looked at him piteously. “My head ached.” She nearly added “ and my heart.” Jim crossed to her. “Little darling,” he said tenderly, “it hurts nie when you’re unhappy. Forgive me, sweetheart, whatever it is I’ve done. Oh, Joan, I do long for you to be happy! I want to be happy too ” She looked at him through a blur of tears? If only she could believe him — believe he was faithful. But even as she softened, almost yielded to the entreaty in his voice, she remembered that wretched diary, and stiffened into ice again. “I’m not conscious of being miserable,” she said, a touch of cold hauteur in her voice, so absolutely foreign to her nature that he winced. For « while they stayed silent, then : “Joan, what do you think Uncle Stephen’s done?” Jim said; lie could not quite keep out the note of exultation in bis voice, making it boyish and young. ' .” “] don’t know,” said Joan, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m not sure either that I’m interested in Uncle Stephen at the moment.” He drew back as. though she had struck him. With a bitter sense of frustration at his heart, he wondered what could have caused this estrangement. How he longed for the past! She had loved him so keenly once, and had loved Uncle Stephen, too, hut this was a hard Joan, so cold a Joan, without a touch of softness, without any little tender graces or soft smiles or adorable womanliness. He looked at her in a miserable bewilderment. Something in the pitiful expression of her face, the droop of her shoulders, made him set his teeth, swallow his pride.

No man in his senses’is going to stand being spoken to like that,, and Jim, indignant and perturbed, and not a little affronted, went like a shot. She heard the little two-seater start up, he was gone! They had never quarrelled quite s« outrageously. All, he did not know! He had not the sense to ask 'if she had had a letter from Sheila, an t ] if in that envelope his letter was there by mistake, as hers had been. Oh, heavens, hoiv it stabbed, how it hurt, and stabbed again! He was deceiving her! Of faith there was none, of honour —why! honour was an empty shell! Of trust —why, on e was a foo] to trust! Well, things had gone too far now. They could not go on with that veiled politeness. She had rent the veil. Open war would reign between them now. Oh, how could she go on existing! The maid came. “Shall I put out your dress for Mrs. Doyle’s wedding?” she questioned, and Joan’s face, became tragic, Jim had been going to take her. How could she go to a wedding in any ease when she was so unhappy! Yet go she must and hide from the eyes of the word, as women were doing all the world over, the fact that she was desperately -unhappy, laterally she was crazy with pain, .like some wiid bird caught in a snare, beating its wings helplessly in an attempt to find escape—but life must go on, and none might know she had come to the end of all things. ■ All the way to the office Jim’s face grew darker and darker. Prob e as he would he coxild not find, any reason for Joan’s distaste to him. When he remembered the old days, her whole-souled love, which was all given to him with such unstinted ardour, he wondered, if he could have dreamed it all. There was positively nothing to explain this sudden change of face. How explain this cold and distant Joan, where one© an adoring, loving little bundle of womanhood had been. It was his mother’s wedding day, and he had. meant to stay and go. down with Joan, but he had forgotten all that. Shephen Doyle called for him an hour before time. “I thought you were not coming here.” he said in. amazement. “I rang up Joan and she said you’d come to the office. Anything wTong?” “No!” said Jim dispiritedly. “Nothing fresh, that is.” He turned to leave with his uncle, his young face aged, his eyes gloomy. Going to the church in the car, Stephen

“Can’t we be better friends, Joan?’’ he said wistfully. “Things-are coming right for me, in other ways. Uncle Stephen has offered me a' partnership, won’t you try an-d love me again?” T.he touch of his hand on hors sent a tremendous thrill through her. Sho was angry that his touch still moved her so. She did not yield, however. Her head was proudly lifted. “No!” she said sharply. “I think Uncle Stephen cruel too. If he had given you th© partnership before, you could 'have married the woman you loved!” “I have done that!” cried Jim, but the moment Joan, had spoken, she had dashed from the room, and tho door slamming prevented her from hearing • though had she heard the demon in Joan’s heart at the moment would have made her doubt his word. So bheila s scheme succeeded. Joan and -Jim were separated absolutelv and it did not look as if there was the slightest chance of them being reunited again. The rest of the evening Joan was locked in her room. Jim mooned about the house: th c friendly litte house of yesterday hail become an alien, Jim was frightened at the way all had gone smash. The telephone bell went, and presently a maid came to say Lady Allerton was on the ’phone. Impatiently he flung himself to it. “Jim.” Sheila said, and sheer terror was in her voice. “Victor and I have had a terrible quarrel. You must come round at once or something terrible will happen.” ' / Instantly Jim put up the receiver and stood there, liis head pounding. He did not want to go, every instinct urged him not to go, only that frightened voice, the terror in Sheila’s voice, roused the latent courtliness every man feels for a woman in distress so he went. He was shown into Sheila’s boudoir, and he faced- her in concern and trouble. Without any warning Sheila filing herself jnto his arms. “Victor and 1 have broken it off, site sobbed. “We’re never going to live together again. Jim, for the last time I want to know what you feel for me. You can’t forget all. that love you had! I’m so miserable, Jim! But J could be so happy with you.” She clung fiercely, tenaciously. Very firmly Jim moved her back, undoing those obstinate, clinging fingers. “I love my wife,” said Jim calmly, “you mistake the situation, altogether Sheila. All that is over and done with. If I ever loved you, and I doubt it now, it was just your lovely face that bewitched me.'but that’s gone now. 1 care for no one lint my wife!” Standing there Slieila looked at him and laughed disdainfully. She could not oossibly believe it, yet Jim was there so cold and aloof; she would not let herself b e forced into a realisation that what- he said was a fact. She stood in front of him like some splendid panther. A huge sapphire ostrich feather fail snapped in her slim, fierce fingers. Lovely as a queen she looked in her blue and silver gown, that showed her supple figure. Yet all her beauty, all her loveliness, did not get one look of admiration from the man who was her very life, so she hated that too.

“It’s the last time, the last time, Jim,” she said, and her voice was husky with entreaty. “Aren’t I beautiful enough. Any other man —” she hesitated. Th e look in Jim’s eyes, far from being love, was of abhorrence. Almost it s eemed as though he scorned her, as if the feeling he had was contempt. “Sheila,” he said slowly. “Let’s have all our cards, out on the table. When my father died nearly three years ago, you went away and lelt. me. Yet the tilings did not go so deep as you thought. I was bewildered with my father’s death, that was wliat troubled me most. When I roused -from that to find my world completely changed, the loss of* you was not so large a part in that catastrophe as you imagine. I think you killed it, Sheila! You see when I looked around for aid I found none. Yon had deserted me, I was but a mad boy before, deluded into love for your beauty. I was a mail when J met Joan! She* was different, utterly unselfish, willing to be a true wife. I married Joan because 1 loved her! She’s all the world to me. I thank God hourly for her. No other woman exists now, onlv Joan.”

She did not speak. The colour died from her face, leaving it white and strained, malignant tpo. Whatever good made ui> Sheila’s nature seemed to turn to" evil then. She only cared for revenge. “I’m sorry,” said Jim, touched by th e ruin he had accomplished, then swiftlv left her. He let himself in with his ovfn latchkey, and sprang up the stairs two at a time. A ghastly quiet hung about the place. Not the slightest sound same of her soft, even breathing. He switched on the light; the big four-poster bed was empty. Decorously made, it held no stormy, tempestuous little Joan. His finger on the hell, he turned to the dressing table. Cook* came in, a red dressing gown covering her portly figure. “Where’s the mistress?” lie said anxiously. She shook her head, tears in her kind old eyes. And just tlieu Jim caught sight of a letter. He snatched it up and ripped it open, dread encompassing him. The letter! That dreadful, stunning letter. “I cannot go on,” wrote Joan,,“l am leaving you because I cannot bear it. y 0 u and I must part, Jim. There is no happiness for either of us living this life. Don’t try and find me, please, Let me find peace. Seek happiness .in your own way, and 1 shall seek it in mine.-—Joan.” Into Jim Doyle’s eyes came a tragic look. He dropped into a chair. Irrevocable! That was the word which thundered in his ears. “Don’t try and find me, please, please!” She hated him like that.

Dully lie sat there, going down deeper into the abyss of blackness each moment. Why? Why? That was the question that flung itself at him. 'What reason had lie given Joan to make her treat him so badly? She had not seemed cruel —yet she was. He knew not which way to turn, nor where to go. Joan.did not want him any longer, she hated him so that she wanted to get away, could not bear it. Humiliated to the very dust, bis lov e flung back in his teeth, tortured and dismayed, Jim Doyle was crazy. Desperation caught at him, choked him, stunned him. He loved Joan, hud believed she loved him, yet here she had gone, fled away from him, leaving him with the ashes of his happiness, with the bloom of his love blighted. Through that long night of vigil Jim suffered torture. Proud to a fault, he went into the valley of humiliation in an attempt to discover where he had failed, yet be could not think what he had don e to mak e Joan dislike him so. Her rapt little face with the love light in her eyes he saw again. He was her very life then. Now —she could bear it no longer. Dawn broke at last, but there seemed no dawn for Jim. His tragic face was ghastly —he was chilled to the very bone. He missed her so! Piteously bo knew it, even though lately there had been a queer sense of restraint, a littl e

aloof air which had removed her out of his reach; he had endured it with a sort- of patience, thinking lie had displeased her somehow. How could lie wake every day to this emptiness, this loneliness, to the thought, that she found it* impossible to live with him. To whom could he turn? Uncle Stephen would be heartbroken over it, but lie would be abky to oftei no solution of the mystery. Y’i liat "as be going to say to the servants, and how explain the sudden ruin of his home. Cook, with quiet tact, slipped in with a breakfast tray, and simply hung about, so that to get her out ho simply forced himself to eat. On the tray was a paper; Jim turned awnv from it with nausea, that nagging pain at his breast. Always Joan s little happy face as it lias been before their estrangement flashed across his mind; it beamed with that old delicions tenderness. He shuddered, covered his eves with his hands. But it came again, always gav and laughing, triad and happy; with her dusky dark eves, and thc close bobbed hair, and the whole adorable charm of her ! No love lie had ever had m his Id© came up to the love he bore for Joan. Ho went.out to the office. He must see Uncle Stephen. Like a sheet anchor the old man stood, and that friend also he owed Joan. . , As he went out, glaring headlines on the morning placards caught his eY e - ■ ■ “Death of Lord Allerton from an over, dose of chloral.” (To be continued).