LOVE’S BOND MAID

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 7 August 1926, Page 7

LOVE’S BOND MAID

By May Wynne.

SYNOPSIS

Muriel Armitage, known to her friends as “Sunshine,” lives at Barlowe, Court with her grandmother, Mrs -Armitage, who is .supposed to he wealthy.- Muriel, who is regarded as the heiress, is postered by the attentions of John Hurries, a stranger to Barlowe whom she cordially detests. One day Roger Armitage, Muriel’s uncle, and the black sheep of the family, makes a dramatic and unexpected appearance at Barlowe Court. He settles down admirably, and renews his friendship with Rachel Elliot, Muriel’s dearest, friend. When Mrs Armitage dies, Roger becomes master of Barlowe Court and Muriel’s trustee. John Herrics, playing upon the prodigal’s gambling instinct, persuades him to invest the whole of his own and Muriel’s money in a steel undertaking. This fails miserably. Roger runs away from Barlowe. Muriel is left practically penniless. She replies to a newspaper advertisement, and is asked to call upon Mrs Gresham Browne, a •widow' who desires a paid companion.

CHAPTER 111

“ Mrs Gresham-Browne presents her compliments to Miss Armitage and will be pleased to sec her at the Carlton -(Hotel, on Monday, the 13th, at eleven o’clock.” Rachel Elliot read the letter that Muriel had handed to her with raised evebrows. '“What does it mean?” she asked. Muriel turned aside, bending with an affectation of carelessness to smell the crimson roses which were arranged in a big bowl near. “It’s my reply,” she replied. . “I-I answered her advertisement in the newspaper.” Rachel smiled. “I am still at sea, she said. Muriel turned impulsively and stood before her, her hands behind her back, ns though she w T ere a child repeating a lesson. “I’m going to be Mrs GreshamBrowne’s companion,” she said, with a nervous little laugh. “That’s better than being nursery governess to Trixie n #.4- Eloss Winthrop, isn’t it?” “Poor little Sunshine, poor little Sunshine.”

Muriel slipped her arm round her friend’s waist —they helped each other, these two, in spite of the disparity, of age between them. “I can’t bear anyone but you to call me that now,” she whispered. “I feel as if a great cloud had hidden the sunshine away for ever.” But Rachel smiled. “Not for ever, dear,” she replied. “It has been a big, big trial which you have borne bravely, but life is still before you whole and complete, and I think you will find that it holds something greater and sweeter than Barlowe Court.” “Perhaps —yes, perhaps Uncle Roger will make his fortune in the silver mines, and come back ever so rich, and then, why then you will marry him and wc will all live 'together—lt may be at Barlowe Court.” But Rachel sighed, lacking the optimism of sweet eighteen. “We must have patience,” was all she said. There was no .further opposition to Muriel going up to interview Mrs Gresham-Browne. But though she laughed away any fears of the future, Muriel was not without a slight feeling of trepidation as she alighted at the door of the Carlton Hotel. She gave her card to a page boy, who returned in due time and escorted her to a corner of the court, where a lady sat alone partly hidden from the rest by a gigantic palm, reading a novel. She laid down her book as Muriel approached, and held out her hand without rising. “So here you are,” she said, in an off-hand, vivacious manner. “Well, come and sit down and let’s have a talk. You won’t mind my having.a good look at you, will you? I know it’s not manners, but I shall want to see what I am expected to sit opposite for the months to come.” She laughed a little boisterously, as she drew Muriel down on to a chair beside her, and for a full minute they surveyed each other. Mrs Gresham-Browne was not at all what Muriel had pictured her to be. She had drawn a fancy portrait of a very fat, very red old lady, with wheezy breath, and a love of bright attire. She saw before her a Woman of middle height and slender fig-

lire, dressed in the extreme of fashion Jrvrith a considerable display of jowcl'■jfery. Without being pretty, she was nice looking and decidedly well “got up,'’ from the dainty pin curls fastened in her wavy brown hair to the tip of her patent leather shoe. Her age was as difficult to guess as is that of most present day fashionable women. She might have been anything from twenty-eight to forty. If she bsed rouge she used it well, and in spite of rather a loud manner was evidently a lady. Her keen blue eyes looked Muriel up and down with the shrewdness of one who knows her world and is accustomed to act, unchallenged, on her knowledge. 'To begin with." she said. with, a sudden smile, whieh was not without its fascination, “you are much too young and pretty; to go on with, i think J should take a fancy to you; and to sum up with, will von come to me for a month nt the end of .Tulv. so that we shall see how we suit each orh< r before entering into any definite arrangement?’’ Muriel gave .1 little gasp. Such a proposition, made sa instantaneously, quite upset all her preconceived ideas of what was going to happen. “At the end of .July?’’ she faltered. “Yes, I can’t say before that, for I’m staying here till then, and I don’t in the lenst want a companion. I must tell you I’m a very downright sort af person and call a spade a spade; also I’m a bird of passage. I can’t remain cooped up in one place. I like life and I like gaiety. It gives me the hump to see people going about with faces as long ns fiddles; it. reminds one of the babies and servants’ problem of existence. Now, how old are you? And can you settle to come on the l?8th of next month? lam going to Scotland on the 2.oth. ’’ Mjuriel hesitated, remembering Mrs Elliot’s many injunctions and the need of references or a gift of reading eharWell, she couldn’t ask this, gor- >, -geous little lady for references, and as for character she only knew that she liked her and did not like her—which bespoke Irish blood. “That’s settled then,’’ said Mrs Gresham-Browne. not waiting for any reply. “We will arrange about salary later, but for the month, I will give

Author of “For Faith and Navarre,” “Mistress Cynthia,” “The Spendthrift Duke,” etc., etc. *

you. £l2 and, of course, pay every > pense; will that do?” Muriel’s face brightened. H seemed such an easy way of earning so much monev. , , “Thank von very much, she replied gratefully.' “I am sure it is most generous.” , T . T The other laughed. ‘ Ves, I know I shall like yon,”, she said, leaning back in her low chair. “ You arc the most fascinating little Puritan, and will make a most excellent foil.” Muriel walked across the 1 aim Court rind out into the busy street in a daze. It. seemed to her that- she had inadvertently put her foot into a whirlpool and been swept away into a strange and bewildering vortex. “But if I don’t like her at, the end of the month I can go back to Barlowc,” she whispered to herself. And I can get the rector ever such a nice present for twelve pounds! ” The journey to Scotland on the Alth was tiring to” one unaccustomed to travel and Mrs Gresham-Browne, who had been used to travelling from her babyhood and found her keenest delight m being, as she said, a bird ot passage, bid not pause to consider the natura* weariness of a novice like her new com-

panion. , , She travelled for her own pleasure. The others also travelled for her pleasure. She, therefore, was the only person to be considered. It. was a very a are cable and a very natural doctrine, to Mrs Gresham-Browne, and enabled her to alight, brisk as a bee, at. Perth station and enjoy a very hearty breakfast regardless of the fact that Muuel. languid and heavy-eyed, could only crumble a roll and thirstily drink a cup of tea. . . if Wc arc due at Aberdeen about two o'clock," she said briskly, as they:reentered their, compartment. And then there is a twenty mile drive to Glcnarren —such a pretty name, it took my fancy at once. I have never been there before, but some friends ot mine —the MacGregors—were there last yar, and they were absolutely charmed with it Quite the ideal old Scottish inn, you know: good, plain cooking, and < c-lio-htful guests. I can’t say I like plain cooking as a rule, but Mrs Mac-. Gregor assured me that one could eat anything after a tramp on the moors, and it will all be such a deliciously new experience. All my friends simply roared to think of me in the Highlands I suppose one would consider it the Highlands— but the MacGregors were so keen that I should come. Everyone fished, too, so I have brought, my fishing-rod, and there's one for you, it vou like. ' . Jane—what a name isn 1 it 9 —MacGregor says that they met Lord Abernoath and his son here last year, and thev were so kind and friendly and took them for rides in their motor-car. • ti lc drive from Aberdeen was as good as a tonic to train-weary Muriel, the fresh sweetness of the air, and the wild beauty of purple moors and wooded hills exhilarated her and brought both colour and animation to her face. Mrs Gresham-Browne, however, vs as no admirer of nature. As tor .Louise, Per maul, one. could see that she was alrcadv in despair, from the. dreary contraction of her eyebrows and the shrug of her shoulders, as the hoiscs pounded along up hill and down dole with scarcely more than a shepherd s hut in sight except where they passed through some lonely hamlet or picturesque village. Twenty miles through unknown country seems as long as thirty where tho road is familiar, and Mrs Gresham’s shoulder was uplifted to almost the same angle as that of the disconsolate Louise before they drove up with a flourish at the door of the "Goat and Compasses,’’ a fair-sized inn of sufficiently prepossessing outward appearance. , 'Here we are at last,’’ sighed Mrs Gresham-Browne. "Well, I feel as if: I needed all the MacGregor enthusiasm to support this. Let us hope the rooms are decent, and the plain cooking as good as Jane’s recommendation of it.’’ A stout and rubicund landlady accorded them a true Scottish welcome and showed them their rooms. Small, but spotlessly clean, with a glorious view from the window, they seemed wholly delightful to Muriel. But Mrs Gresham-Browne had been bored by the tedious drive, and was inclined to grumble. The rooms were horribly small, and where in the world was she to hang lier dresses? There wasn’t room to swing a cat in that absurd wardrobe! Mrs McEwart looked perplexed. No one had made such a complaint before; but to be sure most, of her visitors were gentlemen. Mrs Gresham-Browne brightened a little at this. She supposed Mrs McEwart was right. Well, her maid must manage somehow, and the less crushable things must be kept in the boxes. Was the' inn full? Mrs McEwart pursed her lips. Not so full as she had hoped, but that was owing to the drought and the fact that the river in consequence was very low. If only rain would come the river and her inn would fill simultaneously. Mrs Gresham-Browne shrugged her shoulders with a little gesture of dcpair. “This visit is to be a failure,” she observed, as the door closed behind the landlady’s portly form. "Fancy the place being empty because the weather is fine, and I simply hate the rain. What deluded creatures sportsmen are! Imagine fishing in the rain with your hair out of curl and whole rivers of water running down your neck. Ugh!" "I suposc men haven’t got to consider their hair," laughed Muriel, who was inclined to see the new surrounds ings through rose-coloured spectacles; "and, oh, Mrs Gresham-Browne, isn’t it a perfect view." "Cynthia. Cynthia," was the reply. "For goodness sake, child, don’t ‘Mrs Gresham-Browne’ me. I’m not so fond of my matrimonial title as all that. Yes, the view’s all right, but I’m dying for my tea. Louise, where are you? Tell someone to tiring tea at once, absolutely at once." There was no need for the command, since the door swung open with a bounce, and a rosv-checked girl marched in with a big tray, smiling a broad welcome at the new arrivals as she rattled it down on the table. Mrs Gresham-Browne’s face brightened. "That’s better,’’ she observed, “four me out a cup quickly, Muriel, and perhaps 1 shan’t feel quite such a longing to scrag the MacGregor family after 1 have eaten some of those really decent looking scones." Muriel laughed ns she handed the cup. ,She was beginning to understand this whimsical mistress of hers a little better. (To be continued.)