KATE HOWARTH’S DEVOTION.

Northland Age, Volume VIII, Issue 27, 23 February 1912, Page 7

KATE HOWARTH’S DEVOTION.

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By the Author of “The Heroine of the Mill,” Etc. PART 11. CHAPTER XIV. ( A LANCASHIRE LONDON “ PEELER." Twelve days later Kate Howarth 'ound herself in the little town of 3t. Albans. An account of her long *alk would prove interesting enough, ut would be out of place in this narrative. Her innocence and purity surrounded her like a halo, and she found many friends in her (Avn humble sphere of life—good, ' simple ’oiks who thought, wheu they looked in the girl’s heavenly face, that they might be entertaining an angel unawares, believing as most of their :luas do, that such things actually have occurred, their own personal xperiences to the contrary notwithstanding. In the potteries she was insulted by an intoxicated man, whom she repulsed with no little strength of arm, to the great delight of the surrounding crowds—it was the dinner-time at that hour.

“ Keep your distance, will you ?” he said with spirit, although she was nearly falling from fatigue.

The brutal fellow was about to ter the shawl from her head, and ahe became terribly frightened ; but help was at hand. A mechanic with a bag of £ools on his back had heard her voice Quick as thought he threw his burden on the pavement and, without a word, knocked the rascal iowu.

“ Well done, ! M cried the people. Serve him just right.”

And then Kate knew that her friend v :»a a only m of n Bolton widow who had removed to Burslem, and were willing and ready to offer a place of refuge and repose to the poor traveller. She remained two clear days with this worn m, and then net out once more on her journey.

From that place to St. Albans, little of moment occurred. At Lyton a respectable woman with whom 3 he lodged gave the address of a daughter she had in the former town and there she might have stayed for a few days to recruit her strength ; but the knowledge of her vicinity to the great city made her the more anxious to get there at once.

She rose next morning, weak, ill, tired and little refreshed, to set out. She often faltered on the way, but faith kept her plodding on At length, after the sun had set she found herself toiling on in the gloom and darkness, and, stretched far away to the right and to the left, was the great red curtain of fiery cloud that hangs over London town. Pressing feeblj unward she at length found herself on a height, and the sparkling lights of the mighty modern Babylon lay at her feet. An hour passed, and she was still conscious ®f being ia what appeared to be the outskirts of the town. Her limbs were aching, and her bundle seemed to be becoming heavier and heavier with every step. Simple and true-hearted, she still went on, thinking of the phantom hand, and ulmost expecting to see the light fall upon the golden cross of the colossal Christian sentinel—St. Paul's. Her spirits revived a bit when she found herself in a long, somewhat irregular thoroughfare, with what she then looked upon as fine shops on both sides of the way. She ha«l still plenty of money, for she had been very careful on the journey, but she had not eaten since leaving St. Albans in the morning. She found a kind of faintness coming over her—a sickness at her heart that filled her with terror ; for was she not homeless and friendless in the streets of cruel London. “ Oh,” she murmured to herself, ” if I had only told my mother all!”

Regrets were ’ useless, however. She struggled on, perfectly uncon scious of the fact that a policeman had been watching her very closely for the last four or five minutes. At length she halted be/ore the brilliant-ly-lit window of a large " cookshop,” from the door of which there came a blast of hot and unsavoury air.

This was the proverbial last straw that breaks the camel's back. A hundred lights seemed to dance before her eyes, a terrible nausea overcame her. and she was just conscious of someone speaking to her, when she reeled and fell in that person's arms.

The individual was a bold-faced girl who was taking a small piece of peas-pudding home in a basin for her wretched supper. Strong of limb, she deftly drew the poor Lancashire lass into a neighbouring public-house and the taproom of the hostelry which was untenanted.

She brought some brandy from the bar and put it to the stranger’s lips. She l«athed her forehead w+th cold water, and at las* Kate wearily opened her large pathetic eyes.

“ Where am I !” she asked. " All right—with a friend,” the woman answered. ” Have another sup of brandy, that's a good girl.” ” What’s to pay ?” asked Kate, her Lancashire spirit asserting itself even in the face of illness. " A bob—a shilling—that’ll do,” returned her strange companion, a greedy, wolfish look coming into her eyes as the factory lass drew her puise from her bosom and selected a "hilling from among a no*** of silver The quick glance given by the g-irl disclose*’ to bar tbs fact at laast V*' j V' -kd pNn? w#re

uso in that common steel purse, ana be acted accordingly. Running to the bar the woman paid the landlady for the brandy, and lurried back to the countr> girl she had ruthlessly resolved to victimise.

he started on the threshold of the room, circumstances seemed to favour her strangely. Kate was once more in an unconscious state.

Her London benefactress stepped softly forward, closing the door gently after her. Then with fingers hat were evidently weli tutored to he work, she dexterously drew out .he well-filled purse from the unhappy ate's bosom, and rapidly seizing her asin, hurried from the room to the !i* et door, upon the step of which e fame face to face with the policei m on the beat. Hollo, Mr. Lomas !” she stammered, “who would have thought of ivbiug you here ?” ” Mill Gordon,” returned the man, what have you done with the .vench I saw you catch at Bayer’s door ?” “ She’s all right in there, in the a?--room.” “You’ve not been up to your old games again, Mill ?” “ ‘ o, so help me !” cried the girl. “ You don't take me for a fiat. If I were caught at that again itwould bese'en years certain sure. No, I’m on the honeet tack, old man—though it’s hard lines, and no two ways about that. You’ll find the girl all right, Mr. Lomas. ” • I hope so,” returned the policeman, dubiously, and evidently uncertain whether he should let the girl go or not. “My supper's cooling,” she laughed. “You l now where to find me if there’s anything wrong. “ And the 'i'ra'-.d creature laughed again and pushed past the constable. lie entered to find our factory lass i tain recovering herself, in a state of great bewilderment. This feeling changed to something ike terror when, on looking up she beheld the tall, burly great-coated ''unstable.

“ Don’t be frightened, my lass,” he said, kindly. “Just look if you have lost anything, will you ?” With a cry the girl raised her hands to her breast. She knew in an instant that her purse was gone. Too weak to rise yet, she could only moan hopelessly. “ Gone ! Robbed— penniless in a strange place ! Oh, what shall I do ?”

”Do !” echoed the policeman. “ Why, stop where you are until I come back. I know who the thief 's, and will put my hand on her in a moment. Stop where you are. Don’t move until I return—mind that, i’ll bring your money back to you, don’t be feared.” He hurried away and returned in about ten minutes with a very serious face indeed. Gordon had not gone to her miserable home. Her prize was too great to remain in the vicinity after meeting a policeman so soon after the theft.

Kate was crying piteously. She seemed to fear that the officer would take her into custody for being so foolish as to be robbed. A fine punishment this that had befallen her for deserting and disobeying the best of parents. What must be done ?” she moaned. “ Why did I not know that she was no good ?” “Eh, lass,” cried the officer, in the broadest Lancashire dialect, “ I thought you were Lancashire as soon as I clapped my two eyes on the set of that shawl of yours. You’ll have your money back be sure. Have you walked up to London, and all alone ? Well, you fell in with the right man this time, anyway. Abe Lomas will not see you in a fix for lon°\ When you feel better I’ll take you round to my old lass—she’ll soon get you right. Ido wish I had spoleen to you sooner. No matter. it’ll be all right in the end, no doubt. Do jou think yo« can walk a bit now ? Try, there’s a good wench. This is no fit place for you, I can see that plainly enough.”

The homely Lancashire accents never sounded so sweet and beautiful as they did at that moment in the poor girl’s ears. They were in Kentish Town, and the police officer lived in one of the bye-streets. Mrs. Abe Lomas received her with open motherly arms, and the children clung to her skirts, attracted by her beautiful faee and kindly sorrowful eyes. The white hand had guided her well after all. But for this stalwart Lancashire policeman she would have proved unsuccessful in the most terrible and thrilling episode of her most eventful young life.

CHAPTER XV. THE “ PATIENT ” DOWN BY THE RIVER.

When Abe Lomas left Kate with his homely wife, he returned to his beat with no very distinct intention of how to act about the search for Milly Gordon which now became imperative. Happily much consideration was not required, for he had scarcely reached the door of the inn where the heartless robbery had occurred when he met the delinquent walking rapidly in his direction. “ Oh, I am so glad I’ve met you,” she cried.

“I daresay,” he responded, sarcastically. “ Where has that girl gone to ? Tell me. Come, I must know. I want to give her back her money.” “ A likely story !” proceeded the unbelieving policeman. “ I never saw such eyes in my born days,” proceeded poor Milly. “ I can’t keep them out of my mind. Ever since I left the spot they seem to be with me. Do you know where she is ?” ” I do.” “ Give her that, there’s a good man.” cried the girl ; and she thrust

the purse and mi.ney into Abe’s hand. “ What ! and let you go after telling a barefaced falsehood, too ?” the officer went on. ” Don’t you think, I should be confounding a felony to begin with ?” “ Oh, bobbies do worse than that,” said Mill Gordon, evidently heedless of the denser in which she stood. “ You’se a good sort, Lomas, and I know I can trust you. Give the girl the money—l have not touched it. If you take me now you know you agreed I’d get a long stretch. Take the purse, a good man and for the sake of your growing-up children, let me go.”

“Well, I’m blessed, hesitated the fine fellow.

Then he looked in Mill’s eyes for a moment, and began to whistle. Finally he turned ' right about ’ and marched resolutely away from the offender. Mill gave one great sob and stood there, but he had vanished round the corner. The receipt of the lost purse had' a great deal to do with the rapid restoration to activty of poor Kate. Mon ‘y meant independence and in no part of England is that condition more regularly and more forcibly inculcated than in Lancashire. She now felt that she could eat the humble fare with rr.ore appetite, and look Mrs. Lomas and Abe in the face with more genuine friendship.

Bhe soon discovered that both were thoroughly honest and discreet, and in the few days she remained under their roof a brief outline of her story and her present mission to London was confided to them. In the end this proved wise in every way. “ If they know of the whereabouts of your brother,” said Abe thoughtfully, ” they will be sure to talk cf it occasionally.” “ That is why lam determined to get a servant’s place in the house, grand as it maj be,” cried Kate. “I don’t care how humble the place may be, I’d take it with the hope that I may get at the bottom of this awful mystery.” “ Well, my wench,” returned the policeman, “ I’ll do anything I can for you. I’d even go the length of taking one of the housemaids into custody that you might get her place;” at which statement the women laughed gleefully, knowing that the mighty guardian of the peace would never be guilty of wilfully hurting anyone’s feelings. While the husband was out on duty the wife advised and worked. She and Kate together made up two nice

“ new-fashioned ” calico dresses such as smart London servants of the per iod wore. These and the articles—forming a heavy bundle—she had carried with her would make as good a show of wearing apparel as any young working lass coming a long way in the country might be expected to possess.

When two “ tucks ” had been let down in the winsey dress in which Kate had walked to town, and a pretty straw bonnet—modest in price if not in dimensions—had been added to the girl’s possessions, the united household, adult and juvenile, agreed that a finer dressed young woman was not to be found in London.

This, it is needless to say, was a I great triumph, and a very necessary precaution as matters turned out. Mrs. Lomas and Kate set off for , Mount Street. Mayfair, one bracing • December morning, and arrived in j the fashionable locality at an early j hour.

Until this year the Northenden family had invariably left town with the ! season, but on this occasion the Hon. | Ferdinand had only just joined the Guards, and the noble viscountess re- j solved to be near the handsome ' young gentleman during his early ! struggles with the abstruce science of war. The husband and father agreed to this the more easily from the fact that he had openly quarrelled with the Master of the Hounds the year before, and it would scarcely be prudent to be in the vicinity during the hunting season until this breach had . been satisfactorily healed up. We have not had an opportunity of ! stating' before that the later education of Kate Howarth had not been j neglected. On the contrary she per- ! severed very hard indeed, and had conquered a great many difficulties from which modern young women ■ would turn away despairingly. Gift- j ed by. great natural intelligence, she j was not long in acquiring such a ! knowledge of the English ianguage f that she could speak very correctly, j and, thanks to the good vicar at | home, with very little accent. She was, however, very fond of the j homely tongue of her childhood, and ' would not readily have consented to i drop it without cause. She had sufficient reason now for making a much greater sacrifice. That Freddie might be traced, the people of Lord Northenden’s household must be deceived. Fortunately, since the time of the assizes, when Nelly Howarth so terribly offended her ladyship the people from the big house had seldom come in the way of the poor factory folk ; and Kate herself had made such extraordinary progress between her thirteenth and eighteenth year, that few people excepting those who met her daily or regularly could have recognised the rather petite and retiring little girl in the tall young woman whose look of modest selfpossession would lead people to imagine she had been reared in a very different sphere. A carriage was being walked up and down when Kate approached the arLto.ratic residence. Her heart fluttered painfully for a few moments but that soon passed away under unexpected circumstances. Approaching the great door, with its old-fashioned link extinguishers and obelisk-looking pilasters, she rang the bell—rang without observing that there were two handles,

and th.it one had the word “ Visi- ] tors ” engraved over it, while the second was labelled “ Servants.” A greatf creature in the way of footmeq opened the door. His hair was profusely powdered, and his eyes half-shut with that overbearing and ignorant conceit, his braided and epauletted coat of violet and white livery was thrown back from his fowl-lik£ ( chest. Canary-coloured plush breeches were evidently great sources of enjoyment and pride to the wearer, and his white silk stockings and pumps completed a figure the eyes of which now opened in awe and wonder thet a common young woman would dare to ring the bell set aside for the “ baristocracy.” “ What’s hup ?” he asked, curtly, evidently ready to close the door in Katey’s face. “ I wish to see the housekeeper or Lady Northenden,” said Katey, almost inclined to smile, notwithstanding the grandeur of the apparition and its surroundings.

“ Hob, hindeed ! You wis-h to see the 'ousekeeper hor Lady Nor’nden. Can you read ?”

“ Yes,” answered Katey, growing privately angry, although footmen were really great people in her sight; and yet for the life of her she could, not help looking with ridicule upon this creature who aped the airs of his superiors so outrageously.

“ You can, can you ? Well, then, if you want the ’ousekeeper, you’d better ring the servants' bell.” “I’m sure I’m very sorrj,” said the girl looking down modestly. “ I only came after a situation—” “ Situation,” echoed the man, doubly surprised in an instant—first by the remarkable beauty of the girl and secondly by hearing footsteps behind him in the hall.

“ Situation !” he repeated. “I don’t think there’s any situation hopen at present in this hestablishment, and hif there was we halways engages new hands through the Registratie’s Hoffice * in Horshard Street.”

“ Horseyard • Street ?” said Katey, disappointed. “ O-r-c-h a-r-d Horshard Street,” said the footman, stiffly, about to close the door. He did not succeed, however, for a tall figure had been behind him for a few seconds and shrewd eyes had taken the applicant’s good looks in at a glance.

“ aside, my man, will you, and do not addempt to shut the door —I wish to speak to this young berson.”

The speaker, it is unnecessary to say was the lady of the house' herself.

“Come in, my good young woman,” she continued, scanning the applicant 1 from head to Toot. After a pause she continued : “ You do not belong to London?” “ No, ma’am, I come from the North.”

“ I thought so. Well, dere is something about you that bleases me, and if you haf got goot characters from your last blaces, it will be all sight. I suppose you haf been barlourmaid in your last blace.” “ Housemaid or parlourmaid will be all the same to me,” truthfully if evasively replied Kate.

“You remind me of someone I know. You had better see the housekeeper who will arrange with you. Show this young woman to the room of Mrs. Baynes, will jou?” she continued to the crestfallen footman.

“ Come in as soon as you blease, and when you come, tell Mrs. Baynes that I wish to see you on the instant.”

Kate entered upon her service ov the following Monday, and jealous eyes greeted her in the servants’ hall for it had been rumoured that she had gained the favour of the lady of the house already. Sneering lips did not forget to move in whispers over the quantity of her luggage ; but Kate had a purpose in view, and was not in the least upset by the behaviour of her fellow-servants. She had seen the viscountess, and that lady had said :

“ I cannot tell who it is that you remind me of, but your face is quide familiar to me—quide. Never mind, if you are goot and neat and hanty, I will ma lr e a laty of you—at least a latysmaid—and that is a step on the way 1 can tell you. Tell Mrs. Baynes that you must look after my abartments and the rooms of Miss Charlotte. She had got a new Vrench maid and I do nod like her. And now what haf you to say ?” Kate wrote to her parents, and beseeched them to trouble nothing about her. She was safe and on the track of Freddie. Mrs. Lomas’s address was given, because _the girl fancied that the mention of Lord Northenden’s town house would renew the uneasiness of her father and mother.

She had been about a fortnight in her new position when, crossing the hall, 9he heard the bell ring. Forgetting that it was no part of her duty to answer that bell, she opened the ponderous door, and a man entered, muffled up in a loose overcoat, white woollen cravat—which he at once proceeded to unwind—and a wide brimmed "soft hat. She was about to ask him his business, when her eyes caught his, and, she started back in amazement.

“ Hullo, ray beauty ! You’re a fresh ’un,” he said, roughly. “Have I frightened you ?”

At this instant the door of the viscount’s business room opened, and that gentleman said : “ Behind time again, Poison. Tve been waiting for you.” To which the newcomer replied something about being “ overworked and short of assistance.”

As the man followed the peer into his room, Kate heard the latter say : “ I thought you would be all right now you’ve got your patient down bv the river.”

“ He’ll never be right my lord, until-” But she heard no more, the closing of the door having snapped the sentence in two. Kate felt that she had made a discovery. The “ patient ” down by the river—the face “ behind the bars” on the river of her dream—told this perhaps too sanguine young person that she had traced her poor, ill-used brother ; but the chief cause for this belief was that she recognised in Poison the military groom who was with his lordship long ago, when she saved Freddie from the ironclad hoofs of the great charger at the expense of her first loved little red cloak. To be Continued.