BETRAYAL OF JOHN FORDHAM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10073, 7 March 1896, Page 3 (Supplement)

BETRAYAL OF JOHN FORDHAM.

BY B. 1,. FARJKON, Author of "No. 119, Great Porter Square," " Qrlf," "The March of Fate," "for the Defence," " Aaron the Jew," etc. [all Rights Reserved.) CHAPTER XIII. Whii.k the house was being prepared for our reception I hoard nothing of Maxwell. I thought of him often, and I sometimes fancied that Barbara was not so ignorant as myself of his whereabouts and doings—a supposition which proved to be true, but his name was not mentioned by either of us. In looking back upon those days I can see that I was acting a part as well as Barbara;

I was miserably conscious of it at the time, but it did not strike me as it strikes me now. Words of affection had no meaning, and we knew it—and, knowing it, nursed in our hearts the belief that tho other was a hypocrite. I have no desire to show myself in a favourable light to Barbara's disadvantage. Her judgment of mo was warped by her passion for drink, and my judgment of her was perhaps harshor than it should have been because of tho bitter disappoint-

merit under which I laboured. I could not always bo patient, I could not always endure in silence; she stung mo by her sly cunning, by the artful entanglements she wove for me, by tho dotestablo assumption of religious fervour which she used to mask the degrading vice which made my life a hell. 1 had to bo continually on tho alert to avoid public exposure, and in this endeavour Annette was useful, for she did what she could to shield her mistress. Selfinterest was her motive, for Barbara was

continually making her presents of money and articles of jewellery and dress. I was quite aware that she was my enomy, that when she spoko of mo she liod and traduced mo, but I could find no fault with her when she was in my presence. It may be that she held me in contempt because I did not beat or kill my wife. We pave up our flat, and took op our quarters in the homo in which before my marriage I had hoped to live an honourable and happy life. That hope was dead, and in my contemplations of the future I could see no ray of light. Thore was but ono source of relief— Hard toil, exhausting manly labour would have done me good ; failing that, I had my pen. My visits to the vice-haunted haunts of London had supplied me with a theme. "What doos my dear boy think of it?" Barbara asked, on the morning wo entered the house.

"It looks very cloan and now," I replied, as we walked through the rooms. •

"Ib is what I aimed at, dear. We are

ing to commence u now life. No moro

wrangles or disagreements, no more misunderstandings, everything that is unpleasant wiped off the slate. lam never going to worry you again. Can I say more than that

" We shall bo all the happier, Barbara, if you keep that in mind." "Of course I shall keep it in mind. And you, too, John—you will keep ib in mind, and nob worry roe. Pair play's a jewel. This is my morning room. Isn't ib sweet ? And this, 1 ' opening a communicating door, "it my prayer room, my very, very own, I shall come here whenever I feel naughty, and pray to be good. Oh, what ft QQneolation there la in prayer i"

The walla were lined with pictures of flftcrctl subjects and moral exordiums in Oxford frames. There was an altar with prayer-books ostentatiously arranged, and a cushion for her to kneel upon when at her demotions. She looked at me for approval, and I said that prayer chastened and purified. "It is what it will do for me, dear John. However earnest and wishful to do right one may be, there are always little crosses, I intended this room for your study, but I felt that you would rather I put it to its present use." " Then there is no study in the house for me?"

"No, dear. We can't have everything we wish. I thought you might take a room elsewhere for your literary work, You can go and scribble there whenever you feol inclined ; it will be so much hotter for you. There will be nothing to disturb you—no swooping and scrubbing of floors and difficulties with servants, which put men out so. You see how I thought of you while I was arranging things. There are some nioo quiet streets off the Strand where you can take chambers and be comfortable and cosy. If you had a business in the city you would have to go to ib every morning, so it is just as if you were a business man. We will dine at home at half-past six. I slmll expect you to be very punctual, or the cooking will be spoilt, and the cook will give notice. Oh, the worry of servants I But I take that all on myself." I was not displeased at the arrangement. Had it been left to me, I should have chosen it, so I said I was quite satisfied, and she clapped her hands and kissed me. " I havo an agreeable surprise for you," sho then said. " Maxwell is in London." " You havo seen him?'' "Oh, yes, every day almost. He has been of immense assistance to me in choosing furniture and wall-paper, and managing the people who did the work. If it hadn't been for him I should have been

dreadfully imposed upon, and it would have been ever so much out of your pocket. You will be glad to hear that he will dine with us this evening." I said I should be glad to see him; and indeed ib was a matter of indifference to me, but I determined to bo on my guard against him. "I was angry with him," she continued, " for not meeting us in Genera, as he promised ; but he couldn't, poor fellow. Ho met with an accident, and had to lay up in a poky little village in Italy. It is such a comfort to me that he is near us. There is no one like our own." "Is he living in London "For the presonb. He has been unfortunate and has lost a lot of money—the stupid follow is so trustful. Ho went security for a friend, and was bakon in. Don't you go security for people, John, it's a mistake. I have another surprise for you. ' Our first dinner in our dear little homo shall bo an unexpected pleasure to John,' I said to myself when I was looking over my letters, and came across one from your mother." " My stepmother, Barbara." "It's all the same. Such a pretty, friendly letter; so full of good advice I Young wives need advice, and old wives can give ib them." "But when did you hoar from her?" I asked.

" Don't you remember? It was whon we were engaged." " I remember that I wrote to hor of our engagement, and that she did not reply to mo. She wrote to you instead. Is that) the letter you refer to ?" " Yes."

" You told me that you tore up the letter the moment that you read it, and that she must bo an awful woman. I distinctly recollect) your saying than we could do without her and her beautiful son."

" What a memory you have, John ! Or are you making it up?" "I am not making it up. You did not tear up the letter ?" "No," she said, with a beaming smile, " I kept it by me, and I am sure you are mistaken iu what you think I said. 1 did not show it to you because I knew you had some feeling against her and Louis, and I didn't want to annoy you. lam not tho woman to make mischief between such near relations. Little differences will arise, and it is our duty to try and smooth them over. That is what I did, and you will be delighted to hear that they are content to let bygones be bygones, and are burning to see you." " I will think over it."

" I have thought over it for you, dear. They are coming to dinner this evoning." " Do you consider it right, Barbara, to invito them without consulting mo !" " I do, my dear, I am a peace maker. Our house- warming will be quite a family party." I submitted, wondering to what) length Barbara would go in her duplicity, and whether she or 1 was mistaken in our recollection of the circumstances in connection with this particular letter. I did not wonder long. I know that I was right. Maxwell made his appoarance an hour before dinner, and—having made up my mind—l recoived him with a cordiality which I did not feel.

" Well, here you are," he said, with a searching glance at me, " a regular married man after your lovely holiday tour. Enjoyed yourself • " Barbara has given you a full account, no doubt," I replied, all the evil that was in my nature aroused by his mocking voice ; "judge from that."

" You must bo a model husband, then," he said, laughing quietly to himself, "and she a model wife. I owe you an apology for not joining you on the Continent. The fact is"—he looked to see if Barbara was out of hearing-" I was not travelling alono, and upon considering the matter I came to the conclusion that our company might not suit you. A question of morals, you know."

"I am obliged to you." "For keeping away. Good. One to you. Where aro you going, Barbara!" " Domestic affairs," she replied. "To do the cooking." And she left the room. "Was your accident very serious?" I asked.

Accident 1" he exclaimed. " What accidont?"

" Then you did not meet with one!" " Mot that I am aware of. I had the jolliest time." 1 dropped the subject, and we talked of other matters, with a lame attempt at civility on both aides, until Barbara reentered the room, when he cried out: " I say, Barbara, what is this about my meeting with an accident on the Continent?"

" You did meet with an accident," she said, boldly. " Did I ? Well, then, I did." He looked me full in the face, and laughed. "I am disgusted with you, Maxwell," Barbara exclaimed. " Don't pay any attention to him, John ; you can't believe a word out of his mouth."

Thereupon he laughed still more boisterously, winding up with "Don't; expect me to take a hand in your matrimonial squabbles { you must settle them yourselves."

" We don't have any, do wo, John ?" laid Barbara, in her sweetest tone.

Maxwell appeared to be immensely amused, and they had a bantering bout, in which I took neithor share nor interest. When thoy appealed to me I replied in monosyllables, until Barbara said : " There, you have offendod him. Ask his pardon immediately. I won't) have my dear boy annoyed." His eyes twinkled as he held out his hand, which I was compelled to take to avoid an open rupture. " I ask you pardon, John." "That's all right," said Barbara, gaily. " For goodness sake, don't let us have any quarrelling on oui houso-warming day." I felt as if I wore in a hornet's nest. A few minutes afterwards my stepmother and Louis were announced, and Barbara ran forward to welcome them.

" I am so glad you have come I There's no need of an introduction, is there I am John's wife, Barbara. You must call me Barbara— I insist upon ib. This is my brother Maxwell. Maxwell, Mrs. Fordham —how funny there should be two of us ! And this is your Bon, Mr. Louie Fordham, John's brother. I hate formality. You mustn't bo shocked at my saying that I am a bit of a Bohemian. So is Maxwell, but be goes farther than I do, of course, as' he is a man. I hope you are one, too, Mr. Louis?" "I will become said Louis, gallantly, " under your instructions. How do you do, John? What) a pretty bouse you're got!" I shook bands with him and with my stepmother. Louis was cordial enough in his manner; my stepmother was frigid. Years had pawed since I bad seen ber pi

Louis, but she had not forgotten, and never would forget. Only with hpr death would the old animosity die out. She was 110 older in appearance} Louis had grown into a well-built man, and she doted on him, as she had done since his birth. A poodlooking man, too, but for the scar on his forehead. As I raised my eyes to it—with no evil meaning, lam sure—the blood rushed into it, and it became scarlet, while a dark look flashed into my stepmother's eyes. " He will bear it with him to his grave," said my stepmother. " What a pity 1" said Barbara, who had observed this bye-play. "How did it happen !" "John gave it to him," said my stepmother, coldly. f Another theme for reorimination, but I held my tongue. I was alone, surrounded by enemies, as it seemed to me. I did not, however, neglect my duties as host, and we men conversed while Barbara took our lady visitor to the bedroom to dismantle. My stepmother reappeared in a rich and handsomo dress, cut low. She was still young enough to be attractive—my father married her when she was nineteen—and Maxwell's eyes followed her in admiration. He paid conspicuous attention, also, to Louis, and this pleased the mother. In a few minutes they wero like old friends. I did not expect it to be different, and therefore was not disappointed. They was nothing in common between us. Needless to say that there was no enjoyment for me that day, which commenced badly and ended worse. In a certain sense I was boycotted. At the dinner table Barbara and our guests conversed with much animation among themselves, upon subjects distasteful to me and reflecting upon mo. For instance, Barbara insisted upon inquiring into the particulars of the scar on Louis' forehead; my stepmother demurred to satisfy her at first, but Barbara would not be denied, and the story was related with talse embellishments. It was I who tortured a defenceless animal, and Louis who had rushed forward to save it; it was I who had attackod Louis ferociously with a weapon, when his back was turned, and deliberately inflicted the wound.

"Bubthey were boys then," said Barbara, defending me maliciously, " and boys are so cruel.

" The boy is father to the man," remarked my stepmother, with venomous emphasis. "Now, John,"Baid Barbara, "what have

' you to say to it ?" ' My impulse was to reply that the story was falee, but I checked myself in time, and simply said: " Nothing. Either my memory or yours" —to my stepmother—" is at fault." "You hare a shocking memory, John," said Barbara, " Not your fault, my dear— you were born with it. We all forgive you, don't we, Mrs. Ford ham— and you, too, Loui3? It would be dreadful if we nursed every little grievance, and saved Ji >jrreeable things for future use again** one another. Let us talk of something pleasant." "You havo the temper of an angel, Barbara," ejaculated Maxwell. " It runs in our family,"returned Barbara, casting up her eyes, "and we won't boast of it. Whether wo are married or single, we don't lie on beds of roses." By the time the dinner came to an end the innuendoes, the sly thrusts, the holding up of my wifo as a martyr to my disparagement had becomo unbearable. The ladies retired to the drawing-room, and I refusod to stop and drink with Louis and Maxwell. Strolling from the house I lid a cigar, and upon my return the guests wore preparing to take their departure. " Such a pleasant evening," said ray stopmother. " I hope you will turn over a new leaf, John, and be kind to your wife. You have a treasure in her. You must come and dino with us soon." I stood ati the street door while she and the men entored a cab together. Barbara, standing by my side, waved her handkerchief to thorn. Tho momont tho cab was out of sight she turned upon mo like a fury. " You boast!" alio cried. "Is that the way you treat my friends ?" And she ran into the house. Sadly enough I followed her, in doubt of the best course to pursue. She solved the doubt by saying, " 1 am going to my room. You will find the spare room ready for you." "Thisis a bad commencement, Barbara," I ventured to say. " Thank yourself for it," she retortod, and disappeared. I possessed a small library of books, which I had sent to the house, and I endeavoured to while away the time by reading. But I could not fix my attention ; I turnod over page after page without any comprehension of tho printed words. And so I passod the time in a dull, lethargic state until eleven o'clock struck. I loft my book and set myself to the old task of reviewing the incidents of the day, with the same old result. If the fault were mino there must bo somo defect in my understanding of passing events in which 1 was concerned. My melancholy musings were interrupted by the sound of Barbara's voice in the room above. She was laughing and singing—a babble of unconnected lines, the laughter of a woman under tlio influence of drink. The door of her room was opened and shut, and I heard Annette descend the stairs, I intercepted hor. " What is tho matter with your mistress ?" " Madame is unwell." •' What is your errand now ?" "Madame has loft her medicine in the dining-room; lam fetching it for her." I loft hor to fulfil her errand, but kept watch on the landing abovo. Again I intercepted hor. In hor hands, as I suspected, was a decanter of brandy. "Is that tho modicino you were sent for?" " I could not find it, monsieur. I thought this would do her good ; si e is dopressed, and needs something strengthening." There was no sign of confusion on the woman's faco; she was calm and composed. "Go down again, and search for the medicine you were sent for," I said, taking tho decanter from hor. " But, monsieur, I have already sought for it, and cannot find it." To search again, then, would bo useless ?" "Quito useless, monsiour." " You can go to bod, Annette. I will utterid to your mistress." "It is impossible, monsieur. Madamo requires me. Madame engaged me ; I am her servant." " You are my servant also." " Oh, no, monsieur. It is madamo who orders me." "I am master here. Do as I bid you. Go to bed." She did not move. While this colloquy was proceeding there was silence in Barbara's room. Suddenly tho door was dashed open, and my wife appeared, her dross disordered, her eyes inflamed, hor face distorted by tho hysterical passion of the habitual drunkard. As in a flash, I saw tho inroads the bestial vice was making upon her beauty. "Boast, beast, beast!" she shrieked, throwing herself upon me as I recoiled from the horrible sight. By engaging in a disgraceful struggle I might havo retained the decanter of brandy, but I was not equal to it. She wrested it from mo, and clutching Annette's arm, she dragged her into the room, the lock of which I heard turned a moment afterwards. Then came to my ears her mad laughter at the triumph she bad achieved. To Im continued on Wednesday next.)