LADY PAMELA'S PEARLS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19542, 22 January 1927, Page 14 (Supplement)

LADY PAMELA'S PEARLS.

BY JOHN IRONSIDE.

CH A PTEIi X VII. ~ (Con tinued). Tho world about them was very silent, Very, dark and mysterious, when clouds, drifting up from tho west, from time to time obscured the setting moon. Jane's lantern shed a friendly light on their path, and slit* kept a keen lookout, but saw never a sign to guide them in their quest, till they reached the lane. Not a sound there either, no sign of life,, but as she raised tho lantern, she saw great tvre tracks, plainly imprinted on tiie muddy surface of the roadway. " There's been a car along here, a big one—recently." she said gravely, " and —what's that ?" She hurried a few yards onward, and picked up a small object, a filmy white handkerchief, with a monogram embroidered in one corner. "It's Pamela's!" sobbed Mrs. Briggs, hud for a moment they stared at each other in dumb dismay. "And the car stopped here. Look!" cried Jane, moving the lantern over the surface. " Thero are quite a lot of footsteps, besido the tyre marks. All trampled up together. . . You wait here, Mrs. Briggs." She hurried up the lane in the direction of her own home, past the next curve, and returned in a minute or two to poor old Nanna, who had sunk down in a heap on the wet grass, sobbing unrestrainedly, and clutching the little handkerchief to her bosom. " Somebody's carried her off, that's certain," Jane declared. " The car went up beyond tho bend, turned there, where it, widens out with that bit of grass—you can see tho track as plain as anything—and waited there, while sbmeone, a man with big feet, walked back here. He Availed—yes, behind this tree, it would bo quite dark there," she was still following the trail with the lantern. "He was very likely there when they came, she and Mr. Wentwortli. They wouldn't see him in tho black shadow." She went forward now, reconstructing tho scene" pretty accurately in her own mind, noting the small tyre-marks of David's bicycle in the middle of the roadway, the swerve it had made when ho looked back for the last farewell gesture, and the relentless track of the big car that followed " It must have been her husband, Mr. Varick himself," sobbed Nanna. "It couldn't be anyone else!" said Jane sharply. > But sho was not sure, remembering the big man, with the smiling, blue eyes, who had presented himself in tho shed that morning. She knew his name now, and what the incuie'i't was for which he had expressed such profound and seemingly sincere regret, knew even of the shameful compact arranged between him and Varick, which .Pamela herself had discovered, when at last sho had appealed to her husband for protection against Moore, in the forlorn hope that she might arouse in him some spark of manliness, chivalry, honour, a hope that had proved utterly, horribly futile. Pamela had poured out her heart to her new friend that afternoon, as she had never thought to do to any human being, and Jane, honest, clear-eyed, commonplace Jane, had been overwhelmed at the revelation, that seemed to her like a glimpso into an absolute inferno. But somehow she did not or would not believe that Moore was guilty of this audacious abducticn. The idea was hateful to her, though why, she did not attempt to ask herself. " Oh, my darling girl, with that dreadful man. He'll half kill her," cried Nanna distractedly. " When I think of those awful bruises—" , " What's that?" Jane asked sharply. " Her dear arms covered with bruises, all black and blue. I saw them with my own eyes, though she wouldn't say a word about how she got them. Only 1 know it was him." Jane uttered an inarticulate sound of wrath and dismay through her strong, •white teeth. She knew enough to be sure that" this Rupert Varick was an unspeakable scoundrel, but it really had not occurred to her that he might have subjected his hapless young wife to physical violence. } ,T Well/ we can't do anything else tonight," she said aloud." And I don't know that wo can do anything at all, except that I'm minded to go up to town first thing in the morning, and see Ml'. " Wentworth. Como along, Mrs. Briggs, and do stop crynig. It . doesn't do anybody any good. You've got to take care of yourself, for Bupposo she sends for you. or comes back, and finds-you laid up ! # There, that's better. I'll just see you home, and go and smooth Kate down a bit—she'll be ramping— andithen como Hack to you." She was as good as her word, and after n short arid, on Kate's side, rather acrimonious, altercation with her sister, returned to the cottage, and eventually persuaded Nanna to, go to bed,. while she herself curled up on the parlour sofa and snatched-a-few hours' sleep. Soon after ten o'clock next morning she presented!--herself at Sintell and Lake's, having gpne first to David's rooms, where she heard the disquieting news that Mr, Wentworth had not returned, and his elderly landlady was very anxious about him, explaining: " Mr. such a quiet considerate young gentleman. Ho's never done such a thing before as stay out all night without letting us know, and wo'ro so afraid something happened to him." Jane shared that feeling as she harried round to Bond Street, deciding to ask for Mr. Sintell. ' • :

The senior assistant, a refined looking elderly man, who himself appeared rather flurried, took her name in, and returned immediataly to conduct her to the private room- To her great surprise the handsome old man met her with outstretched hands, and an agitated but quito fatherly greeting., Oh, my clear young lady, so you've come to me. This terrible thing!" " But; I don't understand." Jane Stammered, utterly nonplussed. " You don't knqv? me, sir—- " No, no, of course. But I heard your voice—yesterday, and your name, and 11 knew my poor bov went down to see you yesterday. It happened on his way home." "What happened?" cried Jane, her fresh colour paling. " Isn't Mr. Wentworth here ? I came up to see him on most important—private business!" Sintell stared at her. Even in his present distress he saw how good she was to look at, just what he might have expected from her voice and name—just the girl for David—his poor David !" "Then you haven't heard, my dear young lady. Thank God it's not as bad as was feared at first, they've just telephoned from the hospital—" "He's —hurt?"' faltered Jane, sitting down on the chair lie anxiously proffered. " Badly? Was it an accident?" " Yes, - on his way home from you last night. That motor cycle of his of.course — how I hate the things! A labourer found him early this morning by the roadside, and he's now in the county hospital, still unconscious, concussion, hut no bones broken, and that's a comfort, my dear, isn't it ? I'm going down by the first train. 'Am just waiting for my man to bring the brougham back. Perhaps you'd come with jnts for .you'll want to see him of course, if if they'll let you, and we must just hope for the best —there's a brave girl." He patted her on the shoulder with his thin old.hand, admiring the courage with which she sustained what he imagined to lie the" shock of his tidings, and Jane, overwhelmed by this sudden and serious news and by his quaint misconception, that at any othey time would have amused her mightily, felt an insane impulse to laugh and cry at the same moment—sho who had never indulged in a St of hysterics in her life. The impulse was more difficult to control'because this dear old man continued , to strrsd over her, saying belph : " Thsre—there, my dear!*' as if to coma Ephbing child, ■i I>m ™ dreadfully sorry," she said remu.ousjy, when she cou'dd master her £Pics a little; i' .Poor Mr. Went worth! I

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! do hope he's not really in danger, and will soon pull round. But Mr Sintell, you're quite mistaken. He and I are almost strangers really. I've only seen him once last Sunday." The old man moved forward so that lie could see her full face, and looked scarchingly down nt her. " But he went down to see you last night." " No. It was to see—someone else. I only rang him up." " And this urgent business you carno to see him about this morning?" asked the troubled old man, adding as he saw the perplexity in her honest grey eyes; "My dear Miss Fraser, I don't want to pry into anyone's affairs, least of all David Wentworth's if he chooses to keep them secret from me. But he is as dear to me as if he were my own son, and I have been, I am most terribly anxious about him. Is this anything that you can tell me without breach of confidence ? Anything in which I can be of assistance ?" " It wouldn't be a breach of confidence with him, for I've nver exchanged a word with him about it, unless you count yesterday when I just gave him the message from her," Jane said slowly. "But I know it means a very great deal to him, more, far more, than it means to me. Yes, I'll tell you Mr. Sintell, for honestly I don't know what to do, as Mr. Wentworth's out of action, and I'm terribly anxious. For I love her, too, though I've only known her such a little while. I've never met anyone like her in mv life before." "Her! Who?" " Lady Pamela Varick. It was her he went down to see." She was startled at the effect of the words. Sintell positively staggered as if he had received a blow, and caught at the back of a chair for support. " Lady Pamela Varick !" he repeated helplessly. " Yes. She's been living with her old nurse, close to us for over a week. She ran away from her husband, who treated her brutally—brutally, the wretch." Jane's eyes flashed, her voice rose involuntarily. " She was afraid he might find her, and was going right away with Mrs. Briggs, this morning—l begged her to do that — and wanted to say good-bye to Mr. Wentworth. And after he'd gone last nightsome time after—we found she had disappeared, carried off in a motor, by her husband we're afraid. And we didn't know what on earth to do, Mrs. Briggs and I, except let Mr. Wentworth know. So I came myself and here I am!" "Lady Pamela! Good heavens!" ho muttered again. A discreet knock at the door and Simmons put his head in. " Tho carriage is here, sir, there's a train in half an hour, and it may take you that to get to King's Cross." " I'll come at once," said Sintell, "are you going back to Hertford, Miss Fraser? Perhaps you will honour me by accepting my escort." "Many thanks, I will," said Jane rising. " I must be getting back anyhow, and I'll tell you as much as I know on the way. Perhaps you may be able to help."

CHAPTER XVIII. JANE ENLISTS AN ALLY. Tho afternoon was well advanced by the time Jane Eraser neared home. Even her fine physique was not proof against the fatigue and excitement of the last eighteen hours, and she felt desperately tired, and depressed also, wondering how she would be able to console poor Mrs. Briggs, to whom this further ill news of David Wentworth's accident would be an extra calamity; and how she would concilat'e Kate, and evade the endless questions with which her sister would certainly assail her. During the short journey to Hertford, when they had a first-class compartment to themselves, Mr. Sintell also had plied her with questions some of which puzzled her greatly. She told him frankly of her brief acquaintanceship with Lady Pamela, that had blossomed so swiftly into friendship, without divulging Pamela's most personal confidences, or alluding to the interview with Bernard Moore. The old man seemed particularly anxious to know if Lady Pamela had ever mentioned the famous Yarick pearls to her, returned to the subject time after time, appeared surprised at her emphatic assertion that she had never heard of the pearls, from Lady Pamela or anyone else, but did not gratify the very natural curiosity his queries aroused in her. She gathered that he was extremely distressed at the renewal of the old friendship between David Wentworth and Pamela, and did not in the least understand or sympathise with her own anxiety as to Pamela s fate; seemed in fact to consider her disappearance a matter for congratulation rather than for alarm, and one that must, at all costs bo kept from David Wentworth's knowledge, i Clearly she could not look to him for any aid or advice. Nevertheless she liked the old man immensely and felt as if she had known him for years when at length she parted from him. She had driven with him to the hospital where he was not permitted then to see David, but received a fairly reassuring report, and a suggestion that he should return later in the day. Thereupon he insisted on taking Jane to lunch at tho Salisbury Arms —and very glad of the meal she was, as she had oatei. nothing since last night's supper, except hunk of bread and butter at Mrs. Briggs, before she for the station—ana finally drove her back to tho station, where she had left her bicycle, on which she had ridden in. Leisurely and thoughtfully sho rode back, and, as she turned into tho fatal lane that led to Cherry Orchard, heard a car coming up from behind, that, to iier surprise, also turned into the lane. Knowing the roadway was too narrow for it to pass her in safety, she jumped off and drew the machine close to the hedge. But tho car did not pass. It slowed up and stopped almost level with her. Glancing round she recognised instantly, and with very mingled sensations, among which surprise was certainly not the greatest, Mr. Bernard Moore, in the act of alighting. Next moment lie was beside her, cap in hand " Miss Eraser! What luck for me." " How did you know my name, Mr. Moore ? " Jane demanded loftily, looking squarely at him. Yet if tho truth must be told her tyes were less unkind than her tone. " I beg your pardon. But everyone hero knows "tho Misses Eraser, and though I'll acknowledge we were not introduced, yesterday, wo! have met, haven't we ? And—l might ask how you knew my name ? " " I think you know that very well," Jane said severely, and began to wheel her bicycle along. Why she did not remount and ride oft' she really could not have said. " I can guess," lie said gravely and significantly. keeping pace beside her. "But don't be too angry and indignant with me, Miss Eraser. You saw and heard what passed yesterday, and you must have scon—l'm sure, you did—that I was thoroughly ashamed of myself." " As you ought to be," said Jape, over her shoulder. " Well, I am! 1" don't know what Lady Pamela has told you about me, if anything, but whatever it- was I have no doubt it was the truth—and nothing could be worse than that." "Why have you come here today?" Again she snapped the question at" him, but this time she glanced at him for a fraction of time,- and was angry with herself as she felt her cheeks flushing. There was something so disconcerting In the gaze of his blue eyes, smiling, despite his professions of repentance and humility. " In the hope of seeing you," he returned promptly " And in the further hope, through you, of perhaps being able I to • serve in some way —to be of some | assistance to the lady whom I have so j deeply offended, and whom, I assure you, t I respect above any other woman" on j earth—with one exception." I Jane, didn't hear the last v.ords, thev j were so softly uttered, but she stopped and faced him at last, looking earnestly and searchiugly at mm.' They were prac-

tically alone, for the stationary car was now well out of earshot.

"Do you mean that ? Do you know where she is ? " "Where? Why, isn't she there?' ho waved his hand toward the cottage, just visible through the trees. She shook her head. "Where has she gone? When?" ho asked quickly, and she was sure the new note of anxiety and alarm in his voice was genuine. . " I don't know, 1 wish I did. I—wonder—" she said slowly, and paused, still regarding him with those big, anxious grey eyas. " If you can trust me? " he prompted. " Yes. That was the very thought in my mind." " You may! In anything that concerns you, or Lady Pamela Varick," he said, very quietly, but with what she felt to bo utter sincerity. "I beg you to believo that, Miss Fraser, whatever you may know or hav;e heard about me." ' r l know so little," Jane said, with a little tremor in her rich voice. " And I'm all alone. I don't know what to do for the best. Mr. Wentworth would have known, perhaps, but this dreadful accident —" " To young Wentworth ? What's wrong with him ? " " You know him ? " " Very slightly. But look here, Miss Fraser, don't fence any more. Trust me! On my honour, before God, you may! Tell mo everything, command me. There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do at your command." A fantastic assertion under tho circumstances, but Jane was too troubled and perplexed to think of that. Briefly she told the story of last night pointing to the mute ovidence, still clearly imprinted on the. roadway. "It was Varick undoubtedly," he commented gravely. " God help her, poor girl! " " Wliat are we to do ? " she asked distressfully. " I don't know yet.. You see, after all. she's his wife. That's the great difficulty. Do you know where her brother, Lord Erringham, is ? " " No. But Mrs. Briggs will be sure to know—her nurse at the cottage. Will you come in and see her ? " " Better not perhaps. If she's the old lady I saw yesterday I scared her almost out of her wits I'm afraid—quite unintentianally, I assure you—and I might do so again. Suppose you go, and I'll wait here. Try and find out where Erringham is, and who is his man of business, family lawyer you know—they must have one—and anything else that might be of service." She sped away on the errand and he watched her tall figure, in its simple well-worn tweed suit, swiftly cross the field and disappear within the garden gate, watched with a reflective smile again softening his face, which had become stern and serious during the latter part of their colloquy. Never before, in the" course of his restless, roving, adventurous life, had ♦he met a woman who stirred him as did this country girl, so simple, so honest, so seemingly unconscious of her beauty. A typo of beauty that would not appeal to the sort of person whose ideal is represented by the simpering prettiness portrayed on chocolate boxes or magazine covers, but as absolute, as inevitable as the beauty of nature herself, and not merely physical, reflecting and enhanced by tho beauty of soul and mind. It had been chiefly on the chance of seeing her again, and perhaps, by the exercise of his native audacity, gaining speech with her, " the maiden Demeter " as he had quaintly and instantaneously designated her in his own mind yesterday, that he had driven down to-day in obedience once more to the " hunter's instinct " inherent in him, but this time intermingled with some deeper emotion, that he did not attempt to analyse, as lie did not trouble for the present to consider his motive, or indeed whether he had any motive beyond the whim of the moment.

The only child of an American who had made a big fortune, and died in making it, leaving as his solo heir his little son, then a chubby school-boy, Bernard Mooro was one of Fortune's few favourites, a spoiled child who had seldom failed to obtain, usually with very little difficulty, whatsoever ho might happen to set his mind upon. Of mixed race, Celtic on his father's side, Scandinavian on his mother's, who had been a Norwegian, and from whom ho derived his great stature and fair colouring, there was in him a vein of romance, suspected by. very few persons with whom he came in contact, though scattered about the face of the. earth were a few who knew him as " a .white man" right through, companions and comrades, often thrown together by what appeared to be the veriest chance, in the wilds of Alaska, in the hunting ranges of the Rockies, in the big game tracts of South Africa, and above all perhaps, in the arena of the Great War. Ever ready for adventure in love or war, he had joyously joined up in a British regiment in 'i4, erved throughout in the British Army, w«m a string of decorations and the rank of Lt.Colonel, and had what he considered " the time of his life." After the War came reaction. With more money than he knew, what to do with in perfect health,, for, despite his reckless audacity, his proverbial luck had held true, " and he came through almost without a scratch, ho gave himself up light-heartedly to amusement, and found plenty wherever he went. Henco, a few months ago he drifted into " the Varick Set," and was captivated by the beautiful, brilliant, and apparently heartless young creature whom the world knew as Lady Pamela Varick. That " hunter's instinct " of his that was never dormant for long, awoke, and forthwith "he set himself to " stalk " her, the more attracted when sho persistently baffled and eluded him. He did not love her, he knew that perfectly well, for he was always honest with himself. He believed her to bo as hard, as soul-less as sho was beautiful, ond her beauty was undeniable. Therefore what lie imagined to be her deliberate coquetry whetted bis determination to win her, by any means whatsoever, foul, if fair would not avail; win her and tame her. As for afterwards—well never in his life had he troubled his mind over eventualities. The future could take care of itself. Things always panned out all right in the long run, according to his complacent philosophy. Tho game of the moment was all that mattered. He had speedily " sized up " Varick, despised as well as heartily disliked the man, but nevertheless decided to make use of him, as it pleased his cynical humour to do. It was so easy, too, when he discovered on what an uncertain basis the financier's reputed wealth and ostentatious extravagance rested. Varick had accepted the series of big loans, to " help out of a tight comer " with servile readiness and effusion, and when he learned the purpose that lay behind those loans, had proved not amenable but eager to fulfil the shameful bargain, like the despicable cur he was. He winced at the mere recollection of the scorn, the indignation that had flashed from her blue eyes, at the tragedy he read in her white face, heard in her bitter scathing words. If only he had known before, if only, consummate actress as she must be, she had played her piteous part less perfectly, he himself would have acted very differently. He had fold her the sheer blunt truth yesterday, that he was absolutely ashamed of himself, though be could scarcely expect her to believe it. Yet the girl who had stood by he; v , so loyally, so protectively, the girl whose frank, fearless grey eyes proclaimed her innocence and ignorance of the evil, vapid world in which they two had moved, had believed him. He was glad of that, he did not know why. Never before had he cared what anyone, man or woman, might , think of him. But then " the maiden Demeier " was different from anyone whom he had ever met! _ Here she came, returning to him with tnose lons, swift footsteps, goddess-like. A little flushed, a little breathless, holding a pink slip of paper in her hand, " News, Mr. Moore," she panted. " cre ' s a telegram from her—from Lady Pamela. But we don't know what to make of it." (To be costumed on Satnrdn7 reil.)