SIMON IN LOVE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21396, 20 October 1934, Page 13 (Supplement)

SIMON IN LOVE

By £. C. DOUTHWAITE

CHAPTER XXl.—(Continued) Crossing her legs comfortably, and for still another cigarette: " Anything," Monica said easily, "that'll defer the forthcoming interYievr with my lady mother looks good to me." « ♦ * * *

' Later, Simon came to regard that jeturu walk to Banner Chase with Una is the unhappiest experience of all; in that last hour a barrier had arisen Ifitween them that, try as he would, he was unable to scale. It was not that she was angry; it was not so much that | she was bitter. It was that she was ' wounded. And, he would have said, humiliated. / " It's a trite phrase, my dear," she sfiid from between lips that,, though they had not lost their lovely curves, •n-ere somehow hard, " but you haven't played the game. And from you, that hurts." " You mean in—running away? " he said obtusely.. She laughed, and at the sound it was his turn to be hurt. "As Bunty would put it, that flight icas only 'all of a piece' with the rest! " she said. At that moment they were nearing the spot on tho pheasant xide where so short a while before she had abandoned herself, sobbing, to his , arms and sympathy. She passed the place with her head high and eyes hard. And as, for some little way, they continued in silence, something of understanding came to Simon; realisa- / tion that, following upon the apparently inescapable influence of Julius Gordon, he, Simon, had come into her life as an influence that by contrast must have been ineffably frank and wholesome. So that flow, when so clearly it had become demonstrated that he, too, had acted unhandsomely, it would seem o her that there was nothing left to which she could cling. And because of that, he loved and pitied her more, if possible, than before. " Under a false name! " he heard iher say scornfully, though so quietly it uras as though she spoke only to herself. Then, more clearly, and with a swift turn $f her head toward him: 11 While you were still pledged to that —that—woman, to—make love to me! love! I—I —feel contaminated! " Even from her he wouldn't accept this. " Listen, Una," he said. " Probably it was weak, leaving Monica the way I did, but I'd/had six or seven days of the nearest approximation to Hades I hope I'm likely ever to experience, and if I'd stayed to break the news and the contract, what her mother

•would have handed me would have , made what had gone before sound like the Maiden's Prayer. And because by then I rather more than suspected ?rhat, to-night, she admitted as a fact —that I'd been played for a sucker—from the moment I lowered myself over the Authentic's rail, I was through with Monica Bentham, definitely and irrevocably. On the night I told you what, God knows,.was true—apart from that one fool incident I'd a clean record. Dropping my last name was only because knowing ' Mother ' as I did, I'd a hunch she'd be all out to find me, and I wanted to blind the trail so she couldn't. You must remember, too, that the first time I gave that incomplete name—to Nobby—was quite a while before, actually, I met you," He saw hoW immediate was her response; how instantaneous her softening. Then, as though by a call on her will, how instantaneously, too, she steeled herself. "In any case, it doesn't matter," she said coldly—" Just a dream that never could have been anything else. But with the memory of it rather spoilt. ..." From this attitude there was no mov-

ing her; never had he seen her so /■; dejected; so utterly cast clown. It teemed, also, as though her mood was . only the culmination of a distress of Which throughout, the whole evening he had been aware. And when they entered the library at Banner Chase the reason for that depression became apparent. A shade too 'much at his ease, there, elaborate in tails, thin gold and plati- | nam watch-chain and lustrous pearl studs, was the lord of the Manor of Charteris Regis. Though apparently he had been told of the presence of this discharged labourer, Gordon appeared hot wholly to have recovered either from his astonishment or his annoy- || *nfce. The General looked up, his weather-

beaten face expressionless. " You didn't tell me, my dear," he (said to Una, "that I was to be deprived of the pleasure of driving you home." / Ever so faintly she flushed; following her first quick glance it was noticeable that not for a moment had her eyes travelled to the flamboyant figure On the hearthrug. " Knowing what early hours you / keep, General," she said, " when, very kindly, Mr. Gordon insisted upon sending his car for me ..." Though the slightest emphasis on the frord " sending " went to explain that at least the gaucherie of Gordon's presence was by no invitation of hers, it fras the fainter but equally perceptible Stress .upon " insisted " that, to Simon, fras the more revealing. Yet, even in that impossible situation, with what &pl6ndid gallantry she carried herself! "You've met Forrestier ?" the General Inquired of Gordon —who nodded without enthusiasm. " Only when'he was —er —working for aliss Venables," he explained, and, because he did not want to bring additional embarrassment to a situation Already sufficiently strained, Simon allowed the sneer to pass. The General, however, had other views; his brick*ed face was distinctly inimical as he Said: / "Ah, then I have the advantage over yon, Gordon, for I had the honour of knowing Major Forrestier, his father, before him." . . In the short time Gordon remained there was in his manner toward Una ■/' a subtle something that, unless Simon fr&s mistaken, he himself was not the only one to observe. While his attitude could not be described specifically as Proprietorial, the expression at the back of the too luminous eyes, and the change in the timbre of his voice when he spoke to hsr, tilled Simon with the most active fear he had known yet. With the quickened instinct of the lover j| he realised that, if Una was to be released from her servitude to that flam- / boy ant man, discharge must come i| Quickly. * , . ' Apparently this same thought nau oome, also, to the General. For hardly /had the purr of the departed Rolls died H away: ' // "A pestilent fella! An', as far as Una's concerned, a dangerous one!. He swuug round from Lady Frame directly to Simon. " Can't we do something? " J "If so, 1 wish * knew what," Simon v- replied despairingly. As he made his way back to the r'i teottuge, though, as certainly as if it r had been shouted in tho market-place, Simon knew that Gordon was on the

AN ENTHRALLING TALE OF MYSTERY AND ROMANCE

point of striking, rack his brain as he might he could think of no plan to circumvent hin'u Upon the forlorn hope of Cocky Withers' presence in the camp of the enemy he felt he could place no reliance at all. Arrived at the cottage, it was to discover, his visitor in the same position in which ho had left her, and his stock of cigarettes considerably diminished. As he entered she looked up with the new smile that, however satirical, was yet so eminently human. " I like your girl friend," she said abruptly. " She's what you need, and what I'm not or ever will be—thoroughbred. So if you happen to answer her idea of what to sit opposite at breakfast, you're lucky. Because she's not the sort to let you down. Ever."

In spite of their recently established good will, this was a subject upon which Siiuon was 11 prepared to enter. Instead, he took his cheque-book from the drawer of the little bureau under the window,, scribbled, tore out the form, and, putting it in an envelope, wont over to her.

" But for me," he said practically, " you wouldn't have left New York, and I'm not having you out of pocket through the trip." Slowly, without embarrassment, she took the envelope; in the same un-self-conscious fashion opened it. When she saw the figures on the cheque, disconcertingly her eyes filled. "But this isn't expenses!" she protested. " It's—it's—damages!" "Whatever it is, 1 waut you to have it," he said, CHAPTER XXII. Blinking the tears away, the corners of her mouth drew down in one of her satirical smiles. " With your love? Or only the pity it's supposed to be akin to?" she demanded, and in the latter question came nearer to the truth than he had any intention of acknowledging. " With, at least, my v'ery sincere gratitude," he qualified. Purposefully she folded the cheque and put it in her vanity bag. " If I was the perfect lady I've just broken it to you I'm not," she said, "maybe I'd look on this as the supreme insult to my alread lacerated feelings. But as I'm anything else but, I'm going to assuage my wounded pride by pretending to myself it's a wedding present." If this was a surprise, it was also good hearing; tho one bright spot, in fact, in an" evening that had been filled with nothing but disquietude. "If it comes to a showdown," Monica proceeded practically before he could speak, " I guess this free-will offering's going to be the wedding. Because you can take it from me that without £his piece of kale every hope me and the boyfriend had of teaming up together was pretty vague an' uncertain." " Splendid!" Simon exclaimed. "And even if it's not for general circulation, maybe you'll tell me who's the fortunate man?" "Do you happen to remember," she asked him slowly, " the assistant purser on the Authentic? Kelsey, his I name was—and is."

Not for the firsit or the last time in his life, Simo». i:ound himself marvelling at the wonder of natural selection. For the one of whom she spoke, whose very name, apparently, had power to bring to that world-hardened countenance "such; an unusual softening, and into those tired eyes so ineffable a tenderness, was a squat and conscientious Lancastrian of early middle-age, more likely to appeal, Simon would have thought, to the widowed keeper of a lodging-houiie than to so sophisticated a citizeness of the world as Monica Bentham. " A first-rate chap!" he said, and with sincerity. Incredibly, Monica flushed. " Not. p'raps, what you'd call 'The Flapper" s Dream of Paradise Herbert Xelsey isn't," she admitted. " Only—when a girl's seen what I've seen and —reached my age, there's a whole lot worse thing 9 than life in a sevenroomed home at Southampton, or some place with a man who'd rather be the prop an' mainstay of the chapel round the corner than of the local saloon or Pally-de-Dance." As, instinctively, her fingers lingered about that oblong strip of paper in her unclosed vanity bag, her face hardened. " And you can take it from me, Big Boy," she added decisively, " though she don't know it, I've bid a permanent farewell to my lady mother. She's her own money, anyway, so she won't starve of anything more substantial than someone to bawl out. . . " She got up from her chair. " And now, as I'm meeting Herbert at ten, prompt, in the morning, if I'm to trip as girlishly to the frysting-place as I've taught him to think I do, I'll be needing sleep." She held out her hand. " Good-bye, Sim. If you're as white to the girl friend as you've shown yourself to me, guess she's as lucky as you are." It was upon that, to Simon, ironical note, tfiat they parted.

Accompanied by Nobby, whose face was more strained and his manner more subdued than Simon liked to see, Bunty called the next afternoon. It was her task to break the news that knocked the bottom from his world and all that world meant and! stood for. The ride home of the previous night, it appeared, with what had passed in the drawing room at the Dower House afterward. had been decisive.

" White as a ghost she was, when I took her early tea this morning," the tight-lipped Yorkshirewoman told him during an interval when Nobby had left them upon some errand of his own. " Not slept a wink all night, I don't expect. Since —just numb; made my heart bleed for the pity of it. Miss Una, with her gentleness an' —an' — grace; the loveliness of her—body and mind —to be linked with that pesterin' bully! But though I've pleaded on bended knee, begged an' implored till I've left myself neither voice nor tears, there's no niovin' her. 'l've got to!' Just that, with all the finie her face just a white mask of agony." She looked at him with an urgency that, with him so impotent, was like a whip to his misery. "Can't you do something?" A moment, however, and he contrived to pull together. For, while he could discover no ray of light, or any possibility of hope, he knew that no fight had been won with,despair for weapon. • " Did you gain any idea of how long we're likely to have to work in?" he asked, schooling his voice. " Now that he's got what all these months he's been strivin' for, how long grace do you think he's likely to give her?" Bunty demanded viciously, and at her tone Simon's spirit sank to a lower altitude still "If I know anything of the breed, not long," he admitted. With a gesture of hopelessness Bunty sank into a chair. " Like every other kind of snake, once he's made up his mind to strike, he strikes quick!" she said. "Seems there's some business or other calls him to London for a couple of days or so—some manager or director of one of what he calls his ' South American interests ' over to see him. On his way back he's calling in Plymouth for the licence. After that it won't be above two or davsi"

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This was worse, leven, than in his most apprehensive moments he had anticipated. Five or six days, at the outside, to accomplish a task toward which, in these last weeks of scheming and endeavour, he had made no progress at all. Before ho could speak, however, Bunty's voice broke in again.

" Makin' a clean sweep already, he is. too," she said, her voice artificially calm.

" Say that again?" Simon said sharply. " Both .Jerry Welles an* me got our notices this niornin' " said Bunty. Her voice sunk until it came, as it were, brokenly. " 1 think, to Miss Una, that was the—the—end of. all— havin' to soud me awav, who's seen her through so much an' loved her so dear. Jerry, too, for that matter. With what she did for him, he fair worships the ground she walks on. All broke up, he is. ' I can't help it, Bunty,' she says when she tells me. ' I said everything I could; pleaded as I've never pleaded before. But — he—wouldn't give way; he's sending one of his own men in place of Jerry. And when I go— to live at the Manor I'll have my own maid.' " At this, the very limit of oppression and the stark tragedy that brooded from the Yorkshirewoman's eyes, for the first time in his life Simon knew what it was to hate. He had met those with whom he had been at enmity, men had raided his trap-lines; others had made more or less tentativo attempts to jump his claims; even hie stay in Now York had been protracted because of the wholehearted attempts of shyster financiers to swindle him. With these he had fought with whatever weapons lay to his hand, and because in each case there had been something tangible to contend with, from each of these encounters he had emerged conscious of no particular rancour.

But this plotter against defenceless womanhood, this blackmailer of loyalty, this secretive and underground oppressor of innocence—here was something outside his experience. " There's a job for Jerry here, after he's through at the Dower House," he said. " The garden's more than I can cope with, so I'd have to engage help, arivway. And if it's a fair question, what about yourself? Care to come here as housekeeper? " Lips now uncertain, Bunty smiled a wintrv smile.

" That's right good of you, Mr. Forrestier," she said appreciatively. " I'm not wi'out my bit of savings, thank God, but if only to be within hail of Miss Una, I'll take your offer. An' if. like most Yorkshire folk, I'm not good at thanks, I'm right grateful, nevertheless. An' so'll Jerry be; he's nowt to go to, an' I doubt he's not saved a deal, either." " Tell him to come and see me," Simon said, and at that moment Nobby came back. As was his habit, he came directly to the point. " I've been over to tell the General," he said shortly. Then, in answer to Bunty's keen. quick glance: " It wasn't easy, hut as he had to hear sooner or later, I felt I'd rather the news came from me than from strangers." Then, after a pause, startlingly he put the same question as, so short a while before, Bunty had asked: " Mr. Forrestier, can't you do something? "

To Simon, the distress under which the boy was labouring was as obvious as the effort by which he sought to keep himself in hand. " Bunty and I aren't the only ones who've taken a knock," was his mental comment; " the lad's had it handed to him right where he lives." Aloud he said: " That's what Bunty and I are trying to figure out. And it isn't easy." Slowly, reluctantly, Nobby nodded. "No, he said, "it isn't. Because there's no way we can find out why. Whatever it is, it isn't that—she wants to; there's nothing in the world she wouldn't give to get out of it. Only, for some ghastly reason —some hold Gordon has over her —she can't. Is it money, do you think? " From time to time this had come to Simon as a possible explanation, but only to be rejected. As there was a sum provided by the trustees for Nobby's education, and that could not otherwise be touched, no financial tangle of Una's could affect her nephew; with her dislike of Gordon, Simon knew no threat of hardship to herself could have influenced her decision. " I don't think so for a moment," he said. " Because if it is," Nobby came back quickly, " anything I have . . ." " You can take it from me that's not the trouble, anyway," Bunty put in decisively. " With the stock she supplies him, an' the companies he's connected with, if there's anything between them, it's Gordon owes her. And money's the last thing she'd sell herself for, anyway." " You say," Simon asked after a silence, " that Gordon's gone to London to-day? "

" Went first thing this mornin'," Bunty confirmed. " Back day after tomorrow. With," she added ominously, " the licence. And at that the unelastic barriers of his training broken down, Nobby gave way. Face buried in arms outstretched across the table, the sturdy shoulders shook; when it came the fresh young voice was beyond control. " That—that oily swine to be lord of the Manor! In our house! " he cried. " Eating at my father's table; sitting in his study; bossing all the old tenants and sacking the old servants. And — married to mother! "

There was so much of outraged pride in this; such self-less grief for the one who, in her love and nurture of him, had taken the place of the mother he had not known, that to Simon the pity of it was almost as a physical He laid his hand upon that quivering shoulder. "Buck up, brother!" he said with what consolation he might. "After all, a fight's never lost till it's won. And if only we could get a lead, there's an awful lot can be done, in five or six days." There was the sound of approaching steps from the road outside. The cop-per-coloured head raised itself; the face, brown and freckled and strained, contrived some kind of smile. A rapid application of a not too clean handkerchief, and by the time the knock came to the outside door Nobby was something of his own man again. The visitors proved to bo Cocky Withers and Jerr.v Wtlks. " Thought there was no 'arm in callin'—now, sir," the former explained. " Gordon bein' away —and all that. One of those 'oo shines with greater splendour because 'e's not seen, that feller." Bunty's glance at Jerry was severe. " Though what you're doin' away from your work." she observed unpleasantly, "is known only to yourself." " I've bin given the 'arf day off," the tubby one explained. "By Miss Venables 'erself —for 'oom," ho added lugubriously but with obvious sincerity, " my 'eart bleeds." Yet, and to Simon rather curiously, even before any reference was made to a prospective job at the cottage, the man appeared not so downcast as, in the circumstances, might have been expected. Cocky, too, seemed possessed of the same almost indecently cheerful spirit. With, about each of them, an underlying excitement. " What are you two up top " he demanded of Cocky. (To be continued next week)