MRS HARTLEY’S WILL.

New Zealand Mail, 20 August 1902, Page 9

MRS HARTLEY’S WILL.

(By Morris Coleborn.)

They were a party of three women and a young man, and when they first arrived at Myrtle Villa I was puzzled as to what was tiie relationship between them. Jane Pinkerton had informed me that a Mrs Hartley and her two nieces mid a nephew were to have rooms in the west corridor, but it was not until later that I discovered that the nieces and nephew were only detached relations, their aunt being, so to speak, the connecting link. Kate Kingston, the pretty, gipsy-look-ing girl, with the good-tempered mouth and dark eyes, was an orphan, while her cousin, Gertrude, who was her exact opposite in colouring, and had the palest grey-green eyes I have ever seen, was the eldest daughter of the Rev. Josiah Hartley, to whom it was evidently something of a relief that one of the girls should find a home with wealthy Aunt Harriet. So riiucli I gathered from Mrs Hartley herself before she had been more tnan a few days in the house. But no doubt she was specially communicative to me since she discovered that we were both martyrs to the same malady—suppressed gout. As I knew by experience, one must be very good tempered to bear such a complaint patiently, and I said as much to Mollie Carew, Jane Pinkerton’s niece.

“Mrs Hartley patient and good tempered,” cried Mollie. “Well, all i can say is, I sincerely pity that charming niece of hers, Miss Kingston.” “And why not the other one ?” I suggested. “Because—oh, well, because I don’t think I like her much,” admitted Mollie. “She has those pale eyes I detest, and I believe she shirks most of the disagreeables and leaves Miss Kingston to

“But she is always so attentive to her aunt in little things.” ‘‘Yes, that’s just it, aud leaves Miss Kingston to do the real hard work. As for the young man—ugh!” Mollie’s expression was forcible if not elegant, and I must acknowledge that it expressed something of my own impression of Mr Charles Shelford.

Mrs Hartley, however, was infatuated on the point. ’ “He’s such a charming fellow,” she informed me, “so gentle in his manner, and as thoughtful for my comfort as if I were his mother. Then he’s worked so hard to pass those tiresome exams., for

“Not the army?” I ejaculated, suppressing a smile, for the vision of Mr Charles Shelford in uniform was somehow irresistibly comic. “No, not the army—the law,” said Mrs Hartley, shortly, then added, "The fact is Charles had some leaning towards soldiering at one time—Kate Kingston was, I believe, at the bottom of that, for the girl is mad on soldiers—hut he very wisely submitted to my wishes in the matter and gave up the idea.”

“Perhaps it was just as well,” said I, “because it is rather difficult to pass the medical man when one is short-sighted and, er-er—as slight as Mr Shelford,” which was', I thought, a very neat way of alluding to the young man’s decidedly inadequate chest measurement. “You are right, Mrs Jameson. What the Army requires is bulk—not brains,” sighed Mrp Hartley. “Oh, cornel” I objected sharply, "they find uses for both sometimes—my husband was a soldier.”

“Really?” Mrs Hartley’s languid reply annoyed me.

"Yes, I am glad to think that George belonged to the finest Service in the world the '

Mrs Hartley closed her eyes. “You sre

almost as enthusiastic as my niece Kate, who is, I am afraid, in danger of sacrificing her prospects in life to that particular form of scarlet fever.” “You mean ?”

‘That her infatuation for a worthless young man, who has actually had Die hardihood to enlist because his uncle objected to his qualifying for the Service in the regular way, is likely ’to cost her dear. The young man has .” “Some grit, anyway,” I interrupted, i ‘High-spirited?” echoed Mrs Hartley, boldly, “and I don’t wonder at any young woman admiring him for it.” “Yon forget, Aunt,” interrupted Gertrude Hartley’s quiet voice, “Mr Gordon is very handsome and high-spirited ” tartly. “Impudent is more the word, I think!”

Then turning to me, “You will hardly believe it, Mrs Jameson, but on one occasion he actually alluded to me as a bad-tempered, meddlesome old woman! I might have forgiven even that,” she added ,piously, “had he not actually called my dear Charles a ‘nincompoop.’ Just think of it! A nincompoop!” I privately thought the word most aptly descriptive of the young man, hut naturally refrained from saying so. “True, I was not meant to see the letter, but with her usual carelessness Kate left it about, and Gertrude naturally brought it to me.” “I see,” said I drily, and was glad to see Miss Gertrude Hartley blush under my glance.

Of course, I forbade Kate to have anything more to do with the young man and though she refuses point blank to make any promises, I have no reason to think she is silly enough to disobey me, knowing as she does that it would be the work oi a few moments to cut her out cf my will.”

“And who is this young soldier?” I asked quietly. “One Ronald Gordon—at least that is the name under which he enlisted and he refuses to be known by any other. Ha had quarrelled with his uncle before Kate met him, so we really knov»nothing i.ocut his antecedents. He did mention once that his people had gone in for commerce, so I conclude tKey were Glasgow tradesmen, or something of that sort.” “But, Aunt Harriet,” Gertrude Hartley was beginning, when she was interrupted by a sharp,

“Let us drop the subject, Gertrude, or I shall begin to think you encourage Kate in her infatuation.”

I happened to look up at that moment' and caught a curious look in Miss Gertrude’s pale eyes as the door opened to admit Kate Kingston and Mr Charles Shelford.

The little brunette looked fagged and dispirited, but there was no mistaking the expression of the man’s eager eyes as he relieved her of her cloak and sundry small parcels.

‘I think I managed to buy all the things you wanted, with the exception of the silk, Aunt Harriet,” she said, wearily, “and they are sending to town for that.”’ “How tiresome of them not to have it in stock,” was the ungracious comment, and the reply certainly shook my faith in Mrs Hartley’s sweet temper. “Kate does not take sugar. How is it, Gertrude, that you so persistently forget that fact?” broke in Mr Shelford’s voice reprovingly. . The quiet girl presiding at the tea table smiled sweetly, but said nothing, and I came to the conclusion that the -.oung man was short-sighted in more ways Gian one if he could not read the quick" glance that shot from the girl’s pale eyes as they rested on Kate Kingston. For a moment I was puzzled bv the almost vindictive hatred ot that gin nee as young Shelford bent over his cousin’s chair. Then the key to the puzzle flashed across me.

The girl was jealous. That the vuuig

man was hardly any woman’s ideal maoe no difference, the fact remained that he was, the pivot on which this pale-eyed. ,^ red ker rival revolved. I should have doubtless forgotten all about these elements of domestic tragedy had they not been forced on my attention in later U ° St startlin ° manner a few daya CHAPTER 11. I don’t know whether I have already mentioned that my eyesight—for a woman no longer in her first youth—is singularly keen. - Had it been otherwise I doubt whether ± should ever even have noticed the couple seated on the fallen tree trunk in that out-of-the-way corner of Southcombe Woods.

A® it was, I recognised Kate Kingston’s pretty grey toque with the touch of scarlet at the side, almost before I realised that it was pillowed on the broad chest of a ’bronzed young fellow in khaki. I paused, involuntarily struck by the look of radiant happiness in the girl’s eyes as she glanced up in the young soldier s face.

“I wonder, dearest,” she said, “if you will ever know how very proud I am cf yon! “Proud? You? And of me! Why, my darling, the boot is quite on the other leg! he protested, smiling, as he imprisoned the girl’s chin in his two hands. There was a pause, and as the two young heads l.eant towards each other I turned on my heel with a half sigh and began to retrace my steps, as quickly and noiselessly as I could.

The way through the wood was the * shortest way home, but dinner or no dinner I was quite determined not to interrupt the tete-a-tete of that charming pair of lovers.

It was almost dark when I came in sight of Myrtle Villa, too dark to see my watch; but I felt quite sure I was very late by the number of lights in the rooms upstairs. Everyone at Myrtle Villa was dressing for dinner, and I felt quite sure that if Jane Pinkerton could have seen the grotesque shadows projected on to her beloved cream coloured blinds she would have acknowledged that I was right in my detestation of them.

I could see old Mrs Chesham pinning her shawl and arranging her cap strings and in the corner of the west corridor Gertrude Hartley’s struggles with her curling irons were quite diverting.

The girl was taking an immense amount of trouble to curl that lank fair hair of hers, as the constant heating of the tongs in the spirit lamp amply testified and I was beginning to get quite interested in the process myself, when suddenly a quite bluish light flashed across the window.

The girl dropped the curling irons and clutched w.ith both bauds at the window draperies.

But it was too late! A quick tongue of flame caught the flimsy niuslin and fiameu out into a blaze. Most of the woodwork of Myrtle Villa was of pitch pine, and though the back part of the house remained untouched by the fire, the flames, driven by the wind, spread with alarming rapidity in the west corridor.

Jane Pinkerton’s bedroom -was at the extreme end, and as I made my way towards it I was met by a dense volume of smoke that sent me panting and gasping for breath. Nevertheless, I managed to push on, possessed only of one idea, aud that w r as to reach Jane Pinkerton’s bedroom and drag her by main force out of harm’s w r ay

I had always taken care of Jane, even at school, and I was determined to do it now.

As I groped my way forward, gasping and elioidng and half blinded by the

emoke, I almost ran into Gertrude Hartley out of her aunt's sitting-room, one had a thick golf cape over her head ana clutched a bundle of papers against « r , . eas *» a “d there was a curious look or triumph in her green eyes, as she paused a moment with the red glow from the flume lighting up her pale, set features. Then, without another word, she drew the cloak more closely round her head, and sped towards the staircase leaving me to grope my way to Jane Pinkerton s room.

nA S \ I>ush « l °Pen the door I staggered that /= l th i e a s fwl , heat of tho flames fl a e i ! Jy tlle draught, seemed to t 0 mee s 111 e - But only for a moment The next I had closed the door ai d made my way into the room, only to mpty o Llttl ? Jane -Pinkerton was t tben ; ?-° at , leas t I realised, before a feeling of giddiness overcame me, and I sank to the floor.

I remember nothing more till I felt a rush of cold night air on my face, ancl On opening my eyes found niysei f k<-,'ug carried down a ladder in arms of a Stalwart young man with a bronzed face. "Not exactly what you call a featherweight, neither, sir," said a fireman in a gleaming brass helmet as we reached the ground. Tho young man smiled good temperedly. and I remembered in a dazed kind of way that 1 had seen the face before.

Then Jane Pinkerton bustled up with some hysterical nonsense about my risking my life to save her, and MollieVarew almost, choked any little remaining breath I had out of me by the warmth of her impetuous liug. “Don't be absurd, there’s no time for such nonsense," I protested impatiently. "The tiling is to find out whether we are all safe.”

I was assured that it was so. and that the fire, thanks to Mr Ronald Gordon and the local fire brigade, was being got under in a most satisfactory manner.

‘‘Who is Mr Ronald Gordon?" I inquired, sinking into an uncomfortable garden cliair out of reach of the hissing stream of water that played on the smouldering flames. ‘‘Mr Ronald Gordon—oh. lie’s a friend of Miss Kingston's," said Mollie. "I see," said I quietly, and I smiled at the word friend, recollecting that little scene in the wood.

"lie’s a splendid person," continued Mollie. enthusiastically. ‘‘He seemed to know just exactly wliat to do and liow to do it, and everyone seemed to obey him as naturally as possible. Even Mrs Hartley, who would do nothing but stand at her window and scream, when Ivate Kingston urged her to come- down before the staircase caught fire, allowed lierself to be hauled unceremoniously through the window by that masterful* gentleman in khaki, who paid no more attention to her howls than if he'd been deaf. "He even made Mr Charles Shelford useful"—Mollie paused before adding with a smile—“and you'd have said that, was almost impossible if you had seen the purposeless way he hovered about, dashing into the smoke one minute and then coming out to wipe his spectacles the next, and doing nothing but get in everyone's way all the time.

"However, Mr Gordon set him to work at the pump, and he obeyed like a lamb. In fact, everyone seemed to obey the soldier with alacrity—except perhaps Miss Gertrude Hartley,” added Mollie in a whisper. "She was simply furious when Mr Gordon forbade her to re-enter the west wing, and 1 believe she managed to disobey him after all, though what on earth she could want there passes my comprehension ! ‘‘lt isn't as though she knew you had gone in search of Aunt Jane or . By the wavy" Mollie broke off suddenly and glanced anxiously around, ‘‘where is Miss Gertrude Hartley?" We were all assembled round a huge fire in the kitchen, which, being in the back part of the house, had been quite untouched by the fire.

Mollie’s question acted on the buzz of excited chatter like magic. For a moment no one spoke. Then—"l believe I was the last to see Miss Hartley," said I. "? met her in the west corridor."

Mr Gordon, who was helping the cook to ladle out large bowls of soup, paused and glanced sharply round. "Where?" ho said quickly. "Coming out of her- aunt’s sittingroom”

"My sitting-room!” echoed Mrs Hartley tartly. “Why, what on earth could she have been doing there? She must have known I was in my bedroom, because

"She seemed to have gone in search of a bundle of papers,” said I. "Papers?" Mrs Hartley's voice rose to a sharp crescendo, then stopped abruptly.

Mr Ronald Gordon wasted no time in mere words, but beckoning to Mr Charles Shelford hastily left the room. Ten minutes later, when the majority of the company had retired to find sleeping accommodation as best they might. Mr Gordon and a fireman came in, carrying the girl between them.

Her face looked ghastly pale in the firelight, and Kate Kingston started as she touched the cold hands that still clutched the bundle of papers to her breast. "Ob, Ronald,” she gasped; ‘‘is she—is she dead?”

"iCo, my darling; stunned, that’s all. She must have been hit by a piece of stone coping or something, but the doctor will pull her round in no time, you’ll see.”

Kate Kingston gently unclasped tho rigid fingers and laid the papers on a chair, then between us we chafed the girl’s cold limbs and did what we could for her pending the doctor’s arrival. When he came he pronounced it a case of slight concussion, which would be all right in a couple of days—"with care,” he added, smiling. "She will have plenty of that, doctor ” said Kate Kingston cheerily, and glanced towards her aunt.

But Mrs Hartley said nothing, she was staring at the bundle of papers the girl had risked her life to save.

It was not till a week later that 1 learned from Mrs Hartley’s own lips what those naners were.

cn;,P«i Was - tbe codicil to my will " she & living everything to Charles Shelt« i, nn and Gertrude. I signed it that aftwl learned from, tho latter cnat Kate had met her soldier lover more front ° UCe £inCe is returu froui the “I used to imagine Gertrude was fonder ot mo than her cousin was, but now—ue,J, all I can say is, she shall reap the toward of her duplicity. She shall not touch a single penny of my money, either Lord Tayside to see you,ma’am!” in- £«« p ted the parlourmaid at this juiie- \\ ho r ’ questioned Mrs Hartlev ** obvious amazement. „, ‘Lord Tayside, ma’am,” c looking old maid, as a tall, aristo C ,T F, 01< i man walked toco t>- J° om . aud held out his hand to Mr- Hartley. “I am Ronald Gordon s uncle, madam, he said, simply, “and I understand that vow «nd 1 constitute the only stumblingblocks to tho happiness of two deserving young people. “Ronald has proved by his conduct as a soldier that he was right in choosing his own career. I am not above owning that I have been an obstinate old fool in this matter, and I imagine that you also

I did not hear any more, but as I hastily bundled up my knitting and left the •room I wished I could have seen how Mrs Hartley accepted the obvious insinuation so unconsciously conveyed by this extremely plain-spoken old man. There are just a few people in this selfish old world who can’t be really happy, unless they see other people in the same boat. Kate Kingston happened to be one ot these, and as she decided that my assistance was-necessary in pleading Miss Gerti'udge Hartley’s cause with her irate Aunt Harriet, there was nothing for it but to resign myself to my fate. "You see,”, argued pretty Kate Kingston. “it isn’t as though Gertrude cared about money for herself “Then why was she so anxious to rescue that will before she was even sure “She did it because she loved Cousin Charles, and when two people love each oilier .”

"But does Charles love Gertrude? I was under the impression that he had set. his affections on you, child.” ‘‘But Gertrude will suit him far better than I should ever have done—he quite sees it himself now,” she added, unconsciously betraying the situation.

“It strikes me,” said Mrs Hartley, tartly, “that there’s a good deal too much of this eternal love business

“Nonsense, Mrs Hartley,” I interrupted decidedly; “because you and I have outgrown it, that's no reason why we should grudge young people tlieir enjoyment of the only thing worth having in this tiresome old world!”

It was a little rude, perhaps, but it had the desired effect. Mrs Hartley subsided into a mild grumble, and the battle was won.

“There is nothing like firmness when dealing with irritable or obstinate people,” I remarked afterwards, to Jane Pinkerton. “When Greek meets Greek,” murmured Mollie. ‘‘Mollie, how can you ?” said Jane Pinkerton, almost crossly, “and after all dear Matilda has done, too.” Which was about as irrelevant a remark as any I have ever heard, even from Jane Pinkerton, for what Mrs Hartley's obstinacy and bad temper have got to do with me, personally, quite passes my humble powers of comprehension.