LEAVES OF DESTINY

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12389, 8 March 1926, Page 4

LEAVES OF DESTINY

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

DOROTHEA CORBOULD.

Author of “A Fatal Friendship,** “His Fair Enemy,** “Held In Bondage, 1 * Etc., Etc.

COPYRIGHT.

PRdNOIPAL CHARACTERS. < Barbara Denning*. Daughter of the Bee- \ , toh of Daleham, whose sudden death has left her penniless. The heroine. Capt. Donald Anstruther: Of Colling-, ham Hall and the Royal Worcesters. ; ‘ Missing since Ypies. Reappears as “Mr Smith/* Sir Lindsay Charters: Man about town. Wealthy but of evil reputation. Seeks to conquer Barbara's repugnance, but reveals his real nature. Capt. Mordaunt: Whose kindness to Barbara makes her career possible. Reggie: The six-year-old orphan who ( unconsciously plays a great part in \ ' the destiny of the other leading characters. Lil MaoArthurt A “star” of the Diadem Theatre. She hates Barbara, who is her understudy in “Tho Forest Queen.” SKETCH OF OPENING CHARACTERS. Barbara Denning gazes at her last shilling. The past few months have been for her a veritable “Via Dolorosa.” She had returned from school at Paris, ambitious and happy, but her father’s sudden death, her mother's illness and death from the chock, have left the girl lonely and penniless. In desperation she decides to turn her musical training to account by streetsinging in the west End squares. Her superb voice attracts notice. A gentleman who listens to her, fascinated, hands her his,card—(“Capt. %r .T. Mordaunt”) —saying that' the manager of the Diadem Theatre will give her an interview. Capt. Mordaunt has wih him a man of importance who arouses her repugnance. She is . grateful. for the chance of steadier employment, one reason being that she is eager to be of help to a woman'and her little son who occupy adjoining rooms. The woman has little money and is rough to Reggie, • who is of refined appearance, yet ill-fed and ill-clothed. Barbara's voice and manner impress the manager of the Diadem, ana his musical conductor; while her beauty and natural charm help her with her stage colleagues. When Miss MaeAxthur's illness gives Barbara her chance as understudy for the Nightingale in “The Forest Queen,” the press and the public place her abov© the principal, whose position is only maintained by the terms of-her contract. Miss MacArthur's professional and personal jealousy makes trouble for Barbara. She is brought into contact with Bir Lindsay Charter*— the man who with Captain Mordaunt had heard her sing in Crofton square and had aroused her aversion. He bears a sinister reputation, and when he fails with Barbara, threatens to disclose where ho first, saw hei. Such troubles as Miss MacArthur and Sir Lindsay Charters can bring into her life seem trivial to Barbara compared with the new joys which have come to her through young Reggie. His mother, knocked down by a motor, calls Barbara to the.hospital, and as a last injunction confides the boy to her care; tells her the story of her marriage,' and hands over the sacred possessions which may enable her missing 'husband to be identified if he _is still alive. He was an officer in the Royal Worcesters, .was reported missing, and has not since been heard of. Neither his family nor hers know of the marriage. With her last breath she tries to utter his name, but fails. She only manages to say “Don.” Barbara's home life is brightened by the boy, and also by a new boarder, calling himself “Mr Smith/' who lets Barbara into his secret. She feels Bhe has. at last gained ■ the olue to Reggie's parenthood, and this is confirmed when she tells “Mr Smith” about Reggie's mother. “Mr . Smith” . discloses his real identity as •Capt. Donald Anstruther, his family being-an ancient countv one tip North, at ; Collingham Hall. His proud parents are still ' in ignorance of his marriage. He is in fact expected to propose to* Lady Ida Cravenshaw. He determines to go North and prepare his toother to ■ receive Barbara as daughter-in-law. Captain Anstruthfei/s plans are thwarted, first by . his mother —who intercepts ’ his letter .to.. Barbara and substitutes a cruel one of her, own; and secondly by Sir Lindsay Charters, who, with crafty v plausibility, tells lies to both Barbara and Anstruther about the other. For a time the two lovers are alienated, and Barbara, proud in her rectitude, and stung by the sense, of the Anstruther family's ingratitude and arrogance, ; leaves no clue to- where she has gone. I A warm-hearted stage colleague, Cassy Waldron, brings the lovers together, while Captain Anstruthei/s old batman, Bates, finally frustrates jl wicked scheme ’ partly carried through by Sir Lindsay : 'charters for Bfirbar'e undoing. 1 CHAPTER i: ! Her last. shilling! ! Barbara Defining' sat gazing at the coin in mute despair, for it represented her entire fortune. Already she hac. turned everything of value she possessed into money, and in a few days' time another week's rent of her one room would be due. Hers had been the fate of many others left penniless to fight the battle of life. , Her father had been Hie vicar of a pretty country parish upon whose - death but a few hundreds wove left to support his widow and only child. Barbara had received a good education, however, and she and her mother resolved to come to London so that she | inight obtain work. Unfortunately Mrs Donning became a confirmed invalid, requiring constant nursing, and thus Barbara's chance of getting work was lost. When, a few months ago, her mother died, tho girl found that their little nest egg had been entirely swallowed up by the poor woman's illness, and that there was not only nothing left for her- .! self, but that all her efforts to find work i were unsuccessful. She had no experi- } once and no references to give to those I who required governesses or companions, ' and day by day her hopes grew fainter, * her heart more despairing. i “This shilling will bo my • last 1” she | murmured, “and what shall I do thenP I declare I've a good mind to go out and sing in the streets as that woman was doing last night. She seemed auite a lady, and had what must once nave ,heen a lovely voice well-trained. And after all, why shouldn't It"' The colour came into her pale cheeks. She rose and went to the window, through whose {broken .pane, of glass the autumn wind came cold and chill, making her shiver. “It's a fine evening!” she 'murmured. “I've a great mind to make the attempt, My voice is good, I know. Old Signcfr Eirdis, at the Pension, used to say I ■ought to train for a professional. I lean remember several songs I used to

sing, and it can't be colder out of doors than it is in this draughty place. It is not late either, only just seven, and if I sit at home I must listen to that poor little child crying downstairs. I am sure the woman, his mother, beats him. It is horrible to hear her cursing and swearing at him when she is not sober. I daren't speak to her about it again, she frightened me so last time I remonstrated with her. I wish the Society for th£ Protection of Children would interfere——" Barbara put on her coat and hat, wrapped a warm shawl round her shoulders, and with a beating heart B&llied forth on her strange adventure—catching her breath 4s she passed a door on the landing below, • which waß standing slightly ajar, so that she could hear the pitiful sound of a child sobbing, and the coarse tones of! a woman's voice, whose accents said that she was by no means sober, threatening dire disaster "if he didn't hold his noise." Barbara was very much interested in the child, a pretty little boy about five years old, whose pathetio expression gained much sympathy from passers by when his mother, whom Barbara guessed to be. a professional beggar, took him with her on her daily rounds. The girl wondered if he could really be the woman's own child, his whole appearance, notwithstanding his coarse ragged garments, being too refined, and he shrank from her every time she touched him, with a look not only of fear, but repugnance. Barbara longed to be able to do something to lighten his terrible existence, especially when his mother left him for hours alone at night, effectually keeping him a prisoner in their room during her absence by dark hints of a "bogey man," who lay in wait for litte boys downstairs. But fear of the woman herself, prevented and interference bn the part of the little boy's wouldbe friend, and Barbara had to content herself with keeping a sort of watch upon him from a distance in case he came to harm, and lying awake to do so till his mother's return. She little knew how important a part the child was to play in her own future life—that life which now looked so dark and drear. ■ It was a lovely evening, the stars beginning to shine brightly in the darken-, fng sky, and though the keen north wind •made Barbara shiver, there was a freshness in the air which was decidedly invigorating, while a quick walk towards the West End 6oontook the chill from her bones and seemed to give her strength and courage. She reached at last a big square, whose tall houses suggested comfort and affluence. In one or two the blinds were not fully drawn, showing the glitter of plate and glass on the dinner tables and the savoury smells which came up by the area made Bar- 1 bara feel more hungry than ever. She stood a moment trying to gain confidence in fulfilling her uncongenial task, then, in a rather weak, uncertain voice, began to sing "Annie Laurie." But after the first two or three bare Barbara felt her courage return; She possessed a - beautiful soprano voice, and while abroad had received an offer from one of the foremost teachers of singing to train her for the concert platform, but her father objected so strongly that she had to give up the idea, to great disappointment and that 01 her master. The beautiful bird-like notes came sweetly on the evening air, and Barbara, carried away by her own love of singing, was at her best. She finished "Annie Laurie," and next tried a. favourite of her mother's, "Cherry Ripe. Then from one of the houses a servant came out with half a crown, a passer-by gave her a shilling, and some maids on the area steps near by offered her another if she would sing the "Last Rose of Summer." # \ "Four-and-sixpence for three* songs! A good beginning indeed," Barbara said to herself. Then, as a small crowd began to collect she hurried away homewards, pausing at a provision shop to buy some cooked meat,, with which, and a loaf of bread, she reached her room, well pleased with the result of her venture. The child was still crying as she passed, and she hesrd the woman say;. "If you don't hold your noise, Reggie, you'll get the stick again! I haven t. got any supper for you. That's enough. Barbara went quickly on her way upstavro to her own domain, and lighting * a candle,- set the food on ner table and proceeded to cut some thin slices of bread, putting a dittle meat between them for sandwiches. Then taking the plate she left the room again and went downstairs. .... "I doh't believe she will let the child ► have them," she murmured, as she knocked at the door of the room on the next landing—"but I mean to try.* The door was flung open, and at the sight of her the woman uttered an angry exclamation, and was about to close it again when Barbara said quickly—"Oh, do take these few sandwiches for your little boy! I am sure they don't hurt him. I have cut them very thin. You can let me have the plate another 1 time." . , _ , The woman snatched it from her with a muttered; "I don't want charity, if [ that's what you're after,” and slammed the cloor in the girl's face. ' Barbara stood and listened a moment to hear if the child was V given the food, . and a cry of delight and the sudden ! ceasing of the sobbing cry Satisfying her on' that point, >vent back to her own ! room, where she was soon enjoying the first really good meal she had had that J week. The next evening she tried her luck again and made but five ’ of them came from a couple of men in ; evening dress, evidently on their way to some function, whose familiar mode of J address made Barbara wish she could 1 afford to refuse their donation. * "You've an uncommonly good voice, ; young woman!" one had remarked. "1 ! wonder you don't try something better * than this." "Yes, by Jove! You'd make no end | of a hit on the music hall stage!" The other put in: "Take this tip from me—- » there's the Diadem Theatre now—they're > wanting chorus singers I know, and " : "Thanks, but I prefer to do aB I am , doing," was the reply, and Barbara , walked away. j Toddy! You're so jolly officious, dear boy!" , "Humph, yes, perhaps—but all the , same I wish old Simpkins could get hold [ of her with .that voice, and she was pretty too! Simpkins "would take her if I asked him, I know— the speaker shrugged his shoulders, and the two went on their way, the little incident quickly forgotten. ' But not by Barbara. (To be continued.)