MY LADY'S - - - DIAMONDS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2524, 30 July 1902, Page 59

MY LADY'S - - - - DIAMONDS.

By ADELINE SERGEANT.

CHAPTER XlV.— (Continued).

Fortune sends us unexpected allies. Fortune inclines the hearts of our friends towaids v.«, and melts the courage of our enemies. Theie are some people who seem always to have Foi tune on their right hand, and others who secure her concurrence now and then. And, again, there are unlucky folk who never catcb a glimpse of her. Geoffrey and Joan belonged to the second category.' as a rule ; but sometimes Joan .seemed to have a claim to the first. As a girl at school she had been said to be conspicuously fortunate ; and the sequence ot disagreeables which had lately occurred was a very unusual piece of experience. It remained to be seen whether Fortune was on her side oi not in the venture .she was about to make.

Major Carrington was away for a fewdays, and Joan could come and go as she pleased. She arrayed hei self one cold, frosty morning in one of her favourite winter gowns — she had not very many, but those that she had were well-made and becoming — a dark-green cloth, tiiinmed with soft brown fur. w hich brought out into vivid lelief the clear tints of her face. The gieen felt hat, with cock's feathers; the warm gloves of reindeer skin ; the neat, workmanlike boots, all denoted the fact that Joan was going to wa'.k fast and far, and that she did not nund w hat sort of weather overtook her.

Had she been a little richer, she would have taken a cab, but as she had not many shillings in her purse, and thought that they might be more usefully employed than in saving her own legs, she set forth with a will, coveiing the ground at an amazing rate, and bending her step.s towards the south-western distiict. The only thing beside the muff that she canied was a small Russia-leather case, which &lie had tucked carefully into her pocket ; and she smiled once or twice when she thought of it, as it she weie amused.

The purpose of her expedition was twofold. She had remembered that poor little Nan Cronin. who had fallen in love with her .sweet face and her kind words, had asked whether she might have a photograph of the lady who had been >o good to her. 'But how" can I bend it? Joan had asked, ''when you will not even give me your address ? '

"I'll come for it myself," Nan had declared. "You've asked me to come, haven't you. miss.? And you'll give me the photo to take away with me? " Joan had promised to do bo, but, contrfutx to bfii cMecUtioaSj. Nu had never

EANWHILE, Joan also was devising a plan ot action which had just as little likelihood of success as Geoffrey's. Only it happens sometimes that Fortune puts out a hand and helps the most improbable

things to come to pass

appeared. In the stress of somewhat trying circumstances, Joan had forgotten the promise, and ceased to expect a call ; but now. for some reason or other, the details of her conversation with the girl came back to her mind, and led to an unexpected result.

Joan had learnt Mr Cronin' s address, and she resolved to go to the shop and see Nan for herself. The photograph sufficed as a reason for her visit ; and here came in the second purpose of her mmd — she might see Nan alone, and possibly gain some information that might be of value to the Rockinghams. She had not much hope ; but, at least, she could satisfy her curiosity a little, and'leam "why 3fan had never been to see her since the day- of the accident to the Scotch express. •

She had no difficulty in "finding the way to Cronm's place of business. But as soon as she saw it; her heart died within her. The shutters were up. the doorstep was dirty, the upper w indows seemed to be veiled with cobwebs and dust. There was an air of desolation about the house which startled her. Had the man Cronin gone away with his relations, his goods, and chattels? Perhaps he had left England, and taken the diamonds with him, if they were not already disposed of ; in which case it was as unlikely that Lady Rockingham would ever see her jewels again as that Joan's character for honesty and uprightness would be cleared. She stopped short, and regarded the closed shutters with an aching heart as this reflection occurred to her. A frowsy woman in a black bonnet now appeared at the door of the next house, and addressed herself to the visitor.

'" If it's Mr Cronin you want." she said, with a touch of the brogue which Joan liked, " sure it's himself as went away yesterday morning, and the holy saints know when he'll be back ! " " Is the house shut up, then?" " Sure, an' don't you see that it's shut up? You wouldn't have it left open to all the winds that blow?"

"But the girl, the niece?" said Joan, earnestly. " Nan Cronin. You know her, don't you? Has she gone, too?" The woman shook her rough head.

" I couldn't tell you, miss ; and that's the holy truth ! She's maybe gone, and maybe not ; but I've not seen a trace of her for the last two days or more; but if. your ladyship would knock at the door, you might find that she was left at home to take care of the house."

Joan acted on the suggestion. She knocked, she rang, and then she knocked again. At first no answer came ; but after a time she thought she beard a shuffling step inside the house, and presently there came the sound of a voice through the 4ot of the letter-box : " Who's there? '' "Is that you, Nan?" said Joan. " Yes, it's Nan. Who is it? " Joan put hei- mouth close to the letteibox, and .spoke'very clearly :

" Don't you remember the railway accident, Nan ' Yvu have never been to see me, so I have come to see you.' There was a silence. Joan spoke again. " Don't you remember me? Won't you open the door and let me in?"

Nan — foi it was her voice which had >puken — -didn't reply; but theie was the sound of bolts being diawn, and a. key turned in the lock. Then the door opened a little way, and the girl's white face appeared in the aperture.

" Is it leallv you, mias? " --he said, distrustfully.

"Of course it is ! ' said Joan, in her cheeriest voice. ''Suppose you let me come in, and then we can have a little talk." " Yes, I'll let you in," said Nan, opening the door wider. "Uncle will half kill me if he knows, ; but I don't care. Come in, miss. I've wanted bad to see you ; but uncle's been keeping me in a good bit lately, and I've never been able to get so far."

Joan thought that the girl looked whiter and moie shrunken than ever. There was daik -hadows lound her eyes, and hei face was very thin. With sudden sympathy Joan held out both her hands to the shabby little working girl, and drew her to her bide. "My dear, you look ill and miseiable! What is the mattei '( " Nan turned away her face, which had begun to twitch in a ciuious and almost alarming manner. She left her hands passively in Joan's, but she looked like a culpiit v. ho would have liked to sink through the floor. "■ Let us go into one of the rooms and then you can tell me all about it." said Joan. ''Ai'e you all alone in the hoif-e? You must get very lonely, poor child! 1 ' Nan snatched her hands, away, .did set hei face towards the passage. "You can come down here if you like," she said, in a smothered voice. " I was sitting in the kitchen. It's all in a mess, but it doe«n't seem worth while to clcai up. I Mippo&e 1 -hall only be here for a day oi two."

"How's that? ' said Joan

They had reached the kitchen by this time — a dusty, dreary place, where a very small fire s.mouldered in a smutty grate, and a littei of duty plates and cup.s filled the diebsei and the table. The room did not look as if anybody had " cleaned up ' for a month or two.

Nan pushed forward a wooden chair for her visitor, then seated herself on a htool and looked stolidly at the floor.

'"Aien't you at all pleased to see me, Nan" said Joan.

Nan's lips trembled, but she gave only an impatient jerk by way of reply. " I thought you would perhaps be glad. You lemembei, you promised to come and see me. I kept a photograph of myself for you. Would you like to have it? " "Yes," said Nan, huskily; then, with a little effort, "if it's a good one."

" Look at it," said Joan, drawing out the leather case, " and tel! me whether you would care to keep it or not." It was a pretty photograph. It represented Joan in evening dress, with her head turned a little over her shoulder in the fashion of modern photographs. The jyaceiul figure showed to advantage in tkU

fashion, and it was plain that Nan was pleased.

" It's a lovely dress ! " she said at length.. " Do you often wear a dress like that?"

'" Not very often. When there is anything special," said Joan, as she might have answered a child.

" You've eot a long train, and a necklace, and a beautiful comb in your hair!" said Nan, musingly. " Yes, it's an awful nice uhotoj I'd like to keep it very much."' " You may have it," said Joan. " And now I will show you another, though you must not keep it, because I have only this one. Do you know it?"

The photograph represented Geoffrey Biandon. It was a striking likeness—perhaps a. little flattered, but decidedly good. "Yes, I know.it/ said Nan, dully. "It's the chap that was with you in. the accident.." Joan laughed, and assented. " Your young man? " said Nan. "Well, yes; I suppose so.' And — he ain't dead yet ? " " Dead ! " said Joan, with shocked emphasis. " Most certainly not. What makes you ask that question? "

To her surprise. Nan burst into a sudden, storm of tears. In vain Joan tried to soothe her. She sobbed aloud ; she rocked herself backwards and forwards ; she shook from head to foot with the violence of heF grief. Joan ceased to argue or to coax ; she simply put her arm round the heaving s&ofcrders, and drew the untidy head close to her breast. And by-and-bye Nan grew calm enough- to- speak. '"I didn't mean to do him no harm," she said. " But it was all my fault. And I couldn't tell for certain whether he was alive or dead." "Do you mean Mr Brandon?"

'" Him in the picture? — yes." " It could not be your fault that he met with that accident." For even now Joan did not know all the truth.

"Haccident! It weren't no haccident ! " said Nan. dolorously. "It was Josiah pushed him down the stairs — Josiah, my cousin.^ He calls himself Julius Townley, because he thinks it sounds better, and he married a real lady. It was his address as Mr Brandon wanted of me the night he met me by the church ; and I give it him, and he went there at once."

" But you were not to blame. Yon could not tell that any harm would happen to him."

" It was me as done it,"' said Nan, doggedly. " Uncle Nat brought me up, and 1 thought I ought to do what he told me — I'd always done 'it before — and I felt bad when I knew I'd given Josiah's address to the gentleman. So when I came back I told uncle what I'd done. Well, he ups and knocks me down first thing. And then he goes off in a great hurry, and gets to Josiah's rooms before your gentleman, and tells Josiah what to expect. So they were prepared;- don't you see?" " And that was how Geoffrey was hurt?' Joan. It was a reVelation to her.

CHAPTER XV— NAN'S MYSTERY.

Nan looked at her pitifully, and rubbed her eyes.

" I'd never have said a word if I'd thought harm wotild come of it,'' she saiu.

" 1 knew he'd beat me ; he always beats me if things go wrong ; but I thought that would be the worst of it."

" How did you get to know that he was huit?"

" I didn't know for a day or two. Then JoMdh came and talked it over with uncle. They was both a bit frightened when they knew he was so bad. I thought he was dead, and that's why I didn't dare come and see you. I knew there was something wiong, because they whispered together and looked scared, and once the lady came — Josnui's wife, you know "

"Xina?" murmured Joan, more to herself than to Nan. But the girl caught at tlie word.

"That's the name! Josiah calls her that when he's angry. He says it ought to be 'ninny.' He says she is clever enough sometime-, but she can be a reg'lar fool."

"You know a gieat deal. Nan." said Joan, rather sadly. " Poor child ! you have bad no one to love you, no one to care for you ! Wouldn't you like to come away from your uncle, and be tauprht nice things, and live in my home, and be lny little f ) lend? -1

" Yours? " said Nan, opening her great daik eyes as wide as .they ** would go. " Your^V Bvit — I near killed your fellow."

" Never mind that. You didn't mean to do it "

■' I thought you'd never forgive me. he'd died "'

She choked over the word, and Joan felt Uu> U-ais iise to her own eyes. " Mv .dear, you were doing only what you thought light. You were trying to be faithful and true to the people who brought you up. But now that you see they are olten mistaken, often wrong, often cruel, won t you come away from them and live in ;i different world — a world where you will be taught to love what is right, where you will not be in stiaits between your duty to God and youi duty to your neighbour?''

"She had forgotten that Xan would not exactly understand this kind of addie.ss, but the spirit of it was clear enough, even if the girl was- puzz'.ed by the words. She looked up into Joan's face with an air of fa.-cinated attention. " Do you mean you'd take me into your house and hide me away from uncle and Jo.siah and hi.s wife, and pay for my keep and my clothes, all for nothing? What 'ud you want me to do for it?"

" Nothing,' said Joan, quickly, " except be a good girl."

" Maybe you want me to tell you all about Uncle Nat's doings. Then you'd gef» him into prison, and he would say it was all my fault. I shouldn't like that; I'd rather starve."

' I will never ask you to tell me anything that you would rather keep to yourself,'' said Joan, with sudden decision.

" i am not offering you a bribe. I want you to grow up a jrood woman, away from, your present friends, who will make you miserable, and wicked, too, peiiiUiUS. *■

course of time ; and I want it for your own sake, Nan, and not for mine.''

"1 thought," said Nan, in a whisper, *f that you, maybe, wanted to «cc how jnuch you could get out of me."

Joan's conscience pricked her. Perhaps ihat had been, to some extent, the reason jpf her coming. But she saw things differently now, and was ashamed of the desire she had had to act the part of the detective, to extract by kindliness _• or by ingenuity the facts" that poor little Nan thought it her bounden duty to conceal. JShe put her hand caressingly against Nan's cheek as she replied -. ■' " Perhaps I thought so once, but I don't think so now. You need never tell me anything. I will not ask."' " Nan drew a long breath — it seemed like A sigh of relicf — and sat very still. Presently Joan asked her when she had eaten Hast, and was startled to hear that she had nothing but dry bread and tea in the bouse.

" Why don't you go out and get something else?' she asked. " I dussent,"' said Nan, curtly. " Uncle might be back any moment, and he told me not to go outside the door.' 1

" But he may not come back for some time, and you are starving."

" The baker's boy brings some bread every otter day." said Nan. "You can't starve on that, miss. Besides, it's no use for me to go out ; I've got no money."

"Tben I'll tell you what I will do, Nan. I'll go out for you, tmd bring you in two or three little things, While I am out you can perhaps get the fire to burn up, and — and "" — Joan spoke with hesitation, for fear of hurting Nan's feelings — " you might, perhaps, wash a few plates and make the place a little tidier, might you not? and then I'll cook the dinner ! "'

"You, miss? But you can't cook, can you?"' " Indeed I can. Nan. Now, you must get things ready, and I will go out and see what I can find. Would you like a beefBteak and potatoes? ' Nan's pale cheek flushed.

"I thought I was hungry," she said, putting her hand up to her throat, "but I rton't feel as though I cared for anything just now "

" Faint with hunger, that's what it is," thought Joan, compassionately. " Never mind about clearing up. Nan ; sit down and Test until I come back again ; and you can lend me a basket, if you have one. for I shall have several things to carry."'

Nan looked amazed, but found a basket ■which was not quite too dirty for Joan to carry ; and that young lady departed forthwith on a shopping errand which interested her far more than expeditions in search of gloves and ribbons in Bond street W Piccadilly.

Joan's basket was heavy when she came back again, and she laughed gaily at Nan's transfigured face as the purchases were unpacked on the kitchen table. There was meat to be cooked, and there was a tinned •tongue for immediate consumption ; there •were eggs and butter and jam ; there were some oranges and chocolate sweets, for 'Joan was mindful of what were likely to be fNan's tastes; and. last of all, theie was a ready-made Christmas pudding and a cake. It was wonderful to &cc how far Joan's, comparatively few shillings had been made to tjo.

So the fire was made up, and some of the food was cooked and eaten, and a colour came to Nan's pale cheeks and a. contented smile to her lips. She was grateful, too, for, after staring at Joan in silence for a. considerable time, she said :

" My, you are good to me ! " — with a touch of almost passionate feeling m her tone.

" And now I must go,'' said Joan, rheevinily. " I have only a shilling left'/ 'Nan, but you must take Lhat ; and, see, here are Fome stamps. If there is anything I can do, you must write to me. You must not Set yourself be left without proper food ; but you have enough now to la.-t you for a day or two."'

1 should think I had!"' said Nan. *' Uncle don't give me jam and plum-pud-ding, I can tell you. It's real kind of you. miss, especially when I think about the gentleman "

"Don't think of him," said Joan, seeing the tears in. the girl's eyes, and dreading another breakdown ; " he is getting better mow, and he will soon be quite strong again.'' *

"'And when's fclie wedding, miss?' 1 " The wedding? " Joan's face grew grey, although she was not vexed with the question. " I don't know. Never, perhaps."'

'"But I thought you were fond of bim, miss, and him of you? ' " Oh. yes." said Joan. «miling a little as she put on her gloves, " we are very fond of each other ; but .sometimes there are hindrances and difficulties, you know." "Is it anything to do with the diamonds?" said Xan, suddenly, with a sort of gasp.

Joan stopped buttoning her glove and looked at her.

" What do you know about the diamonds?'' she said, almost involuntarily." '' Nothing — nothing ! "' cried Nan, in ihaste. " Only you might just teii me, miss, if it's anything to do with the diamond 1 -, and — and a blue cloak? '

" Nan ! "'

" Ob. I didn't mean to say it ' I ought not to tell other people's secrets. I know. But you've geen so kind to me, mis-. You might just tell me if it's anything of a quarrel about things l»K:e that, and then it it isn't. I won't mind." ' It is not a quarrel with Mr Brandon.' said Joan, seriously. " because we under stand each othci thoroughly But -I tlnnk 1 rnav teil you this — iv uncle and aunt fne not in favour of the maniajp aril until they consent, 1 do not nie.tn 10 ni.u , \ -him '

"And why don't they want it I like to know? Ain't you a«- good a^ 'hey are? "' ''They don't think me 'o — in a certain sense," said Joan, rather ruefully. ' ine> tbini^ ivAßt tbftt I'm not. ftliil© honest;,

that I have taken what did not belong to

"Money?" -

Money and jewels."'

"And as long as they think that, they won't let you marry the gentleman as loves

Joan was astonished at herself for having said so much, and tried to answer lightly ; but her mouth trembled a little, and she turned away her face.

" Then it's a shame ! " cried Nan, a passion of indignation shaking her slight frame ; " a real, downright shame ! It oughtn't to be allowed ! That's what it oughtn't ! And to think it's all the fault of that nasty, yellow-haired woman — and Josiah — and my ow T n uncle — oh, it's too bad ! it.'s much too bad ! "

Joan had recovered her self-possess-ion, and was looking at her gravely. "You don't know what you are saying, do you, Nan?" she asked. "You must not accuse people in that wild way for things that are not their fault.'

"But it is their fault 1 " said Nan. fiercely. "And I won't let em do it. neither! Yet I can't get them into trouble, can I? I don't know what I'd better do."

S&e sat and rocked herself backwards and • for wards in an agony of indecision. Joan stood by her and laid her hand upon the girl's arm.

" r Don"t trouble about it, Nan. We shall get along somehow."'

"But you won't! "' said Nan, desperately. "You'll be miserable all your life! Oh, I'd like to tell you some of the things 1 know ! And I will, too ! Let me tell you something, miss, and then you shall tell me what I ought to do."

At the vision of this responsibility, Joan shrank a little.

" Don't tell me, dear ; tell some one wiser th<<n me. Wont you speak to Mr Brandon? "'

Nan shook her head. "No ; it's you I'll speak to, and nobody e'.se. Mr Brandon would go, maybe, and tell the police. But you'll just listen and say nothing, won't you, miss? "

" I'll do my best. Nan." Inwardly Joan wondered whether she were woi thy of this implicit trust. Would not the desire to justify herself under a false accusation, the pride th it made hei re-?nt Lady Rockinghani's contempt, and long to justify herself in the eyes of the world — would not all this tempt her to forget that poor Nan had also her rights, her sense of honour, her queer abnormal faithfulness to the father and son who had suppoited her s'nee her babyhood? She had wanted to persuade her to tell hei all the truth, and now she wi-hed — so strangly are we made — that Nan would do nothing of the kind. But it was too late! Nan had already begun her story. "It all came of Josiah,' she taid, with startled eyes. -'A long while ago, he man led a lady — her you call Nina — and everything went smooth and happy. Uncle Nat gave them a lot of money, and they had a good time. We didn't see much of them then. But Josiah— Julius he called himself, which he said sounded so much better than Josiah — he got into trouble. He betted and gambled an awful lot. and then he forged somebody's name, and got put into prison for it Seven years his sentence wa>. Uncle was dreadfully upset about it. and Nina fainted right off when she heard the news, though she'd been saying#onlv the nig! : before that she wished she could uevei ste him again as long as she lived But I believe i !e ua- only thinking of hu>>elf then, and of the way people would point at her if they knew the tiuth about her husband.' Joan thought it very likely.

" Well, Josiah w;ent to prison, and Uncle Nat, he was sorry for Mis Josiah, which she called her-elf Mis Townley. you know ; and he gave her a lot of money eveiy jear, and pretty much whatever else she wanted. And Mrs Josiah, being a real lady, went about among her giand lelatmns, and told them that htr husband was dead, and they was all vcrv kind to her.

'"But she wasn't a bit piepaied for it, like, when Josiah was let out of puson on bis ticket-of-leave ; for -he thought his time wasn't up, and "-he was taken aback. And Uncle Xat. being vtiy angry with Joaiah. wouldn't give him no money, so he to go to hi< wife und borrow some from her. And when she mvde a fuss he said he would come to the grand houses where she was staying and ttll tvcijbody that he'd been a pi -.mer for forgery, and see bow she'd like that. And Mrs Josiah would have given the hair otf her head to pre flit that. '

"She did not love him, then?

'' She's fond of him in a way. miss. When they're by themselves she can be sweet enough, but she likes to live among th" 4 fine, fashionable people ; and she couldn't do that if they knew that he was just out 01 prison, and only old Cronin's son, and not Mr Julius Townley at all So she took a lot of pains to give him as much money as he wanted ; but by-and-bye it was all g<-ne. and yet lie wouldn't be ■uit'sfied. And she was frightened of what he would do next."

Joan"s mind dwelt with pity on the roughly-outlined pict'iie of Nina's agony ot fear. She felt sure that the woman must have suffered greatly befoie '•he allowed herself to commit,,! lobbery for her husbands sake.

"Theie was something on hand as I didn't know of until later on," said Nan, mu B ingly ; "but by putting two ;nid two tO'_'fthei I think I know all about it now. H; wanted money for caids and hoifees, and she spent all she uiu'd lay hands on ; and I tnmk he told iser she must get it — somehow, he didn't care how. This Josiah was going to in .Scotland, at that place with the funny nauir —St Romuald's. ain't it. mi---' i'hi' went tlicie. and a few days >f terw;i.d-. Jo ; ali followed li^i to the same trnm ,n;.! lie tuok rat with him -at least, he m -<le .lie _") b> the same ;<un. though ho ] >. nd'-d ro hive no v iiht'iticn with mo when he s.<« me

Uii' "'i> <'id he take \ou?

' R(_< du-f nt'bndv wo'iH misjipci me. m^s. and e\oi\b dv wuuid '-u-uect him. If he was took stii. tusyiviou, «uul luui diamonds

on him that he couldn't account for, why, he was done for, don't you see? I was to stay there, ready to be made use of when necessary. I pretended as I was looking out for a situation. Then one night he told me I mu^t be ready to go back to London in a few hours, and I watched him while he went to that old ruin near the town, and there Mrs Josiah met him, wrapped in a big blue cloak with fur on it, and she gave him some money and a necklace of bright, shiny stones". They was diamonds, wasn't they, miss? And "i suppose they belonged to somebody in j-our house? "

"To Lady Rockincham." said Joan. "At least, we think so, for Lady Roekingham's diamond necklace disappeared that night " " That was it, then, you may be quite =ure, ' said Nan, composedly. ''They weie lovely stones, and they had a big," queer clasp — a sort of bird in green stones of the bright, shiny kind. You'd know the clasp again now. wouldn't you. miss?"

" Indeed I should, Nan. But how came you to examine the necklace go closely?" " Why. because it was me that brought it to London. I didn't know it wasn't her own then ; but I had to be very careful, because they told me it was worth thousands of pounds, and that I should be half killed if I lost it."

"Do yon mean to say." said Joan, "that you had the diamonds with you in that railway accident? "

Yes-, miss, of course I had. There was the gold and the notes in the black bag that Mr. Brandon saved for me; and the necklace, miss " " Ye«. Nan, the necklace?" " Well, the necklace, miss, was- round my own throat ' "'

( To be continued.)

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