IN THE CLUTCH - - OF NEMESIS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2623, 22 June 1904, Page 63

IN THE CLUTCH - - - OF NEMESIS.

By FLORENCE HOPE,

Author of "The Trials of Madge Moberley,' "A Merciless Woman,"' "Tangled Threads," "The Brown Rosary,"' etc., etc.

[CorYMGHT.]

CHAPTER XXL— A SIMPLE MENAGE. EAT there cab's a follerin' of us. What am I to do, lady*" Joan was startled at hearing the above annotincement through the tiap-door over lier head. " Don't let them overtake us, whatever you do. Td've a roundabout way to Gerard street, and if you can safely put me doAvn at 103, do so ; if not, drive on," ski answered, promptly. Quickly she drew out of her purse half a, sovereign, which she thrust through the aperture above her head. " It's all right, lady, mine's the better 'of," said the man, as he pocketed the coin. So Brereton. was after her again. She felt she would give her la<=t farthing rather than let him find out where she was living. If only she could leave London — but that was impossible at present. She had besn able to get work, to fill a vacancy in a large typewriting establishment, and was earning a decent weekly wage that kept her in comfort, though not in luxury. She had 1 found a nice room that suited her in an old house in Gerrard street, chieflj- inhabited by black and white artists, quite a respectable £3t, and a woman who taught music, a Belgian of the bourgeois class, who had' the adjoining room to Joan. It was true it was in the French Bohemian quarter of London, but it was none the vi orse for that Joan found, and within easy walking distance of xhe office she had to go to for her work. She had been to the house of a scientific man living in Green street with some typed work she had had to do for him that he required home on a certain day ; and as cab fares were charged to the firm, she was returning home in a hansom when she came faca to face with the very last man on earth she desired to mcct — Horace Brereton. Joan shivered at the sight of his bold dark face, with that vivid scar across his nose that she Had marked him for ever with. If he once found out where she was living there would be no moie peace for her ; ?he would ha-ve to move into other quarters that might not suit her so well, and hide herself again. Once or twice as the hansom turned 1 round sharp corners she gushed up the trap-door and asked if they were still being followed. It was always the same reply : "Yes, lady ; but -»ell do them, don't you fear." The driver was evidently enjoying the •excitement of the chase, and when at last he turned into Gerrard street he called through the trap-door to Joan: "The instant I stop at your number you jump out shorp and run in. Don't let 'em see you. I shall diive right on." Almost as he spoke the cab pulled up at the kerb, and. leaping lightly out, Joan was immediately lost sight of in the gloom of the passage into which she had darted. As the cab went on the driver shook hj's whip gaily at the second hansom, that had just turned the corner and continued to follow him. Joan had reached her room on the fir«t floor, and was just in time to &cc- Brereton s face through the side-glass of the oab window as it whirled Tjast. " Escaped him this time!'' exclaimed the girl, as she sank down on the sofa bedstead that took up one side of her room. "it seems as if he would hunt me down to ruin or death," she murmured. " How I hate him — oh! how I hate him!"' It was a strangely lonely life for a young and beautiful woman that she was leading now, living in this one room by herse'.f. She was only required to be at the Universal Typing 'Offices from 9 till 1 ; the remainder of the day she could frork for lier-

self in her own room ; so she had gone back to her former work of illustrating, and -was doing her best to get her .sketches taken for various magazines and papers. She w,.s thankful for work, for it enabled her to think less. She had not the time to brood when there were sketches to be drawn and folios ot typing to be got through. It was only when night closed in and all was qui^t around her in lhe old dingy house that she felt a rush of memories overwhelm her with painful longings. She did not regret leaving Wood'hurst, for she believed it was the only thing to be done. Geraldine La Touche was right It would have been a shamefully un^rate'ul <l.ing towards her who had been her o<nofactre«s had she remained on and won the love of the man who was destined to D' 1 Geraldine's husband. At least so Joan believed, as with a'sigh of sadness she cam^ to the conclusion that Ralph's love for her was a passing glamour. Now that she had gone he would forget her — or think of her only now and again with a touch of sentiment as a memory — one of the things that inght have been. For hours she Avould sit by her long narrow window that reached down to the floor, absorbed in thought, }ompanionle&s, and alone. She could not draw or type at night, for artificial light hurt her eyes for that kind of work, and she was often too tired to read or. write, so she would sa/e burning lights and watch them twinkle out from the different small restaurants on the other side of the street. She grew to know the habitues of the various eating houses — the plan one, with no ornamentation, called "Le juste milieu;" the smarter-fronted house, frequented by elderly bachelors, who had ,not much money to spend, but who liked their food appetising and nicely served, and the rather flaunting place at the corner that Joan avoided passing at night. 'ihe gas-lamp below her window threw a gleam of light across her room, so that she was not in total darkness, and could see evpry object distinctly. She had picked up bits of furniture gradually, and it was by no means a poorly-furnished apartment that constituted her home.

A camp bed, with a serge covering over it in the day time, to make it look like a sofa ; an old oak chest to keep her few clothes in, a corner cupboard for her food and cooking utensils, a table, a- couple of chairs, and a washing stand that shut up were sufficient to make the room habitable. A pair of Japanese chintz curtains at Lhe window gave an artistic finish, and a bracket beside a fixed long glass on the wall held her one luxury — a vase of flowers, autumn leaves they were now, with a long trail of crimson Virginia creeper hanging down the wall in a graceful festoon.

iShe avoided making friends wiih her companion typists, and though always civil, was so reticent and reserved that they did not care to force their company .upon her, and it was the same with the men with whom she was brought into contact. Her manners were what they called "standoffish," and did not invite intimacy of any description. Admiration sha could not help getting, for her face and figure attracted admiring glances wherever she went. The easy, quiet life, surrounded by every comfort, that she had led for the last few months at Woodburst had tended to improve her wonderful beauty, and Joan, at the present time, was at her best, in spite of the anxious life she had and the corking care that was ever at her elbow like a black shadow shutting out the sunshine. The on.ly friend she allowed herself was Sally, whom she felt she could never give all those dreary years, and welcomed her like* a. sister on her re-appearanoe in the world? The two would bemetimes go on Sunday afternoons to visit the grave where the child lay whom they had both loved so dearly, and however poor they might be, there were always flowers on little Roy's green mound and a wreath of ivy twining round the little stone cross that headed the grave. Sally was horrified at the tall, gauntlooking house and gloomy staircase that ied up to Joan's room, and did not appreciate the oaken steps and ancient panelling of the old house, that was falling into decay.

" It's so ghostified !'' remarked the buxom little womsyi. "I don't 'alf like yer bein' all alone ia sech a place," looking round with disdain at the grimy wall? of the landing and the second flight of stairs that led to the artists' rooms above. " And, oh, my 2 if it ain't like a prison,' she exclaimed, when she saw the double doors that shut off Joan's room from the landing. " But it's so safe, said Joan. No one could get through those doors ; the outer one, you see, shuts of itseff with a spring." ' Yes ; and 'ow'd it be if you got fixed between them two doors, and could open neither? Why, you'd jest suffocate. It's an uncanny sort o' place, that's what I calls it," continued Sally, disdainfully. " But, you silly, I should have my key to art through the other door with. There couldn't be that danger for me," replied Joan, laughing at Sally's fears. " That's all very well. You might forget your key one day, and let the door slamto behind you, aiid get jammed in. I 'ate the hidea, I do. Why can't you come back and live in my little place? It's not a palace ; but though I Say it as shouldn't, it's clean and 'olesome, and 'ealthier for you than being shut up 'ere," said Sally. "Too far out, Sally, dear. Besides, I really do like my room here. The street is "comparatively quiet and respectable, and I can always manage to get one good meal a day over at Le Juste Milieu, or, when I am in funds, Le Cafe Biano, where I get French cooking for a mere sons;, and coffee that yon can't beat at the best restaurant in London," was Joan's reply.

So after her recent encounter with Brereton, she looked round her room with a sense of entke safety. The double doors, strong and solid as they Were, were a comfort to her, and she knew that no other keys in the house would fit them. Besides, he woul3 hardly think of looking for her in such a strange, out-of-the-ordinarv sort of house. She had led too silent and solitary a life in, prison to mind h°in<T alone now 1 , oi' to know what fear of loiieli-

ness meant, and were it not for that heart hunger that comes at times to all solitary women. Joan's existence would not have been a bad sort at this time ; but shs ni.ssed Daisy, and she longed intensely, with a longing that was actual pain, to see Ralph again.

She knew that he had recovered, for she made it her business, through Sally, to find that out, and she had also seen a notice that a book of his wou'd shortly appear.

She began to scan the society columns o{ the weekly journals, expecting to come across the announcement of his engagement to Geraldine La Touche, ior Joan felt sure that it would follow on soon after she should be out of the way. But as the weeks slipped by into months and the autumn mists changed to November fogs, she began to have her doubts, and wondered a little when she saw amongst the names of visitors for the Riviera those of Mrs Rutherford and her son. One day, as she was seated at her luncheon, or rather mid-day dinner, at Le Cafe Bilanc, just opposite the house where she lived, she saw a notice up in the window of the next room to her own stating that it was to let. It was the apartment of the music teacher, and Joan felt she should not be sorry were she to leave, for at times the piano was rather an annoyance, being of the tin-kettle kind, and the wall between the two rooms not particularly thick ; only she reflected that a change might not be for the best, and often meant from the frying-pan ttvto the fire.

She was wondering whether it would remain vacant long, when she heai'd herself addressed by someone behind her. " Excuse me speaking, but I wonder if you could tell me anything about the house over the way. I happened to see you come from it, so ventured to ask you." The woman, who spoke timidly, almost confusedly, was haggard and carewornlooking, and shabby in her dress ; she was eating a roll for her dinner, with a cup of coffee to wash it down, and the waiter had looked rather askance at her ordering so frugal a meal. " I live there." replied Joan. "The house is quiet and quite respectable. The caretaker is a decent sort of woman, who lives on tine ground floor, and would show you any rooms that are to let, if that is what you are in search of." "It is. This neighbourhood would suit me, as I have employment at one of the theatres near, and am looking out for a room where I can live." Joan liked the woman's face, and her voice was cultured and refmed. She seemed instinctively drawn to her. and, contrary to her usual reserve, she at once entered into conversation, turning her chair round to converse. When, they both rose to leave the restaurant, Joan invited the stranger to come across to her room, which invitation was eagerly accepted. The 'wonian appeared to be about three or four and thirty, and was slim and deli-cate-looking, with a slender, graceful figure that attracted Joan's admiration. "Ar.d you live alone here?" said the stranger, looking surprised. " Yes. You seem astonished," repliel Joan, smiling. "I am. You are so beautiful. Beautiful women don't usually live alone. And you are younsr, too ; not 30, I rfjouM say.'' "I am 2Sf I work for my living as a typist," said Joan, simply. "'I should like to have the room next to you if I can afford it. I am a journalist ; and to niakp a little more money sliow people into their seats at the Ohloris Theatre. I, too, am alone, very much alone. I think I'll go down now, and see the caretaker about that room that is + o let," said the woman. " You can mention my name if you like — Mrs Hatherley," said Joan. "Thank you very much. I will do so. By the bye, my name is Beckton — Sophie Beckton."