IN THE CLUTCH - - OF NEMESIS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2624, 29 June 1904, Page 71

IN THE CLUTCH - - - OF NEMESIS.

By FLORENCE HOPE,

Author of "The Trials of Madge Moberley," "A Merciless Woman," "Tangled

Threads," "The Brawn Rosary," etc.,

[C'OPYBIGHT.]

CHAPTER XXIII.— A SAD STORY.

pound's that she stole — for which she had paid the price, aye, and was paying still. '"Sophie Beckton!" She whispered the name -n ith affrighted eyes and dry lips, hei face grey like ashes. "But, good heavens ! w r ha.t is the matter with you? What frightens you in my name?" cried the other woman, thinking for the moment that Joan must have gone road.

"I saw your name onee — on a cheque," gasped Joan. 'That's very possible. Why shouldn't you? There's nothing to frighten you in that, though goodness knows when you'll see it again. lam not much in the way of cheques nowadays. I don't look like it, do I?" answered the woman. Joan was trying to get bick her seltcontrcl. What had siie said? Had she let out anything? She grasped the back of a chair with her trembling hands, aaid moistened her dry lips w-irh her tongue ; ihe fear began to go out of her eyes and a tinge of colour to come back to her cheeks.

The other woman was watching her curiously. There was some secret she was afraid o*f being discovered — something connected with her name. What could it be? All at once the truth flashed into her mmd. This was Helstone — Joan Helstonc — the woman who had been convicted of forgery and violence a,nd sentenced to three years' imprisonment. But no! it couldn't — couldn't be. Perhaps sbs was a relat've. She wouldn't be h-eiie, earning her living as a typist. Yet why not? Sophie Beckton felt choked with curiosity. She must know ; aul her pity had been for that girl. She would have done anything to help her at the time, and she had quarrelled with Horace Brereton over the affair, bringing p-anish-ment on herself for doing so. She laid her hand on Joan's arm gently and kindly. "Don't be afraid," she said, "please don't be afraid, but I think I know who you are. I want to tell you that I was awfully sorry for you at the time, that I wanted to help you, a>nd couldn't. We were sisters in misfortune then, and still are, I think. Let me come here and be near you ; you liave all my sympathy, my dear." The timidity of her former manner had vanished. There were strength and comfort in her voice and the pressure of her hand on Jonn's arm.

"You — you know who I am, what I have done, and — and how I was punished, and yet wish to be my friend," cried the unhappy woman, her tone h/usky with, emotion.

'"I wish to be, and I mean to be — so giv& me your hand, Joan Hather'.ey, and let it be a* compact. We will help each other. I am desperately poor, and lonely, too. and you are unhappy. Why shouldn't we give each other courage? The world is so hard on lonely women, so hard, so cruel, and a word "of sympathy goes a long way to help one to struggle on." She grasped Joan's hand in hers as she continued speaking, and, bending forward, kissed lver.

A wave of coilour flushed the girl's face crimson. Joan clung to her, and sobbed out some of her past trouble on this stranger's breast. When she grew calmer, and her sobs had subsided, her new friend turned to her and said,

"And now let me tell you something about myself and let you know who Sophie Beckton is.''

"I know that she is a warm-hearted, good woman ; I don"t need to know any more," replied Joan, sm:hng through, her tears. "All ! but you must know. lam the only near relauou that Horace Brereton possesses lam the daughter of his only bister, who died in poverty. She, my mother, left hei hu=band and ran away with another man. She was punished for it, was deserted, and died through want. Talk about purgatory and punishment after deo-tli — don't we women get our share in this world? My mother did, I know that. She sent for line before she died. I was sixteen then, and impressionable. I went to her against my father's commands. He never forgave me ■ he hated me tor showing mercy towards my mother, and my life after that was a torment. I bore it for two years, and then ran away. I have shifted for myself ever since. Aly father digcL five years ago, and his pension with

OPHIE Beckton!" The name hummed in Joan's ears and danced before her eyes. It was like a vision of her sin rising up befoie her. Sophie Beckton — the name thai stared out at her from the cheque —

the cheque for a hundred

him. He had nothing to leave me hut hi* blessing, and that I didn't -are for. I am thirty-three, and a spinster. I have had my "love story, like most others, bub i<- was a disastious one. I fell in love with .1 married man, ard he with me His wife drank. We p.uted because we -ared too much, you see ; and I didn't want to do what my mother had done, so we've not seen each othei tor five years now. He has gone to America -frith his wife, trying if new scenes will cure her. They won't, of course, and his life will go on — a. horror. He isn't well off, and has to work hard, but that perhaps is good foi him. What should we do w itkout our woik. you and I?'

"We couldn't lhe -without H. Wa couldn't exist ; it helps us to foiget things. J answered Joan, with quivering lip. for she was touched by the other's frankness, and the bald outline of a .=ad stoiy. "And you are a niece fo Mr Breieton? Why doesn't lie help yon then? He is very rich?" She looked up inquir ngly. "He helped ir>e once, or wa*. going to. I went to him to borrow capital. I thought I could have started in some business tor myself. I had a fancy to try a tea shop — daint}- and pretty and attractive — and believed" I should make it pay. I wasn't a bad-looking woman in those days, though it's only four years ago. I have .-hanged so lately with trouble and want. Horacu rather fancied my looks, so he agreed to let me have the money. It was not till afterwards that he made certain overture! to me that I declined to accept, so I never got the money — that'? all." "He is ii horuble man!" cried Joan "You are right ; he is a horrible man, and I pity with all my heart the woman who is fool enough ever to become his, wife. He is a brute — not a man, and hasn't a redeeming point about him. By the bye, who is this girl he i> going to marry.' Do you kno'tt anything about her?"

''To marry ! Horace BiereU.n going tG marry?" exclaimed Joan. "Yes ; I taw tbc iiniioun^'BCi': f >f his engagement some few weeks ago. H>" if marrying the Hon. Geialdine L:i 1- a^.he. 1 wonder what sh e \ like?' "Oh.!" iru- ptd Joi v. *l'on"'. -. y sol Don't say bo '." "Wiiy, do -^ o'i know her" "Know her? Ws, she vvs good to me. She helped me — f-lie r (.ii b\ in.f. What cm be il<.w? iSlie m;i«t :«i»; m'uy him; it must be pie\entcJ, liov. ,'.' i.i < <.' J^an fivuitic ihy

"1 <.! .i/t sec v i>,:!: y< v • " Io - .'..^t bo 1?" a.c oi the M>ri <A ni'V. . r ; oetrotked to Is tLe amy r-jw.i^.' iv ' Hi*?

Beckton. "I'<o, ai:d knw« h lot o." Ihu wnr.-l She is about live or s.x i!.d Ivr. ;ity. bi : v.-iiu older."'

"\W.»: '"<- -ii man-.-

nj; lu-n fuv

'■.'vii>a.' j y. I 'uyp'i-i. 1 . It <r n't bo v 1 uiyth'wj, cl i e. _l:id I -Jr<u^h: <:2 v. onld be Kalpii Rulueii'-iJ'-; v. if? Oh. why h:^ she done it? Wh-u could .'nve .icUuod her?'*

"ft.iJpl. Kutiicrford the novelist?" .v-ked Sophie.

'"Yes. I know him too. I w:i> cv> . c: n?ss to hi*> little niece. I l?n suddenly — I—l—I — I— li a , was always kiud to me. tin-l 1 < a n't want to conn between him and I»iiss La Tonche." st^mmeied Ji'-ui.

"I see. So you .sacrificed yourself: thai, I think, is the f-ort of thing you iwve been' doing all your life. Well, now. the tiling is to prevent th;^ engagement goaig ""i ') tlie girl is worth Taking tvaibio ib ut. What do u'u thii/k?"

"She must. T>ul ~>>e led into such a m?rliige. I -would do anyrliin^ to 1 revolt it. I will soc lior. «r (I tell her ihe son of man he is." ci'td Joan.

"It you'd bo tho be^t thing — indest 1 . the only think t n do. Pour _nr! ' Or.o .. anrot endure !o think of hec <is tl:o vt.te oJ sueb a wietca "

Atter j-ome more ir.timare conversation between the two th:'t drew them closer to each other, weaving o bor.d of friendship that was never broken, Sophie took leave of Joan to go and make arrangements to take up her abode in the s<me house, and that evening Jctm set out to call on Geraldine

La Touche.

Had it not been of such vital importance she would never have gone, for it meant a meeting that would certainly be fraught with pain and revive past memories that were better buried. It was a cold uncertain night in November, there was a gusty, wet wind blowing, with cold shower: of tine rain that lashed one's face like a thin -whip. The 'buses were all full, and after vainly trying foT -x seat Joan gave up the attempt, and continued her way on foot, for hansoms were a luxury that .^he could not afford to indulge in. She might nave waited till the next "day, but was too eager to see Geraldine to warn her and to prevent this unhappy mamagc if it were possible to do so.

Through r-he slushy, slippery streets in the wet and wind the forced her way, being jostled by the crowd near Piccadilly Circus and stored at with bold admiration by men who turned round to look after her, hoping to win an answering glance But Joan had learned to look ahead not turning her face to right or lett. and so avoided even seeing the admiration she attracted. It seemed a long way, and &hs t was> tired, for she had had a busy day at her typing, and then the scene with Sophie Beckton bad stirred her emotions and exhausted hue somewhat. It was about 6 o'clock, and she wanted to «cc Geraldine at a convenient hour, before «ho went ro diess for dinner, when she would probably be resting and be alone. Joan caught herself wondering what she would say, how 'he should begin, and how Geraldine would receive her.

A& she drew near the hn.ise she felt more and more nervous, and almost wished she had written first. She thought it would have been better had done so ; however, now nhe had come all this long way c li 3 would not turn back, so. mounting th©

steps, she pressed the shining fan^ kuol* of the bell.

"Is Miss? La Touclie ot homo?" *•! 0 asked."No. m-idarn, che is oat." vns t.i? reply."Will she bs in presently? If so, i should like to -wait for her," said Joan. "iNo, madam.., she will not be in \iatis

late. She has gone out to dinner, and a afterwards," replied the man pompously. Then he added : 4 "Er ladyship is in." "Lady La Touche? Oh. then I will see iher, if you will please tell her Mrs Hatherley Avould like to see her on a matter of great importance." "This way, please, madam." And Joan found herself mc-unting the familiar staircase to the drawing room that Geraldine' s exquisite taste had made so attractive aai apartment. There was a log "fire crackling on the hearth, tho lamps were *had«d by rose-cokmicd silk and fine soft lace, and there was an open bock lying on a couch where Geraldine 1-ad left it with a pearl and ivory paper-knife slipped between the pages. Joan glanced at the title, and saw it was Ralph Rutherford's latest

hook. She had not some across it yet — indeed, she was not aware it was out. Oh. how every word recalled the man she loved ! She could almost hear his voice dictating tthe words to her as she took them down — that voice that she would never hear again, for bad she not closed the door to her ihappiness and thrust it for ever from 'hexlife?

"Will you come into her ladyship's houtloir?" 1 It was Mason, the lady's maid, who appeared before Joan, and, gently laying Sown the book, sh« followed he: 1 up another flight of stairs to Lady La Touches own. suite of apartments.

CHAPTER XXIV.

"THE CLUTCH OF

NEMESIS."

"Hoxr do you do, Mrs Hatherley? I am sorry my daughter is out: she has gone to dine at 'The Carlton,' and a theatre afterwards. I was too tired to accompany her, but, of course, she had Mr Brereton, and there was another lady of the party. You've heard of the engagement, of course?" Lady La Toiuhe v. as lying on a sofa in an elaborate tea-gown of silk and lace. She was a vain woman, and as fond of pretty, things as her daughter, but inclined to still greater extravagances. She had been nice to Joan by fits and starts when she had fceen coming to the house ; sometimes quit© gushingly familiar — at other times so frigid as to barely notice the girl; so that Joan felt relieved to find her in a rather amiable mood than otherwise and inclined to talk.

"Yes, I am sorry that Miss La Touche is out, as my business was with her ; but as I cannot, see her, Lady La Touche, it is as well, I think, to speak to you," said Joan.

"'What's it about? Do you want an- j other engagement? I thought it a great . pity that you threw up the Rutherfords. J I can't understand why ; they were nice to you, weren't tkjyY" asked her lady- j ship. j '"Very. I had to leave for private rea- j sons," answered Joan. "But," she continued, "it is not about myself I have come ! to speak. Lady La Touche ; it is about . your daughter and this engagement. You must not let her marry this man. I know ;i great deal about him, unfortunately, and lie is not a man who would make her happy. ' Oh, I beg of you to try and stop it before ' at is too late. You do not know what Mr j Brereton really is ; he is a cruel, bad, unscrupulous man, and would make your daughter the most unhappy of women." I Utterly taken aback by this unexpected outburst of indignation from Joan, Lady La Touche could scarcely speak for a few moments, so angry was" she at what she ' considered the woman's unpardonable mv ' pertinence. She purled herself up out of • the down cushions into which- she had sunk, i and turned a livid face upon Joan. ) "How dare you come here with this tirade against my future son-in-law ! How dare you try to break off this engagement ! ■Ifc is a most desirable marriage, and I would not have it stopped for anything — for anything, I repeat. You, to come here with your opinions — your ia/les against a man ■whom I suppose you wanted to^entrap your- j self — I'll hea. nothing from you. You can ! go, and never show your face in this house ugain. I shall give orders to my servants ' not tc admit you. You understand, Mrs Hatherley. it will be useless for you to ', attempt to call, for you will not see my i daughter." j

"Oh, Lady La Touche, you do not know. It is for your daughter's sake — for her sake a'one. Let me tell her, at anyrate, what Khe ought to know ; then she can decide for (herself, " cried Joan, pleadingly.

'"She shall hear nothing. We have nothing to do with Mr Brereton's past follies. All men have them. It is his present that Eoncerns us, and the future as my daughter's •husband. Xothing else matters. As for you. I consider voa to b-e an adventuress of i-h-s worst kind, and a meddlesome, interfering woman, envious of another woman's chances."

As. she spoke Lady La Touche put her hand out to the silken bell cord that hung^ ibeside, her couch, and when her maid answered it, with suspicious quickness, she ordered her to show Mrs Hatherlev out.

Mason cast a furtive glance at Joan. She could see by her mistress's manner and appearance that there had been, as she expressed it, "a bit of a row," but Joan was calm and dignified as she passed by the knaid out of the room and went downstairs.

It had been a, fruitless errand. Brereton's wealth was the attraction, and Lady ■La Touche was determined he should become her son-in-law. Left alone, her ladyship was in a fury against Joan. She quite believed there .-was something against Brcreton's charac'+er, but whatever it might be she hoped it would not come out tibl he was Geral'dine's husband and the settlements all secure. Lady La Touche had been gambling on the Stock Exchange, and had been a loser. She was also mixed up with a set tof women who spent their afternoons in ieach other's boudoirs playing bridge, and ihad lost heavily — so heavily tha-t she had jbeen obliged, unknown to her daughter, to pawn some of her jewels and bribe her jnaid to keep the secret. It was most ncessary that Geraldine pnould mary a wealthy man, and she was thankful all that nonsense was off between tec and Rals>b. Rutherford^ who was only

passably well off. Lady La Touche had never cared for the Rutherfords ; the mother she considered a narrow-minded frump, and the son something of a pr^g, with absurd ideas about honour and what a woman should be. What attracted Gera'dine to them she could not understand — a girl brought up in a worldly-wise way, surrounded by society women, and living in a set totally different fiom the Rutherfords.

Lady La Touche did not grasp the fact that it was just that difference that did attract her daughter. Geraldine was an odd mixture of worldiness, vanity, love of luxury, and higher feelings — a keen admiration of honour in either man or woman, an impulse towards generosity mixed with an inborn selfishness, a coldness that might develop into cruelty, inherited from her mother, mingling with a warmth of passion for ju«t one or two individuals that might lead her to do outlandsh th'ngf. Lady La Touche knew that it was touch and *go whether Geraldine would marry Brereton. S'iie had only that very day declared that the man was impossiole— that he made her shrink from him sometimes with loathing— that she couul never become his wife, and she would give him up. Then, in the midst of this scene, a packet had arrived for her from Hunt and Roskell's, and there, embedded in purple velvet, lay the rope of pearls she had set her heart on possessing, and the vanity of the woman kept her from sending them back. She had gone to meet her fiance that evening, with the costly jewels slung round her neck. They were beautiful, and they suited her style to perfection. No, she cotiild not part with them, and a satisfied smile wreathed her mother's lips as she saw her depart with the rope encircling her throat that bound her to Horace Brereton. It was 1 o'clock before she returned, and as she enteied the hall from her carriage something made her inquire of the sleepy footman whether anyone had called after she left. "Mrs Hatherley, madam," was the reply. "Mrs Hatherlev ! Did she come in?"

"Yes, madam ; she saw her ladyship. Sh© seemed very disappointed not to see you, madam."

Geraldine made no response, but mounted the staii*3 to her mother's room.

'Is that you, Geraldine? How late you are. I can't sleep ; just give me my drops,"' said Lady La Touche, as her daughter came in.

"Mother, what did Mrs Hatherley call for?"' said Geraldine, turning up the dim light full upon her mother, who was in bed.

"Who told you sh? called? Really, I do wish that new footman would mind his business," said Lady La Toiu-he querulously.

"It was his business, to answer the questions I put to him. I ask«cl if anyone had called, and he told me Mrs Hatherley. What did she come for?"'

"Really, Geraldine, I cannot be bothered) at this hour of the night, or rather morning, to talk about Mrs Hatherley. Put that light low and go to your room, and leave me in p-ea^e." said Lady La- To-uehe. "Nonsense, mother ! You are keeping something from me. Mrs Hatherley woukt not call here unless she came on a matter of importance. What was it? I don't go to bed till I knoAv, nor do I turn the light down. 1 wish to -watch your face — 1 can, always tell whether you are speaking the truth or not. You know you can't deceive me, so you had better speak out — r.fc lea&fc if you wish to have a night's rest."'

Geraldine remained standing by the bedside, her cloak of wbite velvet and fur thrown half off her should fs, that were hare we for the roil of pearls that were twisted twice round her neck. She was looking wonderfully well, and Breieton had fell proud of tho admhation she had excited that evening both at ''The Carlton"' and the theatre. He had ventured to beg her to hurry on their wedding, and she had promised it should take place before the New Year— in less than two months' time.

'■Mother, you must tell me,' 1 Geraldine, slowly drawing oft' her long gloves.

"The woman's a fool. She wants to stop you marrying Brereton," exclaimed her mother angrily.

"Stop — my marrjing — Brereton!" repeated Geraldine, letting the gloves dangle locsely from her hands. ''But that's sa-ange. I thought she \i ould have been glad — glad to think of me safety out of the way,' she continued.

"She'd got some cock-and-bull story of his being unworthy of you 1 would noi listen to anything more, and dismissed her. You must have nothing to do with her, Geialdine; she is a dctngeioua, mischief-making creature."

"What's her address? — where is sL-e living?" questioned the daughter rapidly. "I didn't ask her, and I'm sure- we don't want to know. She won't con>e here again, for I told her she would l.ot be admitted, and I have given the servants oiders to say 'Not at home ' if she dares to cull." "You told her that, mother?"' "Well, what is there in that? Really, Geraldine, anyone would think I'd committed a crime," ' said Lidy La Touche pettishly.

<% I have been trying to find All's Hatherley ever since sh« left Woodhur«t, and 2iow you have let her slip; and, worse still, behaved rudely and unkindly tov\ ards> her. How could you !"

Gathering her cloak up round her, Geraldine swept out of her mother's loom, leaving her ladyship irritated by the flaring light that glared across her eye?, and disinclined to trouble herself to get out of bed to turn it down. What a selfish, unkind daughter she possessed ! /She only thought of herself and her own conveniences and concerns. She wished to goodness that tlio ■were married and off her hands.

Geraldine meanwhile had dismissed the maid, telling her io go to bed, and was } pulling off her finery with quick, impatient finders. " Even the pearl rope she flung down on the dressing-table with utter carelessness and disregard. • Joan Ha(herle.Y kid bsui there— the

woman Ralph loved— Ralph wanted, — and she'd missed her. If she could give her back to Ralph she would win his forgiveness; and that Exemed to Geraldine the one thing worth living for. Those wonts of his haunted her— "l will pardon you. fully and freely, when I hive found Jran."

How naturally her name hnd fallen fiom his lips. How' he loved her ! How he loved her! She must find out where she was living. She had searched for her in o half-hearted way so far, but to-morrow — that day she would search in earnest. What had she to tell her of Breieton 9 Why did she want to stop the mairiago? That was .strange — very .strange. She yv ould put pu advertisement in the agony column of some of the papers, imploring her to come and see her. She would not rest till she had found her. Brereton should search, too — for the -would < ell him «he would not mairy him till Joan was found.

It was a curious coincidence that both these two should bo desirous of warning her about the other. She remembered now how she had put off Horace Brereton's confidences about Joan, and how s.?.e had refused to hear anything about her. How were these two mixed up? Whnt was the secret between them? The mystery seemal to bind them together.

In the meantime Joan had bent her steps home, tired and. dispirited, and feeling insulted by Lad/ La Touohe's manner towards her. Sho was still bent upon helping Geraldine all she could, telling, if necessary, the whole miserable sinful story of her past life in which Brereton was so much mixed up, and showing up the man's character in its blackest light. Anything, as she had said to Sophie Beekton — anything to prevent such a marriage taking place.

Hurrying along, "vvilli the wind and rain beating in her face, she reached the turning that led into iHerrard street, and at the corner, which khe turned sharply, brushed close up a gain-si a woman who lurched against her. The lights from the corner restaurant caught ilie faces of the two women, and they recognised each other. Maria Brown had been drinking, but not to such an extent as to deaden in any way her senses, and the sight of Joan, \rhoio. she hated for more reasons than one, sobered her as nothing else would have done. >She clutched hold of her arm as if she did not intend to let it go in a hurry. "Why, I thought as you was dead and buried. A nice, dance you've give me. I've 'unted for you north, south, east, and west, I 'aye. And how are you going to celebrate ths joyful meeting? You'll stand me a drink, my dear, won't you, now?" said the wretched woman, leering up in Joan's face.

She tried to shake -ff the creature's revolting touch, liui she clung all the closer, and so Joan moved on, feeling that Fate •was indeed against her. The clutoL <it Xemesis Leld her In its grip.

(To be continued.^