THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3713, 12 May 1925, Page 54

THE NOVELIST.

By

Coralie Stanton and Heath Hosken.

Authors of " The Real Mrs. Dare,” 44 The Man She Never Married 44 Sword and Ploueh fi-c..

[Published by Special Arrangement.] [Copyright.]

CHAPTER X.—(Continued.) The next day Stone found the opportunity for which he sought. He and Jacquelinji were alone together. It had all happened quite naturally and was in no way prearranged or contemplated. It was early in the morning before breakfast. Stone had gone out for a stroll around the gardens and a breath of tho scented morning air. On the lower terrace, with its wide vista of the marsh and the sea and the long tongue of bhingleness, stretching out like a quivering tentacle towards France, uncannily clear on the horizon, he came face to face with Jacqueline. “Top of the morning to you, Miss Jack,” he said. “What a glorious day! And what a priceless view!” There was no escape for her. For a moment he saw a look of fear in her eye 3; but she returned his greeting naturally enough. “You are up early, Mr Stone,” she said, a little nervously. “It’s the early bird that catches the worm.” “I hope I’m not the worm,” she retorted, with a boyish laugh. “By the way,” she added seriously, “I took you at your word and did not answer your letter.”

“There was nothing to answer. Indeed, there was nothing to write about; only somehow I felt that I owed you some sort of apology.” “Not at all; I’ve forgotten all about it.”

“But I haven’t,’ he said gravely. “And this fortunate greeting gives me the chance of settling it one way or another.” “Settling what?” exclaimed the girl, staring at him blankly. “Whether you are going to marry me or not,” said Stone.

“Marry you?” “Yes. Why not? I’m not nearly so old as I look, and I’m never at my best at half-past seven in the morning. Preposterous hour to propose marriage to a girl! Anyhow, I’ve done it. bo there you are. You see me at my worst, though I see you at your best. Perhaps that is just as well—” “Mr Stone!”

“Jacqueline—little Miss Jack, as they call you, little Miss Jack, I love you more than all the world.”

She stared at him in bewildering amaze —frightened, lascinated, terrified. This was what she had feared. She had known it was inevitable, though she had striven to escape it. She was caught up in the octopus tentacles of a Fate she was destined never to escape. She stood there, stricken of speech, staring affrighted and fascinated like a rabbit held in thrall by the eye of a snake. She was incapable of speech or movement. She was paralysed, inert, unable to escape the devouring pounce of the snake. Her silence somewhat disconcerted Stone. “Won’t you say anything?” he pleaded, then he laughed reassuringly. “I admit this is hardly the hour to settle the most serious affair of one’s life.” Then it was that Jacqueline pulled herself together and rode the storm. “You are right, Mr Stone,” she said, speaking quickly, and a little wildly. “Let us go indoors and see if there’s any breakfast going. I’m feeling perfectly ravenous.”

“And I,” said he, “could demolish a kidney and possibly some bacon and eggs. “But won’t vou answer my question before we go and eat? Will you marry me?” Jacqueline cave him a look that would have killed him, but for his extra thick skin. She went as white as paper, but her eyes flashed red fire. “I think you are a most detestable cad,” she said. “And rJease never speak to me again.” She swung around and walked swiftly towards the nouse. “Jacqueline,* he cried. “Jacqueline.” But sne had gone. « • * • •

John Bolton was also up early on this gorgeous September morning and was taking the air before his breakfast of grape fruit and grilled sole. Jacqueline, walking swiftly through the great rose garden as the quickest way to her rooms, practically ran into his arms. He saw at once that something was amiss. Tho white, strained face and tho wild, frightened eyes told him that. She looked just as she did on that foggy day when he had forcibly taken her away from the scene of the wreck of the “Queen of Peru,” off Shingleness. “My dear child, what on earth is the matter?” he exclaimed, catching hold of her trembling hands. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” “It’s nothing—really, it’s nothing,” she protested. “Oh, but ihat’s all nonsense!” he said. “Something has happened. What is it? I insist on knowing. Coma, come, little girl—” “Don’t—what does it matter?” Then she commenced to sob, jerkily, like a child who has been frightened.

Then the thing happened. It came in a flash on the torrent of a great overwhelming impulse. As well oppose a tidal wave or stay the rushing hurricane. Bolton caught her in his arms and held her close to him—so very close —and rained kisses on her sunflecked yellow hair. “My little love ! —my darling l” She did not struggle. She laid inert in his arms, sobbing. He raised her tear-stained face to his and kissed her on the lips. “I love you! — I love you!” he whispered. “Tell me you love me, too.”

“You know I do,” she breathed. “But, oh, it has come so suddenly. It is like being struck by lightning.” “Kiss me! Kiss me!”

She gave him her lips unresisting, then tdre herself from him. “This is madness 1 What are we thinking of?” “My darling, what does anything matter now?”

“But everything matters. Oh, don’t you understand? Lady Maud ” “I’ll deal with Ladv Maud,” he said, grimly. But, of course, he understood, and, of course, he realised wKat had happened, and all that would inevitably have to happpen afterwards. But it was Fate, and he accepted it, and clasped her to him again in an ecstacy.

Neither hear the sound of approaching footsteps, and it was not until a quiet voice broke in upon their transports that they realised that ’here was a third person present in the shape of Maud’s faithful maid, Clarice, the little, dumpy, bird-like woman in her black, old-fashioned dress.

“If you please, sir,” said Clarice, “her ladyship wants to see you. She sent me out to look for you.”

“Certainly,” replied Bolton, assuming a nonchalance that he was far from feeling. “Where is her ladyship?’’ “In the breakfast room, sir.” And Clarice, having accomplished her mission, slightly inclined her sleek head and retired.

What she had seen, what she had heard, what she understood, or how she interpreted things, it was impossible to know, and vain to conjecture. Jacqueline was trembling like an aspen, and- looked as pale as a ghost. “Courage, sweetheart!”’ Bolton - whis pered. “Don’t give yourself away. Leave everything to me. Trust me implicitly.” They walked together across the age-old lawns towards the house.

Suddenly Jacqueline stopped. She looked like a wild sprite, unearthly and uncanny. She snatched a great tomato-coloured Padre rose from her breast and tore it to pieces in a kind of frenzy . “I’m going away!” she said. “I'm going now—this very minute! Do you understand? You must forget that you have ever seen me. You .must blot me out of your memory.”

“Don’t be silly!” he said with a bland, proprietorial air. ‘I should be mad and criminal to stay hero another minute now.

Again he said, “Don’t be silly!” It sounded fatuous under the circumstances, but it was the only thing he could think of to say; he was thinking very hard, and he realised that he was driving an untrained filly, who might get the bit in her teeth before he knew where he was. And it was even so. She bolted before he knew what she was about. Like a streak of lightning, she darted swiftly as a nymph after the retreating form of squatfigured old Clarice. He watched her and exulted in the grace of her stride, her youthful form, her utter abandonment to the instant impulse. He saw her overtake Clarice and seize her arm. He saw them stop, and watched Clarice talking impulsively, and then the two walked on together, deep in intimate converse. There was nothing for him to do but to continue his course and seek his Lady Maud. He had lost all appetite for his iced grape fruit and grilled sole. But the scent of the late summer roses was in his nostrils, and his heart was singing. CHAPTER XI. “Clarice,” panted Jacquelihe, “what did you see? Wnat did you hear?” “My dear Miss Jacqueline, what on earth do you mean?” exclaimed Clarice, with admirably simulated surprise. “You know quite well what I mean!” cried Jacqueline, excitedly. “And I’m going to nave it out with you. I don’t want you to pretend and be discreet and all that. I want to know. I will know. It doesn’t make any difference to me what you do—what you tell Lady Maud—it makes not the slightest difference. But I will know. Do you understand?” “My dear Miss Jacqueline, I do pray of you to control yourself, ’ faithful old Clarice pleaded. “You’re making quite a scene. And, if you must know for your own satisfaction, I quite unwittingly saw much more than I was intended to see.” “Therel I knew it!”

“But I couldn’t help it. I would have had all my teeth out rather than this should have happened. I’ve suspected it all along; but suspecting isn’t knowing. Now I know. Oh, dearie me, what a terrible state of affairs! Of ail the things that could ever happen! Oh, dearie, dearie me 1 I never thougfft it would come to this. What is to be done? Oh, it is too awful, Miss Jacqueline—you as I nursed as a dear, little baby, and have never ceased thinking of and praying for every day of my lite. And, my dear lady, who I’d die for willingly. You and she l Oh, it is too, too awful. My poor brain won’t stand out against it much longer. Why does this Mr Bolton want to go and spoil both your lives? Aren’t there enough other women in the world for a rich gentleman like him to amuse himself with, without going and making love to a mother and a daughter at the same time? 1 hope God will punish him for his wickedness—punish him good and plenty.” “Clarice! What are you saying? Why, Mr Bolton is the best man in all the wide world l I won’t hear you say a word against him—you or anyone else. Oh, how dare you ! And what do you mean about his making love to a mother and daughter ’’

“Oh, my dear, wee one, did I say that? I must be mad!”

“No, you weren’t mad; and I’m going to know what you mean.” Clarice, habitually so circumspect and discreet, had gone all to pieces. {She was verging'on hysteria. “Of course, he isn’t really to blame,” she maundered on. “Of course, he isn’t. He doesn’t know. How should he know, poor gentleman! He never will know unless my lady tells him. And she isn’t likely to do that.” The truth had come to Jacqueline before the sudden outburst of Clarice confirmed the appalling revelation. “It’s like this, my dearie, and its only right that you should know it. Why not ? I should be inhuman if I did not let you know now before it is too late and more devilish mischief is done, rvly lady is your mother, Miss Jacqueline. I was with her when you were bonr—a dear, little bundle of sunshine you were, too ” Jacqueline had become suddenly very calm. Something seemed to have snapped in her brain. She had become a machine, capable of registering words and emitting words, but incapable of emotion. “Do you mean that Lady Maud knows that I am her daughter?” “Yes. It is from her that I heard it.” And then Clarice poured forth the whole story of the catastrophe that sent Mrs Michael Dennis Croft away from her husband, leaving the helpless little Jacqueline behind, of the strange circumstances in which Mrs Croft lost her identity in her old name of Maud Genge. Clarice was wound up. Having started, nothing could stop her. Jacqueline listened, petrified, her heart throbbing with rage and hatred against this woman who had borne her, this woman who had betrayed her father, deserted her baby child. She saw it alj; it was so patently clear. It explained Martin Stone

“Clarice,” she said, “you will oblige me by forgetting this conversation. It must never be known that you have told me these things. You ought never to have done so. It was very wrong and disloyal of you. What on earth do you think Lady Maud would think of you if she knew? She trusts you implicitly. No, Clarice, you ought not to have told me.” “But I simply had to, Miss Jacqueline. How could I help myself, seeing and knowing what is going on right under my nose?” “I wonder why you did it?” “Why? Why, because of you. Miss Jacqueline.” “Not because of Lady Maud 1” “No. Her ladyship is able to look after herself, if it comes to that. But you, wee mite, it wasn’t fair to keep you in ignorance.” “Oh, if only my father were alive! ’ cried Jacqueline. “I feel so desolate and so alone!’ 1 For all that, a very remarkable change had come over Jacqueline. She straightened her back; she got herself and her erratic nerves well in hand. She appeared to have grown years older, and to have cultivated a poise, a reserve, a personality. “Good-bye, Clarice,” she said, with unaccustomed dignity. “1 really must go and have some breakfast. They’ll be wondering what has become of me. JNow, don’t forget—what you have told me is a secret between us.” “I shall tell my lady that I have told you, Miss Jacqueline.” “If you do, I’ll kill you, Clarice,” she said fiercely, with the return of the old, undisciplined spirit of the boy, Jack King. She looked as if she were fully capable of carrying out her murderous threat. Then "she strode into the house with her long, boyish stride, her head held high and the gleam of battle in her eyes. Her pale cheeks were slightly flushed, and there was a subtle lurking smile, just a little cynical, playing around her lips. “You look jolly fit this morning,” exclaimed Maud, as she swung into the breakfast room.

‘ Feel as fit as a fiddle,” she replied. “But what have you been doing? We thought you were lost.” “Been having no end of adventures,” she laughed. “Extraordinary what a lot of things can happpen between your bath and bieakfast. I’ve made all sorts of adventures and discoveries. And now I’m ready for whatever offers.” “Tea or coffee?” inquired Bolton. “Both,” sh© said. “And I’ll take a grilled kidney with my sole. I feel just like that. Heigh-ho I” This was little Miss Jack in quite a new mood. If sho had suddenly stood on her head she could not have created a bigger sensation. It was remembered, and its significance debated in the light of subsequent events.

That morning Mias Jack disappeared. That is the only way to put it. She simply disappeared. No one saw her go. She left no traces of her departure or word to anyone as to her destination. She just vanished into plain air. If her advent had been unusual, the little sodden shipwrecked lad, washed up on Skingleneia

out of the Channel fog, her departure was no less remarkable and dramatic. It was not until after luncheon that any auspicious were aroused; and then, knowing the eccentric and erratic nature of the incomprehensible Miss Jack, no one bothered much about it. After breakfast she went to her rooms, stating that she was not going out till after lunch, as she had a lot of things to attend to, and was determined to finish

“If Age But Knew,” the new and much-talked-of novel by Campling Cockson. This decision was sufficiently surprising to Maud, who Lad never known the girl to stay indoors if she could possibly be in the air. And this was an exceptionally brilliant autumn day. It is conceivable that both Martin Stone and John Bolton, in their widely different ways, understood, but neither made any comment. Bolton had his morning’s programme irrevocably planned. Neck or nothing, he had to have a super-painful interview with Maud, and the prospect was most repugnant to him. He must make a clean breast of it and throw himself on her mercy. It was a horrid duty; but it had to be done. Stone also knew that a personal talk with Lady Maud was expected of him. and he looked forward to it with but little less distaste than did Bolton.

But Maud suddenly decided to motor to Smallrock on the Marsh and play a round of golf with Teddy Baldrv. She would be back for lunch. They might only do nine holes; but she felt that she must have Borne sort of physical exercise. Bolton was secretly relieved. His feelings may be likened to those of the small boy taken to the dentist to find that that gentleman had been unexpectedly called away. There sno relief of mind to certain natures like the postponement of the inevitable. Which, of course, makes life supportable. Stone was relieved also. He put the unpleasant experience from his mind. After ali, why should he worry about it. He had proposed to a girl who had taken his fancy, and she had turned him down. That was all there was to it. Selah! He would have another shot if. and when, the opportunity occurred. Come to think of it, it wasn’t altogether hopeless. He changed into flannels, and played half a dozen hard singles with young Mrs Laughterson, who only just beat him. And the others amused themselves after their fashion. Everyone at-Save did just as he liked. There was everything to do or nothing to do; and no one suggested one or the other.

They all foregathered at 1 o’clock, or a little afterwards, for half-past 1 luncheon, which like everything else about these unconventional week-end parties of Bolton was a go-as-you-please, take-it-or-leaveut sort of meal. And under ordinary circumstances had Jacqueline failed to make an appearance in all probability no one would have taken any notice. But something Clarice had said to her just before lunch caused Maud to remark on the girl’s absence, and while they were all sitting over their coffee to go to Jacqueline’s room—she had a sitting room and a bedroom and bathroom all ingeniously arranged in one of the old square towers dating from the reign of Stephen. The rooms were empty. There was no apparent sign of anyone having occupied them since the chambermaids had put them in order for the day. She was puzzled and a little alarmed. She rang for Clarice, who appeared with incredible celerity. “ Where’s Miss Jack ” demanded Maud.

“ I don’t know, my lady. I—that is what I wanted to speak to you about. I'm afraid something terrible has happened. I’ve been looking for Miss Jacqueline all the morning. Oh, my lady, I’m so frightened. I’m sure it’s something very terrible.” “ Stuff and nonsense,” exclaimed Maud. “ What on earth is the matter with you, woman You are trembling, shivering, as with ague. Come, this won’t do. What do you mean ” “Oh, my lady, I’m sorry; but I had to tell her. Something that I couldn't control simply made me. If only your ladyship would give me a few minutes 1 will explain everything.” “ You told her what? Really, Clarice, you are most aggravating.” “I told her who you were, who she was.” “ Good God! ” gasped Maud, and sank down into a chair, white-faced and trembling. “ Have you gone stark, raving mad? ” (To be continued.)