Her Day of Adversity.

Otago Witness, Issue 3743, 8 December 1925, Page 5

Her Day of Adversity.

BY

MRS. PATRICK MacGILL.

‘lf thou faint in the day of adversity thy strength is small." —Pbo verbs,

CHAPTER X.—WEDDING ROBES. (For two days Marie Leroy and her girls had been working on the trousseau that had been ordered by Jacob Stone. The dainty garments of crepe de chine and sheer linen, beautifully stitched and embroidered, had all been brought to Carol as soon as completed, but the wide-eyed, listless girl, who lay hour after hour in bed, seemingly content to do nothing, say nothing, and think of nothing, to judge by the blank expression in the lovely eyes, took no more notice of the dainty pile as it grew than if Marie Leroy had never employed a moment of her time on her behalf. “Now that you have got your wish, won’t you let me see David to —to say good-bye to him?” Carol asked when she luujf' been tw'o days in the little flat in Beak street. Jf'nv-Tew’s face darkened. “No, liot until you are my wife, my dear. Then you can see as many young men as voa like, so long as I’m the young man,” and Ins iacc, which had somewhat cleared, darkened again as Carol involuntarily shrank from him as he placed an arm around her shoulder and attempted to draw her close. little devil, you rouse the very in me V ’ he said, admiration for beauty struggling with anger at continued coldness, which—as seems V natural in most men—only had the effect m of fanning the flame of his ardour and sending him forth to the chase with renewed vigour. Marie Leroy had chosen a fine white cloth three-piece suit piped with scarlet silk for Carol's wedding dress, since she had not evinced the slightest interest in what she was to wear for the ceremony. This was to be accompanied by a smart little toque of white, trimmed with a single, red wing, and the latest from Paris in the matter of footwear. Carol started at the sight of the dainty things, and for an instant it seemed as if she were about to jump out of bed and clear them out of her sight. But the next moment she subsided, gripped by the apathy that had been the chief feature of her condition ever since she had come to stay with Marie Leroy. “Don’t you like them, dear?” asked the dressmaker, pleading for a little approval of the really hard work that had gone into the fashioning of Carol’s trousseau. Some dim consciousness of this fact penetrated to the temporarily dulled recesses of Carol’s brain, and her natural gentleness and courtesy prompted her to sit up once more and to say, “They are beautiful, —.Madam Leroy.” r ‘Tf the girls could only see you in them, Miss ofiver! They are having a day off to-morrow to go to the Exhibition, so they -won't be able to see you dressed for the ceremony in the morning. And you and Mr Stone are going straight to the lunch before you catch the boat train in the afternoon for Paris—at least, that was what he told me yesterday,” said Marie Leroy, fingering Carol’s wedding dress lovingly as she spoke. As Carol slipped into the white cloth frock for the benefit of the enthusiastic workgirls she chocked back the tears which made her throat ache and her eyes sting, and she resolutely thrust from her mind all thought of the morrow as—not troubling to glance in the mirror at thp charming figure that she presented she slowly made her way downstairs to the tiny “showroom” to receive the envious praise of the girls, who, if they had only Known, were infinitely happier than the little bride-to-be, with her tragic secret. CHAPTER XI.—REVELATION. It was sheer vanity, the love of “showing off” whicn is often a characteristic of the uncultured, superficial mind, that fi romp ted Jacob Stone to seek press pubicity for the one true romance of his life. He had a secret craving to see his portrait in the illustrated newspapers, and to this end he sought the aid of a publicity agent, who until he had been placed in possession of certain details was somewhat at a loss to perceive how he could serve his client. “Every picture must have story or news value, you see, sir,” he said, half-apolo-gising for the fact. “ Well, I’m her boss if that’s of any use.” said Jacob Stone heavily. p ' His German extraction did not endow him with much imagination, and he was somewhat surprised when the “ live wire,” as the young agent was selfstyled, leaped to his feet, seized a writing pad, and commenced to write feverishly, at the end of two minutes announcing- proudly, “ I’ve got it all cut and dried, Mr Stone. It’ll make a meaty little picture for the dailies. Listen to this,” and the “ live wire ” read his effort at booming Carol’s wedding in a slightly breathless, but triumphant tone: ** Behind the wedding of Mr Jacob Stone, the well-known financier, and Miss Carol Oliver, which took place at the Strand Registry Office to-day, there lies a fragrant little romance. Miss Oliver, who is S charmingly pretty girl, not yet 20, is (in orphan, and the day after her mother’s funeral applied for and obtained the position of private secretary to Mr Stone. The happy couple are spending the honeymoon in Paris.” The “ live wire ” looked up eagerly, and his young soul, thirsty for praise, M levelled in his client s approval. “ I'll got the photographers busy now. What tune did you say—l2 o’clock to-

morrow ? Right-o, sir, we’ll meet you and Miss Oliver outside the office,” and thus were accounted for the half-dozen or so cameras that were levelled at the shrinking, white-faced girl, surely the saddest-looking bride that the pressmen had ever photographed. Thousands of young business girls, reading of Carol's “ romance ” the next day, checked their envious sighs when they glanced at her picture, for with the cruelly clear-sighted intuition of youth they scented tragedy behind the flowery story of her wedding. Carol had never before been in a registrar’s office, but in a cold, detached fashion she found herself feeling glad that she was not being united to Jacob Stone in a church. There was a dead, icy weight upon her heart, and she answered the usual questions in a dull, toneless voice that puzzled even the busy, non-committal registrar, who wondered if emotion had had the effect of temporarily upsetting the nerves of the extremely pretty girl standing in front of his tal>le with her beaming, if elderly, bridegroom by her side. Jacob Stone frowned as he slipped the shining gold circlet over the slim, cold little finger, but Carol was too far away from him in spirit to notice the shadow that crossed his face for a moment. Her tortured mind was back in the moonlit garden, and David Murray’s flushed, angry image was before her eyes. While the registrar was congratulating her on her marriage she was hearing the voice of the doctor, who, after a hasty examination of the ghastly, still body on the ground, had declared that Harvey Lester was dead. “Buck up, dear. There’s bound to be a crowd outside to see us,” whispered , Jacob Stone, loudly, as he tucked Carol’s ' little hand beneath his arm with a proprietary gesture. He was quite right. The usual crowd of urchins, homeward bound charladies, and a few women shoppers, had gathered to see the owner of the opulent chocolatecoloured car waiting outside, the chauffeur of which wore a white flower in his smart brown coat. As Carol came out a little chorus of admiration greeted her, and Jacob Stone raised his hat and bowed, to the further delight of the sentimental crowd of hangers-on. “Good luck! A long life and a happy one !” The car started forward, and the short distance to the Savoy was soon reached. “I’ve engaged a room for you to change your dress in—you’ll want that dark blue I velour costume for travelling, darling. Would you like to go up now or have lunch first?” Carol’s husband asked the question in the beautiful lounge of the Savoy Hotel, which was rather full at the moment with people seeking their guests and guests seeking hosts and hostesses. All looked with frank-eyed admiration at the charming figure that Carol presented in her scarlet-and-white frock and hat, and Jacob Stone smirked his approval of the interest that she excited, and did everything possible to indicate to onlookers that this exquisite piece of femininity belonged to himself. “Thank you, I’d like to go up and change,” replied Carol, anxious only to get away from the watching eyes that, to her over-excited imagination, were multiplied a hundredfold. “All right, darling. I’ll wait here,” said Jacob Stone, seating himself in one of the luxurious chairs, and following Carol’s dainty, white-clad figure as it disappeared, piloted by one of the absurd little pageboys who looked hardly out of the kindergarten stage. It was when the nightmare of a wedding luncheon—eaten tete a tete —was at the coffee and cigarette stage, and Carol’s husband, his tohgue loosened with far too much champagne, was in an expansive mood, that Carol learned something which electrified her intelligence, and sent her spirits soaring into a very heaven of happiness before she was reduced to misery in the recollection of her married state. The meal had been somewhat silent and constrained, but they were in' a screened corner, and Jacob Stone, having- attained his hearths deisire, was quite content to overlook Lis young bride’s undemonstrative manner—in fact, at the back of his now wine-muddled mind he had an idea that no really nice girl should be anything but quiet and a little shy at such a time. Carol’s behaviour was just “ right ” to his way of thinking-. He regarded her with a wide proprietary smile, as, finishing his coffee, he pushed aside his cup and pulled out his cigar case. “ Don’t hurry over your coffee, sweetie. There’s plenty of time—in fact, we shall have to kill 40 minutes,” he said glancin'* at his watch. Carol had scarcely touched her lunch, and this her husband had also allowed to pass without comment, although lie had mentally resolved to see that she ate more as he thought her several shades too thin. Carol had changed into the exquisitely cut dark blue costume which Marie Leroy had destined for “ going awav ” and the large bunoh of Neapolitan violets tucked into the corsage gave forth a faint fragrance, and seemed to match the swee# personality of the girl who wore them. Jacob Stone drank in the picture that his voting bride made; his senses swam aa his triumph mounted to hitt already

over-excited brain, and he commenced to congratulate himself on the success of the trick which had been the means of bringing about so highly desirable a result.

“ Well, Carol, we’re hitolied up now for good, so you might as well write and tell that troublesome young puppy who thought that he could put it across Jacob and get away with it,” and Carol’s husband flicked the ash from his cigar and slapped himself jovially on the chest. Carol bit her underlip. She wanted to scream, to drive back between this man’s teeth the insult to David Murray. Instead, she asked a question, and her voice was as steady as her raw nerves would permit. “Where is David Murray now? Is he free? ” Carol leaned across the orchid-decked table and asked the question with her whole-bruised, aching young heart in her eyes. It annoyed her husband, that look. He decided to “ blow the gaff,” as he called it about David Murray. “ T ree? He’s never been anything else but free. I suppose I’d better put you wise now as to what really happened that night,” he said, laying his cigar carefully aside, and resting his flushed face on one hand, while with the other he toyed with the fluted rim of the silver fruit dish, running his thumb nail backwards and forwards, producing a grating sound that keyed Carol's nerves up to breaking point. “Well, what happened?” The soft, girlish voice sounded suddenly hard and old. A less infatuated, quite sober man might have been excused for flinching beneath those lit-up, accusing eyes; but for Jacob Stone they held no message. “Why, David Murray didn’t kill that young fool who couldn’t rest until he’d had a shot at marrying you; he only stunned him. Lester is on the water now, bound for Australia. But, don’t look at me like that, sweetie. I had to get you somehow —just had to. When a man like me falls in love, Carol . . Carol’s voice cut sharply across her husband’s slow, rather, blurred sentences. “Do you actually mean to tell me that you have tricked me into this vile marriage ? I—l heard the doctor say that Harvey Lester was dead,” said Carol, in a. choked whisper. Stone could not fathom, nor even guess a-t the wild maelstrom of emotion that his disclosure had unleashed. All he felt was triumph at his own trickery. ‘The doctor was too cocksure that time,” he said, with a chuckle deep down in his throat. Carol tore at the fashionable high stock that enclosed her throat; she felt as if a tight iron band constricted her breathing. Her brain, clearing with a sudden rush, revealed with cruel clarity the enormity of her mistake in allowing herself to be beguiled by such a story as Jacob Stone had told. Understanding of what such a marriage would mean came thundering imperatively at all her doors. “You know, Carol, your chief charm for a man lies in your being such a dear, innocent little kid. Anybody could take you in. Why, even if Lester had met his death in such a fashion, the verdict at worst could only have been manslaughter —certainly not murder. Taking the circumstances into consideration, it is doubtful if any judge would have given him more than a couple of years,” and Jacob Stone replaced his cigar in his mouth, and leaned back, watching Carol closely to see the effect of his words. But the young face might have been carved from marble, it was so white and still. A waiter approached the table. “A gentleman is in the smoking room asking for you, sir,” he said, Lowing deferentially, as he handed Jacob Stone a card upon a salver. “The Daily Call,” read Carol’s husband, with an important little smirk. The idea of a journalist waiting upon himself was a great sop to his vanity. “It’s a newspaper man. We’ll go together. It’ll be amusing to be interviewed,” Jacob Stone told the whitefaced, heartsick girl who was staring unseeingly across the thronged dining hall, •— v us only of two things, one being i utility of her sacrifice, and the other the awful inevitableness of the marriage ceremony, once performed. That was what she had failed to realise at the time; her whole soul had been bent on the salvation of the man who, she thought, would have to stand his trial for murder if his crime could not be hidden. And now she knew she had been tricked. Tlirough the white-hot rage that was searing her very soul with its miserable intensity, Carol heard her husband’s voice as a faint, far-off whisper. “ Come alongf, dear. We mustn’t keep the press waiting, you know/' this witn a slightly unsteady laugh in which the waiter joined with suitable discretion. “ I can’t go. Leave me here alone, please.” Carol’s voice was sharp; her manner waa even sharper. The waiter confided to a pet cronio that the chap hod caught a tartar, and no error. The sensation of a triumph still upholding him, Jacob Stone was not yet willing to exercise his husbandly authority in public ; but, such was tile un-

pleasant impression created iu his mind by his bride’s manner that he told himself that Carol would have to be “ broken in,” and that very soon. “ Ail right, sweetie. I’ll just give this chap five minutes, and then I’ll join you in the lounge,” lie said, following in the wake of the waiter with steps that were the merest trifle undecided. When he had disappeared from her sight Carol looked round the sumptuous restaurant with something of the same piteous appeal in her eyes that is seen in those of little trapped animals. She must get away from her husband —she must —she mustl She could not go on with this marriage now that she realised what it meant. She would find David. The thought of him brought a rush of warmth to her heart, and she half started to hor feet. Instantly a waiter was at her side. “Can I do anything, madam?” he inquired politely. Carol’s eyes suddenly lighted upon the door which led to the small side street, which was more convenient than the front entrance for those who wanted to call a taxi. Like a flash she acted upon a sudden idea that darted into her head. It made her pulses leap and tingle and her cheeks burn ; but she did not falter. “ No, it is all right, thank you. Will you please tell my husband that I shall not be long?” she said, making for the door which led into the side street/. The eager-eyed taximan discerned Carol’s uplifted finger in a moment, and, noting the exquisite quality of her clothes, decided that she could afford a decent tip if she chose, though, of course, it never did to judge by a fare’s appearance. Carol scuttled into the grateful shelter of the cab like a frightened rabbit into a hole, and her big, luminous grey eyes looked wildly and uncomprehendingly at the stolid, bearded face which, after the lapse of a few seconds, looked in at the door. “ You haven’t told me where to drive you, miss,” said the man. with a glance of frank admiration at tne slim, charming, young girl who eyed him so curiously. “ Oh, drive me anywhere you like—only be quick, quick, please! ” entreated Carol, with an impatient wave of her hand and a furtive, hunted look at the door through which she had just passed. The taximan knew his London, and he knew, or thought he knew, the look on Carol’s distracted, young face. He had learned wisdom in the matter of obeying instructions of the “ drive anywhere type. Once he had drive: l a girl at random through the Park ,u dusk; she had stopped him near the Serpentine, and as soon as his cab was out of sight had promptly drowned* herself. Crossed in love she was, and a nice bother there had been at the inquest. So whenever the good fellow encountered what he called “ The Look ” on the faces of the “ drive anywhere ” fares he always drove t-hem to the shops if they were women, and to the nearest paib if they were men. It was 10 chances to one that the women—bless the little dears! —saw something in a shop window that took their fancy; while as to the men—being a man himself there was nothing more to be said. As he started his cab he thought swiftly of the direction which he would take. “ Ah! Swan and Edgar’s—they’ve got a nice show in their windows,” he told himself as he steered carefully into the Strand’s sea of traffic. Carol sat bolt upright on the shiny leather seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, every nerve in her lissom body taut with dread, one thought only in her otherwise numbed brain—to get away, to hide from the man who had the right to call her “ wife,” who had forced her into this most terrible of situations through a vile network of lies. Carol’s unseeing eyes gazed at the hurrying, purposeful crowds on the pavement, and suddenly—it was a portent of what was to come—her mind became a wild, confused jumble of recollections. £he thought that she saw her mother coming towards her from the little island in the middle of the Strand, an understanding, pitifully poignant smile on her beloved face; but instead of her mother’s voice, she heard the voice of a long-forgot-ten servant, a cook who had been in one of her mother’s situations, who was fond of saying that things were a “judgment” upon people. “It’s a judgment upon me! But I did it to save the man that I love!” Carol whispered the words into the empty stillness of the cab. and she was still whispering and sometimes smiling vacantly to herself when, during a hold-up in the traffic outside Swan and Edgar’s row of windows, a young man about to cross the road glanced in W direction, and the next moment Jhe d«x)r was nearly wrenched from its hinges by the force with which it was opened, and passers-bv saw a lovely girl in dark blue, folded closely in a pair of snuff-brown masculine arms, before the driver, unaware of what had happened, prepared to obey the police signal to move. He was proceeding quietly up Regent street, intending to give Carol a sight of Marshall and Snelgrove’s and Selfridge’s, when he was nearly startled into abandoning the wheel by hearing a man's voice bellow joyously from the interior of his cab: “Drive to 84 Jermyn street.” The taxi-driver steered to the kerb, where he pulled up for a moment, suspicion in every line of his shrewd London face.

“How did you come to get in, young feller?” he asked David rather truculently. “Through the door,” was the calm reply* given in tones as mild as milk, while David opened a well-nourished notecase and extracted therefrom a ten-shilling note “84 Jermyn street,” he repeated quietly as the note changed hands, and with a brisk “Right, sir,” the- taximan climbed to his seat and headed for the opposite direction.

They were again held up as they were about to cross into Haymarket, and, heed* less of everything, conscious only of the blood which was rioting through his veinj like liquid gold, hardlv able to believe his luck even while he held the beloved in hit arms, David Murray strained Carol to his heart, kissing the little white upturned face as if lie never could have his fill, murmuring brokenly all the tender little terms of endearment that spring so naturally to the lips of lovers. “Oh, my darling, my own little flower, it seems too good to be true that I’ve gov you really and truly got you at last.” Emotion of which there was no need for him to feel ashamed, made speech difficult for the moment .In the momentary silence that followed Carol opened her pale lips* and tried to tell this man—whose declaration of love, which should have been the passport to her woman’s kingdom o 4 joy, was fraught with such agony that even death would not have been unweb oome—tried to tell him the truth that would shatter his dream of joy and craell into pieces the castles of dreams that he had been building ever since they had first met. David, stop, stop! You don’t understand! Wait a moment until I tell you! David caught the slim, little body in his young arms, and stopped the little mouth with a lover’s joyous impatience. “I won’t stop! I won’t wait a mo ment I I don’t care if all London see us, and never mind what you were going to say, honey. It’ll keep until we get indoors." The cab stopped at that moment, and David alighted first so that he could assist Carol. It was a day of brilliant sunshine, and as Carol left the comparative dimness of the cab’s interior the haggard whiteness of her face and the feverish wildness of her eyes could not but draw his agitated attention. It may have been due to the telepathy that is supposed to exist between lovers, but whatever the cause it was certainly a wise precaution that David Murray took. He gave a quick glance at the driver’s face, and what he saw there decided him. Pulling a Bank of England note for £lO from a case which he kept in an inner pocket David crackled it temptingly between his fingers. “\Vould you like to earn this? ” he asked quietly. A short, sharp laugh accompanied the reply. “ Don’t be silly, guv’nor! ” said tlje man shifting from one foot to the other, and eyeing the note enviously. “ Right! Then you will forgot that you’ve had us to-day as fares, and also this address? ” asked David a trifle hurriedly, for Carol had gone even a littls paler, and was leaning heavily on hii arm. “ Right-o! ” was the laconic but earnest reply, as pocketing the note with a suitable' expression of thanks, the inwardly rejoicing knight of the wheel took his accustomed place and drove away down the narrow street, picking up another fare before he had gone a dozen yards. A horrible, futile sense of being swamped in something that he did not as yet understand, but which threatened his new-found happiness, took possession of David Murray as he half-led, half-car-ried Carol up the narrow flight of stair* which led to his second-floor flat. (To be continued.)