The Two Miss Carrs

Otago Witness, Issue 3783, 14 September 1926, Page 62

The Two Miss Carrs

By

Thomas Cobb.

Author of “Joann* Seta to Work,” “Th* Late Mr Beverly/' Etc., Etc

(Copyright.—-Fob thb Witness.)

CHAPTER XXlX.—(Continued.) In the circumstances it was impossible, unfortunately, to make desirable preparations for a journey, to say nothing of a honeymoon, though Mary took the precaution of putting a few things in a separate drawer, so that they might be quickly transfererd to a suit case after return from the church on Saturday. Friday morning brought a letter addressed in Lord Rothnill’s cramped hand-writing. He had had the honour of a long conversation with the Duke of Stockton’s royal guest, who was not quite so well as might be wished. Therehad been some foundation for the rumour after all. Though Molly suggested that she had better answer the letter at once, that was the last thing Mary intended to do, and in the afternoon she went out alone, taking a taxi from Knightsbridge to Trafalgar Square, and entering the National Portrait Gallery. On going to the Stuart room, she saw Dick’s back as he stood gazing at the portrait of Samuel Pepys. He was not likely to be unpunctual between to-day and tomorrow. He began at once to explain that he had been in a rush ever since he left Mary yesterday. “In the first place,* he said, “I had to see my bank manager —” ‘‘Oh, but, Dick— ’* she began, but was silenced by a lordly wave of his hand. “This morning, ** he continued, “I went to Doctor’s Commons, and from there to Saint Ninian’s, to get the address of the curate. A decent sort of boy in a cassock. He’s going to do the job at 12 sharp to morrow. And there’s another thing we ought to settle,” said Dick. “My notion is that we shall lunch at your place, say at half past one, and get off as soon as possible afterwards. A sort of anti-climax, you know, when once the shock of the announcement is over. We might run down to Folkstone in your car, cross the Channel on Monday, put in a few days in Paris, then make up our minds where to go next—what ?” Mary had no objection to offer. Her chief desire was to get the next 24 hours over. She felt afraid that Molly might not see the matter from her own point of view, and quite agreed with Dick that the sooner they set forth on the honeymoon the better. “I’ll wire for rooms at the hotel this afternoon,” said Dick. “And wouldn’t it be a bit of a joke to ask old Luke to luncheon to-morrow?” “I don’t want to do a single thing to make Molly even curious,” was the answer. “Don!t tell her,” he urged. “Why should you? Write to Luke at his chambers—Number 3, Pope's Court, you know. Ask him to turn up at a quarter past one. He can' manage that as it’ll be Saturday. He and your cousin will be worked up to a proper pitch of wonder and—enter the bride and bridegroom. Tableau.” Now, everything seemed to be in train. There remained nothing else that could be said in a public place, but on leaving the gallery, Dick insisted that he most be permitted to go a part of the way to Quinton Gardens in her taxi. “Mary,” he said, with unwonted solemnity, when she urged him to leave her, before they were half-way home, “this is oor last parting. To-morrow you'll become mine for all time. Dearest,” he added, leaning towards her. “I want vou to start hopefully. I know I’ve led a fool of a life, but I lacked my complement. Vou shall never regret to-morrow morning's work. Never as long as vou live, so help me God.'* She did not speak, but bowed her head, turning away so that he should not see her eyes. A minute later be stopped the c~b and, after pressing her hand in silence, got out. Mary was not driven as far as the house, but dismissing the cabman at the comer, wafted the few varda to ihe garage. With whet the chauffeur considered a curious constraint, she explained that she should want the car at twenty minutes to twelve on Saturday morning, and again at half-past two, when he was tc bring enough petrol for a drive of 10 miles into the country. CHAPTER XXX. Saturday proved a memorable day for Molly Carr. She will never forget it •* long as she livee. Mary was the first down to breakfast, and when her cousin entered she was standing by the window reading a long letter—from Lord Rothnill, she ex plained. Dil vou write to him yesterday?" asked Molly. “Do you imagine I should forget V* Mary prevaricated. Sitting down at the table, she began the meal in ailence till she was asked what she was going to do during the morning.

“I am going to the bank first,” she answered. “And I have ordered the car for twenty to twelve.” It was an unwritten law that neither should ask the other where she was going, but this morning, perhaps on account of something unusual in Mary’s manner, Molly could not resist a mild feeling of curiosity. She noticed, also, that on her cousin’s return from the hank, where she had, as a matter of fact, been procuring some letters of credit, Mary spent a considerable time in her own room, an exceptional thing in the middle of the morning. Moreover she came downstairs just before the car stopped at the door, wearing a dress as nearly white as possible, and a widebrimmed straw hat, trimmed with white Howers. Taking Molly’s arm, she led her to the hall, where Freake, dignified as ever, held open the door. Half way down the steps, Mary stopped, hesitated for a moment, then, running swiftly back to the threshold, impulsively kissed her cousin’s lips. There seemed something unusual afoot. Molly felt so deeply preoccupied that she did not take Bunch for his outings this morning, and, going to the diningroom a little later, she saw Freake superintending the footman as he laid the table for luncheon. “Miss Carr did not tell me visitors were expected,” cried Molly. “Two gentlemen,” was the answer, and instantly she jumped to the conclusion that a further celebration during Lord Rothnill’s absence had been planned, that the intention was to take her by surprise. “Do you know who they are?” demanded Molly, noticing that there were three bottles of champagne on the sideboard. But the butler could give no information. On the whole, Molly thought she would change her frock, and on leaving her room at one o’clock was astonished to find that Mary had not returned to receive her mysterious guests. She went to the drawing-room, still wondering as to their identity, but convinced that Luke could scarcely have been invited again so soon, when, at a few minutes past the hour, the butler opened the door. “Mr Harborougli.” Rising from her chair, she told herself that Mary had kept silence of set purpose, though she could not imagine who the other guest could be. “Didn't you expect me?” asked Luke, her surprise being quite unmistakable. “I oughtn’t to have let you see that I didn’t, anyhow,’ she returned. “And, of course, I’m very pleased.” “I don’t think I can have made a mistake,” he said. “I fee! certain that Miss Carr said a quarter past one today. I only had her letter this morning.” “I give it up,” cried Molly. “She went out at about a quarter to 12 and hasn’t come bock.” “Perhaps,” he suggested with a smile, “ she was kind enough to arrange a tete-a-tete—” Molly shook her head. “The table is laid for four,” she said, "though I had no idea that anybody was expected.” As she ceased speaking, the car was heard at the door. “There she is/ Molly continued. “She may have brought the other visitor home with her.” At this critical moment Freake’s long and exalted experience stood him in excellent stead. Though, of course, he knew that Miss Carr was engaged to be married to Lord Rothnill, an arrangement of which he cordially approved, his face was imperturbable. There was neither the flicker of an eyelid, a smile, nor a frown as he conscientiously did his duty, and obeyed the instructions which Mary herself had bestowed in the hall. “Mr and Mrs Richard Warrender,” be announced . There was nothing to be done—nothing but to make a virtue of necessity. Whatever might be thought of the wisdom or even the decency of the morning’s work, the thing was accomplished. It was nobody’s business but Mary’s and Dick’s, except perhaps Lord Rotbnill’s. Molly was the last person to cry over.spilt milk. After a momentary pause, a palpable embarrassment, she took Mary in her arms and kissed her cheek, while Luke’s hand was quite painfully crushed in Dick’s. “I’m afraid, don’t you know,” cried the bridegroom, the first to speak, “there isn’t a great deal of time to spare. We’re motoring down to Folkestone this afternoon. Didn't you order the car for hallpast two, Mary!” “Ye-—es, half-past two,” she murmured, inclined to wish they had gone direct from Saint Ninian'g, and announced the marriage by letter. Dut it was not long before Freake put an end to the awkward situation.

“Luncheon is served.’’ They went at once to the dining-room, but even after they were seated, an oppressive silence prevailed. Freake, wise in his generation, was, however, already filling the wine glasses. “A stunning day !” said Dick. '‘Happy is the bride the sun shines on, you know.’ “Can’t somebody say something more original V* cried Mary, with a laugh. ‘‘Where were you married?” asked Molly. It’e really quite all right/’ said Dick. “At Saint Ninian’s?” returned Mary. “Who was Nmian,” suggested Luke. “Why was he canonized?” The footman who had left the room, after the fish was served, now re-entered empty handed, Freake observing with an annoyance which he knew better than to show at present, that there was a selfconscious grin on his subordinate’s not very intelligent face. As if that were not disgraceful enough, he came to the butler’s side and deliberately nudged him. Lest worse should befall, Freake stooped to listen, standing at once at his full height again, behind Mrs Warrender’s chair. Raising his large hand to his lips, he coughed—very faintly, then stepped to her side, bending forward over her shoulder. “Lord Rothnill, madame,” he said in a loud whisper. CHAPTER XXXI. A slight increase of the indisposition of the Duke of Stockton’s eminent guests and his consequent departure, had furnished Lord Rothnill with an excuse for bringing his own visit to an end. Anxious in any circumstances to return to Mary, he felt the more impatient because she had not written since he bade her “good-bye” after luncheon on Wednesday. Or at least he trusted that her letter had miscarried. She could scarcely have failed to realise what was due to him. Having travelled by an early train, he was driven from King’s Cross to his house in Piccadilly, where he removed the stains of his journey and at once set forth to Quinton Gardens, calculating on staying to luncheon. It might have been possible for Freake to admit Lord Rothnill, eveu in the present circumstances, without turning a hair, but the less experienced, and, perhaps, less fortunately endowed footman was incapable of attaining such a height. His lordship was engaged to the missis, who had married Mr Warrender an hour or so ago, and was at present enjoying what might be described as the wedding breakfast. As William subsequently told the under-housemaid, he didn’t mind owning that Lord Rothnill’s arrival in the midst of things knocked him all of a heap. Hence the disgraceful grin which still lingered on his face as he stood by the sideboard, surveying the party—“all silent and all damned.” Molly was the first to recover. “If—is Lord Rothnill in the drawingroom?” she asked. “Yes, madame,” said Freake. “Thank you.” He took the hint, quite understanding that they wished to discuss the untoward situation in privacy. With a commanding glance at the footman, he walked to the door. “Now, then,” exclaimed Dick, with what Molly at least considered unbecoming levity, “the question is who’s to bell the cat?” “Why, Molly, naturally,” answered Mary, determined that, whatsoever happened, Lord Rothnill should not be seen by her. “Oh—” murmured her cousin. “Upon my word, I shouldn’t mind telling him,” suggested Dick, who, indeed, scarcely objected to anything which did not interfere with the honeymoon. The proposal, however, was received in discouraging silence, broken a moment later by Luke. “If I may be allowed to make a suggestion,” he said. “Oh, do—please,” cried Mary. “I think,” he continued, anxious to spare Molly an embarrassing ordeal, “that the—the explanation would come, better from you.” “I couldn’t,” she answered excitedly. “I positively couldn’t, could I, Dick?” “No, no, that must not be thought of for a second,” he insisted. “Molly,” said Mary, leaning forward with an expression of entreaty, “it’s up to you. Be a dear thing, darling.” Although Molly felt rebellions she was reluctant to spoil Mary’s wedding day. Ft was true that.she might deserve little consideration. Her conduct appeared to her cousin entirely inexcusable. She ought at least to have been off with the old love (if that was the wordy before she was on wiih the new As Molly rose from her chair, Dick darted to the sideboard, bringing a bottle of champagne to replenish her glass. His practical sympathy was ignored, however, as Imke opened the door. “I—l suppose you wouldn’t care for me to come with you,” he whispered, but she shook her head with the faintest of smiles and passed out of the room. Freake, waiting in the hall, yet not sufficiently near the door to occasion the slightest suspicion of eavesdropping, preceded her to the drawing-room, where stood Lord Rothnill. . tall, massive, pompuoos, with hit large white forehead shining, and his chin sunk in hia collar. “T trust that Mary is at home,” he said. “Oh, yea, she's at—at home,” answered Molly. “Not other than quite well he continued. Molly shook her head. “She luis jnst come back from the—the church,” she faltered.

“Church,” he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. “Saint Ninian’s. " Pausing for a moment, Molly moistened her lips. “Mary was—was married there this morning,” she added. “Miss Carr,” said Lord Rothnill, ‘‘you mast pardon my remarking that such—er—pleasantry is exceedingly ill-timed. 1 * “It isn’t pleasantry,” she insisted. “Lord Rothnill. I am very, very sorry, but my cousin was married to Mr Warrender this morning ” “Married to—who the devil is Mr Warrender!" he demanded. “Why, of course, he’s—unfortunately—he’s Mary’s husband,’ said Molly, with a sigh. “They are on the point of starting for their honeymoon.” “Their honeymoon—good heavens!” shouted Lord Rothnill. During the next few minutes Molly was as thoroughly surprised as Mary had been or. the day she promised to be his wife. Walking, almost running about the room, be broke nto a torrent of the most pictures one invective. She could scarcely believe her ears. She had never heard such a number of variegated oaths in her life. He unbuttoned his coat as it seemed for the express purpose of buttoning it again, while Molly stood quaking, till at last he showed signs of departure. She felt considerably less sympathetic than she had done on hearing of his inopportune return. “Disgusting! Atrocious! Perfectly disgraceful!” ho exclaimed in the half, continuing to mutter as Freake with an impassive face opened the street door. “Mrs Warrender has gone to her room/ he said, as he closed it, and thither Molly made her way, to find Mary looking on while her maid put the previously selected things into a large suitcase. “What heaps of clothes I have to buy in Paris," cried Mrs Warrender, and when the maid had gone, she put an arm round her cousin’s shoulders. “Dearest,” she said, “I can't tell you how r grateful I feel." “You ought to,” was the answer. “What did he say?” asked Mary. “For goodness’ sake don’t ask me!” I couldn’t repeat it. He reminded me of a drunken man I once saw being taken to the police station on a stretcher by four constables.” “Molly,” said Mary, looking particularly charming with her head slightly on one side, “I should love to know what you think of me.” “You wouldn’t in the least. But,” added Molly, “we won’t waste these last few minutes. It’s too late for reproaches, anyhow r . All I hope is that you’ll be ever so much happier than you deserve.” The maid came back to say that the car was at the door, and the two Marys went downstairs together arm in arm, Mrs Warrender looking more radiant as she heard her husband’s voice from the dining-room. He had won, and he was laughing. “Time we made a start, Mary!” he exclaimed, meeting her in the hall, and a few minutes later the farewells were begun. Dick took his seat beside Mary in the car, and as it started, Luke and Molly stood on the step waving handkerchiefs. * “Oh, what a morning!” she cried, leading the way to the drawing-room. “I’m afraid you had a bad quarter of an hour with Rothnill,” suggested Luke. “I was never more astounded,” she said. “I had always semi him so selfpossessed, so dignified. But he seemed to lose every shred of control. Do all men use such fearsome language on an emergency ? Do you ?” “I’ve never been put to that sort of test,” he answered. ‘T’m hoping I never shall be.” Molly glanced hastily round the large room. “How desolate and flat everything is,” she murmured. “We ought to celebrate the occasion by going somewhere or doing something,” he said. “I don’t feel like that cither,” she returned. “I am too apprehensive—” “About your cousin?” he asked. She silently nodded. “I thiuk that’s unnecessary,” Luke insisted. “Look here, Molly, I*m not out to whitewash Dick. It’s admitted that Rothnill has been treated pretty badly.” “Oh, he will get over it,” said Molly: “He will marry Laura Canningbury. Not that there’s the least excuse for Mary. I know she has been horribly wicked, but if only I could think she would be happy—’* “Upon my word, I’ve no doubt yon may," he urged. “Oh, Dick will spend hei money—you may count on that, but he’ll see she has a good time. You may count on that, too. She won’t have to complain of dullness. Dick Warrender’s the best-humoured fellow I’ve ever known.” “Then, you don’t feel a shadow of anxiety—” “Only for myself,” he said. “The one person you never seem to studv." “Oh yes, I do,” be answered. “I’ve got my way to make. I have been taking stock, I could make a modest start at once, or I could wait—” Molly looked a little demure. “What for, Luke?" she asked. “For you, though I don’t want to wait." She held out her hands and it was some time later, when he looked* at his watch. “How shall we celebrate the double event?" he asked. “Comparisons are odious,” said Molly. “But, of course, your duty is plain. You must take me to see your mother this afternoon.” “I was hoping you might say that," ha cried.

“Well, next time you hope I shall say something, please be nice and tell me, so that I shan’t put my foot in it.”

“Good," answered Luke. “We’ll ask Freake to ring for a taxi. You shall bring a suit case and stay at least over the weekend.”

“It’s true,” murmured Molly, “the house seems horribly dull now that Mary has gone.** Within half an hour a taxi was standing bet . the door. Freake carried out Moby’s suit case and Luke followed her down the steps. They were driven away together, the butler standing on the pavement and looking disapprovingly after them. He might have seriously to consider his position. He had not been accustomed to this sort of thing. (The End.)