the Singer from the Hills

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1081, 19 September 1930, Page 5

the Singer from the Hills

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ROWAN GLEN

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CHAPTER VIII. (continued) Though, after having had a word or t*o with his artist-host, he went first to Sheila, he studiedly ignored her tor the next hour or so and, save for a couple of dances with Dorothy Beamish, to whom at one time he had been on the point of proposing, spent most of this time with the men. or with such of the older women as Mildred Scott. < Perhaps because he neglected her, though iu no obvious way, Sheila found herself liking him better than she had ever done before. But apart from that she recognised that he was an important figure in this new and priie-proffering world of hers. He was not so important as Charles Wadeburn, but as against that, W'adeburn had made it quite clear that it part of her out-o-business business to be affable toward the wealthy baronet—and Sheila was trying very hard to be businesslike. When the high-spirited folk in the studio were becoming a little less bigh-spirited, and when Sheila was thinking of getting someone to telephone to the nearest taxi-rank for a >ab in which to make the long jourtey from St. John's Wood to Kensington, Catterton came to her. He showed no traces of that, emotion which had been kicking iu him ever since the pight when Sheila had supped with ttm, and he had had a roughish sort of.introduction to Hew Kennedy. 'There are all sorts of mad schemes afoot, Sheila.” he started, as he settled himself beside her, in the corner to which she had gone, hoping for a minute or two’s peace. ‘‘Morris Carnithers will not stir from this place, « course, and Charles Wadeburn, wmg a wise bird, though he’s only a • ew years older than I am. lias slid aw ay, as have other wise birds of ail

earlier vintage. But it seems to be the popular idea that we should do something, and I’ve made a suggestion which seems to have found favour. A bunch of us who have cars are going down to my cottage near Marley for a ham-and-egg breakfast. It’s the ordinary sort of idea, : but the point is that we won’t be | having the liam and eggs in a night club, but a few yards away from a ! garden and a river. You’ll be one of us?”

! Her first impulse was to give him i a ’ No,” but the hours spent in the ‘ studio had lighted in her heart and i mind strange and joyous little lamps, and she felt that she should not be one of those persons to put caution and sleepiness before the call of care-free adventure. In addition there was the always present knowledge that Wadeburn, who had "Money” as a middle name, as one of his detractors had said, wished her to “play up” to his chief financial backer, j In the end. and having been as- ; sured that after the country-eaten breakfast was over, she would be ; driven back to London before Meg ’ Cameron’s normal waking hour, she I agreed to be present at that break1, fast, and did so with something very I near to enthusiasm-

I “But no move studio-parties for I Sheila for months and months,” she j said to a smiling Catterton. “I arrived here feeling like a rag, and now I’m being crazy enough to go on to ; another sort of rag. Thank Heaven I've no work to do in the morning.” I “And thank me,” the baronet said.

“I take some credit for having got Wadeburn to cut tomorrow’s rehearsal. That's fixed then. I’ll go to tell Freddie Warren. He’s coming down in Dorothy’s two-seater, and you're coming down in mine—if you will honour me. I've had only two glasses of ‘the boy' since getting here, so you need not worry about my diirj ing too fast nor going lamp-post climb 1U “[ was not worrying about that,” j Sheila answered. “But ”

“Yes?” ... 1 ‘j K Miss Beamish driving —ol is Freddie? He’s been doing himself fairly well, you know. 1 told Morris Carruthers, but he only laughed and said that Freddie had a head made of teak. That was before you. told me about this breakfast stunt. ’ "Don't vou worry,” Catterton said. “Even now Freddy's head retains a certain teakishness, and in any case Dorothy Will be at the wheel. Probably she’ll let Freddie drive pait of the way. for she's a lazy sort our Dorothy is. but anyway she can direct him She's been to the cottage before in company with the unsainted ! aunt, now safely away from this world ! of stress and strife. ’ i “And about the others?” bbeila asked “They know I heir way, too 1 But of course, we'll all be going ort ! together, and will keep togethei. | “Of course,” Catterton agreed. | He mft her then and sought out j ideepy-eyed* d ' Freddie j P "Got a little stunt on, in which ! though 1 like her. mind you, and she ! nni nf mine —I (lo n°>Dorothy Beamish to have aay part. Go. The Majestic might com. h j some clay.

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“Rigbt-o, Bill!" he managed. “l’m on. What’s the exact idea?" ‘‘The exact idea," said Catterton, "is that you sober-up and get hold of the wheel of Dorothy’s car, and instead of coming to my cottage, find your way hack to London. You’re old enough to do without ham and eggs for once." "Righf-o!" Freddie said again. “I’ve got you! not quite, perhaps, hut I’ll carry out the orders." CHAPTER IX. For the first half-hour or so when she was alone with the pulse-thudding though outwardly quite calm Catterton. who gave mute thanks for the fact that he had managed to keep her away from the others, Sheila was well enough satisfied with things. True, she would have been better pleased, on the whole, to he in her lodgings and asleep there, but something of the glamour of the night re- j mained, and she was determined to j see the “rag" through to the finish Morris Carruthers had looked a little dubious, or so she had fancied, when bidding her a good-bye, hut then he was getting old, and the idea of motoring nearly 20 miles into the country for the fun of having a breakfast at. dawn which could have been eaten just as eujoyably in London at a more reasonable hour, would have made no appeal to him. There \vas certainly something thrilling about driving through the quiet streets at a time when most of the city’s millions of humans were sleeping soundly, and something thrilling, too, about leaving that city behind and thrumming along at last through ! the country lane, where no lights ! showed, and where, save for the i noise of the car’s engine, everything was still. But this very stillness affected i Sheila at last, not in a soothing way, hut as a maker of vague uneasiness. ; “Everything is so gloomy and quiet,” she said. “Tt’s rather frightening. Queer that 1 should feel that way, for L was born and brought, up : in a lonely corner of the Highlands. 1 London must have done something to j me already." “It may have added to your charm, hut this is all," her companion, returned gallantly. “But you’re joking, of course?" “I’m not sure," she said. “No, 1 don’t think that I was joking. And —how is it that we have not overtaken any of the others? They left the studio before we did, but this is a fast car and you've been letting her go nearly all out, have you not?” Catterton was glad that she could not see his face then. “Yes," ho answered. “Do not forget, though, that we had that holdup near tlie Marble Arch and —oh, well we may s.ee a tail light any moment. Even if we don’t, the clans will gather at the cottage. I only hope that none of ’em have run into a ditch or missed their way. Heaven knows that they all had careful enough instructions and directions." He spoke lightly, hut his tone did iot reflect his actual feelings. Reckless though he was in everything, i.ave the world of business—where he was very astute indeed—he was beginning to wonder whether he had not perhaps hurried matters unduly in arranging this early-morning adventure with the girl whose beauty and personality had swayed him so poignantly He would need to he ultra-careful in the handling of any situation which might arise, so he assured himself. Luckily he had done what he would have termed some excellent staffwork; had arranged that Mrs. Smedley, Ins' elderly housekeeper, should have a fire lighted in the dining-room, and the table there laid. Mrs. Smedley herself would almost certainly be in bed anrl asleep, but that did not matter. What did matter was that if he were called on to make any sort of defence her preparations would go a long way to proving that the defence was sound. Besides all that, and despite her quickP' ripening experience of London li f e and particularly of its Bohemian side, Sheila Stewart remained very ingenuous. A girl like Dorothy Beamish now —hut then Dorothy was in an entirely different class. If Dorothy were to find herself in a compromising situation she would start fireworks at once—if that hap-

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pened to suit her —hut Sheila would take things very seriously indeed. That, at least, was what he was banking on, and what he believed. At the moment, he had no sort of hold on her, but he meant that before the normal breakfast-time came he should he in a position to say: “Well, my dear, I suppose some people will get to know’ about you’re having been here with me, but wliat does it matter? And if it does matter -r-w’hy! let’s knock ’em sideways by announcing the wonderful fact that we’re engaged to he married?” But most of all he wished for the opportunity to make love to Sheila at his leisure; without fear of interruption, and under circumstances making for romance with a stage-like touch to it.

“There you are!" he exclaimed, after nearly a minute of silence. “See that light yonder, through those trees? That’s one of the home tires burning —or a lamp. No electric stuff in the cottage—except my housekeeper, who bullies me the way your old nurse seems to bully you. She'll he in bed, I suppose, but that does not matter. Being a bachelor of mature years and wayward habits, 1 always make a point of knowing the geography of my kitchen and whatever passes for my wine-cellar. I expect you could do with a cherry-brandy or something of the sort, at the moment, and I know that I’m parched for a whisky-and-soda, though this is an absurd hour

for anything of the sort. But I’ve been very temperate tonight.” That was not strictly true, but Sheila thought that it was, and took something of comfort from the thought. “If your housekeeper is iu bed, who will make the breakfast?” she asked. “But I suppose there are servants who would get j’our phone message and who’ll he waiting up?” He laughed at her, but with a heartiness which made her feel that she had said something childish. “Bless you—no,” he returned. “The cottage staff is three in all, and tonight Mrs. Smedley is in sole commaod for the others have gone to the village to sleep there, as they do every night. Why, half the fun of an affair like this is to do the work ourselves. I’ll take a bet that you won't mind helping to cook the barn and eggs with the other girls. I’ll look after the liquid refreshments, and I'm not boasting when I say that, leaving on one side the fiery waters, I'm a dab hand at making coffee.” It was not till the little car had snorted to sleep in the garage behind the cottage, and Sheila was in the cottage itself, that the gnawing uneasiness which had been hers took definite form. (To be continued tomorrow)