The Girl a Million Knew

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 59, 16 April 1914, Page 2

The Girl a Million Knew

CHAPTER XXXII. (continued). ©LD FRIENDS AT THE HOTEL, i iQld Maybey djd not seem to hear.; Sitting in a long,'chair in the old room,j srith its oak panelling and its broad • lafters, Mrs Kent was taking off her! hat. '' What would you like f Kidneys and i bacon?" "Please. And some toast and coffee. I'm frightfully hungry. ■'' That old fool's uncomfortable about something," sfhe remarked when he had left the room. - She niacle a breakfast. : fhe ~ girl who ' serveo 1 L recent addition to the hotel amazed at the appetite of the swell lady from London. When she had finished, old Maybey reappeared withithe formal hope that she had enjoyed her meal. . " Very much,; thank yon.'' She eyed him closely; 'the old man. hesitated, 1 shuffling his feet a little. "Did you help at the fire, Maybey 1" "Yes, Mrs Kent; I was one of the first. wiere. I belong to the brigade., But, quick as I was, I : could see that we hadn't much chance. The flames were terrific. We could save nothing. St'e scandalous the way these suffragettes go on." He looked up at her with eyes a little hard. Though /his.< questioner was, apparently, lookjuig straight in front of her, his expression did not escape her notice. "It's the old furniture I regret so much. I meant to have it taken into atorage long ago. I wish to goodness I'had done so now." "Yes; Mr Kent was very fond of that old furniture," answered Maybey, leminiseently. "I know he was." Her tone was nettled, for she was irritated at this mention of her husband. Confound it! What was the fellow hiding from her? ©ld Maybey .was J usually so straightforward and plain-spoken. "Shall vou be stopping on for lunch, Mrs Kent?" "I don't know. It would be pleasant —it's so long since I've been here." She looked up, resolved to discover the reason of his obvious anxiety for the ' answer. He wanted to ask something, but hesitated to do so—that was it. "Do you know, I think I will. I could Ull in the morning pleasantly by driving round some of the familiar places. Yes, $ think I will. I'm in no hurry to get back." "Thank you," said Maybey. He, turned away reluctantly, with Blow steps. At the door he gained and made a half-turn in the direction of his visitor. "Mrs Kent?" . "What is it?" "I was wondering if you could tell me Miss Christine's address in London?"" •■•; So this was it, and instantly Florence Kent's mind was busy. She shot a question quickly at him. "Why do you want to know?" The directness of it put the hotelhelper off his guard. "Well, I've not heard aught of her for so long," lie answered after a hesitation that was painful. "An' I Vhould like to know how she was getting along. .I've been wondering about her a goodigh bit this last week or so." The hotelkeeper flushed as he spoke. Be wag & good deal too honest to do

(By HERBERT SHAW, author of "The House of Many Secrets," etc.) [Copyright.] J

this sort of thing sneeessfully. He could not jdeeeive a woman who was keen to take proper meaning from any slight shade »f awkwardness in manner or in speech. "Is that an,your reason, Maybey?" she asked indifferently. And Maybey, as he nodded, grew redder still. <'Of course.'' Mrs Kent spoke coldly. "It's not true, Maybey. You're telling me a lie. A half-lie, at least. You've got some special reason for wanting to know. No, don't interrupt, and don't deny it. It's as plain as the nose on your face. Now, what is the reason?" More confused than ever, the man was silent. Florence Kent wanted no further proof-of the correctness of her accusation. A little thing—insignificant, perhaps—rbut no woman knew better than herself how important the little things could become. "I was only eurious, Maybey, as to why you should attach so much importance to knowing my step-daughter's whereabouts. It doesn't matter in the least if you don't choose to enlighten me. As a matter of fact, I couldn't tell you at all where you would be likely to find Miss Christine. I've seen practically nothing of her." The lie earae readily. 'Feeling severely snubbed, the hotelkeeper retreated from the room. It would have been a great satisfaction to him could he have known that he had left • an extremely puzzled woman. And that state of being very puzzled remained with her through the long drive that followed. Why did he want to know? It was some consolation to feel that he had fully believed her profession of total ignorance of Christine's address. When she returned to the '' Bear'' there was still some little time before the hour for which she had ordered luncheon. She found the coffee-room empty. Leaving it restlessly, she encountered Maybey again. For a second he appeared about to speak. Then he seemed to change his mind, and there was the ghost of a .smile on his face j as he stood aside for her to pass. There was further mystery here, she I knew at once, and she could not guess its nature. Her forehead wrinkled in a fresh perplexity as she went out on ito the sloping lawn that was one of j the chief attractions of the old hotel. It led down to the river, and she iiy j tended to wait there till lunch was ready. ~, \ At the bottom of the big lawn, on [ the river bank, she sat down by one of the small tables placed there. A [few yards away, at another table, a woman sat alone. Her back halfturned, she regarded the rivei' intently. There was nobody else in the grounds of the hotel. After a while there seemed to Florence Kent something familiar about this woman. This impression deepened and became a curiosity that must be satisfied. She rose from her chair. Then with a swift, nervous movement, she .crossed the lawn towards her.

Hearing her footsteps, the other woman turned. When she saw who it was, she got to her feet. She stood there, one hand resting lightly on the back of the chair.

"Why are you here!" cried Mrs Kent, in a voice which her utter surprise made harsh And shrill.

For the other visitor to the Bear Hotel on this summer morning was Nurse Hayes. And, after Mrs Kent's challenge, while they looked each at the other, there was silence between the woman for a short space of time that to both seemed marvellously long. Then Mrs Kent repeated her demand: '' Why are you here f " Now, the last time there had been conflict between these two, on the night Durham Kent had died, Nurse Hayes had been frightened of the other. It was not so now. She returned the other's searching look with confidence. There was a quiet, settled expression upon her plain face, and it had in it nothing of anger or fear. "I am waiting for lunch, "she said quietly, and smiled.. The elder woman stamped her foot impatiently. "Don't quibble," she ordered. "What brings you here, to-day of all days?" '•My business," returned Nurse Hayes, pointedly. And she walked away. Mrs Kent walked quickly after her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. The determined anger, suddenly springing to the nurse's face, made her questioner forget the freckled features and the snub nose which had once seemed laughable to her.

"You can't frighten me now," she declared, vehemently. '' You 're not my employer now; I'd ask you to remember that."

Mrs Kent was taken- aback by this outburst, so unexpected from a woman she had always despised as a weakling. "There are other things I could remember if I chose," she said meaningly. '' I could remember how a riursc engaged to look after a sick man so far forget herself as to sleep for hours while at her post—and that, too, at the most critical stage of her patient's illness. To.tell what I knew would have ruined her then. It would still ruin her now."

Nurse Hayes turned on her, her homely face quite disfigured with ferocity. "You're too late," she exclaimed. "I was afraid of your threats then — that night—and it's been worrying me ever since. It's not going to worry me a day longer. Something's happened to help me make up my mind as to that for good and for all. You drugged me that night, but I 've no proof; and now, since yesterday, I don't care twopence whether I've proof or no. You can do what you like; you can tell what you like and whom you like. But as for 'me, I tell the truth, whether it ruins me or not. Now do you understand?" "Why do you say 'since yesterday, ' '' asked Mrs Kent. Whatever lay behind Nurse Hayes's outburst, whatever was the explanation of this sudden strengthening of the other's character, she must discover the reason of her presence at Englefield. Nurse Hayes was silent. "If you are so resolved to tell the truth, why not begin with me?" observed Mrs Kent, ironically. The sneer had its effect.

'' Very well. As I 've told you already, I've not had a day's rest since —since that night. I ought to have spoken out my suspicions, let the consequences be what they would. But I didn't; I was a coward. Many's the night I've prayed over it—prayed for strength. You can sneer at that if you like."

But her hearer did not sneer. Nurse Hayes's face, more dogged than ever, was transfigured as she-spoke. She went on rapidly:— '' And yesterday—thauk heaven—l saw light at last. I'm in the Strand Hospital. I was on duty in the accident ward when a case was brought in. It was Miss Christine; she'd been run over by a taxi." "Is she badly hurt?" Mrs Kent tried hard to infuse kind concern into her enquiry.

"No, she wasn't," retorted Nurse Hayes, With some malice. "I can see pretty plain that you VI be glad if the answer was different. But it's not only the accident, it's what went before. She's badly shaken up> poor girl! You 've all done your best against her, and—you can't deny it —your best to put her out of your way. Because you were afraid of her—of what she might find out. I discovered all that from her easy enough; she was delirious for some time. At last, when I got her off to sleep, I knew I had the ansAver to my prayer." The voice rose.

; "Would you like to know what'the answer was? It was to do the right thing, no, matter what came of it for me. There she was, babbling of Dick, and of you, and a girl called Leila, who had stolen her Dick, and I don't kiiow what all. Early this morning, when I was on duty again, I found her much better. I swore, I'd be her friend. And I did the right thing. I told her of that night; I told.her I had fallen asleep, goodness alone knows why. Never before that had I gone to sleep during any case of mine. And I told her " Nurse Hayes had spoken with such quick and. vehement earnestness that she was forced to stop for breath. The merciless sunlight on the place Avhere they stood showed her listener's face the colour of grey chalk. "Yes? You-told her what else?" "I told her my suspicions," said Nurse Hayes, sullenly. "My suspicions about you—that you had a hand in her father's death." "You wicked Avoman!" cried Mrs Kent. "1 deeidetl on that wickedness," returned Nurse Hayes, "and all I know is that I'm a deal happier for it. So there you are. Not but what she knew something herself,' as we, too, both kneAv. Didn't she find the blotting-pad with her father's writing on it, and tell you, that very night, that he must have written some note to her? But I filled in Avhat she didn't khoAA r ," finished Nurse Hayes, defiantly: ; Fear AA'as tightening OA-er the heart; of Florence Kent, but her next question! was in a voice well controlled. She felt that she must knoAv everything, the bet-' ter to guard against any bloA\ r . After. all, she tried to persuade herself, Avhat' was there yet to fear? A few inore : suspicions on Christine's parf? What was suspicion, all said and done? "All this doesn't explain ■why' yon 're' here to-day?" "I'm here for Christine. She begged; me to come. I got speeial leave, andi came straight away. She's all right; 1 she'll be full - of the hospital this after-, noon. I told her how I had placed the; missing letter on the bureau, and she' thought I might have made a mistake' fand put it into one of the draAvers, and that the letter might ha\'e stuck in the back of a drawer, and Ave might have missed it in all our searching. She gave me a note for the agent's,: asking him to give me the key. So now you know." ' ' Mrs Kent's sigh of relief was distinctly audible. ' :

"Then you've had the journey- for nothing. For you found the whole place burnt?" "Of course. Do you think I would l have told you all this if I hadrt 'trt \' "I suppose not,"'observed the other woman, musingly; . And just then a shadow moved across:' them. They had been so engrossed Ithat they had failed to notice the approach down the lawn of old Maybey, the hotelkeeper. ........ "Your luncheon will be quite'-'cold," he announced, professionally, with a kind of gentle remonstrance. ■*■' I have been trying to attract your: attention again and again." Mrs Kent gave him a sidelong glance. Something about him, impassive and deferential, maddened her. She turned on Nurse Hayes. "Did Maybey ask you anything about Christine?" she demanded. And Maybey himself, suave and collected, answered the question for her. ' ' Certainly, Mrs Kent. I was fortunate enough to find that Nurse Hayes knew Miss Christine's address quite well. You couldn't tell me, you recollect." Noav she turned on him. Her words came in a furious rush, like an angry animal's snarl. "Why did you want her address?" "I have a letter for Miss Christine," returned old Maybey, calmly. "I was the first inside the burning house this morning, and I found, it then. It might be an important letter, for it was ad* dressed in her father's handwriting. I have it here." He tapped a pocket of his coat. "Mr Maybey!" * "Yes, madame?" A new and significant inflection was i noticeable both in his voice and hers.' "You had better let me have that? letter." A smile came on Maybey's rugged; face. But he made no move to unbutv. ton his coat, in the breast-pocket of which the precious letter lay. He gave no answer. Nurse Hayes made animpulsive movement as if to forbid him handing over the letter; the hotelskeeper's look assured her that nothing was farther from his mind. "Maybey, if you give that letter to Miss Christine, and if its contents are what I suspect :them to be, you may cause her infinite pain. You may do a vast'amount of hanm." "That is very possible, Mrs Kent.'' There was the slightest touch of irony in his voice. li Don't misunderstand me." She was lying with desperate feverishness. "I mean harm to Miss Christine. You see, Mr Kent was very displeased over something she had done. She had not only disobeyed his earnest wishes several times, but there was something else. She thinks he died good friends with her —she always loved him affectionately, as you know —bu£ really the very reverse was the caseT I cannot tell you the circumstances—it would not be fair to Miss Christine; but I can assure you that the contents of that letter would be to Miss Christine like a blow from the father she idolised." "An incredulous exclamation came from Nurse Hayes. The mean audacity of this indirect, subtle accusation of the dead man's daughter! Without knowing that she spoke at all, she cried: — "Don't believe her, Maybey! " Mrs Kent turned a look of poisonous hatred on her. But even Avithout that interruption she would never have deceived the old hotelkeeper, though she had lied with all her. skill from then till to-morrow. She would never shake him, and in her heart she knew it. She made one more effort: "I implore you, Maybey. Never mind; about giving it to me. Destroy the letter —anything—as long as you don't hand it to Miss Christine. It will cloud her whole life." "I'll risk it," said the old man, stolidly. "It was written for her, and she shall have it. It's no good your talking, Mrs Kent." In his 1 uncompromising attitude, in his words, defeat was plain. "Yety well. The responsibility ia. j-ours. We've quite forgotten lunch, haven-'t we?"

She moved up the lawn with dignity, Avhile Nurse Hayes and the hotelkeeper exchanged glances. Mrs Kent heard his voice, but she did not stop:—• "The nurse tells me Miss Christine will be leaving the hospital this afternoon. I shall wire to her to expect me this very day. And I shall take the letter with me." There was ' no reply from the woman who walked serenely towards the hotel. It would have frightened the hotelkeeper to have seen her face, distorted by passion. She found a servant and sent him with a wire to Leila. (To be continued to-morrow.)