THE TAINT

Taranaki Daily News, 19 April 1933, Page 11

THE TAINT

By

Wilfred Roberts

CHAPTER L— (Continued).

Nonsense, .It’s only a sprain. I can doctor it up myself. If you’ll go along and explain what’s happened, that will be all I want.” “I’ll do that at once,” Trevelyan ”e--plied, but h) was not as good as his word, for he hung over Bevis, worrying him with repeated explanations and apologies, while the latter attended io his ankle. Bevis succeeded in getting rid of him at length without impoliteness, and finished the work in peace. It was an annoying business, though the sprain did not prove to be serious. Bevis was able to return to the •office in a few days, but his ankle rejnained weak, and he was particularly anxious that it should be right before the time of his short holiday arrived. At home, besides Mr Thornbury and his wife, was a third member of the household, Joyce Peyton, the daughter of an old friend of Mr Thornbury’s, who, his wife having died when Joyce was a baby, had left the child in Mr Thornbury’s care. And Joyce had grown up to be, in the opinion of others besides Bevis, both pretty and attractive. There was no definite understanding between them; Bevis believed that Joyce read his mind well enough to make it unnecessary; he. was waiting simply until he had : a fair position to offer her. Joyce had money of her own, end . pride, perhaps had something to do with his determination. Meanwhile they remained very good friends, and as soon as Bevis had joined Mr Thornbury, he hoped that they would be something more. But of late-he had begun to suspect that Gerald Trevelyan had his own reasons—reasons connected with •Joyce—for his frequent visits to the Thornbury’s and Bevis did. not like the idea.’ It was true that he could have stated no cause why it should worry him; the matter was one for Joyce herself to decide. Yet he wished that he had never made Gerald’s acquaintance. Bevis fancied that he would take a refusal—if it came to that—'anything but well. And, in view of all these' facts, he had no "wish to be a semi-cripple during his holiday, and be tied to the. house, while Joyce and Trevelyan could make joint expeditions about the country at their pleasure. .On the...whole, . Bevis thought that It Was a pleasant ..life which lay -before him. but it was not entirely-free from shadow. Ever’ since lie could

remember, his 'mother’s health had been uncertain. She was subject to repeated, and mysterious illnesses;

during 1 which, ehe kept her room, end he was. not allo wed even to see-her. Two trained nurses were always-in thehouse, and their services were required at intervals. Bevis did not know the nature of Mrs Thornbury’s disease;'.questions,on the subject had never . been encouraged. Mr Thornbury was always anxious about her, and Bevis could not help sharing the. janxiety that he did not understand, ilt cast a certain amount of gloom over the family; even Joyce felt it; she was a shrewd, keen-witted girl, and she was convinced that there was some secret connected with Mrs Thornbury’s ill-health, though whai that secret was she could not imagine, ! Bevis had leisure to reflect on hese things before the time for his iollday arrived, and, las the days drew on, he was additionally vexed to find himself still slightly lame. Joyce had a taste for.an out-of-door life, and Gerald would have opportunities that were denied to Bevis, thanks to his unlucky accident. . It was very provoking. The evening before he was to leave Brecktngton arrived, and he had an engagement-with the Mansfields, who, though he had pleaded that he was extra, busy just then, had in r slated that, since he had been prevented from keeping his former promise to them, he must come to them that day. He came home from the office, changed, and went out again, full of cheerful reflection that, by the same time next day, he would have left the stuffy town behind, and be in the little sea-side village where Thornbury usually spent a few weeks

In the late summer. • i The Mansfields had other guests as Bevis discovered when he reached their house, and he found the time pass pleasantly enough until dinner was half over, when an odd little pause fell for a moment on the company and allowed Bevis to hear the conversation between the man opposite to him—a little, sunburned, shrivelled man, who seemed to be stating his •opinions very definitely—-and his near- . efit neighbour. ' . j. Bevis listened idly. He was not specially, interested in a discussion on certain problems of heredity, and ne, was glad when some one on his own side of the table offered a remark which made the conversation general again. But, after dinner,, he saw the determined little man bearing down on his former companion, who seemed anxious to escape him. Useless wish •—for the resolute one achieved his object, and the unfortunate woman submitted with an air of patient boredom. Once again, as it happened, Bevis was within hearing. “ I seem fated to have to listen to him,” he thought. “ What a longwinded old buffer it is!” The “long-winded old buffer” apparently had no idea that his views failed to interest others. “ Yes, as I was saying,” he observed amiably, “the most terrible disasters may occur through carelessness, or even through ignorance. And people are shockingly indifferent. You can’t spend your time trotting ,up and down the world as I have done, without seeing a thing or two, if you keep .your eyes open. I remember one instance, very much in point.” , He stopped to help himself to coffee, and then continued:— “I spent a part of my life in the West Indies; indeed, if I could ever have made up my mind to settle down permanently, I think it would have been when I was there. Most charming—but I am wandering from my ipoint. I remember, during part of my .-time, a man came out making, a touf 'for pleasure, and stayed a while on one of the islands —I am sure you will , excuse ma for not specifying whl-cn tt was?!/*

His victim looked as though she [■would nave giaaiy excused him tor cutting short the story at that place, 'but, unconscious of her wishes, hfl went on. "There was a very pretty, fascinating girl out there—quite the prettiest, I think, that I have ever seen, poor thing. Most taking, she was—but there was Insanity in the family. Quite a number of her relatives were out of their tninds, and some of the others, who were not bad enough to be put under restraint, were distinctly. queer. We all knew of it, and, of course, kept it well in mind. But poor, Gresham came out, and—it was really most shameful—her people let him marry her, quite ignorant of her family history. ■The marriage was kept a -secret until it was Ml over, and then, you under-* stand, interference would only have done harm. We had to let ill alone.” He stopped to drink a little of his coffee. Bevis was listening intently now. Gresham! He had reason to know that name. He told himself that it was all coincidence—it could be nothing else. And yet—was it possible that there were two Greshams, both visiting the West Indies, and marrying there? Why not; after all, |he.name was not so very uncommon., It must be only chance. But the traveller was going on again. --“Well, •to out it. short,” • he said,. *‘that poor creature went out of her mind when her..baby was born, and tried to kill Gresham. After that, of course, she had to be locked up, and before long she died. Gresham -went back to England then, faking the baby with him, little Catherine ’ Bevis could not repress a start at the name, but fortunately he was unobserved. ’ “L heard that-he had died before he

landed, and that'the baby had gone .to ..the care of/ins people, but I never knew who 'they were,” the other was sayfng, when Bevis could listen again. “I /can only hope the poor child died. early?' 1 ■ . “Oh, how can you say such dreadful things—so unfeeling?” his companion protested. “It’s con mon' sense,” he retorted sturdily. “If that poor little thing lived to grow up, and knew about her mother’s madness, what could her life be but one long .misery? If she never .went inad herself, she would have the fearjpf Jtalways hanging over her. And suppose she did not know, it would be even worse, for then she might m.cirry and pass It bn to others.

It was hereditary, remejnber, .and I say again,' it-wouli±~havobeen better if she had died as a baby.”

. “It all happened-very long ago, I suppose," said the other, rather Irrelevantly, for. he £had paused as though- expecting comment. ‘‘Dear ipe, it must be about fifty years,” he replied; after some astonished reckoning, j “Howitime passes. [ was quite a youngster then, and now I’m close on eighty, though; ! am glad to say that I’ve kept my strength as not many ” But Bevis did not care to listen to a long discourse upon the degeneracy of the present race of men. He had other matters to occupy him. It was his mother’s story to which he had been listening.- He has heard how her mother had died shortly after her birth, and her father, bringing her home, had died before the ship reached England, leaving the child, then less than a year old, to the care of her grandparents. There was no need, now, to seek explanation of his mother’s illnesses. He understood only too well. Bevis rose hurriedly. He felt that tie could not stay longer in that crowded room; he must be alone, and think this matter out. He made his excuses to Mrs Mansfield for leaving so early, pleaded something about the journey before him next day. “ You do look •tired, Mr Thornbury," she said. ‘‘l’m afraid you have been working too hard. I hope the holiday will do you good. You’re wise to get back early, and take, a long rest, Mind you come to see us when you’re back in Breckington.” Bevis answered something—what, he did not know—and went out. He

was walking back to his lodgings, and the way had never seemed so long. His landlady met him as he went in, and made some remark about his looking ill, but he could not answer her. He could think of nothing, but the blow that had fallen on him so suddenly. He was in his room at last, and, locking the door behind him, he sat down to try to look this new situation in the face. Madness in his mother’s family—■ hereditary madness! He could understand how it had come about; his grandfather must have found the .. subject of his wife’s insanity too terrible to communicate to his friends; doubtless he had counted upon keeping watch over his daughter himself, and seeing that the evil was not handed down to others. But he had died, and his plans were broken; the nurse who had come over with the child probably knew nothing, at least; she had told nothing; little Catherine had gone to the charge of his people, who were_ ignorant of the dreadful facts; the child could not have shown signs of anything amiss, and she had grown up and married Mr Thornbury. And Bevis was their son. The taint was in himself; it might break out,, and In the rear that seized upon him, he felt, for the instant, that his mind was on the point of giving way. . He had always thought madness the most terrible of all fates. Other diseases, however hopeless, however painful, were better than this. And under such a shadow he must remain for the rest of his life. He began to wonder, vaguely, how It would show in him. Would he begin to feel that his powers of thought were slowly slipping out of his control; would his mind fail gradually; would he find himself making ridiculous mistakes, giving absurd accounts of his actions, and be aware of It, and vet be unable to regain command? Or would he be the last to suspect anything wrong? He had heard, somewhere, that the Insane were seldom aware of their own misfortune. Perhaps he would go on, serenely conIldent that all was well with him, while othflrs learnejL.hy slew.dfigrafifi-

first to mistrust him, then to suspect the truth, and finally to take their measures for dealing with him. He could fancy* their hints, behind his back; their wh.ispers that Thornbury ivas' growing—odd—in his ways, and that someone ought to see about it. JTo be continued.! x"'"* -