Love’s Reward.

Thames Star, Volume LVII, Issue 15115, 28 December 1921, Page 7

Love’s Reward.

[All Rights Reservbd.]

By PAUL URQUHART, Author of " The Web," “ The Eagles <l The Shadow,” " The Blackmailer” “ The Sign of the Good Intent ” &c.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER V — (Continue I “ITttsh, Martha! Remember your promise,” returned Iris, turning a reproachful eye upon her. “I’m sorry, miss; I forgot. I ’ll never forget again.” In another moment the trap drew up, and Iris and Martha got out. The door stood open as she entered. From the sparsely-furn-ished best room she heard the sound of weeping. She looked in. HeF'mother, with her face in her arms, was crying. Over the table above her stood Heathcote Burnaby, trying to comfort her. He looked up quickly as Iris came in, and she was cut to the heai’t by the sight of the sad traces that misery had imprinted on his face. She rushed into her father’s arms. “Father, I have come back. I am rich. I have got one thousand pounds a year.” Struggling out of her father’s embrace, she took her mother’s face in her hands and kissed it passionately. ‘ ‘ There shall be no more of this, mother dear. We shall be happy and comfortable once more. I have brought you good fortune. I always told you I should make my -way.” “But how did you get it?’’said her father, almost overcome with surprise and emotion. The girl hesitated. She shrank from the idea of deceiving those who loved her. But there was no help for it, and at last she took the plunge. “It was given me, You remember I had some employment in the North, as companion to an old lady. She died, poor old soul, and left me all her money. I thought I would,bring' you the news myself.” “God is very good,” said Heathcote Burnaby. “And who is this?’” said Mrs. Burnaby, suddenly catching sight of Martha. “Please, ma’am-, I am Miss Burnaby’s maid.” And Martha made her most elaborate curtesy. Iris turned away her head. She could not look at Martha, though the faithful girl was playing her part well. It was the first untruthful word she had spoken to her parents, and she had a presentiment that ill would follow.

CHAPTER VI. ; Iris rose early the following morning, in. spite of the fatigue and the excitement of the day before. She had left Martha sleeping soundly, for, owing to the smallness of the cottage, mistress and maid had had to sleep together. From among the remnants of. her scanty wardrobe that she had left behind, when she originally left Dainton to earn her living, she was able to dress herself in clothes that at least were not reminiscent of her past servitude. In a blouse and skirt, and without a hat, she stepped out into the glory of the autumn morning. Though it was scarcely seven o’clock, Dainton was-wide awake. The one general stall that the village boasted had its shutters down, and Mrs. Coombes, the proprietress, was already behind the counter, prepared to catch the meagre business of the day. The news of Iris’s arrival had spread through the village, and catching sight of her coming, down the tree-shaded roadway, Mrs. Coombes dropped her spectacles and the penny novelette she was reading and rushed to greet the young mistress. “It be good to see you back again, miss, that it be,” she said, shaking Iris’s hand warmly, “and I hope you have brought the dear old master and mistress back some luck from foreign parts.” Iris knew perfectly well that Mrs. Coombes was burning with insatiable curiosity to hear the narration of her adventures. The little shop was the gossip centre of the Dainton community. It was there that all the villagers collected to hear what small scandal the neighbourhood was capable of retailing. Mrs. Coombes placed no small store on her occupation as gossiper-in-chief. For her to obtain first hand a full account of the mistress’s doing was a matter of extreme importance. She felt that her reputation was at stake. It would not do for anyone else to gather the news first. Iris knew of this, and it dawned upon her that perhaps here was the best method of giving

she had fabricated before. It was impossible to tell the story of her marriage to Arthur Wragham, and, in order to set all doubts at rest that might arise in the minds of the inhabitants of the place, she decided to circulate her version of the good fortune that had come to her by repeating it to Mrs. Coombes. The old woman was delighted. She interrupted the narrative with ejaculations of “Dearie me!” and was warm in her congratulations when she heard that the old Squire and his good lady would once more know some of the ease and comfort to which they had been accustomed. “What are you going to do, Miss Iris?” “I am going to move out of the cottage, Mrs. Coombes, at once. That is why I am out so early. I want to find some place where we can have the small quantity of furniture stored, and to get some labourers to help in the removal.” ) “Why, miss, you can have the barn at the back of the shop. Since I’ve given up gadding about I have got rid of my pony, and it’s just the place to. keep your furniture. And I would be proud to let you have it, miss, and as for finding labourers—why, bless your heart, miss, you have only got to ask the first man you meet in the village, and he’ll come and do it, and willing, for the old Square's sake. Hr! Jan,” and she called to a man who was passing, with a spade over his shoulder, to his work. The man stopped, and, seeing Iris, touched his hat, and grinned a welcome all over his face. “Welcome back to Dainton, Miss,” he said. “It is good to see you again.” Mrs. Coombes explained what was wanted of him, and he expressed such willingness to assist in the work that he seemed almost to regard it as a disappointment that he was not required to move the cottage as well. “I’ll get ’ee three carts from the village. Ye can have all the carts in the place except those belonging to the man at the Court, and I will be round at the Squire’s by nine punctual. You leave it to me, miss. Ibe lazy and fat through doing no work.” Iris had great difficulty in restraining the emotions that welled up in her heart at these tokens of warm affection.

She thanked the /big yokel as best she could, and then accompanied Mrs. Coombes into the shop. Here she made some purchases of bacon and eggs and cream and honey, breakfast-table luxuries that her father and mother had not known for a year. With the assistance of Martha, whom she found vainly searching the kitchen for any signs of food that might be suitable for the morning meal, she cooked the breakfast. Never had a happier family party sat down to breakfast. The years that had lined themselves upon Heathcote Burnaby’s brow during the previous twelve months seemed to slip away. For the moment his voice lost its tremor,' and there returned to him some of his old heartiness. His wife was too overcome by emotion to makq more than a pretence of eating. Martha, coming in and out of the room, was all smiles and dimples, and literally revelled in the strange set of circumstances which had brought her to be waiting upon the girl who only two days Ibefore had been her fellow-servant. To the pressing questions of her father and mother, Iris returned discreet and evasive answers. She told them all about her life in London, and the time she had spent seeking an appointment through ladies’ agencies and of the four terrible weeks during which she had experienced the life of a shop-assistant in a third-rate drapery establishment. For the rest of her experiences she had to draw upon her imagination. She pictured the mythical Mrs. Wrangham as well as she could, avoiding details as much as possible. But, once started on the first falsehood she had ever told her parents, she found herself soon running riot in a mass of fiction. She had to describe where she had gone; she had-to detail the old lady’s last illness, and picture her own surprise when the lawyer told her of the magnificent legacy she had been left. “And now, father, I have got

nave made,” she said, t&en she had finished her story. “We are going to leave this wretched place at once. The men are coming at nine to remove the furniture, which Mrs. Coombes has promised to store for us. We can go straight from here to Torquay for a few weeks. Meanwhile, you can look about for a place where you would care to settle. And, mo-, ther dear, we shall have to do a lot of shopping. We both want clothes badly. That is the first thing we must do when we get to Torquay. ’ ’ While Heathcote Burnaby pulled at his pipe, mother and daughter sat over the breakfasttable discussing all sorts of specious plans for the future. The conversation rapidly became animated. At last the old Squire began to laugh in as hearty £ fashion as of yore. “Heathcote dear, it’s- good to hear you laugh again,” said Mrs. Burnaby. “Yes, Mary dear, we’ve had little to laugh at during these last twelve months. But our little girl here” —and he laid an affectionate hand on Iris’s shoulder — “has brought back life to us old folks. I daresay she will see we are comfortable till the end, my dear.”

A shadow crossed the window. Heathcote . Burnaby stopped abruptly, the gentle, kindly lines on his "face hardened, and the strong, pugnacious jaw set tightly. They caught the sound of a man’s, footsteps on the doorstep. They heard him fumbling with the latch. Then the door was. flung open, and without a knock or any salutation Sir John Fotliersgili strode into the room. He was dressed in riding-coat and breeches. His white check waistcoat set off a red tie in which he wore an abnormally ;large gold fox’s head. Ever since Sir John had taken over the duties of a landed gentleman he had, with his usual capaeity for detail, tried to do the thing thoroughly. He dressed for the part, and was elaborately over-dressed. The result of his efforts made him look horsey. By some evil dispensation of fortune he had turned himself into a medley of a bookmaker and a stage hero of melodrama. His care-fully-preserved pink and white complexion and neatly-trimmed moustache contrasted strangely with the hard grey eyes of the financier. It was a face that deluded many people. It was recognised as an asset at shareholders’ meetings. The almost boyish hue of his cheeks gave to the most fraudulent limited liability companies a semblance of innocence. Without seeing the man’s eyes it would have been almost impossible for anyone to associate the personality of Sir John Fothersgill with the whirlpool of frenzied finance. That he Was now in a very angry mood was denoted by the down-drawn bend of his eyebrows and the two puckered furrows on his forehead. He had come to play the bully, and had worked himself up beforehand to the necessary pitch of passion and bluster. Heathcote Burnaby had risen to his feet. “What does this intrusion mean, sir?” he said, with something of his old asperity. “Mean? It means that this house is mine, and that you miserable paupers have got to get out of it. You lied to me, Heathcote Burnaby. You have been trying to play with me, you and your brat of a daughter.” , A flash of passion suffused Heathcote Burnaby’s face. He took one step forward, his fist clenched. Iris laid a restraining hand upon his arm, and he paused in his threatening advance. ■“Leave .tthis house instantly, you scoundrel. You—you dare to call me a liar!” Sir John Fothersgill suddenly became unnaturally cool. “The days have gone by, my man, when you can call me by such names. This house is mine. You live here on my charity, and out you get at once. You have pretended to me for this year past that your daughter was considering my proposal. You have even hinted that she was prepar-. ed to accept the honour I proposed to do her. You have tried to deceive me for the sake of this roof and shelter. I have had enough of you and yours, Heathcote Burnaby.’

"To be Continued . L.R. 5*