“The Mystery of Helmsley Grange”

Thames Star, Volume LIX, Issue 16626, 23 October 1925, Page 3

“The Mystery of Helmsley Grange”

OUR SERIAL STORY

CHAPTER XI

By ALICE & CLAUDE ASKEW. (Authors of “The Shulamite,” “T he Pearl of Great Price,” etc.)

By degrees Sir Julian allowed lus friend to monopolise the conversation ; bv degrees, too, Ms found herselr listening with an interest she had no expected to manifest. Mr. Flail had not taken much trouble to make him: self agreeable at the rectory; Ins, indeed, had thought him dull. But it was different now.

She had been very silent at first, hei mind fully occupied by conflicting fears and fancies. She was trying to force herself to fall in with her aunt s view that it was quite reasonable tor Roger to run up to London so sucldenlv Certainly, on the face of it, there was no cause for her alarm,, but yet —Roger had told her only yesterday that he had no more business to attend to, that all the settlements were prepared, and all his purchases made. Had this sudden call anything to do with her father—with the crime m the wood? She shuddered at the thought. Or ,perhaps, was it connected with the mysterious visit which she had sui • prised that afternoon? Wlmt was Theresa Stanway to Roger? Theresa Stanway, proud and beautiful, hau taken possession of Iris’s mmd and was not easily to be dislodgea. It was to the credit of Mr. Flail s conversational powers that he was at last able to command the girl’s attention.

He was talking—to oil appearances carelessly—of the South of France of Xice. ~ _ . , “I was born at Nice,” said Ins, but I was not there long enough to remember anvthing about the place.” “I know that,” returned Mr. Flan. “1 remember you quite well as a baby, Miss Carew. Your parents, were friends of mine in those days. “You knew my mother?” faltered tho girl. She hardly liked to ask the question, but it came out in spite oi herself. She wanted so intensely to know if Clare Carew was in reality hs bad as her father had painted her. And now an opportunity presented itself; she had never before had such a chance. “Yes, J knew her well,” answered the man gravely. “She was a very beautiful woman, Miss Carew. I knew your father, too —in fact, I could probably tell you more about your family history than you know yourself.” “J know so little,” cried Iris, impetuously, “next to nothing. My father has obliged me to be something of a recluse,” she added, with a faint smile.

“So I have been told.” He glanced down at the pale, excited face. His lips curled almost derisively, but Iris saw nothing of this. “I can quite understand, Miss Carew,” he went on, “that your father has always desired to keep your family bistoiy from you.”

“Was my mother so bad?” stammered the girl. She almost hated herself for asking the question. “Your mother?” Mr. Flail laughed, unpleasantly. “All mv sympathies are with your mother.” Iris’s heart bounded within her. “I thought ” she began.

“My dear Miss Corew,” interrupted the man. “your mother was a woman with a. woman’s impulsive heart and nature. She was no better and no worse than most. She had her passions and she loved life. Mr. Carew was an impossible husband for her— she was

only a girl, and he did not understand her. But if he had ever known the truth—the truth she so bravely kept from him—perhaps even he might have been more forgiving?’ ’ “The truth?” Iris opened big eyes of wonder. She felt herself trembling; was a part at least of the veil of mystery to be torn from her eyes?

“My mother left- my father,” she gasped. “He told me so. She ran away from him.”

“And why?” Mr. Flail was speaking with some heat. “All, you do not know, Miss Carew. I will tell you, for even if you don’t know it now you must some day. Forgive me if I hurt you. The truth is that the marriage between your father and mother was not a valid one.” Ho paused.

“I—l don’t understand.” Iris’s eyes were filled with horror now—the wonder had left them.

Mr. Flail showed no pity. “It was all a mistake/ 1 lie said sdowly, “but it was a fact all the same. Mr. Mark Carew—your father—had another wifo living when he married Clare., You never knew that he had been married twice, of course? Very few people did. He thought his first wife was dead—l’ll do him that justice. It’s a long story—but you must learn it.”

Iris hardly heard the latter part of his speech. The horror of the position as it affected herself was beginning to dawn upon her. She staggered back. Sir Julian lifted his arm to support her—thinking she was about to faint. “You mean ” she whispered hoarsely, “that my mother had no right to be my father’s wife when—when I was born?” Mr. Flail shook his head.

“Listen, and I will explain,” he began, “Miss Carew—l am sorry ” But she would not listen—the ono terrific fact had sunk into her mind.

“Then I—l ” she cried, despairingly. “What am I? lam a girl without a name. I have no right to the position in which I have been brought up. T—l—” Words failed her.

How could she manrv Roger now?

CHAPTER XII. How could Iris marry Rogei now? If it were true—this terrible revelation. which had just been made to her, what hope was there that the fond desires of her heart should ever be fulfilled? If she had hesitated before—told herself that she was doing a wrong thing in accepting Roger’s love—there was now no longer room for hesitation. The only course open to her was to break with him once and for ever for his own sake. But was it true? Might there not be some terrible mistake? Surely, if her father had been married twice she would not have been left in total ignorance of tho fact? Her aunt must certainly have known of this mar riage. Then it flashed across Iris’s mincl that Mark Carew had spent many years of his life abroad, and had been estranged from his sister til] he came home with his newly married wife, Clare—lris’s mother.

After a very, little while lie had returned to France, settling at last in a villa at Nice .where she was horn. More than this iris did not know.

But why had this Mr. Flail, a stranger to her, taken upon himself to

break the terrible secret tc her? What good could he derive from it? The spot which Mr. Flail had chosen for the telling of his story was in every way suited to such a purpose. There was no fear of interruption. The grounds of the rectory practically adjoined those of Danvers Court. And Iris, glancing wildly round her, feeling the earth rocking beneath her feet ,staggered to a rustic seat, falling upon it limp and helpless. She sat for a few moments, breathing painfully, pressing her hands to her heart, feeling as though she had been struck with some sharp weapon.

Mr. Flail was.silent, watching her. His sallow face expressed no regret for wimi he had said. He appeared to he waiting, waiting till she was sufficiently recovered to hear more. Sir Julian stepped forward. He was tho first to speak. His eyes were Ini I of sympathy, his voice was' very soft and caressing. “Dear Miss Iris,” he said, “you have received a terrible blow. Don’t think I do not sympathise with you, and loel for you in this trouble. I wish to Heaven it had not been necessary—

Iris drew herself up, recovering vMh an effort her power of speech. 'i ho man’s words were kind, but she mistrusted him.

“Do not sympathise with me,’’ she said, with some warmth. “I do not know why you and your friend have hurt me so cruelly. What you have told me mav be true or it may be ialse

—some horrible mistake —I cannot say —but this I do know, that you had no right—no right,” she repeated the words with a strength which surprised herself, “to break this secret to mo who have been, and might have continued, happy in my ignorance of it. Oh, it was cruel of you”—here her voice broke—“for I have done you noill—l have borne you no malice.” , She addressed herself to .Sir Julian rather than to Mr. Flail, for she had an instinctive feeling; that he was the instigator of all that had passed. \V as it possible—could such a thing be—that in his jealousy at her betrothal to another man Sir Julian had taken this means of revenging himself upon her. If such was the case Sir Julian s manner and bearing were far from lending weight to the supposition; indeed, he seemed deeply moved sincrely touched.

“Believe me, Miss Iris,’ he said, “that I have your best interests at heart, as I know has Mr. Flail. He has not drawn the veil from this mystery of your past out of sheer wantonness. No; there is a reason why you should learn certain facts.” He stood before her, his head bout, and spoke almost humbly. “You are angry with me now. he said, “and you are angry with my friend. It is only natural; but . v °u U forgive us, I’m sure, when you knowall. I’ll write to you to-night,” he added, as if in afterthought, “It will give me a little comfort to do so, and. perhaps, if you are no longer \exeJ with me, you will answer my letter. He looked at her pleadingly, but she averted her eyes from him. “Please go,” she murmured, “if I must listen let Mr. Flail speak quickly before my strength breaks down. ’ She set her ‘lips firmly. “1 will try to bear it,” she said, faintly. “Yes, l will try.”

Without- another word. Sir Julian Danvers strode away. His eyes met those of Mr. Flail as he passed him by, and a look of intelligence was exchanged between the two men. But* Iris saw nothing of this. The tall figure could se seen for a few minutes as it passed out of the avenue, then Sir .Julian disappeared down a by-path of the garden. Iris drew a long sigh. She was living through the bitterest moment of her life, and it was hard to hear such an ordeal without shrinking or yielding

to natural emotion. When, later on, Iris recalled that hour, she wondered that sho had had the strength to endure it.

Mr. Flail glanced after the disappearing figure of his friend. - “A good fellow, Sir Julian,” he said, “a man whom one does well to trust. Ho was speaking the truth, Miss Carew, when he said that he had your interests at heart. You also were right in supposing bat it was he who asked mo to speak to you. Perhaps,” ho shrugged his shoulders with the peculiarly foreign gesture which he affected, “perhaps J. should have done so less abruptly. But our conversation led up to naturally to that which I had to say. 1 was so sorry, too, to learn that you misjudged your mother —it was not your fault, of course—but it forced mo to speak as I did. And now 1 want you to treat me as a friend, Miss Carew, for I think I shall soon convince you that my motives are friendly.” •

He seated himself by her side upon the rustic bench, giving her time to collect herself before he spoke again. “Please let mo hear what you have to say,” she murmured faintly. “I. wan to go—l want to go home and think.”

“Very well, Miss Carew,” returned the man. gravely. “We will come to the point. Then you will understand that 1 did not speak wantonly •<> give you pain, but in order.to wain y°u of a great danger which iangs over you and yours.” “What do you mean?” l.ris lingered her hands nervously. •

As was natural her thoughts flew to Helms ley Wood—to her murdered mother —to her father’s peril of arrest. “What danger threatens us? For the love of Heaven don’t keep mo in suspense.”

“I told, you.” said the man, quietly, “that your father, Mark Carew, has been married twice. I. am not going to dwell at length upon this part of. the story, but will only tell you just sufficient to make my meaning clear. Mark was' vorv young when lie married, his first wife. It happened to America. He was estranged from liis own friends, and probably never thought tc return to Englaad. You see, therefore, that it is no matter for wonder that his relations knew nothing of this marriage.” (To be continued).