The Marriage of Celia

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20274, 7 April 1934, Page 29 (Supplement)

The Marriage of Celia

■ -■ Au tbor of—- “ Joan Fairlie’s Cross-roads,” a “The Black Bretrayal,” A “Love’s Tangle,” etc. ▼

- By

MADGE BARLOW.

CHAPTER I. In the foyer of tho Beverley, a comfortable middle-class hotel on the northeast coast of England, a sprinkling of guests had gathered to enjoy a postprandial gossip at the close of au oppressively sultry summer day. Sanna Percivale’s comments on things in general and persons in particular kept the lazy group amused so long as the edge of her satirical tongue was not whetted on themselves. Sanna was an illustrator of books and magazines, a clever woman of no small repute, occupying, when at home, a flat in Lisle Mansions, Westminster, boasting many admirers of her talent, few friends, and no lovers. Physically of a quite ordinary, colourless type, she would have bartered her brains and success for the face of a girl who had newly carried off the hotel’s matrimonial prize, Robert Lennox. Round the bend of the staircase came the prize, and her lips tightened—that modjslily flat figure of hers encased a soul steeped in the gall of bitterness. She had held and interested Lennox until Celia Conor arrived with her mother, whom Sanna nicknamed the “Bird of Prey.** Fully alive to the instant impression her daughter made on Lennox, Mrs. Conor elbowed Miss Percivale from her vantage ground' and privately coached Celia in the art of luring a man step by step to the grand climax of a proposal. Celia let the coaching in at one ear and out at the other, and remained her natural sunny self. She could not have done better. Robert fell to her simplicity, her frank and lovely smile, her bewitching innocence. Their betrothal was still the nine days* wonder of the Beverley. The foyer’s concentrated gaze fastened on him as he descended. Moderately tall and of big build, he had the look of a man outdoor life and its usages have toughened. Rather fine eyes and a wfiH-cut mouth redeemed his irregular features from plainness. He had a long jaw of equine type, and dark hair beginning to grizzle" above the temples. A personable man, Robert, in any setting but a drawing room. Briefly he acknowledged Sanna’s greeting, distributed nods here and there, and passed out. Down the hotel steps he went, along the avenue between patches of verdant lawn, and up the road town wards. A lounger remarked that ho seemed frightfully ill. “And such a vivid colour,** another chimed in. “111? I should say so, and that*s why he hasn’t been seen all day.** “Maybe he and his beloved had a tiff,** hazarded a third. “Miss Conor isn’t the tiflish sort,” a matron murmured. “Perhaps the ‘Bird of Prey* has been digging her beak too voraciously into his bank account,” Sanna sneered. “You mean in the matter of marriage settlements r* querica tne matron, aware of Miss Percivale’s angling for Robert, and the rankling smart of her defeat. “Miss Celia’s a lucky young lady, and Mr. Lennox won’t haggle over settlements.** “I referred to the ‘Bird of Prey’s* personal fee for selling her daughter to a keen bidder,” said Sanna. “Surely you don’t insinuate this is a case of sale and barter? We understood Mrs. Conor’s financial position was mound.” “You forgot you told me that Mrs. Conor had brought her wares to east coast watering places for three success aive years, and had thrown her daughter at the head of every man of average eligibility who gave Selia a second glance,’* was the retort. “Anyhow, the lady has shown business acumen in hooking Lennox,” interposed Algernon Joicey, retired AngloIndian major, and the hotel’s busybody, always to the fore when scandals were being discussed. “Mr. Lennox is an explorer of some renown, was banqueted in London when he returned from Africa a year ago, is fairly wealthy, and laird of a Highland estate he purchased recently up North, where his forbears hailed from. Lennox could have dropped the handkerchief whenever he pleased, and he has chosen to drop it at the feet of an Irish colleen not of much account. We can’t question his taste in beauty, though we may mourn his blindnfess to rarer gifts lying as close to hand.**

“Shut up,” hissed Sanna. “Celia is coming now.” Celia took the stairs in a race, jumped the five bottom steps, and landed on the mat, laughing. Pink of cheek, all soft round curves and alluring femininity, Jier curly golden-brown hair unshorn, here was a girl content to be as Nature made her, a feast for jaded masculine eyes. Sanna pressed her hand affectionately. Strange are the ways of women. Since Celia robbed her of Lennox, Miss Percivale appeared to love her more and more. “Looking for your fiance, dearest?” she purred. “Ten minutes ago he went town wards in a tremendous hurry.” “Did: he? I’ve been with mother’ and 1 m snatching a scamper while she tries to sleep. The terrific heat upset her an<l her head aches badly.” th ® heat upset Mr. Lennox, too?” Not that I am aware of. He said he had letters to write, and would stay in his room to-day.” “His correspondence must have been voluminous. “Can’t say, I*m sure,” smiled Celia, wriggling hsr hand loose and escaping Those who cared to watch saw that she slipped round to the rear of the hotel where the rose garden and tennis courts were situated. I" the gloaming, oh, my darling, " hen the lights are dim and low! hummed Sanna, significantly, and Major Joicey, affecting an archness unbefitting his bald pate, asked slyly: i an y b °dy seen our young gallant, Dick Avery?” . * “You may find 1 him in the roso garden,” drawled Sanna. “Shan’t bother. I might be de trop,” he grinned. “The girl’s mother should look after her, frowned the plump matron, mouth primly pursed. Celia went straight to a summer house in the garden, to Dick; Avery awaiting her—Dick, whose disappointed love was the jest of the Beverley, a fair-skinned, handsome fellow, nearer her age, he seemed a more fitting mate for her than the older and graver Lennox. His face, haggard and miserable, brightened at her approach. “I got your note, and I’d have come sooner if mother hadn’t detained me,” said Celia. “What’s the matter, Dick?” “You know what’s the matter,” he replied, passionately. “You know I love you, and you’ve cast me aside for a man able to give you everything I can t give. You are breaking my heart, and some day you’ll find that you have

broken your own. I’m not in a position to marry at once, and Lennox is. If I were not a poor beggar you’d accept me instead of him.” Celia pondered, nodded, and said “Maybe.” “I couldn’t equal his offer in a hundred years so far as money goes,” continued Dick, “but four or five * years hence I could provide a home, and enough for your needs and mine. Wait for me, dearest, and write to me, and we’ll be happy yet.” “I’ve heard this before,” she answered, shaking her head, “and I’ve told you before that I’m uncertain whether I care enough for you to risk four or five years of letter-writing and living on hope. If I were certain I did, you wouldn’t need to ask again.” “But you are going to marry Lennox without loving him a bit. Is it right or honourable ?** “I must marry, and I’ve begun to believe love doesn’t exist except in the romances people are paid to write. The great and splendid love which you say makes heaven on earth I’ve never met. Of course I’ve seen folks who fancied they were experiencing it, who were perfectly idiotic about each other till they were bound together for life, then they tired, and the rest was just a long dragging of chains.” “Our chains would be rose leaves, and we’d hug them.” “I can’t be sure, Dick. I wish I were.” “Take the chance, darling. It’s worth taking.” “I would if I were sure I cared enough,” she reiterated. “To discover at the end of five years that you were not the whole world to me would be dreadful; to discover it after we were married would be far, far worse. Tliere’d be no compensations. Money counts for something. Mother says husband and wife who have plenty seldom tire, because they can get out of each other’s way and find heaps of distractions. She thinks respect and liking have the best wearing qualities, and I do like and respect Robert.” Her puckered brow, the wistful perplexity of her blue eyes, were too much for Avery’s endurance. He flung his arms about her and kissed the rosy lips uttering these stale heresies, kissed her till he was breathless and startled. In a warm dusk full of the perfume of flowers his, ardent love-making had an emotional appeal previously unfelt, an appeal both frightening and enthralling. “You dear goose!” he cried triumphantly. “Tell your mother you have no use for her wise advice, tell Lennox you’ve no use fop him either. You are mine—mine to hold and keep in spite of a host of mercenary plotters. You see, Celia, beloved, you’ve been worrying over nothing. You adore me as I adore you, or you wouldn’t let me kiss you "dth Lennox’s engagement ring on vour finger. You’d be angry and ashamed, wouldn’t you ?’*

“I couldn’t stop you,” she protested. “You didn’t want to,” he declared. “I wonder,” murmured Celia, meditatively.

“No occasion to,** he laughed. It Vs clear as daylight.** “But, Dick ** She paused, twisting a button of his jacket. . “But me no buts, dear heart. My own girl is all mine.” “Oh, we shouldn’t!” she panted. “Let me go.” “1 won’t let you go till vou tell me you’ll be true.” Out of the gathering dusk, close' behind them, smiting dismay through them, Mrs. Conor’s voice shrilled high . and raw. “Celia, how dare you! Go indoors immediately 1 ” “Glory to goodness!” the astounded culprit gasped weakly. ‘Obey at once!’* Mrs. Conor commanded. “Leave me to deal with the cad who wouldn’t hesitate to compromise you in the eyes of your future husband if opportunity offered. Your conduct is disgraceful, abominable, and he shall hear my plain opinion of it and him. Appalled by the accusation of disgraceful .conduct, Celia fled. CHAPTER 11. Explaining the incident later, she was candour itself, a solemn-eyed Celia standing meekly in front of authority throned on an ottoman and determined to wring the last fragment of confession from her. Dick, she admitted, had told her he loved her before Robert did, told her also that he couldn’t afford to marry; therefore she hadn’t thought of him as a prospective husband, and had accepted Robert. Afterwards Dick reproached her with inconstancy, which was absurd, tor she hadn’t said she returned his love, 0,1 y that she was fond of his company and liked to be with him much better than with other men at the Beverley, this evening he begged her to wait a ew years till he was able to marry her, to give up Robert and become engaged to him. Then lie kissed her, and his kisses were not distasteful to her. Lovin** him sufficiently to wait for him was another thing, however. “I would if I knew lie meant such a lot to me that Id be glad to do that,” she concluded, eyes fixed on her mother’s vexed face. •Can you tell me how I’ll know? You have had experience.” Ihe fact that you ask your ridiculous question proves he is nothing to ' you but a pleasant companion,” was the sharp reply. “You talk childishly. A modern schoolgirl would jeer and call you silly. Avoid Avery; put him out of your thoughts; snub his advances, lou intend to marry Robert, I presume?” “Unless I learn that I really and truly can’t live without Dick.” Mrs. Conor groaned and smote her hands palm to palm. “But to hurt Robert by jilting him would hurt me, too,” resumed naive Celia. “He is good and kind, and I should be grateful to him for rescuing mW us—from our struggle to live decently.” \ “You should, indeed,” Mrs. Conor urged. “It’s extraordinary luck, considering your lack of style and eelfassertiveness. Be sensible and stick to your luck. I’ve pinched and scraped to make these annual trips possible, to allow you a chance to improve your condition. If you could respond to Avery’s infatuation, I’d advise you to refuse him. He’s a penniless dependent on his uncle’s favour, and poverty kills love. Poverty is ugly and sordid, it eats into the soul. I have been through the disillusioning. I loved your father devotedly. He was estate agent to Sir Tighe Roche, l a governess in Sir Tighe’s family. For a time we were ideally happy.”

She drew the girl down to the otto* man, clasped her round the waist, and bent a tragic gaze on her. “Only for a time, Celia. Troubles arrived—those land troubles —and we were in reduced circumstances. Money was scarce, and food. We were halfstarved. When one is half-starved one sinks to tile level of the beasts; the courtesies of life are forgotten; the affections don't matter. We bickered, drifted from bickering into fierce quarrelling, bandied words which cut to the bone. Eugene and I, who would have died for each other in days of ease, were goaded by hunger into scenes that left their indelible mark on us.” Mrs. Conor passed a handkerchief across her quivering lips. “The tide turned. Celia. We were restored to a degree of comfort, but love was not restored; never the old love, merely its shadowy, sad ghost. You see the moral? Apply it to yourself and Avery.” The girl shivered a little. Dimly remembering her father’s surliness, her mother’s tears, she cried out: “I’ll cause you no sorrow. I’ll promise you faithfully that I’ll marry Robert and listen no more to Dick.” “You’ll keep your promise?’* “As I'd keep the most solemn vow, mother.” “Now I shall have peace,” sighed the overwrought woman. “By the way, have you spoken with Robert to-day?” “No; he’s been invisible, but Sanna said he went to town in the evening and looked rather ill.” “That spying cat, Sanna Percivale, misses nothing. It was Major Joicey who directed me to the rose-garden when 1 went down stairs to find you, and Miss Percivale was sitting beside him smiling her thin-lipped white smile. I wonder if they knew about you and Avery.” “They couldn’t. Sanna would see me turn towards the garden. She offers to ‘be my bridesmaid in November, mother.” “Oh, Celia, you must shake her off!” wailed Mrs. Connor. “You are to be married in Balbriggan, and you have heard me brag of the enormous size of our Irish residence, Conor’s Castle. Inquisitive strangers force me to lie, and the Beverley crowd does catechise one cruelly. I’d die of mortification if Miss Percivale were to see we actually live in a five-roomed yellow-washed house* on the side of the street, and'haven’t a servant, and I teach music and languages to eke out the pension Sir .Tighe grants me, and Paddy Fee, the undertaker, is our next-door neighbour. Robert knows. I wouldn’t deceive Robert, but nobody else has any claim to our confidence.” “The fairy tales escaped my memory,” said Celia, ruefully amused. “We’ll concoct an excuse for shunting Sanna. She shan’t get a glimpse of Paddy and our castle. Why, mother, you are shaking. You aren’t to distress yourself another minute.” “I’ll try not to. The heat has been dreadfully wearing, unusual tropical heat that felt sticky. I*ll go to bed, Celia, and perhaps a sleep will cure my headache. On the whole, I*m glad you met Dick Avery and I had it out with him. The air is cleared in that respect, and I have your promise Betting my mind at rest. Are you going downstairs again to-night ?’* “No fear. I’m going to bed like a repentant little girl sorry for plaguing her mummy.” Mrs. Conor embraced her fervently, and Celia returned the embrace tenderly; but Mrs. Conor did not go to bed. A presentiment of further trouble in store oppressed her. Lennox figured in her prescient fears. She endeavoured to persuade herself that jangled nerves led her to imagine his day’s strict seclusion was portenous of trouble, his rushing away at dusk, his prolonged and inexplicable absence. From her windows she glanced at his in a new wing abutting on the tennis courts, and noticed they were unlit. Hia avoidance of her and Celia was odd, the excuse of letter-writing thin. Something was afoot. Mrs. Conor had a Celt’s faith in presentiments.

She crept to the landing and hearkened to sounds below stairs, rag-time pianoforte music, rhythmic tread of dancers, buzz of conversation, peals of mirth. The upper storeys were deserted. She glided swiftly to the new wing and tapped on Lennox’s door.

Receiving no answer, she entered the room, her purpose vaguely shapen, perhaps not so much a purpose as an in-, definite curiosity to gather- from the aspect of the room a hint of the reason of Robert’s odd behaviour. It was neat and tidy, every article in the spot appointed for it, with the exception of a leather-bound blotting book and fountain pen lying on a table at which lie had been writing. The blotter drew and riveted her attention. Mrs. Conor, hitherto scrupulously honourable, lifted and took the book to a window, toyed with it a while, and finally yielded to overwhelming impulse, and turned its leaves in quest of clues to the contents of letters which had kept Robert a recluse abnost tho entire length of a day. Between the middle sheets she happened upon a torn sheet of notepaper, a discarded portion of a leter, scrapped, doubtlessly on account of its incoherent phrasing. Her fingers seized and pieced tho parte. The outpourings of a man labouring under stress of emotion which prevented coherence of thought were there for her bewildered eyes to read, and read again in a dazed fashion, her mouth falling slackly open, the blood in lier surcharged heart pounding as if it must burst through its frail confines or suffocate her. She reeled beneath fate’s smashing •blow, clutching the curtains to ‘ steady herself. In black and white, penned by his own hand, she held the assurance that Robert Lennox had resolved to break off his engagement on the morrow. (To be continued daily.)