FREDA ALONE

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20340, 25 June 1934, Page 14

FREDA ALONE

Author of “ Peggy, the Daughter,” j, “Wary Gray,” etc.

By

KATHARINE TYNAM

" CHAPTER XVII. The New Life. It was a day of St. Martin’s summer when Freda left town for Wynstone, which was the station for Almoners. She had shrunk from the thought of going alone among strangers; and. it had taken all her courage to say goodbye to Mrs. Maitland ami the homeh ml at tlie Crescent, to say nothing of that good friend Dr. Cronin, who had come to the station to see her off, so using up the very last hours of his holiday. “I’d have liked to come with you,” he said, standing by the carriage door, having provided Freda from the bookstall with sufficient reading matter to last for a much longer railway journey than that between Victoria and Wynstone; “I'd have liked to come with you only I’ve such an unfashionable coat and such a shocking bad hat. It would prejudice you with your new friends. Don’t you see”—liis voice fell to a whisper —“that your fellow-passengers are wondering what possible link there can be between such a charming young lady and such a disreputable old rapscallion.” “I do wish you were coming,” said Freda, suddenly desolate for the faces she knew. Mrs. Maitland had been laid up with an attack of bronchitis, and had been unable to see her oil. Dr. Cronin shook his head with a whimsical smile. “I've got to go back to Sliadwell as fast as ever a train will ear* me. There’s a much injured man there who s to go off for his holiday at three o'clock this afternoon. As though doctors needed a holiday! 1 once knew a man, bodad, and I declare to goodness the only liolidav ho ever had was wearing a straw hat,* and he was the healthiest “By the way,” said Freda hurriedly —there was a slamming of doors along the train, coming nearer and nearer “I wish, if vou could make tiue, that von would call at St. Clave's Almshouse ami ask for Miss Matheson—any time will do—and tell her I meant to'come again as T promised, but 1 was presented. When I come back to London used to know a Miss Matheson,” Dr. Cronin said, and he looked a little lurried. “I wonder if it could be the ame? Sure, it’s not an uncommon name, s it?” “I suppose not,” said Freda. “And ou'll be sure to write to me. And take are of yourself. Make that old houseceper look after you. Don't be coining i wet and sitting down in wet clothes •fore the fire because you're too dead red to change them.” “And because I don't know the minute ore'll be a tinkle at the surgery bell, ml another call for me to be out. Qedad, T won’t then. I’ll tell Miss Magratli I’m to be taken care of like as if I was her pet cat, because there’s a lovely young lady takes an interest in poor old Tom Cronin.” The train trembled through its length, and began to move. Tears were in Freda’s eyes as she looked back at the kind, humorous face. What a shame he hadn’t someone to look after him besides that silly, selfish old Miss Magratli, who indeed, thought a deal more of her eat than of him. How shabby he looked and how tired. He ran a little way with the train, his hand on Freda’s till he was obliged to fall back. Her fellow passengers were only two or three, elderly, and absorbed in their newspapers. She could have been very melancholy, but she was not going to lose heart at the outset. She had promised Dr. Cronin that she would be brave. So. instead of allowing sad choughts to take possession of her she opened her bag and took out a long letter which had come from Pont-de-Pierre that morning. She had been too hurried to do more than glance through its precious contents. Well—it was not two months yet since she had left Pont-de-Pierre, and how many things had happened! Her efforts to’ discover the identity of her parents had so far failed. She had laid aside the search for the time being, because she was shattered in nerves and was penniless. She smiled to herself, thinking how huge a sum maman had thought to bestow on lier in that five hundred francs. She meant to repay it one day; and to repay Dr. Cronin his few hard-earned sovereigns, and to have some money in her pocket before she came back to London, and set out once more in the search. She had learnt a "ood many things in long weeks since she had left Pont-de-Pierre. One of the things was that everything required money. Without sharing it she began to understand the regard for money in a person so unworldly in all other ways as maman. She turned over the crinkling sheets. The letter was tenderly affectionate. Maman had forgiven Freda for not being able to love Andre. Freda smiled as she read. “I used to think, from the time thou wert a little one,” wrote maman, “that Only to thee could I entrust my Andre’s happiness. But how presumptuous we are, snatching the direction of our affairs from the hands of the good Cod. After all, it may be that tliou went right, rna fille. The little is excellent. She admires Andre sh much, and he needs admiration. It was not in thee, perhaps, because of thy English blood, to admire so simply. Perhaps some day, when Andre is married, thou wilt come back and be my daughter once Freda read between the lines. Maman was turning round to Germaine. She did not want Freda just at present, not till Andre had ceased to desire the moon, and was content with a placid little domestic hearth fire. Maman had heard all about Freda’s dreadful adventures, and had been shocked. That dreadful England, where it was possible such tilings should happen to les jelines filles. To think that Freda was hardly from under the sheltering roof of Les Roses before such things happened to her! It had made maman ill to think of it; and she bad told Andre nothing. If that impetuous one had known of it lie would have flown to snatch Freda from that awful London, tout en suite, without a second's delay. What a different world it was—the peaceful life of Les Roses, sandwiched between the terrors of the Villa Marguerite and those of London! And yet Freda did not sigh to go back. Tlie young blood in her had stagnated among the peaceful old ladies and the demure young ones, whose horizon was bounded bv marriage with its many chances. She had never been content to look forward to marriage as the lifting of the curtain upon the play of life, had never speculated like the others on whose hand should lift tlie curtain, whether the hand of an old bridegroom, a young bridegroom, or a comfortable average nikldlo-

aged one. Freda liad been very odd to the mind of her companions, stitching away indeed at her lingerie and her house linen as maman. wished, but with barely any interest in the bridegroom who sliouid be provided for her one of these days. She had hardly looked for such graciousness as tiiat Miss Darlington herself should come to meet her; but as the train glided into the quiet little station of Wynstone, she turned away from the contemplation of the beautiful hill, wooded half-way up, which overlooked the scarlet and bronze and green of the late autumn country, to discover that someone was standing on the platform, a petite lady, warmly dressed in furs, with a fur cap on her dark head which made a charming setting for her small, brilliantly coloured face. “I hope you’re not very tired,” she said, looking at Freda with approval. “I’m so glad you're not a frump. My last companion was. She always had toothache, poor thing. Isn't it awful to live with anyone who always ha* toothache ?” Freda. stared at her and a sudden colour rushed to her cheeks. She had seen this voung ladv before, under" very different circumstances. In fact, Miss Darlington was the lady who had accompanied Lionel Dampier on that crossChannel passage when Freda had taken them for bride and groom. “You are Miss Darlington?” she said, half fearful that the young lady would prove to be a guest, in the house of Mrs. Lionel Dumpier after all; and yet she did not know why she should have hopes or fears about it. “Who else should I be ? Is that all your luggage? James will see to it. Come along. The pontes don't like to stand. Don’t you want a cup of tea? I always do after a journey. The men will be hack from shooting by the time we get home, and hungry as hunters.” She swept Freda off with her out of the station and into the country road, where a smart groom was holding a pair of grey ponies in a little phaeton. A cart behind the phaeton was already being loaded up with Freda’s modest travelling kit. They got into the phaeton. The groom covered their knees in luxurious skin rugs. The ponies were off without waiting for a touch of tlif whip. They rattled along the road, fringed on either side by the open woods. Now and again a pheasant trailed across the road or screamed in There was a touch of frost in the air. The skv was blur overhead in contrast with the gold of the trees. The two were carried softly over a golden carpet of leaves. Now and again a leaf brushed their cheeks and slid lightly into their laps. “Jolly weather, isn’t it?” said Miss Darlington. Yes, it was jolly weather. Freda felt it so. She felt as though the burden of the life in London had been suddenly lifted from her shoulders. Was it possible she was the same girl who had been nearly murdered in an evil London slum only a few weeks ago, who had' seen murder done, who had helped to send a criminal to penal servitude for life? “You’ve been having a horrid time, haven't you?” Miss Darlington said sympathetically, and looking at Freda with curious interest. “Lady Vanston told us all about it. I hope you’re going to forget it here. The brute got off with manslaughter, didn't he? And life? Papa says it’s a sentimental age. He ought to have been hanged, with his record. The other man wasn’t caught, was he?” “No, he wasn’t caught.” There was a slight silver network oi frost on the leaves where they Jav in the shade of the trees. The low bushes were hung with gossamers powdered with jewelled drop*. A keen wind met them, smelling deliciously of the forest Many robins were singing their little hearts out. And Freda felt that the nightmare of life at the Crescent was behind her. Her heart swelled with sudden joy and thanksgiving. What a strange thing it was that for the second time since she had left the shores of France she should have met with Vere Darlington, and under such conditions! She wondered in what relationship she could stand towards Lionel Dampier. since she was plainly not his wife. Unless—it was not possible they could be secretly married! She glanced at Mies Darlington's charming face. It did not look like the face of a person who had a secret. She was looking sideways at Freda, her eyes narrowed a little, her forehead contracted in a puzzled frown. “We’ve mot somewhere before, haven't we ?” she asked. “I’ve seen you, Miss Darlington. It was crossing from Dieppe. We were caught iu a fog.” “Ah, I remember now. You were the girl with whom my cousin, Lionel Dampier, talked. I don’t see why he shouldn’t have, especially as I was seedy, and had' to lie down. Yet I didn’t like to find him so forgetful of me. You see I'm accustomed to being danced attendance on; and papa had had no more sense than to sprain bis ankle in Switzerland. He was lying down, and no use to me. And iny wretclie<| maid lias only to see the long swell of the water, and she’s incapacitated. I’m hardly ever sea-sick myself, and I think it’s absurd of anyone to be. But we'd travelled from Paris in a carriage hermetically sealed. You know their horrid French ways. Such a wretched woman came in and closed aH the winindignant to find other people enjoying themselves when I’d been suffering.” There was a humorous glint in Miss Darlington’s eyes that contradicted the petulance of the speech. Freda’s breast seemed to swell higher as though the joy her heart contained was more than it could hold. “Your cousin was very kind to me,” she said. “I suppose lie was sorry for me, travelling alone.” “He was very much annoyed missing vou at Xewliaven. They couldn’t tak-* us in at the hotel. Every place seemed filled up. Wasn’t it a nuisance? And I so cross, and poor papa and Lionel doing their best. The sight of Lawson's face, poor wretch, she was ill!—was more than I could stand. Ah, here’s one of those horrid motors. Percy, jump out! ” The groom sprang down from the back of the phaeton and to the ponies’ heads only just in time, for a big white motor brougham passed them like a flash, reducing the little ponies to a state of wild terror. “Ugh! Tf Percv hadn't boon quick we'd have had a spill. Fancy rushing round the corner like that! It’s the new (woman at Holdings, Ladv Roseveare. He’s one of the new peers. Did vou see her. Miss Vann? Isn't she splendid'* ! Such erminesi 1 expect she paid a thou

sand pounds for that coat. We don't really want those plutocrats in our quiet Wynstone.” Freda had seen something, something gorgeous and beautiful, wrapped in a regal garment of white fur. The appa rition had had magnificent dark hair, soft as a cloudy night. But she had pafesed too quickly for Freda to see he. “I haven't called on Lady Roseveart yet,” Miss Darlington went on. “They'r • a little overpowering for us. We’ve all been such quiet people hitherto in Wynstone. We're all crusted old Tories, too. and Lord Rosevearc's a Liberal. 1 daresay there’s some envy in it; for we’re all rather dowdy, and j Lady Rosevearc’s frocks and equipages] put us all to shame. Holdings, ton. 1 believe you wouldn't recognise Holdings. They've hardly left a stone of the dear old place unturned.* Now they were turning into a long green avenue, through wide entrance gates, which were being held open by a curtsying old woman. The ponies trotted gaily between shining hedges of holly. Presently they passed through low white gates, and came out on a gravel-sweep in front of a long, twostoreyed house, with many windows placed closely together. The house was of red brick, which showed here and there between tho creepers that all but covered it. The westering sun lit up the many windows. A very fat white bull-terrier stood on the steps, sagging his tail in welcome. Miss Darlington flung the reins to the groom and got out, Freda followed her example. They went up the step*. Someone stood in the open doorway bidding Miss Darlington to hurry up, since they were all liipigrv as hunters, with tramping the woods after the pheasants. It was Lionel Dampier. He looked at Freda for a moment in puzzled bewilderment. “It i* not ?” he said, hesitatingly. “It is Miss Vann, to whom you were so kind that day on the boat, when I was so cross. Isn’t it an odd thing that she should have ccmic here?” A sudden smile irradiated Lionel Da tn pier’s face, bringing back to its maturity the fleeting charm of boyhood. “I am so glad,” he said. “I thought that foggy night liad quite swallowed up my travelling companion.” iTo be continued daily.)