FREDA ALONE

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20341, 26 June 1934, Page 14

FREDA ALONE

Author of “ Peggy, the Daughter,” “Mary Gray,” eta.

By

KATHARINE TYNAN

CHAPTER XVIII. The New Friends. The hall of Almoners was crowded with men, or so it seemed to Freda. There were in reality eight men, all wearing knickerbocker suits of various coloured homespuns. A welter of dogs, great and small, lay on the rug in front of a roaring lire. Coloured glass windows showed between the tapestry on the walls. Already the dusk had fallen, but the aspect of the big hall, which was a feature of Almoners, was very cheerful. A silver kettle hissed* on the teatable, which was drawn in front of the lire. A tall man with a long silky beard sitting in a high carved chair by the fireside 6tood up and welcomed Freda. He was Sir Roland Darlington. His daughter pulled off her little gauntlet gloves and flung them on to an oak settee, hooded over, that occupied one side of the fireplace. She had introduced the otlie" men to Freda, running over their names rapidly—Mr. Champneys, Sir .John Thornbury, Captain Wells ? Mr. Wilson, Major Creyke, Lord Fitzwalter. One or two of the younger men had a smart air in their homespuns. The others were a bit shabby, as though they wore the same clothes over many seasons in many weathers, and were easy in them as with old friends. Sii* John Thornbury came and talked to Freda, while Miss Darlington poured out the tea, the younger men crowding about the table to help her. He was a pleasant-faced, middle-aged man, with a short beard, and a very friendly manner. Lionel Dampier stood with his back to the fire, gazing contemplatively at Freda, without joining in the conversation. Major Creyke brought Freda her tea and set a little table at her elbow for her hot cakes and sandwiches. The tea was quite a banquet, the sideboard being heaped with all manner of dainties to which the gentlemen helped themselves liberally. “You’ve no idea what hungry brutes we are, Miss Vann!” Sir John said, looking down at the top of her shining head, which seemed to keep its smoothness even after a railway journey. He liked the clear, colourless skin, the bright hair, the lock of finish which lie perceived to be French, and with a distinction of their own. There was an air of delicate femininity about this girl which was unlike the frank boyishness of the charming English girls lie knew. “Tramping about after the birds makes one so fearfully hungry. You'd never think to look at us that we had a huge lunch at one o’clock, now, would you?’’ Lionel. Dampier said to himself that Sir John was old enough to be Freda’s father; yet lie was not sure that lie approved of the admiration so plainly expressed in the older man’s weatherbeaten countenance. “Lady Roseveare nearly ran us down with her beastly motor, dad.” Miss Darlington remarked. “If I hadn’t had the ponies well in hand, they'd have upset us. She same round tiie corner ai. Hatherdell like lightning. I thought a*, first she was on top of us. The” little things nearly bolted; only Percy caught their heads in time.” “Dear me,” Sir Roland said; “I wonder why the woman goes at such a rate. You’ll have to he careful, Vere. I do wish people like those Roseveares wouldn’t come down here disturbing out quietness. I don’t like these new people that no one knows anything about. This wretched Government seems to be spilling titles all over the place. It must bother Debrett fearfullv.” “A title is a nuisance nowadavs,” said Lord Fitzwalter, a fair, insignificant looking young man. “So many fellows have titles who never had a grandfather. Roseveare’s not a bad sort. He’s a gentleman. He’s given me a thumping cheque for the Hunt. I believe I’m to •line with them on the nineteenth.” “Don’t play cards with her ladyship Afterwards,” Mr. Champneys put in. “She’ll keep you up late and vspoil your beauty sleep. Tt’s quite a scandal abouthe gambling at Goldings. The vicar and Mrs. Moreton were asked in to a quiet dinner last week. I hear. There were eighteen diners, and after dinner Mrs. Moreton was asked to join one of her ladyship’s bridge tables. She thought the stakes were sixpence a hundred. Luckily she discovered in time that tliev were five pounds. So she withdrew. I " onder what would have happened if Mrs. Moreton had not withdrawn.” “You might add,” put in Miss. Vere. from behind the tea-urn. “that Mrs. Moreton wore her second-best frock to the quiet dinner. She was afraid of being over dressed as a parson’s wife. The second-best frock was in her trousseau. and Basil Moreton is fifteen. Her ladyship wore white velvet and diamonds, and the other ladies were equallv regal. Poor little Mrs. Moreton!’ “J daresay she looked much nicer than the other women,” Sir Roland said. “Where did you pick up all that gossip. “Mrs. Moreton told me herself. We’ll have to smarten ourselves up now the Roseveares have come. I’m sure vour evening suit is shamefully antiquated, papa. What did for Mrs. Fairfax won’t do for Lady Roseveare.” ‘ Lady Roseveare is not likely to supplant Mrs. Fairfax as the great lady of the neighbourhood,” Sir Roland said seriously. “Besides, I don’t suppose they’d stay. I know these people. They come and go. They think a place is ideal till they’ve got it and spent a lot of money on it, and then they see something else they think thev like better, and they’re off. I’m sure we don't want plutocrats in the neighbourhood. We’ve done very well on our moderate means.” “Lord Roseveare dresses quite as badly as you do, dad,” said his daughter. “He leaves all the magnificence to Lady Roseveare. T met him the other day in a very baggy old coat jogging along on a horse which was rather a screw. I liked him. Ho looks melancholy; a bit of a heavy-weight. It must be tiresome being the background to Lady Rosee “Who V 'was she—some actress or other ?” No one knew. Captain Wells suggested “Who’s Who,” and discovered “Margaret, daughter of J. Stride, Esq.,” which did not much enlighten them. “I’m going to call, anyhow,” Miss Darlington said, standing up from the tea-table. “Must you?” asked Sir Roland deprecatingly. “It’ll mean other things, Vere, asking them to dinner and dining there, and all that sort of thing. I like old friends and okl clothes.” “Mrs. Fairfax has called. Where she has called she expects the rest of us to follow. Anyhow, Lady Roseveare has a darling little boy. I adore little boys; and I want to make friends with him. Come, Miss Vann. You must be thinking us all great gossips.” She led the way upstairs, and Freda followed. It was a delightful oldfashioned house, panelled all the way up. Freda’s room was at the end of a

long, low corridor, with a big half-moon of a window, which looked over terraced gardens and the park to the beautiful hill, rising softly over the masses of the pheasant-coloured woods. The room was furnished in chintz, and seemed delightfully luxurious to Freda, accustomed to the ascetic French rooms. A lire sent out its pleasant glow into the dusk of the room. The foot trod on soft rugs. There was a sofa drawn in front of the fire. The old mahogany wardrobe reflected the warm rays. There was a glint of silver from the dressingtable. A little French bedstead in one corner looked invitingly soft and snowy. “I shall be happy here,” said Freda. “How pretty it is! And what a delightful shelf of books. I do not know many English books jet. Maman said the English books were not lit for the young girl. I had Racine and Lamartine. 1 read many sermons—Boudaloue and Massillon; and I had some stories specially for the young girl. Do you know “Sans Famille,” by Hector Malot? It is delightful. And the Journal of Eugenie de Guerin ? Once Maman found me reading a Shakespeare which she had forgotten to destroy, and she was terribly disturbed about it.” “All. that explains the look o* the convent about you,” Miss Darlington said. “Now I should want to read everything I was forbidden to read.” “So did I; at least Shakespeare. There were many things I did not want to road about, Georgette and Marguerite, and the others used to say they would read them when tliej' were mar ried.” “Oh, that’s odious. I wouldn't read anything after I was married that I wouldn’t read before. I’ve read pretty well all 1 wanted. People were often .shocked when I was little at the things they found me reaching, but dad never would interfere. He used to say that I would get the good out of them, and miss the had. To be sure they were good books, classics—not horrid novels, French or otherwise. Dad gave me the run of the library when I was six years old. I .browsed there, I can tell j’ou. These are some of my hooks—Browning, Wordsworth, Lyrics from the Eliza bethan Song-Books. There is a Shakespeare. You may read it now, I suppose. that j'ou are English and emancipated. There are some folumes of Meredith, and there is Kipling. And there is Christina Rossetti. I reallv envy you. mv clear.” “Oh!” said Freda, her eyes dancing. She looked at. the sofa, the little table with the reading lamp upon it, the big window, outride of which things were growing dimmer and dimmer. “You will he so kind? You will let me read sometimes here?” “You will have plenty of time for reading. I shouldn't want anybody al ways around. Wasn’t it one of your adopted countrymen who said: ‘Nearly all of our misfortunes come from not being able to be sufficiently alone.’ We alian’t bore each other. Miss Vann.” “You shall always tell me when you do not want me,” said Freda, who had taken an impulsive fancy to the other girl. “And yon will let me do all sorts of things for you, won’t you? I can do liair, and I can brush it really well Maman used to say that no one could brush away a headache like me. And f can make blouses and wash and mend lace and trim hats.” “Yes, I thought you could. No Englishwoman could tie that wisp of tulle round your neck ns j*ou have tied it, and your dress—did you make it yourself? It has an air. yet it’s only black and white check with a collar and cuffs of black moire. You shall do things for me then. I simply scream when Lawson brushes my liair, yet she is supposed tc have all the arts of- the lady’s maid at her fingers’ ends. Good-bye. now. Have a rest before you need change for dinner. By the way the bathroom is oppo .site. It is only for your use and mine Perhaps j’ou would like a. hath. My bedroom is next door to this.” It was all much better than Freda had dared to hope. After Miss Darlington had left her she sat a long time in a brown study, looking into the heart of the lire, and her dreams seemed coloured with its rosy radiance. She had been afraid of the new life among strangers, and she had found an old friend, one whom her faithful heart had never forgotten. She had idealised Lionel Dumpier all those years. Wliat ho had done for her! Looking back now it seemed to her that his finger extended to her had been the motive ‘power to pull her out of the slough of degradation into which her ill-used childhood was gradu ally sinking. She had been good for, him, the only one who really cared* whether she was good or not. Why some, of those young men long ago at the Villa Marguerite had laughed and taken notice of her because she was a thief and a liar and worse thing*, according to Mrs. Vane. She had had an uncliildish intuition that they would have noticed her less, been less interested in her if she had been a good little girl. They would have pushed her further in with their contemptuous amusement—tlioir careless gifts of sweets and trinkets which Peggy Vane had taken from her whenever she had been aware of them. Only he had given her a helping hand to lift her out. He was here —wondeiTul to think upon It seemed too good and too strange to be true. And lie was not anyone's. He belonged only to himself. He had looked at Freda with something more than kindness in his eyes. He would he here to-morrow and the day after. She would see him to-night. Perhaps he would come and talk to her. There had been a half recognition in his eyes. Well, she would not help him to remember that poor little wicked, ill-used Freda of old days. This was a new Freda, a Freda wlio had lived long enough in an atmosphere of innocence and peace to have the old memories, the old stains, fall clean away from her. How fortunate it was that she was Miss Vann, that the French pronunciation of the name she was known by had remained. Perhaps, after a little, that half-memory would die out of his blue eves. ITow blue they were under the dark lashes —the eyes of a bov j-et. She remembered with satisfaction that she had signed her letters to Miss Darlington “Elfride Vann,” the name by which she had been known ns T.es Roses. If it had been Freda it might have betrayed her. Now in the grown-up Mademoiselle Elfride he would lose after a time the memory of the child Freda. How clean, how fresh, how sweet it was after London! Everything smelt of lavender. In the Crescent after the hot summer there had been a perceptible smell of the sewers when one walked abroad. To-day the country had looked sharply clean and distinct, the gold, the green, the blue, the scarlet, the orange, the russet, the jewelcoloured. To-morrow she would see the clean blue of the hill above the wood*. Leaning from her window, she inhaled long breaths of the sweet air full of

tlie smell of violets; of fresh earth, oi clean autumn leaves. She had stifled in London. How sorry she felt for those who must live there. A maid knocked at her door; came in. and lit her lamp and drew her curtains, and went out again. Tire manifold prettinesses of the room, which had been hidden by tlie dusk, were revealed by the light. There was a writing table in tlie window, it* t ink bottles freshly replenished, new pens in tlie traj-, a bounteous supply of paper and envelopes in the cases. To-morrow she would write and tell Mrs. Maitland how happy it all was. She would write a long letter to Maman. She would not forget kind Dr. Cronin, who would he glad to know that she had found the new life so promising. After a time she dressed leisurely, taking down her liair, brushing it, and twisting it up again in shining coils. She put on one of the new dresses which she had accepted reluctantly from Mix. Maitland, whose will was not to be disobeyed. 1 was a simple thing, of soft, thick while silk, guaranteed to withstand a good many visits to the cleaners or tlie wash tub. It seemed very fine tq Freda, who was rather shy about the low' neck. At Pont de Pierre her smartest frock had been white muslin, up to the chin, down to the wrists, worn with white cotton gloves, and a blue ribbon about the waist. She clasped round lier neck a thin chain, by which was suspended an oldfasliioncd pearl pendant, which Maman had given lier. It was her only trinket, since site had been robbed of the others that day in Moxon Street. As she fastened it she had a memory of liow the rapacious Mrs. Vane had despoiled her of the contents of the little jewel case which she had brought to Marigny long ago. How she had screamed when she had found the case gqne, and had Keen some of her ornaments adorning Mrs. Vane’s beautiful person! There was ail old-fashioned ring of very large pearls set simply in a circle. She remembered how she had snatched at it on Mrs. Vane’s hand, and scratched the soft flesh, and liow slie had been beaten and shut up in the cellar afterwards among the rate and the coal She remembered seeing a pair of shining eyes in the dark, and screaming like a mad thing; and of how Denis Vane had come and opened tlie door and let her out, because Captain Roget was shouting threats of the gendarmes across the wall unless the child’s screams were stopped. She thrust the memories behind her A tap came to tlie door, and Miss Darlington came in, explaining that she was afraid Freda might lm.ve forgotten the way downstairs. She was dressed somewhat elahorately for her years in a gold-coloured frock, trimmed with old Chantilly. “How nieet yon look!” she said, “and how demure! You are rather like a daisy! Come along. We shan’t have a brilliant evening, for the men are all dead tired, and go off to the billiard room after dinner to keep themselves awake. We can join them if you like.Do you play billiards? But of course not. It would be unheard of in a French girl, of course. Papa will be the only one awake. He doesn't take hie shoot ing seriously.” She thrust a friendly arm through her new companion’s, and they went down tlie stairs together. (To be continued daily.)