"The Marrying of Mariette,"

Wairarapa Daily Times, 16 April 1935, Page 7

"The Marrying of Mariette,"

(COPYRIGHT.) PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER I. <‘ x wonder, ’ ’ though Mariette, staring out of tlie taxi “whether I shall ever stick it?” After a long journey from Cornwall to Sussex, she felt she had a right to slight depression, though she unconsciously prided herself on her pluck. Those downs —grey and bare —looked forlorn in the autumn twilight, but she liked the clustering woods nearer at hand, the tints were gorgeous, golden russet, crimson, and Mariette had the artistic temperament. She felt the spell of the long avenue which led to the picturesque Queen Anne mansion and knew even before she entered it that Harden House would be home. It was much too warm, of course, for

It was much too warm, of course, for the log fire which burned in the hall grate, but how cheery a welcome it gave, and how cosy looked the tea equipage, all ready and waiting for the tired traveller. And, there was Aunt Agnes hovering behind the trim maidservant waiting to greet her. Mariette thrilled at the drama of it as she went forward to receive the “kiss of peace.” She had been terribly afraid that there would be sob stuff and emotion in the greeting, but she need not have been. The first glimpse of Aunt Agnes vetoed the idea; tall, slim, alert, in a well-tailored coat and skirt, her grey hair cut in an Eton crop, her handsome face lean and weather-tanned, she charmed Mariette by her likeness to the girl’s dead father and yet kept her at arm’s length bv her reserve.

You knew in a minute that Agnes Carstone did not tell her own secrets —or anyone else’s. “You must be tired out, child,” she said, kissing her niece briskly—if onemay use the word. “Come and have tea' first of all. Lacey will sco to your unpacking, and as wo are alone you need .not mind tho smuts on your nose. I hope you like China tea. Tinker, this is Mariette, don’t growl.” She was pouring out tea as she spoke and Mariette, falling in with such a lead, rallied from a vague disappointment and came close to the fire.

“What jolly logs,” she said, “and this is the first fire I have seen this autumn, it is only the fifth of September. ’ ’

“If the fire is too hot you need not sit near it,” replied her aunt. “There, horo is your tea, the scones arc on the stove in front of the fire. What time did you leave St. Ives?” Mariette told her. helping herself to a scone and making friends mutely with Tinker. She would not allow this keen-eyed aunt—-whose breeziness had the tang of the east wind—to know she was feeling forlorn. “What a lovely old lmllftt is,” she remarked, looking round the wainscoted walls, studying with interest? . the faces of sundry ancestors, “and it is all so much bigger than I expected. I am longMjjjjr-to explore everywhere.”

“You’ll have to wait till to-morrow then,” said Aunt Agnes, “for wo have no gas. Your grandfather disliked it much as I do. Lamps and candles were good enough for our ancestors, and are good enough for us. Now, let me have a look at you. Yes, you are your mother’s daughter, and she was my friend before she married Keith.” As she spoke, the elder woman was looking relentlessly into the fair face with its soft, grey eyes, its delicate colouring, small features, and wavy brown hair. Baby beauty, some would have called it, but Agnes Carstone was noticing the contradiction of the firmly compressed lips. This now niece might have the cliild-like loveliness of the friend of twenty years ago, but she had her father’s dominant will. Yet, on the whole, Mariette won approval and the keen, blue eyes held a smile as their owner, made whimsical apology. “ Forgive me, child,” she said, “but you must get used to my oddities. I like to look fully into a face I see for the first time and decide whether I shall trust the owner or no. I may change afterwards in liking or disliking but never in my trust.” Mariette tried to smile back but she was resentful, and tired. “I should hate to live in a house where I was not trusted,” she replied, briefly, “so I hope you’ll let me know. ’ ’

To her surprise, Aunt Agnes’s laugh rang out. “It might have been Keith speaking,’ ’ she applauded, “and you may have my answer. I can trust you—whether I liko you depends largely on yourself. Now go on with your tea and I won’t plague you with questions till after dinner.’’ That was a relief, hut still more so to escape to the dainty room upstairs whero Lacey and an older woman were finishing the unpacking of her slender wardrobe. Lacey vanished discreetly whilst the elder woman rose, came to Mariette. and putting out her hand, drew her close, kissing her lovingly. “My dear,’’ she said, “Master Keith will have told you about Cranny.’’ And then all that had felt frozen around the lonely girl’s heart molted and sho burst into tears as she flung her arms round her father’s old nurse. “Of course, of course, he did,’’ she sobbed, “and the tricks he and Uncle Roger—and even Aunt Agnes used to play on you. Yes, but ho never expected you to be alive. Once when ho was dying and knew I should have to come here, he said he would not have cared if he had known Cranny was alive. I shan’t be lonely now, shall I? And —and you don’t mind my talking to you.” “My dear.” said old Mrs Cranbrook, “talk your fill, but not to-ni"lit. Dinner is served at eight and Miss Agnes is punctual. Stories of the past can wait now you have come home.” “Home,” echoed Mariette. looking round the room with its latticed' windows, deep bay, and panelled walls. “Yes. it. might be that if Daddie were here, Whv did he go awav—and yet I can’t picture him hero somehow. Cranny,. tell mo the story . . . T feel ... I can’t place Aunt Agnes till I know.” She drew two chairs into the bay as sho spoke—the room was shadowfilled, but the western sky still glowed redly. It was the ideal hour for confidences and the old nurse knew the tired girl needed humouring if she were not to break down during the ordeal of an evening spent with someone who could not understand her mood.

“It’s good to see you here, dearie,” said she, smiling across into the eager

BY MAY WYNNE. (Author of “Henry of Navarre,” “Gwennola,” “The Barn,” etc).

face, “and you the image of your moother—the prettiest little lady in all Sussex, and the idol of your father. If it ’s a picture of the homo twenty years ago, Cranny can give it you, but I Avas old in the service then. Mr Carstone —or Squire Carstone as he Avas always called —had three children, Mr Roger, Miss Agnes and your father. Mr Roger was always a daring one, and he Avas daring once too often in his Avild ways, and ansAvered his father so that in a fury the Squire told him to go and not come back.

“Mr Roger took him at his Avord and nearly broke my master’s heart, for he loA’ed tho lad. Prom that day •to this no one has heard of Mr Roger, but most folk think ho Avont doAvn. in a, liner Avrecked on her Avay out to the States. My mistress had died the year before that and Miss Agnes—her father’s darling—took the management of house and father too. Mr Keith Avas tho easy going one, and Avhen he fell in loA r e Avith Miss Lenore Adsleigh —your mother—the Squire suggested the young people living here. And—hero you wore born and lived till you were tAvo years of age, Avhen your mother met Avith a hunting accident and Avas killed. After that your father refused to live here. He had always been an artist, and pictures sold fairly Avell, so he thought himself independent. But there was terrible trouble Avhen he said he meant to tako you, too, and travel from place to place. The Squire and Miss Agnes Avere both against him, and once more the threat Avas made—and scorned. Mr Keith took you Avith him, saying the house was haunted to him — and the Squire said if jangled nerves prevented him from shoAving loA r e and duty, he Avas no son of his—so Mr Keith Avent —and—and Avlien the Squire heard of his mortal sickness he seemed to collapse after the attack he had had of influenza and died just tAvo days after the ucavs reached him that Mr Keith Avas dead and buried.” Mariette’s eyes Avere filled with tears. “He—grandfather—wrote to Dad,” she Avliispered, “asking his forgiveness and begging him to let me 'come home’ to Harden House. He told Dad after Aunt Agnes’s death I Avould be mistress here, and Dad asked me if I aat.slied to come. I—l didn’t A\ r ant to at first. Cranny, I’d been such a Bohemian all my life, but Avhen I suav hoAv Dad Avished it, I said yes —and here I am. Here I am and—l shall try to make it feel like home.”

“God bless the brave heart of you, dearie,” said Mrs Cranbrook, “and home it shall be if I can make it. As to your aunt, don’t make any mistake, Miss Mariette. She’s hard, so you think, and maybe she is narroAV —too much a Carstone, I tell her, but she’s good—good as gold and true as steel if you Avin her love. She ’& just, too. Hoaa tever much it might have hurt her to lia\ r e you here, she Avas all for it—and if she didn’t take much notice of you, so to speak, she’d not refuse sacrifice if she thought it for your Avelfare. ’ ’ “It’s funny she neA T er married,” said Mariette, “she must have had a love affair —perhaps he died.” Mrs Cranbrook shook her head. “My dear,” she replied, “that is a story you will never hear, though if you did, I think —I think it might make it easier for you to love your Aunt Agnes.” CHAPTER 11.

“I’m glad to see you are adaptable. ! Mariette, ” said Miss Carstone briskly one morning. “You seem to fit in your place like a glove, but you won’t be content to arrange flowers and take Tinker for a country walk for very long. You had better think it out. You are artistic, of course, like Keith! Very well, you can take the bus three mornings a v week and go to Blexton for lessons. There is a Mr Scott, clever artist and old enough to be your grandfather, who gives lesons. You will like that, and it will put backbone into your life. I’m glad you are not one of the Miss Moderns who wants to rule the world, and still more glad you don’t use lip-stick or rouge. Put your paint on canvas and you’ll keep your mouth clean. What do you say?” Mariette laughed. Aunt Agnes did not mind being laughed at in that w r ay, and the two were already quite good friends up to a point. Mariette knew that beyond the point the gate was closed, and she told herself she did not feel nearly, interested enough to wish to open it. But she was glad to have the suggestion about the painting, and already she had been given a strip of garden to deal with as she wished. As to society—sho and Dad had never had tho least wish for any but that of fellow Bohemians, fisher folk, or personalities who jogged along life’s way with a similar hatred of conventionality. Still, Cranny had hinted that, after the period of mourning was over, she would undoubtedly have to go out to luncheons and dinners, play games and join the local clubs wherebv the youth of Rippleford kept themselves alive! When Mariette heard of these clubs, she roared, and vowed wild horses would not take her to them. “If I meet anyone I like I shall try and see them,” she, said, “and if I meet anyone I don’t like, I shall avoid them! Friends might bo nice, but they aren’t easy to get.” She grew thoughtful over her own speech. It was so true. At present Cranny was her only friend at Marden House, though she got on famously with Aunt Agnes. The latter did not discuss neighbours. She told Mariette the name of the vicar, the doctor, and a few intimates. When Mariette asked who lived at tho Court, sho replied very briefly that they were Sir Neville and Lady Anford, no children, adding ironically that if Mariette wanted the history of the Rippleford people, she had bettor go to tea with the Misses Loflanc, who would gloat in extracting all her —Mariette ’s—history', and then proceed to give highly-coloured pictures of her neighbours’ lives and failings. (To be continued.!