THE TURNED KEY.

Waikato Times, Volume 100, Issue 16812, 2 June 1926, Page 14

THE TURNED KEY.

A STORY OF THE CRUELTY OF YOUTH. (By Hilda Nield.) The front rjoor of Pear Tree Cottage was unwont,edly shut against the June sunshine, and for Ihe first time in her life Sarah Watson raised the knocker before she entered. New etiquette comes hard at sixty odd, however, and as the iron dog's head fell with a soft thud she pushed the door open and seated herself on the first chair inside the living-room. Sarah looked round slowly with amazement, while the breath came in sharp little puffs from her stout body, and she looked accusingly at tho old woman who was standing by the table. “Well, I declare, Martha Brant, if you haven't got your best gown and the cap with the lilac ribbons onl What does it all mean, I’d like to know? Why, all the village is talking about you and wondering what’s going to happen—specially since you cut all them blush roses this morning!" “Let all the village go on with their talking, Sarah. Mebbe they’ll be wagging their tongues a bit more before long.” The lilac ribbons on Martha Brant’s cap shook as she nodded her head in a way she bad for giving emphasis to words; hut Sarah Watson’s keen old eyes noted that unusual little blood patches had leapt into her cheeks, and she continued the attack with increased inquisitiveness. ‘‘FoUc will talk, you know, Martha, and when they don't know one thing they Invent two. When you sent Mary Ann to Timmin’s Farm for the quart of cream and the chickens, to say nothing of getting up before breakfast to pick all your white raspberries—well, it wasn’t to be wondered at that they said tilings. And it do look for all the world like a marriage feast,” she added with an embracing movement towards the full-spread and flower-decorated table. ‘‘Though il can’t be, seeing no one ain’t getting married before Michaelmas?”

Martha Brant ignored the query at the tail of the words and stood back from the table in a considering way. “Since you’ve noticed the table, Sarah, you may as well tell rnc what you think of it. Just stand up and go back to tho door and see if it looks all right as you come in. Pretend you haven't seen it afore and see how it feels like. The table and the flowers and the room, and all of it.” With a hand on the seat of her chair Mrs Watson rose up and did as she was bid, and before she spoke the wagging of her head showed that the verdict was entirely satisfactory. "Fine! It do look fine, Martha, and no mistake either. Them roses were worth cutting, and it do seem a shame that all these years you wouldn't as much as have a bud cut ofT the tree. And the food do look like a wedding, while the way tho light shines on that there corner cupboard—well, it’s a picture, to be sure it is. They were saying something about your having had a letter,” she continued speculatively, returning slowly to her chair. “And a letter 1 have had, Sarah.” “There, now!" “From my gell” “Well, I never did 1” “She’s coming here to-day,” Martha Brant went on, and though her voice was steady the clinking of cutlery on the table showed that her old hands were shaking. "I’ve been a bit flustered like—getting ready, ’cause the letter only came this morning saying as she'd be here about four o'clock. Bit awkward lime—loo late for dinner and not time for supper. That's why I’ve got her a sort of high tea. There’s all the things she likes best. She'll be hungry, coming all the way from London, and she’s a rare one to eat. Them roses always were her pet (lowers, you remember." “Now Martha Brant, you know I don't remember anything at all about it, Mrs Watson settled herself against the hack of the chair and advanced along her offensive. “You know it’s only five years since I came to Chippinglree, and it's more than seven years since your girl went away, ain't it?’’ "Seven years and a hit, Sarah; though it don’t seem seven days, now as she’s coming hack again. I’ve got some of them roses up in her bedroom ! always kept tier bedroom ready, I have, and lucky I did, or the bed couldn't have been aired in time.” “What’s tiiat you’re talking about, “Stop? Now, what do you think, Sarah?"

“Well, well, there’s no need to bite my nose off, Martha. Your sister’s child, weren’t she?" Martha Brant nodded. She was standing by the window at the back of the room, and looked dreamily at the fuchsia trails that had forced a way through the framework, as one who secs hidden things. "More like my own child ready, Sarah,” she answered slowly. "She weren’t a year old when she came to me, after her mother and the playacting fellow she ran off with —you've heard of how Mary ran off to get married? —were kiled in an accident. There was a fire at some theatre, and she came to me then, Annabel did. Leastways I went and fetched her." "Annabel, is it? I’ve never got the hang of it rightly. Fanciful sort of name, ain’t it?”

"They called her Annabel ’cause her father’s name was Lee—that’s what Mary wrote to me when the baby was born. Though why they had to I’vc never been able to understand.” “There’s some tilings we can't understand,” Mrs Watson said with heavy brevity, anxious to keep to Hie main track of the story. “Must have been mighty strange to you having a child about the cottage, Martha." "It were stranger when she weren’t here, Sarah. Her going to school made the first break. Only just a bit of the day it was, hut I missed her terrible. The vicar's lady said thcre’d never been a child so quick in the school before. It was her —Mrs Manson that was then —it was her got Annabel to go to Miss Watt's to learn millinery.” “Miss Walt said tin's morning that she’d never had a worker to touch your gel." “And she spoke true, Sarah," Martha Brandt said promptly, suddenly turning to face her visitor. "Why, it were a London lady seeing one of the. hats Annabel had made in Miss Watt’s window that said she ought to go up to London. Wasted in ;i ijtiic place like Chippingtrco, she said Annabel was. She got her a situation, too." "And Annabel went?" "Of course she went. Made up her mind to get on in the world ever since she were a tiny mite, my gel had,” eiiinc ihe proud assertion. "Then, when she was at the London millinery shop she was chosen lo wear a hat at some theatre. She wrote and told me all about it, though I couldn’t understand it all. That clever with her words, Annabel always was. Next thing was a paper came to me with my gel's picture in, and saying underneath it that Annabel were a real playactress at a London theatre.” "Weren't she excited when she came home?" Mrs Watson asked curiously. A suspicion of a cloud passed over the oilier old face. "Annabel ain't been home sinon sbo

went to London,” she said. "Not till to-day." “Well, now, ain’t that strange?" Martha Brant flew up defensively and spoke sharply. “No more strange than my not cutting them blush roses since she went away. Life’s too busy in London for gallivanting just for pleasure, especially when a girl’s set herself 1o get on in the world. Don’t you go saying things about Annabel lo me, Sarah. I understand my gel, I do.”

“I hope you do, I'm sure, Martha, though what I was saying to make you 11 y out at me, I don’t know. Still, seven years is a long time,” she wound up in a sharp click of the lips. “Ay, it's been a long Lime, till Loday," Martha murmured reminiscently. “I till you honest, Sarah, sometimes I’ve just ached for my scl, specially when she’s been too busy to write. Over a year since I had a letter till today, but now all that seven years is just a flash of fat in the frying-pan, as you might say." “If you’d sent along I’d have come and given you a helping hand in getting ready.” “Thank you kindly, Sarah. I’d have sent if I couldn’t have managed, hut, you sec" —a little smile of happiness played about the wrinkled checks —“I was selfish like. I wanted to do all the getting ready for her by myself.” “And I suppose bless me, Martha, there's a motor-car stopping down in the. road by your gate.” 'With amazing agility Mrs Watson was off her chair and adjusted her nose to the space crack of the partly open door. Again she faced Martha Brant accusingly, with the injured air of one who has been robbed of her right of knowledge. “You never said anything about a motor-car I It ain't your girl—not Annabel ?” "Kh? Mind —let me cornel She ■did say something about coming down in the* car, but 1 didn't pay no attention—l never could understand all Annabel wrote. Here, you get out of this door, Sarah 1“ Mrs Watson suddenly felt herself pushed across Ihc collage room and out through the hack door into Ihc old garden beyond. Marlha Brants half-j apologetic words followed her. "You go home across the field, Sarah. I’ve got to meet her . . .

you’ll see her afterwards . . . there’s plenty of time. Oh, yes, plenty.” As she closed the back . door and turned again to the living-room, with Its sunshine and festivity, the front door was pushed open wide and two figures seemed to fill alt the space of the room. The subtle strength of rose perfume swept across the scent of the bowls of blush roses on the table, and sapphires sparkled bluely among the lace that was revealed as Annabel Lee loosened her long silk cloak. “It’s a funnier little place than I remembered,’’ she exclaimed to the man behind her. “It’s years since I was here, you know. Not since I made the Sunday hats for the village ladies. Hello, Aunt Marlha,” she added carelessly, suddenly aware of ihc slight, lavender-capped figure who was standing with painful stillness near the centre of the room, “You got my note all right. How arc you a Her all this time? Look here, Geoffrey, this is tlie cupboard. Isn’t it absolutely vvliat wc want?” In crossing to the corner where t.hc old cupboard smiled under the e,-tresses of the sunshine the girl s clothes brushed against Martha Brant, but she passed on, unaware of the contact, and looked at the man for confirmation of her words. Geoffrey Howard nodded. “Absolutely. You’re right as usual, Annabel. We'll duplicate the room ; and the cupboard will make the scene. “The bits of brass and the pots aic ideal. Just the right atmosphere, isn’t it?” “Couldn't be better, the question it, whether your aunt will care to part with her Lares and Penates?” "Oh, she!” Annabel followed his glance towards the still old figure, and her clear young voice went on with the asurancc of one who is *J i ccus " loined to have without asking. ‘Look here, Aunt Martha, this is Mr Howard, one of the best-known actor-managers, though you have probably never heard of him. ' He and 1 are producing a new plav in September. One scene in it is iroing to be modelled on this room, and wc want you to let us have this cupboard for it. Just as it is, with all the hits of china and brass, Y'ou won t mind selling it, will you? ’ Marlha Brant moved for the first lime since her visitors had crossed the room She opened her mouth, but no word came at first, and she looked at Annabel with a pitiful uuccitaint}. "She’s a-going to stop a bit then. Annabel?" she asked dully. “I don’t understand. Ain’t you going to take vour things off and sit down? Your bedroom is all ready, and Mary Ann s got the kettle boiling for tea. 'there s pudding with the cream in it that vou'rc so fond of • ’ The girl’s clear laugh rang cruelly hard across the room, and a cloud crossing the sun made the bright light strangely dim all of a sudden. “My dear Aunt Martha, I haven t come to a Sunday School treat 1" Annabel exclaimed with a swift glance at the table. “And all those flowers about the room; I’m sure they arc full of earwigs. I’ve come to buy this cupboard. You can ask as much as vou like for it, hut wo simply must have it, mustn’t wc, Geoffrey? The atmosphere is perfect 1” ••I’ve told you it is, hut it isn t worth worrying about it if your Aunt wants to keep the cupboard.” Geoffrey Howard spoke irritably; a close observer might have said that there was a touch of shame in tiis eyes. He look out his watch and frowned at it. “Look here, Annabel, if you really want to get back to town to-night wc must be starting. Kcmcmbcr, we lost over an hour coming down.” “All right, I’m coming. I told you wc shouldn’t be more than ten minutes," the girl said rapidly. ‘‘Don’t look at me like that, Aunt Martha. Surely you did not think that I was coming to stay? You should not have got things ready on chance." “Your bedroom, Annabel . . it is waiting . . • just as you left it. Seven years ago.” The words tumbled out pitifully. “Heartless little beast, aren't you, Annabel?” The man crossed and stood by the open door, looking down the double strip of garden where the June flowers radiated in bright colour patches, lie went on speaking without looking back into Hie room. Why not stay the night, Annabel? There’s no desperate need for your getting bark to town. Suppose ’’ “Don't talk rot, Geoffrey. Of course I’m going back. As if l could stay here. \Vc can have the cupboard, can’t we. Aunt Martha? I’ll send a man down to pack it. Suppose you leave Hie price for us to settle. I expect you’ll be glad of Hie money.” “There ain’t no money that’ll buy my cupboard, Annabel. There it stands and there it’ll stand till I die." Slowiv the words came from Martha Brant’s lips, but there was a steady emphasis about them that seemed equalled by the inflexibility or her motionless figure. Annabel swung round impatiently. “But I must have it, Aunt Martha. You will spoil our play if you don’t let me have it.” A spasm as of physical pain contracted Marlha Brant's face for a second, then with a wonderful dignity

stic looked at her niece in the way that one woman looks at another who is a stranger. AVitli a slight motion she inclined her head towards the open door where Geoffrey Howard still stood. “If you arc wanting lo get back to London to-night you will need to he starling,” she said with great politeness. Then she turned and passed up Ihe little wooden stairway and twisted Ihe key in Hie lock of the bedroom which had belonged to Annabel Lee.