CHRISTMAS SPIRITS

Waikato Times, Volume 106, Issue 17810, 7 September 1929, Page 16 (Supplement)

CHRISTMAS SPIRITS

“It can’t be helped, Noel,” I said firmly, “and I—er—don’t want to seem mercenary. As a matter of fact I am quite fond of Aunt Louisa. But for the last five years I have always taken the boys and Madge to spend Christmas at the Grange. Aunt likes it, and till this year I really have like it, too. The Grange is in the real country—not a suburb—and there in splendid skating, tobogganing, too, as far as it goes, and the dearest old house. I am sure you will enjoy a week there.” Noel frowned. He was rather masterful—yes I I might say very masterful, but then he is ten years older than I am, and has never, never been in love before, so he does not understand being ruled by a woman . yet, and Lucy, my married sister, says I shall have to grow old in diplomacy before I do rule him. We shall see. At present I coaxed. “1 do want you to come,” I pleaded. “Aunt Louisa is not the worst type of old maid, oven though she is too old to be the modern woman bachelor, and she can be awfully generous. I don!t know for certain, but from hints I have heard dropped I believe if she likes you she is going to settle £2OO a year on us. That means we should be quite almost rich, doesn’t it?” Noel roared, but he gave in about going to the Grange, and was ever so jolly planning with the boys what they would do. I didn’t worry, though Madge was inclined to grizzle about bfelng left out of it all. “Don’t be a goose,” I said; “when we get there you and the boys will go off as usual, mucking about, and Noel will forget your very existence.” Which was precisely what did happen the first day of our arrival. Not till Aunt Louisa was having her afterdinner nap in the drawing-room did Noel seek me out with so long a face that I really thought he had murdered Solomon, the cat, or broken the ancient rose bowl which had belonged to an ancestress. “Come along to the library, Terry," he said—my name is Theresa—“l’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hole.” I do wish people wouldn’t make 'such a lot of preliminary about breaking bad news—but before I could say so to Noel he was explaining. “It’s the butler," he groaned, “who, you tell me, is your Aunt’s latest thing in household treasures. Why, I wonder? He can't have been here a year.” "He came in February," I replied. “I remember quite well, because Dindoll, the last butler, was getting ‘ripe’ for notice to be given him last Christinas. Aunt Louisa is absolutely ruled by Witfcll. He is perfection, of course. He was recommended by a Lady Someone or other as the ideal servant. Don’t you like him?” “Not, a case of that. Liking is immaterial. But—er —unluckily—Lady Tisrayle Is a friend, or rather her brother is a great chum of mine. I have paid several visits to the Tisrayle’s place, and I recognised Witfell as soon as I saw him. What’s worse, he recognised me." I wrinkled my brows, whilst a horrible fear gripped me. Helen, my first school chum, in congratulating me on my engagement, had twitted me about Noel's age. “Don’t you tell me that an unmarried man of thirty doesn’t possess a past, my dear," she hinted, and though I had shrivelled her up with the caustic of my reply I thought of those words now. “Why shouldn’t he recoginse you?” I asked. Noel laughed ruefully. “My dear old Kid,” he retorted, “you have told me again and again of your aunt’s prejudices. She would, so you say, write finis after the name of a man who had a game or two of roulette, or had had his bit on a horse, even ridden in point-to-point races! Well, I’ve done the' lot. As a matter when I stayed at Graveley Chase, and it ended in my cutting the whole thing out. For a year now I’ve neither played cards nor been to a race; and I shan’t need to learn the lesson twice. But Witfell was a presiding genius—an indispensable attendant at those gay doings at the Chase, and of course if by chance he got his knife into me or you—he would only have to mention Cherry-Bud or Graveley Chase before your aunt turned me from her most respectable doorstep. Now, what’s to happen? I don’t feel like kow-towing to that old villain for a wee k—and yet . . . I quite realise that £2OO a year as an asset to a total income of £SOO is not to be sneezed at.” I was quite worried. In fact, I nearly made the fatal blunder of telling Noel it was all his own fault for doing such a foolish thing as to gamble- But l didn’t—and after weakly remarking that sax days would soon pass I retired to help Aunt upstairs to bed.

She confided to me on the way that she liked the appearance of Noel, and was glad to see he only took two glasses of claret .with his dinner and refused spirits. ‘'l may be old-fashioned,” she concluded, “hut I never trust a whiskydrinker.”

What a mercy that Noel had refused the “Scotch" that evening! The boys and Madge were up and out before breakfast, and came in caked with snow. Then Pete sneezed, and Aunt vowed they had caught colds going out so early. You should have seen their faces when they were compelled to remain indoors all the morning. I regretted it quite as much as they. Till eleven they stormed up and downstairs playing hide and seek. Noel joined them, which was angelic of him, and I wrote Aunt’s letters. “Happy Christmas,” I kept saying, “but never mind. We’ll keep Christmas Scotch fashion, and have a beano for the New Year.” Noel suggested a walk when the kids were tired of rampaging, and we had the jolliest stroll, exploring about, and returned home to a glorious dinner. At home we have to be economical ;and, besides, our cook has been with us since babyhood, and we know her menus from A to Z. Having gorged, the three terrors dragged me into the Den. “It’s ripping,” said Paul; "just think, Terry, there’s a ghost in this place. Mike, the knife boy, has heard 1 it, and even Mr Witfell shok his head and looked awfully grave. He said for our own sakes he advised us to have nothing to do with it." How I mocked, but the children were resolved. “Everyone thinks we are scared stiff,” crowed Madge. “Let them think; it will make it all the jollier. But we’ll let you into the secret, Terry, because you’re a sport. You sec, the ghost walks up and down the stone passage past the kitchens and up the gack stairs about two in the morning. It was one someone who murdered someone, and when we asked Mr Witfell if it was true that anyone could hear the body being dragged along he said he would rather not talk about it. He looked ever so queer too.” Paul—little wretch —gave a skip of delight. “Just think of it," he gurgled, “a body. Wouldn’t it be squigglisli and top-hole to see it! I wonder if the murderer has glaring eyes‘'and a bloodstained knife?” “Don’t Paul,” urged Madge, clinging ing to my hand, “or I shall dream, I shall dream, I know I shall!”

“Ghosts are all nonsense,” I said; “don’t all talk so rcdiculously, and I

absolutely forbid your going ghosthunting.” The boys hunched their shoulders at that-, and went off muttering about old wet blankets who had no sport in them. Of course, they went to And Noel, who had won their hearts by romping with them. I suppose they poured further confidences into his ears, for he came to me, grinning, but with a wry wrinkle between his brows. 1 “Of course, those boys will investigate,” he said; “and we shall have to keep our eyes skinned or there will be trouble. I’m not quite satisfied about that Ghost.” My heart bumped. (To be continued next Saturday.)