A Christmas engagement

Waikato Times, Volume 118, Issue 19762, 18 December 1935, Page 18 (Supplement)

A Christmas engagement

“ T WANT you/' said Gladys Reynford I sweetly, “to do me a favour.” I looked up from my desk with a start. I was the only one in the office at the time. The other clerks were out' at luncheon. Gladys Reynford was the chief’s only child, and I couldn’t quite make out what had kept her there, after her business talk with old Heckler, the chief clerk. Luttrel Reynford, her father, was away ill, and—--well! hang it all, I was soon to be put wise . ~ I rose from my stool and stood facing the girl She was quite young and pretty, smart, too, in her blue coat and skirt and rich furs Bit too swagger altogether for me. Somehow her smartness and her smiles irritated me. Yet she did not patronise. I had been at Harrow and Oxford with her only brother, Hugh—killed in 1017—and it had been genuine charity on old Reyn- ■ ford's part when he took me on as a clerk at £250 a year when he heard I had lost all my money. . So far, the fair Gladys had ignored me. I was on a business footing only with her father —no more invites to Andry Court, etc. Poor old Hugh! how he would have champed. , , I had to explain all this to show that it was a bit of a knock-put when Miss Gladys came simpering in with her request. Nothing like coming to the point, eh? Last time we had met, her hair had been in pig-tails and I had pulled them. The recollection softened and amused me. I smiled. “I hope I shall be able to say ‘yes/ Miss Reynford,” I replied, but I’m afraid my business capabilities are limited.” ■She laughed. “I never saw such a fish out of water in my life,” she declared, “it is a beastly shame! And to think of all the post-war profiteers still wallowing in filthy lucre! Never mind! We must get on to the next chapter. I want you to come down to Andry Court on the 22nd to spend Christmas with us.” . I never felt so flattened out m my life. I don’t often lose my head, but I did that time. , , “Andry Court,” I stammered, mut—but —your father—” “He’s gone to Le Tourquet for a month. The poor old dear has got the wind up about his liver, or his lungs, and has departed for a cure. Aunt Bee has gone with him to buzz around. Just suits her. It would not have suited me. But—there’s a worm in the bud at home. Old Aunt Charlotte has been dug out of a convenient ark to chaperone me, and a Sir Reggie Besdyke is due on the 22nd to spend Christmas. He’s over from Australia, I believe, and is on the look-out for a wife with cash!' For some hideous reason Dad has irrevocably made up his mind to an engagement between us. So I have to make plans in I shall introduce you to Sir Reggie as my fiance. 'You don’t mind, do you? And then we can all enjoy a jolly Christmas without any arriere pensee.” Again I felt that this oturageous young woman had completely taken the wind out of my sails. “But very naturally when your father hears of the game he will be furious,” I urged, “And I shall lose my job.” The Prettiest Little Romance. Gladys laughed. “Not a bit of it—honour,” she promised, “it will only be the prettiest little romance. I’ve got a girl friend coming She is quite rich enough to pay Sir Reggie’s debts and buy him a deer forest, so things will arrange themselves Lookers on see the most of the game, Mr McDrellock I suppose I had better call you Andy, eh? and secure in our engagement, we can watch the drama. By the way, this is the engagement ring you have given me.” She drew off her glove showing a pretty enough ring of rubies and diamonds. • Suddenly my blood began to tingle. After all, merry Christmas would have been spent in the beastliest lodgings, surrounded by the permanent odour of onions and kippers. A fierce hunger filled me for ye ancient flesh pots of Egypt. I had kept my dress clothes after the smash swept away wealth and estates, and my wardrobe, packed in a decent portmanteau, was the best part of me. “Right,” I said, “the temptation is too strong. I accept. What conditions, Madam?” “Secrecy. Deepest, darkest secrecy, ended only at my discretion. You must promise, too, not to jilt me—for a week. That’s all.” “Good—and terms? You must put me wise.” 4 “Of course you’ll call me Gladys, and I shall call you Andy. It’s too cold for moonlight wanderings—and naturally you won’t —er —kiss me.” My eyes twinkled, but I did not press the point I felt it was going to be good to get into breeches and gaiters, glad rags and pumps again. “I’ll ring up about the best train for you to come by,” she said. “We must fix for you and Queenie to arrive together.” She shook hands then just as old Heckler came in. Heckler glared at us over his glasses, and Gladys bade him an effusive farewell. I Didn’t Like the Modern Girl. When I came to consider the matter I grew dubious as to its wisdom. Girls of the Gladys type are apt to ask your help and then leave you stranded. I didn’t like the modern girl. But I packed my kit bag on the 22nd and took the 3.30 train for Modcslake. Why I went first class is a question I leave you to answer as you like. Snobbery? —possibly! Extravagant? Certainly! Consequent, though, on my resolve to go back for a week to pre-war joys of life. At Kingscote a girl got into the carriage. I helped to land her golf clubs, and the next moment we were staring at each other. “Quconio Mcdville,” I blurted out. “Captain Andy McDrellock, where have you sprung from?” There arc times when I’m a Scot. Too close confidences might be compromising. “Captain Andy vanished with the war clouds, Nurse Queenie,” 1 replied, “leaving only a stodgy business chap behind. But how’s yourself? I thought you had returned to America. “Daddy-Pogs wanted me—and 1 went. But I’m over in England for two months. I’m spending Christmas week with an old school chum—Gladys Revnford.” Did the skies fall? I wouldn’t have seriously objected if they had done so. This

(By May Wynne.) Author of: “Cornflour Blue,” “The Price of a Cocktail,” “Lost: A Heart,” etc., etc.

was Gladys's dearest friend, who was to be offered to the fortune-hunting Sir Reginald, in lieu of Gladys herself.

“What, to Andry Court?” I said, “that is luck. I’m spending a week there, too.” How she blushed up! How pleased she looked, and she had an American girl’s charming frankness. How Lives Touched and Drifted. *T am glad,” she said. “I’m sure I shall be enjoying myself real well now.” We had met in a hospital in France, and —well! you know how lives touched.and drifted in that maelstrom. But I had never forgotten the prettiest and dearest of little nurses. I had sometimes said “Kismet” in reference to our chance of meeting again. Now we had met, and the train had pulled up at Modeslake Station before I could say a word about Gladys. But the thought of that bogus engagement had passed from joke to nightmare. There had been a sprinkling of snow, and Gladys met us on the platform. She lookecl very jolly, in a sort of knitted arrangement and crimson cap. She hugged Queenie and beamed at me. “Have you become acquainted, or shall I introduce? My fiance, Andy McDrellock, Miss Queenie Medville.” The colour rushed up under Queenie’s skin. She half turned away. “Captain—l mean Mr McDrellock and I had met before in France,” said she. “I must congratulate you, Gladys. _ I didn’t know you were going to be married.” “I’m going to enjoy Christmas first,” laughed Gladys. “There’s sure to be snow and we’ll be as gay as two-year-olds. Aunt Charlotte won’t worry us. Come along.”

We came along. If only I could have found excuse to pummel some jackass’s head I’d have done it with a will. I sat beside the chauffeur and pondered the situation. Of course I could not tell Queenie the truth, blit if Sir Reginald Besdyke was a rotter I should have to warn her—somehow. Tea in a snug, old-wainscotted hall, was the most soothing experience—after three years of lodging-house tea-suppers. Gladys was in the highest spirits. She flirted outrageously with me, claiming me in a way I furiously resented. Queenie said she was tired and drifted off to her room after tea. I went to play billiards with Gladys. Andry Court was a revival of old memories in itself. I began to feel human again. About seven o’clock Sir Reggie arrived. I had expected to see the villain of the piece. He was nothing of the kind, but a big Viking sort of fair chap, with an enormous laugh. He looked as if he would find amusement out of anything, and his amusement would be big, wholesome and siipple as himself. Sir Reggie was a Shock. I think Sir Reggie was a shock to both of us, for Gladys had not met him before. He had not been long in England, and his father had been chum to Gladys’s father. He shook hands vigorously. No shade of disappointment crossed those honest features on hearing me described as Miss Reynford’s fiance. His chief interest lay in the house. “Stunning old place, eh,” he said. “Sorry to hear yotir father’s ill. Awful good of you to land yourself with a Colonial from the Wilds.” He was not the pukka thing in Colonials, but the remark passed. He confessed to me later he should have been scared stiff’ if I’d not been present. “I’ve not seen many girls,” he added, “but that little American lass is the genuine goods.” I did not relish the remark.

It was good to sit down to well-cooked meal and to again taste the nectar of champagne.

Aunt Charlotte had been routled from her sanctum, but she proved to be the mildest of chaperones. x - We were very merry, and I think three of us laughed all the more heartily at sight of the solemn butler’s amaze at Sir Reginald’s roar. On the whole we made a jolly quartette, and I, at least, knew how to appreciate my return to civilisation. Mrs Pecker’s lodging for a single gent, seemed a million years away, as I looked across into Queenie Medville’s soft brown eyes and wondered whether she would presently smile as she had done during those days when I lay in bed watching her as she moved from bed to bed. Then Gladys would make some daring joke and again Sir Reggie’s laugh drowned every lesser sound. Well, that was how I, a prospectless clerk at £260, entered upon the Christmas festivities at Andry Court. You are welcome to criticise my conduct. I criticised it myself. But fof two days at least I gave myself over to the luxury of enjoying life without any very close self-analysis. Then, yes, it was Christmas Eve when I found myself genuinely regretting ever having granted Gladys Reynford’s request. Gladys herself seemed to be thoroughly enjoying every minute of time, without any pensive regrets for her ailing parent at Le Touquet. I never saw such a flirt as that girl was in my life. .She positively made me blush as she acted her part of fiancee./’ She didn’t actually kiss me, but she claimed me, petted me, made me feel an arrant fool—and worse. I hate affectation—and Gladys was affected. Flirting with Besdyke. That wasn’t all. She was flirting with Besdyke at the same time, although he, great, simple innocent, seemed only too ready to fall into the trap prepared for him and to show preference for gentle Queenie. He and Queenie would go off for walks together, and every time they were missing in this way I could see that queer little dark line show between Gladys’s brows. A sure danger signal! I can’t say I cared to be left to play cavalier to Miss Reynford, who either made a fool of me in public, or snubbed me in private, but I had to remember our bargain. Queenie most plainly liked Besdyke’s company, and she did not give me a great deal of attention. Somehow there was constraint between us, and never more do than on Christmas Eve, when we all four “decorated” the hall and staircase, Besdyke was all right for this job, his / huge stature and clever fingers made him indispensable and Gladys kept on calling for his aid. I noticed how she was trying to flirt with him and how ready he was to offer frank comradeship, ignoring all the subtler shades of tenderness.. Had Miss Reynford been hoisted on her own petard, and fallen in love with the young giant from Australia, who in his turn favoured the far lovelier Queenie?

I hoped not. Of course, I had no right to be jealous. I was a pettifogging clerk at £250 a year, with no expectations. On the 29th inst. I should be back in town. What a nightmare! And it was just a ladder slipping—a faint cry—and Queenie was in my arms. The others were decorating the stairs and a screen of evergreens hid us from view. I stood with the slender slip of' a girl in my arms whilst the most tantalising bunch of mistletoe in the world swung over our heads. She looked up into my face, I looked down into hers. Hang it all! I can’t be eloquent or picturesque about it, but it know what it cost to set her down on her pretty little feet—unkissed. Chrismas Day was a failure. Only a minimum of people catch the Christmas spirit. It has deteriorated into a day of boredom and over-eating. Gladys said it was all the fault of the idiots who first took to studying their servants. “Now, if they don’t get their turkey and plum pudding and the rest of it, as well as times off, they give notice,” she grumbled. “Never mind. Boxing day is our own. There will be grand tobogganing. Sir Reggie, you’ve promised to show me how to use my snow-shoes, too.” I looked at Queenie. If Gladys claimed Besdyke I might get a chance. After the 28th, I was going back to Mrs Pecker. To my surprise, however, Queenie smiled contentedly. “Shall we go to Stranwick Ruins,” she asked me, “And explore ? If the sun comes out, those old arches will look some faii’yland with the snow on them.” I had feared Besdyke would .offer to join us, but he didn’t. He seemed quite pleased about teaching Gladys how to use her snow-shoes. Our Walk at Stranwick. We had a glorious walk to Stranwick, but by the time we reached the . ruins it had clouded over. “I’m real American about old things,” said my companion gaily, “I adore curios, and antiques, ruins and long ago romances. Is there a dungeon?” “Sorry,” I apologised, “but I don’t know. We’d better discover.” We climbed down a well-like shell of a staircase and my flashlight disclosed a place which to me had no more romance than a coal cellar! Queenie thought otherwise. By the time we emerged into daylight again it was snowing. There are degrees in snowing just as there are in most other things. This was the birth of a blizzard! All sunshine had vanished, a yellow pall overspread the sky, the wind was rising, and out from the pall above, masses of congealed snowflakes were being swept slantwise across the landscape. Queenie slipped her hand through my arm. “Some storm,” she shivered, “do you think it will soon be over?” “Haven’t the remotest,” I returned gloomily. “Let's get back into the tower. Anyway we can’t face this.” We returned to the tower. There was a stone ledge running round the room at the bottom of it, and at least we could sit down with a roof to cover our heads. “I hope the tower won’t blow down on us,” said Queenie. “Anyway that would be the end of our troubles,” I replied gloomily. It was not a very heroic remark. Queenie did not make any immediate reply. At last she spoke. “Just as well to give Sir Reggie and Gladys time for their pow-pow.” “What do you mean?” I asked. The blizzard was increasing in violence, Part of a wall near by crashed. Queenie crept closer to my side. The darkness of storm gathered round. If only I might have put my arm round her waist. “Don’t be frightened,” I added rather breathlessly. “We are quite safe.” “I’m not exactly frightened,” she whispered, “I don’t think I could be—with you.” And for two days I had sworn not to «break an engagement.

“Sir Reggie would take better care of you,” I said. ~ She laughed. “Perhaps he wouldn t want to,” she retorted slyly. “It would sure vex his fiancee if she heard of it.” I stared down into the rosy face with its velvety brown eyes. I had to stoop a little, for the darkness increased. “His fiancee!” I echoed. “Do you mean Gladys has accepted him?” “Gladys!” said Queenie. “Oh, I wasnt talking of Gladys. You are sure her lover, aren't you?” Talk of soft little scratch-cats! “What about Besdyke’s fiancee?” I persisted. „ , “Whew!” shrieked the gale, The snow was beating in through the unglazed slit of a window. Queenie shivered, and I took off my overcoat to wraparound her. “No,” you’ll get cold,” she protested, but I insisted. Naturally I had to put my arm around her. Besdyke’s Engagement. “Did you say,” I asked jerkily, “that Besdyke is engaged to be married?” “Yes,” said Queenie. “He inet her in London. She’s training for grand opera. He is frightfully in love, and a dear old great-uncle was so taken with him when he went to visit him at Fulham that he has made him his heir—and an allowance of £BOO a year. I think Sir Reggie is a dcßiV* “Arid does Miss Reynford know?” I asked. “How relieved she will be.” Queenie gave an odd little chuckle. It was too dark to see her face. “Why?” she asked. “Why?” I replied. “Oh, her father wanted to insist on her marrying Sir Reggie. That’s why she asked me down to fill a temporary engagement.” I had said it. Absolutely blundered out with it, quite forgetting my promise of darkest, deepest secrecy. But why worry? All need for Gladys’s engagement was over. “Oh,” said Queenie, with a gasp. ‘Now I understand. Why didn’t you tell me before?” Nice hole, eh? The blizzard howled around, but the yel-

low light was getting the better of blackness. After all, there was no reason why I should not put my arm ” “You see,” I floundered, “I ought not to have told you now. Just like me. But you must have guessed.” “Gessed what?” asked Queenie. I floundered again. “You could not have supposed we were in love with each other? I mean Gladys Reynford and myself.” Queenie’s lashes swept her cheeks. She had very pretty cheeks—absolutely clean, meaning she had none of that pink-and-white mess women put on and call complexions. . “Why not?” she asked again. But I was not going to be put to 'cross-examination. The blizzard howled around. “Why,” .1 explained, gaining more confidence, “I never kissed her.” “Oh,” said Queenie. She looked up in a sudden sort of way—most confusing to a man who is trying to remember he is a clerk with £250 per annum and no prospects. “And does kissing a girl show you love her?” It was too much. Positively too much. Fear- of the blizzard had brought her snuggling close to me, along the stone bench. “Yes!” I almost shouted. Then I kissed her by way of illustration. It was a drama played topsy-turvy, I suppose, for I began in the middle, went to the end, and came back in horror to the beginning, as Queenie freed herself. She was laughing, but “Are you engaged to Gladys Reynford?” she asked. “Time’s up to-morrow,” I confessed. “And —Groat Caesar’s ghost!—l shall be leaving the Court.” Queenie smiled pensively. “So shall I be,” she replied. “I guess we’ll go together and I’ll introduce you to my dear old DaddyPops who is located, as I heard this morning, at the Waldorf. Say?” “Introduce me—as —,” I stammered. She put her hand in mine. “The man I love and am going to marry,” she said. The Maddest Thing in Girls. Gladys Reynford was the maddest thing in girls when Queenie and I showed up, after a joyous return in a sleigh improvised (Continued in nixt column.)

by that best of fellows, Besdyke. He, poor chap, seemed worried. “I don’t understand girls,” he complained. “I guess from finding Miss Gladys fixed up with another man I felt kind of safe when I came down here, but when I told her about Maud she didn’t like it. I reckon it’s just the impossible thing she wanted to marry a man from the backwoods. She’s in a scratch mood. Too much Christmas, I reckon.” It was kindly intended, but I knew I should have to face the music. We did. Yes, Queenie stood by me and managed the talking. I never would have believed such a soft little girl could have hit back so smartly, when Miss Reynford “said things” about my “dishonourable conduct and bare-faced fortune-grabbing.” “As for keeping your berth at the office,” the latter told me, “You won’t do it. My father won’t keep you a day when he hears the story.” “Your story, you spiteful thing,” flared Queenie, “but Andy never is going back to that wretched place. Daddy Pops will make him a partner, same as I’m doing. Come Andy. We’ll sure catch the evening express.” We did catch it, and poor. old Besdyke came, too, so we had some time you may be sure when Queenie had finished introducing me to her Daddy Pops. I never saw Mrs Pecker again, nor the fair Gladys, but I tell my wife that when Gladys marries we must give her the real thing in wedding gifts. “She never will marry; that kind never does,” Queenie retorts. “1 don’t quite know why—she’s pretty, and yet she doesn’t know how to boss a man—properly.” Insolent innuendo! But it' you do want to know the “proper” way, ask Queenie.