Margery Redford’s Portrait.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 19, 6 May 1908, Page 69

Margery Redford’s Portrait.

By Mrs. M. H. Spiehnann,

‘ls it foggy ?” asked Major Grey, as he welcomed his fiancee Margery and his niece Noreen. They had come in from the next door, and as he kissed both girls—the one by right of relationship actual, and the other by right of relationship to be—he thought he had! never seen two prettier or daintier or more charming young women; for they were dressed to be taken to the pantomime, and they were there, to dine with him first.

“It’s lifted, Edward,” replied Margery, blushing a little under his admiring glance.

"Isn’t she like her portrait, Uncle?” asked Noreen, surveying Margery with satisfaction. “She’s dressed like it tonight.”

“I think she looks nicer than her portrail;,” replied the Major, walking towards a chair on which stood, the top of its frame leaning against the wall, a large picture covered with a cloth. He removed the covering carefully—“ The varnish isn’t quite dry yet,” he explained, "and we must keep the dust from ’t.” —and he gazed at it a moment. Then he turned towards Margery. “Perfect as the likeness is,” he added, “it no more does justice to. you, Margery, than the paint and canvas it’s made of can compare with your beautiful heart and your clever - mind.”

“Oh, thank you, Major,” replied Margery, laughing a confused and grateful little laugh. “But what an undeserved testimonial to try to. live up to.

“ ‘Undeserved ?’ Not a, bit! ” The portrait was a beautiful one, a superb work of art, painted by the greatest portraitist working in England, Mr. -Fleming, R.A., and was Sir John Redford’s wedding gift to his son-in-law soon to be, Major Grey. It showed the young girl, in a white silk dress, standing against a background, of magnolia bloom, ivhich formed a lovely foil to the delicate face with its sweet but thoughtful and rather shy expression, framed with her wavy dark hair through which a pink ribbon peeped here and there. Even the artist himself, just for once, was satisfied with his work.

“Where are you going to hang it?” asked Noreen.

“It’s not going to be hung. As we are to be married directly, and a month to-morrow we are off to India, it is to go to Heatherfietds for safe keeping and to console Sir John just a little bit for his daughter’s absence till our return. It won’t be for tong. And I shall have the original. It’s a fair exchange. And now let’s have dinner.”

By the time te meal was over the fog had cleared and off they went, but it fell thicker than ever half-an-hour later;' and it was not without difficulty that they found their way back to supper, which it had been arranged they should take together before the Major delivered the girls safely home. "Good Fairy Noreen sits on my right.” said the Major, for they were full of the pantomime, “ami Fairy Princess Margery opposite me, where I can see her, and where she ean see, if she chooses to look this way, the Wicked Uncle.” “1 think she’s more like her portrait than ever,” said Noreen, as the little meal was done. “The pink ribbon is even better arranged.” "Let’s compare it,” said the Major, glad of an excuse to have a peep at the picture again. Noreen got up, drew aside the curtain and uttered a little ery. No picture was there! "Have you had it taken away. Uncle?” asked Noreen. The Major had pushed baek his ehair and was staring at the empty frame. “What the ” was all he said. Margery rose, looking from the frame to the Major in dismay.

The first thing the Major did was to ring the bell for the servants. "Has anybody been in this room while we were away atthe threatre?” he asked. "No, sir,” replied the parlour maid as spokeswoman for the rest; only me, sir —to clear away and lay the supper. There’s been no one else in here, sir, only me.” The Major trusted his parlour-maid, and as he looked her straight in the eyes he saw that she was -honest, and that he could take her word. The servants were accordingly dismissed. "Little ladies,” he said quietly, after a painful pause, "I have my night’s work cut out for me. I must take you two back at once. The picture must have been stolen. I’m off to Scotland Yards”

“How about the fog?” asked Noreen. “That’s what I’ve got to clear up,” replied the Major. “And Margery, dear, use your lively little brains to help, and have a hint to offer to-morrow I shall be glad.”

He took them next door much depressed, followed -by Elizabeth, who had been in attendance -with their wraps, and then started off to have detectives put on the track. His dreadful loss quite staggered him. "Anything but that,” he muttered, "they might have taken —anything but that.”

So the detectives questioned the servants and examined the premises, and followed up so-called dues. But Margery’s portrait was gone. And it was soon known that one of the finest portraits. ever painted in modern England had clean disappeared, as if it had melted away like the fog itself. The wedding was at 'hand; and the Major had, besides, to busy himself with his affairs, for promotion was -nearly due, together with an opportunity to distinguish himself in India. His bride was to accompany him, and with her was to go Elizabeth—the “Liz” of the old days when, as still a child, she entered little Margery’s service. She was engaged to be married to Dick -Wells, the grandson of Mr. and Mrs. Wells, who -still kept their little village shop at Heatherfields.

"He ean very well wait for me till we come back, jniss,” said Elizabeth. “And he says that ndjv he is elerk at the bank at Mr. Montagu Redford’s he’ll have a home ready for me when we’re back from India. He said so only the other evening before he returned to ‘Heathenfields.

“He has his room over his grandfather’s, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, miss, and returns there every evening.” “When was it you saw him last?” “Last Wednesday, miss—the night you went to the pantomime. I ought to own, miss, that he stayed tilt ten o’clock; it’s later than he should, but it shan't becur again. You see, miss, we’d a deal to talk over, and we couldn’t finish what we had to say when he called at Heatherfields that evening you went down.” • “Not Mr Rupert’s birthday evening?” asked Margery. “Yes, miss, at nine o’clock.” “Oh, but I heard him playing the concertina at the Wells’s when I walked up there after dinner.” “No, miss, I do' assure you. He was at the Manor House that evening, at nine o’clock.”

Margery made no reply. The next day she returned to Heatherfields, taking Elizabeth with her, for her visit to town was over, and she had much to see to; and there was what she thought to be the mystery of Dick’s visit to dear up, too —at least, she wanted to make sure, quite privately, about the coincidence of the two events, the visit and the disappearance of the picture. So she lost no time in paying Mrs. Wells a visit.

“Thank ye, miss; very well, for an old woman. Trade’s gmwl, and I’m not a bit dull—ean’t be dull with good music every night, ean I?” "Good music ?”

"Why, Miss Redford, yon see, our Dick lives here since he’s been clerk, and he always plays the concertina in hie room upstairs—leastways when he’s in; and that keeps you lively, don’t it, Missl He’s promised us to play tonight.”

“I’ve heard him play already,” replied Margery, simply; "he plays very nicely.” "That he do, miss,” replied his grandmother, highly complimented at appreciation by "the gentry.” That evening, an Margery was starting for another stroll towards the village, she stopped suddenly in the garden. She heard a voice, and Elizabeth’s

voice, close by the servants’ hall, and she was sure that the voice was Dick’s. She quickened her pace, and soon stood before the Wells’s shop, and, to her astonishment, she heard the sounds of a concertina issuing from the window of the lighted room above. She listened to the end, when Dick's voice, speaking to himself, said atom): “How’s that for music? Not bad for me, 1 think.”

“Vanity!” thought Margery. "That’s what he said once before when he finished.”

And then, greatly mystified, she retraced her steps homewards. She gained her room and rang the bell.

"Elizabeth,” she asked, "was that Diek Wells’s voice I heard downstairs half-an-hour ago?” “Yes, miss; he only dropped in for a moment to see if he could do anything for me in town to-morrow.”

"It’s curious I didn’t pass him on the way back.” “It is strange, miss,” replied the girl frankly; “p’r’aps he went across by tha short cut.”

“No doubt,” assented Margery, adding mentally, “but I went to the village by the short cut, too; anti there he was playing.” A letter from the Major next day brought Margery up to town. The detectives had found nothing, and could assert nothing; but they had obtained the addresses of four picture dealers in a small way of business in the Soho district to whom, they had ascertained, frameless pictures had been delivered on the morning following the pantomime visit. More they could not say, for more they did not know. But it was something. So, as soon as she arrived, she and the Major started off for the shops, and casually entered the first one on the list, dodging past a couple of men, who were carrying in a large framed eanvas, and then deposited it, baek outwards, against the wall. “I’m looking for a good picture or two,” said the Major, as the shopman blinked at him out of his small, shrewd eyes, “that will look nice on my new walls. Got anything?—pleasing landscape or pretty figure?’.’ “What do you- think of that .picture?” said Margpry, pointing to one. “Daub,” replied the Major. “Well-painted pond,” said- the man. “No gold-fish,” commented Margery, smiling to the Major. They looked round, but there was clearly nothing there, and, as they prepared to leave, Margery looked with curiosity towards the picture they had just seen brought in. “May I see that?” she asked.

“It’s not mine, miss,” said the man. "I’ve, been asked by a friend to take charge of it for him till it goes to the North to find a customer.’

“What’s the good,” said the Major, “If you find a customer for it here?” “‘Well, if you lige,” assenter the dealer, somewhat unwillingly, “but I shall want —well, I shall want three fi’-pun notes for it.”

"Fifteen pounds for that!” exclaimed the Major, as his eyes lighted on the crude and vulgar portrait of a fat, redfaced, goggle-eyed admiral pointing fiercely with a telescope, in a trumpery frame, with a sheet of bad glass over it.” “Buy it,” whispered Margery.

"Fifteen pounls for that thing?” asked the Major. “Three fives,” replied the man. "No wonder you want to send it North. You’ll find no one to care for it here in London ”

“Except me,” interrupted Margery. “I like it. Please—please buy it for me, Edward.”

“That young lady’s got taste,’ said the man, with approval. “It's my belief it’s genuine Reynolds—but I ean’t give a warranty with it, because it’s not mine. I'm only agent. For a friend. Three fives ami it’s yours—it’s my belief I’m asking too little.”

The Major looked at Margery doubtfully. Margery looked at him pleadingly. “There's the money.” said the Major, "and have a cab called.”

In ten minutes they were home—ten minutes of silent wondering on the part of the Major; ten ininutes of embarrass ment on Margery's part. She knew ho didn’t like it.

It was set up on the chair in the hall by the cabman, who stared at it in contempt.

“Wot price goggles?” said the driver. “Three fives,” replied the Major. “Now, Margery,” he said, when they

were atone, “pray explain your preference for the Na*vy over the Army.”

“Edward, dear,” she cried, bursting out laughing and throwing herself into bis arms —“it’s—it’s my portrait!” “What?” shouted the Major, starting back. For a moment he thought she had lost her reason. Then he added, quietly, “It's not a bit like you. That joke's cost fifteen pounds—three fives—which would have bought you another thin frock for India."

“1 prefer this. Thank you, Edward, for it. It’s very kind of you.” "Trust!” said the Major, presenting his cheek; “paid for!” he added on the receipt of the exacted salutation in full payment. But he was sadly disillusioned at Margery’s taste. (To be concluded next week.)