Flotsam

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 95, 13 July 1927, Page 14

Flotsam

By

Coralie Stanton and Heath Hos ken.

A athora of " The Real Mrs. Dare, ” The Man She Never MarTied.’ , ** Sword and Plough," &c., £rc.

To have Flotsam, i.e., g-oods floating on the water; Jetsam, i.e., goods cast out of a ship during a storm, and Wilsam, i.e., goods driven ashore when ships are wrecked. These wrecks were called by the vulgar, Goods of God's mercy. (Ancient Charter of Dover.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I.—John Bolton kneels on the shingle beside the animate form of a lad who has just been rescued from drowning. The sailor who has brought the boy from the shipwreck can give no information about him. Later, inquiries proving futile, John Bolton carries the lad to his motor, covers him with rugs, and drives off. The boy refuses the stimulating drink that John offers, and wants to go. This request is refused Questioned the lad states that he is Jack King. He and his father were bound for South America. Complains of feeling sick and collapses. Arrived at Saye Castle, John Bolton’s home, Mrs. Manton, the housekeeper, undertakes to get the boy to bed, but he fights, kicks, bites, struggles and makes off. John Bolton catches him and he capitulates by fainting. He is got to bed and Dr. Goring is sent for. About six in the evening Mrs. Manton seeks her master and informs him that Jack King is a girl—a young woman about eighteen. Dr. Goring says the patient must be kept perfectly quiet for a few days. John Bolton communicates with the steamship offices in London, Scotland Yard tells a sordid story. The girl’s father is really Michael Dennis Croft, company promoter, whose gigantic failure has engulfed the savings of millions of hard workers. His daughter, Jacqueline, is penniless. CHAPTERS I. (Continued) and 11. John Bolton writes to his fiancee, Lady Maud Genge, tells the whole story- of Jacqueline, and asks her to help him. He has his first interview with Jacqueline. She reveals herself as a strikinglooking girl, full of character. She has taken the news of her father’s death quietly. Lady Maud Genge, in the Swiss mountains, reads In the paper of the death of Dennis Croft. She talks it over with her maid, Clarice. Later she muses over her past life, her runaway marriage, her divorce, her father’s accession to the peerage. A letter comes to her from John Bolton, telling her the history of the arrival of Jacqueline and expressing a wish for her presence and advice. Lady Maud gives her maid orders to pack. She is returning to England. She spends the night at Folkestone after crossing the Channel, and in the morning hires a car and motors to Saye Castle. John Bolton is not there to meet her, but Parker, the butler, and Mrs. Manton, welcome her. The housekeeper gives her the latest news of the new protegee, and says how fond the master is of her. CHAPTER IV. (Continued). “Rut she isn’t a complete stranger now,” he said, blundering and frank and utterly innocent of what his words and manner meant to Maud. “We’ve come thorough pals—you could see that, couldn’t you? She started by hating me. Bless my soul, the way she carried on! A regular young tiger cat, all out of hand. But it’s different now.” He smiled a smile of seraphic satisfaction. “Ah, it’s dogged as does it, Maud, old thing. I was determined not to he beaten by her, and I’ve succeeded. Haven’t I? You saw her. By George, that kid looks on me now as her best friend on earth. I swear she does. She’d just do anything I asked her.” “I’m quite sure she would,” said Maud in a tone of voice like water running over ice. “And do you know, my dear, that I’ve become quite fond of her,” lie went on fatuously communicative. “I can’t tolerate the idea of sending her off into the world.” “So it appears,” remarked Maud, and still he did not notice the chill in her voice, the half perceptible drawing in of the nostrils. “But, of course, what she wants,” continued Bolton, plunging on unconsciously to his own destruction, “what the girl wants is a woman to look after her.” “You can afford to employ a maid for her, I suppose.” “No, no, that is not what I mean. Jacqueline wants mothering. Maid he bothered! The girl wants mothering, I say. Her life has been a tragedy. She has never known what it is to have a mother. She just idolised this scamp of a father of hers. I often wonder what her mother was like. Don’t you agree?” “Quite,” said Maud, and felt that she would soon choke. She knew that she was on the point of giving herself clean away. She caught sight of herself in a mirror and saw that her face was white and she looked a hundred. “Now, you’ve got to help me out of this, old girl. You’ve got to mother this girl.” “Not on your life, my dear John!” said Maud, with profound conviction. “There’s nothing doing in the mothering way for mine.” She assumed a parody of American slang more as a help to cover her embarrassment than anything else. “But my dearest.” he exclaimed, unbelieving and protesting. “You can't mean that.” “I can and do,” she retorted curtly. “Well, what’s to be done about it?” lie asked rather helplessly. “That’s your look-out, my dear John,” said she. “I’ve enough :rouble of my own without seeking fresh ones. You’d better think the matter over. It seems to be weighing a bit on your mind. You can start on the assumption that, as far as I am concerned, T

have no intention of being: a. mother to your delectable Miss Jack.” “Oh.” ejaculated Bolton, in dismay. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“It is just like that.” “Then we’ll have to kick her out. I suppose?” “That, my dear, is for you to decide.” Maud knew it had come to that, and she did not waver. Bolton became suddenly grave. He fixed his solemn eyes on Maud. “Is that a sort of ultimatum?” he asked. “Take it as you like.” “Does it mean that if I keep Miss Jack I don’t get you?” “It does. So you'd better make up your mind here and now.” This brought John Bolton down to earth with a crash. He stared at Maud, blinking like a man who had suddenly emerged from a dark cave into blazing sunshine. It was perhaps more like an unexpected blow straight between the eyes. He had been so sure of Maud. He wanted her so badly in his life. He had thought that it was all fixed up unalterably. He had planned the rest of his years with Maud. That it should ever come to this: that she should deliberately tell him to his face that if he chose to do a decent human action —and God knew he had performed few enough in a very selfish life—all was off: that he must choose between doing a kindness to this poor little human wreck or losing Maud was to him utterly incredible. What in the name of everything thinkable could the one have to do with the other? What difference could his befriending little Miss Jack have to do with the far bigger matter of his marriage with Maud? He hated emotion and crises and occasions when it was necessary to make up his mind on the spur of the moment. He was a man who liked to have time to think things over, as it were. This was the time when it did not come off, and it gave her no end of a shock. “Maud, my dear,” said Bolton, after a long silence. “I am sorry you take it like this. I’m rather puzzled and out of my depth. I don’t quite understand you. Why did you come back? Was it only to tell me that yqu wouldn’t have anything to do with the girl? You might have saved yourself the trouble and sent *me a telegram. But there it is. You are entitled to your opinion and I’ve no right to inflict someone upon you, the responsibilities and all that. I’m rather a fool. I think, to have bothered you about the matter at all.” “Not at all,” she protested. “On the contrary, I think you did the right thing and I’m very glad you did it. There must be no secrets between us.” “Quite so, old girl. So let’s leave it at that and change the subject. I’ll settle the question of the kid’s future on my own and you needn’t worry about it any further. After all is said and done, it has nothing whatever to do with you.” “Or with you either, as far as I can see,” remarked Maud. “Perhaps so; anyhow, don’t you worry any further. And. above all, don’t let it make the slightest difference to our arrangements. Now, tell me all your news, dear.” Maud could not fail to notice a subtle change in his manner and tone of speech. It was not like the old, frank, ingenuous John. It struck her as being forced and artificial, as if he were pretending a gaiety and carelessness of manner that he was far from feeling. This was most disquieting to her. It was a new phase of John’s character. “You aren’t offended, dearest?” she asked eagerly. “Offended? Good Lord, why should Ibe offended? What an idea!” But she knew he was, all the same; and she knew she had gone too far. You must know that the prospect of not becoming the wife of rich John Bolton was something that had hitherto never so much as entered into the realm of possibilities as far as Maud Genge was concerned. She was so sure of him; she felt that she had him so firmly secured and that nothing short of some awful catastrophe could possibly prevent her being Lady Maud Bolton in the immediate future. And when he looked at his watch and suddenly rose to his feet and said: “Look here, Maud dear, I really think I must be getitng off. I’ve got a lot of correspondence to deal with before I go to bed and I’m feeling rather fagged. Bo you mind? I didn’t realise it was so late. We’ve lost count of time.” “It’s only just after ten,” she said. “Twenty past, to be correct. And you must be dog-tired, too.” “I was never so wide awake in my life,” she laughed with a pretence at gaiety that she was far from feeling. This was altogether a new John to her. The idea of talking about twenty-past-ten being late! “Well, it’s quite time you had a good night’s rest, anyhow,” he said paternally. “I intend to get one. Good night, old dear. Ever so many thanks. Are you going to town to-morrow or staying down here for a bit?”

(To be Continued.)