The Road that Led Home

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 128, 20 August 1927, Page 16

The Road that Led Home

By

Elizabeth York Miller.

Author of The House oj the Secret Conscience " A Cinderella of Mayfair. ’ <*rc &c

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS CHAPTERS VIII. to X.—Mrs. Clayton enjoys her new status, but keeps her husband at arm’s length. One Sunday morning Raymond meets Connover and Mrs. Gerald Methune, and these two Invite themselves to lunch with the Claytons Informed by her husband of the two guests Nora becomes excited, dresses with care in order to Impress them, but finds that both Connover and Mrs. Methune are quite weight enough for her. Later she takes Connover to her boudoir, and is once more overcome by the old glamour. She tries to hold her own. but Connover takes the wind out of her sails by telling her that, in the long ago, the curate, James Prester, Interfered between them, and took a message to him, Connover, that Nora never wanted to see him again. To Nora’s incredulity he replies, “Ask him.” A little later the Vicar of Riffmoor is taken ill and dies. The Claytons go to the funeral, and Nora stays on at the Vicarage to help her sister to straighten things out. Alison intends to carve out her own future. Nora visits James Prester in his little cottage. Jim comes to the door. He invites her in and she challenges him with the statement made to her by Connover. He is silent. CHAPTER XXIII. There is this particular thing about the ramifications of life—that when one wall totters the whole structure comes down. Crash! Everything down together in smoking ruins! Afterwards—how had it happened? Various faces floated in the smoke of Nora’s ruin. She observed them dimly, as faces seen in dreams. This was a detached, impersonal dream, having seemingly no concern with herself, but a tremendous lot to do with other people. All through it someone stood beside her holding her hand, and it was not until she woke up that tho someone became real in the person of her sister Alison. There was the blank, artificially white face of Bessie Adams below the ■ scarlet hat of yesterday, and the peer- ■ ing, triumphant face of the thin dark ■ woman, and Jim’s—all floating in the ■ smoke of Nora’s ruin. There were voices. I*

“She claims to be my mother” — that was the coldly detached voice of Miss Adams. “Then, you are not certain—you are not convinced?” Jim asked. “By no means. She only wants to get money out of my—out of Mr. Clayton. Perhaps she is my mother, but that doesn’t interest me now. It might have at one time.” Papers rustled indignantly, and were pressed into James Prester’s unwilling hands. They had the appearance to Nora of legal documents, but Miss Adams was a born scoffer. She threw scorn upon the legality or the authenticity of those papers. At the same time, the atmosphere was charged with a great doubt. Every now and again James Prester would say: “But, Mr. Clayton could straighten this out at once. He is the proper person ” “Oh, could he?” challenged the claimant. “Very well; I am willing. This unnatural child of mine shields him. She knows I can send him to prison. Bigamy—that’s what it is. You on’erstan’? And this other pretty creature in her velvet and her furs, she is no wife.” Startling statements were made, which if true would change the status of numerous people. There emerged a story of long ago, of Brazil and the city of Rio de Janeiro. It was a romantic story, which had to do with Raymond Clayton’s triumphant return from his search for gold, and a beautiful cabaret dancer called Marenna Spiritzo, who, the angry-eyed dark woman claimed, was herself—married the successful adventurer, and bore him a child, afterwards being deserted by him, Clayton stealing the child and rushing away with her across the ocean, leaving his unhappy wife to struggle alone against illness and poverty. It was a story which, if true, placed Raymond Clayton in a very black light indeed. "How did you recognise Miss Adams for your daughter?” James Prester asked. “It was she who questions me—who

finds out who I am,” the woman flashed back.

The cool, detached voice of Bessie Adams intervened at this point. The girl was perfectly composed. “I happened to be passing through the outer office yesterday when this woman came in,” she said. “I noticed her manner. It seemed a little unusual, and sometimes we have to deal with queer people. As she was insisting rather violently upon an interview with Mr. Clayton, I spoke to her, and took her aside into a small waiting room we have. I then asked her what her business was ” “Yes, and I said—the woman interrupted excitedly. “One moment,” James Prester put in. “Let Miss Adams finish.” “She said she was Mr. Clayton’s legal wife—that she knew he had married again, and she didn’t wish to make trouble for him, but her claim could be settled for a lump sum,” Miss Adams continued. “She told me that she had had a child by Mr. Clayton and that it was a girl, and had been given the name of Elizabeth Adams. She said she wanted to know what had become of her child, and then I told her. That is to say, I told her I was Elizabeth Adams, and was employed by Mr. Clayton as his confidential secretary. As the waiting-room was not very private I took the liberty of asking her to meet me here to-day. It happened that Mr. Clayton was not at the office anyway, nor has he been in to-day, so I’ve had no chance to tell him about it, unless I went to his house. I didn’t like to do that. It didn’t seem important enough to bother him about —particularly as he has other things worrying him just now.” Nora winced at that last remark, and then lowered her eyes. Bessie Adams knew too much, but she was not as vindictive as Nora had thought. It looked as though she hadn’t meant to tell Raymond about Conny and the teashop episode. “I’m afraid you’ll have to bother Mr. Clayton,” Jim said. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any other way out of it. Unless, of course, you can prove that the —er —lady has no shadow of justification for her claim.” “Quite so,” Miss Adams replied. “A girl without a heart!” exclaimed the shabby claimant. “Her own mother —to be treated so!” Miss Adams threw her a nod, as though in entire agreement, and then whipped a little note-book out of her bag and began copying from the names and dates on the documents which lay on Jim’s table. The woman made as though to snatch them away, but a look from Bessie Adams deterred her, and she hovered apprehensively near, as though she feared that the unnaturalness of this daughter she claimed might go so far as to make an attempt to destroy her proofs. “And now I want your present address.” said Miss Adams. “What does that matter? I will call

at the office again,” the woman muttered. “If you do, you will not be admitted,” Miss Adams said firmly. It was finally agreed that the woman would call in three days’ time at Miss Adams’ own flat, and it developed that ordinarily she went under the name of Mme. Spiritzo. “But why am I to wait three whole days?” she moaned. “I am starving and have no money.” James Prester stirred uneasily and glanced at his tea-table. There was something in those wild dark eyes which said that in one respect at least the woman was truthful. Catching Jim’s look, Bessie Adams smiled oddly. It was a whimsical smile and humanised her for a fleeting moment; it was the smile of a woman who takes pleasure in giving way to a child. “I’ll see you out, Mme. Spiritzo,” she said.

At the door she was observed again to be opening her handbag, and this time she took out her purse. “She’s giving that woman some money,” Alison Mowbray said, speaking for the first time. It was then that Nora emerged from her state of dreaming. She had no doubt, herself, as to “that woman’s true identity, but it puzzled her that Bessie Adams apparently had. In Nora’s opinion, Miss Adams ought to be glad, secretly if not openly, of this chance to humiliate Mrs. Raymond Clayton Number Two. By-this time Nora had forgotten her original reason for descending upon Jim. Those other things, the beating of Connover and Raymond’s threat to accomplish his own impoverishment, seemed of no particular consequence. She sat down with a great sense of weariness and presently, when Miss Adams returned, the little half-caste maid brought in tea.

CHAPTER XXIV. Except for Bessie Adams the teaparty, as a social function, would have failed completely. But Miss Adams took it in hand and made it a success. She was very brisk and matter-of-fact, apologising for her seeming lack of heart toward the woman who had claimed her for a daughter on the score that life and business had made her fearfully sceptical. “I can’t help it,” she said. “I guess I was born that way. I don’t trust anybody until I know them inside out, but it doesn’t take me very long. Shall I pour the tea, Mr. Prester? Mrs. Clayton looks rather tired.” Jim said he would be glad if she would pour, and she was very competent and businesslike about it as she was about everything. Nora felt limp as well as weary. This terriby self-sufficient Miss Adams! The girl didn't trust anybody until she knew them inside out. That meant she didn’t trust Nora; or had she discovered Nora to her own satisfaction? Yesterday—a dreadful day! And today was no less dreadful. But Nora, although badly stricken by the waywardness of fate, was sensing here a curious situation in which she was not in the least involved. Jim’s passion toward herself had undergone a cooling or transferred quality, and that was humiliating. He no longer worshipped forlornly at the empty shrine. He was not to be whipped up by scorn or cast into the depths of despair through love for the forbidden woman. His clear eyes met Nora’s in frank goodwill and friendship. She stirred him not at all where the erotic emotions were concerned, and womanlike the idea displeased her. So she had lost Jim, too —at least as a would-be lover. And there was Alison, plain little Alison, of the intelligent eyes and fearless conscience, given over to heroine-worship of Bessie Adams. What a strange combination they made for friendship! Yet friends they were, and unless Nora’s instincts were at fault both of them were head over heels in love with Jim. “When they find out”—thought Nora —“that will end it.” A pathetic wonder filled Nora’s heart. The world changed day by day, and the people who made the crowd in her little world were wandering afield, forgetting her, forming new loves, new friendships. Had they found her too barren of tribute or sympathy? She had always taken them for granted particularly Jim and Alison; each had always stood ready to serve. But now when she tried to make some appointment with Alison, her sister was vague about it. Alison couldn't say for certain whether or not she would be able to lunch or dine on such and such a day. And Jim was fatally trapped by the mission which had become the very centre of his world. Nora had a chance to speak to him a

few minutes alone when Miss Adams and Alison went off to inspect the new kindergarten rooms he had installed. On this occasion it was Nora who felt embarrassed. Jim was merely solicitous on account of the Spiritzo woman, and not at all upset on his own. “I shouldn’t let it worry me,” he advised her. “You saw how coolly Miss Adams took it.” Nora's face fell into wistful lines. “Oh, Jim, I’m in such a fog! About everything. Last night, for instance “Then it was you who rang up Connover's flat,” he broke in. “I’ve been puzzling ever since.” “I know what happened—about Raymond’s going there,” she said. “But why were you there, Jim? Had it anything to do with—with long ago?” James Prester regarded her gravely. “In a way,” he replied. “I had something to see Connover about. I was late, and when I got there ” Had Raymond gone?” Connover was alone. I didn’t know it was your husband who had—had beaten him. He tried to pretend the thing was an accident of some sort.” “Was he badly hurt?” Nora asked quickly. “Not enough for you to worry about,” Jim assured her. “But he was in considerable pain. There was one cut on his face, bleeding a little. The others had caught him about the shoulders, I imagine. I don’t want to preach, Nora, but ” “Oh, I know—l know! I’ve made a fearful mess of things. Everything’s wrong—everything in the world is wrong. It’s all spilling out, Jim, and I don’t know how to stop it. Here’s this woman—and Bessie Adams. If what the woman claims is true—then where is my place? Why, I wouldn’t even be Raymond’s wife. Could they send him to prison, Jim?” Jim frowned thoughtfully. “How can I say? He certainly ought to be told what the woman claims. I don’t understand Miss Adam’s attitude at all.” “She’s a strange girl, Jim. Are you in love with her?” Jim started, as though the idea was new and just a little shocking. But there can be pleasant as well as unexpected shocks. “Such an idea never entered my head,” he replied. “You know whom I cared for.” “Ah, yes! Once. But you don’t care for me now, Jim—not in that way—and it’s just as well, although it makes me feel a little sad. I didn’t treat you very well.” “Nora—you aren’t in love with Connover, are you? You didn’t carry out that terrible threat? Oh, no—don’t answer! I had no right to ask such a question.” “I am not in love with him.” Nora said tonelessly. “He’s a horrid lit-tle cad. You knew something against him, Jim, but you never told me what it was.”

“The secret wasn’t mine,” Jin *** plied. “It still isn’t mine. But perhaps you’ll know before long.” “I wonder!” Nora exclaimed. how I feel it has to do with Cjn Methune. You know, Jim— Methune, the actress. She’s fond of Conny and they’re together * great deal.” . u . She went close to him and hand on his arm, looking up i P IO face, which had an odd, twitching pression. . - . “What is it, Jim?” she asked in • whisper. “Have I said anyth®* _ hurt you? How could it hurt h that Cora Methune is fond of He needs somebody to like nin. horrid little rat!” “It only hurts because Cora M > /. happens to be my sister,” Jim rep« “I’m fond of her, you see. . “Jim, what a —what a curious * up! But, of course, now 1 ning to understand. It’s unra a little.” t m Nora was silent for a moment, she said slowly: “I’ll so . no l w tttra Wi the girls come back. I ee * ,#•* and lost, but I’m better by Without a word, Jim £ from a cupboard and went ’*■* It wasn't until they were she realised how glad she was his company as far as the mai where they found a rank and her into a taxi. * • * A large-faced clock with an ated dial flashed the time at - the front of a warehouse in me mercial Road, and with a starx giving she recollected that 3 iar -. and she were entertaining ha people at dinner to-night company directors and tneu , But even stodgy, uninterestingly. should not be kept wilting J hostess, and It would n° w to !’■ physical impossibility for > , b> rive home in time to change ready to receive her guests. Dinner was at eight, and th> house clock had said twe - fn: , hour. It would take more tna“ Ncminutes just to get n leaned out of the window be ; ately urged the driver to Vssibly either he or the cab —or Pe“. traffic—was perverse. It a by tt< after that they crawled, an _ t* time Ludgate Circus was for dinner party was beyond P Everything ends, howev • At twenty minutes p f a f t n 2ig-rfl<‘ i “ ancient taxi wheezed Cardens and came to a nau L-jng somewhat aggressively in be jonrf that he had done tM She put a stop to this jW* with money, and rushed ctl9 e d* trying to chink of some ex would hold water, dreading in her husband s eyes and disfavour cf the P eop ]® invited to dine with them(To be continued.