The Raod that Led Home

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 133, 26 August 1927, Page 14

The Raod that Led Home

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ElizabethYorkMiller.

It was snowing when Nora said good-bye to Mrs. Methune. light, dry •lakes that had already spread a white carpet over the winter grass of the park, and filled the grey air with a thickness that might soon become impenetrable. Nora, muffled in her fur coat, turned into the park. The sound of the traffic was stilled, and it seemed as though she were alone in a vast world of snow and silence. Raymond! Always her thoughts turned upon him these days when she was seeing so very little of him. Raymond was going away—so very far away! She might never see him again; he might never know how her heart ached, how sorry she was. She dreaded, shrank away from admitting even to herself how dear Raymond had become to her. Nora thought of so many things out there alone in the snow, recalled so many things that made her wince. Among them her own ingratitude in the past stood out with glaring reproach. She had taken everything for granted from Raymond and given nothing. Fate should have been kinder to him than to throw such a selfish woman in his path. And then Nora saw life as it ought to have been, were impartial justice dealt out to everybody. Somewhat as Cora Methune saw it, she realised that Cora should have married Raymond, and Conny and she should have been doomed to suffer each other. But as things were, she was a millstone around Raymond’s neck —just as Conny had been around Cora’s. “Oh, for another chance!” she whispered to the cold, soft snow. Perhaps that whisper was in the nature of a prayer. Anyway, it turned out that Nora Clayton was to get her chance if—and it was a big “if”—she chose to take it. CHAPTER XXX. Most of Nora’s luggage was packed for her role of a lady in reduced circumstances moving from Dangerfield House to the modest quarters of two rooms and a bath in one of London’s most fashionable and exclusive hotels. A lady in such reduced circumstances that she now had only a miserable £IO,OOO a year with which to fight the battle of life!

Yet the irony of it had never really struck her; nor, indeed, did Nora actually know that her husband’s resources had found a far lower level than her own. Raymond Clayton was not a man who advertised either the state of his feelings or his finances on his sleeve. All Nora knew about him was that he had lost money—much money —that Dangerfield House had to be sold, and that he was going out to Brazil to look into the possibilities of property he owned over there. Her torment was not concerned with money at all. It lay in the fact that he was going away just when she had discovered that losing him would be the greatest torture life could hold. For him, adventure in the country which had given him Bessie, and to which he was taking Bessie as his companion; for Nora, the luxury and excitement of fashionable life in London. But a year ago could Nora have dreamed of anything which would have suited her more perfectly? Her lips curled in self-scorn as she muttered: “There’s no pleasing some people—and I guess I’m one of that sort.” .. . Then she thought: “As I’m leaving to-morrow it’s only decent to say good-bye to Raymond and thank him.” She let herself into the half-dis-mar.tled precincts of “home” with a latch-key. for the servants had departed and there were now no footmen nor any stately butler to open the door. The domestic staff at Dangerfield House had been reduced to caretakers and charwomen in anticipation of to-morrow. If Raymond were at home he would be in the library, where he had been seeing people lately on business when he did not care to interview them at the office. But although he was not in the library on this occasion, Nora found someone waiting there who was not a complete stranger to her, a Mr. Sanderman Perks, the rosy-fac.ed old solicitor who had come down to Riffe Castle to arrange her marriage settlements and remained for the wedding. She had not seen Mr. Perks since, and for a few moments had to listen and reply to his eloquent congratulations upon her complete restoration to health and —he assumed—happiness. Then a little cloud obscured his genial rosiness and Mr. Perks’s voice dropped to a becoming solemnity as he condoled with her upon Raymond’s financial affairs. “A wonderful man, your husband,” said the solicitor. “I’ve seen him build up and lose two fortunes, and he’s still a young fellow, according to my standards. Never turns a hair, whichever it is. if I may say so, and if I'm spared a few more years, doubtless I’ll have the pleasure of seeing him build up still another.” Nora murmured her gratification at those pleasant sentiments, and rang for one of the charwomen to see if she could get some tea for Mr. Perks and herself The promise of this forthcoming they mended the fire together. and Nora learned that the solicitor had an appointment with Raymond, but had been warned that the latter might be a little late in keeping it. “It’s over this tiresome Brazilian business.” said the solicitor. “Don’t you agree with me that Mr. Clayton is being a bit too —what shall we say? —just a bit too honest, meticulously so. since the law rather encourages him to be otherwise?” Nora was about to say that she didn’t know anything about the Brazilian business beyond the fact that Raymond was going out there to attend to it, when the old man, taking for granted that she knew and understood everything, babbled on. It was all about money, how Raymond felt constrained to turn in tnat huge property with its unguessed assets of wealth, -when by sticking to it he stood every chance of being able to pay off his creditors in full and retain a handsome profit for himself. “For the lack of £20,000!” sighed Mr. Perks. “It seems incredible, but he can’t get anybody to lend him that sum. The financiers are afraid of him and the hanks are afraid of the security, for naturally it’s a bit of guess work. He’s been too busy to look into the possibilities and it may be that there are no possibilities to develop. Still ! I’d lend him the money with pleasure, but I haven’t got it to lay hands on, and I daren’t take the responsibility of urging one of my clients to take the risk. Most of my clients are widows and orphans, and there’d be a grand old row if I let any of them in for something that turned out pure wildcat.” Nora listened attentively, a queer little fluttering sensation in her throat. “Mr Perks, I don’t think I understood. Is it really true that my husband needs money to save these lands?” “Well, that’s what it amounts to. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anvthing. dear lady.” "Oh, I’m glad you did!” Nora exclaimed breathlessly. “You see, he

Author of The House oj the Secret ." ' Conscience ** A Cinderella o/ Mayfair. " &c .&c

didn’t want to worry me. He thought I might. . . Mr. Perks, couldn’t I give him back my settlements?” The old lawyer brightened. “Of course you could; but it wouldn’t be necessary to part with all of your little fortune ” “I’d like to; I’d like him to have all h© needs, Mr. Perks.” “That’s good Of you.” The solicitor frowned to himself. “It might be difficult to get Clayton to acecpt your sacrifice, though.” “But he mustn’t know,” Nora said eagerly. “In any case, he must never know.” “He’d have to, I’m afraid.” “But surely there’s some way,” she pleaded. “Isn’t the money my own?” “The income is yours for life, Mrs. Clayton, but the principal goes to your —er —to your children, if any. If no children, then it comes back into the Clayton estate—er—eventually. I thought you understood. The documents were all read to you, and you signed them.” “I know,” Nora admitted shamefacedly, “but I didn’t really notice the details. Then there’s no way I could let him have the money without his being told?” “There is one way. I could attach your income for a couple of years or so. How much could you live on for —well, for a while, let us say?” “Oh, nothing!” Nora exclaimed passionately. “I really could, Mr. Perks. Why, in Riffmoor I could live luxuriously for five years or more on the; proceeds of this fur coat alone. Please —please help me! And quick—tell me very quick—before my husband comes. Shall I come to your office tomorrow morning? Then we could go into it, couldn’t we?” Mr. Perks made her a gallant bow. “You are a most charming conspirator, Mrs. Clayton, and a devoted wife, if I may take the liberty of saying so. There are lots of ladies who’d like one to believe they think the world and all of their husbands, who wouldn’t have been so quick to offer what you have.” “Thank you,” Nora murmured. “I don’t really deserve those nice things you’ve said, but it’s pleasant to hear them. . . Hark! I believe that’s Raymond. Promise, not a word to him. Tell him any story you like, but don’t drag me into it. Some men are unreasonable, you know, and Raymond might refuse point-blank to let me help him. I can trust you, can’t I?” Nora finished abruptly, obliged to be contented with the old lawyer’s smile, a wink, and the gesture of a finger laid to his lips. The door opened, and Clayton came in, his overcoat heavily powdered with snow, which went to prove that although he knew himself to be late for this appointment he had hurried to it —if he had hurried at all—on foot. He was surprised to find Nora there, but his innately gentje manners forbade him to let a third person into the secret of their estrangement by so much as a frown or a single word. “Hello! You look very cosy in spite of the ‘moving men’ and all that. Tea? Is there a drop left in the pot for a cold and weary man?” “Oh, indeed there is,” Nora cried, flushed with the excitement of her secret. Her back was not yet turned when Clayton shrugged his shoulders and said significantly to the lawyer: “Nothing doing; not a brass sou. But I scarcely expected anything else. However ” “However,” Mr. Perks repeated with a crafty little smile, “my news is better than yours. I have found the money.” Clayton’s eyebrows went up, and he gave a little start of surprise. “You are not serious, are you?” he asked. “Of course I am. Do you think I’d make a joke of it when things are as bad as they are with you? Come, Clayton, give me credit for better taste than that.” “I apologise. It was only that I—well, it’s been a difficult day, and I was beginning to think —but never mind. Who’s the trusting angel?” Nora’s flush deepened as she handed him his cup of tea, and the solicitor said: “Oh, just a client of mine. Er—he understands the risk, and is quite willing to take it. I haven’t been leading anybody into this blindfolded.” “I’m glad of that. By jove, Perks, I certainly am grateful. You don’t know what this means to me—or, rather, I fancy that you do. Yes, Nora?” She was touching his arm with a timid, friendly gesture, like a child who has been naughty, and wants to be forgiven. “Raymond, please take your overcoat off. It’s quite wet, and you might get cold,” she said. Clayton looked at her curiously, then smiled. “Thanks for reminding me, my dear. Everybody’s being so kind all of a sudden that if I’m not careful I’ll burst into tears.” There were tears in Nora’s eyes, anyway, but she blinked them back. “Now I’ll leave you,” she said. “You don’t want me hanging about when you’ve got important matters to discuss.” Clayton opened the door for her, still bending upon her that look of curious inquiry, as though she had suddenly begun to puzzle him in an entirely new way. “A splendid little woman, your wife,” Mr. Perks said when he (|me back. “A most devoted little woman. It’s a

pity you’ll be leaving her behind, but I suppose she’ll join you before long.” “Possibly,’ Clayton replied. Alison Mowbray and James Prester were taking a day off in the country. They had risen in the grey winter's dawn and with sandwiches and a thermos in their pockets had caught an early train to Riffmoor. It didn’t matter to them that the third-class carriage was cold and musty, and that the roads were a welter of familiar mud when they alighted at the junction and set forth to walk the three miles to the village. The wind blew damp and chill, the skies were leaden—but this was dear old Riffmoor and every step of the road was a pilgrim’s way. Whenever a cart hove into view it was sure to contain a friend, and dogs and children greeted them enthusiastically at the cottage gates. They sat on a stile just below the church and ate their lunch, and then Jim lighted his pipe, and they gazed with affectionate fondness over the frozen marshes. “That was a good idea of yours, Alison,” he said. “I didn’t know how homesick I was getting for old Riffmoor until you suggested this little picnic. I wonder if anybody has taken my cottage?” “Sure to have,” said Alison. “Yes, Jim —see, there’s smoke coming out of the chimney.” “So there is! Oh, good morning, Mrs. Belcher.” They hopped down from the stile to speak to the doctor’s good lady who was stalking along with her dogs, and naturally was surprised to see them. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Prester and Alison!” she cried. “What are you two doing in Riffmoor? And are you alone? Dear me, this is a treat. Will you be looking in to see us? The new vicar, poo.r man—well, he's very nice but we do miss you, Mr. Prester. And of course there’s only one Alison in the world. But perhaps you’re thinking of coming back to live here —both of you!” Her bright eyes flashed from one to the other as though begging to be told some charming news about themselves, but Jim and Alison were tongue-tied and found nothing to say. Poor Mrs. Belcher hastily changed the subject, wondering why it was that she often made tactless blunders when her intentions were so good. “We’ve got a first-class mystery in Riffmoor,” she went on hurriedly. “I’m simply dying of curiosity to find out all about it, and I shall very soon, you may depend.” “Oh, do tell us!” Alison exclaimed. It seemed dear and at the same time a little funny to be suddenly back again where small matters were always of such vast importance. Almost, one might never have gone away. Even Mrs. Belcher’s hat was the same, the shapeless, neutral-coloured old felt which had accompanied her and the dogs on many a wintry walk. “Well,” she said, “the mystery is a woman, but nobody has seen her yet. She only arrived late last night in a closed motor. Last week a gentleman—a solicitor, people think —came down and took the little house you used to have. Mr. Prester. The Lanes had it, but they’ve gone to some cheap place in Italy for the winter and tried, oh so hard, to let it furnished. But no luck, of course, until last week, when this solicitor appeared. Who on earth, we wonder, would come to live in Riffmoor at this time of year! Can you imagine such a thing? Of course I shall call, although the tenant may not be the sort of person one should call upon. Still, I have my duties.” “Dear me, it sounds most thrilling,” said Alison, concealing a smile. .They walked along a little way with Mrs. Belcher and promised to look in for tea later, if there would be tim.e: but that was uncertain because of the trains. “We want to go in here,” said Alison as they reached the gate of the churchyard, so Mrs. Belcher reluctantly tore herself away from them, as they did not urge he.r to come also. “There’s father’s path,” Alison said softly. “Poor daddy! You were so good to him —so good to all of us, Jim. It makes one’s heart ache just a little, for the days that are over. When we lose people we love we seem to lose the familiar places, too. The vicarage belongs to strangers now. It scarcely seems possible that I used to take my work out on to that porch. I remember one day in particular, when I was cleaning the plate. It was the day of Nora’s dreadful accident. I think I was a little discontented with life, then.” “And now?” Jim ask.ed gravely. “You’re not discontented any more?” “Not really. I’m so busy, you see. Shall we go down the hill and look over the hedge into your garden? Perhaps we’ll get a glimpse of the ‘mystery lady.’ ” “You always were busy,” Jim said, as they turned down the winding road to his old cottage. “Alison—l don’t think I realised the truth about you in those days. You were such a comfortable, comic little thing, and you grew up before I’d ceased to think of you as a child.” “I was a comic beast!” exclaimed Alison. “I used to be so envious of Nora, although I tried to hide it. I was a sinful brat, Jim.” “You! I think not. Have you seen Nora lately?” Alison’s young face took on a troubled expression. “Not since they gave up Dangerfield House. Bessie tells me she’s moved to Claridge’s Hotel, and I’d hardly care to force myself on her there unless she wanted me. As you know, Raymond and Bessie go out to South America next week. . . . Jim, were you surprised at Bessie’s being his daughter?” They fell silent, Jim wondering if Nora’s estrangement from her husband had anything to do with Bessie Adams; and Alison wondering, although it was the dullest, coldest day of winter, and the world for the moment was steeped in memories that wrung her heart, why she did not feel really sad. (To be continued.)