A Runge into the Unknown

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 301, 12 March 1928, Page 5

A Runge into the Unknown

SSI

Charles D. Leslie

CHAPTER XXV.

IN EATON SQUARE

Author ot ~ A Wild Wager," “ coved tor Herself* "The Erringtcn »'earls Mystery.- “The Power of the Purse.- 4 C . 4c

“I couldn’t know that, dear. I only wanted some reason to stop. I was in two moods all the way. I passed the door about six times before I found courage to knock. Then I decided if you were in, and met me nicely, I’d stop, but you were not in, and —and my courage failed me. I couldn’t wait, so I ran away. But I’d accomplished something. I’d learned indirectly about you. For I’d heard nothing.” “Then what’s happened since to give you enough courage to meet me?” “Why, what Lord Swayne wrote me. Your injury, and the fact I’ve been impersonated by another woman.” Francis fingered his moustache. Eva was still keeping something back. His knowledge of her told him that. He was puzzled yet content, for she was obviously intensely glad to be friends with him again. Further speculation was cut short by the taxi halting. “Now sit still, and sit —eyes straight.” “Blindfold me if you like.” She put her face provocatively close to him, and Francis fell; he reproached himself as he ascended the steps of the boarding-house. “Kissin’ one’s wife in a cab in a London square is about one degree sillier than kissin’ another man’s wife,” he soliloquised. In the hall the visitor was assailed by an odour from the kitchen, a mixed and powerful odour, but roast mutton and boiled cabbage predominated. It was, in fact, the dinner hour, and the thumbs of the manservant who admitted Francis were damp with soup, testifying to the service from which he had been called. He smiled cheerfully, the foreign manservant in Bloomsbury is nearly always cheerful; it is indeed the chiefest of his virtues. “Mees Wantage, oh yes, she no down yet, vou vait, oh yes, tank you”; and he hurried back to the dining room. Francis hesitated, but doubts of how to get at the lady were ended by sight of her descending the stairs. He hastened to meet her. “My wife’s outside in a taxi. She wants to know you,” he burst out. Eva became frightened. “Oh, Lord Doulton, I m afraid. “Nonsense, she wants to_ be friends. And remember, as you’re situated, this charge hanging over _you, her friendship is worth having.” This was, as Eva knew, sound advice And she was conscious, too. of an intense desire to stand face to face with her double. So she said:

“Please bring Lady Boulton up to the drawing room on the first floor.” And in that big, ugly apartment, fortunately empty, the boarders being all at dinner, the: two Evas met, Lord Boulton the sole spectator. He performed the ceremony of introduction, with a due appreciation of its dramatic nature.

Miss Wantage, let me present my wife —Eva, this is Miss Wantage, of whom you’ve heard. By Jove, you know, what a surprisin’ likeness it is!” But Lady Boulton, instead of shaking hands, went up to Miss Wantage and kissecl her. “It’s not surprising at all, Frank, and I’ll tell you why,” she said to Eva Wantage. “We are twin sisters. Our mother died when we were babies, but our father is alive; and I’m going to take you to him.” Five minutes after Eva Wantage had been told she was Lady Boulton’s sister she was sitting in a taxi beside her newly found relative while Lord Boulton, sitting opposite, grinned impartially on both ladies. Still dazed, she let these newly found relations take possession of her. First Eva Boulton had bustled her into her (Eva Wantage’s) bedroom, and put her hat on—the new one bought the day before—as if she were a small child. Lady Boulton had chosen the hat after examining and rejecting three others.

“I want you to look your best,” she said. “I want papa to be pleased with you. Oh, it’s just splendid having discovered you, Eva. I’ve always wanted a sister, though you have come a bit late, because sisters aren’t so important after a girl’s married. Still, better late than never.” “Ra-ther,” said Francis, this last re-

flection being made when she brought Eva back ready for the journey. “Delighted to welcome you into the family, Eva. My house is your home, henceforth. But you’ll be well off for houses, your father’ll have one for you, and Be.rlyn’ll come eating humble pie, and offering you another.” “Of course you know who father is?” said Lady Boulton to her husband, they were now in the cab, she having given the driver his directions. “Of course, I do. I ain’t an absolute idiot.” “But you don’t, Eva, do you? Yet you’ve met him.” Eva Wantage shook her head. In truth she had at that moment little curiosity. The human mind can only deal with one big fact at a time. Paul Ransom was not her father, no tie of blood bound her to that subtle, unscrupulous rascal. And the knowledge was like a draught of water to a parched and weary traveller. Or rather, to change the metaphor, she was as one from whom a heavy burden has been lifted. It is said that our lives are what we make them. That, she had bitterly mused, was only half a truth. She had of her own free will left her father and his way of living, two years before; a simple choice between honesty and dishonesty. But, alas, she had not been able to change her father at the same time. Fate, so it seemed then, had saddled her with a rogue for a parent. The fact would affect her life like a club foot, or weak sight, or any disability of the body. And now she was free. The wonder of it! Perhaps Eva Boulton was a little disappointed at her newly found sister’s apathy, but she did not show it. She realised what a stunning surprise the bald statement must be to this girl, already the victim of an unfounded charge. So she spoke to her husband. “I gave you a surprise as well as Eva, Francis. Auntie never told you anything?” He shook his head. “She told me you were her sister’s child, that her sister died in your infancy. That she made a foolish runaway match, and she’d rather not say anything about it, except that you were born in wedlock. And I hadn’t much curiosity then, but I have now.” “It’s going to be gratified. Here we are now.” London possesses many squares. Eva Wantage, descending, finding herself in one, wondered which it was. She had never been in it before. It was certainly an aristocratic square, and the house they entered was, in houseagents’ parlance, a mansion. The hall contained two menservants, and she noticed, though too excited to be amused (as her sister was) that the likeness between them shook the servitors’ impassivity. No names were asked for, the little party were shown into a drawing-room of rich but melancholy aspect. For the first time a flutter of curiosity stirred Eva’s pulse. Who was her father? But she was not kept long in doubt, for a minute later Lord Swaj’ne entered. “Papa,” said Lady Doulton demurely, “let me introduce my sister, and my. husband.” “My child,” said Lord Swayne, my dear child.” He kissed Eva Wantage solemnly on the forehead, and then turned to Lord

Doulton, who shook him warmly by the hand.

“Haven’t the slightest objection to you as a father-in-law,, Swayne,” said the young man, “and now let’s have the proofs. But what gets me is your claiming both of ’em, two young women who’ve never to their knowledge ever set eyes on each other till now. But I’m prepared for anything. If you tell me you’re the father of triplets, and there’s another Eva knocking about somewhere exactly like my wife and Miss Wantage, I’m ready to believe it.” “No, I will not strain your credulity any further. I am the father of two daughters only—a sufficiently surprising fact when I tell you that, up to a few months ago, I never dreamed I was a father at all, and that my guess only became a certainty this morning.” Lord Swayne opened a small portfolio and took from it a paper which he handed to Lord Boulton, “your mother,” he continued, to the two Evas, “was a Miss Eva Haslette, whom I married in April, 1891, at the Holborn Registry Office.” “As this certificate testifies,” said Francis, “and now let’s see the births’ certificate.” “In a moment; let me relate the story of the marriage first. Little in it, I confess, redounds to my credit. I was then a young man of twenty-three, much under the influence of my cousin Harold, the last Lord Swayne. His was a stronger character than mine; strong in evil was Harold, with a constitution which seemed to defy excess, and a long purse to pay for his follies. Still nature had her revenge for he died a worn out voluptary at fifty. It was over Eva we quarrelled. She was a pretty, frivolous-minded but innocent girl, the protegee and distant connection of two older ladies who conducted a girls’ school at Eastbourne, and she was of the type that Harold preyed upon, marked her down intending her betrayal. I, from mixed motives, warned her of his intentions, and married her. Harold never forgave me, and I quickly repented my rash plunge into matrimony. We w*ere quite unsuited. Eva married me through pique, I to gratify a sudden passion that did not survive many weeks. Within three months, after a bitter quarrel, we parted for ever. I plunged into fresh excesses, till struck down by a serious illness. “On my recovery 1 found myself penniless. Harold's purse and patronage were withdrawn. He had married, too, chiefly to have an heir to stand between me and the title and estate, but this failed, for his wife bore him no children. Still repenting my marriage I made no effort to seek my wife. Finally I got a position on the staff of a school in Marseilles. Two years later, sobered by age, I wrote to Eva, care of her relatives in Eastbourne, offering her a home. A brief reply came back informing me she was dead. She had died eighteen months after our marriage, the result of a fall down some stairs. I shrugged my shoulders, wrote finis to the story of my marriage, and did not answer the letter. “The years passed monotonously till Harold's death made me his heir, and I came back to London. And one evening at a reception I met Lady Boulton; she reminded me strangely of the wife I had deserted so long before; the likeness was not so much

in face, as in voice, and in those little gestures and mannerisms that express individuality. And the thought that Eva might have had a child recurred to me. It had been in my mind earlier but the letter, telling me of her death, but making no allusion to a child, had seemed final. Yet on reflection it occurred to me that there might have been a child, and the fact deliberately concealed from me. Yet I let months go by without taking any steps to inquire into Lady Loulton’s parentage. In truth I was afraid. Meanwhile The Society’ was formed, we both became members, and the more I saw of Lady Loulton the more she recalled my wife. “At last I made certain investigations and learned Lady Loulton was the niece of Miss Robertson, who proved to be one of the two ladies Eva Haslette lived with at Eastbourne. This I rather doubted, recalling, by a trick of memory, a statement of Miss Robertson’s that she was an only child. But she was dead, the school long since broken up, and Miss Parker, her colleague, could not be traced. I told something of my story to Lady Loulton, enjoining secrecy, and she was hugely interested. But she could not help me. She knew nothing. But I remembered that, during the brief period my wife and I lived together, we had a servant girl, Jane Norman by name, devoted to Eva. She might be alive, and I advertised extensively for her. At last, four days ago, a SUNBURN AND MOSQUITO BITES The medical officer of a Royal Mail steamer writes: “I have found Q-Tol excellent for soothing sunburn and mosquito bites. I prescribe it very widely.” 6

reply came, a cautious letter stating that the writer’s maiden name was Jane Norman, and she had been in the service of Mrs. Swayne, and asking the purport of the advertisement. “I had visited Lady Doulton in Ealing only the day before; she had written me from there, trusting me with her address on my promise not to reveal it to anyone. Then two nights later 1 met her, to my surprise, at Portland Place, on the night of the election.”

“You met Miss Wantage, and took her for my wife.” Lord Swayne nodded. “Her manner was odd and different certainly. Still I never doubted; the resemblance deceived me. Imagine then the shock I had last night when Mr. Berlyn told me it was not Lady Loulton I conversed with.

“This morning all was made clear. I saw at my lawyer’s office in the city an elderly woman whom I had known years ago as Jane Norman. She is now a widow. And this was the amazing story she told.

“Twin daughters had been born to my wife, residing in a little house outside Eastbourne, maintained by the charity of Miss Robertson and Miss Parker. Then when the babies were some nine months old, Eva, hastily leaving her bedroom, slipped in the passage and fell down stairs. Her back was broken and she died next day, enjoining her babies with her last breath to

Ihe care of her two friends, and bidding them, for she had not forg ven me my desertion, never to tell me of their existence.

The two ladies carried out her wishes. They each adopted a bab at the same time giving up the school, which, as they both possessed moderate private means, was run more to occupy themselves than as a livelihood They were both then turned forty, and confirmed spinsters, but r.ot long afterward Miss Parker married a Mr. Ransom; after that the two women, for many years intimates, drifted apart Mrs Ransom quickly learned that she had married a knave, and her prid' would not allow her to acknowledge it to her old friend. Ransom robbed her of all her money, save a sma, annuity, which she had sense enough to buy for herself.” Francis examined the birth certificates handed him. “I see,” he said “they were called Eva Cecilia and Cecilia Eva. which is my Eva?” “Miss Robertson adopted Eva Cecilia. That she had a sister is an easilv proved fact. That the certificate refers to your wife. Jane Norman can prove. There is no direct evidence that Cecilia Eva ia thf child Miss Parker adopted, but nature is proof enough.” The door had opened as he and, “here's further proof,” said Arnold Berlyn entering, holding by the arm Mr. Ransom, cheerful as ever, dressed in a blue uniform. “Eva,” said Ransom, “was adopted by my wife before I married her.” Ignoring the others. Arnold Berlyn approached Eva. “I’ve been hunting you to tell you this fellow is not your father, and came here on the chance of finding you, as Lord Swayne seemed to be mixed up in the affair. Ia he your father?” “I am her father, Mr. Berlyn.” said Lord Swayne, “and the father of Lad. Loulton; they are twin sisters.” (To be Con tin ***** •