Leaves of Destiny

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 391, 27 June 1928, Page 5

Leaves of Destiny

By

Dorothea Corbould

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I.—Barbara Denning gazes at her last shilling. A well-bred, wellnurtured girl, she has lost both her parents and is now on the brink of starvation. Her sympathies are divided between her own necessities and the sufferings of a little boy in the same lodg-ing-house whose mother is a drunkard. She goes out singing in the streets that night, and with the money earned she gets a supper for both the child and herself. The next evening two men speak to her, praising her voice, and she decides to sing in the afternoon for the future. One afternoon she is again addressed by one of the men who spoke to her on a previous night. He gives her his card, advising her to go to a Mr. Simpkins, the manager of the Diadem Theatre. Barbara Denning visits the theatre, and is interviewed by Mr. Simpkins. CHAPTER ll.—Barbara Denning’s interview with Mr. Simpkins is almost terminated at the commencement, but be calls her back. She sings and he is satisfied. He decides she will do for the Birds’ Chorus, and introduces her to a Mr. Beal, the musical director. He thinks she could understudy the Nightingale, Miss MacArthur's speciality, as that lady is often absent through illness. The salary is £3 a week, and £5 when she takes the Nightingale. The following morning Barbara attends a rehearsal. Returning to her lodgings she finds some excited women chattering. Mrs. Brown, the drunken mother of the little boy, Reggie, in whom she is so interested, lias been run over and taken to the hospital. A hospital nurse has called to see about the child, as the patient was so anxious about him. Mrs. Bloggs, the landlady, has five of her own, and cannot undertake Reggie. Barbara promises to be responsible for the child, goes to him and takes him to her own quarters. Two days later Barbara is told by Mrs. Bloggs that someone has called from the hospital. Reggie’s mother has not long to live. She has asked to see Miss Denning She wants to talk about the child. CHAPTER lll.—Barbara Denning goes to the hospital and is taken to the bedside of Mrs. Brown. The screen has already been drawn round her. She tells Miss Denning that her husband belongs to the upper classes, while she is a blacksmith’s daughter: that he has never dared to tell them of his marriage. They would not have recognised her if he had done so. She places a packet in Barbara’s hands, and bids her to give it to Don. her husband, who is a soldier, should he return. Barbara asks her husband’s name, and while trying to tell her married name the woman dies. The nurse appears, but can give no more information concerning Mrs. Brown's real identity. Arrived at home Barbara examines the packet, but discovers nothing helpful. At

Author or "A Fatal Fr.endsh.p.v •• Hit Fair Enemy. 1 Held m Bondage." *(

the theatre she notes that Miss MacArthur has taken a deep dislike to her. jealousy. Shortly afterwards Miss AlacArthur is ill, and Barbara takes her place, and her singing brings the house down. The following day there is very favourable criticism on her performance This notice by the Press of Miss Denning’s capabilities throws Miss MacArthur into a transport of rage, and she plans to discover something unfavourable about her, and to get her out of the theatre. Cunningly she sets to work by inviting Barbara to join herself and Miss •Tames at Romano’s Restaurant for luncheon. CHAPTER Vll.—(Continued.) “I do not know him well,” she replied at last, “he heard me sing once, and was kind enough to suggest my going on the stage as a singer, and just then they were looking for vocalists for the Bird Chorus at the Diadem. He offered to give me an introduction. with a view to my getting an engagement. I am obliged to work for my living you see, for my father who was vicar of Daleham in Westshire, left only a very little money, which was swallowed up by my mother’s long illness after we came to London, and, when she died, T had nothing. I tried for several posts, but I had no experience and no references which would be accepted. I had only my voice which had been well trained by a good master in Paris, where I was educated. When I came to my last shilling I took a desperate chance and —and —sang in the streets—” “Great Scott! ” murmured Anstruther, and Barbara fancied there “Only a photo” of one we have lost, "Who neglected a cold and paid the cost. Pneumonia set in, then came the sad call, And his photo fades on the parlour wall. Had he treated that simple cold in time, His friends would not publish this warning rhyme. Remember his fate and for colds assure— Promptly take Woods’ Great Peppermint Cure. —3S

was disgust and disapproval in his tone; her own grew defiant. “I should not have told you this—” she said, ‘‘but if you know Captain Mordaunt and he happened to mention where he had met me you might not realise what it cost me to take such a step to save myself from starvation. Therefore, I prefer to tell you myself. You have never known probably what it is to be hungry and cold —” “Don’t! Don’t! You cut me to the heart!” the man’s voice was hoarse with the pity he felt for this poor, pretty child alone to battle with the world, while he had never known what it was to be without money in his pocket and food and friends “galore.” “I think it was the bravest thing I have ever heard of any woman doing, brought up as you have been, but oh! the pity of it that you should have had to do it.” “I didn’t mind—much,” Barbara said, relieved at the way he had taken her story. “Only in the evening it was disagreeable sometimes. Sir Lindsay Charters was with Captain Mordaunt the evening he met me. They gave me money, and —and it was then I took a dislike to Sir Lindsay, but Captain Mordaunt met me again while I was singing, and was quite nice. I could see he was really interested in trying to prevent my having to go on singing in the streets, and I owe my present engagement entirely to him. I have only met him once since, that time at the theatre. He seemed plgased at my success, but he has never taken advantage of my gratitude to try and be ou friendly terms with me.” “And Charters —is he presuming on your first meeting?” “I do not think he has recognised me. I hope not. At any rate, he has never mentioned having seen me before.” “Humph!” There was silence. They were nearing Harkers’ Buildings, when suddenly Barbara turned to her companion. “Couldn't we—don’t you think it would be better if we got out here and walked the rest of the way?” “Yes, of course—we don’t want to wake the echoes in Daly Street,” and with a laugh Anstruther hade the chauffeur draw up at the kerb, and they alighted. Such a short walk it seemed to Harkers’ Buildings!—almost a silent one too, for the shadow of parting was in both their hearts, and all too quickly they came to the door of Barbara’s rooms, and she held out her hand in farewell. “Thank you so much for my delightful evening,” she said. “I shall never forget it." “Nor I,” was the quick response, “it will live in my memory while I am away—as you will—- —” He seemed about to say more, but checked himself, and raising the hand he held to his lips with a “farewell till we meet again” turned abruptly away, and the next moment had vanished up the stairs to his own domain. Barbara felt strangely lonely and forlorn after Donald Anstruther’* de-

parture. He had been her only friend since she had been left to live her solitary life with no one in the wide world belonging to her! How long would it be, she wondered, before his parents were informed of his marriage, and that- he had a son—the heir to a fine estate and an ancient name? It .would be difficult fo; - them to receive as their grandchild the offspring of a woman who had lived as Lizzie Brown had done. Happily Reggie was fast forgetting his mother and his past life, and therefore it was improbable he would recall it for the benefit of his grandparents. The child was inconsolable at “Mr. Smiff’s” departure, and it was only by repeatedly assuring him of his friend’s return when “Mr. Smiff” would perhaps take him to a beautiful place to stay with him —“Auntie Barbara” going there too —that it was possible to comfort him. He was daily improving in manners and speech, and under Barbara’s gentle tuition was gradually learning to talk and behave like the little gentleman he was. It had been decided by his father and Barbara that it would be better to keep the secret of his parentage from him for the present; in fact till Anstruther came back to take him home. And this decision also made it easy to avoid any gossip over the affairs of Mrs. Bloggs’s late lodger, who had been an interesting mystery to the rest of the inhabitants of what was known as “Bloggses’ end” of Harkers’ Buildings, and poor Lizzie Brown. Bates, the chauffeur, had moved into the room vacated by Mr. Smith, Mrs. Bloggs being well pleased at not having to lose even a day’s rent, and taking kindly to the civil-spoken young man who called her “ma’am,” and wiped his feet on the mat before going upstairs. On the evening of Mr. Anstruther’s departure, there came a knock at Barbara’s door, and, opening it, she saw Bates standing on the threshold. “Excuse me troubling you, miss,” he said, “but I was to tell you that I shall be at the stage door this evening at 10.30, to see you home ” “Oh, thank you, but I could not trouble you to do that.” Barbara said

quickly, “it will be out of your way, and besides ” “It was Mr. Anstruther’s orders, miss. He has made arrangements with the firm where I work for them to fetch you every evening, and will you please let me know when you want the car earlier or later ” “It is very kind of Mr. Anstruther,” Barbara’s tone was perplexed and rather haughty, “but surely you have other orders for the evening ” “None after ten o'clock, miss. After that lam at your service. Will 10.30 suit you this evening?” “Yes, thanks, only ” But with a touch to his cap, Bates had turned away, and was already halfway down the stairs. In a few moments Barbara heard the honk! honk!” of the departing car. Well, it was certainly very pleasant to think that she would not have to brave the elements and the uncertainty of getting in omnibuses, Barbara reflected, to say nothing of the terror she always felt at the possibility of another encounter with Sir Lindsay Charters, who might take the opportunity of Mr. Anstruther’s departure to renew his offer of seeing her home. The thought of her friend’s solicitude on her behalf, resulting in a provision for her safety, brought the bright colour to Barbara’s cheeks, and gave her a pleasant sense of protection, for of course Anstruther was paying for the car, and though her pride rebelled at being indebted to his charity for this unwonted luxury, she could not but feel flattered at the kindly thought which had provided her with an escort in his stead. But what would Harkers’s Buildings have to say at her setting up a motorcar? Barbara’s fears of gossip were, however, set at rest by Mrs. Bloggs herself, who, on bringing the evening meal of which Miss Denning and her little charge partook before Barbara left for the theatre, volunteered the remark — “ ’E ain’t a bad sort o’ young feller, that Mr. Bates, an’ seems that kind’earted, says to me as ’e was goin’ ter give Miss Dennin’ a lift back from the theayter of a evenin’, seein’ as it’s on ’is way from the garargy where 'e put up—a very good offer I told ’im, an’ I ’oped as you’d accept ’s offer, Miss.” “Yes, he spoke to me about it, and as it seems no trouble to him, I am only too glad to get the chance of a lift home,” was the reply. “It will make me earlier and prevent my having to come back alone.” Barbara had also to explain to Herbert Knowles the state of the case, when that same evening the astonished young man beheld a motor-car drive up to the stage door and was asked by the smart-looking young chauffeur if Miss Denning had appeared yet. “Well, I’m glad you’re going home comfortably, Miss Denning,” Knowles said. “I’ll be here, as usual, though, to see that you’re all right.” And Barbara thanked him, feeling doubtly assured of protection and safety.