Stealing The Idol

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 916, 8 March 1930, Page 10

Stealing The Idol

A Short Story

by

Camilla Carlisle

“Wanted. —girl to manage tea shop." These words were written on a slip of paper just under Nancy Clarefield’s eyes, by a young man who had limped into the public reading room and taken his place at the big reading desk besMe her. Nancy was dead tired, and thoroughly sick of tramping the streets of the seaside town in which she lived. She had been to office after office in search of work, and her capital was now reduced to £1 17s 3d. The young man who was writing had friendly dark eyes, and the sort of face a girl instinctively trusts, and Nancy’s need was urgent. “Excuse me,” she faltered, in a very small and nervous voice, “but are you going to put that in a newspaper? And, do you think that perhaps I might suit?” The lame young man swung round to see a small, neatly dressed girl, with regular features, pale face, and big, wistful eyes, which wove now fixed anxiously on him.” “I’ve kept on answering advertisements,” continued Nancy, “ever sines the firm I was working for went bankrupt, but I always seem to get there immediately after the job has been snapped up by some other girl. You write so clearly that I couldn't help seeing the top line of what you were writing, and, although I expect it is frightful cheek, I thought if I answered an advertisement before it was inserted, I might be in time, for once.” “Great Scott! I call that taking Time by the forelock with a vengeance,” the lame young man remarked admiringly. “If you pursue that policy in all you do, you ought to be tremendously successful. As to this, I think you had better read it, and see if it suits you.” Nancy took the slip and conned it eagerly. “I did work in a tea shop cnee, and loved it,” she said. “And I have had a business training, and can give ycu some good references. But, of course, I ought not to have spoken to you like this. Only, I do want work so very badly.” “1 think that you might do exactly what we want, but it doesn’t depend only on what I think,” he told her. “You see, the tea shop belongs to my aunt.” He paused so long here, that Nancy stimulated him to further information by a Questioning “Yes?” “Eh? Oh, yes. To my aunt. And I may as well tell you frankly that she isn’t easy to satisfy. In fact, our last manageress found her so difficult that she bunked three days ago, and took with her most of our spare cash.” Nancy gasped. “It was not much,” he added. “The tea shop is only a small one, and is not doing as much business 'as it ought to do. My name is Gerald liar-’ rington, better known as Jerry, and if it interests you at all I shall be delighted to take you over to the ’ tea shop and explain all its advantages, which are few, and its defects, which are many. It is only in the next street.” He limped along, saying no more until they were outside. Nancy, meanwhile, was already regretting her precipitancy. She knew nothing whatever of this man, except that he looked trustworthy. But looks were nothing. He might be a thief, a kidnapper, a swindler, a forger, a . He cut in upon her cheerful suppositions. “Here is the tea shop,” he announced. “It is called The Dorothea, after my aunt, to whom it belongs. As you perceive, it is one of those stuffy holes where one goes for stale buns at lunch time and watery ices at tea time. We have stale buns, watery ices, and stewed tea on tap all day.” “But why are they stale? And do you want a waitress, or a business girl?” “I can’t imagine why they are stale, but they are. And what I really want is a manageress. My aunt and I are supposed to run the place between us, but she never sets foot inside it, and I am making a ghastly mess of the business. We must have a capable girl to take hold and run it on sound lines. Come in and look round, and you’ll see what a rotten failure it is at present.” It was certainly not the kind of tea shop that Nancy herself would have patronised if she had been within a mile of any other. The windows needed cleaning and the woodwork was dirty and blistered. A few unappetising cakes and pastries reclined languidly in the sunshine on messy plates. Mr. Jerry Harrington looked dismally around him. “Please believe me when I tell you that we are not always quite as appalling as this,” he assured her pathetically. “The defaulting manageress has rather taken the heart out of the rest of the staff. But the prospect isn’t promising. You see, this is a seaside town, and everyone likes to be by the sea all the time. If we could have opened a tea shop on the front, we should have done a roaring trade every fine day, but there was no shop to be had nearer the sea than this.” “I don’t altogether agree,” Nancy disputed. “Lots of people prefer a quiet restaurant, and a tea shop on the front can never be really quiet. But this isn’t attractive, you know!” “Don’t I know it! But come along and meet my aunt,” Jerry suggested, and, from his tone, Nancy gathered that the first difficulty would be to win the affections, or at least the approval, of Miss Dorothea Harrington. Directly she saw Jerry’s aunt she knew that this would be harder than she had anticipated, for that lady, lolling luxuriously on her sofa, subjected the girl to a piercing scrutiny, and instantly made it clear that she did not like her. “I was lucky enough to meet Miss Clarefield in the reading-room,” her nephew explained. “She chanced to he looking for a post as manageress of a tea shop, and I wanted a manageress for our tea shop—so you see it fitted in perfectly.” “Oh,” drawled Miss Harrington. Just that; but the tone in which she said it brought a bright colour into Nancy’s pale cheeks. Then this alarming lady shook her head as she asserted: “I’m sorry, Jerry, but I fear that Miss—Clarefield, is it? —won’t be strong enough for our requirements And I prefer to engage an older and more experienced woman.” Bitterly disappointed. Nancy was preparing to leave when the lame young man stopped her with a peremptory gesture. “1 beg your pardon, Aunt Dorothea, but, subject to her testimonials being in order, I have already engaged Miss Clarefield to be manageress in our tea shop.” His aunt gaped at him in blank | amazement. I “You’ve what?” she demanded.

“Miss Clarefield is definitely engaged,” he repeated firmly. “Let us reconsider the terms upon which we work, Aunt Dorothea. You have, most generously, provided the capital; the business is yours. Upon me, however, rests the responsibility of the working of it, and if at any time the profits exceed a certain figure, that is mine absolutely. So far, as we both unhappily fire aware, we have been miles below that figure. . . . Now, my dear aunt, it is up to me to get busy and put new life into the thing, so that it may pay you a better return on your outlay, and e?en, perhaps, help me to make a start on my own. Therefore, you will forgive me if I mention that the engagement of a suitable staff is entirely in my business.” Miss Harrington did not look in the least inclined to forgive him, and the look she gave Nancy was venomous, but apparently she had no power actually to forbid the girl’s appointment to the coveted position. "If your mind is made up, you must go your own way, Gerald. I only hope you will not live to regret your rashness.” During the next week or so, Nancy worked like a little brick, ably supported by Jerry, and between them they changed the tea-shop beyond recognition. It is marvellous what can be done with a few tins of paint, some bright curtains and cushions, and unlimited soap, ■water, and elbow grease. The more Nancy saw of Jerry (as she and he laboured together) the more she grew to like him. Nay, she soon realised frankly that it was something more than liking, and she sometimes surprised a look in his dark eyes that set her pulses beating with tumultuous happiness. But, if she loved Jerry, she did not extend her love to Jerry’s aunt, who, she knew, would gladly have her dismissed. Miss Harrington began to haunt the tea-shop, taking Nancy sharply to task in the presence of customers; poking her inquisitive aquiline nose into every cranny; and, at frequent intervals, demanding an inspection of the books. Nancy was full of pits' for Jerry, whom his aunt treated like a slave. He was useful in a thousand small ways, and Miss Harrington meant to keep him as it were on a string. Her methods were crude but effective. She had money, he had none. His lameness would render it difficult for him to obtain work, so it had paid her to invest in the tea shop and to set Jerry to run it for her. Thus she maintained a firm grip over him. When the weekly takings from the business exceeded a certain sum, the surplus was supposed to belong to Jerry. Actually, Miss Harrington had been clever enough to contrive that he received hardly anything. Now, in the new prosperity of the tea-shop, she pervaded the premises, and any surplus profits were quickly reabsorbed in further outlay. Nancy was not long in finding out that the very last thing Miss Harrington desired was for her nephew to earn his independence. She hinted at this one day to Jerry himself, and his deep flush told her that he was aware of it. But he only said loyally: “You see, if it wasn’t for my aunt I should be in a pretty pickle. I’m a useless sort of fellow. She naturally looks to get something out of her bargain, and I owe her a big debt of gratitude, you know.” Perhaps Nancy hardly realised the depth of her love for Jerry one day when the opportunity suddenly came to her of saving his good character at the expense of her own. The sitting-room used by Aunt Dorothea and Jerry, and occasionally by Nancy herself, was over the teashop. It was a pleasant little room, cosily furnished, and made homely by the presence of various knickknacks. One of these, however, Nancy heartily disliked.

This was a silver idol, about six inches in height, elaborately carved, and absolutely hideous, which stood in the centre of the mantel-shelf. Miss Dorothea Harrington valued it highly, and was fond of relating how it had been given to her by her betrothed, an Indian civil servant, who had died of cholera before the wedding. More than once attempts had been made to steal the idc't which was valuable, without success. Beyond the sitting-room, and opening out of it, was Miss Harrington’s own room, and it was through the halfopen door leading into that room that Nancy, coming in quietly to fetch a book, saw that which held her still — petrified with dismay. For, bending over the safe in his aunt’s room —the safe in which she kept all the money taken in the teashop—was Jerry. And, all round him were masses of coin and notes which he was busily stuffing into his pockets. Nancy guessed what had happened. Miss Harrington had gone just a little too far in her tyranny, and Jerry had rebelled. A door closed down below and she heard Miss Harrington swiftly mounting the stairs. Her first impulse, of course, was to call a warning to the unconscious young man, but she saw that she could not save Jerry that way from detection. His aunt would be in the room long before he could remove the traces of his guilt. There were probably many ways by means of which Nancy could have prevented Miss Harrington from coming into the room and seeing Jerry, but to Nancy—flustered and miserable—only one way occurred. As quickly as she conceived the notion, she proceeded to carry it out. “Be careful —oh, do be careful. Miss Harrington is coming,” she murmured softly through the door to Jerry, who sprang to his feet in amazement. She had no time to say more. Catching up the leering silver idol she darted out on to the landing, and crammed it into her little handbag as she went. Her face was crimson; her air of furtive misconduct quite natural. She tried to slide past Miss Harrington on the stairs, but Miss Harrington had, as she was meant to do, actually seen her taking the idol. It was bulging unmistakably in Nancy’s handbag. Miss Harrington naturally tried to block her way, calling her several kinds of a thief. Nancy dodged. Miss Harrington laid hold of her arm, but, with a quick jerk, Nancy freed herself and sped down the stairs. Her hat was on a peg by the outer door and all her available cash in her handbag, so, terrified at what she had done, and not daring to stay and consider what the consequences to herself were likely to be, Nancy grabbed her hat and, as Miss Harrington wrathfully pursued her, she slammed the door behind her and raced up the street toward the railway station. Whatever dreadful thing might happen to her, she had done that which she had set out to do. She had saved Jerry from discovery. j She bought a ticket for London, and j was thankful to find that a train wa.s i due in 20 minutes. At length the

train steamed in and she took her j place. She w-as beginning to think she 1 would at least get away without being j followed, when, just as the train was j moving out, Jerry limped on to the | platform, caught sight of her through , the window, and, notwithstanding the ! vigorous protests from the station officials, sprang into the next carriage as it was moving past him. Nancy had her compartment to herself, and was glad that it was not in a corridor coach. Still, Jerry would be able to come into her compartment at the next stop. It surprised her somewhat that Jerry shoud be chasing her, but, of course, his aunt had shown him that the idol was missing. He must have had time to clear away the traces of his own crime, and was now, no doubt, despising Nancy as a petty pilferer. Should she let Jerry come into her carriage, as soon as the train stopped, and tell him what she had seen? Or should she try to get right away? Nancy had been jolted out of her usual calm reasonableness. Her instinct, at the moment, was to get away from everyone—even Jerry. But how ? The way seemed to be shown her, even while she pondered, for the train slowed down to allow a quicker one to pass it on the next line. For a few seconds -the two trains moved side by side, conveying the illusion that both were almost stationary. The other train was nearly empty. Obeying her impulsive nature, Nancy opened the door of her compartment on the side next to the moving train. With a qualm of dizziness, as she suddenly realised that both trains were moving faster than she thought, she jumped lightly upon the other footboard, and had just time to bang the door of her late compartment before it dropped rapidly back out of her reach. As she did this, however, something caught, and she felt herself being dragged off the footboard, in spite of clinging with all her strength to a handle. Just as she felt she could hold no longer, the 3 train eased with a jerk, and she wrenched open a door and climbed into an empty compartment. Nancy was certainly lucky in happening upon empty compartments, but she did not think about her luck. She lay back panting and shaken. The actual crossing from train to train had occupied less than a minute, but to the frightened girl it had seemed a long and perilous adventure. Nor were her troubles at an end.

As she leaned back limply against the cushions she found out what it was that had eased the intolerable strain when she had stood on the footboard clinging to the handle. It was the snapping of the loop of her vanity bag. Had this not broken Nancy would have been dragged down between the two trains, on to the line, where her bag must be lying—her bag which contained 1 her ticket to London, all her money, and the silver idol. At the next station Nancy got out. She did not know what to do. She could not pass the barrier without a ticket. She had no money, either to return home or to go on to London. Her bag was lying somewhere on tjie line, probably cru»ied underneath the train, with Miss Harrington’s cherished idol ground to fragments. She felt almost numb with alarm.

And the very first person she oncountered on the platform was Jerry —Jerry, hatless and triumphant at having found her —Jerry swinging, cheerfully under her astonished eyes —her handbag! Nancy felt the station whirl round, and then she found herself sitting on a seat in a quiet corner, drinking something out of a glass which a very much alarmed Jerry was holding to her lips. “I—l am all right now, thank you,” she gasped, “but I don’t know what can have happened! Do te’l me, Jerry. Am I quite awake? Are you going to have me put in prison? How did you get here? And how, how did you get that hag?” “Are you sure you are well enough to talk?” he asked anxiously. “Well, I can soon tell my bit. When my aunt yelled out that you were running away with the idol, I thought you must have gone suddenly mad—temporary aberration, you know, because I knew you hated the ugly little brute. So I gave chase to see what was up with you. 1 was lucky in getting into your train. I knew you were annoyed to see me, though, so I wasn’t altogether surprised when I saw you ‘changing trains’ in that unconventional fashion. You might have been killed, Nancy.” There was something so desperate in the way Jerry said, “You might have been killed, Nancy,” that somehow Nancy could not meet his eyes. She looked at her toes, and mumbled something about her handbag. “Oh —that. I leaned out and cut the lop of that. It nearly dragged you to your death. And then, of course, I followed you across Into this train. And that’s all.” ’ That was all. But what a lot Jerry left unsaid. Suppose he had fallen between the trains? And now he was asking for her story, so, quite simply and truthfully, Nancy told him all there was to tell. Jerry was thunderstruck. “By Jove! You were a little sport. You thought I was pinching my aunt's cash, and you scooted off with the idol to divert pursuit. I say, Nancy, why did you do it? Why?” Perhaps Jerry knew the answer. At any rate, he did not wait for it, but drew Nancy gently into his arms. “My darling!” was all he said. “But I am not a safe-breaker,” he explained later, “and I was there by my aunt’s request. She is not such a curmudgeon as we thought, Nancy. She told me she had reserved quite a large sum, which she intended to give me to form the beginnings of a really substantial bank account. She told me this last night, and she also said that, if I were set on asking you to marry me, she would put no obstacles m the way. Only I told her I did not know what your answer would be. Nancy, what is your answer?” Nancy snuggled contentedly in his arms, and replied, "I think you know it already, Jerry, darling.” —From “The Australasian.”