The Courage of Love

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 927, 21 March 1930, Page 5

The Courage of Love

COPYRIGHT PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

By

MADAME ALBANESI

Author of “ Love’s Harvest,” "The Road *.o Love,” "The Way “•o Win,'.’ etc.,

CHAPTER II (continued)

Yet to stay on and to suffer the malicious spite of her cousin, and the added bitterness of her aunt, to have to swallow the constant indignities was something which Diana told herself she could not possibly endure. Something she must do, some way she must think out. She must, singlehanded, fashion out a new future for herself. When the maid brought her up some supper, at first Diana refused it, and then she allowed herself to be persuaded. “You’ve .iust got to eat, miss,” Ellen said. “You can’t live on air, you know! And the mistress said particular like as I was to bring you up some supper.” Ellen lingered. “What’s wrong, Miss Diana?” she asked. “What did you do to upset the mistress tonight?” When Diana told her what had happened, the servant shrugged her shoulders. “Well for sure,” she said, “that wasn’t a great sin. And I’m glad, that I am, Miss Diana, that you got a lift home. It’s a fair long walk for anyone, and more particular when you were weighed down with a load such as you had to carry. But there, my dear, don’t you fret. It's a long lane as hasn’t got a turning, and your long lane will be coming to an end pretty soon. I tell you that. I haven’t got anything to go on. my dear,” said Ellen, frankly, “but I feel it just the same. I am perfectly sure something will come to you before you know where you are.” “I shall be very glad to see this, my dear,” said Diana with a laugh, “for I don’t mind telling you, Ellen, I am awfully fed up with my life. Sometimes I don’t know really how I go on with it.” “You wait, my dear. You wait,” said Ellen. “Things is going to happen. I don’t know what they are, or where they are coming from, but I do feel in my bones that things is going to happen that will make life altogether different for you.” She stayed on chatting a little while, and she did Diana good. But long after she got into bed, the girl lay thinking. She heard the car bring back Susan from Rexbury Towers; she heard voices, and laughter, subdued, of course, because Mrs. Thorp had gone to her room by this time. And against her will tears came to her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. She was young, she had a heart that ached to give love, and to receive love, to feel that there were people who cared for her, to feel that she -was not alone in the world, and she was outside all this. And then, there came before her a vision of Hugh Waverley’s face as he had bent over her hand and kissed it. At least she had one beautiful memory to keep her company! CHAPTER 111. Several days went by before Diana and Hugh Waverley met again, and then it was an unexpected meeting. She had been sent by her aunt to a farm some little distance away, a farm that had the doubtful blessing of serving Mrs. Thorp with milk and eggs. I Always there was something to find

fault with, no one ever satisfied Agatha Thorp. Only a little while before Diana had seen Hugh Waverley in his car drive swiftly past the house in the direction of Middleston, so the suggestion that she should meet him was very far from her thoughts. As a matter of fact she was sitting under a tree fanning herself with her old straw hat, and resting, when someone came across the fields from the back of the tree, and addressed her. Diana looked up quickly, and the colour rushed into her face. “Oh, what a start you gave me!” she said. “Why I never saw you.” “No, I know you didn’t,” said Waverley, as he sat down beside her. “As a matter of fact I am going to confess I have been on the look out for you. Have you been shut up in the house these last few days?” he asked rather sternly. “Not altogether,” said Diana. “But there has been a great deal to do. Aunt Agatha has been turning out her linen, and I have had to do repairs and things like that. And Ellen, cur servant, has been making jam, and I have been helping her. It was very sweet of you to look for me, Mr. Waverley.” “Yes, wasn’t it,” the young man said, gravely, “and not a bit unselfish either, was it? I was looking out for you not merely because I wanted to see you, but just tor some other reason.” He took the girl’s hand and held it in both of his. “I have been thinking about you such a lot, Diana. Do you mind if 1 call you Diana?” “I’d love it,” the girl answered, and the thrill in her heart made her small hand tremble a little. “You have been thinking about me? But that’s so wonderful! I mean, to realise that someone has been thinking about me.” “And I have been talking about you. too. You know that boy cousin of yours isn’t half a bad little chap. He turned up in the old part of the Abbey yesterday, and he struck me as being very intelligent. I took him all over the place, and he seemed to have some knowledge of history. He’s at a very decent school, that’s a good thing for him. You know he’s fond of you, Diana.” “Is he?” She looked at the young man quickly. “Well. I am glad, because I am rather fond of Bill. lie isQ’t a bit like Aunt Agatha, or like Susan.” “I met yoitr other cousin, too,” said Hugh Waverley. “I was dining the night before last at Rexbury Towers, and she was there. I danced with her. She plays golf fairly well, but she can’t dance for nuts.” Diana laughed outright. “Oh, please don’t say this out loud. You have no idea what a shock it would be to Susan; she doesn’t think anybody can dance but herself.” “Do you love dancing, Diana?” She nodded her head. “Yes I do. I love dancing. I love music, I love life. Oh, I love so many things,” she finished. And Hugh Waverley spoke out almost impulsively. “A.M.C. for Quality” that’s the A.M.C. slogan. A.MC. men are out to prove it in every way. Quality meats, quality shops, and quality in courteous. efficient, obliging service. Try them! —15.

“I wish,” he said, “I wish, Diana, you loved me.” The colour rushed into Diana’s face, and then faded out very quickly. She had turned and looked at him, and now her head drooped a little. “That wouldn’t be very difficult,” she said. And then she went on speaking quickly. “But oh, please, please, don’t talk to me like this, because you see I ought not to listen. I am not born to have all the things that I have just said I would like.” “My dear, that’s all rot and rubbish. “You are born for happiness, and please God, I shall give it to you! Oh, Diana!” He got up, relinquished her hand, and stood in front of her. “I know now,” he said, “what it is that has been living with me all these days. It has been the thought of you, the amazing joy that that thought has brought me. It’s very stupid of me not to have realised this a long time ago. All I know is that whenever I have gone past your house my heart has given a great thump because 1 have said to myself—‘perhaps I shall get a glimpse of her!’ Mrs. Slater had not the slightest idea of the amazing happiness she was giving me when she asked me to bring you back here the other day. Listen, Diana!” the young man. said, and he spoke earnestly. “1 am not rich, but I am not doing at all badly. In a year or two I shall be making quite a good income. As it is my father wants to give me an allowance, but I won’t take it from him. What I have is enough for two, will you marry me, Diana? Darling, darling. . . .” He stretched out both hands to her. “You don’t know me yet, but if 3’ou will just have faith in me, and let me take you to my mother, and my own home, and then to learn something about me, I’ll swear to you, Diana, I shall be the happiest man in the world, and I will leave nothing undone in my power to give you happiness, too.”

She had put out both her hands, and he drew her up now, and she stood near him. She was very white now, and her lips trembled. “But you see,” she said, “I am not free. I belong to Aunt Agatha, she tells me that over and over again.” “Well, I shall see your Aunt Agatha,” said Hugh Waverley firmly. “I know she has had the care of you for many years. Still, that does not give her the right to consider you bound to her all the days of your life. And if she grumbles so much about having to keep you, and look after you, why then, she ought to be jolly glad to pass this on to someone else who will find it the most beautiful thing in life for him, if you can come to him.” “I don’t know what to say,” said Diana. Indeed, she was bewildered: she trembled. She was conscious of a wonderful happiness, an ecstasy which was indescribable, holding her, as it were, in a spell. At the same time she felt a little afraid. This had come so suddenly, she scarcely dare let herself realise it was a fact. Not even when Hugh Waverley took her in his arms and kissed her gently, tenderlly, reverently, did she feel she had grasped the full truth. But as they walked away from the fields, and he waited for her outside while she went to the farm and gave her aunt’s messages, and then thej r walked backwards to Rexbury, he managed to instil in her not only a sense of courage, but a wave of faith, and with it a joy that was so deep, so great, so indescribI able she could not possibly understand j it all at once. . When he would have gone back to 1 the house with her, Diana shook her . head. “No, no dear,” she said. “No, we | must not rush Aunt Agatha. That i would be perhaps to make a great deal of trouble. I will write you a few lines j tonight, and tell you when to come. Because. Hugh, it isn’t going to be very easy for us; you must realise ! that.’* i . “I realise only one thing,” the young

man answered her passionately, “that I love you . . . that you are in my thoughts night and day; that I fret about you, and that I shan’t know one moment’s peace of mind until I get you away from this miserable pretence of life, and put you in the sunshine where you belong.” Diana walked back to the Thatch House as her aunt’s home was called, there to be met by the extraordinary news, imparted by Ellen with an air of great excitement, that Mrs. Thorp was not in the house. “She’s gone to Middleston, Miss Diana. I had to run through to the village and engage Mr. Beaton’s motor. My! you should have seen his expression when he heard as it was Mrs. Thorp that wanted him! She’s always been so insulting-like about his car.” “Gone to Middleston!” Diana stood and stared at the maid. “Was it a sudden idea, Ellen?” “Well, me dear, if you ask me, I think it all come about when I took a letter in to her that come by the second post. It was after she had read it that she called to me, and told me to go the village, and ask Mr. Beaten to come right along with his car. Some business, I suppose? I must say the mistress looked very worritted! No, Miss Diana, there wasn’t anyone here when she went. Miss Susan came in a little while ago, but she went out again, she’s gone to play tennis at the vicarage. She was fail* surprised when I told her as her mother had gone to Middleston in Mr. Beaton’s car; in fact she almost flatly contradicted me, and said she didn’t believe me. And now you would like a nice cup of tea, wouldn’t you, my dear? You go out and sit in the garden, I’ll bring you a tray there.” Diana thanked Ellen, and obeyed her.

And sitting under the tree in the old-fashioned garden she let her thoughts drift back to the man whom she had just left, back to those wonderful words that he had said to her, to the touch of his arms, and the touch of his lips, and she felt as far away from earth, and everything that belonged to her everyday life, as any human being could feel. She drank her tea, and ate the cakes which Ellen brought, almost without realising what she was doing. And she was still fitting lost in dreams when her cousin Susan came back from playing tennis. Miss Thorp walked out into the garden and approached Diana. “Do you know anything about this journey of mother’s?” she queried. With a start Diana awoke from her thoughts, and then answered briefly: “I left Aunt Agatha here when I went to the Needhams’ farm; she sent me to speak about the milk.”

And then Diana added: “In any case, how should I know? I am not in Aunt Agatha’s confidence.” “It’s very easy,” said Susan Thorp w r ith a sneer, “to realise that mother is out since you are sitting here lolling about in such an idle fashion. I suppose you have been filling your mind with all sorts of ridiculous ideas about Hugh Waverley? Well, my dear, I can set those right. I have just left him; he was at the vicarage, and if I’m a judge it’s pretty clear that he’s running after Mimi Dickson. Can’t see why people round here make such a fuss about him!” Susan continued. “He is a very stuck-up individual; and, after all, he doesn’t belong to any particular family. I understand his father is a farm labourer.” “Even a farm labourer can be a gentleman,” said Diana Ladbroke quietly. “You know such a lot about gentlemen. don’t you?” Susan sneered. “Well, at any rate, I consider vou ought to know* about Mimi, because now you won’t run after this young

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man and try to see him on every possible occasion.” With that Susan turned on her heel and walked through to the house, but her malice was so obvious that Diana only laughed. She was now far too sure of the goodness, the loyalty, and the fine character of the man who had asked her to marry him that day, and whom she confessed to herself that she would love with all her heart and soul right through her life to the very end. But what Diana did not realise, and could not, of course, imagine, was that at that very moment, at that very time, a dark and a heavy cloud was creeping up on the horizon of tier newly-found happiness—a cloud that threatened to envelop her and shut her away completely from love, and faith, and loyalty, and happiness. CHAPTER IV. Meanwhile, Mr. Beaton’s car waited outside the one hotel patronised by the county, situated in the high street of Middlestone. He had ventured to ask Mrs. Thorp if he should wait for her, and she had snapped a reply back at him. “How* do you suppose I am going to get back to Rexbury?” she queried. “Of course you will wait.” Mr. Beaton had shrugged his shoulders. He was a jovial-looking man. He kept a livery stable at Rexbury, and had only recently invested in the useful car which had conveyed Mrs. Thorp so unexpectedly from her home. But he had not counted on waiting such a long time. And when Mrs. Thorp did come out, Mr. Beaton looked at her as if he was seeing a woman whom he had never seen before. She seemed to have grown suddenly very old, her face was white, and her lips, instead of being grimly set as they' usually were, were trembling.

She did not 'come out of the hotel alone. A portly man accompanied her; he was well dressed, and he looked prosperous. As he put her into the car he held out his hand. “Well, good day, Mrs. Thorp,” he said, “and remember, tomorrow by noon, not an hour later.”

Mrs. Thorp seemed to ignore the outstretched hand, and made no reply. All she said to Beaton was: “Take me home.”

Going to Middleston, she had sat, nervously, it is true, erect in the car. He had driven as carefully as possible, and every now and then he had glanced at her, and had smiled to himself to see how stiffly and proudly she held herself. Going back to Rexbury, Mrs. Thorp was crouched in the corner of the car, she was almost huddled up, and her eyes were closed. “Something upsetting has happened for sure!” said the car-owner to himself.

He had never seen Mrs. Thorp look as she looked at this moment, but as they drew nearer to Rexbury, and he glanced round once or twice, he saw that she was getting a grip of herself again, that she had steadied herself, and when they reached the gate of the Thatch House, she was to all intents and purposes the womau she had been when she had left it. “You will send the bill to me,” she said. “I’ll pay it tomorrow morning.” As he drove back to his garage, Mr. Beaton turned over this journey in his mind. He might have spoken of it, and described how strangely Mrs. Thorp had looked if the opportunity had presented itself, but he found when he got back there was an urgent demand for the car at a neighbouring house, and he had only just time to look at his petrol and swallow a belated cup of tea, and be off on his errand right away.

i Mrs. Thorp went straight upstairs to her room. When she got there i she shut and locked the door. Then | she went to her medicine cupboard, j poured out a small dose of brandy, j which she kept there for emergency. ! and after she had diluted it with j water, she swallowed the stimulant. 1 Then she sat down in the one easy

chair, closed her eyes, and began to realise what had happened. By noon of the next day her guardianship of Diana Ladbroke would come to an end! The girl whom she had so disliked, whom she had treated with so little consideration, whom she had judged so harshly, and whom she had imagined belonged to her to be ruled by her autocratic will just as she chose to rule, was to be taken from her. This in itself was sufficient to shake the proud, strong spirit of the woman, but there was more than this to humiliate her. The information that had been given to her this afternoon in the sitting room of the County Hotel in Middleston had swept her, figuratively, off her feet. “You will give me an outline of the expenses attached to your many years’ care and upkeep of Miss Diana Ladbroke,” that portly man had said to ner. “You will be paid every farthing that was your brother’s wish as embodied in this letter which 1 have just given you. It was your brother’s intention to have come to England a year ago. He allowed the report of his death to go uncorrected, and unchallenged because when he did come back he wanted to be in a position to give his daughter a high place in the world. I had the honour of advising your brother, Mrs. Thofp, and of looking after all his interests, so you see I am in a position to tell you exactly what Mr. James Ladbroke wished .done in connection with his daughter and his property.” Mrs. Thorp had listened to all that he had to say with a grim look. She had put him through a very close cross-examination. He had had to produce papers, he had had to satisfy her that* he was the person he represented himself to be; he also had to give her very clear proof that her brother had chosen to put his daughter, and all that she possessed, into the hands of this man.

At first there had been quite an acrimonious controversy. Neither Mrs. Thorp, nor this unknown man, whose name was Townley, had hesitated to launch unpleasant remarks at one another. And it was very bitter indeed for Mrs. Thorp to know that her brother, though he had apparently stood on one side and let her have full control, had known of all that was passing with Diana, and had resented her treatment of his child. She put one very pertinent question to Mr. Townley. If my brother James disapproved of the way I have been treating Diana, his daughter, why did he not come forward a long time ago? I do not in the least understand why he should have allowed himself to be regarded as a dead man when he was really alive. You tell me he kept away from this girl, and preferred to be known as having died because life went very crookedly with him, and everything he touched was a failure until just before his real death. There is a good deal of what you say to me that seems to require very close investigation.” “You can investigate as much as you like, Mrs. Thorp, but you will come up against the truth at every turn. Your brother was a very disappointed and embittered man. I understand he had been devoted to his wife, and when she left him, and especially wnen she died, he received a blow from which he never recovered. Naturaily, he imagined that leaving his daughter in your care, Miss Ladbroke would be well looked after, and for a time he just let himself go to pieces. Then when he realised that this Arizona property which had come into hi< hands was lively to pan out well and ! be successful, he pulled himself together, and it was when he knew himself to be a rich man, he resolved to come to England and claim hi= daughter. But it was too late, sc when grave illness fell upon him, he turned to me. We had been so muc! together in business and we wsr< more than friends” —Townley’s voie< sounded as if he were deeply moved Then he went on:—“I was devoted t< James Ladbroke, and I think he wa l

equally devoted to me, so he asked 1113 to take his child and remove her from your care, and to place her in the circumstances which she has a right 10 enjoy as a person possessed of wealth and property.” To this Mrs. Thorpe had answered: “My neice is not a child, she is a young woman now. I think you will find it very difficult to force her to fall in with her father’s wishes.”

“You don’t mean to say you think she is so attached to you, do you?” queried Mr. Townley, and there was a sneer in his smooth voice.

“No,” said Mrs. Thorp, “I am not dwelling on the sentimental part at all. I am thinking of Diana’s character. She has a fine character, she is just, she is honest, she is loyal, and I think she will regard it as her duty to remain with me, especially if good for tiine has come to her.” “Miss Ladbroke will not be inffuenced in any way by me,” Townley remarked in a pompous way. “I shall merely carry through my duties ns given in a sacred promise to her father. I will put everything clearly before her, and we will discuss the matter quietly. But I must see Miss Diana Ladbroke alone; she must come here. You can bring her if you like, but you cannot be present at the interview which i>ust take place as soon as possible—tomorrow at the latest.” “And supposing I do not agree lo this suggestion?” said Mrs. Thorp. “Supposing I feel that it is my duty to take the matter to my lawyer and to have the whole thing gone into thoroughly?”

“Well, in that case,” was the reply given very suavely', but with a little unpleasant hint behind the smooth- | ness of the vqjce, “I shall have no J hesitation in making public the whole ; matter, and in letting the world know 1 how good you have been to your brother’s child! I don't think, my dear Mrs. Thorp, you will care to live in a neighbourhood where you have resided so many years when the whole I truth of your attitude toward your ' brother’s daughter is put before the world. In any case,” Townley observed, “you can still have the matter investigated, but I insist upon hav- ! ing an interview with Miss Ladbroke not later than noon tomorrow, and you must take this letter from her father and give it to Miss Ladbroke. You see it is sealed, that was done by vour brother himself, and in his own : feeble hand he scribbled the inscrip- ; tion you can read on the envelope This he did when he was practically dying: ‘To be opened only by my child after my death.’ ” Mrs. Thorp was still shut up in her bedroom when her daughter knocked at the door and inquired rather j sharply' if she could come in. “I am not coming down just yet.” Mrs. Thorp answered. “Tell Ellen to let me know when supper is ready.” •r only wanted to tell you.” said Susan Thorp, “that I promised to go over with the Creptons to Vaile Abbey this evening, and I may be rather late coming back.” “You will, as usual, do just what you want to do,” her mother answered. (To bo continued tomorrow)