Painted Buttertlies

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 979, 23 May 1930, Page 5

Painted Buttertlies

Mrs PATRICK MACGILL

' Author ol '• Dancers in rhe Dark.' The Ukelele Girl.' ' The Flwne ol Lile.' «*« »c

CHAPTER VI. The songs of a hundred birds, singing of spring, filtered down from the grand old trees outside the house into the little room, shattering the silence between the two human creatures so weighted by care that their minds had been swept clear of every emotion.

Jennifer thought of her mother’s naive delight in the occasional glimpses of sea and country that were all she could ever snatch from her toilsome days, of the long hours spent feet already tired at the ironing-board. And then the comparative haven of this quiet tree-shaded little house, looking out on the Heath with its broad, sweet sweep of clear sky, its garden at the back, quite big enough to grow some of her mother’s favourite flowers and, above all, the joy that the companionship of little two-year-old Faith would afford.

It was like comparing grim reality with a beautiful dream. But Jennifer’s logical Jiabit of always looking at both sides of a question was largely the result of her self-training, allied to a certain masculine mental quality inherited from her thoughtful father. To her the situation had about it something of a dream’s transient quality. Such a thing could not be mentioned now, of course, but what if, in a year or so, when Time had done its healing work, the grief-stricken man wanted to re-marry. His wife would certainly want the house to herself, and, though the Lome Hand Laundry was a humble enough business proposition, yet it represented years of patient slaving and goodwill; some of her mother’s customers had been sending to her for years. Of course, having put her foot on the first rung of the Ladder of Success, there was no telling what she might not be able to accomplish for her mother inside a year. With her habit of clear thinking, it only took Jennifer a few seconds to make up her mind, and she decided not to force the issue of the cheque until her mother had been sounded on the question of taking up the job of housekeeper to- Carlos Mayhew, and foster-mother to his child. “It would be infinitely easier for mother, and speaking for myself, I should be delighted to exchange Camden Town for —all this.” Jennifer waved a graceful, appreciative hand toward the Heath. As they left the house, Carlos Mayhew again gave evidence of his undoubted psychological insight by a suggestion that he made as they passed a clean but humble little house on the way to the Tube station. “Shall we take Faith along with us?” he asked, shooting a glance toward an upper window from which, in response to a whistle, a child’s little fair head presently protruded. “Yes, certainly, and let her make her own appeal,” answered Jennifer, warmly, adding: “i think that I will walk on and await you at the Tube station —that is, if you do not mind," she finished, courteously.

Little Faith, aged two, was even ; more fascinating than her picture, and ! it was very evident that, whoever had ’ charge of her dressing, possessed good ! taste. Mrs. Lome was just having her after-dinner cup of tea when the surprise party burst upon her. To anybody but tbe daughter who adored her, and the man who had | enough perception to gauge -the fine ! courage, indomitable pride, and end- ' les endurance that lay behind Mrs. Lome's steam-reddened face, with its lank whisps of greying hair, hands puffed and seamed with constant rubbing of clothes, the figure seated—or rather slumped—in one chair, with feet up on another, would have made no impression beyond that of a woman deserving pity. But there was real pride, mingled with the tenderness of Jennifer’s quiet, ; charming voice, as she performed the introduction, and it pleased her to see the fuss that her mother made over

, Successful housekeeping can only be ; accomplished In' grasping the full - significance of the words “XO F.UBi BIND LAUNDRY HELP." Further j i information from your grocer.—l 4. i

Published by Special Arrangement,

Faith, immediately taking her on her knee, and winning her baby heart with a sweet biscuit. “Mother dear, Mr. Mayhew is in great trouble, and has come to ask your help. His wife has just died and there is nobody -to look after little Faith. But he’ll tell you all about it himself, dear. I’m going upstairs to see Jack a minute, if he’s awake,” said Jennifer.

With a glance which pleaded as well as warne/i, Jennifer flew upstairs to her brother’s bedroom. “Open the door, Jack —quickly!” she whispered, urgently, drumming with her fists on the thin panels. A second later, the wretched, waneyed boy let her in, and at a glance Jennifer could tell that he had not slept. The youth’s voice was squeaky with hysteria, as he demanded, “Did you get it, Sis?” in his emotion reverting to the pet name of Jennifer’s childhood.

“Sit down, dear,” Considering all that she had gone through that for his sake, there was something exquisite in the patient sympathetic gesture with which Jennifer gently persuaded her brother back to the bed, and she strove to make her voice sound bright with hope, as she said. “I think it will be all right, Jack. It depends on mother.” “Mother?” Jack Lome’s voice was more startled than apprehensive. His whole composition, body and soul, was a vastly inferior product compared with the thing of fire and sweetness, light and love, that was his sister, and only one short year his senior. “She doesn’t know about—er—it, of course. If she will consent to give up this place and go to live in a little house on Hampstead Heath, to look after the child of a young widower, she can work out the £2OO at the rate of £1 a week. Y'ou must make good for her sake, as well as your own, Jack. Oh, you will, won’t you?” cried Jennifer, catching the hand that was paler than her own, except where the thumb and forefinger were stained a deep yellow with nicotine. “I swear before God I’ll pay back every penny! Oh, Sis, she must consent. She must be told how things are, if necessary,” urged the weak, self-centred youth. Something in her brother’s tone jarred on Jennifer, who was almost at breaking point.

“Haven’t you a thought for anybodv but yourself, Jack? Doesn’t it strike you that she’d rather be dead than Jennifer broke off and quickly composed herself as her mother’s slow, rather heavy step sounded outside the door, and she came into the room, her tired face transfigured with joy, like one who has seen a great and shining vision. “Oh, my loves, what a beautiful thing to happen, isn’t it? Just fancy, no more washing or ironing, and living in a house with a garden and trees all round it! Why, it’ll be a fine lady’s life for me, with that precious little darling to keep me company all day. iou are coming, too, Jenny; he said so! But what’s this about your going abroad, my pet? You never told me ” turning to Jack. “Jack has been longing to go abroad for years, but it seemed impossible to save up enough money. But he’s going to work hard and send you back the money that Mr. Mayhew is advancing just as soon as ever he can.” said Jennifer, meaningly, as she hasti!v answered for her brother. “Will you stop up here with Jack, '' bile I go to the tube with Mr. Mayhew?” asked Jennifer, hurrying a wav even as she spoke. Downstairs, in the same living room that had witnessed her agony over her brother's confession, Jennifer received her instructions regarding the £2OO that was to save him from disgrace.

‘‘Tell him to meet me outside his ofnee at five, and I’ll have it ready for him. I 11 take Faith back with me. I do not like Camden Town for her,’* said Carlos Mayhew, picking his baby up in his arms. The child’s fragrant lips pressed a i-oft kiss on Jennifer’s cheek, and when, an hour later, she lay in bed, too wide awake for sleep, too utterly

worn in body and spirit for rest, the ■white innocence of Carlos Mayliew’s child breathed a benison on her soul. CHAPTER VII. “All the horrors they can make up they put into the papers these days, still, that was a funny affair at Earl’s Court yesterday, with that poor old man dead in the chair, and a bullet mark in the w9.1l just above him. I reckon whoever frightened him to death like that might as well have put the bullet into him. What do you say, Jennifer?”

The words came rather thickly from Mrs. Lome, because their passage from her lips w’as somewhat blurred by the cup of tea that she "was drinking at the same time. She and Jennifer were having breakfast. When Madame Elise had granted permission for Jennifer to wear “Painted Butterflies” at the ball, she had thoughtfully given her leave of absence for the following day, knowing that the creative instinct is almost wholly dependent upon mental and physical freshness. Jennifer did not answer her mother’s comment on the newspaper report of James Read’s death. She grew deathly white, that "was all.

She lived ove?r the scene during every moment of her waking hours, and she lived them, too, in her sleep, her subjective mind rioting through her few hours of surcease, combining thoughts and events into so grotesque a pattern that, terrified, she would awake with her body bedew r ed with cold, clammy sweat, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. Reaching for another slice of bread that she did not want, so that she might be saved the necessity for comment, Jennifer found her eyes travelling involuntarily to the newspaper which lay between her mother’s plate and her own. There it was, in big black headlines "which seemed to leap out at her from the printed sheet: “Mystery Attending Prominent City Man’s Death.” “The affair of Mr. James Read, the w’ell-known financier, who was found dead in a chair in the office that he kept for occasional use at Laburnam Mansions, Earl’s Court, presents facts of so mysterious an aspect that the case is occupying the attention of the police. Sir Marmaduke Wild, the dead man’s medical adviser, states that as recently as a month ago he had warned him that, unless he at once wound up his business life and retired from all forms of mental activity, he was liable to drop dead from a stroke at any minute. “Would a great and sudden shock precipitate this stroke?” the eminent medical authority was asked. “No, in this case, I should say not, although naturally sudden shocks are not good for people whether they are well or ill,” he said, qualifying his own words. Nobody in the mansions, which are not provided with a hall porter, heard the report of a shot, but the shape and recently disturbed plaster of the hole in the wall immediately above the dead man’s head suggests that a shot was certainly fired, and at close range. Inquiries at Mr. Read’s house show that he was rung up at half-past eight in the morning by a woman with a pleasant, cultured voice, but she gave no name, and, as the call was just put through to the dead man’s study, and lie spoke tb her from there, the butler can give no further information. The police have requested the help of the Press in tracing the- woman who rang 09421 Grosvenor at 8.30 a.m. on Tuesday morning, and who is requested to communicate with the police immediately.

Jennifer felt as if the mouthful of bread and butter she was eating had turned to cinders in her mouth. Often when, as a relief from more solid reading, she had thrilled youthfully to the adventures of the heroine, and felt that it would be fun to experience the same thrills, to pass through the same difficulties, all of which would lend a colour and a depth denied to her own struggling, formless existence. But facts were so cold and liarsh compared with the splendour of vivid fancy, and the usually merry little face was grave and unsmiling as Jennifer kissed her mother good-Uye, and started off for the office, the prey to a myriad inward fears "which should have had no part in the shining jewel of her youth. “Good morning, Miss Lome. I want you a, moment.” Madame smiled her greeting graciously, and, evidently well pleased about something, and in spite of herself Jennifer felt her spirits rise a little as she followed her employer into her private Office “I only wanted to give you this, which Miss Creighton’s secretary

brought in this morning, and to say how delighted I am with the success that you made with ‘Painted Butterflies.’ It has brought in over 30 orders,” said madame briskly, kindly, •and so cheerfully that Jennifer’s spirits in consequence suffered a great drop at her next words. “Sad about Miss Creighton’s uncle dying so suddenly, wasn’t it?” went on Madame Elise conversationally, as she handed Jeninfer the cheque for the paltry sum that had been sent for her—£3 3s. The cheque fluttered from Jennifer's fingers, and, stooping to pick it up. her startled face, which might have puzzled the keen-eyed fashion designer, was hidden. “By the way, he drove you home from the hall, his chauffeur says. Miss Creighton says that she would be glad

to see yyu this afternoon at five o'clock. l suppose she is naturally anxious to know if her uncle seemed i all right.” Jennifer felt as if all viiality had been drained from her body, leaving her an abject, spineless thing of nervous fear and secret dread. More than once during the day she trifled with the idea of going to the police and confessing all that she knew about the circumstances of James Read's death. She felt inwardly soiled by the knowledge that she possessed, and, although she was sufficiently sophisticated to know that nobody can live without getting dirty, ! jet the essentially clean do their best i to get soiled as little as possible on i : their journey through life. [ The revelation of her knowledge

would bring peace to her own heart, but she turned away from the thought of what it would mean to at least half a dozen others —first and foremost, to her mother, to whom was given the deepest love that her being possessed; to her brother, to Carlos Mayhew, who would suffer the torture of a public Inquiry into the relations of his dead wife with the man who, in his savage wrath, he had intended to kill; in the last case, her action in approaching a total stranger for money would bring so much obloquy upou her own character were it made public, that she might bid a definite farewell to her own hopes of a career directly her face was turned toward the police station.

(To be Continued Tomorrow^