Love Set Free

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1049, 13 August 1930, Page 5

Love Set Free

COPYRJGHT

PUBLISHEP BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

By

LG. MOBERLY

Author ol "ClehMio* Fire,.” "to Apple Bloesom Time,” ” Threede ol Life.” ete-

CHAPTER XIII (Continued) Looking at her now, his observant eyes took in her quiet poise, her grace ot movement, and above all, the combined sweetness and the strength in, her face. A little picture of Millicent, his wife, floated suddenly before his mind, and he moved suddenly, knocking down a brass candlestick upon the mantelpiece.* It fell with a clatter. Stooping to pick it up the doctor recaptured some serene quality of soul which lor one second had seemed to be slipping from him. “Yes,” he went on, continuing Ims conversation as though that brief flash of thought had not interrupted it, “I couldn’t quite make out, and I don’t mflke out now, what connection there is between my visitor and that poor wretch, Holt. I hope I made myself clear about the impossibility of allowing Holt to be disturbed.” “I have no doubt you made yourself clear,” Alison answered, her eyes twinkling. “You don’t mince words when clearness is an essential.” “In this part of the world plainspeaking seems to be perenially essential! Which reminds me. I don’t want the folk round here either to desert Dr. Hornby for me, or to think I am here exclusively to sit in this surgery for them. A certain amount ot work I’m glad to do. Poor souls! One likes to do one’s utmost, but research is my special objective; and not for the world would I interfere with any local medical man as far as the people are concerned.” “Dr. Hornby is the only panel doctor just in your immediate neighbourhood. But tilery are plenty of people not on a panel, and,” she smiled, "so many of them want to have ‘Dr. John.’ And who can wonder at it?” was her swift reflection, as his eyes met hers, and his smile flashed out, making her heart contract oddly. He only laughed at her words, and went back to the subject of his recent visitor. “Yes, that was an unpleasant fellow who came to hunt up Holt, and I can’t for the life of me make out why he wanted to hunt him up. He was no relation, but he seemed desperately keen about Herbert, as he called him.” “What did you say?” “I said Holt was soaked in opium and in a home under supervision; and that I could not authorise any visitors. The fellow was very angry, almost abusive, but,” again came that charming smile which had so disconcerting an effect upon Alison's heart, “X got rid of him. Horace Robertson was his name.” "Horace Robertson?” “Yes, why? You don’t know the man, do you?” “No, I don’t know him, and from what I have heard I don’t wish to know him. I rather think he is the same person who has made himself most objectionable to a friend of mine; a friend who came to me yesterday, most unexpectedly for help.” “I can easily believe in his being objectionable,” was the dry response, “more particularly if your friend chances to be a woman. Mr. Horace Robertson is the kind of gentleman who might give a woman many bad quarters of an hour, if I am not mistaken in my estimate of character.” "Thanks to him,” Alison said indignantly, “my friend, Judith Merivale, has lost a very good situation at a moment’s notice, and she is now with Mrs. Hornby as help. It was like a king a —a Princess to turn into a kitchen wench. But Judith is the real Princess who is not ashamed of any work! ” “She will need all her Princess qualities to cope with Mrs. Hornby, won’t she? That lady came here once and she frightened me! I didn’t know what to make of her.” Alison laughted outright. “Judith is not easily frightened: but the Hornby’s house is not the right place for her, and the arrangement, can only be temporary. She is out of her proper sphere where she is." » “What sort of work was she doing before? From what kind of place did that man Robertson, drive her?” “Well, even that work was most unsuitable, at least I think so, knowing Judith. She is far too—-oh, too everything that is fine and beautiful—to be companion to a woman like Mrs. Dashwood.” “Mrs. —Dashwood?” The attitude of the man by the fireplace stiffened. “Was she with a Mrs. Dashwood?” “Yes, she is a widow, the widow of that Dr. Dashwood who was in the Bramstone fire. I daresay you remember about it?” “Yes, I remember about it.” Alison vaguely sensed that there was an unusual note in her companion’s voice but he went on speaking quietly. “Your friend was with Mrs. Dashwood. Did she like—l mean—was she happy?” “She told me very little. Judith is a most loyal soul, loyal even to an employer who, quite obviously didn’t deserve ioyaltj’. I gather that this Mrs. Dashwood must have been very trying to say the least of it, and Anally sent Judith flying off at a moment’s notice.” The hand of the man by the fireplace gripped hard upon the mantelshelf, and for a moment he did not speak. Alison saw that his eyes were dark with anger. “I am glad your friend has come away from such a place.” he said at last. “Perhaps she may even be better off with Mrs. Hornby.” At that, with an abruptness very unlike him, he changed the subject and began to speak to the nurse about one of their cases, and to ask her advice about some of the details in the arrangement of the surgery. Alison observed a certain flat weariness in his voice, a weariness which made her heart ache. And then suddenly he harked back to Judith and her problems. “I believe I could help that friend of yours,” he said, with no preliminary remark. “Do L understand that scoundrel has been threatening her?” “Yes, he has. I don’t think lam betraying her confidence in telling you that Mr. Robertson declares he will do some harm to her father’s reputation—will make public something shady that Mr. Merivale did. he says, unless Judith agrees to marry him.” “A species of blackmail,” the dor tor said grimly, "and your friend naturally wishes to save her father’s memory from this fellow?” ‘.‘She does indeed. * I can’t believe iJdp. Merivale, her father, can ejf§rJ

knowingly have done anything dishonest or fraudulent. I remember him as so charming, so delightful. But,” she hesitated, “I realise now that his character was weak. Perhaps, in the hands of a strong and unscrupulous man, he might have been an easy tool. There is that possibility.” “And, judging by my very limited acquaintance with the Robertson fellow, he is certainly of the unscrupulous type. Nurse, I believe I can help your friend. I think,” he smiled enigmatically, “I think I may be able to hold a little sword of Damocles over Robertson. Would she trust me to make the attempt?” “I am sure sho would trust you,” Alison said eagerly. “Wouldn’t you like to see her? Shall she come and see you? She could get an hour or two from Mrs. Hornby.” "No, no,” the tone was hurried, almost flustered. “Don’t bother her, to come round. There is no need for me to see her—better not, perhaps,” he added with what seemed to Alison almost unnecessary fervour. “After all, she would not care to discuss her father with a stranger. What you have told me will be quite enough to go upon. I will see what can be done with that scoundrel. Being a bully, he is probably also a coward.' CHAPTER XIV. BLUFF! Horace Robertson lay in a big leather-covered armchair, deep in thought. The rooms lie'was occupying in the Temple belonged to a man whose Ideas of comfort were on extravagant lines, and Robertson had till now thoroughly enjoyed the deep chairs, the thick carpet, the little luxuries in which his soul delighted. But today he was seething with anger, with baffled passion, with the mortification of defeat, and neither comfortable chairs nor thick carpet could console him. Judith Merivale had thwarted him; and he meant to make her pay dearly for it. For some reason, which no one else could have defined or comprehended. he had made up his mind that he could either bully or persuade the girl to fall in with his wishes; and that she had resisted both his persuasion and his bullying was gall and wormwood to him. His feeling for her, which he had dignified by the name of love, had turned into something much more resembling hatred, and his mean little mind was revolving schemes for —as he expressed it to himself —getting even with her! As he lay back, smoking a huge cigar, his glance fixed on the strip of blue sky visible through one open window, his brows were drawn together in a’ heavy frown, and there was an ugly smile upon his lips. "I think I can make you squirm, my fine lady,’' he said aloud, addressing an imaginary Judith. "Your sainted father will make a poor show when I have done what I mean to do! And then ” he fell silent, but his thoughts were busy and those thoughts hovered persistently round the house in Cavendish Square, and the mistress of the house, Millicent Dashwood. “Plenty of money,” he reflected, "the temper of a fiend, but plenty of money, and good looking. Ah. well, we shall see. Hello! Whos there? Come in,” he called out, as his musings were interrupted by a knock on the door and, on seeing the man who obeyed his summons he rose to his feet and gave vent to a short, unpleasant laugh. “You. doctor, is it? The doctor from the slums.” “The doctor from the slums,” Dashwood echoed. “You remember you gave me your card. I have come to see you on a matter of business.” "Oh, indeed? A matter of business? Connected with that poor chap, Holt?” A gleam of expectation shot into his eyes. “Remotely connected with Holt, yes,” was the quiet rejoinder, “but—” "Oh, remotely connected with Holt ? Well, sit down and explain yourself,” he pointed to a chair, and dropped back himself into the one from which he had risen. “What about Holt?” “I hope you have come to bring me news of the poor chap, and to tell me his address.” “I am afraid not.” The quiet tone affected Robertson oddly. He had dimly realised it in the little house by the river; he realised it again now, in the luxuriously furnished room of which he was temporary owner; that quiet voice made him feel —well—somehow made him feel at a disadvantage, though he could not explain why. “Oh, come, doctor,” he tried to speak with bluff and heartiness. “Surely all that nonsense about hiding Holt’s whereabouts is quite unnecessary?” - “If it were unnecessary, or if it were , nonsense, I should not hide his whereabouts. For the present at least, I cannot tell you Holt’s address. He is in no condition to see anybody. But I did not come here today to speak to you about Holt except quite indirectly. I have come to speak about Mr. Merivale, the late artist.” “Merivale? You have come to speak about him? Why, in Heaven’s name? Did you know him?” Was it his fancy, Dashwood wondered, or was there really a gleam of uneasiness in Robertson’s eyes? “No, I never met Mr. Merivale,” ne said, “but,” he leant forward a little, and spoke, with sudden emphasis, “I am concerned about his reputation.” “His•reputation? What has it to do with you, may I ask?” Dashwood ignored the insolence in the other’s voice; he merely looked at him with a gravely searching glance under which Robertson stirred uneasily. “It has this to do with me,” he said very slowly. "I understand you are holding a pistol to his daughter’s head. You are threatening to allow unpleasant stories about her father to come to light.” "Oh, ho! So that’s it, is it?” Robertson laughed. “The cat’s out of the bag. Judith has put you up to this little game of bluff, has she? Cunning little cat!” A disgusted expression swept over the doctor’s face. Scorn looked out of his eyes. “You need not insult Miss Merivale.” he said icily. “I have not the pleasure of her acquaintance; she has put me up to nothing; and this is not a. game of bluff. It is a fencing match

a l’outrance —do you get me—a l’outrance?” “Oh, indeed,” Robertson sneered. “With the buttons off the foils, eh?” “Certainly, with the buttons off.” “Then I'm afraid, to continue the metaphors, you haven’t the ghost of a chance of success. Your corpse will be carried off the duelling ground!” "I think not.” Dashwood said quietly. “I think not. No, listen to me, please, before you say anything more. You are threatening Miss Merivale. I heard this, not from her, but from a friend of hers. I think you will not deny that you made your silence about some matters connected with her father’s affairs conditional upon her agreeing to marry you?” “I decline to enter into such intimate questions with a stranger,” Robertson said loftily. Dashwood smiled. “I am afraid these so-called intimate questions must be touched upon,” he said. “Miss Merivale authorises me to deal with you on her behalf.” “To deal—” Robertson began blusteringly, but Dashwood silenced him with a gesture. “To deal with you,” he repeated. “It becomes a question of a deal when a lady is blackmailed.” “Blackmailed?” Robertson flushed darkly, and sprang to his feet, Dashwood rising at the same moment. “No man shall use that expression to me with impunity.” Again the doctor smiled, a faint, amused smile which roused the other to fury. “Take back that word,” he shouted. “I could have you up for—for defamation of —” “Stop a moment.” Dashwood’s voice, clear, authoritative, struck across his passionate speech. “Before you begin to talk in this way I have an important question to ask you.” “An important question?” Robertson almost bellowed the question in his wrath, and the veins stood out on his forehead while his face grew more crimson. “I don’t want to hear any of your questions. By what right do you. an insignificant practitioner in a filthy back street by the docks, come here to threaten and badger me? What business is it of yours what I do or what I say? Why are you meddling in Judith Merivale’s affairs? By your own showing they have nothing to do jvith foil. Xou are not even

an acquaintance, much less a friend of hers.” Dashwood stood there very quietly, allowing the big man as he mentally expressed it to “run down.” His eyes that rested upon the coarse, flushed face were watchful, and yet in some strange way pitiful as well. Had on onlooker been present he would have realised that the profoundly human soul which was part of Francis Dashwood’s personality, pitied, more than it scorned, the raging man who at last shouted himself into silence. “You have not quite grasped the point,” the doctor said, when at last he could make his voice heard. “I have come here for a definite purpose. I am here as Miss Merivale’s representative. I shall not leave here until I have a perfectly definite undertaking from you.” “A definite undertaking?” Robertson began to bluster again. “My good sir, you have probably been so long in your East End world that you have forgotten the usage of polite society. Stray people don't come to one’s chambers to insist upon definite undertakings. You must be mad—or very ignorant of the world.” Again that enigmatic smile flitted over Dashwood’s face? the smile that seemed so pregnant with meaning. “Not totally ignorant of the world,” he said, “although that is an unimportant detail. What matters is that I should make you understand, once and for all, that persecution of Miss Merivale must come to an end, completely to an end; that she is not to be threatened in any way at all; and that her father's memory is not to be villified.” The dominating quality of the man showed itself in his dominating tone, in the compelling glance of his eyes; but Robertson, still boiling with anger, still convinced that he could carry matters with a high hand because he held the trump card, broke into a coarse laugh. "Hoity toity!” he said. “Is that the tone j'ou are taking with me? You seem to forget that you are only a Merchants and storekeepers ravour NO RUBBING LAUNDRY HELP because it’s a New Zealand industry. Housewives favour it because it has abolished “washboard slavery.” Large packets 31s each. All stores.—?.

measly little East End doctor, and I—” “You are a prodigious scoundrel.” Dashwood struck in, with a quietness which made his assertions all the more startling. “No, don’t go on storming at me,” he held up his hand with again a protesting gesture. “You neither frighten me nor impress me. I realise you for exactly what you are —a bully, a coward, and, as I said, a prodigious scoundrel. lam sorry to have to call you by such ugly names, but facts speak for themselves.” “Facts!” Robertson spluttered. “Facts? How much longer do you mean to stay here insulting me? Will you go? Or must I kick you out?" “Oh. no. you mustn’t kick me out—that might make matters even more uncomfortable for you than they will be now, if you don’t listen to reason ” “Reason reason—” Robertson nearly choked in his rage. “Now, Mr. Robertson, listen to me quietly for one moment,” Dashwood said calmly. “Before I leave this room you will give me the undertaking for which I have asked you. otherwise —” “I will do no such thiug! Give you undertakings of that description? Certainly not. lam not in the habit of giving undertakings, as you call it.” “No?” The doctor’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “Then I am afraid you will have to make a beginning.” “Make a beginning, make a begin ning!” Robertson fairly spluttered. “You are talking through your hat.” “Not at all. lam speaking in dead - earnest. I meant it when I said this was a fight a l’outrance. Now attend to me. Mr. Robertson. Unless you quite definitely, and in writing, agrtc to do what I have asked you to do, to stop persecuting and threatening Miss Merivale, to promise never to injure her father's memory, unless, as I say, you agree to these terms, I shall make what use I like of certain information Herbert Holt has given me.” (To be continued tomorrow.)