THE PRISONER'S SISTER

Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 August 1938, Page 10

THE PRISONER'S SISTER

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

PEARL BELLAIRS

(Author of “Velvet and Steel”)

CHAPTER VIII. (Continued.) “Very well,” said Julie, with rather mixed feelings at the prospect. But still, she thought, if the place was going to be an hotel she might as well get used to these intrusions as soon as possible! Rand meanwhile, having taken off. his leather headgear, was absently holding it out with one hand, as though waiting to have it taken from him. Julie, conceiving this to be part of her duty, went to take it, and had. half taken it, when he woke to what as happening. “What the deuce—?” He snatched it back and shook his head at her, and went out to hand his coat in the hall himself. Julie walked out of the room feeling unaccountably pleased. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Mrs Bolton was looking on with, bated breath while Mr Ell cut paper-thin slivers of bread. When he had finished he opened a four ounce, screw topped jar. “Caviare!” announced' Ell. “Ho dear! Cavihaire, is it?” ;‘Wherever he goes,” said Mr Ell, “the master ’as to ’ave ’is caviare sandwiches. It’s ’is only luxury.” “Fancy!” “We went to Scotland once, and stopped a night in an hotel. I forgot some caviare for him. I couldn't ’old me ’ead up!” “Ho dear!” “I’m not usually forgetful,” said, Mr Ell. The fire was lighted in one of the sitting rooms, and it was left to ■ the possession of Rand; Ell waited on him, and Julie saw no reason why, if she was' not definitely wanted for anything, she should go near him. ' Before it was dark he went out and made an inspection of the garden. From five until six had always been the children’s play hour, in which Julie had joined in their games, and they sat in the kitchen playing Old Maid. Mrs Bolton also played Old Maid in the intervals between the earlier preparation for dinner. At half-past five Rand took it into his head to come out and inspect the kitchen quarters, which broke up the game and: sent Mrs Bolton scurrying to her stove. Rand looked 'round the place, and asked Julie’s opinion as to what should be done with it. Julie pulled herself together, and told him what alterations she thought should be made. Rand went into all the details very thoroughly; she wondered why he spent so much time on it. In the course of the conversation he sat down in a chair at the table at which they had been playing cards. “Yes: the entire kitchen apparatus will have to be electrified.” He lighted a cigarette, and glanced at the children who were sitting over the cards, watching him. “What are you playing?” “Old Maid,” said Dolly, shyly. ' “How do you do it?” He picked up the cards that Julie had thrown down. Dolly began to show him. “All right,” said Rand. “We’ll play. I bet I can beat you at it. My face never gives me away!” “Oh —it does!” said Dolly. “What? I’m sure you don’t know ■ what I’m thinking.” ' * “I do!” said Dolly. “When do you?” “I ..could see by your face you brought that puppy for Will specially as a present, though you were pretending you hadn’t!” ‘.‘That just shows then,” said Rand, “how little you can learn by just looking at me!” He began to play with them. “Come on, Julie!” said Dolly, and Julie too had to sit down. Mrs Bolton went on cooking, and Ell hovered in the background polishing silver and looking rather pained. “Come and take a hand, Ell,” said Rand. Ell, obviously suffering deeply, came and sat down. They went on playing until it was time for Will to go to bed. Rand seemed as enthusiastic about playing Old Maid as he might be expected to be about his most gigantic enterprise. To Julie it seemed so odd to be sitting there. She thought of the time last week when she had stopped to look at the mammoth labour which was raising the great steel skeleton of the bridge over the Thames, and here she was, sitting in a kitchen with Rand, the power behind the enterprise, playing Old Maid with the children. She came down after putting Will to bed, and passing the door of the shabby old dining room, with its mahogany and crimson plush, she saw Rand standing with his back to the fire. “I say!” he called to her abruptly. Julie stopped in the doorway. She had changed out of her jersey and skirt and was wearing the only frock she had saved from the sale of her belongings, a grey velveteen with a wide white, puritan collar. He looked her up and down. He never made any bones, she imagined, about looking anybody up and down. “I’ve been thinking about this room,” he said. “These blighted gewgaws will have to come off the ceiling!” Julie listened. He explained energetically, with sure gestures of his hand, outlining his ideas in a manner in which she supposed he considered the building of harbours. While he was talking, Ell came in behind them to place a bowl of flowers on the table, which was already laid for one. Rand broke off in the middle of his discourse, to glance at Ell and say: “Lay a place for Miss Moffatt in here, please, Ell.” Julie flushed a little. From his manner one would not have thought that he had even noticed the table. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her short by going on talking about the room; and then when he had fin-

ished, instead of giving her time to speak, he said: “The manageress always dines in the dining room. Didn’t you know that?” “Not at the same table with the guests,” said Julie. “I’m not a guest, I’m the owner!” He smiled, leaning one elbow on the mantel shelf and looking down at her. Julie said nothing, but he seemed to be taking a sort of general examination of her appearance, which rather disconcerted her. She would much rather have had dinner in the kitchen. She went out of the room until dinner was served, and came ba'ck when Ell beat the gong in the hall. To Julie, whose life had been the rational life of a small London flat, with hard work filling every hour of the day, the sight of Ell beating a gong to tell her that dinner was ready when he knew that she knew very well that it was, was simply fantastic. Rand drank water himself, but asked her if she would ■ rather have wine. “I imagine . that Ell can produce some.” “No thanks,” said Julie. “Don’t you like wine?” “I don’t know much about it,” said Julie. “Nor did I when I was your age!” After then he began a series of questions: “How old are you?” “Twenty.” “Ever lived in the country before?” “Until I was fifteen.” “Do you think you’ll find it lonely here?” “No.” “Had you many friends in London?” “Some.” “Any close ones?” Julie flushed and wondered how long he was going on with the cross-exam-ination. . . He glanced at her, smiled, and raising his black eyebrows, said:— “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. You musn’t mind. I am to everybody.” “You do seem to me to be a most self-satisfied man!” said Julie. “I have every justification,” said Rand, in a teasing tone, and Julie subsided with the feeling that she had been tricked into abandoning her formal attitude. “No: I was really trying to ask —are you engaged, or likely to be engaged to be married?” said Rand.

“Does it matter?” said Julie, swallowing her annoyance. If she hadn’t disliked him so, she might have found his directness amusing. “Or do you wish to tell me that I shan’t be allowed any ‘followers’ here?” “No, no,” said Rand smiling. “Have as many followers as you like!” Julie looked at him in some dissasisfaction, wondering still why he should have asked her about it. “I only asked you because I want to know to what extent I have to take charge of you,” Rand explained mildly. “My job is to do what I can for you and I want to know what’s to be done. Julie looked at him in some dissatisher turn pale. He refused to listen to her when he might have saved Tom, sent Tom to prison, and then assured her that he wanted to do all he could for her! “Won’t you have some of this souffle?” said Rand, when Ell brought it in. “It looks very good.” Ell busied himself about the table, and while he was there Julie’s anger was checked. By the time he had left the room she had realised the uselessness of making a scene —saying things, trying to break down the armour of this man’s self-justification. “You know,” said Rand, glancing at her with an irritating smile, “you interest me! I could understand your first determination not to let me give you. any help, but I didn’t believe you would keep it up. Apart from being literally forced to give in over some things, you have kept it up. So much will-power in such a small, inoffensive —and, may I say decorative? —individual is really rather surprising. I get wrapped up in the business of piling up mountains of concrete over ditches —it’s a change to have another human brought 'to one’s, notice. Explain to me the workings of your mind, Miss Moffat, and why it keeps so passionately to the same track!” “Well, has nobody else ever wished you were dead, Mr Rand?” said Julie, bitingly. “I could have dinner with you for ever,” was all his reply. “You are so amiable!” “liet’s ring for some cheese,” he said after a moment, just as though they were the best of friends. “Do you like Stilton? Tell me that we have one taste in common, and that you hate and loathe Stilton as much as you loathe me!” He talked, and allowed Julie time to calm down. The dinner ended politely, but without spirit. Julie went to bed that night feeling disturbed and unhappy. All the stormy and tragic emotions of the past weeks were stirred up again. Down below Rand was reading a book by the fire in the sitting room. His very presence in the house filled her with passionate feeling. CHAPTER IX. Next day things might have gone well for Will. Will was eight years old, and usually sweet tempered. But sometimes days would come when he would be peevish’, obstinate, then contrary, and finally just aching for a fight with someone. On these occasions his elder brother Tom had been there to fight back. It always ended in Will being thoroughly spanked, going to bed for twenty minutes, and getting up again with a sweet, contented face and being perfectly happy for a month or more. “It’s only a passing phase,” Julie would say. But on the morning after Rand ar-

rived, Will took it into his head to have one of his antagonistic fits. Voices were raised in the kitchen between Will and Mrs Bolton. Will kept out of Ell’s way, because he didn’t know him; and most of the morning Julie was walking round the house discussing alterations with Rand, so there was no getting at her. But he did all he could to infuriate Mrs Bolton and Dolly. Rand and Julie came round from the garden into the paved yard behind the kitchen, to hear screams of pain and rage from Dolly, just inside the back door. “Excuse me!” said Julie, with a frown. She went to the back door and as Will was leaning against the inside, had to push it open by main force. Dolly was holding her smarting scalp within and crying, and Will was looking triumphant. “Will! You mustn’t behave like this!” said Julie. “What on earth with Mr Rand think if he hears you? Tell Dolly you’re sorry you pulled, her hair, at once!” . Will merely looked tightly shut up, and said nothing. There was no brother Tom about, to deal with him now. Knowing that Rand was waiting for her, and not wanting any scene that might ensue to be-heard by him, Julie postponed the matter. “Dolly, run inside and stay with Mrs Bolton, and keep away from Will!” Julie stood with the door half open, looking inside. “Will, dear, need you be such a horrid boy?” Will replied by giving the door a sudden 'kick so that the edge of it struck Julie’s face. Her temper rose, but the thought of Rand was foremost in her mind. She closed the door abruptly, and went out. Rand was standing only a dozen yards away looking up at the back of the house. She did not know how much he had seen, but as they walked round the house he remarked: '"Boys are sometimes difficult to manage.” “Yes Tom always used to manage Will,” said Julie, flushing. “They need a firm hand sometimes.” (To be Continued).