THE PRISONER'S SISTER

Wairarapa Times-Age, 16 August 1938, Page 10

THE PRISONER'S SISTER

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

PEARL BELLAIRS

(Author of “Velvet and Steel”)

CHAPTER XVl.—Continued. And lifting her completely off her feet he carried her into the garage where no one could see them from the windows of the house, and set her down. Trembling and shaken, Julie stood before him in the darkness; and from sheer exasperation, nerves frayed beyond endurance, she burst into tears. “How dare you, how dare you—how dare you!” Rand’s natural humiliation at being repulsed checked the apology on his lip S _ an d- for a. moment overcame the protective tenderness he felt for her—the instinct which had aroused his desire for her to such a pitch when his friends had commented on the pathos of her manner that evening.

“Of course, I dare!” he said. Incredulous, furious with thoughts, of Tom, of Lorna Treeves, of her own invidious position in her head, Julie caught her breath in a sob. “You beast, I do hate you so!” she cried. She brushed past him, stumbled against the rear of the unseen car, and ran blindly out into the night. She ran across the yard, aware of the myriad bright points of the stars overhead, and darted breathlessly up the stairs to her room. Inside, she slammed the door and locked it, tremblingly crossed the room and sank down in a chair by the hearth. There, because it was so difficult to get things straight in her mind, she simply gave way and cried and cried. She could not get rid of the memory of his clasping arms; she could still feel them about her —she could still feel his lips on hers. What she had suspected about Rand was obvious now. He was attracted to her. But he had made it just as plain that he despised his weakness —

“Of course I dare!” In the circumstances could any man have spoken with more contempt of a woman?—when the woman was his employee, penniless, a nobody, while he himself was engaged to someone in his own sphere? But her feelings were a mixture, and that was the worst thing of all. The incident was nothing much in itself perhaps. Lots of girls had to repulse such advances; but they were not all in the wretched position of not really wanting—! Did she or didn’t she? Julie really didn’t 'know. One moment she was hot with rage, and felt bitterly insulted. The next she was plunged in misery. All she knew was that if was utterly unfair of him to behave like that to someone who was utterly at his mercy. And then there was Tom! Whatever else happened she could never forget what he had done to Tom! CHAPTER XVII.

Next morning, heavy-eyed and pale after a sleepless night, Julie was up early, going quietly about her business in the hotel before anyone else was up. She had seen the storm clouds coming up over the night sky; and rain poured outside, and now the wind blew, the heather and pine lands were veiled in grey. Listless and resigned to the difficulties of life, Julie looked up at the leaden sky above the windows with weary eyes.

Up in his room Rand smoked cigarette after cigarette and looked out at the wet day with eyes that had not seen much more sleep than Julie’s. He had breakfast in his room. And then Hill came in with some letters for him to sign. Rand signed them in an exasperated fashion; Hill looked at him over his spectacles with vague misgivings.

“A bad morning!” said Hill, referring to the weather. “The very deuce!” Hill said something about some people waking up the worse for wear. “What are you talking about? Who said I was the worse for wear?” “What? Not you, sir—no! I was referring to Captain Marsham. I had a bit of a job with him last night. As a matter of fact, I don’t know how much he’d had —but he seemed to be in a very difficult mood. He seemed to be trying to tear the office down —or at least, he seemed to be tearing it down in his efforts to tear Miss Moffat out of it.”

“Miss Moffat?” Rand’s face darkened. Hill looked at him amiably, concealing his satisfaction at having found a topic of conversation ito awake Rand from his gloomy abstraction. “Yes; she rang me and asked me to come down. I gather Marsham was being a nuisance to her.” “What do you mean? What was he doing?” “I think she must have objected to his advances, or something like that. He seemed upset because, as he said, she was ‘uppish’!” Rand’s face grew livid. The fountain pen he was holding cracked ominously as he screwed the top on to it with reckless force.

“But —er —it was all right in the end!” added Hill nervously, adjusting his spectacles. He had merely hoped

to rouse Rand into a mood in which he might have felt like doing some work. But now he was obviously in a fury —savagely repressing a terrific rage. “It would be a good idea,” ventured Hill, apprehensively, trying to placate his employer, “if I were to find some hefty sort of a fellow, an ex-Service man or ex-prize-fighter, to act as chucker-out down here. Miss Moffat can’t deal with drunks by herself — and there are bound to be some!” Rand made no reply. He got up out of his arm-chair, violently yanking at the cord of his dressing-gown, tying himself more tightly into it. By this time Hill had finished speaking the other was marching across to the door. “Now look here, sir—!” Hill started after him.

“Look where?” asked Rand coldly, turning on him. “Don’t act too hastily!” Hill suggested, paling a little. “Cheerio!” said Rand, and slammed the door in Hill’s face. Hill wondered what he should do — decided to do nothing and stood waiting uneasily. He wasn’t quite sure that he hadn’t deluded himself about Rand’s intentions. Feeling somewhat foolish, he stood listening apprehensively. He heard no sound. Finally he went to the door and looked out. Captain Marsham’s door was just along the passage. It was closed. Hill looked at it uncertainly, wondering whether Rand was behind it; then came back into Rand’s sitting room, closed the door, arid paced nervously up and down. He listened, but still no sound of raised voices fell on his ears. passage. He’-went out and stood in the passage again after a moment or two; and was just deciding that Rand had probably merely gone to the bathroom and that he might just as well go down and have breakfast himself when he saw Julie Moffat coming up the stairs. He thought she looked pale, poor girl. She looked at him enquiringly.' “Good morning!” said Hill. .“Good morning, Mr Hill.” She glanced along the landing. “I heard a crash just now —I was in the office, and it seemed to be right overhead. I thought it must be in Captain Marsham’s room.” She looked towards Captain Marsham’s door. Hill’s voice was feeble with dismay: “Perhaps—er—perhaps he’s fallen out of bed!’’ he suggested, hoping he could get her to go away. “I didn’t hear anything. I don’t suppose there’s anything wrong.” “Thank you for dealing with him last night, Mr Hill.” “Oh, not at all —not at all!” said Hill, his nerves on edge with anxiety. He really must get into that room and see what Rand was up to —he felt he owed as a duty to his employer to prevent him from doing anything foolish. “I’ll—l’ll just go and see that Marsham hasn’t smashed anything in there, if that’s what you’re worrying about!” he added with forced cheerfulness, and walked along to Marsham’s door. He tried the handle. “Locked, I’m afraid!”

Julie had followed him, and he turned from the door with some motion of edging her away down the passage. “Nothing wrong in there, I don’t suppose! Better come up and look round later, when he’s up!” And then the door of Marsham’s room was wrenched open, and there stood Rand in his dressing gown, with his hair hanging over his eyes. Julie stared at him in astonishment, turned red with the memory of the previous • evening, and was still more startled when he raised his hand to push his hair back, and she saw that his knuckles were running with blood. His face wore a look of black defiance which turned tp surprise at the sight of Julie; the surprise was quickly gone, the defiance returned, but now it was a little pale and bitter. “Oh, Miss Moffat! Good morning!” “Look here, sir—” began Hill anxiously “You can come in,” said Rand, coldly, and turned away from the. door. When Julie hesitated he repeated again in a more imperative tone: “Come in!”

She went in, bewildered, wondering why he looked so wild and frightening. Hill followed her, hastily closing the door.

A small occasional table was lying in pieces in the middle of the floor, while, with his head in his hands, nursing last night’s headache, and today’s bruised jaw and blackened eye; Captain Marsham, in pyjamas and dressing gown, sat on the edge of the bed. Julie stared incredulously, only half understanding the situation. “Well? How are you feeling?” said Rand to Marsham, in an unfriendly voice. “Are you ready to apologise to Miss Moffat?”

Captain Marsham groaned, swayed, and suddenly fell off the bed. Rand looked on with the sudden face of a man refusing to admit his own sensations of shame. Hill hurried forward, and with Julie’s help, dragged Marsham back on to the bed and laid him flat; to Julie’s relief he groaned and rolled about in a manner that showed him to be sufficiently alive. With a white, set face, she went to the washbasin and squeezed out the sponge in cold water. The scene was preposterous—the whole thing unbelievable! She was even sorry for Captain Marsham. It was like Rand, like his arrogance, his brutality! She went back to the bed and began bathing the unfortunate young man’s discoloured face, hoping desperately that no one in the house but herself and Hill had heard anything of what had been going on.“He’ll be all right!” said Hill, breaking the tense silence.

Rand was standing with his back to them, looking out of the window. “It’s just like him!” thought Julie enragedly. “He never helps!” Hill propped Captain Marsham’s head up on a pillow. In a moment or two he came round again, and peered at them out of his uninjured eye. Julie did some more sponging, shrinking from the sight. of the bruises. He groaned miserably. Nobody said anything.

(To be Continued).