"CHRISTABEL"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 13 July 1939, Page 12

"CHRISTABEL"

Published by Special Arrangement.

Copyright.

By

PEARL BELLAIRS.

(Author of “Velvet and Steel,” “The Prisoner’s Sister,” etc.)

CHAPTER XXII. (Continued'). “I managed to put them into the fire while I was burning some rubbish! Ridiculous of me! No. really its nothing—they only sting a little!" "You must have them dressed by a doctor! They look most painful. What a foolish child to put those lovely lingers into the lire!" Rubbish! An odd description of Hewitson's manuscript! Mention of the matter send a thrill of agony through hc-r from her head to her feet. When she had recovered from that, he was plunged in doubt about her own honesty; whether she was obliged to tell Cavanagh, whether in the circumstances it would be right for her to give him all her confidence. It was impossible. Her eyes pricked with pain, a shade of despair seemed to fall on the grandiloquence of the restaurant. But Cavanagh, who was talking about travel, and where they should go, did not notice it, and by the time he was ready for a reply. Christabel had recovered her calm. They went up to the sitting room of his suite, and sat there until ten p.m. while Cavanagh planned their future. His private secretary brought piles of travel booklets and literature. They were spread out before Christabel, the future glowed into brighter and brighter colours .as Cavanagh talked, telling her of places that he had been to that would be charming to go to again. Then the talk turned to marriage settlements, and lastly to themselves—how much he loved her, how exquisitely happy ne was! Christabel shook her head, and clung to his hand almost weeping in a sudden rush of feeling. “Only take me away, make me forget! Let me try to make you happy!” She found she was ready enough to put her head on his shoulder with the impulse to cry there; but she stifled that and turned to him a happy face, and eyes only made more poignantly brilliant by the repression of pain. “Make me forget!’’ It was a cry from the heart, and Cavanagh had no reason to doubt that it was life—their life together that she desired, not merely the rest that he offered, when they parted at ten o’clock. They arranged to meet for luncheon on the following day. “When will you leave the clinic?” Cavanagh asked. "Tomorrow, if I can find someone to take my place!" Christabel replied, turning pale at the thought. She could never stay over Thursday when Hewitson would be there. Cavanagh’s car took her back to the Haifa Road, through the silent, deserted city, and along the Commercial road, emptyuf its usual traffic from the docks. i It was when she arrived home that she began to suffer the deferred torment of thought about the scene that afternoon in Hewitson’s flat. She leaned on the sill of her open window, every nerve in her body aching, and stared out at the moonlit backs of little slate roofed houses, and brick walled yards where Monday’s washing had been hung out to dry in the night, now that the rain had gone. But however squalid the dull slum streets, the sky was resplendant over them, the moon shone full and filled the lieavens with liquid light. It seemed a night made for happiness. All the more tormenting to Christabel because her soul felt too bruised and battered to vise above its cares. CHAPTER XXIII. Soon after eight o'clock her landlady awakened Christabel with a cup of tea. of her blackest make. Christabel crawled out of bed. with a sharp feeling under the lids of her eyes as though sand was strewn there, and went to have a hot bath. While she waited for the geyser to fill the bath she stared out of the little square window at the slate roofs, more squalid than ever in the sunshine, and tried to believe that she would be on her way to America with Cavanagh in the following week —for they had decided on the Rocky Mountains in the end. Until then, she decided she had better find a boarding house on the other side of London, and move to it at once.

The hot bath ret'reshed her a lot. though she dare not put her burned fingers in the water. She had poured olive oil on them and swathed them in a handkerchief overnight, intending to get some picric acid from the chemist in the morning. When the landlady came up with her breakfast tray, Christabel told her that she would have to leave on the coming Thursday morning at (he latest, and might leave before. ‘ I'll give you the week's rent as I haven't given you longer notice," Christabel said. "I'm going to be married next Monday, and I’ll have to stay in town so that 1 van do some shopping." "Oh. dear! So sudden and all!” said the woman. "Well 1 never! And will you bo giving up your nursing, too? Dear, oh dear —well, we shall miss you!” And away siie went downstairs. It was too early for Christabel to go to the clinic to tell Mortimer that she wanted to leave, and could he find someone Io take her place, for he did not Come to the clinic until elevon o'clock. So, still in her pyjamas and an Indian red silk wrap, Christabel began to turn some of the articles out of her drawers with the idea of sorting out a few things that would be of any use at all to the wife of Arthur Cavanagh; she had some twenty pounds which her mother had given her, in the savings bank, and she intended Io buy i just the very few things necessary on the voyage to New York, and provide herself with a proper wardrobe when she got there. As soon us she was married she would be able to avail

herself of some of the allowance he said he would give her in order to make herself fit to go about with him. She thought about this with the interest which it would arouse in any normal woman: but her stormy feelings of last night were still there, she knew they were still there, sunk into latency. She would not allow them to rise. She thought of the future, with agonised concentration. At about half-past ten, the voice of the landlady was heard in the hall below; she was stout, and she didn’t, like climbing stairs to tap on people's doors. Christabel opened nor door. "Yes, Mrs Creedy?” "There’s a gentleman to see you. Miss!" Mrs Creedy stood at the bottom of the stairs wiping her hands on her apron; from the hush in her voice one could guess that the gentleman had made an impression. "Who is it?” Christabel was surprised—who could have found her here? She thought of Cavanagh . . but did he not know any address but. that of the clinic. "Well, it’s a gentleman, miss!" Mrs Creedy. in fact, thought that it was the one Christabel was going to marry. "I can’t ask him into the parlour because all the mats is up and I just done the floor and it’s swimming!” “Well, send him up and I’ll speak to him on the landing.” In view of the fact that Christabel was leaving so soon, Mrs Creedy was willing to waive the conventions in letting a man into the upper part of her house. She turned, away to the front door, and Christabel drew back into her room, to close her wrap across her throat and pat her hair straight. A step sounded on the landing. Christabel went to her door, and stopped, frozen, holding it half open. "Well?” said Hewitson. For a moment Christabel could not speak; she fenced with the serious gaze of his eyes, which had shadows under them, as though he had not slept. "1 didn’t know you knew my address ” “I went to the clinic and found out from the charwoman.” "Why ?” "I want to talk to you. Let me in, will you?” Christabel, still stood blocking her doorway, painful, hesitation in her face. "We can’t talk like this!” he said ccaxingly. “Come along—don’t be foolish!” She fell back before his determination, in fact, he was in the room before 4ho could stop him. He shut the door behind him. She retreated to the window, and stood there staring at him apprehensively, the glitter of fear in her eyes. "What do you want?”

‘Just to say one or two things. You did all the talking yesterday. But there’s more to be said —on my side, particularly.” She drew an uneasy breath, and looked as though she did not want to hear him. The mere sight of him so Tear to her, there in her own room, made her nerves quiver and her heart throb. Hewitson, meanwhile, was aware of the faint perfume of femininity in the room; despite himself his eye followed the lovely lines of her figure', closely wrapped in the red silk. He camo forward into the room. "May I smoke?” At the inclination of her head, he took out his case and lighted a cigarette. Christabel sick in anticipation of some sort of battle with him. had time to wonder what Mrs Creedy would think downstairs. Hewitson. however, having something to say, would have regarded a consideration of that sort as merely stupid. He began at once, frowning, contracting his brows choosing his words carefully as though his conclusions had been arrived at after too much painful brooding. 'Tve been—naturally—feeling pretty wretched since yesterday! You’ve -aken the best revenge . you could Christabel —I deserve it. But what •an one do? "The moving finger writes. and having writ !’ In Illis ease t's written very deeply. You may stiU be yotmg. beautiful, perfectly healthy, in spite of it. But as you say yourself. you aren't the person who went to prison three years ago. It would be stupid of me to offer condolences, say how sorry I am—!” he broke off, and his cigarette glowed and sparked with his shaky intake of breath. He looked down at her little satin-lined work basket on the table, and said finally: "But you must know —you might be able to imagine how I feel!" Christabel gazed at his suffering face and said nothing. "As regards what 1 did—as 1 look at it now. 1 suppose 1 was instrumental in getting you your conviction. I remember the case very well. I found a few notes on it. that 1 still have, and I looked them up in the early hours of mis morning. Really, you wore convicted on the strength of the letter you wrote to Goring asking for forty pounds with which to pay that bill, you were found guilty because the interpretation that I put on that letter, and on your character generally, was more convincing io the jury than the interpretation pul forward by Ross Barnes. His may have been true —you think it was true, and bitter as it is to me. I now believe that it was true. But I didn’t at the time. However, the fact that 1 was too clever in persuading the jury, didn’t get you throe years. They brought in a verdict of guilty, but judges, you know, aren't usually swayed by ecunsel as a jury is! Tolrncr was notorious for his harsh sentences--why, 1. wonder, did you ! blame me so much more than hirn?”

(To be Continued.)