The Troubled Journey

Waikato Times, Volume 119, Issue 19889, 19 May 1936, Page 4

The Troubled Journey

SERIAL STORY

SYNOPSIS. Joan Martin cannot “get on” wltn Janet, her stepmother. The other Martin children, Felicity and Jimmy, reel the same, hut it is easier for them, as Felicity is married and living in London, and Jimmy is away at school. At last Joan revolts, and goes to live with Felicity. She attends a private commercial school owned by Derek Graham, a young widower, and later is successful in obtaining a post as secretary to Geoffrey Matthews, head or the vast commercial enterprise of Matthews and Wyatt. Meanwhile, avarice has bitten very deeply into Janet Martin’s mind. She hates her stepchildren, and plans to hurt them in every way she can. Felicity’s husband goes abroad to supervise an engineering Job, and Felicity accompanies him. After seeing them oil at Southampton, Joan is surprised to nnd Derek Graham waiting to run back to London. CHAPTER VIII.— (Continued.) Joan, watching her friend curiously saw the oolour whioh flooded Dorothy’s face and neck. “ That’s —that’s petrol,” muttered Dorothy. That’s what your car wants to make It go,” said the young man. “ You’ve no gas.” He winked cheerfully at Joan, who was inwardly delighted at the way in which he had scored against Dorothy, whose “ We’ve done that, several times,” had been asking for trouble. But their rescuer was satisfied with his mild triumph. “It often happens,” he said, “and no one ever thinks to look at the petrol tank of their own car. Are you going far?” “ Glenham,” said Dorothy. “ Five miles,’ said the young man. “ There’s a couple of gallons in that tin which you can have, with pleasure, so you’ll be all right. Five minutes later they waved to him as he started off in his car. Both of them looked at each other and smiled. “ We were lucky,” confessed Dorothy, 44 but I've never felt such an Idiot in my life.” “ You deserved all you got.” said Joan, " but I won’t rub it in.” Twenty minutes later they turned up a little lane leading to half a dozen cottages which looked delightful against the background of the Sussex Downs. Dorothy directed Joan to pull up outside the third cottage. As the car stopped, an apple-cheeked woman looked up from her seat by the door of the cottage, and a little hoy—between three and four, Joan guessed, started to run towards the gate. Joan looked at Dorothy, and was astonished by the expression in her friend’s eyes. She had only seen a similar expression once before—in Felicity’s. Suddenly she understood. Dorothy realised it, and smiled. “ It’s mine,” she said, and her voice throbbed with pride. 44 My baby, Joan —and my mother.” CHAPTER IX. Dorothy told her story, a little later in the day. It was very simple, very straightforward. She had been married only four months when her husband had been killed in a road accident. The child— Bob —had come along, and the expense of his arrival had used up the insurance money. “ So I had to find another job,” said Dorothy, " and the Matthews and Wyatt one seemed the best. I’ve done some painting as you know, to earn a little extra. Both Mum and Bob are dependent on me.” She said it without any suggestion of heroics. Joan felt that any expression of sympathy would be ont of place, but her heart warmed towards Dorothy, who spent her life In London, working so that these two precious people should be well cared for. “ I haven’t told anyone about it at the office,” Dorothy went on, “ and I didn’t feel I could tell you. So I thought I’d show you.”

Joan nodded. She could understand that the pain of Dorothy’s loss was too severe to be talked about. In her own mind she marvelled at the similarity of the circumstances which surrounded her -two best friends— Derek and Dorothy. But if there was any unhappiness in Dorothy’s heart, she hid it well, that week-end.

The four of them enjoyed themselves to the uttermost.

Mrs Sayers—Dorothy had used her maiden name for business purposes—was a oharming personality, rich in the folk lore of the countryside. She kept both Joan and her daughter enthralled by her stories. And when Bob was awake, he kept them fully occupied with his pranks, and his obvious delight at seeing his mother again. “I’ve tried several times to get work nearer home,” said Dorothy, ‘‘but the money isn’t good enough, even when there is a Job available. One day I’m hoping to save enough to live without worrying for a year or two, and then I'll devote all my time to painting.” Joan nodded, thoughtfully, and asked:

"Will your new job help you, like that?”

Dorothy smiled, rather enigmatically. ’ Yes, I think so,” she said, “but I won’t be getting quite so much money.”

Joan could not make head nor tale of that, although she was to understand Dorothy’s attitude, very soon When she did realise what her friend was driving at, she could have kicked herself for not seeing the obvious. But her experience, in commerce especially, was slight, and she could not be blamed for missing it. The week-end went all too quickly. Joan hardly knew why, but she felt that she was sitling on the edge of a volanco. it seemed almost as if a storm would break, soon, and swamp her. She was completely at a loss to understand this, allhough she told herself that Dorothy’s manner had unsettled her. Certainly she was grieved to feel that I lie other women would not be at the office much longer. “I’ll be working at Ludgate Circus,” said Dorothy, ns they went homewards on the Sunday evening—making sure, lids time, that they had ample petrol to get them lo their journey’s end. “We can si ill lunch together, and you ran come round to my flat.” On I lie Journey, Joan learned a great deal more, about Dorothy Sayers. II had occurred to her, after she had realised the circumstances in which Dorothy lived, that the little threei ‘•onii'd flat which I lie taller rented in Chelsea was an expensive item. She discovered, however, that on' three nights of the week. Dorothy gave drawing and painting lessons to beginners. Here again, thought Joan, there was a similarity between Derek’s life and Dorothy’s. Derek was waiting at the Gregorys’ house wheu lliev arrived qi Wimbiedoa*

By MARGARET GLENN.

For an hour all three of them chattered idly. Derek seemed a little tired, Joan thought. He had been working too hard, and he would not take a holiday. She told herself that she would have to try and persuade him to have at least a long week-end at some seaside resort before the summer was too far advanced. The following day seemed long and wearisome. For the first time sinee she had worked in London, Joan’s job worried and somehow irritated h'er. To make matters worse, Geoffrey Matthews was bad-tempered. Several times he snapped at her without apparent cause. Everything seemed to go wrong. Towards five o’dock, when she was longing for the time to come when she could tidy her desk and get away from the office for the day, the telephone bell rang. The familiar voice of Ralph Matthews came over the wire. V I’d like to talk to my father, if you please,” he said, and Joan thought that he sounded unusually serious. She put the call through to her employer, and was surprised within half a minute to hear his bell ring. She picked up her pad and pencil and went into his office. He was talking into the telephone. “ Yes, yes, I’ve got that. Just a minute.” He looked up at Joan. “ Take this down as I take it over the telephone, please, Miss Martin.” 4 Joan sat down quickly, and started to write. For the first few minutes she thought of nothing but the dictation. It was complicated, and it contained a mass of figures. She would have a nasty job to start the morning with, she thought, as the dictation grew longer, and the mass of figures worse. But after five minutes, she began to wonder at this method of taking down her notes. Matthews frequently called her in, as he had done on this occasion, but it was rare that he spoke for so long. Twice, during pauses, she glanced at the small clock on Matthews’ desk. She had been writing as hard as she could go for twenty minutes and her fingers were feeling stiff with cramp, when the man said finally: “ That’s all, is it? All right, Ralph. What time will you be in ” “ About half-past eight,” said Ralph , Matthews, at the other end of the wire. Geoffrey repeated the sentence, and added: ” All right, I’ll get them ready.” He replaced the receiver, and then looked, half apologetically, at Joan. ‘‘l’m afraid you're going to be thoroughly bored, Miss Martin. I’m anxious to get that stuff typed tonight.” Joan managed not to show her disappointment. She knew that Matthews was a good employer; it was rare that she was required to work after hours. So she smiled: “ That’ll be all right,” she assured him. “Thanks,” said Matthews. He seemed relieved, more relieved than he should have done, in the circumstances. Then-: “ But you 'can’t do them here,” he said. “ You’ll have to refer to me, continually. Bring your portable machine over to my house, will you?” Joan nodded as she gathered up her papers. She had frequently taken messages to Matthews’ house, in Regent’s Park, and she had been impressed by the size and magnifleenoe of the place. It reminded her of the Danchester house, only it was three or four times as large. It would be a relief, anyhow, not to be compelled to stay in the office until eight o’clook —for the typing would take her over two hours, she realised.

Her employer seemed to pull himself together suddenly. “ Get everything you want ready,” he said, 44 and telephone to the house for Roberts to come over. That will save time.”

Roberts was his chauffeur, Joan

Just half an hour later, she was sitting at a desk in Geoffrey Matthews’ huge study, with the necessary papers in front of her, and her machine open and ready for use. She had actually inserted the first sheet of paper when the door opened quickly and a man hurried into the room.

She heard him speak before she saw his face.

4 ‘ I tell you it’s impossible—absolutely impossible.” A second voice followed quickly, a smooth, suave voice.

44 Nothing is Impossible, Mr Matthews. And this matter is one of considerable importance, as I’m sure you know.” There was something unpleasant, almost threatening, in that second voice.

Joan, too startled In that first moment to betray her presence, saw the two men with almost startling clarity. The first man was young, no more than thirty; she knew instinctively that it was Ralph, her employer’s son. At that moment his features were twisted in something whioh might have been rage, or might have been fear. The second man barely reached Ralph Matthews’ shoulder. He was short, stout and greasy, but he was dressed well, and he looked prosperous. 44 Look here —” began Ralph again. Joan stood up, before he could continue. ” Can I help you?" she asked. It was a senseless thing to say, but they were the first words whioh entered her head, and they served at least to warn the others of her presence. The effect on them was ludicrous. Ralph Matthews stopped short, swung round and stared at her, openmouthed. The short man’s face seemed to drop into a mask-like immobility. He stared at her, too, and there was something unpleasant in his regard. “ You have friends,” lie murmured, 44 I’d no Idea anyone was here,” said Matthews, recovering himself and regarding Joan curiously. 4 ‘ Mr Geoffrey Mai!hews sent me,” explained Joan, quickly. Ralph nodded, lie seemed to have lost every vestige of the anger or fear, which had consumed him a few minutes before, lie smiled quickly, and said: 44 Of course—that extra work. You’re Miss Martin, I suppose?” Joan nodded. She told herself that she liked Ralph Matthews’ smile. lie turned towards his companion, and said quickly: 44 NVe’ll discuss this in my room, The short man shrugged his shoulders, as if lie was in no way ifiterested In the discussion or the place of it. As the door closed be.hind the two men. Joan had an im- , preseigu that RalpliLft jftonipunion was.