“WILD GRAPES”

Waikato Times, Volume 121, Issue 20261, 2 August 1937, Page 4

“WILD GRAPES”

By THEODORA WILSON-WILSON.

SERIAL SJORY.

A Charming Story with Delightful Appeal.

V CHAPTER XXV. Grasping the Nettle. Seldom had brother and sister a more embarrassing family proposition to face. They were agreed that for their father’s sake and the family name they must be loyal to their mother. It was difficult to know how to act wisely, when it was discovered that not only i the 'Corot originals had been stolen, but that the ‘-cleaned” pictures of Oliver Cromwell and Marie Antoinette were only copies. Their momer was suspicious and on the defensive, and took every business remark as a personal insult. She visited town without giving any particular reason, and neither Robert nor Paula ds.re hint at the very mildest enquiry. That she had gambling and possibly mmey-lenders’ debts which she had not disclosed, they guessed; but they loathed the idea of suspicious questioning. "And what will my income be, afteT all this?” said Marie one afternoon, after she had returned from a visit to town.

u Oh, well, mother,” said Robert, "Mr Morris is working things out to the best, but it is a lot easier to buy than to sell, and we’ll never get back anything like what has been spent on The Grange, and those pictures being copies are a blow. You’ll get a big reduction there. But we’re hoping to pay all the debts, as father would have wished, and save possibly four hundred a year from the wreck for

"Four hundred a year? You propose that I should live on four hundred a year?” "Well, you have your settlement, mother, that will help.” "My settlement was always absurd. So that's what you’re expecting!” "It’s- not a case of expecting, mother,” said Robert patiently, "but that seems about what it will work out at. There are no other debts — claims about which we are ignorant? We ought to have every trifle before us.” Robert had determined that he must ask this question, and he asked it gravely. "What do you expect there to be?”

"That doesn’t answer my question. We must know everything —everything that the estate owes. We don’t want to pay tax on debts!" and he tried to speak lightly.

"I suppose you are doing your best. Pobert,” she said, for in truth she was afraid of him. "but 1 have handed over all the tradesmen's accounts that > know of —before r go out, from your father’s house, practically penniless! I can see you don't believe me; well, I got used to that with your father.” "Mother! Oh. Mother!” and his voice took a pleading tone. "Can’t we clean up the beastly slate, whatever is on it? I-f Uncle Gordon is on you—if he needs an allowance—let us know the worst, ask no questions, and hope that one day he will return what ho borrowed from you ” "I’m completely worn out with it all,” she said with that limpness which was always at hand for a financial emergency. "You and Paula and this wonderful Mr Morris must arrange things as you like. lam certatnb not going to remain here to see The Grange wrecked. H may interest you to know that I have now parted with all my jewels—cleared up any small personal debts owing, and I propose to go abroad for a year’s complete change.” She did not wait for Robert to assent or disagree, and he sprang to open the door for her as she passed out into the garden.

Yet in spite of her bravado, Marie j was very miserable. The remem- j brances of her husband’s patience and I consideration tormented her, and she was worried over Gordon. 11c had ; been the nightmare of her married j life, and his subtle influence over her j was impossible to withstand. Sub- i consciously, she was llattered that lie leaned upon her when in trouble, and looked at her as his only friend. But now he had disappeared, with more than the shadow of crime resting upon him, and she knew that it was her sou and daughter who had prevented the inquiry which might have led to the police court and to Jail. Gordon had been guilty of taking advantage of his connection with the family, and the thought was very bitter to her. That Gordon had actually accused her to her husband, she did not know, and never would know, so far as was humanly probable. Yet she guessed that somehow and sometime, he would come down upon her again, when she was least prepared for him. Yes, she must certainly turn over the whole business of selling and clearing up the old homo to her children, and get away with some congenial companion to the South of France. Perhaps she was not quite so penniless as she had led Robert to believe. But that was her own business. Marie bad an amazing knack of tossing away worries which she did not choose to consider, and she was idly glancing over illustrated papers and advertisements of holiday resorts, when Norris entered. Norris was deeply depressed, for he had utterly loved Sir John, and the general catastrophe. hurt him intolerably as a personal ldow. The whole household, inside and out, had been given their notice, and tho old life was over

"We shouldn’t have minded leaving her,” said the cook pointedly, “ but Sir John and Mr Robert and Miss Paula were gentlefolks!” "Well, Norris, what is it?” asked Lady Hammond, as the manservant entered with doubt on his face. "There is a person wishes- to you, milady, she won’t give her name, but she says her business is important.” "Person—a woman beggingT’ snapped Lady Hammond. "I can’t say, milady. She was nicely spoken and seemed troubled. I asked if I could take a message, but she said I couldn’t.” "Well, really, Norris, I don’t think you need have troubled me,” said Lady Hammond. "Tell her that I’m not at home.” “Shall I ask her again about her business?” he suggested. Sir John was always ready to see a down-and-out. If Sir John had been "at home” this woman would not have been turned away. "No, certainly not! You’ll only draw a tale of lies.” She opened a magazine, and Norris withdrew. "Her ladyship is not at home to you, madam,” said Norris. Madeline looked as though she expected the message, and she smiled. "It doesn’t matter," she said.. "My fault for not sending in my name. Will you tell Lady Hammond that her sister-in-law, Mrs Gordon Tate, called.”

She turned away and hurried down the steps. Norris watched her as she passed along the drive, and felt completely perplexed. "The ‘lady’ did not look like a liar—but Mrs Gordon Tate I”

As in duty bound, he returned to the library. "The lady has gone,” he said in his most official voice. "She asked me to inform you, milady, that your ladyship’s sister-in-law had called —Mrs Gordon Tate.”

lie turned to leave the room, but Lady Hammond called him back.

"Norris, and you let her go?” "The lady seemed to wish to go, milady.” "Quite right,” she said, as though to herself.

Norris left the room, and again he wished that Sir John were sitting in his study, ready to lay aside his pipe at any call. But Madeline, calling herself a fool for having wasted precious money on this fool’s errand, began to feel miserably exhausted.

She had laboured for a long sleepless night over all that she intended to say to this kind, rich sister-in-law; hut at sight of the house and grounds, her heart had failed her. She had, in all her dreams, never imagined anything so overwhelming. She had become hideously conscious of her common, badly worn shoes, her secondhand clothes, her apologies for gloves. And now she had been turned away like a common beggar, and, of course, it was her own fault for not having beeu brave enough to give her name. She must get to the station somehow, but for the moment, she stepped, across some grass and leaned against a thorn tree, below which was a rich carpet of fallen pink petals. How Dolly would like to have gathered them up into her overall. "Excuse me, but can I do anything for you?”

-Madeline looked up startled, as a young girl, dressed in mourning, advanced towards her.

"Oh, no!” she answered. "I am—quite all right!” and sue staggered

"I’m so sorry. Let me give you an arm. Were you going up to tho house?”

"No, oh no! I’ve just been to the house. Her ladyship is not at home. It was silly of me to come—besides, I never gave her my name.” "I am Lady Hammond’s daughter,” said Paula gravely. "Perhaps there is something that !• can do?”

"No, no, thank you!” she answered hastily. "I am better now. I can manage to get fo the station —I have my return ticket.”

It was as though she wished to push off any offer of help, and indeed Paula was already wondering whether, she dared to offer money. She and Robert had always been recklessly generous to passing claims.

"Daddy’s money” as the twins now realised.

Paula was relieved to hear the sound of a car, which drew up with a jerk.

"Oh, Bob," and Paula rushed lip to explain. "Here is a down-and-out woman, just been turned down by Mum, but she seems ill, and obviously unequal to getting to the station. Can you spin her along?” • "But of course 1” he replied readily. He left the car and came up with Paula to make his offer. "But, you must know—that I am Mrs Gordon Tate,” she faltered. "That’s why I came.” The twins looked at one another in sheer amazement. "1 married Gordon Tate about seven years ago. Then I left him —I ran away—one dreadful night, I was afraid —not so much for myself as for iny little girl—my Dolly.” You have a “ child?” broke in Paula. "Oh, yes. I- have kept her with me ever since I ran away. I tracked my husband a Utile while ago, and—” she gave an unnatural laugh," lie gave me two pounds. I hated it, but I took it because I was desperate. Then I read in the paper that Lady Hammond is my husband’s sister. lie had never told me, and I thought that as she was a titlecT ffidy, and rich, perfcdie broke off, and made an effort to leave them. "And where do you live?” asked Paula. "it’s round by Westminster way. But never mind where l live. Where 1 live would bo hell—to—to such as you 1” "Nonsense!” said Robert. "Look here, I’ll drive you through to Westminster I” "Good!" exclaimed Paula. "I should like to see the little girl.” Robert had a method in his suggestion. This woman's claim was serious. It would be better to verify it without delay. They must not lose sight cf a woman who had told them such a wild story. That the two young people doubted her, did not strike Madeline, which proved her no professional beggar; hut how could she allow them to see the degradation of poverty to which she had fallen? Perhaps a twinge of I ,tf*i influenced her—perhaps the thought of what her surrender might mean to Dolly brought her to agree with this proposal. , '• q XTa Bfl fiosUnuetlLf ..