“AN EVIL ANGEL”

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20501, 18 May 1938, Page 4

“AN EVIL ANGEL”

An Exciting Mystery Story.

(By JOHN MIDDLEMASS.)

CHAPTER XIII.

Talking It Over

“It is all at an end, and now I am going to enjoy myself.” “I am sure you deserve a little enjoyment, the arrangements, the stage management were perfect. When I have theatricals, I do hope you will be my—” ‘ Don't,” he cried interrupting—‘Don’t have theatricals, dear Lady Bertrand, I would do anything for you, and of course, 1 would come and help you, but take warning—don't—” ‘‘What do you mean?” and she laughed. They were sitting together in intimate and confidential chat in one of the nooks for which the Grange was renowned. They were not flirts, merely pals, and after this work was over, it was restful to Gervase A'Court to get away from the glare of many lights—the clatter of the supper-room, into a cosy corner, where they would neither be seen or overheard, with his childhood's friend Julia, Lady Bertrand- " Because they are a delusion and a snare.” “I thought they were a pleasure and a joy. Expound, Gervase, expound —What lies beneath the surface. “Heart-burning, misery and jealous anger.” “Mercy, what a catalogue of horrors. Who is jejalous of whom? I am sure the Comtesse is desperately in love with that fascinating Captain Morley, and he—” “That’s just it. He—but you must know the story.” “Gervase ( you are too much given to ‘stories’—don't invent or think of one in this instance—just let them love each other—lie has a fortune, she is not a pauper—a marriage would be —” “Misery,” he suggested. "Morley does not care a rap for the Comtesse. He is only acting, and that little girl Is eating her heart out.” “What —Marie Cooper—Oh, I remember her name was once coupled with Captain Morley’s —but she was going to carry poor Lord Vesey.” “She was in love with Morley all the time.” prors.diS qidhyien awflltda rl :adamLy "Then she is a flirt and a jilt. 1 should have no sympathy with her, if I were you.” "What did you think of the scene Detween Morley and the Comtesse?” he asked. “1 thought it was magnificent—the passion and verve were too intense to be feigned.” “Yet I feel certain Morley is not a happy man, nor is Browne nor Jacob.” ‘My dear Gervase, you must be tired. * o go tc bed, and sleep away these vapours.” "No, Lady Bertrand, I am not abnormally tired—not so tired but that I can repeat over and over again, do not dream of getting up theatricals rnd bringing together a scratch pa*-k cf wild struggling feelings, that no one can by any possibility tame-’ Lady Bertrand looked at him in astonishment. "I wish I understood what this means,” she said. "Perhaps I might do something to help. 1 am rather good at patching up lovers’ quarrels.” "I do not myself thoroughly understand the cause of all this trouble. I can only foretell the terrible storm that is brewing.” "You have taken a leaf out of Mrs Cooper's book eh? Look at her over there. She stalks about as if she were the personification of doom.” "Mrs Cooper is not always so very far wrong in her prophecies—though omens are a bit of a nuisance—some people can foretell without any visible sign. In tihs instance, however, I wish they were not quite so visible.” "Let us go and walk around, and sec what all the various actors in this real society-drama are doing. I may then perhaps be able to judge for myself, whether your fears and prophecies have any woundation,” said the lady, who was rather incredulous. Julia, Lady Bertrand, was a really good hearted reliable widow, who lived about three miles from the Grange. Sir George Bertrand had left her sole guardian to two little boys,

and she had forthwith given it out that shell ad no intention of marrying though sometimes A’Court hoped that the day would come, when he might prevail on her to do so. Meantimes there was no love-making between them, nothing but the most boncst comradeship. He got up as she suggested, and they emerged from the nood, where A Court would have been perfectly contented to stay, into the light and lile and glamour of a somewhat over-

crowded salon, where chatter and laughter and repartee were usurping full sway. ]f there were misery and trouble boating in the upper air, as A'Court suspected, it was not apparent on the seemingly unruffled surface.

To reach this gay and festive hall of seeming delight the two friends hkd to cross a corridor, there, by the open door of one of the side rooms In which the old house abounded, someone was standing alone, as though out of touch with the throng. "That is Miss Lane, who played the femme de menage so successfully,” said Lady Bertrand. "Who is she?” “The Comtesse's maid.” “No! What an anomaly—quite unusual-”

“As I have before told you. There are many unusual things happening in this house, and the part that Miss Emma Lane will play in future developments is by no means insignificant.” “There never yet was a house-play without a soubrette, this one is rather old for the part,” said Lady Bertrand laughing. "Not got a love affair on her own account, has she?”

"Oh no, but there is an understanding between her and Browne, or I am much mistaken, and I fancy Miss Fonblanque knows something about it."

"I suspect you will worrit out a good deal more than really exists, by dear Gervase.”

Lady Bertrand was still incredulous. Some belief in her companion dawned, however, before they had quitted the crowded room, into which they now wedged their way.

In the embrasure of the large window among palms and towering Eastern perfume laden plants were sitting PliiJip Morley and Comtesse Feodore —or rather the lady was half reclining on a crimson divan in a truly luxurious Oriental manner. The love making that was going on off the stage was by no means less passiinatelv demonstrative, than that which on the stage' had for the most part been loudly applauded, if among the audience a few prudes had been scrupulous enough to disapprove of quite such an exhibition of feeling. That they were now still en evidence of the wholes ociety, did not seem jto trouble them, nay rather, it appealed as if they both wished to court attention and publicity. Lady Bertrand was not an objectionable prude, but she turned away some'what shocked, and sorry that her hostess should be so careless of the exigencies of good society—inexplicable too was her behaviour was, since till to-night she had posed for a cold, decorous, unrespnosive -woman. As they passed on they both turned their eyes towards Marie Cooper, who, clad in simple white, without ornament or fallal, looked the sweetest and simplest of unsophisticated English maids, her simplicity being accentuated by contrast. If the love making between Philip Morley and the Comtesse troubled her, she did not ‘wear her heart on her sleeve,’ but was chatting -gaily with a quite elderly couple as though she had not a thought in life beyond making herself agreeable* She turned her head and smiled to Gervase A'Court as he passed, then held out her hand to Lady Bertrand, with whom she was only slightly acquainted.

A few pretty speeches passed between them—there was no outward and visible sign of disturbance, nevertheless Lady Bertrand’s grip on Gervasc A'Court’s arm was tightened as they passed on in the throng. She did not dare give utterance to her thoughts, lest she should he overheard, but she wished him to understand that she too had sympathy with the girl, she had so recently denounced as a ilirt and a jilt. They threaded their way through the maze of people,—some of whom were on the move —to an open door, by which they could reach the large hall, which was nearly as packed with humanity as the salon. Just outside this door Jacob Northey, now Earl of Vesey, was standing talking earnestly to Nina Fonblanque—his face was irradiate with hope, strong feeling was in every line—hers was cold, impassive, stoney, as though some deep and hidden emotion dare not be let loose, while the blue white lips were uttering an occasional almost inarticulate protest. Lady Bertrand, who had come in quest of knowledge, took in the situation at a glance.

"J’ai passe par la,” she murmured to herself, as she almost seemed to feel the agony she knew full well that Nina was suffering.

A glance beyond directed by a gesture from A'Court showed Hamilton Browne leaning immovable against a pillar, his arms crossed, the same marble-hewn look on liis face, as was expressed on Nina’s, while from a door on tiie opposite side, which she had reached by one of the circuitous routes in which the Grange abounded, stood Emma Lane, talking to a youngster, who had .played a minor part in the play. The loitering of this, amphibious woman among the assembled crowd of country fashionables, was so totally out of perspective as to he thoroughly unpleasant. •Will vou End someone to get my carriage,” said Lady Bertrand to the escorting A'Court, "I want to get home- 1 have had enough. Perhaps you could come over to-morrow to luncheon, and—” ‘"Thanks awfully, but I must go off to my otVice by an early train. May I run down on Saturday for an hour or two?” "Do come for the week-end. The Glaishers will be staying with me—my buys are always glad to have a romp with you.” "Sii he it, dear Lady Bertrand.” This acceptance of her invitation | was, however, unheard, for at t lie ! moment ol' its utterance there came a ! sudden crash, that made women turn I pale and even strong men start in I terror. ! What was it—an earthquake, or had 1 the building suddenly collapsed? the : whole place seemed to shake, and for a • second or two no one even moved, ; then came some piercing screams, a i sudden Hash, followed by comparative l darkness. (To be continued)