LAWLESS ISLAND

Waikato Times, Volume 124, Issue 20743, 1 March 1939, Page 11

LAWLESS ISLAND

By EMILY HEATON

NEW SERIAL STORY.

An Irresistible Love Story

CHAPTER I. (Continued) “Will you please give my little girl a drink of water,” requested Mr Shouksmith. “She is very thirsty, and tired. I fear our long walk has taxed her strength too much.” “Certainly I will,” answered Teresa briskly, hastening to seek a tumbler. A drop of milk might be better than water, don't you think?” “I’ve no doubt but that it will,” agreed the minister. “If ycru are sure you can spare it —it is very kind of you.” “Don’t mention H. I have more than I need.” And Teresa filled the tumbler, handing it to the child with a friendly smile. "Thank the kind lady, Richmal," adjured her father, beaming through his horn-rimmed glasses. “Thank you,” whispered Richmal, her s-hy swift glance including both Miss Chubbs and Ricks. The dog acknowledged her thanks by a tail wag, and the woman by a hearty, “You're welcome.” adding a reassuring, “Don’t be frightened of my little dog, he won't hurt you.” Richmal bravely stretched out a hand and bestowed a timid, rapid pat, then took refuge behind her father. Not deigning to follow, Ricks yawned indifferently, and flopped down, almost flat, for a happy snooze. “Now, we’ll be getting along on our iy back again,” decided the minister, ■aching for his daughter’s hand in adiness. With a compassionate glance at the .ile face of the child, Teresa ex- • limed: “Hadn’t you better come inside and down for a few minutes? The rest ill do your little girl a world of *>od.” Thank you for your invitation; we II do as you suggest,” responded • i ■■ Shouksmith. Miss -Chubbs led the way into her Ding room, which faced the kitchen in *he small lobby, the stairs between.

She felt proud that the minister should accept the proffered hospitality, for in that part of the world the minister took rank with the doctor, being considered a cut above the ordinary villager. She vigorously shook the cushion in the easy chair, and removed a gaily coloured hassock from the fireside, placing it close by the chair for the use of Richmal. This done, she seated herself in the window corner —the countrywoman’s instinctive habit —for it commanded a view of the road. The sitting room at Whinny Knowle was like most little used portions of an old country house—chilly, even on the hottest day. Probably the stone floor was in part responsible. An airless, shut-up feeling clung around, and the staring portraits on the wall appeared to be saying: “We live here alone, you are disturbing us.” One pair in oils—of the species subscribed for weekly at the instigation of a door-to-door canvasser—a blurred mass of crude colours, which might well have been a house painter's remnants, the lace collarette round the neck of the stout, female, and the red spotted plaice-like vest of the man, stood out grotesquely from the mass; whilst two pairs of beady eyes stared with a hard, lifeless fTxidity. Another picture in water colours was easy to recognise as pertaining to an earlier Teresa Chubbs. The thick plaits of hair, nondescript in colour, and the harsh contours of brow and chin, were all there; the wonder was that any breathing creature could so triumphantly obliterate all trace of expression from its physiognomy. “A pleasant room, this.” commented Mr Shouksmith, as he seated himself. This desire to be agreeable was appreciated. Teresa beamed. “The room is all right—so is the house, for that matter.” she agreed. “But it's very lonely here. 1 sometimes wish it was nearer Yeolm.”

“Ah! If that had been so, we might see you sometimes at Ribblesbank,” remarked the minister slyly, always ready to put in a word for his idd—the chapel. “I don’t say it wouldn't be so,” replied Teresa cautiously. “Though I’m a Wesleyan myself, I attend Nether Hill Methodist Church regularly, in fine weather. But I am not prejudiced, not at all. My father was a Baptist.” She indicated the plaice-vested oil painting by a glance in that direction. The minister gazed at the straggly bearded, characterless visage on the wall with interest. “Indeed! Then you are of the elect.” The rallying tone contained an underlying conviction #f the sure election of the Baptist—a tone Teresa resented. “My father was a Baptist,” she retorted, "but my mother soon convinced him of his error.” Mr Shouksmith was spared the necessity of retaliation by a sound which impelled Miss Chubbs to the doorway. "There’s a motor cycle coming, and my chickens are on the road,” she shouted as she ran to the rescue—too late 1 The flying death came speeding along, scattering the wandering-at-will brood in all directions. With screeches and clucks of alarm they flew, leaving one poor draggled heap of leathers behind. The cyclist dismounted with a hasty curse. "I’ve killed one of your damned chickens,” he bellowed, hoarse with rage. “You should keep them penned up. They've no business to be wandering about on the road. Here you are!” Viciously flinging a coin, as one might aim a stone, in Teresa’s direction, he leaped astride his machine, and was again off like the wind. Miss Chubbs spitefully kicked the half-crown—though marking where it rolled—and turned to the horrified minister, who had followed her to the door. “Yond is a wicked man!” she exclaimed indignantly. ‘■Something'll happen to him some of these days, and the sooner the better for everybody.” “Was it Gavin Burn?” inquired Mr Shouksmith. “I didn't see his face clearly.” “You're right—it was. Been off on some bad errand, I've no doubt.

He’s the curse of the whole neighbourhood.” “He is, indeed—l agree with you there. His influence holds up the work of God’s servants. To have such as he sole landlord of the countryside, with Jabez Oram, his agent, as evil as himself, works untold harm upon the tenants.” “I hope this new doctor will be able to alter things a bit,’- said Teresa. “New doctor?” repeated the minister, all interest. “Are we likely to get a new doctor?” “Yes! Haven’t you heard Dr. Argent is going to retire?” “I remember hearing something about it, but I didn’t expect it would be soon.” “Ob, yes. It has been all settled. I have the letter here.” And Teresa proudly produced the letter from her apron pocket. The minister scanned it over. “This is news,” he exclaimed. “And a lady doctor, too. God grant she may be energetic and fearless, then we shall see a change presently. I must be getting back home, now. Where is my little girl?” Richmal was found immovable on the hassock, doubtful as to whether the guarding Ricks was friend or foe. The village of Yeolm hides itself in a deep valley, all save the railway station, which is perched on top of its tallest hill; the said railway station also serves the neighoouring ham lets of Ribblesbank and Nether Hill. This strange corner of England’s largest county is almost unknown by reason of its inaccessible position; the sparsely populated villages buried in its dales are separated from the world and each other by frowning guardians, immovable, unsleeping. Being the end of a single line, each train in its chug-chugging toil up the steep, deposits ils load with a triumphant awareness of its importance as an excitement breeder for the ! countryside. When Dr. Hildegard Aslin alighted from the train, she stood and gazed. Irregular outline of lowering hills on every side, some heather clad, some tree crowned, but for the most part rising from the grassy slopes whereon sheep browsed, and terminating in in- ! glorious bald heads. No sign of [ habitation could be seen, not even I the chimney tups. ; Dr. A.-im turned to the ticket col--1 lector who had lingered as though j anticipating Die pleasure of answering [ an inquiry.

“I>o you know ta what part of the village a Miss Agnes Stang lives?” “Is her house called Hollyhock Cottage, do you know?” “Yes, I believe is the name,” answered Dr. Aslin. “It isn’t just in Yeolm. You go through the village, and it's at the bend where the lane turns up towards Nether Hill. You can’t get. wrong—the house stands by itself, with & garden round it.” “Thank you. Perhaps you can arrange to send my luggage, also my bicycle, as there seems to he no one else at hand. Please attend to them in good time.” “You shall have the lot to-day, even if I have to bring them myself,” promised the collector fervently. Gerda half smiled as she started the descent of the hill. “The excitement of meeting a stranger doesn’t often come this way,” she thought. “How lacking must existence be in these parts when that is the case.” Further reflection was curtailed by the extreme difficulty of negotiating the rough track. Slipping and sliding Gerda reached the foot at last, and the turning of the corner disclosed the village. It consisted o-f a double row of cottages, the usual green, with its duck pond in the centre, and several houses and farms scattered on the outskirts. Gerda took the right side of the green, but upon reaching the top she paused, uncertain which way to turn, as the road branched at that juncture. She had noted with secret amusement several peering eyes as she passed the various windows, and was not surprised when a figure appeared at an open door, as if in answer to her desire for information. “Perhaps you can direct me to Hollyhock Cottage?” Gerda inquired pleasantly. The professional manner, or maybe the destination of the stranger, solved some puzzling question for the woman, and that topic being uppermost, she allowed the inquiry to pass unheeded. “! did hear i’new doctor was coining to-day,” she said. “Happen you might be her? it'll feel queer for us lo have a woman at t’bedside when we re poorly, for we’ve been used to Dr. Argent "all vver lives.” The inquisitive eyes looking the girl over were not unfriendly. Then, remembering her manners, she added: •■mil y.»ii asked me t’way to Miss String's, ifdn'l you? Just turn this way ami go slroDht on to yond corner as far as you can see, and you're

Thanking the woman, Gerda took the direction indicated, thinking that very soon these people would judge her on her merits, and vowed anew to strive her uttermost to prove herself worthy in this her first place. It was with a leeling of intense interest that she neared Hollyhock Cottage, and rejoiced at sight of its pleasant situation. The garden surrounding was tangled, a riot of colour and scent. All the old-fashioned country flowers were there, growing in a harmony of their own. The small paned windows were open, their chintz curtains flapping in the breeze. “Come in, do. I been expecting you for quite a while,” was the greeting from the tall, sweetlaced woman who answered the resounding knock made by the antique bronze gargoyle knocker on the door. She ushered Gerda Into a room which she loved at sight. "This is your own room," she announced, “and when you have 6een your bedroom, you must come In here and have a cup of tea before doing anything else, as I’ju sure you will need iL”

Over the tea the two became better acquainted, and it was with a deeply thankful feeling that Gerda discovered she was going to love her landlady. Agnes Stang had passed middle age, the decayed gentlewoman betrayed in every feature. Her face was not strikingly handsome—never could have been—its contour was too harshly massive for that; but she possessed an indefinable distinction which has more attraction than mere prettiness. In her turn, Miss Stang admired the beautiful girl before her, so that the mutual interest augered well for the future. “1 hope you will like your new home; 1 will try my best to make you comfortable, and I am sure your patients will like you,” declared Miss Stang. “I fear you will find some of ■them set in their own way, hut your I tact, 1 doubt not, will sway them to 1 your side, and once there yon wih nuu them strong partisans.” “And I think i shall need their help ** asserted Gerda. “Already 1 have noted indications of sanitary neglect, which should he attended to without delay.” w XTo he continued^