The Aberystwith Observer

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. THE AT TO WIN, BY MADAME ALBANESI, Author of "Capricious Caroline," "The Strongest of all Things," Susannah and One Other," Love and Louisa," etc. etc. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER X.—A REBUFF. Mrs Dudwortli had invited Sir George to dine with her the day following her arrivel in town. She had established herself in an hotel, for having been travelling all the year before, she made the discovery now that her house was very shabby. "And if I am going to have a bride within my doors I must have a place fit for a bride," she said.. With Margaret Dudworth a resolution was action and in a very few hours therefore a verit- able army of workmen invaded her London home and began to put it in order. n Nothing had been settled as yet about the big r, town house which Henry Fielding had used so seldom, but Mrs Dudworth intended to advise Christine to get rid of this part of her property. What you want," she said to George Burn- stone, is a brighter house and one a little more central. Poor Henry had a, mania for big rooms and lofty ceilings, and fashion was the last thing lie considered but your wife must be in the fashion of course Sir George accepted the flattery conveyed in this speech but at the same time simply from a spirit of contradiction, he proceeded to give his views about the future. "When I have seen this house," lie said, "I •shall know better what to decide. Possibly I may find it just what we require." It was this tone of his, this arrogance which so annoyed Margaret Dudworth and which argued so uncomfortably for the future. 'How- ever like a wise woman she suffered everything in silence and on this particular occasion she went out of her way to be particularly nice to the young man because she felt that Christine's immediate departure for the country had really been a great disappointment to him. "Have you heard from Christine?" asked Burnstone, the moment he arrived. Mrs Dudworth said" No." very quickly. and in the same breath asked: "Have you?" He shook his head. "I rang up on the telephone late yesterday and again this morning to inquire how she was yesterday Casson spoke, and this morning her maid answered me. The maid said ClirTstine was well, so I suppose she is all right but I cer- tainly thought she would have spoken to me herself. I mean to go down to Hunston to-mor row, Peggy, you know, and bring Christine up. My mother is coming to town this week on pur- pose to meet her." Mrs Dudworth sighed a little impatiently. Truth lo tell she was just a little hurt that Christine had not sent her one word after reach- ing Hunston, a telegram would have sufficed. This, however, she kept to herself. To avoid friction or controversy between them Mrs Dud- worth had asked one or two other people to dine and afterwards proposed a theatre. Sir George took her back to the hotel after the theatre. As they passed into Mrs Dudworth's sitting room his eye caught at once the sight of a letter in Christine's hand-writing waiting on the table. He picked it up hurriedly and would have opened it, but -Mr,, Dudworth snatched it from him. You will find yours waiting for you. thiM is mine," she said laughingly. Aren t you going to open it? asked Burn- stone, » moment or two later. But Mrs Dud- °°k her head with a laugh. No; be content with your own." Sir George bit his lip a little savagely. How do I know that there will be anv letter? le.ggy. Im getting so sick of all this! Sick of toeing fooled Mrs Dudworth threw her evening cloak on to the sofa. ° .v/mTi1* <kiU' b°y she said coldlv. the ^dy is in your own hands." u ^at do you mean ? r<u,,„4m^v y°u ai'9 not satisfied with nient there be an end to your engage- S\10- deputed you to say this t.o me," the man asked in a voice full of anger. has"ot>" Margaret Dudworth said. *ort overTr^ nfver Pass a matter of that Sir rl are1°rd l>erson" 1 *P*ak as J feel." very pale *d and had now grou n Ch-rist.iiie will find I am not an easv Person to be disposed of. She has pledged herself to ln^,Tj'n shall hold her to her word." 0eau1se v°u love her tso much--or because- "f fi,nish h€r ^tence, but as she little Gr a, ?W, flowers. her hand closed a little more tightly over Christine's Letter. vm, V"1 gol"8 to be very straightforward with ,aou George she said, "and I believe I am go- in^* &a>, thingswh'cli you won't like, but I nr« 1 Say+ the?' a11 the same- 1 am afraid vou are exacting too much. You want now to take it \fSir\ thought of Christine's .and control "V ,y 5lear b«y- the thing is impossible ab- solutely impossible. Grant if vou will that Hen- ]>L >,01i the fact remains that Christine m a extraordinary freedom and rnic Z'n°, "aPPllles-s, and I foresee nothing but misery from your marriage unless you change jour present tactics." "Ch.ritStin(\ is a chM>" said Burnstono dog- tu J', an.j children must learn obedience." wW v! ^hardly: "You can't go back on Viplrlin me-' Pe8gy; you assured me that Phnct ? ^as aPXJous that I should propose to Christine and if her father had these views I 1 think anybody else's opinion matters." "PerlInps not," said Mrs Dudworth, in a low >oice 8t.ill just because I love this girl so much AvSt faUS<? 1 am f°nd °f y°u- George, I don't A v>1see y°u- too> make a hash of things." T> rellow can't do more than I've done said Burns one testily. "Whenever she has given but "ce I vo tncd my to be nice, is so ^i!!ine a wa>' of feezing one up, slio think ton a^ra^ she has grown to £ £ ™,uch hereelf" «>««. it is a that perhari jfc somet,m€s 1 have thought mean thaWli^16 oesn't ^1 I'm big enough I marry a chap lik^n^'rS perbaP#! she ought to a tiffed oTd1^ tKilf^' f°T inStanC°' with woHhOU"hntr'i;ni>0li.Ch thin^ Mrs Dud- the most uT ^°U ,now her! Christine is been WmalT ereaturo possible. She has "othing to her."P Simp J at monRy means it on.Ge&rge picked UP his overcoat and slipped Well, I'm down to fetch her to-mor- row." Dud^worthr0mi8e<1 tw0 w?lc>ie da}'s," said Mrs To-morrow evening then." worth" 8° d°Wn with J'0'-1'" fiaid Mr.s Dud- •». r,8ht, but w«> can sett Jo that to-morrow." tvai«l • as so be p 1 think you mi»-ju.-l,<je me just a bit, *5§y» I ao c«r« for her, and I'm in earnest. I'll try and be as patient, as I possibly can, but I'm not going to give Christine up. She gave herself and her future into my hands, and I hold them there." Good boy," said Mrs Dudworth, with a laugh that was rather forced. That is the right way to talk." But she did not laugh when sho was alone. ,She felt extraordinarily uneasy. If Christine only had someone else," she said to herself, some one belonging to her who would have the right to act for her, someone who could be stronger than I am. One thing is very sure there is no hope in George. He is pig-headed, and I begin to be half afraid he could be cruel." She went back to the fireplace and stood a moment looking into the red embers, then with a little sigh she opened Christine's letter. It consisted of only a few lines: — Dearest (the girl had written)—Forgive me for not writing to you earlier than this. I have had matters of great importance to at- tend to since my arrival here yesterday, mat- ters so big that I cannot touch on them now. I shall sea you soon, and then I will explain better. I write now to tell you that I am go- ing away from Hunston for a couple of days. I will let you know when I return, and when we ("tll meet. God bless you, Peggy, my darling, think al- ways of me as Yours very loving. Christine. Sir George was staying for the time being at his mother's house, although Lady Burnstone was still in the country. He looked eagerly at the letters awaiting him when he reached this house, and pounced on the one lying on the top which bore Christine's handwriting. He tore the letter open standing in the hall, and when lie had read through the few lines he swore sharply to himself. Christine had written hurriedly, stating that she had found an unexpected amount of business which required her attention. Sir George felt hot with anger. He went up to his own suite of rooms and flung the letters he had brought on to the table but as he was pacing the room impatiently and moodily he glanced at these lettei-s .and with a shrug of his shoulders, and another ugly word picked up an envelope and looked at it with a sneer on his lips. It was some time since Constance Lamborough had written to him except when his mother used her as a secretary. He frowned a little as he saw the address of a fashionable hotel stamped on the flap of the envelope. With an impatient exclamation he tore open the note and his brows contracted sharply in a frown as he read it. Dear 'Sir George (Miss Lamborough wrote), -You will no doubt have heard from your mother that I am no longer staying with her. I have parted with Lady iBurnstone with very sincere regret, for she has always treated me with the greatest consideration; indeed I would have remained with her if I had been permitted to do so, but my uncle, whose unex- pected coming has made such a difference in my life, has planned out a new career for me. My reason for writing to you is to ask vou if by chance you have not destroyed them (which no doubt, you have), you will be so good as to return to me certain rather stupid letters which I wrote a year ago. Most women, you know, have their sentimental mo- ments, and when they are lonelv and not too happy they are apt to do foolish'things. That puts my case in a nutshell. We are staving here for another few days. then we go to Paris and on to Venice and a tour through Italy.—Believe me. yours very sincerely, Constance Lamborough. Burnstone was conscious of a most uncomfort- able sensation. The matter, of course, did not touch him seriously, still he felt as if someone or something had played him an ugly trick. It in surprised him enormously, and annoyed him be- yond measure to realise that Constance Lam- borough should be independent. In truth, if George Burnstone had analysed his thoughts he would have. found that of late lie had been regarding Constance Lamborough's undoubted attachment to himself with a certain amount of complacency. It. had been certainly agreeable in the face of Christine's curious treatment of him to have been able to remember that an- other woman was in common parlance breaking her heart for his sake. He recalled now that his mother had told him something about some relations with whom Constance was in corres- pondence. but he had not given the matter much heed, and her letter therefore found him quite unprepared for the news it conveyed. :Of course it was very ridiculous of him to be annoyed at Miss Lamborough's good fortune, but lie was not in a mood to prevaricate with himself, and this letter coming at the same time as Christine's most unsatisfactory one worked his ill temper into a. veritable rage and it was on Christine he vented the force of this. It was very evident to him that 'Miss Fielding expected him to obey her wishes, but in this Sir George Burnstone intended to reverse matters. He scribbled a few words to Mrs Dudworth before he went to bed, and he let her see that he was extremely annoyed. "I cannot conceive what kind of business it is that Christine has to look after .but I mean to go down to-morrow night as I told you." lIe half expected some protest to this note, but none came, and on the following afternoon ho travelled down to Hunston. He had to drive up to the house in a fly. since he had thought it wiser not to announce that lie was coming. When he reached the house and passed into the hall with an air of mastership he found that lie had taken a journey for nothing, for Chris- tine was- not there. Sir George did not hesitate to put Casson through a thorough examination, and the butler told him all he knew. Miss Christine went away early this morn- ing, sir. No, sir, she did not take her maid with her. She said she might be back to-mor- row or the next day. she wasn't quite sure, but she would let us know. I made so bold, sir, as to ask if I might attend her, but she said as she did not want anyone. She added, sir," said Casson in his quiet way, that she was about to do some very important work which the master had left her." Then the hutler put himself and the house- hold at Sir George Burnstone's disposal, but it appeared that Sir George had no intention of remaining. He ordered the motor to be got ready, and he drove away, leaving Casson with tho unpleasant sensation that when he was real. ly master at Hunston things would go very dif- ferently to the pleasant way in which they had gone during Henry Fielding's lifetime. CHAPTER XI.—CHRISTINE MEETS MRS DAN CROFT. Christine had not closed her eves all that night following on her interview with Dancroft. She went to bed, but sleep was' impossible, and when Macintyre came to call her she was al- ready up and diws«ed. James Dancroft had left her with the under- standing that he would communicate with her to let bor know when hia mother would arrive, and the morning was still young when & note WAS brought to her by a boy on a bicycle. The note was from Dancroft. On thinking matters over," he- wrote, and from the address on the notepaper, it was evi- dent that he had put up for the night at the nearest town, "I have come to the conclusion that it will be better for you to go to London and see my mother. She will then give you her own wishes,. Possibly she may not desire to come down her just for the moment." He then wrote the address in London where she would find his mother and added: "I shall be glad if you will go up as early as you conveniently can to- day. I am leaving at once for London, and we can meet, there." So Christine gave her maid orders to put a few things into her travelling bag. Macintyre heard of her mistress' departure alone with great surprise and even anxiety. Please let me come with you, Miss, Chris- tine," she begged, but Christine was firm. I don't know that I shall be away very long, in any case I can take care care of myself." Then she added, for she felt that the servants required some little explanation from her It is business which is taking me, Maeintyre, a sacred business which my dear father would have done if he had lived, and which I must do in his place." And these words in a sense satisfied the maid, for she, better than all, perhaps, was in the position to know what the significance of Chris- tine's devotion to her father's memory really was. It was strange to the girl to find herself quite alone. She shrank into a corner of the railway carriage and closed her eyes wearily. The real meaning of what lay immediately in front of her had not come to her as yet; all connected with Dancroft was blurred except the one big fact, that great inexorable fact that the father she mourned, the father she had adored had achieved his greatness by an act of treachery, and that it had never been granted to him to make atonement. And beyond this one big fact there was the nervous, conscious resolution, the determination no matter what it cost her to wipe out if she. could this stain from her father's memory, to act a.s she was convinced he would have acted, to restore as she was equally con- vinced he. would have restored. It was not until she had alighted from the train at the London terminus that she realised that she was about to meet a new, and perhaps a bitter, enemy. The crowd at the station bewildered her; she hardly knew which way to turn, and it was with a sensation of relief that she found herself ad- dressed, and turning saw James Dancroft stand- ing beside her. "I came up in the same train," he said in his curt way, and as I saw you standing here I thought I might be of some use." He hailed a cab as he spoke, but when he had put Christine into it he did not follow her. In- stead he mounted the box beside the driver. The girl's nervousness increased as the cab rolled away and carried her through a labyrinth of streets all wearing the same dull aspect. It. seemed to her as if this journey was intermin- able. yet at. last when they s'topped in front of a. quiet looking hotel a wild sense of despair set- tled upon her. and she had a natural yearning for someone belonging to her to be. with her now. As the cab door was opened, however, she stepped out bravely, and there was something proud in her bearing as she followed Dancroft into the hall. He paused just for a moment when they were inside and no one was in hearing. I must prepare you," he said. "You will find my mother very harsh, very bitter. If she tries you too much you must remember what she has suffered and you must endeavour to put yourself in her place." Thank you," said Christine, I am prepared for everything." He Tooked at her for a moment, and his eyes were lit with a wonderful expression then with- out another word he led the way indoors. He left Christine in the waiting room. If you will wait here." he said, I'll see if my mother is ready to receive you." Christine did not sit down—she stood and looked out of the window, and she shivered as she stood. There was a racking pain in her head, and she felt faint and horribly weary, but above all she felt frightened. She had told him that she was prepared; but in her heart, she knew that she was a long way from being ready to suffer further and perhaps inevitable abuse of her father. He returned very soon. "Will you come now?" he said. And if Christine had looked at him she would have noticed that he was very pale. She followed him obediently, mounting the dark. narrow staircase with knees which trem- bled beneath her. She was never conscious how she passed into the room into which he led her. Just for the moment all was blurred then she awakened to the knowledge that a pair of eyes were resting on her with an expression so vindictive, so ter- rible. that she shrank back involuntarily. James Dancroft moved forward quickly and pushed a chair towards her. "Won't you sit down?" he asked. But Christine shook her head. I prefer to stand." She did, however, rest her black-gloved hand on the back of the chair, and was vaguely glad of the support. z, Let her stand, James," said the old woman. who was sitting by the fireplace. She was a very thin woman, and her age was the age which comes from suffering, from constant un- remitting toil, from lack of comfort, lack even of those things which are necessary to the life of most ordinary people. About her shoulders there was a grey shawl, and on her head a widow's cap, and the skin of her face seemed as grey as the shawl. She was so thin, she looked so frail, only that burning fire in her eyes spoke, of strength. "Yes, let her stand," she said. Though she did not look in that. direction Christine was conscious that another woman was in the room standing by the window, con- scious that another pair of eyes was regarding her intently and with curiosity. Mrs Daineroft'ts fingers were plucking ner- vously at the fringe of her shawl. So you are Henry Fielding's daughter," she said; daughter of that treacherous wretch; and you have come here of your own free will no doubt to hear what I have got to say about him." Christine looked into those terrible eyes, and courage surged into her heart. "No," she said, "I have not. come here to lis- ten to your hatred of my father; I have come here because I feel it my duty to consult, you. to know your wishes, so that I may do what, my beloved father would have done had he been alive." The old woman sneered back. That's not a good beginning." she said. Your beloved father lived a good many years. and there is no record of his having tried to do what we mean to make you do." Christine coloured hotly. You are making all she said. "What proof have you that my father did not try to make atonement? You judge him by one act. I am going to defend that act. If I z!l could give my life to wipe it. out. I would do tha.t gladly; but you don't know the man at whom you sneer so easily as I knew him." The old woman cut into the speech. "James," she said, "I will not be insulted." The man standing by the table shivered as he saw the shiver run through Christine's slender figure. I think- Then he spoke with an effort: I think," he said, that we make a mistake by starting with recrimination. Miss Fielding has come here, mother, to discuss the, future." The young woman at the window moved for- ward here. "Yes," she said, let us get to the future what is done is so old, I'm tired of it; I want some-thing new, something that means life." Mrs Dancroft turned on her son and on her daughter. You had better leave us," she said, this im. my affair, and I am not going to be dictated to. I shall say what I please and when I please, and I'd best warn you," she said, looking again at Christine, "that I don't mean to spare you. You stand in the place of your father to me, and I shall deal with you as I should have dealt with him." (To be Continued).