Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2682, 11 December 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

CHAPTER XV

If Ben-Ezra’s object was to part Judith from Lancelot by marrying the girl to the young baronet, he certainly acted in a very strange manner. No sooner had the young man departed than the Jew wrote a letter to Miss Cashell, stating that he would fulfil his promise, and gave her the refusal of the Hall, should he sell -it. Thus he placed a' weapon in Ida’s hands which would enable her to fight her battle with Lady Dove over the son. Reginald was weak, and Ida knew that there would be very little difficulty in bringing him back to her feet, as she had more than one string to her bow; but Lady Dove was a clever, hard-beaded woman, and assuredly would not permit the marriage if she could prevent it. But with the offer of the Hall in her pocket Miss Cashed hoped to bear down the mother’s opposition. The governess exulted when she received a letter, which came to her by hand shortly before seven o’clock. It seemed to her that Fate was smoothing her path to a very desirable goal. Miss Cashed—as ha s before been stated —had passed through stormy waters, and had not reached the age of forty without having undergone many unpleasant experiences in connection with the want of money. But . Fate had stood her friend in bringing her to Homing Grange, and into contact with an inflammable youth of great wealth. From the moment Ida had entered the house, she had made up her mind to marry the boy, and .for two years had worked to this end. Of course, she knew that both Sir Giles and Lady Dove would object to their son and heir marrying a governess, as such a match would not redound to the credit of the family; but now that Sir Giles was • dead, one obstacle was removed. The remaining one, which was the objection of Lady Dove, Ida hoped to overcome by means of the letter. Fate—as she thought—was certainly pointing out the way to rank and wealth and ease. But if the scheming governess had only heen clairvoyant —which she was not—she would .have mistrusted Ben-Ezra’s change of mind. As it was, —having borrowed money from him in a business way—she should have been on her guard. But she did not, and so went on triumphantly along the path whi. *1 she fondly imagined would lead to the altar. As some considerable time had elapsed since the death of Sir Giles, the widow was now more resigned to her loss, although she still cherished the memory of the hot-tempered little man who had been so obedient a husband. But since he was dead and carefully bestowed in the brand-new family vault, Lady Dove set her wits to work to arrange the future of her son, as the sole representative of the family grandeur. Busy with plans for the future, she was new quite cheerful, and saw ever., dung through marvellously rose-colored spec“l shall secure the Hall by offering that Jew a large price,” she thought “and then we can live there. Reginald must marry the daughter of some earl and bring position to us, since we have plenty of money. y When he is settled, I shall leave him with his wife at Tanbuck Hall and take the girls abroad for finishing lessons. Then Reginald’s wife can introduce them into London society, and with their good looks I have no doubt that they will soon marry then. After that, I can take my ease for the rest of my. life that remains to me.” In this way, Lhdy Dove built castles the" air, quite ignorant that the redhaired, vivacious governess had an idea jvf erecting quite a different set of edifices. Long ago —as Lady Dove thought the flirtation between Miss Cashed and Reginald had come to an end, and she congratulated herself that she had put a termination to such nonsense. She little knew that Ida was as determined as herself, and quite as clever. Or rather, Miss Cashed was more cunning, for Lady Dove used her brains honestly,- and her standard of morality was a very high one. . On the evening when Ida received the letter from the Jew she came down to dinner dressed in her best frock for on this occasion she intended both to subjugate the mother and recapture the son. It’behoved her, therefore, to hide % her forty years as best she could, and thanks to a wide knowledge of toilet appliances and a hard heart a ** 'preserved her face from wrinkles, she looked surprisingly young. Even Lady Dove who was clever enough to discern - paint and powder, could not guess how -' carefully the governess was “made up. With her fresh complexion and dainty, youthful figure and vivacious manners, Miss Cashell looked quite cluld-like in the subdued light of the candles on the . dinner-table. Reginald sent several fond glances in her direction, notwithstanding that his heart inclined to. the imperial beauty of Judith. But lie - was a fool, and could hold at least half-a-dozen women in love-bonds—it they would let him. . • It was a family dinner, hence the presence of , the governess, for as a rule ! Lady Dove kept her in her place, and would snot permit her to appear at any especial entertainment. This was cause of offence to Ida, who stored up. : wrath 1 in her heart, against, the fme . r - , ■ .

* ■ . /, . g; I “ The Jew’s House,” f |X| / * By Fergus Hume, | * Author of the “ Mystery of a Hansom Cab, ” “ The Yellow Holly, ” “ The * * Mandarin’s Fan, ” li The Sealed Message, etc., etc., etc. a (All 'Rights Reserved) | ****************** ** ********** **********

when she should be mistress of Homing Grange. Then she. intended' to turn her mother-in-law out of the house as soon as she conveniently could. But the -time was not yet ripe for such a hold act, as she had still to marry her heavy young millionaire. Meanwhile, she was all that was sympathetic and kind, both towards Lady Dove, the boy himself, and towards the twin .sisters, her pupils. These, Millicent and Matilda—commonly called in the bosom of their family, Milly and Tilly—were heavy-featured honest-faced English girls, with small brain power and an immense stock of good nature.' Owing to Ida’s skilful management, they- had long ago succumbed to her charm, and worshipped her almost as much as they did their mother, who was the domestic idol. “You are very merry to-night, Miss Cashell,” said Lady Dove, wondering why the governess was so vivacious. “I have good reason to be,” replied Ida, whose plans were well-laid; “my uncle in the West Indies has died, leaving me ten thousand pounds.” “I congratulate you,. Miss Cashell, but I did not know that you had an uncle. What was he?” “A sugar-planter. I never saw him in my life, so I can’t he expected to mourn very deeply for him.” “There is a decency in all things,” rebuked Lady Dove. “I hope you are not unfeeling, Miss Cashell.” ;“I don’t think so, hut it is difficult to be .sorry for anyone who was merely a name. I suffered greatly when my parents died, but as to my uncle”— she shrugged her shoulders —“oh, dear me, I wish I could be sorry, hut I must he truthful and say that I cannot. Ten thousand pounds is a fortune to poor me.” “I suppose you will wish to leave us, Miss Cashell?” “What?” Ida glanced at the twins with deep affection. “Leave my dear pupils and a home where I am so happy? No, Lady Dove; so long as you, keep me, I shall remain. I have many inducements,” and she stole a sly glance at the heavy young baronet, who was looking gloomily at his plate. He was thinking that if Ida departed and Judith rejected him, he would be entirely deprived of feminine society and much-ne.eded consolation. “W 7 e shall be glad to have you as long as you like to stay,” said Lady Dove, who was appreciative of the governess’ talents. “Later, ..J hope to take the gfrls abroad, andiperhaps you will come al&o.” v“Oh 1” Ida clasped her hands in feigned rapture; “listen, Millicent and Matilda. To think of seeing Rome and Paris! Delightful!” -■* ■ “I am not so sure of going to Paris,” said the mother; “it is a dangerous city, and with pretty young girls one cannot be too careful with these foreign' people.” Ida made a grimace. She thought that Milly’s Tilly’s looks were a safeguard against anyone running after them, although she secretly admitted that their money would probably lure many suitors. But she cordially agreed with Lady Dove, because it was her cue to do so. “The dear girls must marry true-born Englishmen,” she gushed. “With titles, if possible,” said Lady Dove, glancing round to see that the servants had left the room; ‘ we have plenty of money, hut require rink. I am anxious for Reginald to marry an earl’s daughter. I tell you this, Miss Cashell, because you are quite one of ourselves.” “Oh, quite—quite,” assented Ida, knowing well that Lady Dove had spoken so to give her* to understand that Sir Reginald was beyond her hopes ,of getting. “And then, if you can buy Tanbuck Hall —” “I hope to do that also,” interrupted Lady Dove, with a frown; “although I am hound to say that Mr Ben-Ezra still does not seem inclined to sell. I offered him a large sum a few days ago and he refused. I think it is disgraceful of him, seeing that my poor busband met his death over the same business. Th© least Mr Ben-Ezra- can do is. to let us have the Hall, if only out of gratitude for his escape and as a, recompense for our loss.” ■• * This extraordinary reasoning made Ida secretly , smile, and she felt in the pocket of her gown that which gave her the right to dispose of the much-desir-ed Hall /• It was just as well that -Lady Dove had brought up the subject, since it would be easier to broach the matter ’in the drawing-room after dinner, as she intended to do: “I don’t want th©-Hall,” said Sir Reginald, in his heavy voice, and broking silence for the first time. - p ‘ loss something happens which ! very much wish. I shall buy a yacht and go round the world for a few “You shall do nothing of the sort,’ said his, mother, imperiously. “It is your duty to marry and settle-in the Hall.” . “I only want to marry one woman—. Judith Verily.” , “Judith Verily 1” echoed Lady Dove, angrily, and was about to say more, when she suddenly checked herself to give an ordef; “Tgke the girls into i the drawing-room, Miss Cashell. I .wish to speak y

Quite certain that Lady Dove -would not encourage the weakness of Reginald for the farmer’s daughter, Ida rose with alacrity, and was .shortly in the drawing-room, amusing her charges with her brilliant pictures qf life abroad in which they would some day participate., should Lady Dove hold to her decision. But all the time her thoughts were with the mother and son. Left alone with Lady Dove, the young man poured himself out a glass of port wine, so as to fortify his courage. His mother bent forward and removed it promptly. “Don’t drink any more, Reginald; you have had enough. Now then, my dear boy,’’ she added, in more gracious tones, “what is it about this girl on whom you have set your heart?” It has been mentioned that" Lady Dove was very clever, hut never had she displayed such tact as in addressing her muledieaded son in so kindly a tone. Opposition would have made him sullen, but the kind tones of his mothers voice gave him a hope that she would be on his side, and he burst out into rapid speech, unusual with him. “Oh, mother Ido so love her,” he said, despairingly; “she is so lovely and clever. But she won’t have anything to do with me, as she says she s engaged-to that Ashton chap.” “So I have heard, and a very good match it is for her, Reginald,” said Lady Dove, still kind and soft-voiced. “You foolish boy, why set your heart on a girl who is engaged to another man?” “I love her,” said the young man, forcibly. “That is 'merely a passing fancy,” said his mother, coldly. “You have been in love dozens' and dozens of times. Why,” she laughed, scornfully, “only a few months ago I had to put a stop to your attentions to Miss Cashell, and 1 am hound to say that she acted more sensibly than you over the matter.” “I have got over my fancy for Ida,” said the boy sullenly. “Miss Cashell, if you don’t mind, Reginald. Well, you have got over that fancy, and you will get over this one.” “Never! never! I shall love her till I die.” “'Nonsense. A common farmer’s daughter, and Quakers at that,” said Lady Dove, somewhat ungrammatically. “Remember .what you owe to your position.” “Ashton is willing to marry her, and lie is better born than I am.” “But he is not'so rich. Rank counts for very little nowadays, without money to support it. I wish, you to marry some girl with a title—there are plenty about who will jump at your income.’ ' “I want to marry Judith,” persisted the oaf. “But,, my dear boy,” said Lady Dove, keeping her temper with difficulty, “the girl is not only engaged to young Ashton, but she loves him dearly, as Miss Merton assured me. Also, you say that .she has refused you, so as a gentleman you must take your dismissal.” ' . - - “I won’t. I wish to marry her. I’ll give her all I have.” “What have you given her already?” asked his mother, sharply; “not that bracelet, I trust?” “No, I haven’t given her that,” said Reginald, coloring violently and looking embarrassed.' Lady Dove gave a sigh of relief., The bracelet in question was a cheap silver bangle set with turquoise stones. Sir Giles, then comparatively poor, had given it to her when they were married, and, with a sentjpiental feeling strange in so stern a woman, she valued the trinket more than she did any of her most costly jewellery. Some six months ago she had given the bracelet to her son, with instructions that it was the first offering he should make to the girl he wished to marry.- She /was relieved when she heard his reply. “I am glad you have not given the bracelet to Miss Verily,” she said, quietly, “for, lovely and pleasant as she is—l grant her to be perfection, you see —I don’t want her to be your wife. And that poor cheap little bracelet is more valuable in iny eyes that all the jewels which" your father’s wealth has bestowed on ,1110. 1 wish to see -it—valueless -as - it' is—on the wrist of my future daugliter-in-law. I am almost sorry now that I gave it to you, since you so constantly fall in love. You will be parting with it to a barmaid or an actress -in the end. If you do, Reginald”—-'Lady Dove’s stern eyes, blazed-—“never look me in the. face again.” . “It’s only a cheap-thing,” protested the young man, blushing more violently than ever. “No girl would take it.” “A nice girl would, if she knew its history. Your father gave it to mo when we had very little money between us, and I looked uf)on it then, as I do. now,, though in a different sense, as invaluable. But since you don’t prize it, Reginald, give it to me back;” ' “I haven’t got it,” lie blurted out. Lady Dove frowned. “Then you have given it to Miss Verily ?” “No, I haven’t.” • “Then it is in your possession?” Reginald rose wrathfully. “-I wish you’d stop bullying me,” he cried, trying to assert himself. His mother got to her feet also, , and came forward,, before he could get out of the dining-room to seize his wrist. “You are your own master, since your father, against my desire, left .you nearly all the money. But you are my son also, and you are- not going -to-be-have in this way to- the mother, who bore you. YVhere is that bracelet ? ’ Reginald remained .silent for a moment' or so; then; when she reiterated her question more sternly, he suddenly collapsed. “I—l—l had it one day on my wrist- —just for fun, and—and- and Ida took it.” “Ida took it!” said Lady Hove, growing deathly pale. “You gave it >to

v * ‘lda- took it)” stammered Reginald again, frightened by the cold anger of his-mother. “I couldn’t help it. She— 1 she—she took it.” ’ “You gave it to her, you mean,” said Lady Dove, with contempt, dropping his wrist; “and I thought all your philandering with her was only a boyish flirtation. Why, she’s old enough to be your-mother.” “Twenty twenty-five,” stuttered Reginald, making for his glass of port wine, for he felt that he needed some stimulant. “Nearly forty,” said Lady Dove with scorn. “Oh, you fool! And I’m a fool, too, else I would have seen the seriousness of what was going on. Reginald, I would have forgiven you had you made her presents of diamonds and gold; but that bracelet- —the first piece of jewellery I ever had; the bracelet that I designed for your bride 1 I’ll never, never forgive you.” The wine, mounting into the foul’s head, gave him courage, and he became defiant. “Well, and since Judith refuses to marry me, why shouldn’t I make Ida my wife? She's pretty and >> . ' V “She’s an adventuress,” interrupted his mother furiously, “and if you marry her I’ll have notliing to do with you. But you shan’t marry her —yon can’t.” “I’m—l’m master,” said Reginald, growing more pot-valiant. “Your own master!” said his mother, scornfully; “why, your passions master you at every'turn. You are the slave of your emotions. What a son for your father —good man—to have ! You fool, you —pah!” She brushed past hiin, / and paused at the door. “Stay here and fuddle yourself, if you like. I shall see this adventuress and get back the bracelet from her.” “If you do, I’ll —I’ll marry her, mother.” “Don’t call me mother—you’r* no son of mine. As to marrying her, I’ll see if 1 can buy her off. She’s to be bought, for all her story of ten thou*sand pounds, of which I don’t believe one word. Pah!” and she swept out of the room like a tragedy queen. Reginald filled himself another glass of port, which he felt he truly needed. In the drawing-room, Ida and her pupils were startled by the entrance of a tall, fair woman, looking as pale as autumn moonlight, but with eyes that glowed like sparks of fire. She faced the trio in silence. “Dear Lady Dove, what is the matter?” cried Ida in alarm. The other woman never answered, but turned to the twins. “Millicent, Matilda, you can go to the schoolroom,” she commanded, quietly, and with an obvious effort at self-restraint. “I wish to have a word with Miss Cashell.” The two girls looked frightened, both at their mother’s appearance and at the stern command in her voice., They scuttled out of the drawing-room like rabbits, leaving the dismayed Ida to face their mother’s wrath, although they could not think what such wrath was about. Nor could Ida, for it never occurred to her that Reginald had betrayed the gift of the bracelet. She knew him for a coward, and believed firmly that he would never Marc to face Lady Dove’s wrath when she knew that he had parted with the trinket. Nor would he have done so had his mother not forced the truth from his unwilling lips. “Dear Lady Dove,: what is the matter?” said Ida again, and trying to control the fears knocking at her heart. ' “Sit down, please,” said the mistress of the house, and Ida sat while Lady Dove stood, which is always the attitude affected by one woman who wants to bully another. “My son,” said the elder woman, in a quiet voice, ‘ tells me that, in play, you took a bracelet from him—a cheap s ilver bracelet of no value, with turquoise stones. Will you please to give it back to me?” “Why?” asked Miss Cashell, setting her- lips. She now guessed that the affair had come tor grips, and she would have to fight hard to get her own/ way . ' * -■ ‘‘Because it ; is‘ my-bracelet. My late husband gave it to me when we were married- —a cheap, poor thing, which was all-he could afford. But I would rather lose all my diamonds than that bracelet, Miss Cashell. I gave it to my son that he should bestow it on the girl he wished to marry, and—” she held out her hand imperatively. “And he bestowed it on me,”, retorted Ida, setting her teeth. “You took it from him, he declares.” “He gave it me of his own free will. We are engaged.” " . “You are not engaged,” said Lady Dove, breathing hard ; “you never shall be engaged. I refuse to allow you to marry my son.” “But if I bring him the Hall?” said Miss Cashell, playing her trump card earlier than she expected to do. ' Lady Dove sat down and straightened herself. “What do you mean?” “Look at this letter.” Miss Cashell .produced it from her' pocket. “You will see that Mr Ben-Ezra, out of gratitude .for the' assistance I gave him to prove his innocence, has given me the first refusal of the Hall, should- it be sold. If you will agree to the marriage with Reginald, I shall he able to get the Hall for you at my own price.” Lady Dove raised her lorgnette, read, the letter carefully, and tossed it back again contemptuously. “That is not worth- the • paper it is written upon, Miss Cashell,” she declared/ calmly. “It 1 is; it is. Mr Ben-Ezra promises to give me the refusal.” “i daresay; but to-morrow I shall stfe Mr Ben-Ezra, and get him to change bis mind.” ; , nl . ' - “Then you’ll never get the HalJ. He will not sell it to you or anyone else, for I alone can get it, on the strength of that letter. He can’t break his word, Lady Dove; he can’t deny’ his own writing”. - .

“From what I have seen of Mr BenEzla, and from what I know of him,” said Lady Dove, quietly, “he is a man who will break his word or deny his own writing, or do anything that bestsuits his purpose. Why he should give you the refusal of Tanbuck Hall, I don’t know.” “I have explained,” sa-kl Miss Cashell, sullenly, and slipping the letter again into her pocket, with a feeling that it-had- missed fire; “he gave me the promise out of gratitude, and he is willing—as you can see from this letter—to. fulfill his promise.” - “That remains to be seen after I have interviewed him.” “He, will keep- his promise, I am sure,” said Ida, doggedly. “Well, even if he does, the keeping of it will not benefit you.” “It will give you the Hall you so much desire, Lady Dove.” “I do desire it very much, but I refuse to buy it on such terms. Y r ou shall not marry that silly boy. “I shall;-he loves me; he is his own master.” , “He loves Judith Verily, and I would rather see him marrid to her than to you, Miss Cashell.” “What have you against ,me?” demanded- Ida, angrily. “Nothing, because I know nothing about you.” “I can supply all the information you require. I am not poor now, as I have ten thousand pounds.” Ida rose, and looked venomous. “It’s war, then?” she asked, with a vicious look in her blue eyes. “War to the knife,” Lady Dove assured her; “though I can’t see what you can do, Miss Cashell, if that is your name.” “It is my name, until I change it to that of Ida Dove,” said the governess, defiantly; “and I can do many things. I can keep you from getting the Hall, since it must be sold through mo; I can create a scandal by suing Reginald for breach of promise, and—” “You can’t sue him,” said Lady Dove, somewhat nervously. Ida saw her advantage, and seized it at once. “I can. I have a whole packet of letters, in which Reginald swears undydng affection. Also I have his promise to marry me whenever he came in for the money. He has inherited the money now, and—and—” Lady Dove suddenly rose, and her eyes probed those of the other woman. In place of being furious, she became calm, and when slie spoke she did so in a most temperate manner. “I daresay you can make out a good case,” she said, suavely* “You have letters and a written promise of marriage, and also my bracelet, which you took from that silly boy.” “He gave me the bracelet with the written promise of marriage,” said Ida, sulkily, for she could not understand this change of manner, and scented danger. “If you will give me the letters, the promise, and the bracelet, I shall give you two thousand pounds.” “No. I slia’n’t give up the letters and the promise of marriage, and I can’t give up the bracelet.” “You mean you won’t?” • “I mean I can’t. I have lost it.” “When ? Where ?” “I don’t know. I can’t say. When visiting some of those poor people you were always sending me to look after for you, I lost it. Aud, after all, what does it matter, a cheap thing like that?” Lady Dove suppressed her ar* fa er with an effort. “If you will give me the bracelet,” she said, for'she believed that the woman was-lying, “I will present wou with one of my diamond tiaras.” Ida’s eyes sparkled, for she .liked diamonds. Then her face fell. “The bracelet is lost, as I told you,” she said, sullenly. “Very good,” said Lady Dove, making for the door; “I now know what I have to do, Miss Cashell. To-mor-row you leave my house.” (To be Continued.) . ■ ■'■■■