Authors: Juliet Armstrong
“
Why do I want her back?
”
All the amusement had died from the fat, pallid face, which was contorted now with anger.
“
Because it doesn
’
t suit me to have the neighbors—and her dad, too—everlastingly hinting that I ill-treated the child. She
’
s coming home, and she
’
s going to tell everyone that it
’
s heaven being with me after all she
’
s been through at that hellish orphanage.
”
Sure in her own mind now that the woman was on the border line between sanity and madness, Catherine hailed the errand boy, whom she knew well by sight.
“
Run across to where those men are threshing, Bill,
”
she said quietly.
“
Leave your bicycle here— and for God
’
s sake, be quick.
”
“
That
’
s your game, is it?
”
The woman seemed to be measuring her physical strength against Catherine
’
s. Evidently, however, she was sufficiently sane to realize that her heavy flabbiness would be no match for the lithe young woman who was confronting her so calmly; for she shrugged her thick shoulders, and looking up the r
o
ad remarked acidly:
“
The bus will be along, and Maureen and I in it, before those stupid country bumpkins get here.
”
“
And if you do get into the bus with her, what good is that going to do you?
”
Catherine asked, assuming a mildness she was very far from feeling.
“
You must know that the police will be on to you in less than no time.
”
“
Possession is nine points of the law,
”
was the woman
’
s sullen retort.
“
If the child swears, as she is jolly well going to, that she
’
d rather be with me than with you ladies, you may not find it so easy to get her back.
”
“
That
’
s nonsense, of course. The only result of your present very foolish behavior is likely to be a prison se
n
tence for you, and possibly your husband as well.
”
Catherine
’
s tone was still remarkably placid, and when she looked across to the field towards which the errand boy was running, there was no trace in her eyes of the desperate anxiety she was experiencing.
And then the thing which she had been dreading happened. The wheezing of the bus was heard in the not very far distance, and soon it came lumbering into sight, nearly empty, as always, at this time of day.
It was quite possible, Catherine knew, that no one would have boarded the bus in the village, and if that were so, the situation might prove difficult to handle. She was not in a
n
y sort of uniform; and how should strangers believe that she, had any rights over Maureen, when the child herself showed no desire to escape? There was a chance, of course, that the conductor or driver might recognize her, or at any rate believe her story, but there was no banking on that. She used the bus service so little, preferring her bicycle as a means of getting about, that her face was not likely to be familiar to them.
“
What am I going to do?
”
she thought frantically, as the bus came nearer.
“
If the worst comes to the worst, and I can
’
t stop that woman getting in with Maureen, I shall have to abandon my bicycle and get in as well. I
’
m not going to lose sight of her, whatever happens.
”
She had just reached this decision when a shout assailed her ears, and there, streaking across the fields like a hound in full cry, came Andrew, his copper head gleaming in the winter sunshine.
In spite of her fierce preoccupation with Maureen and her crazy stepmother, her mind automatically registered the perfect rhythm of his long, loping stride, the ease with which he vaulted the gates which barred his passage; and evidently she was not alone in her involuntary appreciation of his movements, for the driver of the bus, having brought his vehicle neatly to a standstill, was gazing at Andrew
’
s approaching figure with open-mouthed admiration.
“
Nice work,
”
he muttered ecstatically.
“
Bin a hurdler
’
in
hi
s time, that chap, I
’
ll be bound.
”
“
Hurry along there, please.
”
The conductor, to whom athletics apparently meant little, turned his bored gaze from Andrew and directed it to the stout woman who
,
clutching a child by the hand, was hurrying towards him.
Fearful that Andrew, who was still half a field away, might be too late, and judging that the conductor might not be particularly helpful, Catherine, whose bicycle was by now reposing beside that of the errand boy, on the green verge, ran past Maureen and her stepmother, straight up to the driver.
“
You won
’
t go on without that gentleman, will you?
”
she panted.
“
He gave her a friendly wink.
“
Not if he
’
s a particular friend of yours, Miss,
”
he assured her hoarsely, adding, as he continued to gaze at Andrew:
“
And even if he wasn
’
t, I wouldn
’
t—not after that nice little show he
’
s given us.
”
Relieved on this point, Catherine bore with comparative equanimity the discovery that Maureen and her stepmother were now inside the bus. She knew that a word to Andrew would put him wise to the situation and that he would find a means of rescuing Maureen with the least possible fuss and commotion.
And so it was. Before Catherine was half-way through her first sentence, he had gone up to the conductor, and beckoned him on one side, in an authoritative manner which was not to be denied.
“
I happen to be a justice of the peace in these parts
,”
Catherine heard him say,
“
and I seem to be just in time to prevent a very serious offence. That woman in there has enticed a child from the local authorities
’
Home, and is endeavoring to abduct her. She must be handed over at once to the care of her foster-mother, here.
”
“
That
’
s all very well,
”
the man grumbled suspiciously.
“
How do I know—
”
“
If you are in any doubt, either you or the driver must return to the village and fetch a constable.
”
Andrew
’
s v
o
ice was inflexible.
“
This bus is not going off with that woman and child inside it.
”
The driver got off his seat then, and came to the back of the bus.
“
Seems to me quite simple, sir,
”
he said, grinning cheerfully at Andrew.
“
Neither me nor my mate ought, by rights, to leave the old bus. But suppose, we tell the party in there that this young lady is going for the copper on her bicycle, and that meanwhile the rest of us stays
put! What
’
s the betting the young lady won
’
t have to go more than a few yards before she
’
s called back?
”
Andrew
’
s tense expression relaxed in a momentary smile.
“
You ought to be on the Bench, instead of me,
”
he said.
“
You
’
ve a much better head.
”
“
That
’
s age, sir. I
’
ve got the head, maybe—but I
’
d change it willingly for that pair of legs. Very pretty little bit of work you treated us to just now; very pretty indeed.
”
Then, suddenly thrusting his head into the bus, he called loudly:
“
Hi, Ma! This gent
’
s a J.P. He
’
s sending for the police. Are you keeping the kid or not?
”
The other passengers in the bus who had already reached a state of lively interest in these unusual happenings, now began to argue heatedly among themselves; and for a moment the woman hesitated. Then, as the word
“
kidnapping
”
fell on her ears, she seemed to lose her nerve; for without warning she suddenly trundled Maureen down the length of the bus and thrust her out with such violence that had not Andrew reached forward
to catch her, she would have fallen into the road.
That done, she retraced her steps and sat down in the exact place she had occupied before, her face averted in fury and disgust from the group at the door.
“
So that
’
s that.
”
The driver was scribbling on the back of an old envelope with a stub of pencil.
“
If a case comes on and you want witnesses, here you are, sir. Don
’
t like the look of Her Grace in there, not much I don
’
t; so why make difficulties about going to Court?—that
’
s what I say.
”
But it was Catherine who had to take the grimy piece of paper offered with such spontaneously good intent. For Maureen had fainted
cl
ean away in Andrew
’
s arms.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A passing v
an solved the immediate problem of getting Maureen back to Garsford House, and the bus, with th
e
child
’
s stepmother still sitting inside, morosely aloof, continued its journey.
“
I
’
ll hand the kid over to Matron,
”
Andrew told Catherine, climbing nimbly into the back of the van, Maureen still in his arms.
“
She
’
s too heavy for you to cope with. I
’
ll get her head down between her knees in a minute, and she
’
ll soon come round. You follow on your bicycle, calling in at the doctor
’
s on your way. He ought to see her.
”
Somehow it did not occur to Catherine to question his authority. Acquiescing meekly, she did as she was bid and having left a message for the doctor, who was out on his morning rounds, she arrived at the Ho
m
e to find Maureen already tucked up in bed with hot bottles, and being fed by Hilda with sips of weak, sweet tea.
“
I don
’
t know what
’
s happened; I
’
ve been too busy to hear,
”
Hilda said, coming out on to the landing, and shutting the door behind her.
“
Matron and Mr. Playdle are still closeted in the office. All I do know is that this child is suffering badly from shock, and that if we don
’
t look out we
’
re going to have the dickens of a time with her.
”
“
The doctor will be along as soon as he can get here,
”
Catherine returned.
“
I expect Mr. Playdle told you I
’
d gone for him.
”
Hilda nodded.
“
He seems to have behaved very sensibly, your friend, Mr. Playdle,
”
she said dryly, adding a moment later, with a thoughtful frown:
“
He is apparently taking the whole business very seriously, from the few words I heard him drop. But I mustn
’
t stop here gossiping. I must get back to my patient—unless—
”
and for the first time for weeks she looked at Catherine with real friendliness—
“
you
’
d like to take her over now. I know how devoted you are to her, and she to you.
”
“
If you think I
’
m competent,
”
Catherine began doubtfully.
Hilda gave an impatient toss of her gingery head.
“
If you aren
’
t you oughtn
’
t to be here,
”
she returned, snappily, but without malice.
“
The kid wants warmth, first and foremost, and plenty of rest. She
’
s just had a mug of hot tea, but if you can get her t
o
drink a little more, so much the better. I
’
ll go down and hurry on with the dinner. We shall have the children back from school in no time; and what
’
s happening to the babies, goodness knows.
”
“
I can hear their cheerful squeals from here, so I guess they
’
re all right,
”
Catherine said smiling, and went straight into the bedroom where Maureen lay, pale and shivering, but fully conscious.
Pulling a chair up to the bedside she began, as she had done on so many other occasions, to stroke the child
’
s forehead, but this time Maureen did not fall asleep so easily.
She fixed her blue eyes on Catherine
’
s face with painful intensity, and muttered:
“
You see, it was the Missis after all that I saw in the High Street.
”
“
Well, she won
’
t be coming again,
”
Catherine said stoutly.
The child gave a heavy sigh.
“
I expect she will. And I expect I shall have to go with her in the end.
”
And then she went on, her trembling suddenly becoming more violent:
“
It was being shut up alone in the dark for hours and hours that was so terrible— right up at the top of the house. When she and dad were going out, I used to beg her to give me a light, but she said I
’
d set the house on fire, and must go to sleep.
”
She sat up, and crossing her arms across her thin little chest, rocked wretchedly to and fro, crying despairingly:
“
As if I could go to sleep at five o
’
clock in the afternoon—when I was so dreadfully frightened.
”
Catherine
’
s warm arms went round her. She cradled the shaking child against her shoulder.
“
Darling, the Missis is never going to get hold of you again,
”
she declared.
“
Oh, she will, she will,
”
the child sobbed, in that quiet, heart-rending fashion Catherine had learned to know so well.
Feeling desperate for some means of assurance, Catherine was seized by a sudden inspiration—or was it merely by a natural instinct too strong to be smothered—the instinct to turn, in need, to the man she loved?
“
I
’
m going to ask Mr. Playdle to come up and see you,
”
she told Maureen, putting the child gently down again on the pillows.
“
He
’
ll tell you just what will happen to your stepmother if she dares to come here any more.
”
And kissing her she added softly:
“
Don
’
t cry, darling; we shall never let you go.
”
Knocking at the door of Matron
’
s little sanctum
,
she found her still in conversation with Andrew
.
Both were looking grave, but it was evident that Catherine
’
s appearance came as a welcome interruption.
“
You will be relieved to hear that Mr. Playdle is taking steps to prevent any possibility of that dreadful woman turning up here again,
”
Matron said, smiling faintly at Catherine.
“
I
’
m afraid you have had a very unpleasant time.
”
“
I
’
m all right; it
’
s
Maureen I
’
m troubled about,
”
Catherine told her; and then glancing, at Andrew
,
she went on quickly:
“
Maureen is haunted by the fear of her stepmother returning,
”
she said.
“
The woman has such an uncanny power over her that she can
’
t somehow put up the smallest show of fight against her. If you could make her believe that the
danger is over for good and all—”
Andrew hauled himself to his feet.
“
If Matron doesn
’
t mind my scattering dust upstairs as well as down, I
’
ll come up at once,
”
he said.
“
I shall be able to tell the child that if this horrible stepmother of hers sets foot in the village again, she will be taken up by the police immediately and locked up for a good long time.
”
He shook his coppery head slowly,
“
But what a ghastly business it is. There was nothing to
stop Maureen breaking away and rushing to Catherine and me—”
If Matron noticed his easy use of Catherine
’
s Christian name she gave no sign. She chipped in crisply:
“
That sort of thing isn
’
t as uncommon as you might think; I
’
ve come across several cases during the course of my work—though none, perhaps quite so bad. Now, I don
’
t mind your dusty boots and clothes at all, Mr. Playdle, and I
’
ll take you up to the patient right away.
”
And then she added, turning to Catherine:
“
Get the little ones ready for their dinner, will you? Time
’
s getting on.
”
What Andrew said to Maureen no one ever knew —not even Matron, for she came down almost at once, leaving the pair alone. But ten minutes later, when Andrew left the Home,
en route,
as he said, for the police station, Maureen
’
s tears had stopped, and she was looking several degrees less scared.
“
I can
’
t think why I feel I still have to do what the Missis says,
”
she said haltingly to Catherine, who had run up to give an eye to her.
Catherine, who had brought Crusoe with her, deposited the kitten on the bed, and immediately it ran up to Maureen, purring with delight, and clawing joyfully at the sheets.
“
You ought to remember Crusoe,
”
Catherine told her seriously.
“
He
’
s your kitten, and it would be very wrong to leave him.
”
Maureen looked very thoughtful, and that frightened expression gradually, vanished altogether. She nodded slowly, her lips compressed; then said, with a sudden lightening of her face, as though the whole thing had become, in one flash, quite clear to her;
“
Of course! If I
’
d thought of it like that, I believe
I
’
d have run back into the house
w
hen she called over the hedge, instead of doing what she said, and going out into the road. Why—supposing
you
went off and left me, just because you wer
e s
o frightened, everything got muddled up in your head!
”
For a second Catherine was too startled to speak; then—somehow—she achieved a reassuring smile, and patted the little girl
’
s pale cheek.
“
Most of us can manage to be brave, if we
’
ve someone or something weaker to worry about,
”
she observed.
“
And now, my pet, you must try to put all this tiresome business out of your head. Crusoe looks like having a nap
c
urled up so cosily on your nice clean sheet, and you
’
d better do the same.
”