PAUL'S MADNESS
Howden Clough was a big house standing in its own grounds, some two
miles from the town of Brunford. Considering the vicinity, it was a
very handsome place of residence. The house itself was of grey stone,
and occupied a commanding position. Having been built some two hundred
years before, by an old county magnate, the grounds were well matured.
Indeed, Mr. Edward Wilson was envied by his fellow manufacturers for
having obtained so desirable a place of residence. The very fact that
he lived in a house which had been owned by the Greystones gave him a
kind of position, and this, added to his being a rich man, and
abundantly able to keep up the place he occupied, gave him a feeling of
superiority.
Edward Wilson and his son were sitting together in the room which they
called the library, although there were but few evidences of the name
being deserved.
"Mr. Bolitho will be here in half an hour," said the father.
"Do you know if he is bringing Mary with him?" asked Ned.
"I am not sure," replied the father. "I have done my best for you, my
lad."
"I mean to have her," said the young man. "I never really cared for a
girl before, and I shall never care for another. Besides, why is the
case hopeless?"
"I mean you shall have her," replied the father. "But you must
remember, my lad, that these Bolithos belong to a very old family, and
they don't look upon money as everything. We're not county people, and
they are, although they visit us as friends. Still, I can buy up half
the county people, and I've done my best to persuade him to bring Mary
with him. When I was at Mr. Bolitho's house last, I inquired if she
had any matrimonial engagement, but as far as I could gather she's
still fancy free, so let's hope for the best, Ned."
"What time does the meeting commence?" asked the son.
"Not until nine o'clock," was the reply. "We shall have plenty of time
for a smoke and a chat after dinner before those fellows come."
A little later there was a sound of wheels upon the drive. Both father
and son rushed to the door, and to their delight they found not only
Mr. Bolitho but his daughter as well.
"This is splendid!" cried Mr. Wilson senior. "I was afraid Miss
Bolitho would not be able to come. Ah, Emily, here's your friend. We
are glad to see you. I am afraid you'll think that Lancashire people
are a little rough, but we yield to none in the warmth of our welcome."
Although this speech seemed correct enough, young Edward Wilson felt
rather uneasy. He wondered whether those of Mr. Bolitho's class would
have met him in a similar way. In spite of the fact that he declared
himself deeply in love with the young lady who had now gone upstairs
with his sister, he did not feel comfortable in her presence. There
seemed to be always an invisible barrier between them. Still, she was
there, and he meant to make the most of his opportunities; and if the
plans which had been made bore fruit, he trusted that he would see a
great deal of her in the future.
The party that sat round the dinner table was gay, but no reference was
made to the ostensible object of Mr. Bolitho's visit. When nine
o'clock came, however, it was evident that there were several
new-comers, and presently the two Wilsons led the way to the library,
while Mr. Bolitho followed with a half-interested, half-bored look on
his face. He shook hands with a number of men who had gathered in the
room. Evidently they were nearly all opulent, keen-minded, successful
men, but he could not help feeling pleased at the deference which each
of them paid to him. Even as they did, he realised that he was not of
their class. After all, a wealthy cotton manufacturer occupies a
different position from that of an eminent barrister who belongs to an
old county family.
They quickly made known their business. "The truth of it is, Mr.
Bolitho," said the leading spokesman, "Mr. Carcliffe is resigning, and
we want someone to fight our battles. The socialistic and labour
element has become very strong, and unless we are strongly led, our
side will be beaten. And so we have come to the conclusion that if you
will say 'Yes,' you are our best man."
It was a roughly spoken speech, but Mr. Bolitho understood perfectly,
and the proposal appealed to him strongly. He had long encouraged
political aspirations, and here was his opportunity. To be the Member
of the important borough of Brunford, which lay at the heart of the
manufacturing district, promised all sorts of scope for his ambition.
Owing to his success at the Bar he had a large income, and more than
one had suggested to him that if he entered Parliament he would be a
most eligible candidate for the post of either Solicitor- or
Attorney-General, while even higher things might be within his grasp in
the future. As it was, he discussed the various pros and cons with
considerable eagerness and cordiality. As far as he could see, there
was every probability of success. The present Member had been elected
by a clear thousand majority, and he had sufficient faith in himself to
believe that he could not only maintain that majority but increase it.
"By the way," he said at length, "have the other side selected their
man?"
"Well, yes and no," was the reply. "From what we hear they have not
fastened upon a party man, but they have approached young Paul
Stepaside."
Mr. Bolitho gave a look of astonishment. "What!" he cried.
"Stepaside! the fellow who a year or two ago----" And then he stopped.
"Yes," was the reply.
"But he hasn't been long out of prison."
"No," was the rejoinder. "But he's a remarkable chap, is Stepaside,
and there have been all sorts of foolish notions in the town so that
he's become very popular."
"I suppose these working-men's unions will pay his expenses, then?"
said Mr. Bolitho.
"I am not so sure of that," replied the chairman of the association.
"You see, Stepaside started manufacturing a little more than a year
ago, and he's been phenomenally successful. His partner is a very able
chap, too, and they know their business. So that I fancy Stepaside
will be able to pay his own expenses."
"And has he the confidence of the people?"
"He's the confidence of a certain class," was the reply, "and he would
be a strong candidate."
Mr. Bolitho looked thoughtful. "This is very awkward!" he said.
"You don't mean to say," said the chairman, "that this fact will alter
your decision?"
"No," he replied slowly. "I don't quite say that, but it puts a new
face on the question. You see, it will be awkward for me to oppose a
man in politics whom, less than two years ago, I practically sent to
gaol. Still, it gives a certain piquancy to the situation. Does he
know much about politics, by the way?"
"No, I don't think he does," replied the chairman of the association.
"And that's where our strength will lie. He's just an agitator, just a
clever speaker who can appeal to men's passions, but when he's faced
with facts he will be nowhere."
There was a short silence after this. It was evident that some present
did not agree with what had been said, but no one spoke a word. All
seemed to be afraid lest Mr. Bolitho would fail them at this juncture,
and they looked upon him as the man most likely to lead them to victory.
After they were gone Mr. Bolitho talked long and gravely with Mr.
Wilson.
"I tell you," said the manufacturer, "if you fail us now, Mr. Bolitho,
your conduct will be misinterpreted."
Mr. Bolitho looked at the other questioningly.
"The truth of it is," went on Mr. Wilson, "a great many foolish things
have gone abroad since Stepaside's trial, and the belief is that he
wasn't treated fairly. The chaps who got off easily confessed, after
their imprisonment, that Stepaside had tried to dissuade them from
doing what they did, and so he has been looked upon as a kind of
martyr. Many have blamed us for this, and now if you refuse to fight
him--well, they'll say you are afraid."
"Afraid!"
"Yes, afraid. They'll say you're afraid to face a public audience, to
stand up in a public fight."
Mr. Bolitho gazed steadily on the carpet for a few seconds, and then
relit his cigar, which had gone out.
"That settles it, Wilson," he said. "That settles it. I will quickly
let the people of Brunford know whether I am afraid or not. You can
tell your chairman that I accept."
The manufacturer caught the other man's hand with delight. "By goom,"
he said, lapsing into the Lancashire dialect, "that's the ticket."
"You can tell him, too," went on the barrister, and his eyes flashed as
he spoke, "that I'll fight this for all I'm worth. We'll leave no
stone unturned, Wilson, and I'm inclined to think at the end of this
election that your man Stepaside will be no longer regarded as a hero."
The following Saturday _The Brunford Times_ announced the fact that Mr.
Bolitho, K.C., had accepted a hearty invitation to stand as their
candidate for the next election, and a leading article was devoted to
him, declaring that, if they had sought all over England, a worthier
candidate could not have been found.
Paul had no knowledge of the true facts of the case until he saw _The
Brunford Times_ on the Saturday morning. He was returning from his
mill when he heard a boy shouting in the street, "Bolitho accepted for
Brunford," and, buying the paper, he read the news eagerly.
"Thou looks as though thou had lost a thousand pounds, Paul," said a
voice.
"Nay," replied Paul. "I've not lost a thousand pounds." And he
noticed that the man to whom he spoke was the chairman of the league
who had visited him some time before.
"Well, what's the matter that you look so glum?" said the other.
"I've come to a serious conclusion," replied the young man between his
set teeth.
"And what's your conclusion?"
"I'm going to be Member for Brunford," he replied, and walked on
without another word.
"Ay, and he will, too," said the other, as he watched Paul's retreating
figure. "The chap as licks Paul Stepaside will have to be a bigger man
than any lawyer that ever lived!"
The consequence of this meeting in the street was that, before the day
was over, all the town knew that Paul Stepaside, who had been doubtful
so long as to whether he would fight the people's battle, had now made
up his mind, and that he would oppose the man who had been instrumental
in sending him to prison nearly two years before!
"You remember him, Mary," said Emily Wilson. "You remember the man who
stopped us in the path last summer?"
"Yes, I remember him," said the girl quietly. "He struck me as a
dangerous kind of man."
"He's thought to be very good-looking," said the other. "He came to
Brunford a few years ago, a nobody, and now there's no man so much
talked about."
"But do you think he'll succeed?" asked the girl.
"There's no telling," replied Miss Wilson. "You see, here in Brunford
the working people form the great bulk of the population, and they are
very determined; when they have set their minds on a thing they stop at
nothing in order to obtain it. Besides, among a certain class, your
father is not very much liked."
"No, I understand that," replied the other quietly. "But, of course,
they must understand that, as a barrister, my father was obliged to do
what he did."
"Well, you know, these working people have all sorts of foolish
notions."
"I should like to hear him speak," said Mary Bolitho. "I wonder if I
should be noticed if I went to one of his meetings."
"I expect not," replied the other. "But still, no meetings will be
held for a little time yet. When the election comes we shall have great
doings here."
At that minute they were joined by young Edward Wilson.
"We were just talking about Paul Stepaside," said his sister. "And I
was saying that the people are very strongly attached to him."
"Oh, I don't fear," replied Wilson.
"Why, you said only yesterday that you greatly doubted what the result
would be," replied his sister.
"Yes, but I've been thinking it all over since then," replied Wilson,
"and I can see how we can beat him."
"How?" asked the two girls eagerly.
"Well, there are two things," he replied. "One of them depends upon
you, Miss Bolitho."
"Upon me!" replied the girl. "How? What do you mean?"
"You really wish your father to beat this fellow?"
"Of course I do!" replied the girl. "I should be horribly ashamed if
my father did not get in by a big majority."
"Well, then," said Wilson, "it can be done. You see, Stepaside's
chances all depend upon the working people. Of course, we have a good
many of them on our side, but he has more on his. Now I know what
these factory hands are, and although they profess to be very
democratic, there's no Englishman that ever lived but who is a snob at
heart. If you, Miss Bolitho, will make a house-to-house visitation,
you can win enough votes to put your father in, whatever the other side
does."
"But that would mean my staying in the town for months!" said the girl.
"It would mean your spending a great deal of time here," said Wilson,
who thought he was very clever, "but what of that? We shall always be
delighted to see you at Howden Clough, and I am sure Emily, here, would
be only too glad to help you."
"Why, indeed I would, Mary," replied the girl, "and, after all, it
would be great fun!"
Mary Bolitho looked across at the great town which lay in the valley
beneath her. She saw the hundreds of chimneys belching out black,
half-consumed coals, she saw the long lines of uninteresting cottages,
in which these toilers of the North lived, and she thought of the work
that Wilson's suggestion would entail. She did not know why, but she
had taken a strong dislike to Paul Stepaside. Perhaps it was because
she remembered his words in the shop in Brunford. Perhaps because he
had roused some personal antipathy. Anyhow, in her heart of hearts was
the longing to see him beaten. And yet she was afraid. She did not
like the idea of spending so much time at Howden Clough. She was too
clear-sighted to be blind to Wilson's intentions, and she felt sure as
to what his hopes were.
"What's the other thing you have in your mind, Mr. Wilson?" she said
presently.
"The other thing is personal," was the reply. "After all, who is Paul
Stepaside? Who is his father? Who is his mother? Who are his people?
We Lancashire people may profess to be very democratic, but we've got a
lot of pride in us. I have heard--well, I won't tell you what I've
heard, but I'll manage that!"
A few weeks later the contest between Paul Stepaside and Mr. Bolitho
commenced in the Brunford district. There were no immediate signs that
an election would take place, but each knew that they must be ready
when the time came. Mr. Bolitho held crowded meetings in various parts
of the constituency, and, according to newspaper reports, was
enthusiastically received. This, however, was to be expected. There
were fifteen thousand voters on the lists, and Mr. Carcliffe, whom Mr.
Bolitho sought to succeed, had at the last election obtained over a
thousand majority. Paul also addressed several meetings, which were
largely attended, and his supporters spoke to him very confidently
about the result. But Paul was not satisfied; he could not help
noticing that a subtle change was coming over the town. His
experiences of a year ago, and the tremendous enthusiasm which they had
raised on his behalf were practically forgotten. His imprisonment was
a thing of the past, and the share which Mr. Bolitho had taken in it
was no longer very seriously considered. Paul was not long in
attributing this change to its real cause. For one thing, he was being
constantly met with rumours about his birth. He knew that the artisans
of the North, while professing advanced democratic views, were
nevertheless influenced by such things. More than once he had been
asked what his father did, where he lived, where his mother and father
were married, and where he had been born? And presently, when it was
rumoured that he had been born in a workhouse, Paul could not help
feeling that a subtle force was at work. In addition to this, too, he
heard that Mr. Bolitho's daughter had been visiting among the poorer
streets in the town, and that on every hand she had been winning golden
opinions. It seemed to him from what he had heard that there was a
kind of witchcraft in her presence, and that many who had been among
his great admirers, and promised supporters, now seemed to think that
the other side had a great deal to say. Paul quickly discovered, too,
that this girl was no ordinary canvasser. She had been able to meet
the working-class politician on his own grounds, and to answer him very
effectively. Everyone who has taken part in a political contest knows
the influence which a young, educated, intelligent and beautiful girl
can wield, and she had gone into the people's cottages and talked, not
only with the women, but with the men. She had caught, too, the rough
humour of the district, and had acquainted herself with the peculiar
needs and desires of the people who worked in the North. More
quick-witted and better informed than they, she had apparently been
able to answer Paul's arguments, and had, therefore, left them in doubt.
This, too, seemed apparent to Paul. The questions asked concerning his
parentage and birthplace synchronised with the advent of this girl.
Never once had he met her, and yet he was constantly hearing of the
converts that she was making. As may be imagined, his heart grew
bitter at the thought of it, even while he grimly determined that he
would win this battle. It is true that the election seemed months
away, but the ground seemed slipping from under his feet, and his
chances, in spite of what his supporters told him, appeared to grow
less each day.
Paul called to mind the time he had met her, in the field close by
Howden Clough. He remembered, too, the wild vow he made. This girl,
the daughter of the author of his disgrace, one who evidently regarded
him with contempt and anger, nevertheless filled his horizon. He knew
that the feelings he bore towards her, feelings which no one but
himself ever dreamed of, seemed to be madness, while the election that
loomed ahead, and on which he had built such great hopes, seemed to
divide them rather than to bring them together. If he were beaten in
the fight, she would look upon him with more contempt than ever.
This feeling caused his speeches to be somewhat bitter in their tones,
and, as a consequence, did not advance his interests--indeed, he felt
as though his own supporters were growing half-hearted, if not
indifferent, and he attributed it all to the persistent work of Mary
Bolitho. Moreover, there were constant rumours about her being engaged
to young Ned Wilson--and Ned Wilson, as he knew, was his enemy.
One evening, it was toward the end of September, Paul was walking in
some fields beyond Howden Clough. He had been reflecting that he had
as yet done nothing towards carrying out the purpose for which he had
come North. He remembered that the work his mother had given him to do
remained undone.
"I promised her I would go to Scotland," he reflected, "and I've not
done it. I've become so wrapped up in this business that I've almost
forgotten mother. She still has that cloud of disgrace hanging over
her head, while I've been thinking of my own advancement and my own
desires. Besides, even if I were to win, I should never be able to
speak to her until this matter is cleared up. Of course, she has heard
everything, and she will look upon me as----" And then Paul set his
teeth together and his eyes flashed with anger.
These thoughts had scarcely passed through his mind when his heart gave
a sudden leap. Coming towards him was the girl of whom he had been
thinking, and she was alone! Evidently she was on another visit to the
Wilsons'; no doubt, too, she was carrying out her purpose of winning
voters from him. Almost without thinking he determined to speak to her.
There was no definite thought in his mind, but it seemed to him as
though he must speak to her and set himself right with her. He felt it
was his right to do so, and that it was her duty to hear.
He lifted his hat on her approach. "I beg your pardon, Miss Bolitho,"
he said, "but may I presume on your kindness a little?"
The girl looked at him in astonishment. Perhaps she was a little angry
too, for the footpath on which he met her was in a somewhat lonely
district.
"I know I'm very rude in stopping you in this way," went on Paul, as
though he divined her feelings, "and I would not have done so had not
the reason seemed to me sufficient. Besides"--and there was a touch of
anger in his voice--"it seems to me that it would not only be generous
on your part if you would, but just."
As he spoke she could not help reflecting on the change that had come
over him since he first spoke to her on the night following his release
from prison. Then he was rude, almost truculent; now, even while he
seemed angry, his demeanour suggested a refinement of feeling which did
not manifest itself then.
"Of course, you know who I am," he went on. "I am Paul Stepaside, and
I am your father's opponent in this political contest."
"Is it about the election that you wish to speak to me?" she asked.
"Yes, and no," replied Paul. "Perhaps the contest may be called the
occasion of my asking you to speak with me, but the reason lies deeper.
I am sure you do not wish to be unjust?"
"I think," she replied, "if you wish to say anything about the
election, that you had better seek an interview with my father. He
will be in Brunford to-morrow."
"It's not to your father that I wish to speak," he replied.
"I am altogether at a loss," said Mary Bolitho, "to know what there can
be that you wish to discuss with me."
He could not mistake the tones in which she spoke. He knew,
instinctively, that she did not regard him as belonging to her own
class. Her every word suggested to him that he was to her an outsider,
one to whom she could speak only as an inferior. A thousand things
which he thought he wanted to say to her had altogether escaped him,
and for a few seconds he stood dumb and confused.
"Of course, it is about this election, in a way," he stammered
presently. "I--I--you see, it means a great deal to me----" And then
he ceased speaking again. Somehow the words would not come.
He saw the smile of contempt which passed over her face, and he thought
he understood the meaning of it. Perhaps it was the best thing that
could have happened to him, for now his anger was aroused, and he saw
his way clearly.
"No, no, Miss Bolitho. Do not think that I have come to whine to you,
or to make complaints in any way--that is about the things you are
thinking of. It's not that. I am prepared to fight my battle without
seeking quarter in any direction--that is, any direction that is fair.
I have never had a public-school education, but I think I know the
meaning of the term, 'Playing the game.'"
She looked puzzled for a minute, and then he saw a flush mount her face.
"I am afraid I do not understand you!"
"The circumstances of my life have not made me an adept in talking with
young ladies," said Paul. "Doubtless you think me rude and clownish,
and perhaps you are right, but I hope I have nothing but true feelings
at heart. You are fighting for your father in this election, Miss
Bolitho, and I do not complain in the least. You hope he will win, and
you are using every legitimate means to obtain votes for him--that is
right, that is fair; but, Miss Bolitho, there is something which I
regard very sacred: perhaps the most sacred thing in the world to me is
the love of my mother, and the thought of her good name. I will not
tell you how she has suffered for me, and how she loves me, but I hope
you will believe me when I say that I regard anything which will
blacken her name as the greatest insult that can be offered to myself.
Have I made myself understood?"
The flush on the girl's face deepened; she knew what he meant.
"I do not mind what people say about me so much," said Paul. "I am
able to defend myself, at least when I have fair play. There have been
times when I have not been able to do so successfully, still time has
been on my side, and justice has been done to me. But can you
understand, Miss Bolitho, what a man feels, when, in order to win an
election, his opponents have not been ashamed to heap shame upon one of
the purest women and the best mothers that ever lived?"
"I am at a loss to know why you say this to me," retorted the girl.
"I do not complain," said Paul, "at least at this juncture, that your
father was my enemy years ago. Although he had no foundation for it,
he pleaded that I was a dangerous man, an agitator and a leader of a
gang of knaves. Through him I spent six months in gaol among felons; I
wore prison clothes; I was treated like a dog; I lay there one long,
cold winter, night after night, in a damp cellar. This was through
your father--not because he believed I was guilty, but because he
wanted to make a case against me. I say I have never complained of
this, never mentioned it once in this contest. I have tried to fight
fairly, on broad general principles, but, Miss Bolitho, my mother's
good name is sacred to me. Can you, as a woman, understand this?"
"I do not know why I should answer you," she said, and there was
hauteur in her voice. "I cannot help understanding your accusation,
and although I am utterly ignorant concerning it, I will say this:
never, since I have taken any interest in this contest, have I
mentioned your mother's name. Perhaps you do not believe me, and
perhaps the reason is that you cannot understand?"
She spoke quietly and naturally, and yet her words stung Paul like
whip-cord. Although she did not say so in so many words, he felt that
she despised him, and again his anger was aroused.
"You deny, then, that you have----"
"There are certain things, Mr. Stepaside, that one cannot deny, not
that they are true, but because it is impossible for one to take notice
of them!"
"Forgive me," he said, almost humbly, "if I have believed what I have
so often been told, but if there is one person about whom I am
sensitive, it is my mother. I will not detain you any longer, Miss
Bolitho. Perhaps it would have been better if I had not spoken to you
at all. Do not think that I complain because you are fighting against
me. You can do no other--besides, I am sure"--and here he spoke
bitterly--"that your father and the Wilsons will have poisoned your
mind against me!"
He saw an angry flash from her eyes.
"I am afraid you are wrong there, Mr. Stepaside, as far as I know there
have been no reasons why I should think of you at all; as for enmity,
such a thing would be impossible!"
His heart seemed like a great hot fire as he left her. He knew he had
broken all conventions, and acted like a madman; he knew that whatever
she had felt towards him before, her feelings towards him now must be
of utter scorn and derision, and yet he would not recall one word he
had spoken, even if he could. He was glad that he had said these wild,
incoherent things to her. He had spoken to her, she had spoken to him.
In the future she would think of him, not as a nonentity, not as
someone who could be easily passed by, but as one whose life meant
something. She would never be able to forget him. He knew it and
rejoiced in it! She would be reminded of him by a thousand things in
the days to come. She would never be indifferent about him again, and
throughout the whole of the contest that was coming on she would regard
him differently from the way in which she had thought of him before.
Somehow, too, he felt less jealous of Ned Wilson. He had not spoken of
this man, who was said to be his rival, but he was in the background of
his thoughts all the time. For weeks the stories which the gossips had
bandied had wounded him, but now he felt different. After their talk
this girl would never think of Ned Wilson; she could not. He did not
belong to her order of beings. He breathed a different atmosphere, he
spoke a different language, lived in a different world.
The next day Paul started for Scotland, to try and discover the truth
concerning which his mother had told him.