THE SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS
For the next few weeks Paul's life was utterly changed. The coming of
his mother had wrought a transformation, and in a very real sense old
things had passed away, and all things had become new. Each morning he
went to his work with a glad heart, and when the time for returning
came he looked forward to meeting her with a joy unknown to him before.
He had insisted on taking her to Manchester, and, in spite of many
protests, had bought her what she called finery only fit for a lass.
But Paul had taken a peculiar pleasure in this. He loved to see her
eyes sparkle at some unexpected act of kindness on his part, and as day
by day passed away and he marked the improvement in her looks, saw the
lines of care wiped out and an expression of contentment come on her
face, more genial feelings filled his life. As he repeated to himself
often, "I have a home and a mother now," and the fact made even the
dirty town in which he lived seem like a paradise. He was glad, too,
to take business friends to his new home, and noticed with the keenest
pleasure that they regarded his mother with cordiality and respect. So
great was the change that came over him that for a time he grew
careless about discovering the man who had caused such a dark shadow to
fall upon her life long years before. It seemed for a time as though
the past were obliterated, and that he had begun a new chapter of his
life. His business prospered, and all anxiety in that direction seemed
to be removed far from him.
In spite of all this, however, there was still a dull ache in his
heart, a feeling that something was wanting in his life. He had not
forgotten Mary Bolitho. He knew he never should. Never since the day
after the election had he seen her in Brunford, and he often wondered
what this might mean. Whether Ned Wilson ever saw her or not he had no
idea, but, from the fact that Ned was often away from home, he feared
that such was the case. Never, since he had discovered who was
responsible for the circular issued at the time of the election, had he
made any remarks about it. It was never referred to even between
himself and his partner. Paul remembered it, however, and there were
those in the town who, when they learnt the truth, said one to another,
"Ay, Stepaside will pay Wilson out for that! He's noan the chap to let
a thing like that bide!"
Mr. Bolitho himself had visited the town only once since the election.
He had on this occasion accompanied a Cabinet Minister, who spoke on
the political situation, in the biggest hall in the town--but Paul had
not gone to hear him. He heard that the new Member was not accompanied
by his daughter, and then all interest in his visit had ceased. And so
the months passed away, until more than a year had elapsed since the
counting of the votes in the Town Hall.
Meanwhile, Paul constantly appeared in the town with his mother, and to
his delight she received invitations from some of the most important
people in Brunford. Not that she accepted these invitations, but
Paul's joy was very great, nevertheless, because he saw it gave her
satisfaction, and because he felt that it eased the burden of her life.
To Ned Wilson he never spoke. They met in various ways and at various
places, but they ignored each other completely. This was naturally
remarked upon by the people in the town, and many prophesied that the
time would come when an open rupture would take place between these two
men.
"You see," said one old weaver, when the matter was being discussed,
"Paul's noan religious. He believes i' nowt--not but what he's a good
lad, but his heart is closed to faith. He has no anchor anywhere, and
when a man has noan of the grace of God in his heart he's hard.
Onything may happen."
The autumn that his mother came he was invited to stand as a councillor
for one of the wards in the borough. But this he declined. He was
glad he had received this invitation, because it gave his mother joy,
but the memory of his failure during the political contest still
remained with him. He felt he could not be satisfied with the lesser
when he had been refused the greater.
"No, mother," he said when he told her what had happened. "I'm not
going to do this. I mean to be Member for Brunford, and if I take on
this work it would stand in my way."
"You've never forgotten that lass, Paul?" said his mother.
"No, and I never shall!"
"You're not much of a lover," she said, looking towards him with a
wistful smile.
"What do you mean, mother?"
"I mean," she said, "that if I were a lad and had made up my mind to
win a lass, I would do it. I wouldn't stay away from her! If you love
her, Paul, tell her so. She'll think none the less of you!"
"How can I?" he asked. "I don't know where she lives."
"And have never taken the trouble to find out!" was his mother's
retort. "I tell you, my boy, no lass that ever lived thinks more of a
lad for staying in the background. You don't know what Wilson's doing!"
"No," replied Paul. "But I do not think she has promised him anything;
in fact, I am sure she has not. I saw him only to-day, and if she had
promised him, he would not look as he did look! All the same, I feel
as though my lips were sealed, mother! If I went to her now she would
scorn me, and I couldn't bear that. No, I must wait my time, and when
that time comes neither Wilson nor anyone else shall stand in my way!"
"If she could see you two together," replied his mother fondly,
"there's not the slightest doubt as to which she would choose!"
"Nonsense, mother!" said Paul with a laugh, and yet her words cheered
him in spite of himself.
"I'm not so old, my boy, but what I know what a lass feels, and what
she likes!"
"I'm nobody yet," said Paul. "I'm only just a beginner, and Wilson is
one of the richest men in Brunford."
"If she is worth having, Paul, she won't think so much about that! I
went to the kirk last Sunday where Wilson goes, and I saw him. I tell
you he is not one that a lass would take to if she knew you cared for
her. But if you don't speak, well, there----"
"I hear she's coming to Brunford soon," said Paul presently.
His mother looked up eagerly. "Coming to Brunford?" she asked.
"Yes," replied Paul. "She's coming on a visit to the Wilsons'. My
partner, George Preston, told me. It seems that his mother's servant
is friendly with one of the maids up at Howden Clough. That's how he
got to know."
The mother looked at her son for a few seconds with a strange
expression in her eyes. It was easy to see how she loved him, and how
her heart went out in strong desire to bring him happiness. She did
not seem at all jealous that he should love anyone beside her, her one
thought seemed to be how to bring him joy.
"You must meet her, Paul!" she said. "You must meet her!"
"Ay, that's very likely," he laughed bitterly. "But what's the good?
She would never think of me, I am nameless!"
He was sorry the moment he had spoken, for he knew he had not only
wounded his mother, he had aroused in her heart feelings which he had
hoped were dying out.
"You have heard nothing more?" she said, and her voice was hard and
almost hoarse.
"No, mother," he replied. "I seem to be met by a blank wall
everywhere. I have made every inquiry in my power, and, as I told you,
I went to Scotland in the hope that I should be able to get at the
truth, but I learnt nothing--nothing! If he's alive he's somewhere in
hiding; he's afraid of what will take place--because the marriage is
clear enough, at least, in my mind."
"But in the eyes of the law, Paul?" she asked eagerly.
"Ay, even in the eyes of the law," he replied. "If I could find him, I
could face him with what you both wrote in that book in the old inn.
Both the man and the woman are still alive, and they had no doubt about
it. But I cannot find him. I've tried, and, as these Lancashire
people say, 'better tried.' I sometimes think we'll have to give it
up!"
The woman rose to her feet and came towards him like one in anger.
"Paul," she said, "never hint at such a thing again. For myself it
doesn't matter. Everyone here calls me Mrs. Stepaside, and there are
but few who ask questions about my marriage, although I know it's been
talked about. But there is you to consider. Stepaside is not your
real name. It is the name of a hamlet, the place where I fell down,
thinking and hoping and almost praying that I should die. It's a name
of disgrace. It was given to you because the workhouse master could
think of nothing else. And I should never rest in my grave thinking
that you did not possess your rights! We must find him, Paul. We must
make him do you justice, ay, and make him suffer, too, as I have
suffered!"
"Have you not forgotten or forgiven yet?" he asked, almost startled by
the look on his mother's face.
"Forgotten, forgiven!" And it did not seem to be like her voice at
all. "Never, while I have a brain to think or a heart to feel!
Forgiven! As I said, for myself it does not matter, although for many
a month I was in hell! But I can never forget the injury he has done
to you--you who were branded in the village where you were reared as a
come-by-chance child, a workhouse brat, reared, upon the rates, a
burden to the parish! Can I forgive that, while perhaps he--he may
have married again."
"Perhaps he did not," said Paul. "Perhaps he sent that man to your old
home to inquire because, after all, he was caring for you!"
"What's that?" cried the woman angrily. "To send to inquire! Did he
follow the steps I took? If he cared for me, if he were faithful to
his promise, he would have traced me to Cornwall. He would never give
up seeking for me until he had found me or discovered the truth about
me. No, Paul, we must make him pay for it, we must! And don't ever
hint about giving it up again. I've had a feeling lately that I'm
going to find him, and when I do--when I do----"
And Paul saw that his mother's eyes burned red. She seemed to have
lost control over herself entirely. "I have plans even now," she went
on presently.
"What plans?" he asked.
"I am not going to tell you," she replied. "But I've not been thinking
all these years for nothing! Directly you wrote me the account of
your visit to Scotland it all came back to me again. I've been
thinking it over week after week and month after month. And I have a
feeling that I shall find him. I must, for your sake, Paul! You love
that lass, and you must marry her. I know that you are dreaming of her
night and day. I know that you'll never be happy without her!"
He opened his mouth as if to contradict her, but could not. The woman
had spoken the truth. Proud and self-contained as he was, he knew that
nothing would ever satisfy him until he had won her love. And yet how
could he? What chance was there?
"If she comes to Brunford, as you say, Paul, I am going to see her!"
went on his mother. "I shall know if she's worthy of you, and if she
is, you needn't fear, Paul--trust a woman! I'll bring you together
somehow!"
"I have been thinking it over," he replied. "Months agone I made a vow
that I would compel her to love me. People in Brunford say that I'm
the kind of man who gets his way, and I vowed that by sheer strength I
would conquer her, but I know it won't do now! I remember the look in
her eyes when last we met. She's not the kind of woman whose love can
be forced!"
"No woman's love can be forced," replied his mother. "It must always
be won! Still, a lass loves a strong man and despises a weakling.
Trust to me, Paul, trust to me!"
"I'll trust to myself, too," he said grimly. "But you're right,
mother. I want a name to offer her, not only the name I've made, but
the name I've inherited--or ought to inherit--and when I've got that,
neither Ned Wilson nor any other man shall stand in my way!"
A few days later Paul entered the Mechanics' Institute, and, standing
in the entrance hall, he saw a number of men he knew. One of them was
young Wilson. Paul was about to pass into the reading-room, without
speaking, when one of them called to him. "Ay, Stepaside," he said,
"hast a' heard the news?"
"What news?"
"It seems that we may have another election on us," replied the man.
"Another election! What kind of an election?"
"Why, Parliamentary, of course. There are rumours that they are going
to make a judge of Bolitho, and if they do, he'll have to resign his
seat. A judge, you know, is supposed to be non-political. So it seems
as though there'll be another fight. What do you feel about it?"
"I must know if the gossip is true first," replied Paul.
"There's not so much doubt about it," replied the other. "Ned Wilson
here is bound to be in the know. Perhaps," added the man with a laugh,
"Ned'll sign your nomination papers!"
"Or send out a circular without signing it!" said Paul. And everyone
laughed as he spoke, because it was fully known what he meant.
"My dear fellow," retorted Wilson, "what you and your party do is
nothing to me! If there is another election I shall have nothing to do
with it. I am as fond of a fight as any man, and under certain
circumstances I would even fight a man of your calibre, but there is no
necessity for it now!"
Paul's face was pale to the lips. He hated a scene, hated the thought
that his private affairs were being discussed in such a place. He
could not help feeling that there was something vulgar about it all,
and he in a moment of forgetfulness had yielded to what, had he been
calmer, he would have resisted to the utmost. Still, his anger was
aroused, and he saw that those who stood around were enjoying the
situation.
"That's a matter of opinion," he replied. "At any rate, my name has
never been associated with sending out a lying circular. And I have
never been ashamed to put my name to any document I wrote! I never
hired a barrister to tell lies about anyone, and I never stabbed a man
in the back!"
"What do you mean?" asked Wilson. "Why should I stab a man in the
back?"
"Because you're afraid to meet him face to face!"
"By God! you shall pay for that," said Wilson, and his voice quivered
with rage.
It was the first time Paul had spoken to Wilson for many a long day.
As we have said, he had, ever since the election especially, refrained
from having any intercourse with him, and he would have given anything
to have recalled the words he had uttered. He had fought with the
weapons of a clown. He had bandied words with a man who was openly his
enemy, and he felt ashamed of himself. Still, nothing could be done
now, and, on the whole, he did not think he had had the worst of the
encounter. All the same, he knew that if Wilson had hated him before,
he hated him more now. And he was sure that if he were able to harm
him in any way, he would stop at nothing to carry out his purposes. As
to Paul's financial position, he did not so much fear. He was on safer
ground now, and was able to meet any ordinary difficulty; but there
were other things. He wondered whether Wilson ever guessed the secret
of his heart, wondered whether he knew that he was a would-be rival.
That Wilson was enamoured of Mary Bolitho was universally believed, but
whether she in any way returned his affection no one was able to guess.
A fortnight later that which had been rumoured concerning Mr. Bolitho's
resignation actually took place. He had been made a judge, and, as a
consequence, could no longer remain Member for Brunford. The result of
it was that the deputation who had come to Paul before, again made
their appeal to him.
"Paul," said old Abel Bowyer, "now is thy chance. Thou'lt be Member
for Brunford after all. Thou art noan a Lancashire lad, but we're
proud on thee all the same. Thou hast made thy money in Brunford, and
all thy interests are here, and while I don't agree with you in all
your views, you're our lad! Thou mun go to Parliament. Wilt a' fight?"
"Yes," said Paul, "I will. But who have I got to fight against?"
"I don't know yet, but that'll noan matter. If you had been treated
fairly last time you'd have got in, and this time there'll be no doubt
about it. I'm not sure but what it'll be the better for thee, too.
Thou'lt be the talk of the country. At a General Election individuals
are noan taken notice of. It's just a fight for the party, and when
every borough has its election, particular cases are taken no notice
of. But at by-elections the chap that gets in makes a bit of a stir.
Anyhow, we can set to work."
"Yes," said Paul. "We must set to work, and we must arrange our
committees right away."
"I hear," went on old Abel, "that Bolitho's coming here to say
'Good-bye' to us. You see, he's noan taken on the job of judge yet,
and until he does he'll be free to speak for his party. So I'm told
that he's just coming to pay us a last visit, in order to advise the
people to accept a sort of nominee of his as his successor. 'Appen
thou'lt see him then."
During the last few weeks Paul had been expecting to hear that Mary
Bolitho had come to pay her promised visit to Howden Clough, but no
news of her had arrived. Presently, however, gossip had it that both
the new-made judge and his daughter were to be guests at Howden Clough
when his opponent made his first appearance. A few days later huge
placards were posted over the town to the effect that the Honourable
Stephen Boston would speak in the Industrial Hall, and that the chair
would be taken by Mr. Bolitho.
"Would you like to go and hear him?" asked Paul of his mother.
"Hear who?" she asked.
"Why, the man who beat me at the last election," said Paul. "You see,
he's coming to take the chair for the new candidate."
"No," she replied. "I've no interest in him. I should like to see
her, though."
"I am afraid there's no chance of that," said Paul. "Unless you happen
to be in town when she's driving round."
"I'll see her somehow. And, my boy, I'll bring you both together!"
And there was a far-away look in her eyes.
On the afternoon of the meeting Paul was at the railway station when
the train from Manchester came in, and as he watched the passengers
alight his heart throbbed violently, for, descending from the train, he
saw not only Mr. Bolitho, but Mary, accompanied by a young fellow who,
he judged, would be the Honourable Stephen Boston.
"Oh, Stepaside," said Mr. Bolitho, going up to him with outstretched
hand, as though nothing but pleasantries had ever passed between them,
"I'm glad to see you. Of course, you know what's happened?"
"Yes," said Paul. "I suppose I ought to congratulate you!" The words
were curtly spoken, and Bolitho was not slow to recognise his tone's,
but he decided to take no notice of it.
"I hear you're to be the candidate on the other side again," he went
on. "Allow me to introduce to you your opponent. I am sure you'll
have a good, honest, straight fight!"
"I hope so," said Paul quietly, at the same time holding out his hand
to Mr. Boston.
"We shall not fight on equal terms, I am afraid," said the young man
with a laugh; "that is"--and he corrected himself--"I shall be
altogether at a disadvantage. You know these people, and I don't. I
am afraid, too, that many of them regard the land-owning class with
disfavour; still I'll put up the best fight I'm able, and I am sure we
shall have a jolly good time! I am glad to meet you, Mr. Stepaside,
and I hope, whatever the result of the election is, we shall part good
friends."
"It shall not be my fault if we do not," said Paul heartily. "But I
warn you that I'm going to beat you!" And he laughed almost merrily.
"Well, you know what Randolph Churchill used to say about an Englishman
who could not stand a licking!" laughed the other. "And if I'm licked
I hope I shall take it in good part. But I don't mean to be. I am
trying to persuade Miss Bolitho here to canvass for me as she did for
her father!"
"And will you?" asked Paul, turning towards her.
"Would you be very angry with me if I did?" she asked laughingly.
"No," said Paul. "But I'd give a great deal to have you on my side!"
"If you had," said Boston pleasantly, "I should stand no chance at all.
But if she works for me she will more than counterbalance the fact that
I am a stranger to the town. Well, we must be going, Bolitho. Of
course, Wilson is not expecting us by this train, or no doubt he would
have been here to meet us. But as I have to get back to Manchester
to-night, we must say what we have to say to him at once. Good
afternoon, Mr. Stepaside. I have no doubt we shall meet often during
the next few weeks."
"Of course, I can't wish you luck, Stepaside," said Mr. Bolitho
cordially. "You see, you're on the other side. All the same, as far
as you and I are concerned, we have decided to let bygones be bygones,
haven't we?"
But Paul did not speak. He would have given anything to have spoken to
Mr. Bolitho in the same spirit in which he had spoken, but for the life
of him he could not. A weight seemed to be upon his tongue.
"Perhaps we shall also meet again," he said, turning to Mary Bolitho.
"Do you know, I sometimes think you do not understand me! And I should
like to have half an hour's chat with you. It might alter your views
concerning me and the class I represent." He spoke almost humbly, and
even her father did not resent his words. Ordinarily he would probably
have been angry that a man of Paul's status should have dared to have
spoken to his daughter in such a fashion--now there seemed nothing
wrong in it.
"I should love to," laughed the girl. "Perhaps you do not understand
my father either. I am sure I could convince you that he's right!"
And with a pleasant smile she left him alone on the platform.
Only a few words had passed between them, and if an outsider had been
listening to them, he would have regarded them as of no import
whatever, but Paul felt that they had changed everything. In a way he
could not understand, the old antagonism had gone, and, stranger to her
as he still was, it seemed to him that a bond of sympathy had been
formed. On previous occasions when he had met her it had seemed to him
as though he were meeting an enemy, even although she had filled the
whole of his horizon. But now the very atmosphere was changed, and he
was sure that when they met again he could make her understand him, and
that they would be able to speak on equal terms.
When he returned home that night his mother wondered why his eyes were
so bright and his voice so cheerful.
"Have you heard good news, my boy?" she asked.
"I feel that I'm going to win, mother," was his reply, and his words
meant a great deal more to him than to her.