It is one thing to produce, and another to launch the production on an
unwilling world. Christopher soon found he had but exchanged an
arduous engrossing task for a sordid uphill struggle. Yet if his mind
sometimes flew back to Peter Masters' offer, it was never with any
desire to open negotiations with him, nor did he ever remind Aymer of
the possibility. They fought together against the difficulties that
beset the great venture and their comradeship reduced the irritating
trivialities of the first start to bearable limits.
Since the day when he received Peter Masters' curt acknowledgment of
satisfaction with the selected car, neither Christopher nor the Astons
had heard one word from the millionaire. His restored interest in the
family appeared to have evaporated as rapidly as it had risen, and
peace fell on Aymer's troubled mind. He flung himself heart and soul
into the business of launching Christopher's discovery, and verified
his cousin's old opinion of his business qualities. The initial
difficulties of obtaining the patent being overcome and a small,
private company formed, they started a factory for the manufacture of
Patrimondi within five miles of Marden, and a decently capable staff
was secured to meet the slow, but steadily increasing, demands for the
new material.
After some months of uphill work they suddenly received an order for
laying the roadways and a special motor track at an International
Exhibition. From this plane Patrimondi leapt into fame. Within three
months of the opening of the Exhibition the little factory had doubled
its staff and even then could not produce enough to meet the demand.
With the mounting strain Christopher began to prove of what metal he
was made. He stuck to the work with steady persistence, meeting
success as he had met difficulties, counting each but expected
incidents in a life's work. This level-headedness enabled him to bear
a physical strain that would have broken down the nerve of any man
more subject to outward conditions. A large proportion of extra work
was entailed on him by the starting point of Patrimondi being so
distant from London, but he resisted all suggestions to move it nearer
town, or make his own headquarters there, or take any step that would
serve to separate Aymer from easy contact with the work that made so
great a difference in his monotonous life.
Since the last appearance of Peter Masters, Aymer had seemed to lose
something of his old independent spirit of resistance. The mine of
strength within himself, which his father had developed, was nearing
exhaustion, and he lived more and more by force of his interest in
outward things, and the active part he played in Christopher's life.
But this diminution of his inward strength made the question of any
move too serious to be contemplated, although they still vaguely spoke
of a time when they would return to London. Mr. Aston knew that he
himself could not face the old strenuous life again.
He had dropped out of the line of workers too early, and though
seventy years found him still a man of active habits and vigour of
mind, he was too conscious of his divorce from the past to endure
meeting it daily face to face.
The fortunes of Patrimondi continued to leap forward by untraceable
impulses. They were able to choose their work now, and Christopher
gave the preference first to roads whose construction was under his
own direction from the very foundation, and secondly to such work as
least separated him from Cæsar, but this last fact he was careful to
conceal even from Mr. Aston's watchful eyes.
In the world of workers he became known as the "Roadmaker," and
fabulous stories of his origin and fortune were circulated. Unknown to
himself or to those nearest to him, men high up in the financial world
kept their eye on the young man--made no prophecies--said nothing--but
were careful for reasons best known to themselves to help rather than
oppose him when he happened to cross their path. But the greatest of
all their race, Peter Masters himself, made no sign at all. No
fabulous fortune was, however, gathered in. "Patrimondi" paid well,
but the working expenses were great. Christopher made big returns to
the men, not in wages only, but in every condition of their work.
Those in power under him soon learnt it was better to forget the
momentary interests of the company than the living interests of the
workmen, but in return for his care Christopher did insist on, and get
from his men, an amount of work that made other employers open their
eyes with envious wonder.
All this time Patricia held her place in his life. It would have been
hard to trace her actual influence on his daily actions, but it was
there, preserving his finer instincts under the load of material
cares, linking him indissolubly to that world of high Realities which
is every man's true inheritance. Yet he made no attempt to claim her
and at times wondered at his own procrastination. The idea implanted
by Peter Masters bore strange fruit, for even an unconsciously
harboured lie must needs hamper the life behind which it finds
shelter. He could make no advance towards Patricia while that
invidious doubt of his parentage existed, and he lacked the
remorseless courage of Mr. Aston to inflict pain for however
justifiable a cause on Cæsar. Also perhaps his pride had a word to
say. If there was a secret, it was theirs, and they had not chosen to
divulge it to him. Again, he had fathomed something of the depth of
the jealous love bestowed on him, and his own affection and gratitude
would have their say. All and each of these reasons arrayed themselves
against his love. When he tried to face it first one and then the
other weighed heaviest, till at length he called time to his side and
flung himself into his work the harder to leave that ally free scope.
All of which meant that he was yet but a worshipper at Love's throne,
and failed to recognise that his place was on it.
Christopher was in France when he saw the notice of Peter Masters'
death in the papers, and he was more staggered by it than he cared to
admit to himself. The millionaire had been knocked down at a busy
crossing with no more ceremony than would have served for his poorest
workman. He had been carried to the nearest hospital and died there
almost directly, alone, as he had lived. There was the usual hasty
account of his life, but by some magic that had perhaps root in
Peter's own will, no mention was made of his marriage.
Christopher wrote home on the subject this-wise:
"It seems to me the more terrible since I think he was a man who never
believed any such mischance could dare to happen to him. He always
gave me the impression of one who read his own mortality for
immortality, and was prepared to rule Time as arbitrarily as he ruled
men. It does not look to an outsider as if he had gained any
particular happiness from his fortune, but happiness is a word
everyone spells in their own way.... I shall be back at the end of the
week, for I find Marcel quite capable of finishing this piece of
work...."
Such was the epitaph pronounced over Peter Masters by his own son, and
Aymer, reading, sank beneath the dead weight of responsibility that
was his. The outcome of neutrality can be as great a force as that of
action, and to assume the right to stand aside is to play as decisive
a part as the fiercest champion. Nevertheless he held to that neutral
attitude through the pangs of self-reproach.
There was no will, Mr. Aston told him, when he returned from the plain
business-like affair of the funeral.
The news, incredible as it was, was yet a respite to Aymer.
He did not trouble to conceal it.
"But I am certain Saunderson knows something. Do not count on it,
Aymer."
"I count every chance in my favour," returned Aymer deliberately. "I
discount even your belief that Peter knew, since he said nothing."
Mr. Aston looked at him sadly. He had no such hope, nor was he even
certain he was justified in seconding Cæsar's wish that the fortune
should pass Christopher by. The nearer the great thing came to them
the more difficult was it to ignore the vastness of the interests
involved, and the greater the responsibility of those who stood
motionless between Christopher and it. Yet Mr. Aston knew as well as
Aymer that neither of them would move from their position, and if they
had acted wrongly in following the wishes of the dead woman in
preference to the material instincts of the living man, they must
accept the result, and Christopher must accept it, too.
But he felt keenly Aymer's failure to present an unbiassed face to the
turn of circumstances.
"How long will it be before Saunderson acts if he has any clue to go
on?" Aymer asked wearily after a long silence.
"He would act immediately, but whether that would land him on the
right line would depend on the strength of the clue. Aymer, my dear
fellow, try and put the matter from you. You are not going to act
yourself."
"No, but I'm no hand at waiting."
That was true, and as usual the days of suspense told heavily on
Aymer. Christopher's return was an immense relief. He had had a heavy
spell of work and travelling, and allowed himself a few days' holiday.
It happened that Patricia was also at Marden. She spent so large a
percentage of her time with Constantia now that her presence in the
house that had been her home more resembled a visit than Christopher's
comings and goings. No one had mentioned the fact that she was there
to him, and he found her in the drawing-room before dinner kneeling by
the fire and coaxing it into a cheery blaze.
"You are a regular truant, Patricia," he complained after their
greeting.
"Constantia maintains I am at school with her and calls me truant when
I run down here for a few days."
"Are you at school? What does she teach you?"
"Subjects too deep for mere man," she retorted lightly. She continued
to kneel with her back to him and the light touched her wonderful
hair, that still seemed too heavy a crown for the proud little head.
It was like molten gold. Christopher felt a new heartache for the days
when he could touch it without fear in the blind bravery of boyhood.
He wanted to see her face which she so persistently turned from him.
"I am not sure it is a suitable school for you."
"Since when have you become responsible for my education, sir? Would
you prefer my going to school with Charlotte? You are confounding me
with Patrimondi. You will end by rolling me out flat on a high-road
one day."
She was talking arrant nonsense in self-defence, for every fibre of
her being was quivering at his presence. The old hushed cry awoke in
her heart "Christopher and Love--Love and Christopher." If she looked
at him he must see it, her eyes must needs betray the pitiful whisper
but for the clamour of foolish words. Where was Renata? Why were they
all so late to-night of all nights? Yet she had hurried her
dressing--chosen her gown even, on the chance of this interview that
outmatched her schooled frivolity. The need to see her face and her
eyes again pressed on the man--became imperative--as something of
great moment, strangely difficult to achieve.
At last he abruptly spoke her name.
"Patricia."
She involuntarily turned to him and found what had appeared so hard
was quite easy, for she discerned some unusual trouble in his mind,
and was woman enough for the mothering instinct to sweep up over the
personal love.
"What is it, Christopher?"
He had wit enough to keep his advantage, for there was something to
read on the upturned face that must not be deciphered in haste.
"I am seriously worried, Patricia. You might assist instead of
hindering me."
"Well, what is it?"
"What is Constantia teaching you?"
"Me again," she returned with a show of indignation, "why on earth
should that worry you?"
"I don't like new facets to familiar diamonds," he grumbled obscurely,
"you are getting too old. Patricia."
"You are losing your manners." But even under the banter the colour
died from her face and her hand fell listlessly to her side.
"I won't allow you to be older than I am."
She was saved further embarrassment by Renata's entrance, but all
dinner time she was conscious of his silent "awareness" of her and
was troubled by it, and it was a new and unpleasing sensation to be
troubled by any attitude of Christopher's. Then his scrutiny stopped
abruptly as if she were suddenly placed outside his range of vision,
and that attitude suited her mind as poorly as the other.
She hardly knew if it were by her own will or Christopher's that she
sat with him and Aymer that evening. She was quite powerless to resist
the request that might have been a command, and there is some pain in
life that we cling to, dreading its loss more acutely than its
presence.
Mr. Aston was away, a rare occurrence now, and the three sat talking
before the fire, till the dear familiar intercourse and the peace put
to sleep the dull ache in Patricia's heart. They talked--or rather the
men talked--of Christopher's latest experiences abroad. He had been to
the scene of a vast tunnelling operation in which his part was to come
later.
"They suggest we should take over their men's shanties as they
stand."
"Will you?" demanded Cæsar. These things were in Christopher's hands.
"They might serve as material," he answered drily. "Two of their
overseers and twenty men asked for berths with me. They are mostly
Italians. If we keep them to make our encampment, I shall have to go
myself. It is rather odd how these men pick things up. I heard----" he
broke off abruptly.
"We didn't," remarked Cæsar suggestively after a minute.
"It was not much, but it is funny how a nick-name travels. There were
about five hundred men there still, and I heard one say as I passed,
'Ecco il 'Roadmaker.''"
He was evidently boyishly pleased at the recognition, though he did
not conclude the sentence. The man had saluted him as he added to his
comrade, "C'é un maestro d'uomini, non di brutti."
Patricia gave Cæsar a quick look and caught his answer. It was as if
some sudden bond of sympathy were tied between them.
Cæsar continued skilfully to ply Christopher with questions and
extracted the information that the Patrimondi Company was much
disliked by the big manufacturing powers.
"They say we spoil our men, and their own grumble. They sent me a
deputation to ask us to cancel the Sunday holiday, which they never
grant on contract work, and they feared the result of our example."
"And you politely agreed?" suggested Cæsar, watching Patricia.
"I told them to----" again he stopped and laughed; "well, Patricia, I
told them such was the time-honoured custom of my country and
regretted my inability to consider their request."
"I expect they only get into mischief on Sunday."
Cæsar flung out this with assumed contempt, but it brought no quick
retort. Christopher answered slowly, with his eyes on the fire.
"We plan excursions for them when there is anything to see or
amusements of some kind. They are like children. If they are not
amused they must needs make mischief."
His voice was rather grave and Aymer knew there must have been
difficulties here of which he did not mean to speak openly.
"It is deplorable if our Roadmaker is going about destroying other
people's comfortable paths. Don't you agree with me, Patricia?"
She flushed up quickly, grasping his meaning at once.
"Not if their paths encroach on weaker people's rights. I think it's
just what is wanted." Then because Cæsar laughed, she realised he was
only drawing her, and flung him an appealing glance.
"But we mustn't encourage him openly, Patricia, or he'll leave us no
old tracks at all."
"I'm only the humble instrument of a company," protested Christopher.
"I merely carry out the regulations of my superiors."
"Who are entirely at your mercy, you should add."
Christopher disdained to reply to so obvious a fallacy. Presently,
when he had gone to fetch some drawings to show them, Cæsar said
quizzically.
"Has he obliterated any of your pet footpaths, Patricia?"
She shook her head.
"The Company has great confidence in him," he announced gravely.
She looked straight at him. There was a kind intelligence in his eyes,
and he held out his hand to her. "Present company not excepted. But we
must not spoil him, Patricia."
And she understood that her secret was Aymer's and it lent her a sense
of security and rest to know it, so that when she went to bed she
reproached herself for her former childish moods. "I should be glad
his strength of purpose and commonsense are so great," she told
herself, forgetting love and commonsense were ever ill neighbours. "I
am never going to marry, and it would be difficult to say no to him.
To-night was just one of the best of times that can be for us."
That unwise thought aroused the dull throbbing ache in her heart again
and the reasonable salve she offered it had no effect. She slept with
it, woke with it, and knew it for the close companion of many days.
But Christopher's last thought was, "I am not going to do without her
any longer, if I am to meet her any more in this way. I should have
read her soul again to-night if I had not remembered in time."
Aymer Aston lay awake wondering what was the matter between the two
that they did not guess their palpable secret. He was the richer for
another day's respite and every day was a tide carrying him to the
shore of safety.