CHAPTER XII.
But what right had Wharton to be thinking of such irrelevant matters aswomen and love-making at all? He had spoken of public worries to LadySelina. In reality his public prospects in themselves were, if anything,improved. It was his private affairs that were rushing fast oncatastrophe, and threatening to drag the rest with them.
He had never been so hard pressed for money in his life. In the firstplace his gambling debts had mounted up prodigiously of late. Hisfriends were tolerant and easy-going. But the more tolerant they werethe more he was bound to frequent them. And his luck for some time hadbeen monotonously bad. Before long these debts must be paid, and some ofthem--to a figure he shrank from dwelling upon--were already urgent.
Then as to the _Clarion_, it became every week a heavier burden. Theexpenses of it were enormous; the returns totally inadequate.Advertisements were falling off steadily; and whether the working costwere cut down, or whether a new and good man like Louis Craven, whoseletters from the strike district were being now universally read, wereput on, the result financially seemed to be precisely the same. It wasbecoming even a desperate question how the weekly expenses were to bemet; so that Wharton's usual good temper now deserted him entirely assoon as he had crossed the _Clarion_ threshold; bitterness had becomethe portion of the staff, and even the office boys walked in gloom.
Yet, at the same time, withdrawing from the business, was almost asdifficult as carrying it on. There were rumours in the air which had,already seriously damaged the paper as a saleable concern. Wharton,indeed, saw no prospect whatever of selling except at ruinous loss.Meanwhile, to bring the paper to an abrupt end would have not onlyprecipitated a number of his financial obligations; it would have beenpolitically, a dangerous confession of failure made at a very criticalmoment. For what made the whole thing the more annoying was that the_Clarion_ had never been so important politically, never so much read bythe persons on whom Wharton's parliamentary future depended, as it wasat this moment. The advocacy of the Damesley strike had been so far astroke of business for Wharton as a Labour Member.
It was now the seventh week of the strike, and Wharton's "leaders,"Craven's letters from the seat of war, and the _Clarion_ strike fund,which articles and letters had called into existence, were as vigorousas ever. The struggle itself had fallen into two chapters. In the firstthe metal-workers concerned, both men and women, had stood out for theold wages unconditionally and had stoutly rejected all idea ofarbitration. At the end of three or four weeks, however, when gravesuffering had declared itself among an already half-starved population,the workers had consented to take part in the appointment of a board ofconciliation. This board, including the workmen's delegates, overawedby the facts of foreign competition as they were disclosed by themasters, recommended terms which would have amounted to a victory forthe employers.
The award was no sooner known in the district than the passionateindignation of the great majority of the workers knew no bounds.Meetings were held everywhere; the men's delegates at the board werethrown over, and Craven, who with his new wife was travellingincessantly over the whole strike area, wrote a letter to the _Clarion_on the award which stated the men's case with extreme ability, wasimmediately backed up by Wharton in a tremendous "leader," and wasreceived among the strikers with tears almost of gratitude andenthusiasm.
Since then all negotiations had been broken off. The _Clarion_ had gonesteadily against the masters, against the award, against furtherarbitration. The theory of the "living wage," of which more recent dayshave heard so much, was preached in other terms, but with equal vigour;and the columns of the _Clarion_ bore witness day by day in the longlists of subscriptions to the strike fund, to the effects of itseloquence on the hearts and pockets of Englishmen.
Meanwhile there were strange rumours abroad. It was said that the tradewas really on the eve of a complete and striking revolution in its wholeconditions--could this labour war be only cleared out of the way. Thesmaller employers had been for long on the verge of ruin; and the largermen, so report had it, were scheming a syndicate on the American planto embrace the whole industry, cut down the costs of production, andregulate the output.
But for this large capital would be wanted. Could capital be got? Thestate of things in the trade, according to the employers, had beendeplorable for years; a large part of the market had been definitelyforfeited, so they declared, for good, to Germany and Belgium. It wouldtake years before even a powerful syndicate could work itself into athoroughly sound condition. Let the men accept the award of theconciliation board; let there be some stable and reasonable prospect ofpeace between masters and men, say, for a couple of years; and a certaingroup of bankers would come forward; and all would be well. The menunder the syndicate would in time get more than their old wage. _But theaward first_; otherwise the plan dropped, and the industry must go itsown way to perdition.
"'Will you walk into my parlour?'" said Wharton, scornfully, to theyoung Conservative member who, with a purpose, was explaining thesethings to him in the library of the House of Commons, "the merest trap!and, of course, the men will see it so. Who is to guarantee them eventhe carrying through, much less the success, of your precious syndicate?And, in return for your misty millennium two years hence, the men are tojoin at once in putting the employers in a stronger position than ever?Thank you! The 'rent of ability' in the present state of things is, nodoubt, large. But in this particular case the _Clarion_ will go on doingits best--I promise you--to nibble some of it away!"
The Conservative member rose in indignation.
"I should be sorry to have as many starving people on my conscience asyou'll have before long!" he said as he took up his papers.
At that moment Denny's rotund and square-headed figure passed along thecorridor, to which the library door stood open.
"Well, if I thrive upon it as well as Denny does, I shall do!" returnedWharton, with his usual caustic good-humour, as his companion departed.
And it delighted him to think as he walked home that Denny, who hadagain of late made himself particularly obnoxious in the House ofCommons, on two or three occasions, to the owner of the _Clarion_, hadprobably instigated the quasi-overtures he had just rejected, and mustbe by now aware of their result.
Then he sent for Craven to come and confer with him.
Craven accordingly came up from the Midlands, pale, thin, and exhausted,with the exertions and emotions of seven weeks' incessant labour. Yetpersonally Wharton found him, as before, dry and unsympathetic; anddisliked him, and his cool, ambiguous manner, more than ever. As to thestrike, however, they came to a complete understanding. The _Clarion_,or rather the _Clarion_ fund, which was doing better and better, heldthe key of the whole situation. If that fund could be maintained, themen could hold out. In view of the possible formation of the syndicate,Craven denounced the award with more fierceness than ever, maintainingthe redoubled importance of securing the men's terms before thesyndicate was launched. Wharton promised him with glee that he should besupported to the bitter end.
_If_, that is to say--a proviso he did not discuss with Craven--the_Clarion_ itself could be kept going. In August a large sum, obtainedtwo years before on the security of new "plant," would fall due. Thetime for repayment had already been extended; and Wharton hadascertained that no further extension was possible.
Well! bankruptcy would be a piquant interlude in his various social andpolitical enterprises! How was it to be avoided? He had by now plenty ofrich friends in the City or elsewhere, but none, as he finally decided,likely to be useful to him at the present moment. For the amount ofmoney that he required was large--larger, indeed, than he cared toverify with any strictness, and the security that he could offer, almostnil.
As to friends in the City, indeed, the only excursion of a business kindthat he had made into those regions since his election was now addingseriously to his anxieties--might very well turn out, unless the matterwere skilfully managed, to be one of the blackest spots on his horizon.
In the early days of his parliamentary life, when, again, mostly for the_Clarion's_ sake, money happened to be much wanted, he had becomedirector of what promised to be an important company, through theinterest and good nature of a new and rich acquaintance, who had taken aliking to the young member. The company had been largely "boomed," andthere had been some very profitable dealing in the original shares.Wharton had made two or three thousand pounds, and contributed bothpoint and finish to some of the early prospectuses.
Then, after six months, he had withdrawn from the Board, underapprehensions that had been gradually realised with alarming accuracy.Things, indeed, had been going very wrong indeed; there were a number ofsmall investors; and the annual meeting of the company, to be held nowin some ten days, promised a storm. Wharton discovered, partly to hisown amazement, for he was a man who quickly forgot, that during hisdirectorate he had devised or sanctioned matters that were not at alllikely to commend themselves to the shareholders, supposing the pastwere really sifted. The ill-luck of it was truly stupendous; for on thewhole he had kept himself financially very clean since he had become amember; having all through a jealous eye to his political success.
* * * * *
As to the political situation, nothing could be at once more promisingor more anxious!
An important meeting of the whole Labour group had been fixed for August10, by which time it was expected that a great measure concerning Labourwould be returned from the House of Lords with highly disputableamendments. The last six weeks of the session would be in many ways morecritical for Labour than its earlier months had been; and it would beproposed by Bennett, at the meeting on the 10th, to appoint a generalchairman of the party, in view of a campaign which would fill theremainder of the session and strenuously occupy the recess.
That Bennett would propose the name of the member for West Brookshirewas perfectly well known to Wharton and his friends. That the nominationwould meet with the warmest hostility from Wilkins and a small group offollowers was also accurately forecast.
To this day, then, Wharton looked forward as to the crisis of hisparliamentary fortunes. All his chances, financial or social, must nowbe calculated with reference to it. Every power, whether of combat orfinesse, that he commanded must be brought to bear upon the issue.
What was, however, most remarkable in the man and the situation at themoment was that, through all these gathering necessities, he was by nomeans continuously anxious or troubled in his mind. During these days ofJuly he gave himself, indeed, whenever he could, to a fatalist oblivionof the annoyances of life, coupled with a passionate pursuit of allthose interests where his chances were still good and the omens stillwith him.
Especially--during the intervals of ambition, intrigue, journalism, andunsuccessful attempts to raise money--had he meditated the beauty ofMarcella Boyce and the chances and difficulties of his relation to her.As he saw her less, he thought of her more, instinctively looking to herfor the pleasure and distraction that life was temporarily denying himelsewhere.
At the same time, curiously enough, the stress of his financial positionwas reflected even in what, to himself, at any rate, he was boldlybeginning to call his "passion" for her. It had come to his knowledgethat Mr. Boyce had during the past year succeeded beyond all expectationin clearing the Mellor estate. He had made skilful use of a railwaylately opened on the edge of his property; had sold building land inthe neighbourhood of a small country town on the line, within aconvenient distance of London; had consolidated and improved several ofhis farms and relet them at higher rents; was, in fact, according toWharton's local informant, in a fair way to be some day, if he lived,quite as prosperous as his grandfather, in spite of old scandals andinvalidism. Wharton knew, or thought he knew, that he would not live,and that Marcella would be his heiress. The prospect was not perhapsbrilliant, but it was something; it affected the outlook.
Although, however, this consideration counted, it was, to do himjustice, _Marcella_, the creature herself, that he desired. But for herpresence in his life he would probably have gone heiress-hunting withthe least possible delay. As it was, his growing determination to winher, together with his advocacy of the Damesley workers--amply sufficed,during the days that followed his evening talk with Lady Selina, tomaintain his own illusions about himself and so to keep up the zest oflife.
Yes!--to master and breathe passion into Marcella Boyce, might safely bereckoned on, he thought, to hurry a man's blood. And after it had goneso far between them--after he had satisfied himself that her fancy, hertemper, her heart, were all more or less occupied with him--was he tosee her tamely recovered by Aldous Raeburn--by the man whose advancingparliamentary position was now adding fresh offence to the old grievanceand dislike? No! not without a dash--a throw for it!
For a while, after Lady Selina's confidences, jealous annoyance,together with a certain reckless state of nerves, turned him almost intothe pining lover. For he could not see Marcella. She came no more toMrs. Lane; and the house in James Street was not open to him. Heperfectly understood that the Winterbournes did not want to know him.
At last Mrs. Lane, a shrewd little woman with a half contemptuous likingfor Wharton, let him know--on the strength of a chance meeting with LadyErmyntrude--that the Winterbournes would be at the Masterton party onthe 26th. They had persuaded Miss Boyce to stay for it, and she would goback to her work the Monday after. Wharton carelessly replied that hedid not know whether he would be able to put in an appearance at theMastertons'. He might be going out of town.
Mrs. Lane looked at him and said, "Oh, really!" with a little laugh.
* * * * *
Lady Masterton was the wife of the Colonial Secretary, and her grandmansion in Grosvenor Square was the principal rival to Alresford Housein the hospitalities of the party. Her reception on July 25 was to bethe last considerable event of a protracted but now dying season.Marcella, detained in James Street day after day against her will by theweakness of the injured arm and the counsels of her doctor, had at lastextracted permission to go back to work on the 27th; and to please BettyMacdonald she had promised to go with the Winterbournes to the Mastertonparty on the Saturday. Betty's devotion, shyly as she had opened herproud heart to it, had begun to mean a good deal to her. There was balmin it for many a wounded feeling; and, besides, there was the constant,half eager, half painful interest of watching Betty's free and childishways with Aldous Raeburn, and of speculating upon what would ultimatelycome out of them.
So, when Betty first demanded to know what she was going to wear, andthen pouted over the dress shown her, Marcella submitted humbly to being"freshened up" at the hands of Lady Ermyntrude's maid, bought what Bettytold her, and stood still while Betty, who had a genius for such things,chattered, and draped, and suggested.
"I wouldn't make you fashionable for the world!" cried Betty, with amouthful of pins, laying down masterly folds of lace and chiffon thewhile over the white satin with which Marcella had provided her. "Whatwas it Worth said to me the other day?--Ce qu'on porte, Mademoiselle? Opas grand'chose!--presque pas de corsage, et pas du tout demanches!'--No, that kind of thing wouldn't suit you. But _distinguished_you shall be, if I sit up all night to think it out!"
In the end Betty was satisfied, and could hardly be prevented fromhugging Marcella there and then, out of sheer delight in her ownhandiwork, when at last the party emerged from the cloak-room into theMastertons' crowded hall. Marcella too felt pleasure in the reflectionsof herself as they passed up the lavishly bemirrored staircase. Thechatter about dress in which she had been living for some days hadamused and distracted her; for there were great feminine potentialitiesin her; though for eighteen months she had scarcely given what she worea thought, and in her pre-nursing days had been wont to waver between akind of proud neglect, which implied the secret consciousness of beauty,and an occasional passionate desire to look well. So that she played herpart to-night very fairly; pinched Betty's arm to si
lence the elf'stongue; and held herself up as she was told, that Betty's handiworkmight look its best. But inwardly the girl's mood was very tired andflat. She was pining for her work; pining even for Minta Hurd's peevishlook, and the children to whom she was so easily an earthly providence.
In spite of the gradual emptying of London, Lady Masterton's rooms werevery full. Marcella found acquaintances. Many of the people whom she hadmet at Mrs. Lane's, the two Cabinet Ministers of the House of Commonsdinner, Mr. Lane himself--all were glad or eager to recall themselves toher as she stood by Lady Winterbourne, or made her way half absentlythrough the press. She talked, without shyness--she had never been shy,and was perhaps nearer now to knowing what it might mean than she hadbeen as a schoolgirl--but without heart; her black eye wanderingmeanwhile, as though in quest. There was a gay sprinkling of uniforms inthe crowd, for the Speaker was holding a _levee_, and as it grew latehis guests began to set towards Lady Masterton. Betty, who had beenturning up her nose at the men she had so far smiled upon, all of whomshe declared were either bald or seventy, was a little propitiated bythe uniforms; otherwise, she pronounced the party very dull.
"Well, upon my word!" she cried suddenly, in a tone that made Marcellaturn upon her. The child was looking very red and very upright--wasusing her fan with great vehemence, and Frank Leven was humbly holdingout his hand to her.
"I don't like being startled," said Betty, pettishly. "Yes, you _did_startle me--you did--you did! And then you begin to contradict beforeI've said a word! I'm sure you've been contradicting all the wayupstairs--and why don't you say 'How do you do?' to Miss Boyce?"
Frank, looking very happy, but very nervous, paid his respects ratherbashfully to Marcella--she laughed to see how Betty's presence subduedhim--and then gave himself up wholly to Betty's tender mercies.
Marcella observed them with an eager interest she could not whollyexplain to herself. It was clear that all thought of anything or anybodyelse had vanished for Frank Leven at the sight of Betty. Marcellaguessed, indeed knew, that they had not met for some little time; andshe was touched by the agitation and happiness on the boy's handsomeface. But Betty? what was the secret of her kittenish, teasing ways--orwas there any secret? She held her little head very high and chatteredvery fast--but it was not the same chatter that she gave to Marcella,nor, so far as Marcella could judge, to Aldous Raeburn. New elements ofcharacter came out in it. It was self-confident, wilful, imperious.Frank was never allowed to have an opinion; was laughed at before hiswords were out of his mouth; was generally heckled, played with, andshaken in a way which seemed alternately to enrage and enchant him. Inthe case of most girls, such a manner would have meant encouragement;but, as it was Betty, no one could be sure. The little thing was a greatpuzzle to Marcella, who had found unexpected reserves in her. She mighttalk of her love affairs to Aldous Raeburn; she had done nothing of thesort with her new friend. And in such matters Marcella herself was farmore reserved than most modern women.
"Betty!" cried Lady Winterbourne, "I am going on into the next room."
Then in a lower tone she said helplessly to Marcella:
"Do make her come on!"
Marcella perceived that her old friend was in a fidget. Stooping hertall head, she said with a smile:
"But look how she is amusing herself!"
"My dear!--that's just it! If you only knew how her mother--tiresomewoman--has talked to me! And the young man has behaved so beautifullytill now--has given neither Ermyntrude nor me any trouble."
Was that why Betty was leading him such a life? Marcella wondered,--thensuddenly--was seized with a sick distaste for the whole scene--forBetty's love affairs--for her own interest in them--for her own self andpersonality above all. Her great black eyes gazed straight before them,unseeing, over the crowd, the diamonds, the lights; her whole beinggave itself to a quick, blind wrestle with some vague overmasteringpain, some despair of life and joy to which she could give no name.
She was roused by Betty's voice:
"Mr. Raeburn! will _you_ tell me who people are? Mr. Leven's no more usethan my fan. Just imagine--I asked him who that lady in the tiarais--and he vows he doesn't know! Why, it just seems that when you go toOxford, you leave the wits you had before, behind! And then--ofcourse"--Betty affected a delicate hesitation--"there's the difficultyof being quite sure that you'll ever get any new ones!--Butthere--look!--I'm in despair!--she's vanished--and I shall _never_know!"
"One moment!" said Raeburn, smiling, "and I will take you in pursuit.She has only gone into the tea-room."
His hand touched Marcella's.
"Just a _little_ better," he said, with a sudden change of look, inanswer to Lady Winterbourne's question. "The account to-night iscertainly brighter. They begged me not to come, or I should have beenoff some days ago. And next week, I am thankful to say, they will behome."
Why should she be standing there, so inhumanly still andsilent?--Marcella asked herself. Why not take courage again--joinin--talk--show sympathy? But the words died on her lips. Afterto-night--thank heaven!--she need hardly see him again.
He asked after herself as usual. Then, just as he was turning away withBetty, he came back to her, unexpectedly.
"I should like to tell you about Hallin," he said gently. "His sisterwrites to me that she is happier about him, and that she hopes to beable to keep him away another fortnight. They are at Keswick."
For an instant there was pleasure in the implication of common ground, acommon interest--here if no-where else. Then the pleasure was lost inthe smart of her own strange lack of self-government as she made arather stupid and awkward reply.
Raeburn's eyes rested on her for a moment. There was in them a flash ofinvoluntary expression, which she did not notice--for she had turnedaway--which no one saw--except Betty. Then the child followed him to thetea-room, a little pale and pensive.
Marcella looked after them.
In the midst of the uproar about her, the babel of talk fighting againstthe Hungarian band, which was playing its wildest and loudest in thetea-room, she was overcome by a sudden rush of memory. Her eyes weretracing the passage of those two figures through the crowd; the man inhis black court suit, stooping his refined and grizzled head to the girlbeside him, or turning every now and then to greet an acquaintance, withthe manner--cordial and pleasant, yet never quite gay even when hesmiled--that she, Marcella, had begun to notice of late as a new thing;the girl lifting her small face to him, the gold of her hair showingagainst his velvet sleeve. But the inward sense was busy with a numberof other impressions, past, and, as it now seemed, incredible.
The little scene when Aldous had given her the pearls, returned so longago--why! she could see the fire blazing in the Stone Parlour, feel hisarm about her!--the drive home after the Gairsley meeting--that poignantmoment in his sitting-room the night of the ball--his face, his anxious,tender face, as she came down the wide stairs of the Court towards himon that terrible evening when she pleaded with him and his grandfatherin vain:--had these things, incidents, relations, been ever a real partof the living world? Impossible! Why, there he was--not ten yards fromher--and yet more irrevocably separate from her than if the Saharastretched between them. The note of cold distance in his courteousmanner put her further from him than the merest stranger.
Marcella felt a sudden terror rush through her as she blindly followedLady Winterbourne; her limbs trembled under her; she took advantage of aconversation between her companion and the master of the house to sinkdown for a moment on a settee, where she felt out of sight and notice.
What was this intolerable sense of loss and folly, this smartingemptiness, this rage with herself and her life? She only knew thatwhereas the touch, the eye of Aldous Raeburn had neither compelled northrilled her, so long as she possessed his whole heart andlife--_now_--that she had no right to either look or caress; now that hehad ceased even to regard her as a friend, and was already perhapsmaking up that loyal and serious mind of his to ask from another womanthe happiness she had denie
d him; now, when it was absurdly too late,she could--
Could what? Passionate, wilful creature that she was!--with that breathof something wild and incalculable surging through the inmost places ofthe soul, she went through a moment of suffering as she sat pale anderect in her corner--brushed against by silks and satins, chatteredacross by this person and that--such as seemed to bruise all theremaining joy and ease out of life.
But only a moment! Flesh and blood rebelled. She sprang up from herseat; told herself that she was mad or ill; caught sight of Mr. Lanecoming towards them, and did her best by smile and greeting to attracthim to her.
"You look very white, my dear Miss Boyce," said that cheerful andfatherly person. "Is it that tiresome arm still? Now, don't please goand be a heroine any more!"