THE GRINDSTONE

Evening Star, Issue 21006, 21 January 1932, Page 3

THE GRINDSTONE

By MRS. A. J. PHILLIPS,

Author of * Swifter Than a Weaver’s Shuttle,’ 1 A Miner’s Romance,’ etc.

SYNOPSIS. Edith Clayton, daughter of a Lancashire millowner, has married George Henton without her father’s knowledge. Six weeks after the event she confesses, and her father declares that he will have no more to do with her. He gives her two cheques for £I,OOO each —one for herself and one for her husband, to whom he then takes her. When Henton asks the reason of Clayton’s objection to him, the latter says that Hcnton’s father did him an injury and tried to destroy his happiness a second tifno, but without success. The interview gives Clayton a better opinion of his son-in-law than ho had previously held, but he does not attempt to prevent the young couple from going to America as they had decided. Twenty years later Clayton, now a baronet and a millionaire, receives a visit from an old friend, Josiah Brooklands, who inquires for his god-daughter Veronica, Edith’s daughter, and Clayton's grand-daughter; He had seen her shipped from New York fifteen years before, in charge of a woman who was to deliver her to her grandfather. Clayton has never seen the • child nor heard of her existence until now.

ward, said she know Mr Clayton, of Bresterton House, and would seo tho child safely delivered to him. She signed a paper to this effect, and undertook to write and let the authorities know of the safe arrival of this little child, as naturally the captain lelt ho was held responsible. She was allowed to take tho little girl. Now comes tho extraordinary part of all. In one of the books of the company there is a note to the effect that a letter was received from Miss Spenccr-Hocking to sav that the child was safe in tho care of" her grandfather at Bresterton House.” . “Great Scott!” ejaculated Josiah Brooklands, rising to his feet and staring at his friend, who looked at him blankly. “ And of course the whole matter was dropped,” continued the detective. “ Tho child apparently was safe, as far as they were concerned, and nothing more was hoard.” “ There is treachery somewhere, cried Sir Robert, sharply, his whole being stirred with sudden anger at their utter helplessness. “ It looks as though the child was deliberately stolen,” remarked Mr Brooklands, in a perplexed voice. “ Did von know Miss Spencer-Hock-ing, Sir Robert?”; asked Mr Thomas. “No, and I have never even heard the name before. The whole thing is a complete and hopeless mystery.” “ Not hopeless, my dear fellow. 1 will hope at any rate,” cried Mr Brooklands emphatically. “ Things are certainly extraordinary, and I cannot understand why an , unknown woman should take a child away like that. What was she to gain by it? She may have suddenly desired to have the child for herself and adopted her. We must not rest until wo have found that woman.” “ What do yon wish mo to do further. sir?” asked Mr Thomas. “ To got a inscription of this woman, who has my grandchild, arid to do your very best to get any inforhiation that will help us to find her. 1 should like Mrs Dickenson’s address, if yon please,” replied Sir Robert, and ho rose to his feet and rang the bell for the footman to show j\|r Thomas out. After ho' had gone the two men had a long discussion upon what they had heard, but they could find no light upon tho matter, and felt hopelessly bewildered.

Brooklands explains that he had met Clayton’s daughter* and her husband in New York and spent some time at their home. Henton had died, and his wife, broken-hearted, soon followed him. By his advice the little girl had been sent to England to her grand- I father. .The two men at once begin | the search for the girl. Tho scene - changes to- a small house in Chapel street, Bresterton, where a mysterious woman called Miss Despard lives with her niece, Vera Despard. They are very poor, and era, who is treated unkindly by her aunt, announces her decision to go to work in the mill. 1 This appears to please Miss Despard, who has a purpose of her own in view. She intends to make Vera the I means of paying off an old score. * “ Through his own offspring will I punish him,” she says. Miss Despard takes a lodger, Paul Stafford, one of tho managers at Clayton’s mill. - He is introduced ; to Vera and is startled by her beauty. Stafford receives a note from Sir Robert. X ■ ♦ CHAPTER VI. WHAT,. THE DETECTIVE LEARNED. ■ Sir Robert Clayton and Mr Brooklands were deep in discussion. A week had gone by since that evening when tho genial little man had made his appearance at Bresterton House. “Did you say you were expecting Thomas this evening, Clayton?” asked Mr Brooklands, ’ “Yes, I hope ho will be here soon, and that he will have something to tell us,” replied Sir Robert. “ Yes, yes, my boy, so do I; but for heaven’s sake don’t build upon it.” ; “ Do you think we shall ever find my grandchild?” asked Sir Robert, with a wistful look that went to his old friend’s heart. .Mr'Brqoklands cleared his throat. “ I cannot say. Time only can show ns that, but we can hope, Bob, and do all in our power to find her. Sixteen years is, a long time, and the whole thing is a tremendous puzzle to me. The Orient sailed well and without: listake, and arHved in London on the dot; that much we knojv. Do you expect Thomas to give you any fresh news?”

“ Certainly. He has been away on the business all the week, and I told him to leave no stone unturned to get all information. I certainly hope he will have some news for me.” They smoked in silence for a few minutes, then Sir Robert said, musingly : ■ My little-grandchild may be at the other end of the world, or she may be quite close at' hand. I must say it will be a profound and hitter disappointment to me if I do not find her. I don’t remember her name, by the way.” Well, it was rather a fancy name, and a pretty one. Veronica Henton, that is the name of the young lady we want to find.” /‘Veronica Henton,” repeated. Sir Robert, slowly. “Yes, it is a fancy name and a pretty one, but rather long. It was like Edith to give her child a roriiantic name like that.” 1 ■ He sighed and turned h” head away with, a troubled gesture. Then camo a knock at the door, and Bennett entered. “A gentleman to see voli, sir—Mr Thomas.” 1 “ Yes, yes, we are expecting him. Show him in at once, Bennett.” The footman withdrew, and Mr Thomas was shown into the room. “ Glad to see you, Thomas. Come m. I hope you are the bearer of good news,” said Sir Robert, rising and shaking bands genially with the young detective. “Sit down', man, and tell ns all you have done since I saw you.” The detective sat down, and began to in a deep, steady voice. “ I have tried to carry out ail vonr wishes, but I have had a very uphill task. The head clerk in the shipping office was very obliging, and he hunted up the list of passengers fifteen years back, ahd upon one list he discovered the name of Mrs Quayle and child.” “ Yes, yes,\’ broke in Mr Brooklauds, sharply, “ that was the name.” “Ho said she must have left New York in the May of 1896.” “That’s right, yes,” from Joslah; “ and the Orient arrived to time in England.” “ Then be got the record of that voyage for me in the log book, and it proved, sir ’’—Thomas cleared his yoice—“ that Mrs Quayle died on the voyage of a sudden illnesls.” —Thomas cleared bis voice—“ that Mrs Quayle died on the voyage of a sudden illness.” “ Good heavens!” ejaculated Mr Brooklands, “I should never have believel it. She left Hew York the picture of health.” “Yes, yes; go on. AVhat happened to the child?” asked Sir Robert, anxiously. “ It seemed there was a woman, a single woman, who shared Mrs Quayle’s cabin, and she undertook to look after the baby girl and ’see her safely delivered to .her destination. The name of the lady on the list was Miss SpencerHocking. and though 1 have done all .1 could in the short time 1 have not been able to find any trace of her.” The men looked at each other anl were silent.

“To bo ambitious is a fine thing, sir, and it has always been a hope of mine to make a name for myself,” said Paul earnestly. 1 “That’s right, my lad. Every man to prosper must have ambition, 'but not ambition with only his own aid. He must bo ambitious with the help of a Higher Power than man can possibly possess, then 1 defy anyone to, keep him from tfio top of the tree. Don’t fling away ambition, my lad; hut cooperate with God. and your name will be made.”

“ Well,” said Sir Robert, breaking a painful silence, ‘‘what then?” “ Then, sir. I looked up the address of several passengers, and decided to visit one .lady, a Mrs Dickenson, in Manchester. I found her, and she was good enough to tell me all she knew. She said she had several talks with Mrs Quayle and found her a nice, respectable woman, devoted to her little charge. Three days after starting she complained to another passenger of feeling pain. She remembered her name— Miss Hocking—who seemed very friendly with Mrs and shared the same cabin. The next day Mrs Qua>le was much worse, and she died the same night from double pneumonia. Then Miss Spencer-Hocking came for-

Paul listened respectfully to his employer, and felt a deep admiration springing up in his heart for this man who was so great a factor in the cotton world. His heart stirred with a desire to serve him well and give him of In's best.

“T am wondering whom ] can put in your place. Stafford. What do you think about James Foden? He seems a steady sort of fellow.’’ sir; he does his work well in the office,” replied Paul.

Presently Sir Robert rose and walked to his writing table. “1 will'write now and ask Mrs Dickenson if she will be good enough to grant me an interview,” he said. “ Yes, J should, my boy. You will feel better satisfied. Meanwhile .1 will act detective on my own, and see if 1 can solve this very difficult puzzle,” replied his friend as he left the room. Ho walked into the hall, put on his coat, and strolled up through the square into Fishergate, and past the Town Hall. Ho saw nobody, being deep in his own thoughts, busily mapping out a plan of campaign and reasoning how to set about finding the whereabouts of this strange woman who for some reason had calmly taken possession of Robert Clayton’s granddaughter find heiress. CHAPTER VII. STAFFORD IS PROMOTED. Sir Robert, left to himself, searched back in his memory to find any woman who had a grudge against him, and who might be tempted to take his grandchild in a spirit of revenge. He could find none. Bennett’s entry roused him, and he turned impatiently. “ A young gentleman to see you—a Mr Stafford, sir.” “ Oh, of course. 1 had forgotten," returned the master briskly. “ Show him in at once, Bennett, and bring some light refreshment.” Paul Stafford, who since the receipt of his note had been wondering why the great millowner should wish to see him, stepped into the room. “ Good evening, my young friend,” - cried Sir Robert heartily, eyeing the sprue-', well-clothed young man with approval. “ Come and sit down.” " Good evening, sir,” replied Paul, taking the seat offered him. “ . received your note asking me to call tonight, and am at your service, sir.” “ Well said, young man. Yes, 1 sent for you because 1 wish to hear what you think of a plan of mine. You are aware that .1 know the workings of) my mill to the smallest nut or screw. Also I hold the strings in my own hands, and take an active part in the, management. I have in the office over which you are head clerk many able men, but none so able as you to fulfil what I wish to have done. Briefly, in my own private office, which is sacred to myself, 1. want a private secretary to share with me my every thought and secret, and ” —ho paused—and thou added slowly and emphatically, “ take my place when I am away. This is what I think you are capable of fulfiling, and I offer you the post.” He looked keenly at the' •■ale face of the young man sitting near him, and waited, for his answer.. It came in a low, shaken voice. ‘ I appreciate deeply the honour you have dene me,” replied Paul; then'his voice grew firmer as he went on, “ and I swear to you that I will be your faithful servant and secretary while God me breath in my body.” that’s all right, then,” answered Sir Robert, looking relieved. “ I’ve had my eye upon you for some time, young man, and your strong, quiet way of going about your business has impressed me. From now, you will share all my private information, and presently will relieve me of much personal inconvenience.” He smiled kindly upon him as be continued in his hearty manner. “1 want someone else to share my burden, and 1 tell you now. you shall not go unrewarded. You have your way to make, as 1 had mine, and when 1 was your age f was nobody very great, but I, got on my feet, tliank God, 1 had had but a poor education, but I was ambitious, and made myself know things, and I studied as much as 1 could.”

“ I have hear.l rumours against his conduct, sir, but I’ve never seen anything to object to. He has always been quiet enough whenever I have seen him.”

“Well, rumour is but an uncharitable judge. I think I will give him a trial and see what he is made of. It is a responsible position.” replied sir Robert.

Bennett entered at that minute with some refreshments, which Sir Robert pressed upon his guest, but Paul rose and said:—

“No thanks, sir. I must be going now. I shall find what I require waiting for mo in my room.” “Where are you staving now?” asked Sii Robert, as he walked with his future secretary to the door.

“ Not very far away. sir. I have moved to a house at the top of the square in Chapel street—No. 16, I think.”

“ Oh, that’s capital. You will bo quite near when I want you, but I rather thought of having my secretary with me altogether.” He looked at the young man inquiringly, but Paul Stafford answered without hesitation and rather hastily:— “ You are very kind, sir, but for the ‘present I think I’ll remain where I am. Good-night, sir.” “ Good-night. Stafford. I shall put the new arrangement into work at once, and shall require you in my private office as soon as you have handed the reins of your other work into Foden’s hands.”

square, his one desire to get to his new “Very good, sir,” replied Paul. "I wi'l attend to it as soon as possible.” He walked brisklv through the rooms as soon ns possible. He let himself in with his latchkey and 'found everything ready, and the room looking cosy and warm. Presently Miss Despard appeared. “Your things came all right, _Mr Stafford.” she said in her ungracious voice. “ You will find several boxes under the sofa, ami your portmanteaux we took upstairs.” Paul looked annoyed. 1 “You should have waited until T came,” ho said quietly. "I would much rather carry heavy things like that. “ Besides,” with a smile which brought an answering glimmer from the old woman, “ it is not woman’swork to drag heavy things upstairs, is it?” , “ I’m not so sure; you got used to all sorts of work when you’ve got to do it.” she answered gruffly. He longed greatly for a sight of the pretty girl he had seen the other night, and had begun to despair when a low knock sounded at the door, and she came in. “ Good evening, Mr Stafford,” she said simply, and took hold of the tablecloth to fold it up. “ Good eveping, Miss Despard. Ho moved eagerly to shake hands. “I am afraid I am putting you to a lot of trouble.” Strange he had never thought of that before in connection with any other of his landladies or their assistants. She raised pretty, wondering eyes to his and smiled.

“ Oh, no,” she said. “Wo can’t expect to have you here and do nothing for you, can we?” He took hold of the cloth. “ Let me help you, may I?” “ Oh, no,” she protested, then looked over her shoulder a little fearfully. “ Aunt Matilda would not like it, and really it is not necessary.” She wished he would not look at her so much. It made her feel stupid and awkward, and she was glad when she, was on the other side of the door, but she had to go into his sitting room again with the tray containing his supper. She placed it upon. the table hurriedly, and prepared to depart into the kitchen, but he spoke in his deep, serious voice, before she had got to the door. “ Miss Vera ” —she wondered how he had found out her name—“ I want it understood that I wish to do as much as 1 can for myself. It is a good thing for me, you know.” She raised smiling eyes to his, and made an exceedingly pretty picture as she stood there. “ You shall do what you wish as long as you are happy and comfortable,” she said gently. _ “ And will you' let me be your friend?” he asked quickly. She drew nearer the door, and her eyes looked startled as she replied in a low, almost cold, voice: “ I have no friends, nor have I ever had a real friend in my life. Aunt Matilda does not wish me to have one.” “ I also have no friends, and 1 am a very lonely man. Will you not take a little pity upon me and give me a small part of your friendship?” he asked, and moved closer to her, regarding her with appealing eyes. She kept hers on the floor for a few seconds, then she raised them, full of tears, and answered, impulsively; “ Yes, I will be your friend, if you wish it. It means that I also gain a friend, and oh,” clasping her hands together, “ I want a friend’s advice many a time, but ” —lowering her voice and looking over her shoulder —“ you must not lot my aunt know, for she hates me to have a friend, and would send you away.” “ Don’t fear,” he said gently, and he took her hand in his. “ I will be your friend and protect you from that dragon. I can see she is not kind to you.” 9 “ She is not very easy to live with—but I must go, or else she will be surprised."

Stafford released her hand. “ 1 shall see you soon, my little friend,” ho answered softly,' and she left the room with shining eyes, feeling happier than she had done for weeks, while he sat and looked at his supper in a dreamy manner and with an entire loss of appetite, which was, somewhat difficult to account for. CHAPTER VIII. POOR LITTLE GIRL! On Sunday evening before retiring to bed Vera broke the news to her aunt that on the morrow she would have her first lesson in the mill. A queer look came over the thin face of the elder woman, and she said curtly:— “ Yes, you’ll stay for a day or perhaps a week, but your grand lady ways will soon be upset, I expect.” “ 1 don’t think so,” answered Vera, her cheeks reddening a little, “ and it will be a help to you, won’t.it?” ” Do you think I’ll take a penny of your money? Well, let mo tell you once and for all that 1 wouldn’t touch it with a poker. My dear niece, whatever you earn you can have; but understand, you spend it only on yourself. 1 will have none of it,” said Miss Despard. Vera stared at her aunt in puzzled wonder, then said diffidently:— “ But I thought it was to assist in the housekeeping that you wished me to earn money.” “ Then you thought wrong. Your aunt has enough for herself ” —with emphasis—“ but not quite enough for two. What you earn will be useful to you to clothe yourself. You look shabby enough, goodness knows;” and Miss Despard laughed malignantly and chuckled to herself.

“ What is his character like outside the office?” inquired the mill owner drily. Paul hesitated and smiled.

“ You don’t mind my going into the mill, do you?” asked Vera nervously. “Mind! Good heavens!” cried the old woman violently. “ I want you to go to the mill; it is part and parcel of my scheme—humbled, lowered down and down—his blood, mind you, bone of his bone and flesh of his’flesh.” She stopped abruptly and gave her niece a side glance out of her small, sharp eyes. “ There, get to bed. I talk nonsense in my old age; I grow childish —ha, ha! My dotage, I suppose—no, no, not yet. 1 live for one day which is not far off.” Vera looked at her aunt calmly. “ 1 don’t understand you. Aunt Matilda, and your manner of late has frightened me. You speak to me and look at me as though you hated me. Why?” “ Get to bed. I am in no mood to answer questions,” snapped the old woman. “ But it is only fair. We cannot go on living like this. You have known lor some time of my shabby condition,” went on Vera bravely, “ but I think you like it, and the uglier and shabbier my clothes get the,more pleased you seem to be.” Th old woman’s eyes gleamed, but she only laughed shortly and turned away from the girl. “ You seem to dislike me much of late, and you know how anxious I am to do my best to help you, but you repulse all my offers,” said Vera slowly. “ Oh, do get off to bed and don’t stand talking with me. I have told you you can use what money you earn' for your own back, but I’ll have none of it; no, thank you.” “ Will you tell me why?” The woman turned upon her furiously. “Til not tell you anything if I don’t wish it, ray fine miss, so don’t ask me questions. You’ve had a home with me since you were quite a baby, and if I’ve given you little affection I’ve given you an upbringing % and looked after you more than anyone else. It isn’t my nature to care for people, so you must put up with it as best you can.” “ But that’s just it, Aunt Matilda; I don’t wish to put up with it, for your sake. You have no affection for mo, so that my presence here must only worry you.” “ What do you mean?” snappily asked her aunt. “ What is in your head now?” “ I want to go away,” said Vera in a low voice, “ right away from Bresterton. I feel I cannot endure my life much longer. I feel penned in here. I want to go out into the world, to do something for myself. My life is so small, so narrow, and you would be happier if 1 went away.” _ , A look of fear crept into Miss Despard’s face, and she spoke in a sharp, sarcastic voice. “You could do a lot in the world, couldn’t you? You’d find it a cold, place, my girl; besides, whether you like it or not, you_ stay with me in this place and bear it as best you can. I am not an affectionate woman, and you must put up with my dislike.” _ The girl’s pretty mouth curled mutinously, and she moved towards the stairs in a resolute way. “I am sdrry, aunt, but 1 do not see why I should go on bearing your cruel, sarcastic remarks and your dislike, I have borne them without a murmur, and now I must get away.” “ Must!” snarled Miss Despard, her red face growing white and her pale lips, compressing into a tiny thin line. “ Oh, it’s a fine word is ‘ must,’ a brave word, a very brave word.” She laughed shrilly, but Vera stood like a beautiful statue, her face as white as her aunt’s, and her eyes plainly showing the contempt she felt for this cruel ridicule. For one moment wild tempest of rage shook her young soul, but she fought it down and remained outwardly calm.

“Poor thing; poor badly-used darling, she wants more love, does she? Wants to be cuddled and kissed a little. Oh, she’s badly treated, is sheP ‘Must,’ you say to me! You little baby-faced creature —you dare to dictate to me, do you? I’ve borne enough through you and yours, so take care, don’t thwart me, or I’ll do for you once and for all. You talk glibly of leaving—well, leave me, that’s all I I’ll dog your footsteps, my pretty miss. I’ll .have you followed wherever you go. Don’t set yourself against me, for 1 hate you—yes, hate you for your beauty, for your birth. You have guessed aright, but you don’t leave me. 1 am your guardian until you are twenty-one,, so make up your mind to exist here, afid let me have no 1 must ’ again, if you please,” and she looked at the poor girl with cruel eyes of hate and scorn.' “Well, what have you to say? I must have perfect obedience, or else I must thrash it into you.” Vera started as though stung. “ Yes, thrash,” snarled the woman, watching her as a cat does a mouse, doesn't sound pretty, does it? But I’ll do it, and spoil those pretty white shoulders for a bit. Perfect obedience, 1 repeat. Go to the mill if you like, do anything you like, but keep quiet or you will know ,of it. Make no friends, or else I will tell them something about- your father which will make s thcm turn from you with loathing.” “What about my father? cried Vera, proudly. - “ Yes, yes, what about your father? Ha, ha I ' They’d think a lot of you did they know,* but I’ll keep that shame to- myself for a bit, and I’d advise you to keep to yourself,- if you are wise.” “ What have you against ray father?” “ A gbod deal, my dear,” with a sneer. ” Best for you not to ask; better still not to knorv. Are you going to bed?” e “ No,” answered Vera wearily. “ 1 could not sleep as I feel at present.” “Then stop wdiere you are, but let me pass. I’m to bed. Nothing bothers me; no, not anything. I’ve a work to do, a vow to fulfil, and I’ll do it, so help me Qodl” With a terrible laugh she suddenly flung the girl out of her way and sent 1 er reeling against the wall. Paul Stafford returned home rather later than usual. He let himself in with his key and turned up the gas. The fire was burning brightly, and he chose a book and seated himself to have a quiet read. Then gradually he became aware that people were speaking in the kitchen—someone was angry. He frowned as he tried to read. Then came the thought that perhaps his little friend was being bullied, and ho rose to his feet and went to the door. He recognised Miss Despard’s voice, but could not hear distinctly what she was saying. “ 'he seems angry,” _ mused he. “ What an old beast she is! One way and another that poor girl has a bad time. I wish 1 could help her. I’d give the world to do it.” Ho listened, but the voice seemed to have ceased entirely, and though lie waited some minutes there was only a dead silence to reward his patience. Silently he opened the door, and moved down the little passage like a mouse. Still no sound, but as he got to the door leading into the kitchen he heard something, not angry voices, or unkind words, but the sound of a girl’s heartbroken sob. Quickly, yet noiselessly, ho opened the door, to see Vera kneeling beside the table, her lovely head hidden in her hands and her pretty figure shaking with sobs most pitiful to hear. (To be continued.)