THE GRINDSTONE

Evening Star, Issue 21007, 22 January 1932, Page 3

THE GRINDSTONE

By MRS. A. J. PHILLIPS,

Author of ‘ Swifter Than a Weaver’s Shuttle,’ ‘ A Miner’s Romance, etc,

[All Rights Reserved.]

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 ho then takes her. When Henton asks the reason of Clayton’s objection to him, the latter says that Henton’s father did him an injury and tried to destroy his happiness a second time, 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, rc- 1 ceivcs 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 I woman who was to deliver her to her grandfather. Clayton has never seen the child nor heard of her existence until now. ! 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 i wife, broken-hearted, soon followed him. By his advice the little girl had | been sent to England to her .grand- j father. V-ie two men at once begin the search for the girl. The 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 Vera, who is, treated unkindly by her aunt, announces her decision to go to work in the mill. 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 the j managers at Clayton’s mill. He is I introduced to Vera and is startled by her beauty. Stafford receives a note from Sir Robert. 1 | Thomas, • the detective employed by Sir Robert, learns that the woman i who had left New York fifteen years j before in charge of the mill-owner’s grand-daughter, had mysteriously died on the voyage, A Miss Spencer-Hock-ing had offered to take charge of the child, who had then been handed over to her. The shipping company had j afterwards received a letter from Miss Spencer-Hocking saying that the little girl was safe with her grand-father at Bresterton. The detective has found no further trace of Miss Spencer-Hock- i ing or Veronica. Paul Stafford is pro- i moted by Sir Robert to act as his , private secretary a to take charge of j the mill in his absence. Miss Despard I makes herself more than usually dis- | agreeable to Vera, who declares her intention of leaving her aunt. The latter is angry and threatens to have her followed wherever she goes. She hates the girl, she says, but she will not let her go. Left to herself, Vera is found crying by St ‘ rd. CHAPTER X. FRIENDS. For a minute Paul stood dumbfounded. Then he moved forward, and, with a look of compasion upon his face, touched the heaving shoulders gently. The girl raised a startled face, and at the sight of the man standing beside her she flushed scarlet, and, with _ a little 1 gasp, she hid her face again, and, sobbed all the more. Paul felt a sense of utter helplessnes as he waited in the little kitchen, and her grief wrung his heart. He touched her again, and spoke in a voice as gentle as a woman’s. ‘ “ Don’t cry, little girl; you will make yourself ill. Come, get up_ off the cold floor, and sit on this chair.” He bent and lifted her np, and placed her in a comfortable seat.

little kitciien for a moment, then, wit., quick steps, walked to the front room. She knocked at the door and walked in to find Jnr lodger evidently greats enjoying his book. Ho raised inquiring eyes to hers, then rose to his Jeet, ana stood waiting, with big-quiet air ol strength, which filled her with a strange sense of weakness. “I hope—er—i am—ant not troubling you, Mr Stafford,” she stammered, “ but I forget-er—to tell you that the gas has a small leak if not properly turned off.” “ Oh, really,” ho answered gravely “Thank you; I will see that it is properly attended to, Miss Despard,” and he sat down with a resolute air, and took up his hook. “Do you keep very late hours, Mr Stafford?” inquired his landlady, in a very acid voice. “Yes; generally, and if you object, Miss Despard, kindly calculate what gas I burn, and charge accordingly. Goodnight, madam.” Somehow Miss Despard found herself out of his room rather suddenly. Ho flung his book down savagely after she had gone, and looked at the door through which she had departed with a glance which was not exactly affectionate. Then ho put some of his papers together and departed for the night. . . , Vera meanwhile was preparing lor bed with a feeling almost of happiness. Her eyes had lost their sad look, though they were still somewhat pinkthrough weeping: and altogether she felt a strange lightness of heart. Some of the loneliness had gone, ami the burden of her troubles seemed lifted a little from her shoulders. * .. “I have a friend,” she whispered into her pillow, as she nestled in its soft depths and fell asleep with a smile upon her face. ■ , At midnight there crept into her chamber an old woman with white face and liaggard eyes, who shaded the candle with her hand for fear she should disturb the sleeping girl, and looked at her with a strange expression upon her sharp features. “ A dead heart—yes, my heart is dead,” she cried fiercely—“ and dead it must remain, for fear I carry not put my vengeance. Vengeance is mine, not God’s. Mine and mine only,” and sli6 shook her fist flt the ceiling* “Yet”—with a sudden change of expression—" when she is asleep she makes me feel a different thing, for. oh, she reminds me of the sister I lost. Her eyes filled with tears, and she blew out the light and went back to her room to fall presently into a troubled sleep. , The next day was wonderfully hne. A sharp frost had prevailed during the night, and it sparkled and glittered everywhere. Vera awoke feeling refreshed and ready for her morning’s work. She put the kitchen to rights first, then attended to the front room, and a gay little fire was spluttering and crackling in the grate when Paul Stafford appeared. He shook hands with her heartily. “Was it all a dream last night?” he whispered. “ You look bright this morning.” She laughed ,and flushed, then shook her head with a charming little gesture of warning. “ We must keep our friendship a secret, or Aunt Matilda will find it out, and will be all over very quickly. I am sorry, Mr Stafford, about last night for some things, but not for others, because it is so lovely to feel 1 have a friend.” “That’s what I feel,” smiled Paul, regarding her with his handsome, serious eyes. “We are both very_lonely, and require some companionship, and each is going to satisfy ‘ the other’s needs. Indeed, Miss Vera, I thank God for last night.” Sho smiled at him with sweet, shy eyes, then left the room hurriedly, as she heard a step on the stairs which warned her of her aunt’s arrival downstairs. She re-appeared quickly with Jus breakfast, and placed everything in readiness for him. “ Are you doing anything this evening, Miss Vera,” asked Paul in a low voice. She shook her head with a little blush. “ Will you let me take you in the park a little? Just for an hour about 8 o’clock. Can you-manage it?” Vera considered a little. “I” —hesitatingly—“*1 think I can. Yes, Mr Stafford, I will try.” “Thank you,” he said eagerly. “1 feel highly honoured I can tell you, Miss Vera, and I will take every care of you.” “ I know,” replied Vera shyly. “ I will be by the park gates about 8 o’clock.” CHAPTER X. “for better, for worse.” Mrs Tonge was lying comfortably in bed, Rachel had given her her breakfast, and had tidied up her littleroom, leaving all neat and clean. The invalid was looking brighter. She had slept well, and in consequence life seemed happier and more desirable. She lay on her side, gazing with halfclosed eyes at the tiny yard, with its stone flags and its big rain-butt. It looked almost picturesque as it glittered and shone resplendent in its robe of hoar frost, and round the top of the water tub a thick rim of frost lent a little beauty even to the old green wood, old and slimy with the storms of many years. Slowly the morning wore on, until II o’clock. The clock had hardly struck the hour when the door was opened, and Mrs Tonge’s youngest' married daughter came in. The mother flushed with pleasure, and held out her arms. “ Eh, well,” she exclaimed, “ 1 am pleased to see you. Why, Sarah Alice, what brings you here, with never a word to say you was coming?” Sarah Alice looked at her mother with trembling lips, then she suddenly sank down by the bed, and hid her face against the quilt. Mrs Tonge felt a great weight descending upon her heart. She raised herself and looked at her daughter anxiously. “Sarah Alice, lass, what ails you, my dear?”

“I am sorry,” she whispered, “ that you have seen me like this,- but my aunt drives me to desperation. I cannot bear it—no, not another day,” She started up wildly, and faced her friend. “ You do not know how cruel, how horrible she can be, how she ridicules my every movement. She is hateful, Yes, I hate her. 1 know it is wrong, but she makes me feel as though there is a raging devil in my heart. She tells mo she has a dead heart. She says she hates me. Oh, help me to get away ” —in a frightened whisper —“ where can I go? You are my friend; help me!” and she clung to his hands pitifully. He hel her tenderly, and his grave eyes were suddenly Jit up. His heart was beating madly, as he realised that she was all the world to him, this slender girl, with the wonderful face and lovely hair, and whoso grey eyes, dark with pain arid grief, were looking at him with a great trust shining in them. Yes, he loved her, better than anything else in the world. The knowledge had come to him as she had clasped his hands and besought his aid. Oh, he would help her, befriend her, watch over her, and perhaps some day he would see an answering love in her sweet eyes. “ My little friend,” he said soothingly, “ listen to me. You trust me, do you not?” “ Oh, yes,” she whispered eagerly, “ Very well; I know you.are upset, you poor little girl, but don’t do anything rash. What could you do away from here?”

“ Nothing,” answered the girl sorrowfully, with a little quiver in her voice.

“ No, you must stay here and go on enduring, but I will be your friend, you lonely child, and sometimes we will meet in the park and have some comfortable talks, and you shall tell me all your troubles, and I will comfort you. Don’t let that old wretch have the pleasure of knowing she is causing you pain, but bear it as well as you can, and 1 will help you.” “ You are very kind,” she whispered tremulously. “ I should like to talk to you sometimes away from this hateful place. Yes ” —and her pale face brightened and a little smile crept round her sad mouth—“Oh, it would he nice. I always wanted a big brother.”

Paul laughed, though a shade crossed his face, but he said m a low voice and with a smile, “ Very well, little sister. And now get you to bed and'to rest, and promise mo you will grieve no more.” She raised a bright face to his. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel comforted.” Suddenly a sound on the stairs startled them..

The young wife raised her head and wiped here eyes; then she rose to her feet and walked to the fireplace. “There’s nothing wrong with me mother,” she said, “ in my health, bn there’s everything wrong in my happ ness. Bill and I have parted, that's what ails me.”

“Auntie is coming,” Vera whispered in an agony of fear, but Paul, with a mischievous look upon his strong face, placed his fingers upon his lip to command silence, and with rapid, noiseless steps made for the door, went down the little passage, lit his gas, seated himself, and became deeply engrossed in a hook in a shorter time almost than it takes to say “Jack Robinson.” Miss Despard surveyed her niece with suspicious eyes, hut without a word Vera passed her and went upstairs to her room. Her aunt stood in the

A dismayed exclamation broke from the elder woman’s lips. “Parted?” she breathed, consternation written all over her pale face “ What, vou, and Bill as loved yon so?” “ Yes,” answered her daughter with a scornful laugh, “he loved mo a lot, ho did Why, if another man looked at me, it were all wrong. Nay, 1 must have nowt to do with else, and ho watched all I did. It’s just been

unbearable of late, and I’m fair sickened, so I left a few words writ on a paper, and I’ve loft him.” Mrs Tongue sank back on her pillow, and her face grew deathly. “ Eh,” she gasped painfully, ‘ you ve given mo a shock. Just pour mo a few drops out of that little blue bottle, Sarah Alice.” , Sarah Alice, seeing her mother s pale face, hastened to do her bidding, full of penitence that she had not prepared her sick parent beforehand. “ I’m sorry, mother, I’ve only you worse. Do you feel better?” she asked anxiously, bending over the halffainting woman. Her mother smiled faintly. “ Don’t worry, my dear, just sit down and tell me all about it,” she whispered weakly. “ I don’t know how it all began, said Sarah Alice miserably. “Bill always was jealous in the days of pur courting. I’ve told him many a time I wouldn’t stand it, but he took no notice. He’d glare if another man looked at me. And the last few months it’s been summat awful. Mary Sadler and her husband came and lived next door to us. You mind Mary, don’t you, mother ? Her and me worked next each other in the mill. Well, we goes out together, of course, and then wo all goes off to the Hippodrome one night, and Ned Sadler walks home with me. Well, what’s wrong in that? Bill walked home with Mary, and Ned didn’t mind. And when he got home Bill wouldn’t speak for a bit, and then he up and ses; ‘I saw you laughing and flirting with Ned. Goodness knows What’ll happen next!’ Well, I was mad at that, and who wouldn’t be, I’d like to know?” cried the girl indignantly. “I’ve looked after hiin well for two years, and been a true wife to him in every way, and he knows 1 haven’t a thought away from him. But I told him off—l did that—and I said he ought to be ashamed of hisself, and lots more beside. Well, all went right for a few weeks after that, until yesterday I was out and _ happened to meet Ned as he was coming home. He walked home with me, and just afore we got to our house, of course, Bill must see is, and wasn’t the fat in the fire! Well, Bill said things as 1 shan’t forget in a hurry; but I told him I’d done with him and his bad thoughts; that if he couldn’t trust me, he could do without me. He went off to bed in a temper, but if he thought I was ■going to follow him he were mightily mistaken. He’s not seen me since. 1 bid myself when he came down at 5.30 this morning, and when he came homo for his breakfast he’d find that_ all right, but his wife would be missing, and I’m riot going back to him in a hurry,” ended Sarah Alice, resolutely. “ Well, you’re my own girl, and he’s no right to think of you like that,” said her mother. “ Perhaps your leaving him will be all the best in the end. Deary me! what will your father say to it all? He’ll be mighty sorry, I know.” “ Never mind, mother. I’ll earn my keep and more. I’ll get my looms back pretty quickly.” And she went to her mother’s side and kissed the thin face. “ I’ve been homesick,” she added in a low, shaking voice, “ for some time; and it’s nice to bo home.” “ You’re welcome to stay, my dear, as long as you want. It’s your home always.” x . , Rachel s surprise was great when she found her sister at homeland her indignation was expressed in very emphatic terms when she was told the reason for the visit. _ “ You stop where you are, sister, she said, her face red with anger. “ I’d not go back to him in a hurry, not I. I’d let him eat humble pie till he felt mighty sick, that I would. Just like a man. Eh, I don’t know why we bothers wi’ them at all. Do you, mother? You get some work as quick as you can, Sarah Alice, and don’t give him another thought for a bit. Your heart ’ll soften quick enough after you’ve been here a day or two. You keep it hard as long as you can. I should have been mad if he’d said that to me. Nay, I can’t understand Bill thinking wrong thoughts like that.” “Do you think I shall get looms soon?” Sarah Alice asked tremulously. “ Yes, it’s a good time. You come back with me; we can ask the manager,” answ'ered Rachel. “ How did Miss Vera go on, Rachel?” Mrs Tongue inquired as she ate her dinner. “ Oh, all right; she’ll soon get used to it, and I’ll be bound there’ll be looms waiting for her as soon as she’s ready.” “ You don’t mean Miss Despard, <h you?” asked Sarah Alice. “ Yes, 1 do. That mean aunt of hers won’t clothe the poor girl pi perly, and she’d like to do something. I’d do the same, too, but she’s to.. bonny to bo in the mill. Eh, bless im soul, how the men did stare! She don’t look the sort of girl to work in the mill. Sort of holds, herself different and speaks so sweet., Well, we’ll see wot comes of it. Como on, Sarah Alice, off with them fine shoes and gel the clogs on, and you’ll find an old skirt of mine upstairs. I’m not gonq to take you in your Sunday clothes, if you think it,” laughed Rachel. Sarah Alice sprang up and kissed her sister heartily. “ I feel years younger to hear yer talk, Rachel, and I’ll be ready in a jiffy,” and she ran up the steep stairs like a fawn. “ What do you think of it, Rachel, lass?” asked the mother anxiui-_ “ I think she acted properly in coming home,” answered the elder_ sister stoutly. “It was the right thing to do, and Bill’s got to be brought to his senses. Now good-bye, mother, and just you get off to sleep.” The two girls went off laughing heartily, and the sound of their clogs echoed on the pavement, but the sick mother lay with her thoughts tinged with sadness; two tears trickled slowly down the thin, white cheeks, and she whispered to herself: “ For better, for worse, my dear, for better, for worse.”

CHAPTER XI. HISS DESPARD TALKS TO HERSELF.

It was not without a sensation of nervousness that Vera entered the mill with Rachel, having met her at the appointed place. She felt most terribly bewildered, and the curious looks and audible comments of her fellowworkers only added to her embarrassment, but she fought it down as best she could, and gradually found herself ,'acing it out in a braver manner. The noise of the mill affected her terribly, and she felt upon several occasions a wild desire to rush out of the awful landemonium of concentrated sound, mt Rachel came to her aid with some otton wool to place in her cars, after /Inch the noise was certainly more ■’arable.

Slio found her teacher an admirable one, and determined to reward her kind efforts by proving an excellent pupil. She soon realised that the working ol tho loom would bo learnt in no time, and became a deeply interested watcher. She was looking round about her at the busy workers, for all the world like a great hive of bees, when someone collided with her. and she heard a voice which sounded a lang way off saying in cultured tones, “ T beg your pardon.” She turned hastily to see a tall man standing looking at her with surprise plainly wj-itten upon his face. Vera

coloured and drew away slightly, for, though the man appeared to be a gentleman, there was something in his voice she did not like. His lips moved, but she could not tell what ho said, and to her relief she saw him turn away and walk down the long alley. She turned to speak to Rachel, but remained silent, for the blunt, outspoken Lancashire girl was staring after the retreating figure with eyes that flamed with anger and contempt. Wondering who the man could be, Vera said nothing, until they were walking towards home together. “ Rachel,” she said suddenly, “ who was the man who spoke to me this morning?” “ A man who would do you no good, Miss,” answered Rachel, shortly. “ His name is James Foden, and he’s a bad lot, I’ll tell you straight.” “ I did not like his face,” said Vera, thoughtfully. “ Ay, and you’d like his ways less. I can’t abide him, and I’m sorry ’e’s seen you, Mis? Vera.” Vera laughed softly. “ Don’t worry, you dear old girl,” she said, affectionately. “ I can take care of myself, and if ho troubles me at all I shall soon send him about his business. But we must part here, I will be at the corner at a quarter past one.”

“Right you are, Miss,” callled out the girl cheerily, and entered her own home.

Vera went on li er way up Friargate, and as she was turning round into Fishergato she saw, to her great annoyance, the man who had collided with her in the Mill. He also saw her, and, raising his hat, stopped beside her. She moved on resolutely with a cold little bend of the head, but he walked up to her with a few rapid steps, and. again removing Ins hat, said: — “ Allow me to apologise for my awkwardness this morning, Miss Despard.” “ How on earth has he learned my name?” though Vera, indignantly, but she replied with outward composure:—

“ There is no apology needed; it was quite an accident." “ I ‘could not help but feel a great surprise at seeing you there,” began the man, audaciously, but Vera cut him short with a little icy bow, as she replied, proudly and very_ coldly:— “ I cannot see how it need in any way affect you. sir Good morning.” And she was away across tho road before he could reply, but he followed her for all that, and carefully noted where she lived, then made his way swiftly towards home, still marvelling greatly over tho wonderful beauty of this extraordinary mill girl. James Foden was not a good man, but he was a clever man, and he contrived to hide his misdeeds from the eyes of those who needed most to know of them. He was not very tall, and rather stout, with pale, brown hair and light eyes which somehow gave a shifty look to his face. Ho had a light brown moustache, which covered a weak mouth and hid his thin, cruellooking lips, and his chin did not give strength to his face. Yet in a weak way he was handsome, and he had a well-groomed appearance. His conceit alone would have conquered a nation, for his belief in James Foden was stupendous, and probably it was to his colossal opinion of his own capabilities that ho owed his position in Sir _ Robert Clayton’s No. 1 mill. Nothing much was known of him, and he spoke very rarely about his people. Vera found dinner ready for her when she opened the kitchen door. Her aunt eyed her curiously, hut said nothing to her until she had nearly finished. “ I shall soon be a weaver,” said Vera,- determined to be pleasant, at any rate as pleasant as was possible to a woman like her aunt. “ I don’t think it will be very hard to learn, and then I can have my own looms,” she said gladly. “ Well I hope you’ll enjoy them,” said the old woman, laughing sourly. “.What does it feel like to be a mill girl? Not so pleasant; I’ll be bound.” “ Oh, I shall get used to it, and I do not mind. I have no friends to care,” answered Vera in a bitter voice, “ and no one knows anything about me. I shall not ‘mix with anyone, so it will bo nobody’s business but my own.” “ You are getting wise in your youth,” retorted the little woman grimly. “ Keep to yourself, my girl, that’s my advice, and I know what I am talking about.” She laughed a thin little malicious chuckle and watched her niece get her things on and depart for the mill once more. Presently she laughed out loud, and commenced talking in an excited voice. “ Oh, it’s a great joke, a mighty jest. His grand-daughter a millowner’s granddaughter—working in his mill as a common little weaver!” She stopped short, aware suddenly that Mr Stafford was standing behind her, regarding her with a strange expression. For a moment they stood eyeing one another —she with a suspicious gleam in her small beady eyes; he with a look that she could not decipher “ Did you want anything, Mr Stafford?” she asked sharply. “I did not hear you come in, and it gave me a shock.” “ I am sorry,” answered the young man easily. “ I knocked twice, but you could not have heard me, as you seemed to be holding a conversation with yourself.” The old woman laughed. “Ay, I hold many such; no doubt you will do the same when you are my age, my good man. It’s easy to smile at other people’s peculiarities, but I think my thoughts and I dream my dreams, and you must think nothing of an old woman’s babbling.” “ I am sorry if I startled you,” replied Paul, courteously, “ but I wished to tell you that I shall require no meal this evening, as I shall not be in until fairly late.” “Very good. Less work for me. I can do with a lot of that,” she replied, trying to look pleasant. But after he had departed she allowed the fear she felt in her heart to show itself in her face as she paced the floor up and down, and kept whispering to herself in an agitated manner. “ I wonder if he heard —I wonder if he heard.”

(To be continued.j