“And except,” said Mary, “that I am fighting.”
“You darling,” he said contemptuously, and went out.
Advocacy has its perils for the advocate. In the heat of argument, she had felt confident of her weapon and now she doubted if it were a weapon or hers to use. In promising Rupert a fight she had Tom Bradshaw in mind; it had seemed to her that Labor had only to lift its voice in order to obtain anything it demanded, and wasn’t Tom member for Staithley? But now that Rupert had gone and she was able coolly to examine the weapon she proposed to enlist, she couldn’t imagine why she ever thought it would fight in her cause. Why should she, after so many years, have thought of Tom at all? He had nothing to thank her for; that much was certain, but she had instinctively thought of him as her true ally in her struggle for the soul of Rupert Hepplestall. So, though she saw no reason in it, she would carry out her intention, she would send for Tom Bradshaw. If he was nothing else, he was a Staithley man, and he was something else. He was a Bradshaw. So was she. That was reason enough to send for him.
Time was against her and she didn’t know how to set about finding his address, but the paper informed her—she didn’t as a rule take stock of the fact—that the House was sitting. A phrase caught her eye. “Labor members absented themselves from the debate.” Suppose he were absent to-day? She could only try. She wrote—
Dear Mr. Bradshaw:
I am writing in ease I do not find you at the House. I want to see you urgently. You may possibly have noticed that Sir Rupert Hepplestall married Mary Arden of the Galaxy Theatre. I enclose tickets for both this afternoon and to-night. I must see you, please. If I am on the stage when you come, have a look at me, but come round behind the moment I am off. They will bring you to me at once. Failing that, telephone me here. It is really important.
Yours sincerely,
Mary Hepplestall.
She meant to have written that Mary Arden was Mary Ellen Bradshaw, but she couldn’t resist, even in her anxiety, springing that surprise upon him when he heard her speaking the tongue of Staithley on the stage. He might know already, he might have seen the piece. She wasn’t unsophisticated enough to suppose that Labor members were any more austere in their recreations than other people, but Tom wasn’t likely to frequent musical comedy. He liked music.
She went to the theater for the tickets, enclosed them with her letter and took it to the House of Commons, where she was assured that Tom would certainly receive it during the day. That was comforting as far as it went, and what went further was that both policemen of whom she enquired in the precincts of the House addressed her as “Miss Arden.” There are people who do not gain confidence by finding themselves known to the police. Mary was helped just then to be reminded that she was famous.