A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor Bradford

uninterested in his aunt’s arrival. He attacked the remainder of his breakfast with renewed and unrestrained vigour.

      But Edwin’s face immediately lost the forlorn look which had so recently washed over it. ‘I’m so glad Aunt Olivia is coming to stay, Father,’ he announced excitedly. ‘She’s a real sport!’

      Adam smiled. He picked up The Times, which was folded next to his plate, and opened it, the pages rustling as he began to read the day’s news.

      Silence descended upon the room. The only sounds were the crackling of the logs, the faintly hissing gas jets, and the gentle tinkling of silver against china as the boys ate their breakfasts. They knew better than to chatter needlessly when their father was engrossed in The Times. This presented no problems since Gerald had little in common with Edwin, who had long been alienated from him.

      ‘A damnable mess! A damnable mess!’ Adam suddenly exploded behind his paper, his voice echoing around the room and breaking the silence. Unaccustomed to seeing their father angry, or hearing him raise his voice, his sons stared at him in startled surprise.

      Finally Edwin ventured a question. ‘What’s wrong, Father? Has something in the paper disturbed you?’ he asked.

      ‘The Free Trade Question! Parliament has only just reassembled and they are already off to a running start with that one. It’s going to be a damnable mess, you mark my words. It will bring Balfour down, I am sure. And his government. Maybe not now but certainly in the not too distant future, if this ridiculous nonsense continues.’

      Edwin cleared his throat. His light grey-blue eyes, so like his father’s, were alive with intelligence in his gentle face. He said, ‘Yes, I think you are absolutely right, Father. I read in yesterday’s paper that Winston Churchill is strongly opposed to the Free Trade Bill, and you know how shrewd he is. He is fighting it hard and I am sure it will be a troublesome time for the government, just as you say.’

      Adam’s surprise was apparent. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in politics, Edwin. This is something new, isn’t it?’

      Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but Gerald sniggered and interjected scornfully. ‘Churchill! Who cares what he thinks? He’s only Member for Oldham anyway. A Lancashire mill town. If he follows in his father’s footsteps his political career will be as short-lived as Lord Randolph’s. Churchill is a braggart and a flash in the pan!’

      Adam coughed behind his hand. When he spoke his voice was cold but quiet. ‘I don’t agree with you, Gerald. And I think Edwin is quite right. Winston Churchill is a keen young politician who knows what the issues are all about. You know, he made quite a name for himself in the South African war, with that escape of his from the Boers. Became a hero to the public, in fact, and when he entered politics his maiden speech was well received. He’s been doing extremely well ever since, and I have a sneaking suspicion that we have not heard the last of young Winston. I believe he is going to be an important man in this country one day. But really, all that is irrelevant. You attacked Churchill in the most spurious way, but carefully ignored Edwin’s actual point, which is that the government is going to be in serious trouble over the Free Trade Bill. Edwin was echoing my own sentiments.’

      Gerald, who had been listening acutely, looked as if he was about to make a caustic retort. But he thought better of it, stood up, and took his plate to the sideboard to serve himself more food. A malicious gleam entered his dark brown eyes and his posture was arrogant as he moved ponderously from dish to dish.

      Edwin’s face was radiant as he turned his shining eyes on his father and smiled. He had been vindicated for once and he had found an unexpected ally in his father.

      Adam smiled kindly at his younger son. ‘Do you understand what the Free Trade Question is all about, Edwin?’ Adam asked.

      ‘I think so, Father. Isn’t it about taxing food and other goods?’

      ‘Yes. But it’s also a little more complicated than that. You see, the Protectionists, led by Chamberlain, are trying to persuade the government to abandon the system of Free Trade and cheap food which this country has thrived upon for so long. They want to impose tariffs and taxation on all goods to protect the English manufacturers against so-called foreign competition.’ Adam paused, and then continued, ‘It might make some sense if we were in a slump, but our industries are enjoying a ruddy health right now. That’s one reason why Chamberlain’s bill is preposterous, as a great majority of us realize. It would be disastrous for the country. First of all, everyone fears it would mean dearer food. That would not affect us, of course, or people of our station in life. However, it is a very real fear to the working-class housewife, who sees the price of meat and bread increasing. Apart from this, there is a general belief, especially among Liberals, that free trade is the only way to preserve international peace and understanding. There’s an old saying that comes to mind, Edwin, “If goods do not cross frontiers, armies will.” Churchill understands these essential points. He has said time and time again that the Protectionists are wrong in economics, wrong in political conceptions, and most frighteningly wrong in their estimate of public opinion. He’s right, my boy.’

      ‘What will happen, Father?’ Edwin queried.

      ‘I think we are going to witness a bitter and bloody battle between the Tariff Reform League, which supports Joe Chamberlain, and the Unionist Free Food League created by the Unionist Free-Traders, who oppose him. The Duke of Devonshire is the president of the latter group and he’s gathered many distinguished Conservatives around him, including Churchill.’

      ‘Do you think they will win? Churchill’s group?’

      ‘I certainly hope so, Edwin, for the sake of the country.’

      ‘But the House is divided, isn’t it, Father?’

      ‘Indeed it is. And the Tory Party. That’s why I said I felt trouble was brewing. Arthur Balfour is attempting to sit on the fence, but that won’t do him much good. He may well find himself out of 10 Downing Street sooner than he expects.’

      Gerald returned to the table noisily and he sat down so abruptly and so heavily the table rocked, the china and silver rattled, and tea splashed out of his cup, staining the white tablecloth with an ugly dark patch. Adam observed Gerald with immense coldness, and glared at him, his annoyance mounting. ‘Really, Gerald! Do try to be a little more mannerly at the table. And don’t you think you ought to curb yourself? This unrestrained gorging of food is not good for your health. It’s also perfectly disgusting!’

      The boy chose to ignore this mild chastisement, reached for the pepper pot, and generously seasoned his food. ‘Mother says I have a normal appetite for a growing boy,’ he remarked smugly. Adam bit back an acerbic comment and sipped his tea.

      As he ate, Gerald glanced at his father cagily. ‘To return to our earlier discussion, Father. I’m sure you’ll agree that as gentlemen we can have differences of opinion without resorting to quarrels.’ Adam flinched at this pretentiousness as Gerald went on talking. ‘I just wanted to say that I still don’t think much of Churchill, in spite of your comments to the contrary. After all, who does he represent? A lot of cotton spinners in clogs and shawls!’

      ‘That’s not strictly true, Gerald. And don’t be too hasty to dismiss the working classes. Times are changing.’

      ‘You sound like one of the new socialists, Father. Bathtubs for the workers? You know they would only put coal in them.’

      ‘That’s a snide and ridiculous story which has gone around lately, Gerald, put out by those antiquated diehards who are afraid of changes in this country,’ Adam said cuttingly. ‘But it is only a story and I’m dismayed you would give it dignity by repeating it. I had expected better of you, Gerald.’

      Gerald grinned fatuously, but his narrowed eyes were hostile. ‘Don’t tell me you’re intending to give the Fairley workers bathtubs, Father.’

      Adam looked at his son icily. ‘No, I’m not. But I’ve always tried to improve conditions at the mill, as you well know, and I shall certainly continue to do so.’