Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby novel Chapter 268

Chapter 268: Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman

While Eleanor was busy with her training at the academy, the Kingdom was alive with the frenzy of the upcoming election.

The cavernous interior of Bishopsgate Goods Yard pulsed with energy... half anticipation, half excitement. Once a Victorian rail depot, its vast iron skeleton now glittered beneath rows of suspended lighting rigs that cast a cool, blue-tinged glow across a sea of thousands. The air was thick with a peculiar blend... the chill of a night draft mingling with the heat of gathered bodies, the sharp tang of perfume, and the faint, nostalgic scent of pipe smoke.

This was the first major rally of Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman, newly announced as a candidate for Prime Minister. The crowd itself mirrored the dual nature of the man they had come to see... both polished and grounded. Party officials from neighbouring constituencies stood shoulder to shoulder, their seasoned faces lined with experience, while supporters from far-flung regions added a vibrant tapestry of colours and accents that already signalled the rally’s success.

Backstage, behind a corridor of black drapes, Anthony stood motionless. The roar of the crowd reached him as a muted rumble, a heartbeat of distant thunder. He closed his eyes, fingertips brushing the worn surface of the wooden chair he was sitting.

"Two minutes, sir," came the calm voice of his new secretary and bodyguard, Kevin Blanc.

Anthony nodded once.

Kevin continued, brisk and professional. "The feed’s live on all major networks. The bio-package is running. One reminder... land the Skills Fund line with purpose, but save the vocal punch for the third ’Kingdom First’. We’ll need that clip for the ten o’clock news."

Anthony’s eyes flickered open. Beyond the curtain, he could hear the warm-up speaker reaching the height of his introduction. The voice... a little rough, unmistakably East London... was that of his old friend Jim Broadbent. Anthony allowed himself a fleeting, genuine smile.

On the other side of the drapes, Jim was working the crowd with easy mastery. "I see some of you wondering what a commoner like me is doing introducing your Baron!" he called, earning a ripple of laughter. "Well, let me tell you about the Baron of Bethnal Green. When we were kids playing football down Brick Lane, he wasn’t the biggest. Wasn’t the fastest. But he was always the one who led us. He’d see the whole pitch... see things the rest of us couldn’t. He’d organise us, get us working together."

"Many of our schoolmates didn’t even know his father was the Minister of State. That’s the sort of man he’s always been. And that’s why this ’Kingdom First’ isn’t just some slogan dreamed up in a fancy office... it’s in his bones! He’s never forgotten where he came from, never forgotten his old friends no matter how different our families might’ve been. And I believe he won’t let this country forget where it can go!"

Jim paused, letting the moment breathe, then thundered, "It is my honour to present to you... your Prime Minister... Anthony Hayward Chapman, the Baron of Bethnal Green!"

The applause struck like a wave... roaring, physical, almost making the floor vibrate.

Anthony opened his eyes. The smile was gone, replaced by an expression of cool, steady resolve. He stepped forward through the curtain, each stride measured and sure.

On the giant screens behind the stage, the biographical video began to play... grainy footage of a young, dark-haired man in a hard hat... Anthony’s father, poring over architectural plans; a quick, evocative shot of the old East End markets; then Anthony himself, younger, speaking passionately in the Commons. A glimpse of his class at the London School of Economics, then scenes of his work in Parliament as an MP.

The video ended on a freeze-frame of him waving to a cheering crowd during his last campaign... caught mid-motion, confident, smiling.

The noise was deafening as Anthony stepped onto the stage. He moved into the light, waving slowly, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, seeming to meet a thousand pairs of eyes at once. Spotting Jim at the side of the stage, he crossed to him and pulled him into a firm, back-slapping embrace that lingered just long enough to prove its sincerity. Cameras flashed, capturing the perfect tableau... the noble and the common man, bound by friendship and history.

Reaching the podium, Anthony bypassed it entirely, taking up a handheld microphone instead... choosing exposure, choosing connection. The crowd gradually quieted, the roar fading into an expectant hum.

"Jim Broadbent," he began, his voice warm and amplified to fill the hall, "is my childhood friend. We went to the same school, played on the same pitch. After four years of friendship, one day my father came to a school event and Jim discovered that I was the son of a Minister of State. From that day, he began to distance himself from me."

A ripple of laughter ran through the audience as Anthony gave a soft chuckle.

"I was just a boy then. I thought I must’ve hurt his feelings somehow, though I couldn’t think how. I tried to guess what I’d done wrong, and when I couldn’t find an answer, I decided I’d apologise anyway. After three months, I finally did. And that’s when I learned why... he’d been told that I was a noble, the heir to my father’s title, and that I shouldn’t mix with commoners like him. I was torn. That was the first time I truly understood what social division meant. My family had never taught me that."

He paused, letting the weight of the story settle.

"So I went to my mother," he continued, his tone softening. "I asked her why I shouldn’t spend time with commoners. She told me, ’As long as a person is good at heart and obeys the laws of the Kingdom, you may befriend anyone.’ The rules of the Kingdom... I knew those from books. But what she said next puzzled me. I asked her, ’How can I tell who is good?’ And she said, ’Look at their servants and their friends. Those whose servants stay with them for years, and whose friends stand by them through time, are good people.’"

A gentle smile crossed his face.

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