The Palliser Novels (339 page)

“Nothing at all.”

“One’s first desire would be to beat him to a jelly.”

“Of all courses that would be the worst, and would most certainly conduce to his triumph.”

“Just so; — I only allude to the pleasure one would have, but which one has to deny oneself. I don’t know whether he has laid himself open for libel.”

“I should think not. I have only just glanced at it, and therefore can’t give an opinion; but I should think you would not dream of such a thing. Your object is to screen Lady Laura’s name.”

“I have to think of that first.”

“It may be necessary that steps should be taken to defend her character. If an accusation be made with such publicity as to enforce belief if not denied, the denial must be made, and may probably be best made by an action for libel. But that must be done by her or her friends, — but certainly not by you.”

“He has laughed at the Vice-Chancellor’s injunction.”

“I don’t think that you can interfere. If, as you believe, Mr. Kennedy be insane, that fact will probably soon be proved, and will have the effect of clearing Lady Laura’s character. A wife may be excused for leaving a mad husband.”

“And you think I should do nothing?”

“I don’t see what you can do. You have encountered a chimney sweeper, and of course you get some of the soot. What you do do, and what you do not do, must depend at any rate on the wishes of Lady Laura Kennedy and her father. It is a matter in which you must make yourself subordinate to them.”

Fuming and fretting, and yet recognising the truth of Mr. Low’s words, Phineas left the chambers, and went down to his club. It was a Wednesday, and the House was to sit in the morning; but before he went to the House he put himself in the way of certain of his associates in order that he might hear what would be said, and learn if possible what was thought. Nobody seemed to treat the accusations in the newspaper as very serious, though all around him congratulated him on his escape from Mr. Kennedy’s pistol. “I suppose the poor man really is mad,” said Lord Cantrip, whom he met on the steps of one of the clubs.

“No doubt, I should say.”

“I can’t understand why you didn’t go to the police.”

“I had hoped the thing would not become public,” said Phineas.

“Everything becomes public; — everything of that kind. It is very hard upon poor Lady Laura.”

“That is the worst of it, Lord Cantrip.”

“If I were her father I should bring her to England, and demand a separation in a regular and legal way. That is what he should do now in her behalf. She would then have an opportunity of clearing her character from imputations which, to a certain extent, will affect it, even though they come from a madman, and from the very scum of the press.”

“You have read that article?”

“Yes; — I saw it but a minute ago.”

“I need not tell you that there is not the faintest ground in the world for the imputation made against Lady Laura there.”

“I am sure that there is none; — and therefore it is that I tell you my opinion so plainly. I think that Lord Brentford should be advised to bring Lady Laura to England, and to put down the charges openly in Court. It might be done either by an application to the Divorce Court for a separation, or by an action against the newspaper for libel. I do not know Lord Brentford quite well enough to intrude upon him with a letter, but I have no objection whatever to having my name mentioned to him. He and I and you and poor Mr. Kennedy sat together in the same Government, and I think that Lord Brentford would trust my friendship so far.” Phineas thanked him, and assured him that what he had said should be conveyed to Lord Brentford.

It will be remembered that Adelaide Palliser had accepted the hand of Mr. Maule, junior, and that she and Lady Chiltern between them had despatched him up to London on an embassy to his father, in which he failed very signally. It had been originally Lady Chiltern’s idea that the proper home for the young couple would be the ancestral hall, which must be theirs some day, and in which, with exceeding prudence, they might be able to live as Maules of Maule Abbey upon the very limited income which would belong to them. How slight were the grounds for imputing such stern prudence to Gerard Maule both the ladies felt; — but it had become essential to do something; the young people were engaged to each other, and a manner of life must be suggested, discussed, and as far as possible arranged. Lady Chiltern was useful at such work, having a practical turn of mind, and understanding well the condition of life for which it was necessary that her friend should prepare herself. The lover was not vicious, he neither drank nor gambled, nor ran himself hopelessly in debt. He was good-humoured and tractable, and docile enough when nothing disagreeable was asked from him. He would have, he said, no objection to live at Maule Abbey if Adelaide liked it. He didn’t believe much in farming, but would consent at Adelaide’s request to be the owner of bullocks. He was quite ready to give up hunting, having already taught himself to think that the very few good runs in a season were hardly worth the trouble of getting up before daylight all the winter. He went forth, therefore, on his embassy, and we know how he failed. Another lover would have communicated the disastrous tidings at once to the lady; but Gerard Maule waited a week before he did so, and then told his story in half-a-dozen words. “The governor cut up rough about Maule Abbey, and will not hear of it. He generally does cut up rough.”

“But he must be made to hear of it,” said Lady Chiltern. Two days afterwards the news reached Harrington of the death of the Duke of Omnium. A letter of an official nature reached Adelaide from Mr. Fothergill, in which the writer explained that he had been desired by Mr. Palliser to communicate to her and the relatives the sad tidings. “So the poor old man has gone at last,” said Lady Chiltern, with that affectation of funereal gravity which is common to all of us.

“Poor old Duke!” said Adelaide. “I have been hearing of him as a sort of bugbear all my life. I don’t think I ever saw him but once, and then he gave me a kiss and a pair of earrings. He never paid any attention to us at all, but we were taught to think that Providence had been very good to us in making the Duke our uncle.”

“He was very rich?”

“Horribly rich, I have always heard.”

“Won’t he leave you something? It would be very nice now that you are engaged to find that he has given you five thousand pounds.”

“Very nice indeed; — but there is not a chance of it. It has always been known that everything is to go to the heir. Papa had his fortune and spent it. He and his brother were never friends, and though the Duke did once give me a kiss I imagine that he forgot my existence immediately afterwards.”

“So the Duke of Omnium is dead,” said Lord Chiltern when he came home that evening.

“Adelaide has had a letter to tell her so this afternoon.”

“Mr. Fothergill wrote to me,” said Adelaide; — “the man who is so wicked about the foxes.”

“I don’t care a straw about Mr. Fothergill; and now my mouth is closed against your uncle. But it’s quite frightful to think that a Duke of Omnium must die like anybody else.”

“The Duke is dead; — long live the Duke,” said Lady Chiltern. “I wonder how Mr. Palliser will like it.”

“Men always do like it, I suppose,” said Adelaide.

“Women do,” said Lord Chiltern. “Lady Glencora will be delighted to reign, — though I can hardly fancy her by any other name. By the bye, Adelaide, I have got a letter for you.”

“A letter for me, Lord Chiltern!”

“Well, — yes; I suppose I had better give it you. It is not addressed to you, but you must answer it.”

“What on earth is it?”

“I think I can guess,” said Lady Chiltern, laughing. She had guessed rightly, but Adelaide Palliser was still altogether in the dark when Lord Chiltern took a letter from his pocket and handed it to her. As he did so he left the room, and his wife followed him. “I shall be upstairs, Adelaide, if you want advice,” said Lady Chiltern.

The letter was from Mr. Spooner. He had left Harrington Hall after the uncourteous reception which had been accorded to him by Miss Palliser in deep disgust, resolving that he would never again speak to her, and almost resolving that Spoon Hall should never have a mistress in his time. But with his wine after dinner his courage came back to him, and he began to reflect once more that it is not the habit of young ladies to accept their lovers at the first offer. There was living with Mr. Spooner at this time a very attached friend, whom he usually consulted in all emergencies, and to whom on this occasion he opened his heart. Mr. Edward Spooner, commonly called Ned by all who knew him, and not unfrequently so addressed by those who did not, was a distant cousin of the Squire’s, who unfortunately had no particular income of his own. For the last ten years he had lived at Spoon Hall, and had certainly earned his bread. The Squire had achieved a certain credit for success as a country gentleman. Nothing about his place was out of order. His own farming, which was extensive, succeeded. His bullocks and sheep won prizes. His horses were always useful and healthy. His tenants were solvent, if not satisfied, and he himself did not owe a shilling. Now many people in the neighbourhood attributed all this to the judicious care of Mr. Edward Spooner, whose eye was never off the place, and whose discretion was equal to his zeal. In giving the Squire his due, one must acknowledge that he recognised the merits of his cousin, and trusted him in everything. That night, as soon as the customary bottle of claret had succeeded the absolutely normal bottle of port after dinner, Mr. Spooner of Spoon Hall opened his heart to his cousin.

“I shall have to walk, then,” said Ned.

“Not if I know it,” said the Squire. “You don’t suppose I’m going to let any woman have the command of Spoon Hall?”

“They do command, — inside, you know.”

“No woman shall ever turn you out of this house, Ned.”

“I’m not thinking of myself, Tom,” said the cousin. “Of course you’ll marry some day, and of course I must take my chance. I don’t see why it shouldn’t be Miss Palliser as well as another.”

“The jade almost made me angry.”

“I suppose that’s the way with most of ‘em.
‘Ludit exultim metuitque tangi’
.” For Ned Spooner had himself preserved some few tattered shreds of learning from his school days. “You don’t remember about the filly?”

“Yes I do; very well,” said the Squire.

“
‘Nuptiarum expers.’
That’s what it is, I suppose. Try it again.” The advice on the part of the cousin was genuine and unselfish. That Mr. Spooner of Spoon Hall should be rejected by a young lady without any fortune seemed to him to be impossible. At any rate it is the duty of a man in such circumstances to persevere. As far as Ned knew the world, ladies always required to be asked a second or a third time. And then no harm can come from such perseverance. “She can’t break your bones, Tom.”

There was much honesty displayed on this occasion. The Squire, when he was thus instigated to persevere, did his best to describe the manner in which he had been rejected. His powers of description were not very great, but he did not conceal anything wilfully. “She was as hard as nails, you know.”

“I don’t know that that means much. Horace’s filly kicked a few, no doubt.”

“She told me that if I’d go one way, she’d go the other!”

“They always say about the hardest things that come to their tongues. They don’t curse and swear as we do, or there’d be no bearing them. If you really like her — “

“She’s such a well-built creature! There’s a look of blood about her I don’t see in any of ‘em. That sort of breeding is what one wants to get through the mud with.”

Then it was that the cousin recommended a letter to Lord Chiltern. Lord Chiltern was at the present moment to be regarded as the lady’s guardian, and was the lover’s intimate friend. A direct proposal had already been made to the young lady, and this should now be repeated to the gentleman who for the time stood in the position of her father. The Squire for a while hesitated, declaring that he was averse to make his secret known to Lord Chiltern. “One doesn’t want every fellow in the country to know it,” he said. But in answer to this the cousin was very explicit. There could be but little doubt that Lord Chiltern knew the secret already; and he would certainly be rather induced to keep it as a secret than to divulge it if it were communicated to him officially. And what other step could the Squire take? It would not be likely that he should be asked again to Harrington Hall with the express view of repeating his offer. The cousin was quite of opinion that a written proposition should be made; and on that very night the cousin himself wrote out a letter for the Squire to copy in the morning. On the morning the Squire copied the letter, — not without additions of his own, as to which he had very many words with his discreet cousin, — and in a formal manner handed it to Lord Chiltern towards the afternoon of that day, having devoted his whole morning to the finding of a proper opportunity for doing so. Lord Chiltern had read the letter, and had, as we see, delivered it to Adelaide Palliser. “That’s another proposal from Mr. Spooner,” Lady Chiltern said, as soon as they were alone.

“Exactly that.”

“I knew he’d go on with it. Men are such fools.”

“I don’t see that he’s a fool at all;” said Lord Chiltern, almost in anger. “Why shouldn’t he ask a girl to be his wife? He’s a rich man, and she hasn’t got a farthing.”

“You might say the same of a butcher, Oswald.”

“Mr. Spooner is a gentleman.”

“You do not mean to say that he’s fit to marry such a girl as Adelaide Palliser?”

“I don’t know what makes fitness. He’s got a red nose, and if she don’t like a red nose, — that’s unfitness. Gerard Maule’s nose isn’t red, and I dare say therefore he’s fitter. Only, unfortunately, he has no money.”

“Adelaide Palliser would no more think of marrying Mr. Spooner than you would have thought of marrying the cook.”

“If I had liked the cook I should have asked her, and I don’t see why Mr. Spooner shouldn’t ask Miss Palliser. She needn’t take him.”