The Palliser Novels (35 page)

The Duke did not know how to silence Mrs Conway Sparkes. It was a great principle of his life never to be angry with any one. How could he get at Mrs Conway Sparkes? “I don’t think she is worth your attention,” said the husband. “That’s all very well, Duke,” said the wife, “and perhaps she is not. But I find her in this house, and I don’t like to be laughed at. I think Lady Glencora should make her know her place.”

“Lady Glencora is very young, my dear.”

“I don’t know about being so very young,” said the Duchess, whose ear had perhaps caught some little hint of poor Lady Glencora’s almost unintentional mimicry. Now as appeals of this kind were being made frequently to the Duke, and as he was often driven to say some word, of which he himself hardly approved, to some one in protection of his Duchess, he was aware that the matter was an annoyance, and at times almost wished that her Grace was at — Longroyston.

And there was a third politician staying at Matching Priory who had never yet risen to the rank of a statesman, but who had his hopes. This was Mr Bott, the member for St Helens, whom Lady Glencora had described as a man who stood about, with red hair, — and perhaps told tales of her to her husband. Mr Bott was a person who certainly had had some success in life and who had won it for himself. He was not very young, being at this time only just on the right side of fifty. He was now enjoying his second session in Parliament, having been returned as a pledged disciple of the Manchester school. Nor had he apparently been false to his pledges. At St Helens he was still held to be a good man and true. But they who sat on the same side with him in the House and watched his political manœuvres, knew that he was striving hard to get his finger into the public pie. He was not a rich man, though he had made calico and had got into Parliament. And though he claimed to be a thoroughgoing Radical, he was a man who liked to live with aristocrats, and was fond of listening to the whispers of such as the Duke of St Bungay or Mr Palliser. It was supposed that he did understand something of finance. He was at any rate great in figures; and as he was possessed of much industry, and was obedient withal, he was a man who might make himself useful to a Chancellor of the Exchequer ambitious of changes.

There are men who get into such houses as Matching Priory and whose presence there is a mystery to many; — as to whom the ladies of the house never quite understand why they are entertaining such a guest. “And Mr Bott is coming,” Mr Palliser had said to his wife. “Mr Bott!” Lady Glencora had answered. “Goodness me! who is Mr Bott?” “He is member for St Helens,” said Mr Palliser. “A very serviceable man in his way.” “And what am I to do with him?” asked Lady Glencora. “I don’t know that you can do anything with him. He is a man who has a great deal of business, and I dare say he will spend most of his time in the library.” So Mr Bott arrived. But though a huge pile of letters and papers came to him every morning by post, he unfortunately did not seem to spend much of his time in the library. Perhaps he had not found the clue to that lost apartment. Twice he went out shooting, but as on the first day he shot the keeper, and on the second very nearly shot the Duke, he gave that up. Hunting he declined, though much pressed to make an essay in that art by Jeffrey Palliser. He seemed to spend his time, as Lady Glencora said, in standing about, — except at certain times when he was closeted with Mr Palliser, and when, it may be presumed, he made himself useful. On such days he would be seen at the hour of lunch with fingers much stained with ink, and it was generally supposed that on those occasions he had been counting up taxes and calculating the effect of great financial changes. He was a tall, wiry, strong man, with a bald head and bristly red beard, which, however, was cut off from his upper and under lip. This was unfortunate, as had he hidden his mouth he would not have been in so marked a degree an ugly man. His upper lip was very long, and his mouth was mean. But he had found that without the help of a razor to these parts he could not manage his soup to his satisfaction, and preferring cleanliness to beauty had shaved himself accordingly.

“I shouldn’t dislike Mr Bott so much,” Lady Glencora said to her husband, “if he didn’t rub his hands and smile so often, and seem to be going to say something when he really is not going to say anything.”

“I don’t think you need trouble yourself about him, my dear,” Mr Palliser had answered.

“But when he looks at me in that way, I can’t help stopping, as I think he is going to speak; and then he always says, ‘Can I do anything for you, Lady Glen-cowrer?’”

She instantly saw that her husband did not like this. “Don’t be angry with me, dear,” she said. “You must admit that he is rather a bore.”

“I am not at all angry, Glencora,” said the husband; “and if you insist upon it, I will see that he leaves; — and in such case will of course never ask him again. But that might be prejudicial to me, as he is a man whom I trust in politics, and who may perhaps be serviceable to me.”

Of course Lady Glencora declared that Mr Bott might remain as long as he and her husband desired, and of course she mentioned his name no more to Mr Palliser; but from that time forth she regarded Mr Bott as an enemy, and felt also that Mr Bott regarded her in the same light.

When it was known among outside politicians that the Duke of St Bungay was staying at Matching Priory, outside politicians became more sure than ever that Mr Palliser would be the new Chancellor of the Exchequer. The old minister and the young minister were of course arranging matters together. But I doubt whether Mr Palliser and the Duke ever spoke on any such topic during the entire visit. Though Mr Bott was occasionally closeted with Mr Palliser, the Duke never troubled himself with such closetings. He went out shooting — on his pony, read his newspaper, wrote his notes, and looked with the eye of a connoisseur over all Mr Palliser’s farming apparatus. “You seem to have a good man, I should say,” said the Duke. “What! Hubbings? Yes; — he was a legacy from my uncle when he gave me up the Priory.” “A very good man, I should say. Of course he won’t make it pay; but he’ll make it look as though it did; — which is the next best thing. I could never get rent out of land that I farmed myself, — never.” “I suppose not,” said Mr Palliser, who did not care much about it. The Duke would have talked to him by the hour together about farming had Mr Palliser been so minded; but he talked to him very little about politics. Nor during the whole time of his stay at Matching did the Duke make any other allusion to Mr Palliser’s hopes as regarded the ministry, than that in which he had told Lady Glencora at the dinner-table that her husband’s ambition was the highest by which any man could be moved.

But Mr Bott was sometimes honoured by a few words with the Duke.

“We shall muster pretty strong, your Grace,” Mr Bott had said to him one day before dinner.

“That depends on how the changes go,” said the Duke.

“I suppose there will be a change?”

“Oh yes; there’ll be a change, — certainly, I should say. And it will be in your direction.”

“And in Palliser’s?”

“Yes; I should think so; — that is, if it suits him. By-the-by, Mr Bott — ” Then there was a little whispered communication, in which perhaps Mr Bott was undertaking some commission of that nature which Lady Glencora had called “telling.”

At the end of ten days Alice found herself quite comfortable at Matching Priory. She had now promised to remain there till the second week of December, at which time she was to go to Vavasor Hall, — there to meet her father and Kate. The Pallisers were to pass their Christmas with the Duke of Omnium in Barsetshire. “We always are to do that,” said Glencora. “It is the state occasion at Gatherum Castle, but it only lasts for one week. Then we go somewhere else. Oh dear!”

“Why do you say ‘oh dear’?”

“Because — ; I don’t think I mean to tell you.”

“Then I’m sure I won’t ask.”

“That’s so like you, Alice. But I can be as firm as you, and I’m sure I won’t tell you unless you do ask.” But Alice did not ask, and it was not long before Lady Glencora’s firmness gave way.

But, as I have said, Alice had become quite comfortable at Matching Priory. Perhaps she was already growing upwards towards the light. At any rate she could listen with pleasure to the few words the Duke would say to her. She could even chat a little to the Duchess, — so that her Grace had observed to Lady Glencora that “her cousin was a very nice person, — a very nice person indeed. What a pity it was that she had been so ill-treated by that gentleman in Oxfordshire!” Lady Glencora had to explain that the gentleman lived in Cambridgeshire, and that he, at any rate, had not treated anybody ill. “Do you mean that she — jilted him?” said the Duchess, almost whistling, and opening her eyes very wide. “Dear me, I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have thought it.” And when she next spoke to Alice she assumed rather a severe tone of emphasis; — but this was soon abandoned when Alice listened to her with complacency.

Alice also had learned to ride, — or rather had resumed her riding, which for years had been abandoned. Jeffrey Palliser had been her squire, and she had become intimate with him so as to learn to quarrel with him and to like him, — to such an extent that Lady Glencora had laughingly told her that she was going to do more.

“I rather think not,” said Alice.

“But what has thinking to do with it? Who ever thinks about it?”

“I don’t just at present, — at any rate.”

“Upon my word it would be very nice; — and then perhaps some day you’d be the Duchess.”

“Glencora, don’t talk such nonsense.”

“Those are the speculations which people make. Only I should spite you by killing myself, so that he might marry again.”

“How can you say such horrid things?”

“I think I shall, — some day. What right have I to stand in his way? He spoke to me the other day about Jeffrey’s altered position, and I knew what he meant; — or rather what he didn’t mean to say, but what he thought. But I shan’t kill myself.”

“I should think not.”

“I only know one other way,” said Lady Glencora.

“You are thinking of things which should never be in your thoughts,” said Alice vehemently. “Have you no trust in God’s providence? Cannot you accept what has been done for you?”

Mr Bott had gone away, much to Lady Glencora’s delight, but had unfortunately come back again. On his return Alice heard more of the feud between the Duchess and Mrs Conway Sparkes. “I did not tell you,” said Lady Glencora to her friend; — “I did not tell you before he went that I was right about his tale-bearing.”

“And did he bear tales?”

“Yes; I did get the scolding, and I know very well that it came through him, though Mr Palliser did not say so. But he told me that the Duchess had felt herself hurt by that other woman’s way of talking.”

“But it was not your fault.”

“No; that’s what I said. It was he who desired me to ask Mrs Conway Sparkes to come here. I didn’t want her. She goes everywhere, and it is thought a catch to get her; but if she had been drowned in the Red Sea I shouldn’t have minded. When I told him that, he said it was nonsense, — which of course it was; and then he said I ought to make her hold her tongue. Of course I said I couldn’t. Mrs Conway Sparkes wouldn’t care for me. If she quizzed me, myself, I told him that I could take care of myself, though she were ten times Mrs Conway Sparkes, and had written finer poetry than Tennyson.”

“It is fine; — some of it,” said Alice.

“Oh, I dare say! I know a great deal of it by heart, only I wouldn’t give her the pleasure of supposing that I had ever thought so much about her poetry. And then I told him that I couldn’t take care of the Duchess, — and he told me that I was a child.”

“He only meant that in love.”

“I am a child; I know that. Why didn’t he marry some strong-minded, ferocious woman that could keep his house in order, and frown Mrs Sparkes out of her impudence? It wasn’t my fault.”

“You didn’t tell him that.”

“But I did. Then he kissed me, and said it was all right, and told me that I should grow older. ‘And Mrs Sparkes will grow more impudent,’ I said, ‘and the Duchess more silly.’ And after that I went away. Now this horrid Mr Bott has come back again, and only that it would be mean in me to condescend so far, I would punish him. He grins and smiles at me, and rubs his big hands more than ever, because he feels that he has behaved badly. Is it not horrid to have to live in the house with such people?”

“I don’t think you need mind him much.”

“Yes; but I am the mistress here, and am told that I am to entertain the people. Fancy entertaining the Duchess of St Bungay and Mr Bott!”

Alice had now become so intimate with Lady Glencora that she did not scruple to read her wise lectures, — telling her that she allowed herself to think too much of little things, — and too much also of some big things. “As regards Mr Bott,” said Alice, “I think you should bear it as though there were no such person.”

“But that would be pretence, — especially to you.”

“No; it would not be pretence; it would be the reticence which all women should practise, — and you, in your position, more almost than any other woman.” Then Lady Glencora pouted, told Alice that it was a pity she had not married Mr Palliser, and left her.

That evening, — the evening of Mr Bott’s return to Matching, that gentleman found a place near to Alice in the drawing-room. He had often come up to her, rubbing his hands together, and saying little words, as though there was some reason from their positions that they two should be friends. Alice had perceived this, and had endeavoured with all her force to shake him off; but he was a man, who if he understood a hint, never took it. A cold shoulder was nothing to him, if he wanted to gain the person who showed it him. His code of perseverance taught him that it was a virtue to overcome cold shoulders. The man or woman who received his first overtures with grace would probably be one on whom it would be better that he should look down and waste no further time; whereas he or she who could afford to treat him with disdain would no doubt be worth gaining. Such men as Mr Bott are ever gracious to cold shoulders. The colder the shoulders, the more gracious are the Mr Botts.