The Palliser Novels (435 page)

The Duke came, and to him she poured out her whole soul. “It has been for him and for his honour that I have done it; — that men and women might know how really gracious he is, and how good. Of course, there has been money spent, but he can afford it without hurting the children. It has been so necessary that with a Coalition people should know each other! There was some little absurd row here. A man who was a mere nobody, one of the travelling butterfly men that fill up spaces and talk to girls, got hold of him and was impertinent. He is so thin-skinned that he could not shake the creature into the dust as you would have done. It annoyed him, — that, and, I think, seeing so many strange faces, — so that he came to me and declared, that as long as he remained in office he would not have another person in the house, either here or in London. He meant it literally, and he meant me to understand it literally. I had to get special leave before I could ask so dear an old friend as your Grace.”

“I don’t think he would object to me,” said the Duke, laughing.

“Of course not. He was only too glad to think you would come. But he took the request as being quite the proper thing. It will kill me if this is to be carried out. After all that I have done, I could show myself nowhere. And it will be so injurious to him! Could not you tell him, Duke? No one else in the world can tell him but you. Nothing unfair has been attempted. No job has been done. I have endeavoured to make his house pleasant to people, in order that they might look upon him with grace and favour. Is that wrong? Is that unbecoming a wife?”

The old Duke patted her on the head as though she were a little girl, and was more comforting to her than her other counsellors. He would say nothing to her husband now; — but they must both be up in London at the meeting of Parliament, and then he would tell his friend that, in his opinion, no sudden change should be made. “This husband of yours is a very peculiar man,” he said, smiling. “His honesty is not like the honesty of other men. It is more downright; — more absolutely honest; less capable of bearing even the shadow which the stain from another’s dishonesty might throw upon it. Give him credit for all that, and remember that you cannot find everything combined in the same person. He is very practical in some things, but the question is, whether he is not too scrupulous to be practical in all things.” At the close of the interview the Duchess kissed him and promised to be guided by him. The occurrences of the last few weeks had softened the Duchess much.

On his arrival in London Ferdinand Lopez found a letter waiting for him from the Duchess. This came into his hand immediately on his reaching the rooms in Belgrave Mansions, and was of course the first object of his care. “That contains my fate,” he said to his wife, putting his hand down upon the letter. He had talked to her much of the chance that had come in his way, and had shown himself to be very ambitious of the honour offered to him. She of course had sympathised with him, and was willing to think all good things both of the Duchess and of the Duke, if they would between them put her husband into Parliament. He paused a moment, still holding the letter under his hand. “You would hardly think that I should be such a coward that I don’t like to open it,” he said.

“You’ve got to do it.”

“Unless I make you do it for me,” he said, holding out the letter to her. “You will have to learn how weak I am. When I am really anxious I become like a child.”

“I do not think you are ever weak,” she said, caressing him. “If there were a thing to be done you would do it at once. But I’ll open it if you like.” Then he tore off the envelope with an air of comic importance and stood for a few minutes while he read it.

“What I first perceive is that there has been a row about it,” he said.

“A row about it! What sort of a row?”

“My dear friend the Duchess has not quite hit it off with my less dear friend the Duke.”

“She does not say so?”

“Oh dear, no! My friend the Duchess is much too discreet for that; — but I can see that it has been so.”

“Are you to be the new member? If that is arranged I don’t care a bit about the Duke and Duchess.”

“These things do not settle themselves quite so easily as that. I am not to have the seat at any rate without fighting for it. There’s the letter.”

The Duchess’s letter to her new adherent shall be given, but it must first be understood that many different ideas had passed through the writer’s mind between the writing of the letter and the order given by the Prime Minister to his wife concerning the borough. She of course became aware at once that Mr. Lopez must be informed that she could not do for him what she had suggested that she would do. But there was no necessity of writing at the instant. Mr. Grey had not yet vacated the seat, and Mr. Lopez was away on his travels. The month of January was passed in comparative quiet at the Castle, and during that time it became known at Silverbridge that the election would be open. The Duke would not even make a suggestion, and would neither express, nor feel, resentment should a member be returned altogether hostile to his Ministry. By degrees the Duchess accustomed herself to this condition of affairs, and as the consternation caused by her husband’s very imperious conduct wore off, she began to ask herself whether even yet she need quite give up the game. She could not make a Member of Parliament altogether out of her own hand, as she had once fondly hoped she might do; but still she might do something. She would in nothing disobey her husband, but if Mr. Lopez were to stand for Silverbridge, it could not but be known in the borough that Mr. Lopez was her friend. Therefore she wrote the following
letter: —
 

Gatherum, –– January, 18––.

My dear Mr. Lopez
,

I remember that you said that you would be home at this time, and therefore I write to you about the borough. Things are changed since you went away, and, I fear, not changed for your advantage.

We understand that Mr. Grey will apply for the Chiltern Hundreds at the end of March, and that the election will take place in April. No candidate will appear as favoured from hence. We used to run a favourite, and our favourite would sometimes win, — would sometimes even have a walk over; but those good times are gone. All the good times are going, I think. There is no reason that I know why you should not stand as well as any one else. You can be early in the field; — because it is only now known that there will be no Gatherum interest. And I fancy it has already leaked out that you would have been the favourite if there had been a favourite; — which might be beneficial.

I need hardly say that I do not wish my name to be mentioned in the matter.

Sincerely yours,

Glencora Omnium
.

Sprugeon, the ironmonger, would, I do not doubt, be proud to nominate you.
 

“I don’t understand much about it,” said Emily.

“I dare say not. It is not meant that any novice should understand much about it. Of course you will not mention her Grace’s letter.”

“Certainly not.”

“She intends to do the very best she can for me. I have no doubt that some understrapper from the Castle has had some communication with Mr. Sprugeon. The fact is that the Duke won’t be seen in it, but that the Duchess does not mean that the borough shall quite slip through their fingers.”

“Shall you try it?”

“If I do I must send an agent down to see Mr. Sprugeon on the sly, and the sooner I do so the better. I wonder what your father will say about it?”

“He is an old Conservative.”

“But would he not like his son-in-law to be in Parliament?”

“I don’t know that he would care about it very much. He seems always to laugh at people who want to get into Parliament. But if you have set your heart upon it,
Ferdinand — “

“I have not set my heart on spending a great deal of money. When I first thought of Silverbridge the expense would have been almost nothing. It would have been a walk over, as the Duchess calls it. But now there will certainly be a contest.”

“Give it up if you cannot afford it.”

“Nothing venture nothing have. You don’t think your father would help me in doing it? It would add almost as much to your position as to mine.” Emily shook her head. She had always heard her father ridicule the folly of men who spent more than they could afford in the vanity of writing two letters after their name, and she now explained that it had always been so with him. “You would not mind asking him,” he said.

“I will ask him if you wish it, certainly.” Ever since their marriage he had been teaching her, — intentionally teaching her, — that it would be the duty of both of them to get all they could from her father. She had learned the lesson, but it had been very distasteful to her. It had not induced her to think ill of her husband. She was too much engrossed with him, too much in love with him for that. But she was beginning to feel that the world in general was hard and greedy and uncomfortable. If it was proper that a father should give his daughter money when she was married, why did not her father do so without waiting to be asked? And yet, if he were unwilling to do so, would it not be better to leave him to his pleasure in the matter? But now she began to perceive that her father was to be regarded as a milch cow, and that she was to be the dairy-maid. Her husband at times would become terribly anxious on the subject. On receiving the promise of £3000 he had been elated, but since that he had continually talked of what more her father ought to do for them.

“Perhaps I had better take the bull by the horns,” he said, “and do it myself. Then I shall find out whether he really has our interest at heart, or whether he looks on you as a stranger because you’ve gone away from him.”

“I don’t think he will look upon me as a stranger.”

“We’ll see,” said Lopez.

It was not long before he made the experiment. He had called himself a coward as to the opening of the Duchess’s letter, but he had in truth always courage for perils of this nature. On the day of their arrival they dined with Mr. Wharton in Manchester Square, and certainly the old man had received his daughter with great delight. He had been courteous also to Lopez, and Emily, amidst the pleasure of his welcome, had forgotten some of her troubles. The three were alone together, and when Emily had asked after her brother, Mr. Wharton had laughed and said that Everett was an ass. “You have not quarrelled with him?” she said. He ridiculed the idea of any quarrel, but again said that Everett was an ass.

After dinner Mr. Wharton and Lopez were left together, as the old man, whether alone or in company, always sat for an hour sipping port wine after the manner of his forefathers. Lopez had already determined that he would not let the opportunity escape him, and began his attack at once. “I have been invited, sir,” he said with his sweetest smile, “to stand for Silverbridge.”

“You too!” said Mr. Wharton. But, though there was a certain amount of satire in the exclamation, it had been good-humoured satire.

“Yes, sir. We all get bit sooner or later, I suppose.”

“I never was bit.”

“Your sagacity and philosophy have been the wonder of the world, sir. There can be no doubt that in my profession a seat in the House would be of the greatest possible advantage to me. It enables a man to do a great many things which he could not touch without it.”

“It may be so. I don’t know anything about it.”

“And then it is a great honour.”

“That depends on how you get it, and how you use it; — very much also on whether you are fit for it.”

“I shall get it honestly if I do get it. I hope I may use it well. And as for my fitness, I must leave that to be ascertained when I am there. I am sorry to say there will probably be a contest.”

“I suppose so. A seat in Parliament without a contest does not drop into every young man’s mouth.”

“It very nearly dropped into mine.” Then he told his father-in-law almost all the particulars of the offer which had been made him, and of the manner in which the seat was now suggested to him. He somewhat hesitated in the use of the name of the Duchess, leaving an impression on Mr. Wharton that the offer had in truth come from the Duke. “Should there be a contest, would you help me?”

“In what way? I could not canvass at Silverbridge, if you mean that.”

“I was not thinking of giving you personal trouble.”

“I don’t know a soul in the place. I shouldn’t know that there was such a place except that it returns a member of Parliament.”

“I meant with money, sir.”

“To pay the election bills! No; certainly not. Why should I?”

“For Emily’s sake.”

“I don’t think it would do Emily any good, or you either. It would certainly do me none. It is a kind of luxury that a man should not attempt to enjoy unless he can afford it easily.”

“A luxury!”

“Yes, a luxury; just as much as a four-in-hand coach or a yacht. Men go into Parliament because it gives them fashion, position, and power.”

“I should go to serve my country.”

“Success in your profession I thought you said was your object. Of course you must do as you please. If you ask me for advice, I advise you not to try it. But certainly I will not help you with money. That ass Everett is quarrelling with me at this moment because I won’t give him money to go and stand somewhere.”

“Not at Silverbridge!”

“I’m sure I can’t say. But don’t let me do him an injury. To give him his due, he is more reasonable than you, and only wants a promise from me that I will pay electioneering bills for him at the next general election. I have refused him, — though for reasons which I need not mention I think him better fitted for Parliament than you. I must certainly also refuse you. I cannot imagine any circumstances which would induce me to pay a shilling towards getting you into Parliament. If you won’t drink any more wine, we’ll join Emily upstairs.”

This had been very plain speaking, and by no means comfortable to Lopez. What of personal discourtesy there had been in the lawyer’s words, — and they had not certainly been flattering, — he could throw off from him as meaning nothing. As he could not afford to quarrel with his father-in-law, he thought it probable that he might have to bear a good deal of incivility from the old man. He was quite prepared to bear it as long as he could see a chance of a reward; — though, should there be no such chance, he would be ready to avenge it. But there had been a decision in the present refusal which made him quite sure that it would be vain to repeat his request. “I shall find out, sir,” he said, “whether it may probably be a costly affair, and if so I shall give it up. You are rather hard upon me as to my motives.”