The Palliser Novels (538 page)

“Is Lord Popplecourt intimate here?” Lady Mabel asked her friend, Lord Silverbridge.

“I don’t know. I am not.”

“Lady Cantrip seems to think a great deal about him.”

“I dare say. I don’t.”

“Your father seems to like him.”

“That’s possible too. They’re going back to London together in the governor’s carriage. My father will talk high politics all the way, and Popplecourt will agree with everything.”

“He isn’t intended to — to — ? You know what I mean.”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“To cut out poor Frank.”

“It’s quite possible.”

“Poor Frank!”

“You had a great deal better say poor Popplecourt! — or poor governor, or poor Lady Cantrip.”

“But a hundred countesses can’t make your sister marry a man she doesn’t like.”

“Just that. They don’t go the right way about it.”

“What would you do?”

“Leave her alone. Let her find out gradually that what she wants can’t be done.”

“And so linger on for years,” said Lady Mabel reproachfully.

“I say nothing about that. The man is my friend.”

“And you ought to be proud of him.”

“I never knew anybody yet that was proud of his friends. I like him well enough, but I can quite understand that the governor should object.”

“Yes, we all know that,” said she sadly.

“What would your father say if you wanted to marry someone who hadn’t a shilling?”

“I should object myself, — without waiting for my father. But then, — neither have I a shilling. If I had money, do you think I wouldn’t like to give it to the man I loved?”

“But this is a case of giving somebody else’s money. They won’t make her give it up by bringing such a young ass as that down here. If my father has persistency enough to let her cry her eyes out, he’ll succeed.”

“And break her heart. Could you do that?”

“Certainly not. But then I’m soft. I can’t refuse.”

“Can’t you?”

“Not if the person who asks me is in my good books. You try me.”

“What shall I ask for?”

“Anything.”

“Give me that ring off your finger,” she said. He at once took it off his hand. “Of course you know I am in joke. You don’t imagine that I would take it from you?” He still held it towards her. “Lord Silverbridge, I expect that with you I may say a foolish word without being brought to sorrow by it. I know that that ring belonged to your great-uncle, — and to fifty Pallisers before.”

“What would it matter?”

“And it would be wholly useless to me, as I could not wear it.”

“Of course it would be too big,” said he, replacing the ring on his own finger. “But when I talk of any one being in my good books, I don’t mean a thing like that. Don’t you know there is nobody on earth I — ” there he paused and blushed, and she sat motionless, looking at him expecting, with her colour too somewhat raised, — “whom I like so well as I do you?” It was a lame conclusion. She felt it to be lame. But as regarded him, the lameness at the moment had come from a timidity which forbade him to say the word “love” even though he had meant to say it.

She recovered herself instantly. “I do believe it,” she said. “I do think that we are real friends.”

“Would you not take a ring from a — real friend?”

“Not that ring; — nor a ring at all after I had asked for it in joke. You understand it all. But to go back to what we were talking about, — if you can do anything for Frank, pray do. You know it will break her heart. A man of course bears it better, but he does not perhaps suffer the less. It is all his life to him. He can do nothing while this is going on. Are you not true enough to your friendship to exert yourself for him?” Silverbridge put his hand up and rubbed his head as though he were vexed. “Your aid would turn everything in his favour.”

“You do not know my father.”

“Is he so inexorable?”

“It is not that, Mabel. But he is so unhappy. I cannot add to his unhappiness by taking part against him.”

In another part of the room Lady Cantrip was busy with Lord Popplecourt. She had talked about pheasants, and had talked about grouse, had talked about moving the address in the House of Lords in some coming Session, and the great value of political alliances early in life, till the young peer began to think that Lady Cantrip was the nicest of women. Then after a short pause she changed the subject.

“Don’t you think Lady Mary very beautiful?”

“Uncommon,” said his Lordship.

“And her manners so perfect. She has all her mother’s ease without any of that — You know what I mean.”

“Quite so,” said his Lordship.

“And then she has got so much in her.”

“Has she though?”

“I don’t know any girl of her age so thoroughly well educated. The Duke seems to take to you.”

“Well, yes; — the Duke is very kind.”

“Don’t you think — ?”

“Eh!”

“You have heard of her mother’s fortune?”

“Tremendous!”

“She will have, I take it, quite a third of it. Whatever I say I’m sure you will take in confidence; but she is a dear dear girl; and I am anxious for her happiness almost as though she belonged to me.”

Lord Popplecourt went back to town in the Duke’s carriage, but was unable to say a word about politics. His mind was altogether filled with the wonderful words that had been spoken to him. Could it be that Lady Mary had fallen violently in love with him? He would not at once give himself up to the pleasing idea, having so thoroughly grounded himself in the belief that female nets were to be avoided. But when he got home he did think favourably of it. The daughter of a Duke, — and such a Duke! So lovely a girl, and with such gifts! And then a fortune which would make a material addition to his own large property!

We all know that very clever distich concerning the great fleas and the little fleas which tells us that no animal is too humble to have its parasite. Even Major Tifto had his inferior friend. This was a certain Captain Green, — for the friend also affected military honours. He was a man somewhat older than Tifto, of whose antecedents no one was supposed to know anything. It was presumed of him that he lived by betting, and it was boasted by those who wished to defend his character that when he lost he paid his money like a gentleman. Tifto during the last year or two had been anxious to support Captain Green, and had always made use of this argument: “Where the
d––––
he gets his money I don’t know; — but when he loses, there it is.”

Major Tifto had a little “box” of his own in the neighbourhood of Egham, at which he had a set of stables a little bigger than his house, and a set of kennels a little bigger than his stables. It was here he kept his horses and hounds, and himself too when business connected with his sporting life did not take him to town. It was now the middle of August and he had come to Tally-ho Lodge, there to look after his establishments, to make arrangements for cub-hunting, and to prepare for the autumn racing campaign. On this occasion Captain Green was enjoying his hospitality and assisting him by sage counsels. Behind the little box was a little garden, — a garden that was very little; but, still, thus close to the parlour window, there was room for a small table to be put on the grass-plat, and for a couple of armchairs. Here the Major and the Captain were seated about eight o’clock one evening, with convivial good things within their reach. The good things were gin-and-water and pipes. The two gentlemen had not dressed strictly for dinner. They had spent a great part of the day handling the hounds and the horses, dressing wounds, curing sores, and ministering to canine ailments, and had been detained over their work too long to think of their toilet. As it was they had an eye to business. The stables at one corner and the kennels at the other were close to the little garden, and the doings of a man and a boy who were still at work among the animals could be directed from the armchairs on which the two sportsmen were sitting.

It must be explained that ever since the Silverbridge election there had been a growing feeling in Tifto’s mind that he had been ill-treated by his partner. The feeling was strengthened by the admirable condition of Prime Minister. Surely more consideration had been due to a man who had produced such a state of things!

“I wouldn’t quarrel with him, but I’d make him pay his way,” said the prudent Captain.

“As for that, of course he does pay — his share.”

“Who does all the work?”

“That’s true.”

“The fact is, Tifto, you don’t make enough out of it. When a small man like you has to deal with a big man like that, he may take it out of him in one of two ways. But he must be deuced clever if he can get it both ways.”

“What are you driving at?” asked Tifto, who did not like being called a small man, feeling himself to be every inch a Master of foxhounds.

“Why, this! — Look at that d–––– fellow fretting that ‘orse with a switch. If you can’t strap a ‘orse without a stick in your hand, don’t you strap him at all, you — ” Then there came a volley of abuse out of the Captain’s mouth, in the middle of which the man threw down the rubber he was using and walked away.

“You come back,” halloed Tifto, jumping up from his seat with his pipe in his mouth. Then there was a general quarrel between the man and his two masters, in which the man at last was victorious. And the horse was taken into the stable in an unfinished condition. “It’s all very well to say ‘Get rid of him,’ but where am I to get anybody better? It has come to such a pass that now if you speak to a fellow he walks out of the yard.”

They then returned to the state of affairs, as it was between Tifto and Lord Silverbridge. “What I was saying is this,” continued the Captain. “If you choose to put yourself up to live with a fellow like that on equal
terms — “

“One gentleman with another, you mean?”

“Put it so. It don’t quite hit it off, but put it so. Why then you get your wages when you take his arm and call him Silverbridge.”

“I don’t want wages from any man,” said the indignant Major.

“That comes from not knowing what wages is. I do want wages. If I do a thing I like to be paid for it. You are paid for it after one fashion, I prefer the other.”

“Do you mean he should give me — a salary?”

“I’d have it out of him some way. What’s the good of young chaps of that sort if they aren’t made to pay? You’ve got this young swell in tow. He’s going to be about the richest man in England; — and what the deuce better are you for it?” Tifto sat meditating, thinking of the wisdom which was being spoken. The same ideas had occurred to him. The happy chance which had made him intimate with Lord Silverbridge had not yet enriched him. “What is the good of chaps of that sort if they are not made to pay?” The words were wise words. But yet how glorious he had been when he was elected at the Beargarden, and had entered the club as the special friend of the heir of the Duke of Omnium.

After a short pause, Captain Green pursued his discourse. “You said salary.”

“I did mention the word.”

“Salary and wages is one. A salary is a nice thing if it’s paid regular. I had a salary once myself for looking after a stud of ‘orses at Newmarket, only the gentleman broke up and it never went very far.”

“Was that Marley Bullock?”

“Yes; that was Marley Bullock. He’s abroad somewhere now with nothing a year paid quarterly to live on. I think he does a little at cards. He’d had a good bit of money once, but most of it was gone when he came my way.”

“You didn’t make by him?”

“I didn’t lose nothing. I didn’t have a lot of ‘orses under me without getting something out of it.”

“What am I to do?” asked Tifto. “I can sell him a horse now and again. But if I give him anything good there isn’t much to come out of that.”

“Very little I should say. Don’t he put his money on his ‘orses?”

“Not very free. I think he’s coming out freer now.”

“What did he stand to win on the Derby?”

“A thousand or two perhaps.”

“There may be something got handsome out of that,” said the Captain, not venturing to allow his voice to rise above a whisper. Major Tifto looked hard at him but said nothing. “Of course you must see your way.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“Race ‘orses are expensive animals, — and races generally is expensive.”

“That’s true.”

“When so much is dropped, somebody has to pick it up. That’s what I’ve always said to myself. I’m as honest as another man.”

“That’s of course,” said the Major civilly.

“But if I don’t keep my mouth shut, somebody ‘ll have my teeth out of my head. Every one for himself and God for us all. I suppose there’s a deal of money flying about. He’ll put a lot of money on this ‘orse of yours for the Leger if he’s managed right. There’s more to be got out of that than calling him Silverbridge and walking arm-in-arm. Business is business. I don’t know whether I make myself understood.”

The gentleman did not quite make himself understood; but Tifto endeavoured to read the riddle. He must in some way make money out of his friend Lord Silverbridge. Hitherto he had contented himself with the brilliancy of the connection; but now his brilliant friend had taken to snubbing him, and had on more than one occasion made himself disagreeable. It seemed to him that Captain Green counselled him to put up with that, but counselled him at the same time to — pick up some of his friend’s money. He didn’t think that he could ask Lord Silverbridge for a salary — he who was a Master of Fox-hounds, and a member of the Beargarden. Then his friend had suggested something about the young lord’s bets. He was endeavouring to unriddle all this with a brain that was already somewhat muddled with alcohol, when Captain Green got up from his chair and standing over the Major spoke his last words for that night as from an oracle. “Square is all very well, as long as others are square to you; — but when they aren’t, then I say square be
d––––.
Square! what comes of it? Work your heart out, and then it’s no good.”

The Major thought about it much that night, and was thinking about it still when he awoke on the next morning. He would like to make Lord Silverbridge pay for his late insolence. It would answer his purpose to make a little money, — as he told himself, — in any honest way. At the present moment he was in want of money, and on looking into his affairs declared to himself that he had certainly impoverished himself by his devotion to Lord Silverbridge’s interests. At breakfast on the following morning he endeavoured to bring his friend back to the subject. But the Captain was cross, rather than oracular. “Everybody,” he said, “ought to know his own business. He wasn’t going to meddle or make. What he had said had been taken amiss.” This was hard upon Tifto, who had taken nothing amiss.