The Palliser Novels (561 page)

At dinner Lady Mabel sat next to his father, and he could watch the special courtesy with which the Duke treated the girl whom he was so desirous of introducing to his house. Silverbridge could not talk about the election at Polpenno because all conversation about Tregear was interdicted in the presence of his sister. He could say nothing as to the Runnymede hunt and the two thunderbolts which had fallen on him, as Major Tifto was not a subject on which he could expatiate in the presence of his father. He asked a few questions about the shooting, and referred with great regret to his absence from the Brake country.

“I am sure Mr. Cassewary could spare you for another fortnight,” the Duke said to his neighbour, alluding to a visit which she now intended to make.

“If so he would have to spare me altogether,” said Mabel, “for I must meet my father in London in the middle of January.”

“Could you not put it off to another year?”

“You would think I had taken root and was growing at Matching.”

“Of all our products you would be the most delightful, and the most charming, — and we would hope the most permanent,” said the courteous Duke.

“After being here so long I need hardly say that I like Matching better than any place in the world. I suppose it is the contrast to Grex.”

“Grex was a palace,” said the Duke, “before a wall of this house had been built.”

“Grex is very old, and very wild, — and very uncomfortable. But I love it dearly. Matching is the very reverse of Grex.”

“Not I hope in your affections.”

“I did not mean that. I think one likes a contrast. But I must go, say on the first of January, to pick up Miss Cassewary.”

It was certain, therefore, that she was going on the first of January. How would it be if he put off the telling of his story for yet another week, till she should be gone? Then he looked around and bethought himself that the time would hang very heavy with him. And his father would daily expect from him a declaration exactly opposed to that which he had to make. He had no horses to ride. As he went on listening he almost convinced himself that the proper thing to do would be to go back to London and thence write to his father. He made no confession to his father on that night.

On the next morning there was a heavy fall of snow, but nevertheless everybody managed to go to church. The Duke, as he looked at Lady Mabel tripping along over the swept paths in her furs and short petticoats and well-made boots, thought that his son was a lucky fellow to have the chance of winning the love of such a girl. No remembrance of Miss Boncassen came across his mind as he saw them close together. It was so important that Silverbridge should marry and thus be kept from further follies! And it was so momentous to the fortunes of the Palliser family generally that he should marry well! In thinking so it did not occur to him that the granddaughter of an American labourer might be offered to him. A young lady fit to be Duchess of Omnium was not to be found everywhere. But this girl, he thought as he saw her walking briskly and strongly through the snow, with every mark of health about her, with every sign of high breeding, very beautiful, exquisite in manner, gracious as a goddess, was fit to be a Duchess! Silverbridge at this moment was walking close to her side, — in good looks, in gracious manner, in high breeding her equal, — in worldly gifts infinitely her superior. Surely she would not despise him! Silverbridge at the moment was expressing a hope that the sermon would not be very long.

After lunch Mabel came suddenly behind the chair on which Silverbridge was sitting and asked him to take a walk with her. Was she not afraid of the snow? “Perhaps you are,” she said laughing. “I do not mind it in the least.” When they were but a few yards from the front door, she put her hand upon his arm, and spoke to him as though she had arranged the walk with reference to that special question, “And now tell me all about Frank.”

She had arranged everything. She had a plan before her now, and had determined in accordance with that plan that she would say nothing to disturb him on this occasion. If she could succeed in bringing him into good humour with herself, that should be sufficient for to-day. “Now tell me everything about Frank.”

“Frank is member of Parliament for Polpenno. That is all.”

“That is so like a man and so unlike a woman. What did he say? What did he do? How did he look? What did you say? What did you do? How did you look?”

“We looked very miserable, when we got wet through, walking about all day in the rain.”

“Was that necessary?”

“Quite necessary. We looked so mean and draggled that nobody would have voted for us, only that poor Mr. Carbottle looked meaner and more draggled.”

“The Duke says you made ever so many speeches.”

“I should think I did. It is very easy to make speeches down at a place like that. Tregear spoke like a book.”

“He spoke well?”

“Awfully well. He told them that all the good things that had ever been done in Parliament had been carried by the Tories. He went back to Pitt’s time, and had it all at his fingers’ ends.”

“And quite true.”

“That’s just what it was not. It was all a crammer. But it did as well.”

“I am glad he is a member. Don’t you think the Duke will come round a little now?”

When Tregear and the election had been sufficiently discussed, they came by degrees to Major Tifto and the two thunderbolts. Silverbridge, when he perceived that nothing was to be said about Isabel Boncassen, or his own freedom in the matter of love-making, was not sorry to have a friend from whom he could find sympathy for himself in his own troubles. With some encouragement from Mabel the whole story was told. “Was it not a great impertinence?” she asked.

“It was an awful bore. What could I say? I was not going to pronounce judgment against the poor devil. I daresay he was good enough for Mr. Jawstock.”

“But I suppose he did cheat horribly.”

“I daresay he did. A great many of them do cheat. But what of that? I was not bound to give him a character, bad or good.”

“Certainly not.”

“He had not been my servant. It was such a letter. I’ll show it you when we get in! — asking whether Tifto was fit to be the depositary of the intimacy of the Runnymede hunt! And then Tif’s letter; — I almost wept over that.”

“How could he have had the audacity to write at all?”

“He said that ‘him and me had been a good deal together.’ Unfortunately that was true. Even now I am not quite sure that he lamed the horse himself.”

“Everybody thinks he did. Percival says there is no doubt about it.”

“Percival knows nothing about it. Three of the gang ran away, and he stood his ground. That’s about all we do know.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I had to address him as Sir, and beg him not to write to me any more. Of course they mean to get rid of him, and I couldn’t do him any good. Poor Tifto! Upon the whole I think I hate Jawstock worse than Tifto.”

Lady Mabel was content with her afternoon’s work. When they had been at Matching before the Polpenno election, there had apparently been no friendship between them, — at any rate no confidential friendship. Miss Boncassen had been there, and he had had neither ears nor eyes for any one else. But now something like the feeling of old days had been restored. She had not done much towards her great object; — but then she had known that nothing could be done till he should again be in a good humour with her.

On the Sunday, the Monday, and the Tuesday they were again together. In some of these interviews Silverbridge described the Polpenno people, and told her how Miss Tregear had been reassured by his eloquence. He also read to her the Jawstock and Tifto correspondence, and was complimented by her as to his prudence and foresight. “To tell the truth I consulted Mr. Lupton,” he said, not liking to take credit for wisdom which had not been his own. Then they talked about Grex, and Killancodlem, about Gerald and the shooting, about Mary’s love for Tregear, and about the work of the coming Session. On all these subjects they were comfortable and confidential, — Miss Boncassen’s name never having been as yet so much as mentioned.

But still the real work was before her. She had not hoped to bring him round to kneel once more at her feet by such gentle measures as these. She had not dared to dream that he could in this way be taught to forget the past autumn and all its charms. She knew well that there was something very difficult before her. But, if that difficult thing might be done at all, these were the preparations which must be made for the doing of it.

It was arranged that she should leave Matching on Saturday, the first day of the new year. Things had gone on in the manner described till the Thursday had come. The Duke had been impatient but had restrained himself. He had seen that they were much together and that they were apparently friends. He too told himself that there were two more days, and that before the end of those days everything might be pleasantly settled!

It had become a matter of course that Silverbridge and Mabel should walk together in the afternoon. He himself had felt that there was danger in this, — not danger that he should be untrue to Isabel, but that he should make others think that he was true to Mabel. But he excused himself on the plea that he and Mabel had been intimate friends, — were still intimate friends, and that she was going away in a day or two. Mary, who watched it all, was sure that misery was being prepared for someone. She was aware that by this time her father was anxious to welcome Mabel as his daughter-in-law. She strongly suspected that something had been said between her father and her brother on the subject. But then she had Isabel Boncassen’s direct assurance that Silverbridge was engaged to her! Now when Isabel’s back was turned, Silverbridge and Mabel were always together.

On the Thursday after lunch they were again out together. It had become so much a habit that the walk repeated itself without an effort. It had been part of Mabel’s scheme that it should be so. During all this morning she had been thinking of her scheme. It was all but hopeless. So much she had declared to herself. But forlorn hopes do sometimes end in splendid triumphs. That which she might gain was so much! And what could she lose? The sweet bloom of her maiden shame? That, she told herself, with bitterest inward tears, was already gone from her. Frank Tregear at any rate knew where her heart had been given. Frank Tregear knew that having lost her heart to one man she was anxious to marry another. He knew that she was willing to accept the coronet of a duchess as her consolation. That bloom of her maiden shame, of which she quite understood the sweetness, the charm, the value — was gone when she had brought herself to such a state that any human being should know that, loving one man, she should be willing to marry another. The sweet treasure was gone from her. Its aroma was fled. It behoved her now to be ambitious, cautious, — and if possible successful.

When first she had so resolved, success seemed to be easily within her reach. Of all the golden youths that crossed her path no one was so pleasant to her eye, to her ear, to her feelings generally as this Duke’s young heir. There was a coming manliness about him which she liked, — and she liked even the slight want of present manliness. Putting aside Frank Tregear she could go nearer to loving him than any other man she had ever seen. With him she would not be turned from her duties by disgust, by dislike, or dismay. She could even think that the time would come when she might really love him. Then she had all but succeeded, and she might have succeeded altogether had she been but a little more prudent. But she had allowed her great prize to escape from her fingers.

But the prize was not yet utterly beyond her grasp. To recover it, — to recover even the smallest chance of recovering it, there would be need of great exertion. She must be bold, sudden, unwomanlike, — and yet with such display of woman’s charm that he at least should discover no want. She must be false, but false with such perfect deceit, that he must regard her as a pearl of truth. If anything could lure him back it must be his conviction of her passionate love. And she must be strong; — so strong as to overcome not only his weakness, but all that was strong in him. She knew that he did love that other girl, — and she must overcome even that. And to do this she must prostrate herself at his feet, — as, since the world began, it has been man’s province to prostrate himself at the feet of the woman he loves.

To do this she must indeed bid adieu to the sweet bloom of her maiden shame! But had she not done so already when, by the side of the brook at Killancodlem, she had declared to him plainly enough her despair at hearing that he loved that other girl? Though she were to grovel at his feet she could not speak more plainly than she had spoken then. She could not tell her story now more plainly than she had done then; but, — though the chances were small, — perchance she might tell it more effectually.

“Perhaps this will be our last walk,” she said. “Come down to the seat over the river.”

“Why should it be the last? You’ll be here to-morrow.”

“There are so many slips in such things,” she said laughing. “You may get a letter from your constituents that will want all the day to answer. Or your father may have a political communication to make to me. But at any rate come.” So they went to the seat.

It was a spot in the park from whence there was a distant view over many lands, and low beneath the bench, which stood on the edge of a steep bank, ran a stream which made a sweeping bend in this place, so that a reach of the little river might be seen both to the right and to the left. Though the sun was shining, the snow under their feet was hard with frost. It was an air such as one sometimes finds in England, and often in America. Though the cold was very perceptible, though water in the shade was freezing at this moment, there was no feeling of damp, no sense of bitter wind. It was a sweet and jocund air, such as would make young people prone to run and skip. “You are not going to sit down with all the snow on the bench,” said Silverbridge.

On their way thither she had not said a word that would disturb him. She had spoken to him of the coming Session, and had managed to display to him the interest which she took in his parliamentary career. In doing this she had flattered him to the top of his bent. If he would return to his father’s politics, then would she too become a renegade. Would he speak in the next Session? She hoped he would speak. And if he did, might she be there to hear him? She was cautious not to say a word of Frank Tregear, understanding something of that strange jealousy which could exist even when he who was jealous did not love the woman who caused it.