CHAPTER XVIII
One Saturday in early August, some weeks after the incident described inthe last chapter, Bobbie Forbes, in the worst inn's worst fly, suchbeing the stress and famine of election time, drove up to the Tallynfront door. It was the day after the polling, and Tallyn, with its openwindows and empty rooms, had the look of a hive from which the bees haveswarmed. According to the butler, only Lady Niton was at home, and thehousehold was eagerly awaiting news of the declaration of the poll atDunscombe Town Hall. Lady Niton, indeed, was knitting in thedrawing-room.
"Capital!--to find you alone," said Bobbie, taking a seat beside her."All the others at Dunscombe, I hear. And no news yet?"
Lady Niton, who had given him one inky finger--(a pile of letters justcompleted lay beside her)--shook her head, looking him critically up anddown the while.
The critical eye, however, was more required in her own case. She wasuntidily dressed, as usual, in a shabby black gown; her brown "front"was a little displaced, and her cap awry; and her fingers had apparentlybeen badly worsted in a struggle with her pen. Yet her diminutive figurein the drawing-room--such is the power of personality--made a socialplace of it at once.
"I obeyed your summons," Bobbie continued, "though I'm sure Lady Lucydidn't want to invite me with all this hubbub going on. Well, what doyou prophesy? They told me at the station that the result would be outby two o'clock. I very nearly went to the Town Hall, but the fact iseverybody's so nervous I funked it. If Oliver's kicked out, the fewertears over spilled milk the better."
"He won't be kicked out."
"Don't make too sure! I have been hearing the most dismal reports. TheFerrierites hate him much worse than if he'd gone against them openly.And the fellows he really agrees with don't love him much better."
"All the same he will get in; and if he don't get office now he will ina few years."
"Oliver must be flattered that you believe in him so."
"I don't believe in him at all," said Lady Niton, sharply. "Everycountry has the politicians it deserves."
Bobbie grinned.
"I don't find you a democrat yet."
"I'm just as much of one as anybody in this house, for all their finetalk. Only they pretend to like being governed by their plumbers andgas-fitters, and I don't."
"I hear that Oliver's speeches have been extremely good."
"H'm--all about the poor," said Lady Niton, releasing her hand from theknitting-needles, and waving it scornfully at the room in which theysat. "Well, if Oliver were to tell me from now till doomsday that hisheart bled for the poor, I shouldn't believe him. It doesn't bleed. Heis as comfortable in his middle region as you or I."
Bobbie laughed.
"Now look here, I'm simply famished for gossip, and I must have it."Lady Niton's ball of wool fell on the floor. Bobbie pounced upon it,and put it in his pocket. "A hostage! Surrender--and talk to me! Do youbelong to the Mallory faction--or don't you?"
"Give me my ball, sir--and don't dare to mention that girl's name inthis house."
Bobbie opened his eyes.
"I say!--what did you mean by writing to me like that if you weren't onthe right side?"
"What do you mean?"
"You can't have gone over to Lady Lucy and the Fotheringham woman!"
Lady Niton looked at him with a queer expression of contempt in hertanned and crumpled face.
"Is that the only reason you can imagine for my not permitting you totalk of Diana Mallory in this house?"
Bobbie, looked puzzled. Then a light broke.
"I see! You mean the house isn't good enough? Precisely! What's up.Alicia? _No_!"
Lady Niton laughed.
"He has been practically engaged to her for two years. He didn't knowit, of course--he hadn't an idea of it. But Alicia knew it. Oh! sheallowed him his amusements. The Mallory girl was one of them. If theSparling story hadn't broken it off, something else would. I don'tbelieve Alicia ever alarmed herself."
"Are they engaged?"
"Not formally. I dare say it won't be announced till the autumn," saidhis companion, indifferently. Then seeing that Bobbie's attention wasdiverted, she made a dash with one skinny hand at his coat-pocket,abstracted the ball of wool, and triumphantly returned to her knitting.
"Mean!" said Bobbie. "You caught me off guard. Well, I wish them joy.Of course, I've always liked Marsham, and I'm very sorry he's gothimself into such a mess. But as for Alicia, there's no love lostbetween us. I hear Miss Mallory's at Beechcote."
Lady Niton replied that she had only been three days in the house, thatshe had asked--ostentatiously--for a carriage the day before to take herto call at Beechcote, and had been refused. Everything, it seemed, waswanted for election purposes. But she understood that Miss Mallory wasquite well and not breaking her heart at all. At the present moment shewas the most popular person in Brookshire, and would be the most petted,if she would allow it. But she and Mrs. Colwood lived a very quiet life,and were never to be seen at the tea and garden parties in which theneighborhood abounded.
"Plucky of her to come back here!" said Bobbie. "And how's Lady Lucy?"
Lady Niton moved impatiently.
"Lucy would be all right if her son wouldn't join a set of traitors injockeying the man who put him into Parliament, and has been Lucy'squasi-husband for twenty years!"
"Oh, you think he _is_ in the plot?"
"Of course, Lucy swears he isn't. But if not--why isn't Ferrier here?His own election was over a week ago. In the natural course of things hewould have been staying here since then, and speaking for Oliver. Not aword of it! I'm glad he's shown a little spirit at last! He's put upwith it about enough."
"And Lady Lucy's fretting?"
"She don't like it--particularly when he comes to stay with Sir JamesChide and not at Tallyn. Such a thing has never happened before."
"Poor old Ferrier!" said Bobbie, with a shrug of the shoulders.
Lady Niton drew herself up fiercely.
"Don't pity your betters, sir! It's disrespectful."
Bobbie smiled. "You know the Ministry's resigned?"
"About time! What have they been hanging on for so long?"
"Well, it's done at last. I found a wire from the club waiting for mehere. The Queen has sent for Broadstone, and the fat's all in the fire."
The two fell into an excited discussion of the situation. The two rivalheroes of the electoral six weeks on the Liberal side had been, ofcourse, Ferrier and Lord Philip. Lord Philip had conducted anastonishing campaign in the Midlands, through a series of speeches ofalmost revolutionary violence, containing many veiled, or scarcelyveiled, attacks on Ferrier. Ferrier, on the whole held the North; butthe candidates in the Midlands had been greatly affected by Lord Philipand Lord Philip's speeches, and a contagious enthusiasm had spreadthrough whole districts, carrying in the Liberal candidates with a rush.In the West and South, too, where the Darcy family had many friends andlarge estates, the Liberal nominees had shown a strong tendency to adoptLord Philip's programme and profess enthusiastic admiration for itsauthor. So that there were now two kings of Brentford. Lord Philip'sfortunes had risen to a threatening height, and the whole interest ofthe Cabinet-making just beginning lay in the contest which it inevitablyimplied between Ferrier and his new but formidable lieutenant. It wassaid that Lord Philip had retired to his tent--alias, hisNorthamptonshire house--and did not mean to budge thence till he hadgot all he wanted out of the veteran Premier.
"As for the papers," said Bobbie, "you see they're already at it hammerand tongs. However, so long as the _Herald_ sticks to Ferrier, he hasvery much the best of it. This new editor Barrington is an awfullyclever fellow."
"Barrington!--Barrington!" said Lady Niton, looking up, "That's the manwho's coming to-night."
"Coming here?--Barrington? Hullo, I wonder what's up?"
"He proposed himself, Oliver says; he's an old friend."
"They were at Trinity together. But he doesn't really care much aboutOliver. I'm certain he's not com
ing here for Oliver's _beaux yeux_, orLady Lucy's."
"What does it matter?" cried Lady Niton, disdainfully.
"H'm!--you think 'em all a poor lot?"
"Well, when you've known Dizzy and Peel, Palmerston and Melbourne,you're not going to stay awake nights worriting about John Ferrier. Inany other house but this I should back Lord Philip. But I like to makeOliver uncomfortable."
"Upon my word! I have heard you say that Lord Philip's speeches wereabominable."
"So they are. But he ought to have credit for the number of 'em he canturn out in a week."
"He'll be heard, in fact, for his much speaking?"
Bobbie looked at his companion with a smile. Suddenly his cheek flushed.He sat down beside her and tried to take her hand.
"Look here," he said, with vivacity, "I think you were an awful brick tostick up for Miss Mallory as you did."
Lady Niton withdrew her hand.
"I haven't an idea what you're driving at."
"You really thought that Oliver should have given up all that money?"
His companion looked at him rather puzzled.
"He wouldn't have been a pauper," she said, dryly; "the girl had some."
"Oh, but not much. No!--you took a dear, unworldly generous view ofit!--a view which has encouraged me immensely!"
"You!" Lady Niton drew back, and drew up, as though scenting battle,while her wig and cap slipped more astray.
"Yes--me. It's made me think--well, that I ought to have told you asecret of mine weeks ago."
And with a resolute and combative air, Bobbie suddenly unburdenedhimself of the story of his engagement--to a clergyman's daughter,without a farthing, his distant cousin on his mother's side, and quiteunknown to Lady Niton.
His listener emitted a few stifled cries--asked a few furiousquestions--and then sat rigid.
"Well?" said Bobbie, masking his real anxiety under a smilingappearance.
With a great effort, Lady Niton composed herself. She stretched out aclaw and resumed her work, two red spots on her cheeks.
"Marry her, if you like," she said, with delusive calm. "I sha'n't everspeak to you again. A scheming minx without a penny!--that ought neverto have been allowed out of the school-room."
Bobbie leaped from his chair.
"Is that the way you mean to take it?"
Lady Niton nodded.
"That is the way I mean to take it!"
"What a fool I was to believe your fine speeches about Oliver!"
"Oliver may go to the devil!" cried Lady Niton.
"Very well!" Bobbie's dignity was tremendous. "Then I don't mean to beallowed less liberty than Oliver. It's no good continuing thisconversation. Why, I declare! some fool has been meddling withthose books!"
And rapidly crossing the floor, swelling with wrath and determination,Bobbie opened the bookcase of first editions which stood in this innerdrawing-room and began to replace some volumes, which had strayed fromtheir proper shelves, with a deliberate hand.
"You resemble Oliver in one thing!" Lady Niton threw after him.
"What may that be?" he said, carelessly.
"You both find gratitude inconvenient!"
Bobbie turned and bowed. "I do!" he said, "inconvenient, andintolerable! Hullo!--I hear the carriage. I beg you to remark that whatI told you was confidential. It is not to be repeated in company."
Lady Niton had only time to give him a fierce look when the door opened,and Lady Lucy came wearily in.
Bobbie hastened to meet her.
"My dear Lady Lucy!--what news?"
"Oliver is in!"
"Hurrah!" Bobbie shook her hand vehemently. "I am glad!"
Lady Niton, controlling herself with difficulty, rose from her seat, andalso offered a hand.
"There, you see, Lucy, you needn't have been so anxious."
Lady Lucy sank into a chair.
"What's the majority?" said Bobbie, astonished by her appearance andmanner. "I say, you know, you've been working too hard."
"The majority is twenty-four," said Lady Lucy, coldly, as though she hadrather not have been asked the question; and at the same time, leaningheavily back in her chair, she began feebly to untie the lace strings ofher bonnet. Bobbie was shocked by her appearance. She had aged rapidlysince he had last seen her, and, in particular, a gray shadow hadoverspread the pink-and-white complexion which had so long preserved hergood looks.
On hearing the figures (the majority five years before had been fifteenhundred), Bobbie could not forbear an exclamation which produced anothercontraction of Lady Lucy's tired brow. Lady Niton gave a very audible"Whew!"--to which she hastened to add: "Well, Lucy, what does it matter?Twenty-four is as good as two thousand."
Lady Lucy roused herself a little.
"Of course," she said, languidly, "it is disappointing. But we may beglad it is no worse. For a little while, during the counting, we thoughtOliver was out. But the last bundles to be counted were all for him, andwe just saved it." A pause, and then the speaker added, with emphasis:"It has been a _horrid_ election! Such ill-feeling--and violence--suchunfair placards!--some of them, I am sure, were libellous. But I am toldone can do nothing."
"Well, my dear, this is what Democracy comes to," said Lady Niton,taking up her knitting again with vehemence. "'_Tu l'as voulu, GeorgesDandin_.' You Liberals have opened the gates--and now you grumble atthe deluge."
"It has been the injustice shown him by his own side that Oliver minds."The speaker's voice betrayed the bleeding of the inward wound. "Really,to hear some of our neighbors talk, you would think him a Communist.And, on the other hand, he and Alicia only just escaped being badly hurtthis morning at the collieries--when they were driving round. I imploredthem not to go. However, they would. There was an ugly crowd, and butfor a few mounted police that came up, it might have been mostunpleasant."
"I suppose Alicia has been careering about with him all day?" said LadyNiton.
"Alicia--and Roland Lankester--and the chairman of Oliver's committee.Now they've gone off on the coach, to drive round some of the villages,and thank people." Lady Lucy rose as she spoke.
"Not much to thank for, according to you!" observed Lady Niton, grimly.
"Oh, well, he's in!" Lady Lucy drew a long breath. "But people havebehaved so extraordinarily! That man--that clergyman--at Beechcote--Mr.Lavery. He's been working night and day against Oliver. Really, I thinkparsons ought to leave politics alone."
"Lavery?" said Bobbie. "I thought he was a Radical. Weren't Oliver'sspeeches advanced enough to please him?"
"He has been denouncing Oliver as a humbug, because of what he ispleased to call the state of the mining villages. I'm sure they're agreat, great deal better than they were twenty years ago!" Lady Lucy'svoice was almost piteous. "However, he very nearly persuaded the minersto run a candidate of their own, and when that fell through, he advisedthem to abstain from voting. And they must have done so--in severalvillages. That's pulled down the majority."
"Abominable!" said Bobbie, who was comfortably conservative. "I alwayssaid that man was a firebrand."
"I don't know what he expects to get by it," said Lady Lucy, slowly, asshe moved toward the door. Her tone was curiously helpless; she wasstill stately, but it was a ghostly and pallid stateliness.
"Get by it!" sneered Lady Niton. "After all, his friends are in. Theysay he's eloquent. His jackasseries will get him a bishopric intime--you'll see."
"It was the unkindness--the ill-feeling--I minded," said Lady Lucy, in alow voice, leaning heavily upon her stick, and looking straight beforeher as though she inwardly recalled some of the incidents of theelection. "I never knew anything like it before."
Lady Niton lifted her eyebrows--not finding a suitable response. DidLucy really not understand what was the matter?--that her beloved Oliverhad earned the reputation throughout the division of a man who canpropose to a charming girl, and then desert her for money, at the momentwhen the tragic blow of her life had fallen upon her?--and she, that ofthe mercenary mot
her who had forced him into it. Precious lucky forOliver to have got in at all!
The door closed on Lady Lucy. Forgetting for an instant what hadhappened before her hostess entered, Elizabeth Niton, bristling withremarks, turned impetuously toward Forbes. He had gone back to firsteditions, and was whistling vigorously as he worked. With a start, LadyNiton recollected herself. Her face reddened afresh; she rose, walkedwith as much majesty as her station admitted to the door, which sheclosed sharply behind her.
As soon as she was gone Bobbie stopped whistling. If she was reallygoing to make a quarrel of it, it would certainly be a great bore--ahideous bore. His conscience pricked him for the mean and unmanlydependence which had given the capricious and masterful little woman somuch to say in his affairs. He must really find fresh work, pay hisdebts, those to Lady Niton first and foremost, and marry the girl whowould make a decent fellow of him. But his heart smote him about hisqueer old Fairy Blackstick. No surrender!--but he would like tomake peace.
* * * * *
It was past eight o'clock when the four-in-hand on which the new memberhad been touring the constituency drove up to the Tallyn door. Forbeshurried to the steps to greet the party.
"Hullo, Oliver! A thousand congratulations, old fellow! Never mind thefigures. A win's a win! But I thought you would have been dining andjunketing in Dunscombe to-night. How on earth did you get them tolet you off?"
Oliver's tired countenance smiled perfunctorily as he swung himself downfrom the coach. He allowed his hand to be shaken; his lips moved, butonly a husky whisper emerged.
"Lost his voice," Roland Lankester explained. "And so done that webegged him off from the Dunscombe dinner. He's only fit for bed."
And with a wave of the hand to the company, Marsham, weary and worn,mounted the steps, and, passing rapidly through the hall, wentup-stairs. Alicia Drake and Lankester followed, pausing in the hall totalk with Bobbie.
Alicia too looked tired out. She was dressed in a marvellous gown ofwhite chiffon, adorned with a large rosette of Marsham'scolors--red-and-yellow--and wore a hat entirely composed of red andyellow roses. The colors were not becoming to her, and she had no air ofhappy triumph. Rather, both in her and in Marsham there were strongsigns of suppressed chagrin and indignation.
"Well, that's over!" said Miss Drake, throwing down her gloves on thebilliard-table with a fierce gesture; "and I'm sure neither Oliver nor Iwould go through it again for a million of money. How _revolting_ thelower classes are!"
Lankester looked at her curiously.
"You've worked awfully hard," he said. "I hope you're going to have agood rest."
"I wouldn't bother about rest if I could pay out some of the peoplehere," said Alicia, passionately. "I should like to see a few score ofthem hanged in chains, _pour encourager les autres_."
So saying, she gathered up her gloves and parasol, and swept up-stairsdeclaring that she was too dog-tired to talk.
Bobbie Forbes and Lankester looked at each other.
"It's been really a beastly business!" said Lankester, under his breath."Precious little politics in it, too, as far as I could see. The strongFerrierites no doubt have held aloof on the score of Marsham's supposeddisloyalty to the great man; though, as far as I can make out, he hasbeen careful not to go beyond a certain line in his speeches. Anyway,they have done no work, and a good many of them have certainlyabstained from voting. It is our vote that has gone down; the Torieshave scarcely increased theirs at all. But the other side--and theSocialists--got hold of a lot of nasty little things about the estateand the collieries. The collieries are practically in rebellion,spoiling for a big strike next November, if not before. When Miss Drakeand Marsham drove round there this morning they were very badlyreceived. Her parasol was broken by a stone, and there was a good dealof mud-throwing."
Bobbie eyed his companion.
"Was any of the Opposition personal to _her_?"
Lankester nodded.
"There's an extraordinary feeling all over the place for--"
"Of course there is!" said Bobbie, hotly. "Marsham isn't such a fool asnot to know that. Why did he let this aggressive young woman take such aprominent part?"
Lankester shrugged his shoulders, but did not pursue the subject. Thetwo men went up-stairs, and Lankester parted from his companion withthe remark:
"I must say I hope Marsham won't press for anything in the Government. Idon't believe he'll ever get in for this place again."
Forbes shook his head.
"Marsham's got a lot of devil in him somewhere. I shouldn't wonder ifthis made him set his teeth."
* * * * *
Lankester opened the door of the ugly yet luxurious room which had beenassigned him. He looked round it with fresh distaste, resenting itsunnecessary size and its pretentious decoration, resenting also the verycareful valeting which had evidently been bestowed on his shabbyclothes and personal appointments, as though the magnificent youngfootman who looked after him had been doing his painful best withimpossible materials.
"Why, the idiots have shut the windows!"
He strode vehemently across the floor, only to find the park outside, ashe hung across the sill, even less to his liking than the room within.
Then, throwing himself into a chair, tired out with the canvassing,speaking, and multifarious business of the preceding days, he fell towondering what on earth had made him--after the fatigues of his ownelection--come down to help Marsham with his. There were scores of menin the House he liked a great deal better, and requests for help hadbeen showered upon him.
He had, no doubt, been anxious, as a keen member of the advanced group,that Marsham should finally commit himself to the programme of the LeftWing, with which he had been so long coquetting. Oliver had aconsiderable position in the House, and was, moreover, a rich man. Richmen had not, so far, been common in the advanced section of the party.Lankester, in whom the idealist and the wire-puller were shrewdly mixed,was well aware that the reforms he desired could only be got byextensive organization; and he knew precisely what the money cost ofgetting them would be. Rich men, therefore, were the indispensable toolsof his ideas; and among his own group he who had never possessed afarthing of his own apart from the earnings of his brain and pen wasgenerally set on to capture them.
Was that really why he had come down?--to make sure of this richLaodicean? Lankester fell into a reverie.
He was a man of curious gifts and double personality. It was generallyimpossible to lure him, on any pretext, from the East End and the Houseof Commons. He lived in a block of model dwellings in a street openingout of the East India Dock Road, and his rooms, whenever he was at home,were overrun by children from the neighboring tenements. To them he wasall gentleness and fun, while his command of invective in a publicmeeting was little short of terrible. Great ladies and thecountry-houses courted him because of a certain wit, a certaincharm--above all, a certain spiritual power--which piqued the worldling.He flouted and refused the great ladies--with a smile, however, whichgave no offence; and he knew, notwithstanding, everybody whom he wantedto know. Occasionally he made quiet spaces in his life, and disappearedfrom London for days or weeks. When he reappeared it was often with abattered and exhausted air, as of one from whom virtue had gone out. Hewas, in truth, a mystic of a secular kind: very difficult to classreligiously, though he called himself a member of the Society ofFriends. Lady Lucy, who was of Quaker extraction, recognized in his waysand phrases echoes from the meetings and influences of her youth. But,in reality, he was self-taught and self-formed, on the lines of anEvangelical tradition, which had owed something, a couple of generationsback, among his Danish forebears, to the influence of EmanuelSwedenborg. This tradition had not only been conveyed to him by abeloved and saintly mother; it had been appropriated by the man's inmostforces. What he believed in, with all mystics, was _prayer_--an intimateand ineffable communion between the heart and God. Lying half asleep onthe House of Commons benches, or s
trolling on the Terrace, he pursuedoften an inner existence, from which he could spring in a moment to fullmundane life--arguing passionately for some Socialist proposal, scathingan opponent, or laughing and "ragging" with a group of friends, like aschool-boy on an _exeat_. But whatever he did, an atmosphere went withhim that made him beloved. He was extremely poor, and wrote for hisliving. His opinions won the scorn of moderate men; and every year hisinfluence in Parliament--on both sides of the House and with the Laborparty--increased. On his rare appearance in such houses as Tallyn Hallevery servant in the house marked and befriended him. The tall footman,for instance, who had just been endeavoring to make the threadbare cuffsof Lankester's dress coat present a more decent appearance, had done itin no spirit of patronage, but simply in order that a gentleman whospoke to him as a man and a brother should not go at a disadvantageamong "toffs" who did nothing of the kind.
But again--why had he come down?
During the last months of Parliament, Lankester had seen a good deal ofOliver. The story of Diana, and of Marsham's interrupted wooing was bythat time public property, probably owing to the indignation of certainpersons in Brookshire. As we have seen, it had injured the prestige ofthe man concerned in and out of Parliament. But Lankester, who looked atlife intimately and intensely, with the eye of a confessor, had beenroused by it to a curiosity about Oliver Marsham--whom at the time hewas meeting habitually on political affairs--which he had never feltbefore. He, with his brooding second sight based on a spiritual estimateof the world--he and Lady Lucy--alone saw that Marsham was unhappy. Hisirritable moodiness might, of course, have nothing to do with hisfailure to play the man in the case of Miss Mallory. Lankester wasinclined to think it had--Alicia Drake or no Alicia Drake. And the graceof repentance is so rare in mankind that the mystic--his own secret lifewavering perpetually between repentance and ecstasy--is drawn to themerest shadow of it.
These hidden thoughts on Lankester's side had been met by a new andtacit friendliness on Marsham's. He had shown an increasing liking forLankester's company, and had finally asked him to come down and help himin his constituency.
By George, if he married that girl, he would pay his penalty to theutmost!
Lankester leaned out of window again, his eyes sweeping the dreary park.In reality they had before them Marsham's aspect at the declaration ofthe poll--head and face thrown back defiantly, hollow eyes of bitternessand fatigue; and the scene outside--in front, a booing crowd--and besidethe new member, Alicia's angry and insolent look.
The election represented a set-back in a man's career, in spite of thebare victory. And Lankester did not think it would be retrieved. With aprophetic insight which seldom failed him, he saw that Marsham's chapterof success was closed. He might get some small office out of theGovernment. Nevertheless, the scale of life had dropped--on the wrongside. Through Lankester's thought there shot a pang of sympathy. Defeatwas always more winning to him than triumph.
* * * * *
Meanwhile the new member himself was in no melting mood.
Forbes was right. Marsham, in his room, looking over the letters whichhis servant had brought him, was only conscious of two feelings--disgustand loathing with regard to the contest just over, and a doggeddetermination with regard to the future. He had been deserted by themoderates--by the Ferrierites--in spite of all his endeavors to keepwithin courteous and judicial bounds; and he had been all but sacrificedto a forbearance which had not saved him apparently a single moderatevote, and had lost him scores on the advanced side.
With regard to Ferrier personally, he was extremely sore, A letter fromhim during the preceding week would certainly have influenced votes.Marsham denied hotly that his speeches had been of a character to offendor injure his old friend and leader. A man must really be allowed somehonest latitude of opinion, even under party government!--and incircumstances of personal obligation. He had had to steer a mostdifficult course. But why must he give up his principles--not to speakof his chances of political advancement--because John Ferrier hadoriginally procured him his seat in Parliament, and had been hisparents' intimate friend for many years? Let the Whig deserters answerthat question, if they could!
His whole being was tingling with anger and resentment. The contest hadsteeped him in humiliations which stuck to him like mud-stains.
The week before, he had written to Ferrier, imploring him if possible tocome and speak for him--or at least to write a letter; humbling hispride; and giving elaborate explanations of the line which he had taken.
There, on the table beside him, was Ferrier's reply:
"My Dear Oliver,--I don't think a letter would do you much good, and for a speech, I am too tired--and I am afraid at the present moment too thin-skinned. Pray excuse me. We shall meet when this hubbub is over. All success to you.
"Yours ever, J.F."
Was there ever a more ungracious, a more uncalled-for, letter? Well, atany rate, he was free henceforward to think and act for himself, and onpublic grounds only; though of course he would do nothing unworthy of anold friendship, or calculated to hurt his mother's feelings. Ferrier, bythis letter, and by the strong negative influence he must have exertedin West Brookshire during the election, had himself loosened the oldbond; and Marsham would henceforth stand on his own feet.
As to Ferrier's reasons for a course of action so wholly unlike any hehad ever yet taken in the case of Lucy Marsham's son, Oliver's thoughtsfound themselves engaged in a sore and perpetual wrangle. Ferrier, hesupposed, suspected him of a lack of "straightness"; and did not care tomaintain an intimate relation, which had been already, and might beagain, used against him. Marsham, on his side, recalled with discomfortvarious small incidents in the House of Commons which might haveseemed--to an enemy--to illustrate or confirm such an explanation of thestate of things.
Absurd, of course! He _was_ an old friend of Ferrier's, whose relationto his mother necessarily involved close and frequent contact with herson. And at the same time--although in the past Ferrier had no doubtlaid him under great personal and political obligations--he had by now,in the natural course of things, developed strong opinions of his own,especially as to the conduct of party affairs in the House of Commons;opinions which were not Ferrier's--which were, indeed, vehementlyopposed to Ferrier's. In his, Oliver's, opinion, Ferrier's lead in theHouse--on certain questions--was a lead of weakness, making fordisaster. Was he not even to hold, much less to express such a view,because of the quasi-parental relation in which Ferrier had once stoodto him? The whole thing was an odious confusion--most unfair to himindividually--between personal and Parliamentary duty.
Frankness?--loyalty? It would, no doubt, be said that Ferrier had alwaysbehaved with singular generosity both toward opponents and towarddissidents in his own party. Open and serious argument was at no timeunwelcome to him.
All very well! But how was one to argue, beyond a certain point, with aman twenty-five years your senior, who had known you in jackets, and wasalso your political chief?
Moreover, he had argued--to the best of his ability. Ferrier had writtenhim a striking series of letters, no doubt, and he had replied to them.As to Ferrier's wish that he should communicate certain points in thoseletters to Barton and Lankester, he had done it, to some extent. But itwas a most useless proceeding. The arguments employed had beenconsidered and rejected a hundred times already by every member of thedissident group.
And with regard to the meeting, which had apparently roused so sharp aresentment in Ferrier, Marsham maintained simply that he was notresponsible. It was a meeting of the advanced Radicals of the division.Neither Marsham nor his agents had been present. Certain remarks andopinions of his own had been quoted indeed, even in public, as leadingup to it, and justifying it. A great mistake. He had never meant tocountenance any personal attack on Ferrier or his leadership. Yet heuncomfortably admitted that the meeting had told badly on the election.In the view of one side, he had not had pluck enough to go to it; in the
view of the other, he had disgracefully connived at it.
* * * * *
The arrival of the evening post and papers did something to brush awaythese dismal self-communings. Wonderful news from the counties! Thesuccess of the latest batch of advanced candidates had been astonishing.Other men, it seemed, had been free to liberate their souls! Well, nowthe arbiter of the situation was Lord Philip, and there would certainlybe a strong advanced infusion in the new Ministry. Marsham consideredthat he had as good claims as any of the younger men; and if it came toanother election in Brookshire, hateful as the prospect was, he shouldbe fighting in the open, and choosing his own weapons. No shirking! Hiswhole being gathered itself into a passionate determination to retaliateupon the persons who had injured, thwarted, and calumniated him duringthe contest just over. He would fight again--next week, ifnecessary--and he would win!
As to the particular and personal calumnies with which he had beenassailed--why, of course, he absolved Diana. She could have had nohand in them.
Suddenly he pushed his papers from him with a hasty unconsciousmovement.
In driving home that evening past the gates and plantations of Beechcoteit seemed to him that he had seen through the trees--in thedistance--the fluttering of a white dress. Had the news of hisinglorious success just reached her? How had she received it? Her facecame before him--the frank eyes--the sweet troubled look.
He dropped his head upon his arms. A sick distaste for all that he hadbeen doing and thinking rose upon him, wavelike, drowning for a momentthe energies of mind and will. Had anything been worth while--for_him_--since the day when he had failed to keep the last tryst whichDiana had offered him?
He did not, however, long allow himself a weakness which he knew well hehad no right to indulge. He roused himself abruptly, took pen and paper,and wrote a little note to Alicia, sending it round to her throughher maid.
* * * * *
Marsham pleaded fatigue, and dined in his room. In the course of themeal he inquired of his servant if Mr. Barrington had arrived.
"Yes, sir; he arrived in time for dinner."
"Ask him to come up afterward and see me here."
As he awaited the new-comer, Marsham had time to ponder what this visitof a self-invited guest might mean. The support of the _Herald_ and itsbrilliant editor had been so far one of Ferrier's chief assets. Butthere had been some signs of wavering in its columns lately, especiallyon two important questions likely to occupy the new Ministry in itsfirst session--matters on which the opinion of the Darcy, or advancedsection, was understood to be in violent conflict with that of Ferrierand the senior members of the late Front Opposition Bench in general.
Barrington, no doubt, wished to pump him--one of Ferrier'sintimates--with regard to the latest phase of Ferrier's views on thesetwo principal measures. The leader himself was rather stiff andold-fashioned with regard to journalists--gave too little informationwhere other men gave too much.
Oliver glanced in some disquiet at the pile of Ferrier's letters lyingbeside him. It contained material for which any ambitious journalist, atthe present juncture, would give the eyes out of his head. But couldBarrington be trusted? Oliver vaguely remembered some stories to hisdisadvantage, told probably by Lankester, who in these respects was oneof the most scrupulous of men. Yet the paper stood high, and wascertainly written with conspicuous ability.
Why not give him information?--cautiously, of course, and withdiscretion. What harm could it do--to Ferrier or any one else? The partywas torn by dissensions; and the first and most necessary step towardreunion was that Ferrier's aims and methods should be thoroughlyunderstood. No doubt in these letters, as he had himself pointed out, hehad expressed himself with complete, even dangerous freedom. But therewas not going to be any question of putting them into Barrington'shands. Certainly not!--merely a quotation--a reference here and there.
As he began to sketch his own share in the expected conversation, apleasant feeling of self-importance crept in, soothing to the wounds ofthe preceding week. Secretly Marsham knew that he had never yet made themark in politics that he had hoped to make, that his abilities entitledhim to make. The more he thought of it the more he realized that thecoming half-hour might be of great significance in English politics; hehad it in his own power to make it so. He was conscious of a strongwish to impress Barrington--perhaps Ferrier also. After all, a man growsup, and does not remain an Eton boy, or an undergraduate, forever. Itwould be well to make Ferrier more aware than he was of that fact.
In the midst of his thoughts the door opened, and Barrington--a manshowing in his dark-skinned, large-featured alertness the signs ofJewish pliancy and intelligence--walked in.
"Are you up to conversation?" he said, laughing. "You look pretty done!"
"If I can whisper you what you want," said Oliver, huskily, "it's atyour service! There are the cigarettes."
The talk lasted long. Midnight was near before the two men separated.
* * * * *
The news of Marsham's election reached Ferrier under Sir James Chide'sroof, in the pleasant furnished house about four miles from Beechcote,of which he had lately become the tenant in order to be near Diana. Itwas conveyed in a letter from Lady Lucy, of which the conclusion ranas follows:
"It is so strange not to have you here this evening--not to be able to talk over with you all these anxieties and trials. I can't help being a little angry with Sir James. We are the oldest friends.
"Of course I have often been anxious lately lest Oliver should have done anything to offend you. I have spoken to him about that tiresome meeting, and I think I could prove to you it was _not_ his fault. Do, my dear friend, come here as soon as you can, and let me explain to you whatever may have seemed wrong. You cannot think how much we miss you. I feel it a little hard that there should be strangers here this evening--like Mr. Lankester and Mr. Barrington. But it could not be helped. Mr. Lankester was speaking for Oliver last night--and Mr. Barrington invited himself. I really don't know why. Oliver is dreadfully tired--and so am I. The ingratitude and ill-feeling of many of our neighbors has tried me sorely. It will be a long time before I forget it. It really seems as though nothing were worth striving for in this very difficult world."
"Poor Lucy!" said Ferrier to himself, his heart softening, as usual."Barrington? H'm. That's odd." He had only time for a short reply:
"My dear Lady Lucy,--It's horrid that you are tired and depressed. I wish I could come and cheer you up. Politics are a cursed trade. But never mind, Oliver is safely in, and as soon as the Government is formed, I will come to Tallyn, and we will laugh at these woes. I can't write at greater length now, for Broadstone has just summoned me. You will have seen that he went to Windsor this morning. Now the agony begins. Let's hope it may be decently short. I am just off for town.
"Yours ever, John Ferrier."
Two days passed--three days--and still the "agony" lasted. LordBroadstone's house in Portman Square was besieged all day by anxiousjournalists watching the goings and comings of a Cabinet in the making.But nothing could be communicated to the newspapers--nothing, in fact,was settled. Envoys went backward and forward to Lord Philip inNorthamptonshire. Urgent telegrams invited him to London. He took nonotice of the telegrams; he did not invite the envoys, and when theycame he had little or nothing of interest to say to them. LordBroadstone, he declared, was fully in possession of his views. He hadnothing more to add. And, indeed, a short note from him laid by in thenew Premier's pocket-book was, if the truth were known, the _fons etorigo_ of all Lord Broadstone's difficulties.
Meanwhile the more conservative section exerted itself, and by theevening of the third day it seemed to have triumphed. A rumor spreadabroad that Lord Philip had gone too far. Ferrier emerged from a longcolloquy with the Prime Minister, walking briskly across the squa
re withhis secretary, smiling at some of the reporters in waiting. Twentyminutes later, as he stood in the smoking-room of the Reform, surroundedby a few privileged friends, Lankester passed through the room.
"By Jove," he said to a friend with him, "I believe Ferrier's done thetrick!"
* * * * *
In spite, however, of a contented mind, Ferrier was aware, on reachinghis own house, that he was far from well. There was nothing very much toaccount for his feeling of illness. A slight pain across the chest, aslight feeling of faintness, when he came to count up his symptoms;nothing else appeared. It was a glorious summer evening. He determinedto go back to Chide, who now always returned to Lytchett by an eveningtrain, after a working-day in town. Accordingly, the new Chancellor ofthe Exchequer and Leader of the House dined lightly, and went off to St.Pancras, leaving a note for the Prime Minister to say where he was to befound, and promising to come to town again the following afternoon.
* * * * *
The following morning fulfilled the promise of the tranquil evening andstarry night, which, amid the deep quiet of the country, had done muchto refresh a man, in whom, indeed, a stimulating consciousness ofsuccess seemed already to have repaired the ravages of the fight.
Ferrier was always an early riser, and by nine o'clock he and Sir Jameswere pottering and smoking in the garden. A long case in which Chide hadbeen engaged had come to an end the preceding day. The great lawyer sentword to his chambers that he was not coming up to town; Ferrierascertained that he was only half an hour from a telegraph office, madea special arrangement with the local post as to a mid-day delivery ofletters, and then gave himself up for the morning to rest, gossip, anda walk.
By a tiresome _contretemps_ the newspapers did not arrive atbreakfast-time. Sir James was but a new-comer in the district, and theparcel of papers due to him had gone astray through the stupidity of anewsboy. A servant was sent into Dunscombe, five miles off; andmeanwhile Ferrier bore the blunder with equanimity. His letters of themorning, fresh from the heart of things, made newspapers a meresuperfluity. They could tell him nothing that he did not know already.And as for opinions, those might wait.
He proposed, indeed, before the return of the servant from Dunscombe, towalk over to Beechcote. The road lay through woods, two miles of shade.He pined for exercise; Diana and her young sympathy acted as a magnetboth on him and on Sir James; and it was to be presumed she took a dailypaper, being, as Ferrier recalled, "a terrible little Tory."
In less than an hour they were at Beechcote. They found Diana and Mrs.Colwood on the lawn of the old house, reading and working in the shadeof a yew hedge planted by that Topham Beauclerk who was a friend ofJohnson. The scent of roses and limes; the hum of bees; the beauty ofslow-sailing clouds, and of the shadows they flung on the mellowedcolor of the house; combined with the figure of Diana in white, hereager eyes, her smile, and her unquenchable interest in all thatconcerned the two friends, of whose devotion to her she was sogratefully and simply proud--these things put the last touch toFerrier's enjoyment. He flung himself on the grass, talking to both theladies of the incidents and absurdities of Cabinet-making, with afreedom and fun, an abandonment of anxiety and care that made him youngagain. Nobody mentioned a newspaper.
Presently Chide, who had now taken the part of general adviser to Diana,which had once been filled by Marsham, strolled off with her to look ata greenhouse in need of repairs. Mrs. Colwood was called in by somehousehold matter. Ferrier was left alone.
As usual, he had a book in his pocket. This time it was a volume ofselected essays, ranging from Bacon to Carlyle. He began lazily to turnthe pages, smiling to himself the while at the paradoxes of life. Here,for an hour, he sat under the limes, drunk with summer breezes andscents, toying with a book, as though he were some "indolentirresponsible reviewer"--some college fellow in vacation--some wooer ofan idle muse. Yet dusk that evening would find him once more in theBabel of London. And before him lay the most strenuous, and, as hehoped, the most fruitful passage of his political life. Broadstone, too,was an old man; the Premiership itself could not be far away.
As for Lord Philip--Ferrier's thoughts ran upon that gentleman with agood-humor which was not without malice. He had played his cardsextremely well, but the trumps in his hand had not been quite strongenough. Well, he was young; plenty of time yet for Cabinet office. Thathe would be a thorn in the side of the new Ministry went without saying.Ferrier felt no particular dismay at the prospect, and amused himselfwith speculations on the letters which had probably passed that very daybetween Broadstone and the "iratus Achilles" in Northamptonshire.
And from Lord Philip, Ferrier's thoughts--shrewdly indulgent--strayed tothe other conspirators, and to Oliver Marsham in particular, theirspokesman and intermediary. Suddenly a great softness invaded him towardOliver and his mother. After all, had he not been hard with the boy, toleave him to his fight without a word of help? Oliver's ways wereirritating; he had more than one of the intriguer's gifts; and severaltimes during the preceding weeks Ferrier's mind had recurred withdisquiet to the letters in his hands. But, after all, things had workedout better than could possibly have been expected. The _Herald_, inparticular, had done splendid service, to himself personally, and to themoderates in general. Now was the time for amnesty and reconciliationall round. Ferrier's mind ran busily on schemes of the kind. As toOliver, he had already spoken to Broadstone about him, and would speakagain that night. Certainly he must have something--Junior Lordship atleast. And if he were opposed on re-election, why, he should behelped--roundly helped. Ferrier already saw himself at Tallyn once more,with Lady Lucy's frail hand in one of his, the other perhaps on Oliver'sshoulder. After all, where was he happy--or nearly happy--but with them?
* * * * *
His eyes returned to his book. With a mild amusement he saw that it hadopened of itself at an essay, by Abraham Cowley, on "Greatness" and itspenalties: "Out of these inconveniences arises naturally one more, whichis, that no greatness can be satisfied or contented with itself; still,if it could mount up a little higher, it would be happy; if it could notgain that point, it would obtain all its desires; but yet at last, whenit is got up to the very top of the peak of Teneriffe, it is in verygreat danger of breaking its neck downward, but in no possibility ofascending upward--into the seat of tranquillity about the moon."
The new Secretary of State threw himself back in his garden chair, hishands behind his head. Cowley wrote well; but the old fellow did not,after all, know much about it, in spite of his boasted experiences atthat sham and musty court of St.-Germain's. Is it true that men who haveclimbed high are always thirsty to climb higher? No! "What is my feelingnow? Simply a sense of _opportunity_. A man may be glad to have thechance of leaving his mark on England."
Thoughts rose in him which were not those of a pessimist--thoughts,however, which the wise man will express as little as possible, sincetalk profanes them. The concluding words of Peel's great Corn Law speechran through his memory, and thrilled it. He was accused of indifferenceto the lot of the poor. It was not true. It never had been true.
"Hullo! who comes?"
Mrs. Colwood was running over the lawn, bringing apparently a letter,and a newspaper.
She came up, a little breathless.
"This letter has just come for you, Mr. Ferrier, by special messenger.And Miss Mallory asked me to bring you the newspaper."
Ferrier took the letter, which was bulky and addressed in the Premier'shandwriting.
"Kindly ask the messenger to wait. I will come and speak to him."
He opened the letter and read it. Then, having put it deliberately inhis pocket, he sat bending forward, staring at the grass. The newspapercaught his eye. It was the _Herald_ of that morning. He raised it fromthe ground, read the first leading article, and then a column "from acorrespondent" on which the article was based.
As he came to the end of it a strange premonition took posse
ssion ofhim. He was still himself, but it seemed to him that the roar of someapproaching cataract was in his ears. He mastered himself withdifficulty, took a pencil from his pocket, and drew a wavering linebeside a passage in the article contributed by the _Herald's_correspondent. The newspaper slid from his knee to the ground.
Then, with a groping hand, he sought again for Broadstone's letter, drewit out of its envelope, and, with a mist before his eyes, felt for thelast page which, he seemed to remember, was blank. On this he traced,with difficulty, a few lines, replaced the whole letter in the tornenvelope and wrote an address upon it--uncertainly crossing out hisown name.
Then, suddenly, he fell back. The letter followed the newspaper to theground. Deadly weakness was creeping upon him, but as yet the brain wasclear. Only his will struggled no more; everything had given way, butwith the sense of utter catastrophe there mingled neither pain norbitterness. Some of the Latin verse scattered over the essay he had beenreading ran vaguely through his mind--then phrases from his last talkwith the Prime Minister--then remembrances of the night at Assisi--andthe face of the poet--
A piercing cry rang out close beside him--Diana's cry. His life made alast rally, and his eyes opened. They closed again, and he heardno more.
Sir James Chide stooped over Diana.
"Run for help!--brandy!--a doctor! I'll stay with him. Run!"
Diana ran. She met Mrs. Colwood hurrying, and sent her for brandy. Sheherself sped on blindly toward the village.
A few yards beyond the Beechcote gate she was overtaken by a carriage.There was an exclamation, the carriage pulled up sharp, and a manleaped from it.
"Miss Mallory!--what is the matter?"
She looked up, saw Oliver Marsham, and, in the carriage behind him, LadyLucy, sitting stiff and pale, with astonished eyes.
"Mr. Ferrier is ill--very ill! Please go for the doctor! He is here--atmy house."
The figure in the carriage rose hurriedly. Lady Lucy was beside her.
"What is the matter?" She laid an imperious hand on the girl's arm.
"I think--he is dying," said Diana, gasping. "Oh, come!--come back atonce!"
Marsham was already in the carriage. The horse galloped forward. Dianaand Lady Lucy ran toward the house.
"In the garden," said Diana, breathlessly; and, taking Lady Lucy's hand,she guided her.
Beside the dying man stood Sir James Chide, Muriel Colwood, and the oldbutler. Sir James looked up, started at the sight of Lady Lucy, and wentto meet her.
"You are just in time," he said, tenderly; "but he is going fast. Wehave done all we could."
Ferrier was now lying on the grass, his head supported. Lady Lucy sankbeside him.
"John!" she called, in a voice of anguish--"John--dear, dear friend!"
But the dying man made no sign. And as she lifted his hand to herlips--the love she had shown him so grudgingly in life speaking nowundisguised through her tears and her despair--Sir James watched thegentle passage of the last breaths, and knew that all was done--the playover and the lights out.