THE PRIME MINISTER (44 page)

‘Laws, Mr Wharton; how uncivil you are! Of course I know that members of Parliament ain’t paid.’

‘Where’s the niceness then? If a man has his time at his command and has studied the art of legislation it may be nice, because he will be doing his duty; – or if he wants to get into the government ruck like your brother-in-law, it may be nice; – or if he be an idle man with a
large fortune it may be nice to have some place to go to. But why it should be nice for Ferdinand Lopez I cannot understand. Everett has some idea in his head when he talks about Parliament, – though I cannot say that I agree with him.’ It may easily be understood that after this Emily would say nothing further in Manchester Square as to her husband’s prospects at Silyerbridge.

Lopez was at Silverbridge
for a couple of days, and then returned, as his wife thought, by no means confident of success. He remained in town nearly a week, and during that time he managed to see the Duchess. He had written to her saying that he would do himself the honour of calling on her, and when he came was admitted. But the account he gave to his wife of the visit did not express much satisfaction. It was
quite late in the evening before he told her whither he had been. He had intended to keep the matter to himself, and at last spoke of it, – guided by the feeling which induces all men to tell their secrets to their wives, – because it was a comfort to him to talk to someone who would not openly contradict him. ‘She’s a sly creature after all,’ he said.

‘I had always thought that she was too open
rather than sly,’ said his wife.

‘People always try to get a character just opposite to what they deserve. When I hear that a man is always to be believed, I know that he is the most dangerous liar going. She hummed and hawed and would not say a word about the borough. She went so far as to tell me that I wasn’t to say a word about it to her.’

‘Wasn’t that best if her husband wished her not
to talk of it?’

‘It is all humbug and falsehood to the very bottom. She knows that
I am spending money about it, and she ought to be on the square with me. She ought to tell me what she can do and what she can’t. When I asked her whether Sprugeon might be trusted, she said that she really wished that I wouldn’t say anything more to her about it. I call that dishonest and sly. I shouldn’t at all
wonder but that Fletcher has been with the Duke. If I find that out, won’t I expose them both?’

Things had not gone altogether smoothly with the Duchess herself since the breaking up of the party at Gatherum Castle, – nor perhaps quite smoothly with the Duke. It was now March. The House was again sitting, and they were both in London, – but till they came to town they had remained at the Castle, and that huge mansion had not been found to be more
comfortable by either of them as it became empty. For a time the Duchess had been cowed by her husband’s stern decision; but as he again became gentle to her, – almost seeming by his manner to apologize for his unwonted roughness, – she plucked up her spirit and declared to herself that she would not give up the battle. All that she did, – was it not for his sake? And why should she not have her
ambition in life as well as he his? And had she not succeeded in all that she had done? Could it be right that she should be asked to abandon everything, to own herself to have been defeated, to be shown to have failed before all the world, because such a one as Major Pountney had made a fool of himself? She attributed it all to Major Pountney; – very wrongly. When a man’s mind is veering towards
some decision, some conclusion which he has been perhaps slow in reaching, it is probably a little thing which at last fixes his mind and clenches his thoughts. The Duke had been gradually teaching himself to hate the crowd around him and to reprobate his wife’s strategy, before he had known that there was a Major Pountney under his roof. Others had offended him, and first and foremost among them
his own colleague,
Sir Orlando. The Duchess hardly read his character aright, and certainly did not understand his present motives, when she thought that all might be forgotten as soon as the disagreeable savour of the Major should have passed away.

But in nothing, as she thought, had her husband been so silly as in his abandonment of Silverbridge. When she heard that the day was fixed for declaring
the vacancy, she ventured to ask him a question. His manner to her lately had been more than urbane, more than affectionate; – it had almost been that of a lover. He had petted her and caressed her when they met, and once even said that nothing should really trouble him as long as he had her with him. Such a speech as that never in his life had he made before to her! So she plucked up her
courage and asked her question, – not exactly on that occasion, but soon afterwards: ‘May not I say a word to Sprugeon about the election?’

‘Not a word!’ And he looked at her as he had looked on that day when he had told her of the Major’s sins. She tossed her head and pouted her lips and walked on without speaking. If it was to be so, then indeed would she have failed. And, therefore, though
in his general manner he was loving to her, things were not going smooth with her.

And things were not going smooth with him because there had reached him a most troublous dispatch from Sir Orlando Drought only two days before the Cabinet meeting at which the points to be made in the Queen’s speech were to be decided. It had been already agreed that a proposition should be made to Parliament
by the Government, for an extension of the county suffrage, with some slight redistribution of seats. The towns with less than 20,000 inhabitants were to take in some increased portions of the country parishes around. But there was not enough of a policy in this to satisfy Sir Orlando, nor was the conduct of the bill through the House to be placed in his hands. That was to be intrusted to Mr Monk,
and Mr Monk would be, if not nominally the leader, yet the chief man of the Government in the House of Commons. This was displeasing to Sir Orlando, and he had, therefore, demanded from the Prime Minister more of a ‘policy’. Sir Orlando’s present idea of a policy was the building four bigger ships of war than had ever been built before, – with larger guns, and more men, and thicker iron plates, and,
above
all, with a greater expenditure of money. He had even gone so far as to say, though not in his semi-official letter to the Prime Minister, that he thought that ‘The Salvation of the Empire’ should be the cry of the Coalition party. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘what the people care about is the Salvation of the Empire!’ Sir Orlando was at the head of the Admiralty; and if glory was to be achieved
by the four ships, it would rest first on the head of Sir Orlando.

Now the Duke thought that the Empire was safe, and had been throughout his political life averse to increasing the army and navy estimates. He regarded the four ships as altogether unnecessary, – and when reminded that he might in this way consolidate the Coalition, said that he would rather do without the Coalition and the four
ships than have to do with both of them together, – an opinion which was thought by some to be almost traitorous to the party as now organized. The secrets of Cabinets are not to be disclosed lightly, but it came to be understood, – as what is done at Cabinet meetings generally does come to be understood, – that there was something like a disagreement. The Prime Minister, the Duke of St Bungay,
and Mr Monk were altogether against the four ships. Sir Orlando was supported by Lord Drummond and another of his old friends. At the advice of the elder Duke, a paragraph was hatched, in which it was declared that her Majesty, ‘having regard to the safety of the nation and the possible, though happily not probable, chances of war, thought that the present strength of the navy should be considered’.
‘It will give him scope for a new gun-boat on an altered principle,’ said the Duke of St Bungay. But the Prime Minister, could he have had his own way, would have given Sir Orlando no scope whatever. He would have let the Coalition have gone to the dogs and have fallen himself into infinite political ruin, but that he did not dare that men should hereafter say of him that this attempt at government
had failed because he was stubborn, imperious, and self-confident He had known when he took his present place that he must yield to others; but he had not known how terrible it is to have to yield when a principle is in question, – how great is the suffering when a man finds himself compelled to do that which he thinks should not be done! Therefore, though he had been strangely loving to his
wife, the time had not gone smoothly with him.

In direct disobedience to her husband the Duchess did speak a word to Mr Sprugeon. When at the Castle she was frequently driven through Silverbridge, and on one occasion had her carriage stopped at the ironmonger’s door. Out came Mr Sprugeon, and there were at first half-a-dozen standing by who could hear what she said. Mille-pois, the cook, wanted
to have some new kind of iron plate erected in the kitchen. Of course she had provided herself beforehand with her excuse. As a rule, when the cook wanted anything done, he did not send word to the tradesman by the Duchess. But on this occasion the Duchess was personally most anxious. She wanted to see how the iron plate would work. It was to be a particular kind of iron plate. Then, having watched
her opportunity, she said her word, ‘I suppose we shall be safe with Mr Lopez.’ When Mr Sprugeon was about to reply, she shook her head and went on about the iron plate. This would be quite enough to let Mr Sprugeon understand that she was still anxious about the borough. Mr Sprugeon was an intelligent man, and possessed of discretion to a certain extent. As soon as he saw the little frown and
the shake of the head, he understood it all. He and the Duchess had a secret together. Would not everything about the Castle in which a morsel of iron was employed want renewing? And would not the Duchess take care that it should all be renewed by Sprugeon? But then he must be active, and his activity would be of no avail unless others helped him. So he whispered a word to Sprout, and it soon became
known that the Castle interest was all alive.

But unfortunately the Duke was also on the alert. The Duke had been very much in earnest when he made up his mind that the old custom should be abandoned at Silverbridge and had endeavoured to impress that determination of his upon his wife. The Duke knew more about his property and was better acquainted with its details than his wife or others believed.
He heard that in spite of all his orders the Castle interest was being maintained, and a word was said to him which seemed to imply that this was his wife’s doings. It was then about the middle of February, and arrangements were in process for the removal of the family to London. The Duke had already been up to London for the meeting of Parliament, and had now come back to Gatherum, purporting
to return to London with his wife. Then it was that it was hinted to him that her Grace was
still anxious as to the election, – and had manifested her anxiety. The rumour hurt him, though he did not in the least believe it. It showed to him, as he thought, not that his wife had been false to him, – as in truth she had been, – but that even her name could not be kept free from slander. And when
he spoke to her on the subject, he did so rather with the view of proving to her how necessary it was that she should keep herself altogether aloof from such matters, than with any wish to make further inquiry. But he elicited the whole truth. ‘It is so hard to kill an old-established evil,’ he said.

‘What evil have you failed to kill now?’

‘Those people at Silverbridge still say that I want
to return a member for them.’

‘Oh; that’s the evil! You know I think that instead of killing an evil, you have murdered an excellent institution.’ This at any rate was very imprudent on the part of the Duchess. After that disobedient word spoken to Mr Sprugeon, she should have been more on her guard.

‘As to that, Glencora, I must judge for myself.’

‘Oh yes, – you have been jury, and judge,
and executioner.’

‘I have done as I thought right to do. I am sorry that I should fail to carry you with me in such a matter, but even failing in that I must do my duty. You will at any rate agree with me that when I say the thing should be done, it should be done.’

‘If you wanted to destroy the house, and cut down all the trees, and turn the place into a wilderness, I suppose you would only
have to speak. Of course I know it would be wrong that I should have an opinion. As “man” you are of course to have your own way.’ She was in one of her most aggravating moods. Though he might compel her to obey, he could not compel her to hold her tongue.

‘Glencora, I don’t think you know how much you add to my troubles, or you would not speak to me like that.’

‘What am I to say? It seems to
me that any more suicidal thing than throwing away the borough never was done. Who will thank you? What additional support will you get? How will it increase your power? It’s like King Lear throwing off his clothes in the storm because his daughters turned him out And you didn’t do it because you thought it right.’

‘Yes, I did,’ he said scowling.

‘You did it because Major Pountney disgusted
you. You kicked him out. Why wouldn’t that satisfy you without sacrificing the borough? It isn’t what I think or say about it, but that everybody is thinking and saying the same thing.’

‘I choose that it shall be so.’

‘Very well.’

‘And I don’t choose that your name shall be mixed up in it. They say in Silverbridge that you are canvassing for Mr Lopez.’

‘Who says so?’

‘I presume it’s not true.’

‘Who says so, Plantagenet?’

‘It matters not who has said so, if it be untrue. I presume it to be false.’

‘Of course it is false.’ Then the Duchess remembered her word to Mr Sprugeon, and the cowardice of the lie was heavy on her. I doubt whether she would have been so shocked by the idea of a falsehood as to have been kept back from it had she before resolved that it would save her, but she
was not in her practice a false woman, her courage being too high for falsehood. It now seemed to her that by this lie she was owning herself to be quelled and brought into absolute subjection by her husband. So she burst out into truth. ‘Now I think of it, I did say a word to Mr Sprugeon. I told him that – that I hoped Mr Lopez would be returned. I don’t know whether you call that canvassing.’