THE PRIME MINISTER (50 page)

‘He must be mad,’
said John.

‘Poor unfortunate young woman!’ said Mrs Fletcher, holding up both her hands. ‘I must say that I cannot but blame Mr Wharton. If he had been firm, it never would have come to that. I wonder whether he ever sees him.’

‘Of course he does,’ said John. ‘Why shouldn’t he see him? You’d see him if he’d married a daughter of yours.’

‘Never!’ exclaimed the old woman. ‘If I had had a child
so lost to all respect as that, I do not say that I would not have seen her. Human nature might have prevailed. But I would never willingly have put myself into contact with one who had so degraded me and mine.’

‘I shall be very anxious to know what Mr Wharton does about his money,’ said John.

Arthur allowed himself but a couple of days among his friends, and then hurried up to London to take
his seat When there he was
astonished to find how many questions were asked him about ‘the row’, and how much was known about it, – and at the same time how little was really known. Everybody had heard that there had been a row, and everybody knew that there had been a lady in the case. But there seemed to be a general idea that the lady had been in some way misused, and that Arthur Fletcher had
come forward like a Paladin to protect her. A letter had been written, and the husband, ogre-like, had intercepted the letter. The lady was the most unfortunate of human beings, – or would have been but for that consolation which she must have in the constancy of her old lover. As to all these matters the stories varied; but everybody was agreed on one point. All the world knew that Arthur Fletcher
had gone to Silver-bridge, had stood for the borough, and had taken the seat away from his rival, – because that rival had robbed him of his bride. How the robbery had been affected the world could not quite say. The world was still of opinion that the lady was violently attached to the man she had not married. But Captain Gunner explained it all clearly to Major Pountney by asserting that the
poor girl had been coerced into the marriage by her father. And thus Arthur Fletcher found himself almost as much a hero in London as at Longbarns.

Fletcher had not been above a week in town, and had become heartily sick of the rumours which in various shapes made their way round to his own ears, when he received an invitation from Mr Wharton to go and dine with him at a tavern called the Jolly
Blackbird. The invitation surprised him, – that he should be asked by such a man to dine at such a place, – but he accepted it as a matter of course. He was indeed much interested in a bill for the drainage of common lands which was to be discussed in the House that night; there was a good deal of common land round Silverbridge, and he had some idea of making his first speech, – but he calculated
that he might get his dinner and yet be back in time for the debate. So he went to the Jolly Blackbird, – a very quaint, old-fashioned law dining-house in the neighbourhood of Portugal Street, which had managed not to get itself pulled down a dozen years ago on behalf of the Law Courts which are to bless some coming generation.
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Arthur had never been there before and was surprised at the black
wainscoting, the black tables, the old-fashioned grate, the two candles on the table, and the silent waiter.

‘I wanted to see you, Arthur,’ said the old man pressing his hand in a melancholy way, ‘but I couldn’t ask you to Manchester Square. They come in sometimes in the evening, and it might have been unpleasant At your young men’s clubs they let strangers dine. We haven’t anything of that kind
at the Eldon. You’ll find they’ll give you a very good bit of fish here, and a fairish steak.’ Arthur declared that he thought it a capital place, – the best fun in the world. ‘And they’ve a very good bottle of claret; – better than we get at the Eldon, I think. I don’t know that I can say much for their champagne. We’ll try it. You young fellows always drink champagne.’

‘I hardly ever touch
it,’ said Arthur. ‘Sherry and claret are my wines.’

‘Very well; – very well. I did want to see you, my boy. Things haven’t turned out just as we wished; – have they?’

‘Not exactly, sir,’

‘No indeed. You know the old saying, “God disposes it all.” I have to make the best of it, – and so no doubt do you.’

‘There’s no doubt about it, sir,’ said Arthur, speaking in a low but almost angry voice.
They were not in a room by themselves, but in a recess which separated them from the room. ‘I don’t know that I want to talk about it, but to me it is one of those things for which there is no remedy. When a man loses his leg, he hobbles on, and sometimes has a good time of it at last; – but there he is, without a leg.’

‘It wasn’t my fault, Arthur.’

‘There has been no fault but my own. I went
in for the running, and got distanced. That’s simply all about it, and there’s no more to be said.’

‘You ain’t surprised that I should wish to see you.’

‘I’m ever so much obliged. I think it’s very kind of you.’

‘I can’t go in for a new life as you can. I can’t take up politics and Parliament It’s too late for me.’

‘I’m going to. There’s a bill coming on this very night that I’m interested
about. You mustn’t be angry if I rush off a little before ten. We are going to lend money to the parishes on the security of the rates for draining bits of common land. Then we shall sell the land and endow the unions, so as to lessen the poor rates, and increase the cereal products of the country. We think we can bring 300,000
acres under the plough in three years, which now produce almost nothing,
and in five years would pay all the expenses. Putting the value of the land at £25 an acre, which is low, we shall have created property to the value of seven million and a half. That’s something, you know.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Wharton, who felt himself quite unable to follow with any interest the aspirations of the young legislator.

‘Of course it’s complicated,’ continued Arthur, ‘but when you
come to look into it it comes out clear enough. It is one of the instances of the omnipotence of capital. Parliament can do such a thing, not because it has any creative power of its own, but because it has the command of unlimited capital.’ Mr Wharton looked at him, sighing inwardly as he reflected that unrequited love should have brought a clear-headed young barrister into mists so thick and
labyrinths so mazy as these. ‘A very good beef-steak indeed,’ said Arthur; ‘I don’t know when I ate a better one. Thank you, no; – I’ll stick to the claret.’ Mr Wharton had offered him Madeira. ‘Claret and brown meat always go well together. Pancake! I don’t object to a pancake. A pancake’s a very good thing. Now would you believe it, sir; they can’t make a pancake at the House.’

‘And yet they
sometimes fall very flat too,’ said the lawyer, making a real lawyer’s joke.

‘It’s all in the mixing, sir,’ said Arthur, carrying it on. ‘We’ve mixture enough just at present, but it isn’t of the proper sort; – too much of the flour, and not enough of the egg.’

But Mr Wharton had still something to say, though he hardly knew how to say it. ‘You must come and see us in the Square after a bit’

‘Oh; – of course.’

‘I wouldn’t ask you to dine there to-day, because I thought we should be less melancholy here; – but you mustn’t cut us altogether. You haven’t seen Everett since you’ve been in town?’

‘No, sir. I believe he lives a good deal, – a good deal with – Mr Lopez. There was a little row down at Silverbridge. Of course it will wear off, but just at present his lines and my lines don’t
converge.’

‘I’m very unhappy about him, Arthur.’

‘There’s nothing the matter!’

‘My girl has married that man. I’ve nothing to say against him; –
but of course it wasn’t to my taste; and I feel it as a separation. And now Everett has quarrelled with me.’

‘Quarrelled with you!’

Then the father told the story as well as he knew how. His son had lost some money, and he had called his son a gambler,
– and consequendy his son would not come near him. ‘It is bad to lose them both, Arthur.’

‘That is so unlike Everett’

‘It seems to me that everybody has changed, – except myself Who would have dreamed that she would have married that man? Not that I have anything to say against him except that he was not of our sort. He has been very good about Everett, and is very good about him. But Everett
will not come to me unless I – withdraw the word; – say that I was wrong to call him a gambler. That is a proposition that no son should make to a father.’

‘It is very unlike Everett,’ repeated the other. ‘Has he written to that effect?’

‘He has not written a word.’

‘Why don’t you see him yourself, and have it out with him?’

‘Am I to go to that club after him?’ said the father.

‘Write to
him and bid him come to you. I’ll give up my seat if he don’t come to you. Everett was always a quaint fellow, a little idle, you know, – mooning about after ideas –’

‘He’s no fool, you know,’ said the father.

‘Not at all; – only vague. But he’s the last man in the world to have nasty vulgar ideas of his own importance as distinguished from yours.’

‘Lopez says –’

‘I wouldn’t quite trust Lopez.’

‘He isn’t a bad fellow in his way, Arthur. Of course he is not what I would have liked for a son-in-law. I needn’t tell you that. But he is kind and gentle-mannered, and has always been attached to Everett. You know he saved Everett’s life at the risk of his own.’ Arthur could not but smile as he perceived how the old man was being won round by the son-in-law, whom he had treated so violently
before the man had become his son-in-law. ‘By-the-way, what was all that about a letter you wrote to him?’

‘Emily, – I mean Mrs Lopez, – will tell you if you ask her.’

‘I don’t want to ask her. I don’t want to appear to set the wife
against the husband. I am sure, my boy, you would write nothing that could affront her.’

‘I think not, Mr Wharton. If I know myself at all, or my own nature, it
is not probable that I should affront your daughter.’

‘No; no; no. I know that, my dear boy. I was always sure of that Take some more wine.’

‘No more, thank you. I must be off because I’m so anxious about this bill.’

‘I couldn’t ask Emily about this letter. Now that they are married I have to make the best of it, – for her sake. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to her which might seem
to accuse him.’

‘I thought it right, sir, to explain to her that were I not in the hands of other people I would not do anything to interfere with her happiness by opposing her husband. My language was most guarded.’

‘He destroyed the letter.’

‘I have a copy of it if it comes to that,’ said Arthur.

‘It will be best, perhaps, to say nothing further about it Well; – good night, my boy, if you
must go.’ Then Fletcher went off to the House, wondering as he went at the change which had apparently come over the character of his old friend. Mr Wharton had always been a strong man, and now he seemed to be as weak as water. As to Everett, Fletcher was sure that there was something wrong, but he could not see his way to interfere himself. For the present he was divided from the family. Nevertheless
he told himself again and again that that division should not be permanent Of all the world she must always be to him the dearest.

The first months of the session went on very much as the last session had gone. The ministry did nothing brilliant. As far as the outer world could see, they seemed to be firm enough. There was no
opposing party in the House strong enough to get a vote against them on any subject Outsiders, who only studied politics in the columns of their newspapers, imagined the Coalition
to be very strong. But they who were inside, members themselves, and the club quidnuncs who were always rubbing their shoulders against members, knew better. The opposition to the Coalition was within the Coalition itself. Sir Orlando Drought had not been allowed to build his four ships, and was consequently eager in his fears that the country would be invaded by the combined forces of Germany and
France, that India would be sold by those powers to Russia, that Canada would be annexed to the States, that a great independent Roman Catholic hierarchy would be established in Ireland, and that Malta and Gibraltar would be taken away from us; – all which evils would be averted by the building of four big ships. A wet blanket of so terrible a size was in itself pernicious to the Cabinet, and heartrending
to the poor Duke. But Sir Orlando could do worse even than this. As he was not to build his four ships, neither should Mr Monk be allowed to readjust the county suffrage. When the skeleton of Mr Monk’s scheme was discussed in the Cabinet, Sir Orlando would not agree to it. The gentlemen, he said, who had joined the present Government with him, would never consent to a measure which would
be so utterly destructive of the county interest. If Mr Monk insisted on his measure in its proposed form, he must, with very great regret, place his resignation in the Duke’s hands, and he believed that his friends would find themselves compelled to follow the same course. Then our Duke consulted the old Duke. The old Duke’s advice was the same as ever. The Queen’s Government was the main object
The present ministry enjoyed the support of the country, and he considered it the duty of the First Lord of the Treasury to remain at his post The country was in no hurry, and the question of suffrages in the counties might be well delayed. Then he added a little counsel which might be called quite private, as it was certainly intended for no other ears than those of his younger friend. ‘Give Sir
Orlando rope enough and he’ll hang himself. His own party are becoming tired of him. If you quarrel with him this session, Drummond, and Ramsden, and Beeswax, would go out with him, and the Government would be broken up; but next session you may get rid of him safely.’

‘I wish it were broken up,’ said the Prime Minister.

‘You have your duty to do by the country and by the Queen, and you mustn’t
regard your own wishes. Next session let Monk be ready with his bill again, – the same measure exactly. Let Sir Orlando resign then if he will. Should he do so I doubt whether anyone would go with him. Drummond does not like him much better than you and I do.’ The poor Prime Minister was forced to obey. The old Duke was his only trusted counsellor, and he found himself constrained by his conscience
to do as that counsellor counselled him. When, however, Sir Orlando, in his place as Leader of the House, in answer to some question from a hot and disappointed Radical, averred that the whole of her Majesty’s Government had been quite in unison on this question of the county suffrage, he was hardly able to restrain himself. ‘If there be differences of opinion they must be kept in the background,’
said the Duke of St Bungay. ‘Nothing can justify a direct falsehood,’ said the Duke of Omnium. Thus it came to pass that the only real measure which the Government had in hand was one by which Phineas Finn hoped so to increase the power of Irish municipalities as to make the Home Rulers believe that a certain amount of Home Rule was being conceded to them. It was not a great measure, and poor
Phineas himself hardly believed in it. And thus the Duke’s ministry came to be called the Faineants.