by Joan Smith
* * * *
The campaign was reaching its final phase. There was now less than a week to go till voting, and spirits were high in the Whig camp. Turning the riding seemed now not only possible but assured. Between the Fellows Bridge, the visit of Dorking to the veterans’ do, and the subsequent pledge of a couple of farmers’ votes during the house visits and the alienation of a few more from Tory ranks by the depredation on their pockets of the dashers from the city who had made known their preference for Mr. Alistair, it was beginning to look as though Mr. Fellows would get his Honorable and his M.P. He felt that his own dispensing of the sine qua non’s had also been instrumental, though Mr. Alistair had come down more heavily in that department recently, and in fact Hudson found his candidate a particularly clutch-fisted man.
The gentlemen had not lately been to New Moon, but after Dorking left and they had nothing more pressing to do than go and admire the bridge site and go into the stores for a chat and a small purchase or two, they took time one morning to drop in on the ladies, their first supporters. Fellows had to repeat to them a jumbled version of a bon mot of Telford’s having to do with the bridge leading not only to Chepstow, across the river, but to London as well—for Mr. Fellows. He hadn’t quite understood the joke, but everyone had laughed, so he knew it was clever.
“By Jove, it’s a capital bridge,” he began. “It not only goes north to Chepstow, but is to be turned around and take me south, eh Matt?”
The ladies naturally looked confused. “That’s right. The bridge is to carry the Honorable Anthony Fellows to Parliament,” Matt explained.
“You want to be careful, Mr. Fellows,” Sara adjured him. “I wouldn’t go on it for the world, and if they are to be moving it about, it will be even more unstable.”
“It’s a little joke, you see, Miss Monteith,” Fellows explained to her. Certainly everyone had laughed last night at the Cat’s Paw when Telford had said it. “They ain’t really going to move the bridge, I believe. No such thing, eh, Matt?”
“That’s right. It’s just a joke.”
“Weighs a ton,” Fellows went on. “The way of it is, I won’t go on the bridge at all. I’ll take the road and my carriage to London. My traveling carriage—and I think I should take my curricle too, don’t you, Matt?”
“Yes, certainly. You won’t want to lumber around the city in a traveling carriage.”
“Well then, it’s not a bridge to London,” Sara pointed out. She had been perusing her papa’s map lately to see how far away Mr. Alistair would be when he went to London, and had discovered that London was on the same side of the river as Crockett. Not very far away, either—only about an inch, which couldn’t be very far, even in miles.
“Dash it, you don’t need a bridge to get to London. There’s a road goes straight south. The river is to the north,” Fellows said, becoming angry.
“London is to the east, is it not?” Martha asked.
“South to Bath, I mean, then east,” Fellows said knowingly.
“That’s what I said,” Sara told him. “You don’t need the bridge to go to London.”
“Ho ho, I see your point now, clever minx. She’s right, Matt. The bridge don’t lead to London in the least. It’s the member from the north of us will take the bridge to London.”
“Very true, I think you’d better just forget Telford’s little joke about the bridge leading to London,” Hudson agreed, seeing what a quagmire his candidate would fall into every time he tried to repeat it.
“And him in charge of building roads.” Anthony shook his head. “It’s a caution how fellows end up with jobs they ain't suited for in the least.”
“Some Fellows certainly do,” Lillian said, risking a covert glance at Mr. Hudson.
“It’s a wonder they let him do it, and he not knowing south from north,” Fellows said. “But he’s got the right spot for my bridge all right and tight. I saw the pilings going in, and they’re right where the bridge is to go.”
“That’s lucky,” Sara said.
“Shall we all run down and have a look at it?” Fellows asked, not having been there for over twelve hours. He enjoyed very much the sign announcing the new Fellows Bridge, and would enjoy it even more the day he could add the magic letters M.P. to the sign.
“I’ve had about enough of the bridge.” Hudson remarked. “We were going to visit that family to the west today, Tony; Armstrong I think is the name. We haven’t been to see them at all.”
“Waste of time,” Tony informed him. “Old Armstrong is on his deathbed. We’ll not get him hauled to the polls. He’ll never get to see the Fellows Bridge, poor soul.”
“Still, I think I’ll ride over and pay Armstrong a call. It’s a pleasant day for a drive. I’ll take my curricle. Perhaps one of you would like to come with me?” His question was flung in the general direction of Miss Watters, but Mr. Hudson was not only nearly invisible but also inaudible to her since so often aiding Miss Ratchett up the ravine. She pointedly paid no attention him,
“Miss Watters, would you care to come with me?” he was forced to ask directly.
“Sara might like to go,” she replied.
“No sir, I’m taking Miss Sara to see my bridge,” Fellows jumped in, determined not to get stuck with that stiff-faced Miss Watters, as he saw developing.
“I don’t want to go to the bridge,” Sara objected.
“She wouldn’t like that, Tony,” Hudson said blandly. “There will be Alistair and a bunch hanging around, you know, as they always are.”
“That’s true.” Tony relented, not liking to pitch Miss Sara into such company.
“Oh, maybe I would like to go,” Sara said, considering the matter further.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, eh?” Fellows said to her, meaning heaven only knew what.
“I must warn you, Alistair is always there,” Hudson repeated, to secure her going.
“In that case, I’ll get my pelisse,” she said, and ran off.
“Miss Watters, will you come with me?” Hudson repeated.
“I’m getting a headache,” she answered.
“The fresh air will do you good,” Martha intervened, seeing that it was Lillian Hudson preferred today. Really, the man was as fickle as Fate.
“Yes, you girls run along and get some exercise,” Lady Monteith added, and got her own exercise by reaching for a bonbon.
“Very well,” Lillian said, not averse to going so long as it was clear to Mr. Hudson that she was going against her will.
The two carriages set off, and very pleased Martha was to see both nieces sitting beside gentlemen of means for an unexceptionable outing.
“I think we have managed this pretty well,” she remarked to Melanie.
“I told you it would be no job at all to get Sara a match.”
“She hasn’t got him yet, and what you must do, Melanie, is invite both of them to remain to lunch when they come back.”
“We’ll do that,” Melanie agreed easily. She was not at all against socializing, so long as it did not involve much exertion to herself.
While Sara and Fellows went to look at the pilings for the bridge, and at the sign, and also at Mr. Alistair, who was there as promised and very attentive to Sara, Hudson and Lillian drove off to the west to visit the last uncanvassed voter.
“Have you really got a headache?” he asked her.
“I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t,” she answered shortly.
“Did you have it before I arrived, or did I bring it with me?”
“I have had it all morning.”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. After we have been to see Armstrong, I’ll drop you off at the eye doctor, for I think it is your eyes that are causing your headache. They are failing on you, my girl. Twice this week I have nodded and waved to you, and you didn’t appear to see me either time.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. They see more than you might think.”
“They don’t see quite what you t
hink, however. I must be polite with Miss Ratchett when her father is so heavily into this bridge with me. I thought you understood that.”
“Miss Ratchett has nothing to do with my headache, I assure you, and it is presumptuous of you to think so.”
“We can’t control our thoughts, presumptuous devils that they are. But I should have controlled my speech if you truly have a headache and didn’t wish to come. I thought it was merely a fit of pique. I’ll take you home if you like.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied with great indifference, while raging inside at the suggestion.
“I am trying to suit you, and mighty hard you’re making it for me, Miss Watters. Home or not?”
“You have already gone half a mile. There’s no point turning back now.”
“We haven’t gone ten yards. If you mean to sit and sulk the whole trip, I might as well be alone.”
“I didn’t realize it was my chore to beguile the hours for you while you drive, but I might have known you had some job for me to do!”
This encouraging reply prevented his turning the carriage around, as he was feeling strongly inclined to do. “Is it a fight you want? I’m not in the mood to comply today; I am too happy after the veterans’ dinner. A great success, you know. Perhaps you heard?”
She had, but not from him, and there was the offense.
The several days of neglect had frayed her nerves and sharpened her temper. “I heard Colonel Dorking came and drummed up a few votes for you with his wooden leg. There is no cheap trick you wouldn’t sink to to get a vote—making hay out of a wounded veteran!”
“You can’t make bricks without straw. I am coming to rival Tony with my rapid epigrams, don’t you think?” He smiled, but there was no response from his wooden-faced companion, so he changed his tack. “The Tories are treating the vets badly, and it is a fair thing to point it out, in my view.”
“Fair! Much you care whether it’s fair or not. You’d have your own mother out stumping for you if you thought it would do any good.”
“She stumped for me regularly in Kent, but I didn’t drag her around the countryside to every by-election. She was always my hostess, but she is dead now, unfortunately.”
“You think to make me feel guilty by mentioning that, I suppose? I shouldn’t be surprised if it was your shenanigans that killed her.”
“You’re wrong—she delighted in them. I couldn’t keep her nose out of my business. There was nothing she liked so much as a good, dirty fight. She taught me half of what I know. I thought you enjoyed it too. It was your suggestion, if you will recall, that we supply Tony with prearranged questions, and you gave me the idea of bringing in Dorking. Now you throw it in my face.”
“I never heard of the man till you spoke of him.”
“It was Wellington you actually mentioned, but that was impossible. Bringing a soldier-hero here was your idea, and don’t trouble to deny it. It was an excellent idea, too—worthy of my mother. A conniving female’s brain is a great help in work of this sort. They outdistance us simple men every time. Do you not think you would enjoy being involved in the world of politics?”
There were overtones to the question that were not to be ignored. How should she be involved in such a world but through him, and how should any involvement with him be kept up after this by-election except through marrying him? “I think it is a good deal too rackety for me,” she said, and waited to be dissuaded.
“You don’t know yourself. You would love it. Oh, it comes as a little surprise the first time you realize there is some bribery involved, but you realize that now, and the next time you wouldn’t give it a thought. Your only interest would be how much, and could you afford it, and if not, what trick could you turn to come up with the money.”
“Very tempting, that I should become so gross I no longer recognized wrongdoing for wrongdoing! It is a sordid business, and I don’t know why you choose to involve yourself in it when you don’t have to.”
“Someone has to. If we leave it to the real crooks, only think what a state the country would be in. I have nothing to gain by it. I’m not after the money—I have that. And I’m not power-hungry or I would have got myself elected a Tory before this. I genuinely believe my party is not so bad as the other. There are some bad men in it, self-seeking men, as there are in any party or church or any other institution. Politics turns a good many honest men off by its reputation, but if the honest men refuse to fight for what they believe is right, what chance has the country? And once you are in a fight, you know, there’s no point pussyfooting around in velvet gloves when your opponent is wielding an ax. You’re either in a fight to win or you stay out. I’m in. For life, I think. When I inherit from my uncle I will be a member of Lords—a much more dignified gentleman altogether, and no longer out ripping barn doors off their hinges—but it is only the details that will change. I’ll still be fighting, using every dirty trick I know to gain a point. You find that unacceptably sordid?”
“It’s nothing to me how you choose to spend your life,” she answered, waiting with bated breath for a clearer statement of how it should become something to her.
“I’m asking you for an opinion, Miss Watters. Do you find such a life disgusting?”
“Everyone to his taste.”
“What about your taste?”
“I never gave it much thought. I don’t foresee that I am likely to be engaged in anything of the sort myself. That is for men to worry about.”
“And men’s families, surely?” If only he had used the word “wives” he might have saved himself a great deal of time, but the vague “families” allowed her to misunderstand.
“Your mother had no objections, in any case.”
He sighed wearily. “Whatever you think, we’ll never know. You are a born politician, so cautious one would think you were already in office. I never heard one yet would admit he was standing where he was, or that it was Monday, or October, or anything else that was perfectly clear to everyone. They must always leave the door open to change their minds and throw in a dozen ‘in certain cases’ and ‘under given circumstances’ and the like. I hope to God I don’t turn into that sort of a mealy-mouthed fellow, who doesn’t stand for anything.”
“You’ve made it pretty clear what you stand for. You stand for getting that clothhead of a Fellows into Parliament, and you will use whatever expedient you must to achieve it. You know perfectly well Alistair is worth ten of him, and you should be ashamed to hold up your head after the way you have carried on.” All this was the result of his implying she was mealy-mouthed, and his reply to it was largely founded on her praise of Alistair.
“You would be hard put to prove I have harmed anyone. Several of the merchants are better off than they were before.”
“All of them! You didn’t miss anyone with your bribery, did you?”
“I hope not. Crockett is getting a bridge at last.”
“One they will have to pay for every time they want to use it,”
“And don’t forget to tell everyone how frightfully unsafe it is! Who are you taking lessons from, Sara or Alistair?”
“Mr. Alistair, for I find him better informed on all matters than either Sara or Fellows.”
“Or Hudson. What has Mr. Alistair to say about Corporal Winton being given the job of collecting tolls on the bridge? What smear has he worked into that?”
“You will do admirably in Parliament, Mr. Hudson. You whitewash all your black tricks and make a piddling little sinecure seem a matter of importance.”
“Your tongue outruns me; I can’t get the answer to a simple, straightforward question from you. Do you hate what I am doing? Do you dislike it so much you would object to being part of it?” He looked at her expectantly and somewhat angrily.
“It’s nothing to me how you spend your time and money,” she answered, but her heart raced and her head was light with the significance of the question.
He stared at her a moment, then let out a chuckle. “That wi
ll teach me to try to make up to a girl with a headache. Think about what I asked you after your migraine has passed away. As soon as you manage to escape me, in other words. That is two things I have given you to think about. You never did come up with a bribe for me to tell you about the bridge, and I told you anyway, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you off the hook this time. You must make up your own mind about this, Lillian. It would be dishonest of me to tell you I will change, for I don’t think I could. I don’t ask you to change either, if you truly dislike what I am doing. I wish you would try to like it, however,” he finished up, and her headache was forgotten.
Chapter 12
The Armstrong farm was five miles down the road, and by turning the conversation to the scenery and other innocuous subjects, they completed the trip without another word of interest being said. Mr. Armstrong inhabited a large, square brick home, solid without being in any way luxurious. His wife answered her own door and admitted the callers. She had three young girls in the house with her, daughters who were at an age where they would have been in the schoolroom still had their help not been necessary around the house. Lillian took the mother for a woman in her forties, for her eye was bright in spite of the haggard expression she wore.
She and Hudson sat for a quarter of an hour talking to Mrs. Armstrong without the subject of politics arising at all. By a series of discreet questions it came out that she was perfectly aware her husband was dying, and having come to terms with this, she was quite properly directing her thoughts to keeping her family together. Her eldest son, Isaac, would have to take over the farm, and he was a bookish sort of a lad, not well-equipped for the job. She had a bachelor brother who would be happy to help her, but of course such a man would be an additional expense to the family.