The Duke's Children

by Anthony Trollope

  Nothing had been gained, and poor Lady Mary was compelled to write a few lines which were to her most painful in writing.

  ‘MY DEAR MRS FINN,

  ‘I have seen papa, and he thinks that you ought to have told him when I told you. It occurs to me that that would have been a cruel thing to do, and most unfair to Mr Tregear, who was quite willing to go to papa, and had only put off doing so because of poor mamma's death. As I had told mamma, of course it was right that he should tell papa. Then I told you, because you were so kind to me! I am so sorry that I have got you into this trouble; but what can I do?

  ‘I told him I must write to you. I suppose it is better that I should, although what I have to say is so unpleasant. I hope it will all blow over in time, because I love you dearly. You may be quite sure of one thing, – that I shall never change.’ In this assurance the writer was alluding not to her friendship for her friend but her love for her lover, – and so the friend understood her. ‘I hope things will be settled some day, and then we may be able to meet.

  ‘Your very affectionate Friend,

  ‘MARY PALLISER.’

  Mrs Finn, when she received this, was alone in her house in Park Lane. Her husband was down in the North of England. On this subject she had not spoken to him, fearing that he would feel himself bound to take some steps to support his wife under the treatment she had received. Even though she must quarrel with the Duke, she was most anxious that her husband should not be compelled to do so. Their connection had been political rather than personal. There were many reasons why there should be no open cause of disruption between them. But her husband was hot-headed, and, were all this to be told him and that letter shown to him which the Duke had written, there would be words between him and the Duke which would probably make impossible any further connection between them.

  It troubled her very much. She was by no means not alive to the honour of the Duke's friendship. Throughout her intimacy with the Duchess she had abstained from pressing herself on him, not because she had been indifferent about him, but that she had perceived that she might make her way with him better by standing aloof than by thrusting herself forward. And she had known that she had been successful. She could tell herself with pride that her conduct towards him had been always such as would become a lady of high spirit and fine feeling. She knew that she had deserved well of him, that in all her intercourse with him, with his uncle, and with his wife, she had given much and had taken little. She was the last woman in the world to let a word on such a matter pass her lips; but not the less was she conscious of her merit towards him. And she had been led to act as she had done by sincere admiration for the man. In all their political troubles, she had understood him better than the Duchess had done. Looking on from a distance she had understood the man's character as it had come to her both from his wife and from her own husband.

  That he was unjust to her, – cruelly unjust, she was quite sure. He accused her of intentional privity as to a secret which it behoved him to know, and of being a party to that secrecy. Whereas from the moment in which she had heard the secret she had determined that it must be made known to him. She felt that she had deserved his good opinion in all things, but in nothing more than in the way in which she had acted in this matter. And yet he had treated her with an imperious harshness which amounted to insolence. What a letter it was that he had written to her! The very tips of her ears tingled with heat as she read it again to herself. None of the ordinary courtesies of epistle-craft had been preserved either in the beginning or in the end. It was worse even than if he had called her, Madam without an epithet. ‘The Duke understands –’ ‘The Duke thinks –’ ‘The Duke feels –’ feels that he should not be troubled with either letters or conversation; the upshot of it all being that the Duke declared her to have shown herself unworthy of being treated like a lady! And this after all that she had done!

  She would not bear it. That at present was all that she could say to herself. She was not angry with Lady Mary. She did not doubt but that the girl had done the best in her power to bring her father to reason. But because Lady Mary had failed she, Mrs Finn, was not going to put up with so grievous an injury. And she was forced to bear all this alone! There was none with whom she could communicate; – no one from whom she could ask advice. She would not bring her husband into a quarrel which might be prejudicial to his position as a member of his political party. There was no one else to whom she would tell the secret of Lady Mary's love. And yet she could not bear this injustice done to her.

  Then she wrote as follows to the Duke:

  ‘Mrs Finn presents her compliments to the Duke of Omnium. Mrs Finn finds it to be essential to her that she should see the Duke in reference to his letter to her. If his Grace will let her know on what day and at what hour he will be kind enough to call on her, Mrs Finn will be at home to receive him.

  ‘Park Lane. Thursday, 12th May, 18 –.’

  CHAPTER 14

  The New Member for Silverbridge

  Lord Silverbridge was informed that it would be right that he should go down to Silverbridge a few days before the election, to make himself known to the electors. As the day for the election drew near it was understood that there would be no other candidate. The Conservative side was the popular side among the tradesmen of Silverbridge. Silver-bridge had been proud to be honoured by the services of the heir of the House of Omnium, even while that heir had been a Liberal, – had regarded it as so much a matter of course that the borough should be at his disposal that no question as to politics had ever arisen while he retained the seat. And had the Duke chosen to continue to send them Liberals, one after another, when he went into the House of Lords, there would have been no question as to the fitness of the man, or men so sent. Silverbridge had been supposed to be a Liberal as a matter of course, – because the Pallisers were Liberals. But when the matter was remitted to themselves, – when the Duke declared that he would not interfere any more, for it was thus that the borough had obtained its freedom; – then the borough began to feel conservative predilections. ‘If his Grace really does mean us to do just what we please ourselves, which is a thing we never thought of asking from his Grace, then we find, having turned the matter over among ourselves, that we are upon the whole Conservative.’ In this spirit the borough had elected a certain Mr Fletcher; but in doing so the borough had still a shade of fear that it would offend the Duke. The House of Palliser, Gatherum Castle, the Duke of Omnium, and this special Duke himself, were all so great in the eyes of the borough, that the first and only strong feeling in the borough was the one of duty. The borough did not altogether enjoy being enfranchised. But when the Duke had spoken once, twice, and thrice, then with a hesitating heart the borough returned Mr Fletcher. Now Mr Fletcher was wanted elsewhere, having been persuaded to stand for the county, and it was a comfort to the borough that it could resettle itself beneath the warmth of the wings of the Pallisers.

  So the matter stood when Lord Silverbridge was told that his presence in the borough for a few hours would be taken as a compliment. Hitherto no one knew him at Silverbridge. During his boyhood he had not been much at Gatherum Castle, and had done his best to eschew the place since he had ceased to be a boy. All the Pallisers took a pride in Gatherum Castle, but they all disliked it. ‘Oh yes; I'll go down,’ he said to Mr Morton, who was up in town. ‘I needn't go to the great barrack I suppose.' The great barrack was the Castle. ‘I'll put up at the Inn.’ Mr Morton begged the heir to come to his own house; but Silverbridge declared that he would prefer the Inn, and so the matter was settled. He was to meet sundry politicians, – Mr Spurgeon and Mr Sprout and Mr Du Boung,1 – who would like to be thanked for what they had done. But who was to go with him? He would naturally have asked Tregear, but from Tregear he had for the last week or two been, not perhaps estranged, but separated. He had been much taken up with racing. He had gone down to Chester with Major Tifto, and under the Major's auspicious influences had won a little money; – and now he
was very anxiously preparing himself for the Newmarket Second Spring Meeting. He had therefore passed much of his time with Major Tifto. And when this visit to Silverbridge was pressed on him he thoughtlessly asked Tifto to go with him. Tifto was delighted. Lord Silverbridge was to be met at Silverbridge by various well-known politicians from the neighbourhood, and Major Tifto was greatly elated by the prospect of such an introduction into the political world.

  But no sooner had the offer been made by Lord Silverbridge than he saw his own indiscretion. Tifto was very well for Chester or Newmarket, very well perhaps for the Beargarden, but not very well for an electioneering expedition. An idea came to the young nobleman that if it should be his fate to represent Silverbridge in Parliament for the next twenty years, it would be well that Silverbridge should entertain respecting him some exalted estimation, – that Silverbridge should be taught to regard him as a fit son of his father and a worthy specimen of the British political nobility. Struck by serious reflections of this nature he did open his mind to Tregear. ‘I am very fond of Tifto,’ he said, ‘but I don't know whether he's just the sort of fellow to take down to an election.’

  ‘I should think not,’ said Tregear very decidedly.

  ‘He's a very good fellow, you know,’ said Silverbridge. ‘I don't know an honester man than Tifto anywhere.’

  ‘I dare say. Or rather, I don't dare say. I know nothing about the Major's honesty, and I doubt whether you do. He rides very well.’

  ‘What has that to do with it?’

  ‘Nothing on earth. Therefore I advise you not to take him to Silverbridge.’

  ‘You needn't preach.’

  ‘You may call it what you like. Tifto would not hold his tongue, and there is nothing he could say there which would not be to your prejudice.’

  ‘Will you go?’

  ‘If you wish it,’ said Tregear.

  ‘What will the governor say?’

  ‘That must be your look out. In a political point of view I shall not disgrace you. I shall hold my tongue and look like a gentleman, – neither of which is in Tifto's power.’

  And so it was settled, that on the day but one after this conversation Lord Silverbridge and Tregear should go together to Silverbridge. But the Major, when on that same night his noble friend's altered plans were explained to him, did not bear the disappointment with equanimity. ‘Isn't that a little strange?’ he said, becoming very red in the face.

  ‘What do you call strange?’ said the Lord.

  ‘Well; – I'd made all my arrangements. When a man has been asked to do a thing like that, he doesn't like to be put off.’

  ‘The truth is, Tifto, when I came to think of it, I saw that, going down to these fellows about Parliament and all that sort of thing, I ought to have a political atmosphere, and not a racing or a betting or a hunting atmosphere.’

  ‘There isn't a man in London who cares more about politics than I do; and not very many perhaps who understand them better. To tell you the truth, my Lord, I think you are throwing me over.’

  ‘I'll make it up to you,’ said Silverbridge, meaning to be kind. ‘I'll go down to Newmarket with you and stick to you like wax.’

  ‘No doubt you'll do that,’ said Tifto, who, like a fool, failed to see where his advantage lay. ‘I can be useful at Newmarket, and so you'll stick to me.’

  ‘Look here, Major Tifto,’ said Silverbridge; ‘if you are dissatisfied, you and I can easily separate ourselves.’

  ‘I am not dissatisfied,’ said the little man, almost crying.

  ‘Then don't talk as though you were. As to Silverbridge, I shall not want you there. When I asked you I was only thinking what would be pleasant to both of us; but since that I have remembered that business must be business.’ Even this did not reconcile the angry little man, who as he turned away declared within his own little bosom that he would ‘take it out of Silverbridge for that’.

  Lord Silverbridge and Tregear went down to the borough together, and on the journey something was said about Lady Mary, – and something also about Lady Mabel. ‘From the first, you know,’ said Lady Mary's brother, ‘I never thought it would answer.’

  ‘Why not answer?’

  ‘Because I knew the governor would not have it. Money and rank and those sort of things are not particularly charming to me. But still things should go together. It is all very well for you and me to be pals, but of course it will be expected that Mary should marry some –’

  ‘Some swell?’

  ‘Some swell if you will have it.’

  ‘You mean to call yourself a swell.’

  ‘Yes I do,’ said Silverbridge, with considerable resolution. ‘You ought not to make yourself disagreeable, because you understand all about it as well as anybody. Chance has made me the eldest son of a Duke and heir to an enormous fortune. Chance has made my sister the daughter of a Duke, and an heiress also. My intimacy with you ought to be proof at any rate to you that I don't on that account set myself up above other fellows. But when you come to talk of marriage of course it is a serious thing.’

  ‘But you have told me more than once that you have no objection on your own score.’

  ‘Nor have I.’

  ‘You are only saying what the Duke will think.’

  ‘I am telling you that it is impossible, and I told you so before. You and she will be kept apart, and so –’

  ‘And so she'll forget me.’

  ‘Something of that kind.’

  ‘Of course I have to trust to her for that. If she forgets me, well and good.’

  ‘She needn't forget you. Lord bless me! you talk as though the thing were not done every day. You'll hear some morning that she is going to marry some fellow who has a lot of money and a good position; and what difference will it make then whether she has forgotten you or not?’ It might almost have been supposed that the young man had been acquainted with his mother's history.

  After this there was a pause, and there arose conversation about other things, and a cigar was smoked. Then Tregear returned once more to the subject. ‘There is one thing I wish to say about it all.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘I want you to understand that nothing else will turn me away from my intention but such a marriage on her part as that of which you speak. Nothing that your father can do will turn me.’

  ‘She can't marry without his leave.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘That he'll never give, – and I don't suppose you look forward to waiting till his death.’

  ‘If he sees that her happiness really depends on it he will give his leave. It all depends on that. If I judge your father rightly, he's just as soft-hearted as other people. The man who holds out is not the man of the firmest opinion, but the man of the hardest heart.’

  ‘Somebody will talk Mary over.’

  ‘If so, the thing is over. It all depends on her.’ Then he went on to tell his friend that he had spoken of his engagement to Lady Mabel. ‘I have mentioned it to no soul but to your father and to her.’

  ‘Why to her?’

  ‘Because we were friends together as children. I never had a sister, but she has been more like a sister to me than anyone else. Do you object to her knowing it?’

  ‘Not particularly. It seems to me now that everybody knows everything. There are no longer any secrets.’

  ‘But she is a special friend.’

  ‘Of yours,’ said Silverbridge.

  ‘And of yours,’ said Tregear.

  ‘Well, yes; – in a sort of a way. She is the jolliest girl I know.’

  ‘Take her all round, for beauty, intellect, good sense, and fun at the same time, I don't know any one equal to her.’

  ‘It's a pity you didn't fall in love with her.’

  ‘We knew each other too early for that. And then she has not a shilling. I should think myself dishonest if I did not tell you that I could not afford to love any girl who hadn't money. A man must live, – and a woman too.’

  At th
e station they were met by Mr Spurgeon and Mr Sprout, who, with many apologies for the meanness of such entertainment, took them up to the George and Vulture, which was supposed for the nonce to be the Conservative hotel in the town. Here they were met by other men of importance in the borough, and among them by Mr Du Boung. Now Mr Sprout and Mr Spurgeon were Conservatives, but Mr Du Boung was a strong Liberal.

  ‘We are, all of us, particularly glad to see your Lordship among us,’ said Mr Du Boung.

  ‘I have told his Lordship how perfectly satisfied you are to see the borough in his Lordship's hands,’ said Mr Spurgeon.

  ‘I am sure it could not be in better,’ said Mr Du Boung. ‘For myself I am quite willing to postpone any peculiar shade of politics to the advantage of having your father's son as our representative.’ This Mr Du Boung said with much intention of imparting both grace and dignity to the occasion. He thought that he was doing a great thing for the House of Omnium, and that the House of Omnium ought to know it.

  ‘That's very kind of you,’ said Lord Silverbridge, who had not read as carefully as he should have done the letters which had been sent to him, and did not therefore quite understand the position.

  ‘Mr Du Boung had intended to stand himself,’ said Mr Sprout.

  ‘But retired in your Lordship's favour,’ said Mr Spurgeon.

  ‘In doing which I considered that I studied the interest of the borough,’ said Mr Du Boung.