THE PRIME MINISTER

by DAVID SKILTON

  He had also told her to ask Mrs Finn. Now this had become almost a matter of course. There had grown up from accidental circumstances so strong a bond between these two women, that it was taken for granted by both their husbands that they should be nearly always within reach of one another. And the two husbands were also on kindly, if not affectionate, terms with each other. The nature of the Duke’s character was such that, with a most loving heart, he was hardly capable of that opening out of himself to another which is necessary for positive friendship. There was a stiff reserve about him, of which he was himself only too conscious, which almost prohibited friendship. But he liked Mr Finn both as a man and a member of his party, and was always satisfied to have him as a guest. The Duchess, therefore, had taken it for granted that Mrs Finn would come to her, – and that Mr Finn would come also during any time that he might be able to escape from Ireland. But, when the invitation was verbally conveyed, Mr Finn had gone to the Admiralty, and had already made his arrangements for going to sea, as a gallant sailor should. ‘We are going away in the “Black Watch” for a couple of months,’ said Mrs Finn. Now the ‘Black Watch’ was the Admiralty yacht.

  ‘Heavens and earth!’ ejaculated the Duchess.

  ‘It is always done. The First Lord would have his epaulets stripped if he didn’t go to sea in August’

  ‘And must you go with him?’

  ‘I have promised.’

  ‘I think it very unkind, – very hard upon me. Of course you knew that I should want you.’

  ‘But if my husband wants me too?’

  ‘Bother your husband! I wish with all my heart I had never helped to make up the match.’

  ‘It would have been made up just the same, Lady Glen.’

  ‘You know that I cannot get on without you. And he ought to know it too. There isn’t another person in the world that I can really say a thing to.’

  ‘Why don’t you have Mrs Grey?’

  ‘She’s going to Persia after her husband. And then she is not wicked enough. She always lectured me, and she does it still. What do you think is going to happen?’

  ‘Nothing terrible, I hope,’ said Mrs Finn, mindful of her husband’s new honours at the Admiralty, and hoping that the Duke might not have repeated his threat of resigning.

  ‘We are going to Matching.’

  ‘So I supposed.’

  ‘And whom do you think we are going to have?’

  ‘Not Major Pountney?’

  ‘No; – not at my asking.’

  ‘Nor Mr Lopez?’

  ‘Nor yet Mr Lopez. Guess again.’

  ‘I suppose there will be a dozen to guess.’

  ‘No,’ shrieked the Duchess. ‘There will only be one. I have asked one, – at his special desire, – and as you won’t come I shall ask nobody else. When I pressed him to name a second he named you. I’ll obey him to the letter. Now, my dear, who do you think is the chosen one, – the one person who is to solace the perturbed spirit of the Prime Minister for the three months of the autumn?’

  ‘Mr Warburton, I should say.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Warburton! No doubt Mr Warburton will come as a part of his luggage and possibly half-a-dozen Treasury clerks. He declares, however, that there is nothing to do, and therefore Mr Warburton’s strength may alone suffice to help him to do it. There is to be one unnecessary guest, – unnecessary, that is, for official purpose; though, – oh, – so much needed for his social happiness. Guess once more.’

  ‘Knowing the spirit of mischief that is in you, – perhaps it is Lady Rosina.’

  ‘Of course it is Lady Rosina,’ said the Duchess, clapping her hands together. ‘And I should like to know what you mean by a spirit of mischief! I asked him, and he himself said that he particularly wished to have Lady Rosina at Matching. Now, I’m not a jealous woman, – am I?’

  ‘Not of Lady Rosina.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll do any harm together, but it is particular, you know. However, she is to come. And nobody else is to come. I did count upon you.’ Then Mrs Finn counselled her very seriously as to the taste of such a joke, explaining to her that the Duke had certainly not intended that her invitations should be confined to Lady Rosina. But it was not all joke with the Duchess. She had been driven almost to despair, and was very angry with her husband. He had brought the thing upon himself, and must now make the best of it. She would ask nobody else. She declared that there was nobody whom she could ask with propriety. She was tired of asking. Let her ask whom she would he was dissatisfied. The only two people he cared to see were Lady Rosina and the old Duke. She had asked Lady Rosina for his sake. Let him ask his old friend himself if he pleased.

  The Duke and Duchess with all the family went down together, and Mr Warburton went with them. The Duchess had said not a word more to her husband about his guests, nor had he alluded to the subject. But each was labouring under a conviction that the other was misbehaving, and with that feeling it was impossible that there should be confidence between them. He busied himself with books and papers, – always turning over those piles of newspapers to see what evil was said of himself, – and speaking only now and again to his private secretary. She engaged herself with the children or pretended to read a novel. Her heart was sore within her. She had wished to punish him, but in truth she was punishing herself

  On the day of their arrival, the father and mother, with Lord Silverbridge, the eldest son, who was from Eton, and the private Secretary dined together. As the Duke sat at table, he began to think how long it was since such a state of things had happened to him before, and his heart softened towards her. Instead of being made angry by the strangeness of her proceeding, he took delight in it, and in the course of the evening spoke a word to signify his satisfaction. ‘I’m afraid it won’t last long,’ she said, ‘for Lady Rosina comes tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, indeed.’

  ‘You bid me ask her yourself.’

  Then he perceived it all; – how she had taken advantage of his former answer to her and had acted upon it in a spirit of contradictory petulance. But he resolved that he would forgive it and endeavour to bring her back to him. ‘I thought we were both joking,’ he said good-humouredly.

  ‘Oh, no! I never suspected you of a joke. At any rate she is coming.’

  ‘She will do neither of us any harm. And Mrs Finn?’

  ‘You have sent her to sea.’

  ‘She may be at sea – and he too; but it is without my sending. The First Lord, I believe, usually does go a cruize. Is there nobody else?’

  ‘Nobody else, – unless you have asked anyone.’

  ‘Not a creature. Well; – so much the better. I dare say Lady Rosina will get on very well.’

  ‘You will have to talk to her,’ said the Duchess.

  ‘I will do my best,’ said the Duke.

  Lady Rosina came and no doubt did think it odd. But she did not say so, and it really did seem to the Duchess as though all her vengeance had been blown away by the winds. And she too laughed at the matter – to herself, and began to feel less cross and less perverse. The world did not come to an end because she and her husband with Lady Rosina and her boy and the private Secretary sat down to dinner every day together. The parish clergyman with the neighbouring squire and his wife and daughter did come one day, – to the relief of M. Millepois, who had begun to feel that the world had collapsed. And every day at a certain hour the Duke and Lady Rosina walked together for an hour and a half in the Park. The Duchess would have enjoyed it, instead of suffering, could she only have had her friend, Mrs Finn, to hear her jokes. ‘Now, Plantagenet,’ she said, ‘do tell me one thing. What does she talk about?’

  ‘The troubles of her family generally, I think.’

  ‘That can’t last for ever.’

  ‘She wears cork soles to her boots and she thinks a good deal about them.’

  ‘And you listen to her?’

  ‘Why not? I can talk about cork soles as well as anything else. Anything that may do material good
to the world at large, or even to yourself privately, is a fit subject for conversation to rational people.’

  ‘I suppose I never was one of them.’

  ‘But I can talk upon anything,’ continued the Duke, ‘as long as the talker talks in good faith and does not say things that should not be said, or deal with matters that are offensive. I could talk for an hour about bankers’ accounts, but I should not expect a stranger to ask me the state of my own. She has almost persuaded me to send to Mr Sprout of Silverbridge and get some cork soles myself.

  ‘Don’t do anything of the kind,’ said the Duchess with animation; – as though she had secret knowledge that cork soles were specially fatal to the family of the Pallisers.

  ‘Why not, my dear?’

  ‘He was the man who especially, above all others, threw me over at Silverbridge.’ Then again there came upon his brow that angry frown which during the last few days had been dissipated by the innocence of Lady Rosina’s conversation. ‘Of course I don’t mean to ask you to take any interest in the borough again. You have said that you wouldn’t, and you are always as good as your word.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘But I certainly would not employ a tradesman just at your elbow who has directly opposed what was generally understood in the town to be your interests.’

  ‘What did Mr Sprout do? This is the first I have heard of it’

  ‘He got Mr Du Boung to stand against Mr Lopez.’

  ‘I am very glad for the sake of the borough that Mr Lopez did not get in.’

  ‘So am I. But that is nothing to do with it. Mr Sprout knew at any rate what my wishes were, and went directly against them.’

  ‘You were not entitled to have wishes in the matter, Glencora.’

  ‘That’s all very well; – but I had, and he knew it. As for the future, of course the thing is over. But you have done everything for the borough.’

  ‘You mean that the borough has done much for me.’

  ‘I know what I mean very well; – and I shall take it very ill if a shilling out of the Castle ever goes into Mr Sprout’s pocket again.’

  It is needless to trouble the reader at length with the sermon which he preached her on the occasion, – showing the utter corruption which must come from the mixing up of politics with trade, or with the scorn which she threw into the few words with which she interrupted him from time to time. ‘Whether a man makes good shoes, and at a reasonable price, and charges for them honestly, – that is what you have to consider,’ said the Duke impressively.

  ‘I’d rather pay double for bad shoes to a man who did not thwart me.’

  ‘You should not condescend to be thwarted in such a matter. You lower yourself by admitting such a feeling.’ And yet he writhed himself under the lashes of Mr Slide!

  ‘I know an enemy when I see him,’ said the Duchess, ‘and as long as I live I’ll treat an enemy as an enemy.’

  There was ever so much of it, in the course of which the Duke declared his purpose of sending at once to Mr Sprout for ever so many cork soles, and the Duchess, – most imprudently, – declared her purpose of ruining Mr Sprout There was something in this threat which grated terribly against the Duke’s sense of honour, – that his wife should threaten to ruin a poor tradesman, that she should do so in reference to the political affairs of the borough which he all but owned, – that she should do so in declared opposition to him! Of course he ought to have known that her sin consisted simply in her determination to vex him at the moment. A more good-natured woman did not live; – or one less prone to ruin anyone. But any reference to the Silverbridge election brought back upon him the remembrance of the cruel attacks which had been made upon him, and rendered him for the time moody, morose, and wretched. So they again parted ill friends, and hardly spoke when they met at dinner.

  The next morning there reached Matching a letter which greatly added to his bitterness of spirit against the world in general and against her in particular. The letter, though marked ‘private’, had been opened, as were all his letters, by Mr Warburton, but the private Secretary thought it necessary to show the letter to the Prime Minister. He, when he had read it, told Warburton that it did not signify, and maintained for half an hour an attitude of quiescence. Then he walked forth, having the letter hidden in his hand, and finding his wife alone, gave it her to read. ‘See what you have brought upon me,’ he said, ‘by your interference and disobedience.’ The letter was as follows:

  Manchester Square, August 3,187 –.

  MY LORD DUKE,

  I consider myself entitled to complain to your Grace of the conduct with which I was treated at the last election at Silverbridge, whereby I was led into very heavy expenditure without the least chance of being returned for the borough. I am aware that I had no direct conversation with your Grace on the subject, and that your Grace can plead that, as between man and man, I had no authority from yourself for supposing that I should receive your Grace’s support. But I was distinctly asked by the Duchess to stand, and was assured by her that if I did so I should have all the assistance that your Grace’s influence could procure for me; – and it was also explained to me that your Grace’s official position made it inexpedient that your Grace on this special occasion should have any personal conference with your own candidate. Under these circumstances I submit to your Grace that I am entitled to complain of the hardship I have suffered.

  I had not been long in the borough before I found that my position was hopeless. Influential men in the town who had been represented to me as being altogether devoted to your Grace’s interests started a third candidate, – a Liberal as myself, – and the natural consequence was that neither of us succeeded, though my return as your Grace’s candidate would have been certain had not this been done. That all this was preconcerted there can be no doubt, but, before the mine was sprung on me, – immediately, indeed, on my arrival, if I remember rightly, – an application was made to me for £500, so that the money might be exacted before the truth was known to me. Of course I should not have paid the £500 had I known that your Grace’s usual agents in the town, – I may name Mr Sprout especially, – were prepared to act against me. But I did pay the money, and I think your Grace will agree with me that a very opprobrious term might be applied without injustice to the transaction.

  My Lord Duke, I am a poor man; – ambitious I will own, whether that be a sin or a virtue, – and willing perhaps to incur expenditure which can hardly be justified in pursuit of certain public objects. But I must say, with the most lively respect for your Grace personally, that I do not feel inclined to sit down tamely under such a loss as this. I should not have dreamed of interfering in the election at Silverbridge had not the Duchess exhorted me to do so. I would not even have run the risk of a doubtful contest. But I came forward at the suggestion of the Duchess, backed by her personal assurance that the seat was certain as being in your Grace’s hands. It was no doubt understood that your Grace would not yourself interfere, but it was equally well understood that your Grace’s influence was for the time deputed to the Duchess. The Duchess herself will, I am sure, confirm my statement that I had her direct authority for regarding myself as your Grace’s candidate.

  I can of course bring an action against Mr Wise, the gentleman to whom I paid the money, but I feel that as a gentleman I should not do so without reference to your Grace, as circumstances might possibly be brought out in evidence, – I will not say prejudicial to your Grace, – but which would be unbecoming. I cannot, however, think that your Grace will be willing that a poor man like myself, in his search for an entrance into public life, should be mulcted to so heavy an extent in consequence of an error on the part of the Duchess. Should your Grace be able to assist me in my view of getting into Parliament for any other seat I shall be willing to abide the loss I have incurred. I hardly, however, dare to hope for such assistance. In this case I think your Grace ought to see that I am reimbursed.

  I have the honour to be,

  My
Lord Duke,

  Your Grace’s very faithful Servant,

  FERDINAND LOPEZ.

  The Duke stood over her in her own room upstairs, with his back to the fireplace and his eyes fixed upon her while she was reading this letter. He gave her ample time, and she did not read it very quickly. Much of it indeed she perused twice, turning very red in the face as she did so. She was thus studious partly because the letter astounded even her, and partly because she wanted time to consider how she would meet his wrath. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘what do you say to that?’

  ‘The man is a blackguard, – of course.’

  ‘He is so; – though I do not know that I wish to hear him called such a name by your lips. Let him be what he may he was your friend.’

  ‘He was my acquaintance.’

  ‘He was the man whom you selected to be your candidate for the borough in opposition to my wishes, and whom you continued to support in direct disobedience to my orders.’

  ‘Surely, Plantagenet, we have had all that about disobedience out before.’

  ‘You cannot have such things “out”, – as you call it Evil-doing will not bury itself out of the way and be done with. Do you feel no shame at having your name mentioned a score of times with reprobation as that man mentions it; – at being written about by such a man as that?’