Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  Whether this start gave the Protectionists a fillip or no, they were in great spirits, and Mottisfont was up and down shaking hands all the morning. At noon the figures as exhibited outside the Mottisfont Committee-room — amid tremendous cheering — were:

  Mottisfont . . . 41

  Basset . . . . 30

  though Basset outside his Committee-room claimed one more. Soon after twelve Hatton brought up the two Boshams in his carriage, and Ben, recovered from his fright, flung his hat before him into the booth, danced a war-dance on the steps, and gave three cheers for Basset as he came down. Banfield brought up three more voters in his carriage and thence onward until one o’clock the polling was rapid. The one o’clock board showed:

  Mottisfont . . . 60

  Basset . . . . 57

  with seventy votes to poll. The Mottisfont party began to look almost as blue as their favors, but Stubbs, returned to his senses, continued to read his newspaper in a closet behind the Committee-room, as if there were no contest within a hundred miles of Riddsley.

  During the next three hours little was done. The poll-clerks sent out for pots of beer, the watchers drowsed, the candidates were invisible — some said that they had gone to dine with the mayor. The bludgeon-men and blackguards went home to sleep off their morning’s drink, and to recruit themselves for the orgy of the Chairing. The crowd before the polling booth shrank to a knot of loafing lads and a stray dog. At four Mottisfont still held the lead with 64 to 61.

  But as the clock struck four the town awoke. Word went round that a message from Sir Robert Peel would be read outside Basset’s Committee-room. Hearers were whipped up, and the message, having been read with much parade, was posted up through the town and as promptly pulled down. Animated by the message, and making as much of it as if it had not been held back for the purpose, the Peelites polled five-and-twenty votes in rapid succession, and at half-past four issued a huge placard with:

  Basset . . . . 87

  Mottisfont . . . 83

  Vote for Basset and the Big Loaf!

  Basset wins!

  Great was the enthusiasm, loud the cheering, vast the stir outside their Committee-room. The Big and the Little Loaf waltzed out on their poles. The placard, mounted as a banner, was entrusted to the two Boshams. The band was ready, a dozen flares were ready, the Committee were ready, all was ready for a last rally which might decide the one or two doubtful voters. All was ready, but where was Mr. Basset? Where was the candidate?

  He could not be found, and great was the hubbub, vast the running to and fro. “The Candidate? Where’s the Candidate?” One ran to the Swan, another to the polling-booth, a third to his agent’s office. He could not be found. All that was known of him or could be learned was that a tall man, who looked like an undertaker, had stopped him near the polling-booth and had kept him in talk for some minutes. From that time he had been seen by no one.

  Foul play was talked of, and the search went on, but meantime the procession — the poll closed at half-past six — must start if it was to do any good. It did so, and with its flares, its swaying placard, its running riff-raff, now luridly thrown up by the lights, now lost in shadow, formed the most picturesque scene that the election had witnessed. The absence of the candidate was a drawback, and some shook their heads over it. But the more knowing put their tongues in their cheeks, aware that whether he were there or not, and whether they marched or stayed at home, neither side would be a vote the better!

  At half — past five the figures were,

  Basset . . . . 87

  Mottisfont . . . 86

  There were still fourteen votes to poll, and on the face of things victory hung in the balance.

  But at that hour Stubbs moved. He laid down his newspaper, gave Farthingale an order, took up a slip of paper and his hat, and went by way of the darkest street to The Butterflies. He walked thoughtfully, with his chin on his breast, as if he had no great appetite for the interview before him. By the time he reached the house the poll stood at

  Mottisfont . . . 96

  Basset . . . . 87

  And long and loud was the cheering, wild the triumph of the landed interest. The town was fuller than ever, for during the last hour the farmers and their men had trooped in, Brown Heath had sent its colliers, and a crowd filling every yard of space within eye-shot of the polling-booth greeted the news. To hell with Peel! Down with Cobden! Away with the League! Hurrah! Hurrah! Stubbs, had he been there, would have been carried shoulder-high. Old Hayward was lifted and carried, old Musters of the Audley Arms, one or two of the Committee. It was known that four votes only remained unpolled, so that Mottisfont’s victory was secure.

  At The Butterflies, whither the cheering of the crowd came in gusts that rose and fell by turns, Stubbs nodded to the maid and went up the stairs unannounced. Audley was writing at a side-table facing the room. He looked up eagerly. “Well?” he said, putting down his quill. “Is it over?”

  Stubbs laid the slip of paper before him. “It’s not over, my lord,” he answered soberly. “But that is the result. I am sorry that it is no better.”

  Audley looked at the paper. “Nine!” he exclaimed. He looked at Stubbs, he looked again at the paper. “Nine? Good G — d, man, you don’t mean it? You can’t mean it! You don’t mean that that is the best we could do?”

  “We hold the seat, my lord,” Stubbs said.

  “Hold the seat!” Audley replied, staring at him with furious eyes. “Hold the seat? But I thought that it was a safe seat? I thought that it was a seat that couldn’t be lost! When five, only five, votes would have cast it the other way! Why, man, you cannot have known anything about it! No more about it than the first man in the street!”

  “My lord — —”

  “Not a jot more!” Audley repeated. He had been prepared for something like this, but the certainty that if he had cast his weight on the other side, the side that had sinecures and places and pensions, he would have turned the scale — this was too much for his temper. “Nine!” he rapped out with another oath. “I can only think that the Election has been mismanaged! Grievously, grievously mismanaged, Mr. Stubbs!”

  “If your lordship thinks so — —”

  “I do!” Audley retorted, his certainty that the man before him had thwarted his plans, carrying him farther than he intended. “I do! Nine! Good G — d, man! When you assured me — —”

  “Whatever I assured your lordship,” Stubbs said firmly, “I believed. And — no, my lord, you must allow me to speak now — what I promised would have been borne out — fully borne out by the result in normal times. But I did not allow enough for the split in the party, nor for the wave of madness — —”

  “As you think it!”

  “And surely as your lordship also thinks it!” Stubbs rejoined smartly, “that has swept over the country! In these circumstances it is something to hold the seat, which a return to sanity will certainly assure to us at the next election.”

  “The next election!” Audley muttered scornfully. For the moment he was too angry to play a part or to drape his feelings.

  “But if your lordship is dissatisfied — —”

  “Dissatisfied? I am d — nably dissatisfied.”

  “Then your lordship has the power,” Stubbs said slowly, “to dispense with my services.”

  “I know that, sir.”

  “And if you do not think fit to take that step, my lord — —”

  “I shall consider it!”

  Another word or two and the deed had been done, for both men were too angry to fence. But before that last word was spoken Audley’s man entered. He handed a card to his master and waited.

  Audley looked at the card longer than was necessary and under cover of the pause regained control of himself. “Who brought this?” he asked.

  “A messenger from the Swan, my lord.”

  “Tell him — —” He broke off. Holding out the card for Stubbs to take, “Do you know anything about this?” he asked.

&n
bsp; Stubbs returned the card. “No, my lord,” he said coldly. “I know nothing.”

  “Business of great importance to me? D — n his impudence, what business important to me can he have?” Audley muttered. Then, “My compliments to Mr. Basset and I am leaving in the morning, but I shall be at home this evening at nine.”

  The servant retired. Audley looked askance at his agent. “You’d better be here,” he muttered ungraciously. “We can settle what we were talking about later.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Stubbs answered. And nothing more being said, he took himself off.

  He was not sorry that they had been interrupted. Much of his income and more of his importance sprang from the Audley agency, but rather than be treated as if he were a servant, he would surrender both — in his way he was a proud man. Still he did not want to give up either; and if time were given he thought that his lordship would think better of the matter.

  As he returned to his office, choosing the quiet streets by which he had come, he had a glimpse, through an opening, of the distant Market-place. A sound of cheering, a glare of smoky light, a medley of leaping, running forms, a something uplifted above the crowd, moved across his line of vision. Almost as quickly it vanished, leaving only the reflection of retreating torches. “Hurrah! Hurrah for Mottisfont! Hurrah!” Still the cheering came faintly to his ears.

  He sighed. Riddsley had remained faithful-by nine! But he did not deceive himself. It was the writing on the wall. The Corn Laws were doomed, and with them much that he had loved, much that he cherished, much in which he believed.

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  A TURN OF THE WHEEL

  Audley was suspicious and ill at ease. Standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, he fixed the visitor with his eyes, and with secret anxiety asked himself what he wanted. The possibility that Basset came to champion Mary had crossed his mind more than once; if that were so he would soon dispose of him! In the meantime he took civility for his cue, exchanged an easy word or two about the poll and the election, and between times nodded to Stubbs to be seated. Through all, his eyes were watchful and he missed nothing.

  “I asked Mr. Stubbs to be here,” he said when a minute or two had been spent in this by-play, “as you spoke of business. You don’t object?”

  “Not at all,” Basset replied. His face was grave. “I should tell you at once, Audley,” he added, “that my mission is not a pleasant one.”

  The other raised his eyebrows. “You are sure that it concerns me?”

  “It certainly concerns you. Though, as things stand, not very materially. I knew nothing of the matter myself until three o’clock to-day, and at first I doubted if it was my duty to communicate it. But the facts are known to a third person, they may be used to annoy you in the future, and though the task is unpleasant, I decided that I had no option.”

  Audley set his broad shoulders against the mantel-shelf. “But if the facts don’t affect me?” he said.

  “In a way they do. Not as they might under other circumstances. That is all.”

  “And yet you are making our hair stand on end! I confess you puzzle me. Well, let us have it. What is it all about?”

  “A little time ago you recovered, if you remember, your Family Bible.” “Well? What of that?”

  “I have just learned that the man did not hand over all that he had. He kept back — it now appears — certain papers.”

  “Ah!” Audley’s voice was stern. “Well, he has had his chance. This time, I can promise him a warrant will follow.”

  “Perhaps you will hear me out first?”

  “No,” was the sharp reply. Audley’s temper was getting the better of him. “Last time, my dear fellow, you compounded with him; your motive an excellent one I don’t doubt. But if he now thinks to get more money from me — and for other papers — I can promise him that he will see the inside of Stafford gaol. Besides, my good friend, you gave us to understand that he had surrendered all he had.”

  “I am afraid I did, and I fear I was wrong. Why he deceived me, and has now turned about, I know no more than you do!”

  “I think I can enlighten you,” the other answered — his fears as well as his temper were aroused. “The rogue is shallow. He thinks to be paid twice. Once by you and once by me. But you can tell him that this time he will be paid in other coin.”

  “I’m afraid that there is more in it than that,” Basset said. “The fact is the papers he now produces, Audley, are of another character.”

  “Oh! The wind blows in that quarter, does it?” my lord replied. “You don’t mean that you’ve come here — why, d — n it, man,” with sudden passion, “either you are very simple, or you are art and part — —”

  “Steady, steady, my lord,” Stubbs said, interposing discreetly. Hitherto he had not spoken. “There’s no need to quarrel! I am sure that Mr. Basset’s intentions are friendly. It will be better if he just tells us what these documents are which are now put forward. We shall then be able to judge where we stand.”

  “Go ahead,” Audley said, averting his face and sulkily relapsing against the mantel-shelf. “Put your questions! And, for God’s sake, let’s get to the point!”

  “The paper that is pertinent is a deed,” Basset explained. “I have the heads of it here. A deed made between Peter Paravicini Audley, your ancestor, the Audley the date of whose marriage has been always in issue — between him on the one side, and his father and two younger brothers on the other.”

  “What is the date?” Stubbs asked.

  “Seventeen hundred and four.”

  “Very good, Mr. Basset.” Stubbs’s tone was now as even as he could make it, but an acute listener would have detected a change in it. “Proceed, if you please.”

  Before Basset could comply, my lord broke in. “What’s the use of this? Why the d — l are we going into it?” he cried. “If this man is out for plunder I will make him smart as sure as my name is Audley! And any one who supports him. In the meantime I want to hear no more of it!”

  Basset moved in his chair as if he would rise. Stubbs intervened.

  “That is one way of looking at it, my lord,” he said temperately. “And I’m not saying that it is the wrong way. But I think we had better hear what Mr. Basset has to say. He is probably deceived — —”

  “He has let himself be used as a catspaw!” Audley cried. His face was flushed and there was an ugly look in his eyes.

  “But he means us well, I am sure,” the lawyer interposed. “At present I don’t see” — he turned and carefully snuffed one of the candles— “I don’t see — —”

  “I think you do!” Basset answered. He had had a long day and he had come on an unpleasant business. His own temper was not too good. “You see this, at any rate, Mr. Stubbs, that such a deed may be of vital import to your client.”

  “To me?” Audley exclaimed. Was it possible that the thing he had so long feared — and had ceased to fear — was going to befall him? Was it possible that at the eleventh hour, when he had burnt his boats, when he had thought all danger at an end — no, it was impossible! “To me?” he repeated passionately.

  “Yes,” Basset replied. “Or, rather, it would be of vital import to you in other circumstances.”

  “In what other circumstances? What do you mean?”

  “If you were not about to marry the only person who, with you, is interested.”

  Audley cut short, by a tremendous effort, the execration that burst from his lips. His face, always too fleshy for his years, swelled till it was purple. Then, and as quickly, the blood ebbed, leaving it gray and flabby. He would have given much, very much at this moment to be able to laugh or to utter a careless word. But he could do neither. The blow had been too sudden, too heavy, too overwhelming. Only in his nightmares had he seen what he saw now!

  Meanwhile Stubbs, startled by the half-uttered oath and a little out of his depth — for he had heard nothing of the engagement — intervened. “I think, my lord,” he said, “you ha
d better leave this to me. I think you had, indeed. We are quite in the dark and we are not getting forward. Let us have the facts, Mr. Basset. What is the gist of this deed? Or, first, have you seen it?”

  “I have.”

  “And read it?”

  “I have.”

  “It appears to you — I only say it appears — to be genuine?”

  “I have no doubt that it is genuine,” Basset replied. “It bears the marks of age, and it was found in the chest with the old Bible. If the book is genuine — —”

  The lawyer raised his hand. “Too fast,” he said. “You say it was found! You mean that this man says it was found?”

  “Yes.”

  “Precisely. But there is a difference. Still, we have cleared the ground. Now, what does this deed purport to be?”

  Basset produced a slip of paper. “An agreement,” he read from it, “between Peter Paravicini Audley and his father and his two younger brothers. After admitting that the entry of the marriage in the register is misleading and that no marriage took place until after the birth of his son, Peter Paravicini undertakes that, in consideration of his father and his brothers taking no action and making no attack upon his wife’s reputation, she being their cousin, he will not set up for the said son, or the issue of the said son, any claim to the title or estates.”

  Audley listened to the description, so clear and so precise, and he recognized that it tallied with the deed which tradition had always held to exist but of which John Audley had been able to give no proof. He heard, he understood; yet while he listened and understood, his mind was working to another end, and viewing with passion the tragedy which fate had prepared for him. Too late! Too late! Had this become known a week, only a week, earlier, how lightly had the blow fallen! How impotently! But he had cut the rope, he had severed the strands once carefully twisted, that bound him to safety! And then the irony, the bitterness, the cruelty of those words of Basset’s, “in other circumstances!” They bit into his mind.