The Palliser Novels (432 page)

But he was not in a mood to be denied. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I don’t want to be saved from little extravagances of this sort. Owing to circumstances, your father’s money was at this moment of importance to me; — but he has answered to the whip and the money is there, and that trouble is over. We can enjoy ourselves now. Other troubles will spring up, no doubt, before long.”

She did not quite like being told that her father had “answered to the whip,” — but she was willing to believe that it was a phrase common among men to which it would be prudish to make objection. There was, also, something in her husband’s elation which was distasteful to her. Could it be that reverses of fortune with reference to moderate sums of money, such as this which was now coming into his hands, would always affect him in the same way? Was it not almost unmanly, or at any rate was it not undignified? And yet she tried to make the best of it, and lent herself to his holiday mood as well as she was able. “Shall I write and thank papa?” she said that evening.

“I have been thinking of that,” he said. “You can write if you like, and of course you will. But I also will write, and had better do so a post or two before you. As he has come round I suppose I ought to show myself civil. What he says about the rest of his money is of course absurd. I shall ask him nothing about it, but no doubt after a bit he will make permanent arrangements.” Everything in the business wounded her more or less. She now perceived that he regarded this £3000 only as the first instalment of what he might get, and that his joy was due simply to this temporary success. And then he called her father absurd to her face. For a moment she thought that she would defend her father; but she could not as yet bring herself to question her husband’s words even on such a subject as that.

He did write to Mr. Wharton, but in doing so he altogether laid aside that flighty manner which for a while had annoyed her. He thoroughly understood that the wording of the letter might be very important to him, and he took much trouble with it. It must be now the great work of his life to ingratiate himself with this old man, so that, at any rate at the old man’s death, he might possess at least half of the old man’s money. He must take care that there should be no division between his wife and her father of such a nature as to make the father think that his son ought to enjoy any special privilege of primogeniture or of male inheritance. And if it could be so managed that the daughter should, before the old man’s death, become his favourite child, that also would be well. He was therefore very careful about the letter, which was as
follows: —
 

My dear Mr. Wharton
,

I cannot let your letter to Emily pass without thanking you myself for the very liberal response made by you to what was of course a request from myself. Let me in the first place assure you that had you, before our marriage, made any inquiry about my money affairs, I would have told you everything with accuracy; but as you did not do so I thought that I should seem to intrude upon you, if I introduced the subject. It is too long for a letter, but whenever you may like to allude to it, you will find that I will be quite open with you.

I am engaged in business which often requires the use of a considerable amount of capital. It has so happened that even since we were married the immediate use of a sum of money became essential to me to save me from sacrificing a cargo of guano which will be of greatly increased value in three months’ time, but which otherwise must have gone for what it would now fetch. Your kindness will see me through that difficulty.

Of course there is something precarious in such a business as mine; — but I am endeavouring to make it less so from day to day, and hope very shortly to bring it into that humdrum groove which best befits a married man. Should I ask further assistance from you in doing this, perhaps you will not refuse it if I can succeed in making the matter clear to you. As it is I thank you sincerely for what you have done. I will ask you to pay the £3000 you have so kindly promised, to my account at Messrs. Hunky and Sons, Lombard Street. They are not regular bankers, but I have an account there.

We are wandering about and enjoying ourselves mightily in the properly romantic manner. Emily sometimes seems to think that she would like to give up business, and London, and all sublunary troubles, in order that she might settle herself for life under an Italian sky. But the idea does not generally remain with her very long. Already she is beginning to show symptoms of home sickness in regard to Manchester Square.

Yours always most faithfully,

Ferdinand Lopez
.
 

To this letter Lopez received no reply; — nor did he expect one. Between Emily and her father a few letters passed, not very long; nor, as regarded those from Mr. Wharton, were they very interesting. In none of them, however, was there any mention of money. But early in January Lopez received a most pressing, — we might almost say an agonising letter from his friend Parker. The gist of the letter was to make Lopez understand that Parker must at once sell certain interests in a coming cargo of guano, — at whatever sacrifice, — unless he could be certified as to that money which must be paid in February, and which he, Parker, must pay, should Ferdinand Lopez be at that moment unable to meet his bond. The answer sent to Parker shall be given to the reader.
 

My dear old Awfully Silly, and Absurdly Impatient Friend
,

You are always like a toad under a harrow, and that without the slightest cause. I have money lying at Hunky’s more than double enough for the bills. Why can’t you trust a man? If you won’t trust me in saying so, you can go to Mills Happerton and ask him. But, remember, I shall be very much annoyed if you do so, — and that such an inquiry cannot but be injurious to me. If, however, you won’t believe me, you can go and ask. At any rate, don’t meddle with the guano. We should lose over £1000 each of us, if you were to do so. By George, a man should neither marry, nor leave London for a day, if he has to do with a fellow so nervous as you are. As it is I think I shall be back a week or two before my time is properly up, lest you and one or two others should think that I have levanted altogether.

I have no hesitation in saying that more fortunes are lost in business by trembling cowardice than by any amount of imprudence or extravagance. My hair stands on end when you talk of parting with guano in December because there are bills which have to be met in February. Pluck up your heart, man, and look around, and see what is done by men with good courage.

Yours always,

Ferdinand Lopez
.
 

These were the only communications between our married couple and their friends at home with which I need trouble my readers. Nor need I tell any further tales of their honeymoon. If the time was not one of complete and unalloyed joy to Emily, — and we must fear that it was not, — it is to be remembered that but very little complete and unalloyed joy is allowed to sojourners in this vale of tears, even though they have been but two months married. In the first week in February they appeared in the Belgrave mansion, and Emily Lopez took possession of her new home with a heart as full of love for her husband as it had been when she walked out of the church in Vere Street, though it may be that some of her sweetest illusions had already been dispelled.

We must go back for a while to Gatherum Castle and see the guests whom the Duchess had collected there for her Christmas festivities. The hospitality of the Duke’s house had been maintained almost throughout the autumn. Just at the end of October they went to Matching, for what the Duchess called a quiet month, — which, however, at the Duke’s urgent request became six weeks. But even here the house was full all the time, though from deficiency of bedrooms the guests were very much less numerous. But at Matching the Duchess had been uneasy and almost cross. Mrs. Finn had gone with her husband to Ireland, and she had taught herself to fancy that she could not live without Mrs. Finn. And her husband had insisted upon having round him politicians of his own sort, men who really preferred work to archery, or even to hunting, and who discussed the evils of direct taxation absolutely in the drawing-room. The Duchess was assured that the country could not be governed by the support of such men as these, and was very glad to get back to Gatherum, — whither also came Phineas Finn with his wife, and the St. Bungay people, and Barrington Erle, and Mr. Monk, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, with Lord and Lady Cantrip, and Lord and Lady Drummond, — Lord Drummond being the only representative of the other or coalesced party. And Major Pountney was there, having been urgent with the Duchess, — and having fully explained to his friend Captain Gunner that he had acceded to the wishes of his hostess only on the assurance of her Grace that the house would not be again troubled by the presence of Ferdinand Lopez. Such assurances were common between the two friends, but were innocent, as, of course, neither believed the other. And Lady Rosina was again there, — with many others. The melancholy poverty of Lady Rosina had captivated the Duke. “She shall come and live here, if you like,” the Duchess had said in answer to a request from her husband on his new friend’s behalf, — “I’ve no doubt she will be willing.” The place was not crowded as it had been before; but still about thirty guests sat down to dinner daily, and Locock, Millepois, and Mrs. Pritchard were all kept hard at work. Nor was our Duchess idle. She was always making up the party, — meaning the coalition, — doing something to strengthen the buttresses, writing little letters to little people, who, little as they were, might become big by amalgamation. “One has always to be binding one’s fagot,” she said to Mrs. Finn, having read her Æsop not altogether in vain. “Where should we have been without you?” she had whispered to Sir Orlando Drought when that gentleman was leaving Gatherum at the termination of his second visit. She had particularly disliked Sir Orlando, and was aware that her husband had on this occasion been hardly as gracious as he should have been, in true policy, to so powerful a colleague. Her husband had been peculiarly shy of Sir Orlando since the day on which they had walked together in the park, — and, consequently, the Duchess had whispered to him. “Don’t bind your fagot too conspicuously,” Mrs. Finn had said to her. Then the Duchess had fallen to a seat almost exhausted by labour, mingled with regrets, and by the doubts which from time to time pervaded even her audacious spirit. “I’m not a god,” she said, “or a Pitt, or an Italian with a long name beginning with M., that I should be able to do these things without ever making a mistake. And yet they must be done. And as for him, — he does not help me in the least. He wanders about among the clouds of the multiplication table, and thinks that a majority will drop into his mouth because he does not shut it. Can you tie the fagot any better?” “I think I would leave it untied,” said Mrs. Finn. “You would not do anything of the kind. You’d be just as fussy as I am.” And thus the game was carried on at Gatherum Castle from week to week.

“But you won’t leave him?” This was said to Phineas Finn by his wife a day or two before Christmas, and the question was intended to ask whether Phineas thought of giving up his place.

“Not if I can help it.”

“You like the work.”

“That has but little to do with the question, unfortunately. I certainly like having something to do. I like earning money.”

“I don’t know why you like that especially,” said the wife, laughing.

“I do at any rate, — and, in a certain sense, I like authority. But in serving with the Duke I find a lack of that sympathy which one should have with one’s chief. He would never say a word to me unless I spoke to him. And when I do speak, though he is studiously civil, — much too courteous, — I know that he is bored. He has nothing to say to me about the country. When he has anything to communicate, he prefers to write a minute for Warburton, who then writes to Morton, — and so it reaches me.”

“Doesn’t it do as well?”

“It may do with me. There are reasons which bind me to him, which will not bind other men. Men don’t talk to me about it, because they know that I am bound to him through you. But I am aware of the feeling which exists. You can’t be really loyal to a king if you never see him, — if he be always locked up in some almost divine recess.”

“A king may make himself too common, Phineas.”

“No doubt. A king has to know where to draw the line. But the Duke draws no intentional line at all. He is not by nature gregarious or communicative, and is therefore hardly fitted to be the head of a ministry.”

“It will break her heart if anything goes wrong.”

“She ought to remember that Ministries seldom live very long,” said Phineas. “But she’ll recover even if she does break her heart. She is too full of vitality to be much repressed by any calamity. Have you heard what is to be done about Silverbridge?”

“The Duchess wants to get it for this man, Ferdinand Lopez.”

“But it has not been promised yet?”

“The seat is not vacant,” said Mrs. Finn, “and I don’t know when it will be vacant. I think there is a hitch about it, — and I think the Duchess is going to be made very angry.”

Throughout the autumn the Duke had been an unhappy man. While the absolute work of the Session had lasted he had found something to console him; but now, though he was surrounded by private secretaries, and though dispatch-boxes went and came twice a day, though there were dozens of letters as to which he had to give some instruction, — yet, there was in truth nothing for him to do. It seemed to him that all the real work of the Government had been filched from him by his colleagues, and that he was stuck up in pretended authority, — a kind of wooden Prime Minister, from whom no real ministration was demanded. His first fear had been that he was himself unfit; — but now he was uneasy, fearing that others thought him to be unfit. There was Mr. Monk with his budget, and Lord Drummond with his three or four dozen half rebellious colonies, and Sir Orlando Drought with the House to lead and a ship to build, and Phineas Finn with his scheme of municipal Home Rule for Ireland, and Lord Ramsden with a codified Statute Book, — all full of work, all with something special to be done. But for him, — he had to arrange who should attend the Queen, what ribbons should be given away, and what middle-aged young man should move the address. He sighed as he thought of those happy days in which he used to fear that his mind and body would both give way under the pressure of decimal coinage.