The Palliser Novels (451 page)

This all took place in the closing week of the Session, filling our poor Prime Minister with trouble and dismay, just when other people were complaining that there was nothing to think of and nothing to do. Men do not really like leaving London before the grouse calls them, — the grouse, or rather the fashion of the grouse. And some ladies were very angry at being separated so soon from their swains in the city. The tradesmen too were displeased, — so that there were voices to re-echo the abuse of the “People’s Banner.” The Duchess had done her best to prolong the Session by another week, telling her husband of the evil consequences above suggested, but he had thrown wide his arms and asked her with affected dismay whether he was to keep Parliament sitting in order that more ribbons might be sold! “There is nothing to be done,” said the Duke almost angrily.

“Then you should make something to be done,” said the Duchess, mimicking him.

The Duchess had been at work with her husband for the last two months in the hope of renewing her autumnal festivities, but had been lamentably unsuccessful. The Duke had declared that there should be no more rural crowds, no repetition of what he called London turned loose on his own grounds. He could not forget the necessity which had been imposed upon him of turning Major Pountney out of his house, or the change that had been made in his gardens, or his wife’s attempt to conquer him at Silverbridge. “Do you mean,” she said, “that we are to have nobody?” He replied that he thought it would be best to go to Matching. “And live a Darby and Joan life?” said the Duchess.

“I said nothing of Darby and Joan. Whatever may be my feelings I hardly think that you are fitted for that kind of thing. Matching is not so big as Gatherum, but it is not a cottage. Of course you can ask your own friends.”

“I don’t know what you mean by my own friends. I endeavour always to ask yours.”

“I don’t know that Major Pountney, and Captain Gunner, and Mr. Lopez were ever among the number of my friends.”

“I suppose you mean Lady Rosina?” said the Duchess. “I shall be happy to have her at Matching if you wish it.”

“I should like to see Lady Rosina De Courcy at Matching very much.”

“And is there to be nobody else? I’m afraid I should find it rather dull while you two were opening your hearts to each other.” Here he looked at her angrily. “Can you think of anybody besides Lady Rosina?”

“I suppose you will wish to have Mrs. Finn?”

“What an arrangement! Lady Rosina for you to flirt with, and Mrs. Finn for me to grumble to.”

“That is an odious word,” said the Prime Minister.

“What; — flirting? I don’t see anything bad about the word. The thing is dangerous. But you are quite at liberty if you don’t go beyond Lady Rosina. I should like to know whether you would wish anybody else to come?” Of course he made no becoming answer to this question, and of course no becoming answer was expected. He knew that she was trying to provoke him because he would not let her do this year as she had done last. The house, he had no doubt, would be full to overflowing when he got there. He could not help that. But as compared with Gatherum Castle the house at Matching was small, and his domestic authority sufficed at any rate for shutting up Gatherum for the time.

I do not know whether at times her sufferings were not as acute as his own. He, at any rate, was Prime Minister, and it seemed to her that she was to be reduced to nothing. At the beginning of it all he had, with unwonted tenderness, asked her for her sympathy in his undertaking, and, according to her powers, she had given it to him with her whole heart. She had thought that she had seen a way by which she might assist him in his great employment, and she had worked at it like a slave. Every day she told herself that she did not, herself, love the Captain Gunners and Major Pountneys, nor the Sir Orlandos, nor, indeed, the Lady Rosinas. She had not followed the bent of her own inclination when she had descended to sheets and towels, and busied herself to establish an archery-ground. She had not shot an arrow during the whole season, nor had she cared who had won and who had lost. It had not been for her own personal delight that she had kept open house for forty persons throughout four months of the year, in doing which he had never taken an ounce of the labour off her shoulders by any single word or deed! It had all been done for his sake, — that his reign might be long and triumphant, that the world might say that his hospitality was noble and full, that his name might be in men’s mouths, and that he might prosper as a British Minister. Such, at least, were the assertions which she made to herself, when she thought of her own grievances and her own troubles. And now she was angry with her husband. It was very well for him to ask for her sympathy, but he had none to give her in return! He could not pity her failures, — even though he had himself caused them! If he had a grain of intelligence about him he must, she thought, understand well enough how sore it must be for her to descend from her princely entertainments to solitude at Matching, and thus to own before all the world that she was beaten. Then when she asked him for advice, when she was really anxious to know how far she might go in filling her house without offending him, he told her to ask Lady Rosina De Courcy! If he chose to be ridiculous he might. She would ask Lady Rosina De Courcy. In her active anger she did write to Lady Rosina De Courcy a formal letter, in which she said that the Duke hoped to have the pleasure of her ladyship’s company at Matching Park on the 1st of August. It was an absurd letter, somewhat long, written very much in the Duke’s name, with overwhelming expressions of affection, instigated in the writer’s mind partly by the fun of the supposition that such a man as her husband should flirt with such a woman as Lady Rosina. There was something too of anger in what she wrote, some touch of revenge. She sent off this invitation, and she sent no other. Lady Rosina took it all in good part, and replied saying that she should have the greatest pleasure in going to Matching. She had declared to herself that she would ask none but those he had named, and in accordance with her resolution she sent out no other written invitations.

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 bad 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 home 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 to-morrow.”

“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 cruise. Is there nobody else?”

“Nobody else, — unless you have asked any one.”

“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.”