THE PRIME MINISTER (27 page)

‘What is the meaning of that?’ The Duchess was not skilled in hiding her feelings, at any rate from him, and declared to him at once by her voice and eye that the proposed change was not gratifying to her.

‘It
will be better. I had thought that I would get a quiet day or two at Matching. But as the thing has to be done, it may as well be done at first. A man ought to receive his own guests. I can’t say that I look forward to any great pleasure in doing so on this occasion; – but I shall do it.’ It was very easy to understand also the tone of his voice. There was in it something of offended dignity, something
of future marital intentions, – something also of the weakness of distress.

She did not want him to come at once to Gatherum. A great deal of money was being spent, and the absolute spending was not yet quite perfected. There might still be possibility of interference. The tents were not all pitched. The lamps were not as yet all hung in the conservatories. Waggons would still be coming in and
workmen still be going out He would think less of what had been done if he could be kept from seeing it while it was being done. And the greater crowd which would be gathered there by the end of the first week would carry off the vastness of the preparations. As to money, he had given her almost carte blanche, having at one vacillatory period of his Prime Ministership been talked by her into some
agreement with her own plans. And in regard to money he would say to himself that he ought not to interfere with any whim of hers on that score, unless
he thought it right to crush the whim on some other score. Half what he possessed had been hers, and even if during this year he were to spend more than his income, – if he were to double or even treble the expenditure of past years, – he could
not consume the additions to his wealth which had accrued and heaped themselves up since his marriage. He had therefore written a line to his banker, and a line to his lawyer, and he had himself seen Locock, and his wife’s hands had been loosened. ‘I didn’t think, your Grace,’ said Locock, ‘that his Grace would be so very, – very, – very –’ ‘Very what, Locock?’ ‘So very free, your Grace.’ The Duchess,
as she thought of it, declared to herself that her husband was the truest nobleman in all England. She revered, admired, and almost loved him. She knew him to be infinitely better than herself. But she could hardly sympathize with him, and was quite sure that he did not sympathize with her. He was so good about the money! But yet it was necessary that he should be kept in the dark as to the
spending of a good deal of it. Now he was going to upset a portion of her plans by coming to Gatherum before he was wanted. She knew him to be obstinate, but it might be possible to turn him back to his old purpose by clever manipulation.

‘Of course it would be much nicer for me,’ she said.

‘That alone would be sufficient.’

‘Thanks, dear. But we had arranged for people to come at first whom
I thought you would not specially care to meet. Sir Orlando and Mr Rattler will be there with their wives.’

‘I have become quite used to Sir Orlando and Mr Rattler.’

‘No doubt, and therefore I wanted to spare you something of their company. The Duke, whom you really do like, isn’t coming yet. I thought, too, you would have your work to finish off.’

‘I fear it is of a kind that won’t bear finishing
off. However, I have made up my mind, and have already told Locock to send word to the people at Matching to say that I shall not be there yet. How long will all this last at Gatherum?’

‘Who can say?’

‘I should have thought you could. People are not coming, I suppose, for an indefinite time.’

‘As one set leaves, one asks others.’

‘Haven’t you asked enough as yet? I should like to know when
we may expect to get away from the place.’

‘You needn’t stay till the end, you know.’

‘But you must.’

‘Certainly.’

‘And I should wish you to go with me, when we do go to Matching.’

‘Oh, Plantagenet,’ said the wife, ‘what a Darby and Joan kind of thing you like to have it!’

‘Yes, I do. The Darby and Joan kind of thing is what I like.’

‘Only Darby is to be in an office all day, and in Parliament
all night, – and Joan is to stay at home.’

‘Would you wish me not to be in an office, and not to be in Parliament? But don’t let us misunderstand each other. You are doing the best you can to further what you think to be my interests.’

‘I am,’ said the Duchess.

‘I love you the better for it, day by day.’ This so surprised her that, as she took him by the arm, her eyes were filled with tears.
‘I know that you are working for me quite as hard as I work myself, and that you are doing so with the pure ambition of seeing your husband a great man.’

‘And myself a great man’s wife.’

‘It is the same thing. But I would not have you overdo your work. I would not have you make yourself conspicuous by anything like display. There are ill-natured people who will say things that you do not expect,
and to which I should be more sensitive than I ought to be. Spare me such pain as this if you can.’ He still held her hand as he spoke, and she answered him only by nodding her head. ‘I will go down with you to Gatherum on Friday.’ Then he left her.

The Duke and Duchess with their children and personal servants reached Gatherum Castle the day before the first crowd of visitors was expected. It was on a lovely autumn afternoon, and the Duke, who had endeavoured to make himself pleasant during the journey, had suggested that as soon as the heat would allow them they would
saunter about the grounds and see what was being
done. They could dine late, at half-past eight or nine, so that they might be walking from seven to eight. But the Duchess when she reached the Castle declined to fall into this arrangement. The journey had been hot and dusty, and she was a little cross. They reached the place about five, and then she declared that she would have a cup of tea and lie down; she was too tired to walk; and the sun,
she said, was still scorchingly hot. He then asked that the children might go with him; but the two little girls were weary and travel-worn, and the two boys, the elder of whom was home from Eton and the younger from some minor Eton, were already out about the place after their own pleasures. So the Duke started for his walk alone.

The Duchess certainly did not wish to have to inspect the works
in conjunction with her husband. She knew how much there was that she ought still to do herself, how many things that she herself ought to see. But she could neither do anything nor see anything to any purpose under his wing. As to lying down, that she knew to be quite out of the question. She had already found out that the life which she had adopted was one of incessant work. But she was neither
weak nor idle. She was quite prepared to work, – if only she might work after her own fashion and with companions chosen by herself Had not her husband been so perverse, she would have travelled down with Mrs Finn, whose coming was now postponed for two days, and Locock would have been with her. The Duke had given directions which made it necessary that Locock’s coming should be postponed for a
day, and this was another grievance. She was put out a good deal, and began to speculate whether her husband was doing it on purpose to torment her. Nevertheless, as soon as she knew that he was out of the way, she went to her work. She could not go out among the tents and lawns and conservatories, as she would probably meet him. But she gave orders as to bedchambers, saw to the adornments of the
reception-rooms, had an eye to the banners and martial trophies suspended in the vast hall, and the busts and statues which adorned the corners, looked in on the plate which was being prepared for the great dining-room, and superintended the moving about of chairs, sofas, and tables generally. ‘You may take it as certain, Mrs Pritchard,’ she said to the housekeeper, ‘that there will never be less
than forty for the next two months.’

‘Forty to sleep, my lady?’ To Pritchard the Duchess had for many years been Lady Glencora, and she perhaps understood that her mistress liked the old appellation.

‘Yes, forty to sleep, and forty to eat, and forty to drink. But that’s nothing. Forty to push through twenty-four hours every day! Do you think you’ve got everything that you want?’

‘It depends,
my lady, how long each of ’em stays.’

‘One night! No – say two nights on an average.’

‘That makes shifting the beds very often; – doesn’t it, my lady?’

‘Send up to Puddick’s for sheets to-morrow. Why wasn’t that thought of before?’

‘It was my lady, – and I think we shall do. We’ve got the steam-washery put up.’

‘Towels!’ suggested the Duchess.

‘Oh yes, my lady. Puddick’s did send a great
many things; – a whole waggon load there was come from the station. But the tablecloths ain’t, none of ’em, long enough for the big table.’ The Duchess’s face fell. ‘Of course there must be two. On them very long tables, my lady, there always is two.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me, so that I could have had them made? It’s impossible, – impossible that one brain should think of it all. Are you sure
you’ve got enough hands in the kitchen?’

‘Well my lady; – we couldn’t do with more; and they ain’t an atom of use, – only just in the way, – if you don’t know something about ’em. I suppose Mr Millepois will be down soon.’ This name, which Mrs Pritchard called Milleypoise, indicated a French cook who was as yet unknown at the Castle.

‘He’ll be here to-night.’

‘I wish he could have been here
a day or two sooner, my lady, so as just to see about him.’

‘And how should we have got our dinner in town? He won’t make any difficulties. The confectioner did come?’

‘Yes, my lady; and to tell the truth out at once, he was that drunk last night that –; oh, dear, we didn’t know what to do with him.’

‘I don’t mind that before the affair begins. I don’t suppose he’ll get tipsy while he has to
work for all these people. You’ve plenty of eggs?’

These questions went on so rapidly that in addition to the asking
of them the Duchess was able to go through all the rooms before she dressed for dinner, and in every room she saw something to speak of, noting either perfection or imperfection. In the meantime the Duke had gone out alone. It was still hot, but he had made up his mind that he
would enjoy his first holiday out of town by walking about his own grounds, and he would not allow the heat to interrupt him. He went out through the vast hall, and the huge front door, which was so huge and so grand that it was very seldom used. But it was now open by chance, owing to some incident of this festival time, and he passed through it and stood upon the grand terrace, with the well-known
and much-lauded portico overhead. Up to the terrace, though it was very high, there ran a road, constructed upon arches, so that grand guests could drive almost into the house. The Duke, who was never grand himself, as he stood there looking at the far-stretching view before him, could not remember that he had ever but once before placed himself on that spot. Of what use had been the portico, and
the marbles, and the huge pile of stone, – of what use the enormous hall just behind him, cutting the house in two, declaring aloud by its own aspect and the proportions that it had been built altogether for show and in no degree for use or comfort? And now as he stood there he could already see that men were at work about the place, that ground had been moved here, and grass laid down there, and
a new gravel road constructed in another place. Was it not possible that his friends should be entertained without all these changes in the gardens? Then he perceived the tents, and descending from the terrace and turning to the left towards the end of the house he came upon a new conservatory. The exotics with which it was to be filled were at this moment being brought in on great barrows. He
stood for a moment and looked, but said not a word to the men. They gazed at him but evidently did not know him. How should they know him, – him, who was so seldom there, and who when there never showed himself about the place? Then he went farther afield from the house and came across more and more men. A great ha-ha fence
⁴⁶
had been made, enclosing on three sides a large flat and turfed parallelogram
of ground, taken out of the park and open at one end to the gardens, containing, as he thought, about an acre. ‘What are you doing this for?’ he said to one of the labourers. The man stared at him, and at first seemed hardly
inclined to make him an answer. ‘It be for the quality to shoot their bows and harrows,’ he said at last, as he continued the easy task of patting with his spade the completed
work. He evidently regarded this stranger as an intruder who was not entitled to ask questions, even if he were permitted to wander about the grounds.

From one place he went on to another, and found changes, and new erections, and some device for throwing away money everywhere. It angered him to think that there was so little of simplicity left in the world that a man could not entertain his
friends without such a fuss as this. His mind applied itself frequently to the consideration of the money, not that he grudged the loss of it, but the spending of it in such a cause. And then perhaps there occurred to him an idea that all this should not have been done without a word of consent from himself. Had she come to him with some scheme for changing everything about the place, making him think
that the alterations were a matter of taste or of mere personal pleasure, he would probably have given his assent at once, thinking nothing of the money. But all this was sheer display. Then he walked up and saw the flag waving over the Castle, indicating that he, the Lord Lieutenant of the County, was present there on his own soil. That was right. That was as it should be, because the flag was
waving in compliance with an acknowledged ordinance. Of all that properly belonged to his rank and station he could be very proud, and would allow no diminution of that outward respect to which they were entitled. Were they to be trenched on by his fault in his person, the rights of others to their enjoyment would be endangered, and the benefits accruing to his country from established marks of
reverence would be imperilled. But here was an assumed and preposterous grandeur that was as much within the reach of some rich swindler or of some prosperous haberdasher as of himself, – having, too, a look of raw newness about it which was very distasteful to him. And then, too, he knew that nothing of all this would have been done unless he had become Prime Minister. Why, on earth, should a man’s
grounds be knocked about because he becomes Prime Minister? He walked on arguing this within his own bosom, till he had worked himself almost up to anger. It was clear that he must henceforth take things more into his own hands, or he would be made to be absurd before the world. Indifference he knew he could bear. Harsh criticism he
thought he could endure. But to ridicule he was aware that he
was pervious. Suppose the papers were to say of him that he built a new conservatory and made an archery ground for the sake of maintaining the Coalition!