The Palliser Novels

by Anthony Trollope

  “I have been quite contented,” said Lord Fawn; — “more than contented.”

  Phineas felt that he ought to give some special reason to Miss Effingham to account for his efforts to reach her, but yet he had nothing special to say. Had Lord Fawn not been there, he would immediately have told her that he was waiting for an answer to the question he had asked her in Saulsby Park, but he could hardly do this in presence of the noble Under-Secretary of State. She received him with her pleasant genial smile, looking exactly as she had looked when he had parted from her on the morning after their ride. She did not show any sign of anger, or even of indifference at his approach. But still it was almost necessary that he should account for his search of her. “I have so longed to hear from you how you got on at Loughlinter,” he said.

  “Yes, — yes; and I will tell you something of it some day, perhaps. Why do you not come to Lady Baldock’s?”

  “I did not even know that Lady Baldock was in town.”

  “You ought to have known. Of course she is in town. Where did you suppose I was living? Lord Fawn was there yesterday, and can tell you that my aunt is quite blooming.”

  “Lady Baldock is blooming,” said Lord Fawn; “certainly blooming; — that is, if evergreens may be said to bloom.”

  “Evergreens do bloom, as well as spring plants, Lord Fawn. You come and see her, Mr. Finn; — only you must bring a little money with you for the Female Protestant Unmarried Women’s Emigration Society. That is my aunt’s present hobby, as Lord Fawn knows to his cost.”

  “I wish I may never spend half-a-sovereign worse.”

  “But it is a perilous affair for me, as my aunt wants me to go out as a sort of leading Protestant unmarried female emigrant pioneer myself.”

  “You don’t mean that,” said Lord Fawn, with much anxiety.

  “Of course you’ll go,” said Phineas. “I should, if I were you.”

  “I am in doubt,” said Violet.

  “It is such a grand prospect,” said he. “Such an opening in life. So much excitement, you know; and such a useful career.”

  “As if there were not plenty of opening here for Miss Effingham,” said Lord Fawn, “and plenty of excitement.”

  “Do you think there is?” said Violet. “You are much more civil than Mr. Finn, I must say.” Then Phineas began to hope that he need not be afraid of Lord Fawn. “What a happy man you were at dinner!” continued Violet, addressing herself to Phineas.

  “I thought Lord Fawn was the happy man.”

  “You had Madame Max Goesler all to yourself for nearly two hours, and I suppose there was not a creature in the room who did not envy you. I don’t doubt that ever so much interest was made with Lady Glencora as to taking Madame Max down to dinner. Lord Fawn, I know, intrigued.”

  “Miss Effingham, really I must — contradict you.”

  “And Barrington Erle begged for it as a particular favour. The Duke, with a sigh, owned that it was impossible, because of his cumbrous rank; and Mr. Gresham, when it was offered to him, declared that he was fatigued with the business of the House, and not up to the occasion. How much did she say to you; and what did she talk about?”

  “The ballot chiefly, — that, and manhood suffrage.”

  “Ah! she said something more than that, I am sure. Madame Max Goesler never lets any man go without entrancing him. If you have anything near your heart, Mr. Finn, Madame Max Goesler touched it, I am sure.” Now Phineas had two things near his heart, — political promotion and Violet Effingham, — and Madame Max Goesler had managed to touch them both. She had asked him respecting his journey to Blankenberg, and had touched him very nearly in reference to Miss Effingham. “You know Madame Max Goesler, of course?” said Violet to Lord Fawn.

  “Oh yes, I know the lady; — that is, as well as other people do. No one, I take it, knows much of her; and it seems to me that the world is becoming tired of her. A mystery is good for nothing if it remains always a mystery.”

  “And it is good for nothing at all when it is found out,” said Violet.

  “And therefore it is that Madame Max Goesler is a bore,” said Lord Fawn.

  “You did not find her a bore?” said Violet. Then Phineas, choosing to oppose Lord Fawn as well as he could on that matter, as on every other, declared that he had found Madame Max Goesler most delightful. “And beautiful, — is she not?” said Violet.

  “Beautiful!” exclaimed Lord Fawn.

  “I think her very beautiful,” said Phineas.

  “So do I,” said Violet. “And she is a dear ally of mine. We were a week together last winter, and swore an undying friendship. She told me ever so much about Mr. Goesler.”

  “But she told you nothing of her second husband?” said Lord Fawn.

  “Now that you have run into scandal, I shall have done,” said Violet.

  Half an hour after this, when Phineas was preparing to fight his way out of the house, he was again close to Madame Max Goesler. He had not found a single moment in which to ask Violet for an answer to his old question, and was retiring from the field discomfited, but not dispirited. Lord Fawn, he thought, was not a serious obstacle in his way. Lady Laura had told him that there was no hope for him; but then Lady Laura’s mind on that subject was, he thought, prejudiced. Violet Effingham certainly knew what were his wishes, and knowing them, smiled on him and was gracious to him. Would she do so if his pretensions were thoroughly objectionable to her?

  “I saw that you were successful this evening,” said Madame Max Goesler to him.

  “I was not aware of any success.”

  “I call it great success to be able to make your way where you will through such a crowd as there is here. You seem to me to be so stout a cavalier that I shall ask you to find my servant, and bid him get my carriage. Will you mind?” Phineas, of course, declared that he would be delighted. “He is a German, and not in livery. But if somebody will call out, he will hear. He is very sharp, and much more attentive than your English footmen. An Englishman hardly ever makes a good servant.”

  “Is that a compliment to us Britons?”

  “No, certainly not. If a man is a servant, he should be clever enough to be a good one.” Phineas had now given the order for the carriage, and, having returned, was standing with Madame Max Goesler in the cloak-room. “After all, we are surely the most awkward people in the world,” she said. “You know Lord Fawn, who was talking to Miss Effingham just now. You should have heard him trying to pay me a compliment before dinner. It was like a donkey walking a minuet, and yet they say he is a clever man and can make speeches.” Could it be possible that Madame Max Goesler’s ears were so sharp that she had heard the things which Lord Fawn had said of her?

  “He is a well-informed man,” said Phineas.

  “For a lord, you mean,” said Madame Max Goesler. “But he is an oaf, is he not? And yet they say he is to marry that girl.”

  “I do not think he will,” said Phineas, stoutly.

  “I hope not, with all my heart; and I hope that somebody else may, — unless somebody else should change his mind. Thank you; I am so much obliged to you. Mind you come and call on me, — 193, Park Lane. I dare say you know the little cottage.” Then he put Madame Max Goesler into her carriage, and walked away to his club.

  CHAPTER XLII

  Lady Baldock Does Not Send a Card to Phineas Finn

  Lady Baldock’s house in Berkeley Square was very stately, — a large house with five front windows in a row, and a big door, and a huge square hall, and a fat porter in a round-topped chair; — but it was dingy and dull, and could not have been painted for the last ten years, or furnished for the last twenty. Nevertheless, Lady Baldock had “evenings,” and people went to them, — though not such a crowd of people as would go to the evenings of Lady Glencora. Now Mr. Phineas Finn had not been asked to the evenings of Lady Baldock for the present season, and the reason was after this wise.

  “Yes, Mr. Finn,” Lady Baldock had said to her daughter, who, early in the spring
, was preparing the cards. “You may send one to Mr. Finn, certainly.”

  “I don’t know that he is very nice,” said Augusta Boreham, whose eyes at Saulsby had been sharper perhaps than her mother’s, and who had her suspicions.

  But Lady Baldock did not like interference from her daughter. “Mr. Finn, certainly,” she continued. “They tell me that he is a very rising young man, and he sits for Lord Brentford’s borough. Of course he is a Radical, but we cannot help that. All the rising young men are Radicals now. I thought him very civil at Saulsby.”

  “But, mamma — “

  “Well!”

  “Don’t you think that he is a little free with Violet?”

  “What on earth do you mean, Augusta?”

  “Have you not fancied that he is — fond of her?”

  “Good gracious, no!”

  “I think he is. And I have sometimes fancied that she is fond of him, too.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it, Augusta, — not a word. I should have seen it if it was so. I am very sharp in seeing such things. They never escape me. Even Violet would not be such a fool as that. Send him a card, and if he comes I shall soon see.” Miss Boreham quite understood her mother, though she could never master her, — and the card was prepared. Miss Boreham could never master her mother by her own efforts; but it was, I think, by a little intrigue on her part that Lady Baldock was mastered, and, indeed, altogether cowed, in reference to our hero, and that this victory was gained on that very afternoon in time to prevent the sending of the card.

  When the mother and daughter were at tea, before dinner, Lord Baldock came into the room, and, after having been patted and petted and praised by his mother, he took up all the cards out of a china bowl and ran his eyes over them. “Lord Fawn!” he said, “the greatest ass in all London! Lady Hartletop! you know she won’t come.” “I don’t see why she shouldn’t come,” said Lady Baldock; — “a mere country clergyman’s daughter!” “Julius Cæsar Conway; — a great friend of mine, and therefore he always blackballs my other friends at the club. Lord Chiltern; I thought you were at daggers drawn with Chiltern.” “They say he is going to be reconciled to his father, Gustavus, and I do it for Lord Brentford’s sake. And he won’t come, so it does not signify. And I do believe that Violet has really refused him.” “You are quite right about his not coming,” said Lord Baldock, continuing to read the cards; “Chiltern certainly won’t come. Count Sparrowsky; — I wonder what you know about Sparrowsky that you should ask him here.” “He is asked about, Gustavus; he is indeed,” pleaded Lady Baldock. “I believe that Sparrowsky is a penniless adventurer. Mr. Monk; well, he is a Cabinet Minister. Sir Gregory Greeswing; you mix your people nicely at any rate. Sir Gregory Greeswing is the most old-fashioned Tory in England.” “Of course we are not political, Gustavus.” “Phineas Finn. They come alternately, — one and one.

  “Mr. Finn is asked everywhere, Gustavus.”

  “I don’t doubt it. They say he is a very good sort of fellow. They say also that Violet has found that out as well as other people.”

  “What do you mean, Gustavus?”

  “I mean that everybody is saying that this Phineas Finn is going to set himself up in the world by marrying your niece. He is quite right to try it on, if he has a chance.”

  “I don’t think he would be right at all,” said Lady Baldock, with much energy. “I think he would be wrong, — shamefully wrong. They say he is the son of an Irish doctor, and that he hasn’t a shilling in the world.”

  “That is just why he would be right. What is such a man to do, but to marry money? He’s a deuced good-looking fellow, too, and will be sure to do it.”

  “He should work for his money in the city, then, or somewhere there. But I don’t believe it, Gustavus; I don’t, indeed.”

  “Very well. I only tell you what I hear. The fact is that he and Chiltern have already quarrelled about her. If I were to tell you that they have been over to Holland together and fought a duel about her, you wouldn’t believe that.”

  “Fought a duel about Violet! People don’t fight duels now, and I should not believe it.”

  “Very well. Then send your card to Mr. Finn.” And, so saying, Lord Baldock left the room.

  Lady Baldock sat in silence for some time toasting her toes at the fire, and Augusta Boreham sat by, waiting for orders. She felt pretty nearly sure that new orders would be given if she did not herself interfere. “You had better put by that card for the present, my dear,” said Lady Baldock at last. “I will make inquiries. I don’t believe a word of what Gustavus has said. I don’t think that even Violet is such a fool as that. But if rash and ill-natured people have spoken of it, it may be as well to be careful.”

  “It is always well to be careful; — is it not, mamma?”

  “Not but what I think it very improper that these things should be said about a young woman; and as for the story of the duel, I don’t believe a word of it. It is absurd. I dare say that Gustavus invented it at the moment, just to amuse himself.”

  The card of course was not sent, and Lady Baldock at any rate put so much faith in her son’s story as to make her feel it to be her duty to interrogate her niece on the subject. Lady Baldock at this period of her life was certainly not free from fear of Violet Effingham. In the numerous encounters which took place between them, the aunt seldom gained that amount of victory which would have completely satisfied her spirit. She longed to be dominant over her niece as she was dominant over her daughter; and when she found that she missed such supremacy, she longed to tell Violet to depart from out her borders, and be no longer niece of hers. But had she ever done so, Violet would have gone at the instant, and then terrible things would have followed. There is a satisfaction in turning out of doors a nephew or niece who is pecuniarily dependent, but when the youthful relative is richly endowed, the satisfaction is much diminished. It is the duty of a guardian, no doubt, to look after the ward; but if this cannot be done, the ward’s money should at least be held with as close a fist as possible. But Lady Baldock, though she knew that she would be sorely wounded, poked about on her old body with the sharp lances of disobedience, and struck with the cruel swords of satire, if she took upon herself to scold or even to question Violet, nevertheless would not abandon the pleasure of lecturing and teaching. “It is my duty,” she would say to herself, “and though it be taken in a bad spirit, I will always perform my duty.” So she performed her duty, and asked Violet Effingham some few questions respecting Phineas Finn. “My dear,” she said, “do you remember meeting a Mr. Finn at Saulsby?”

  “A Mr. Finn, aunt! Why, he is a particular friend of mine. Of course I do, and he was at Saulsby. I have met him there more than once. Don’t you remember that we were riding about together?”

  “I remember that he was there, certainly; but I did not know that he was a special — friend.”

  “Most especial, aunt. A 1, I may say; — among young men, I mean.”

  Lady Baldock was certainly the most indiscreet of old women in such a matter as this, and Violet the most provoking of young ladies. Lady Baldock, believing that there was something to fear, — as, indeed, there was, much to fear, — should have been content to destroy the card, and to keep the young lady away from the young gentleman, if such keeping away was possible to her. But Miss Effingham was certainly very wrong to speak of any young man as being A 1. Fond as I am of Miss Effingham, I cannot justify her, and must acknowledge that she used the most offensive phrase she could find, on purpose to annoy her aunt.

  “Violet,” said Lady Baldock, bridling up, “I never heard such a word before from the lips of a young lady.”

  “Not as A 1? I thought it simply meant very good.”

  “A 1 is a nobleman,” said Lady Baldock.

  “No, aunt; — A 1 is a ship, — a ship that is very good,” said Violet.

  “And do you mean to say that Mr. Finn is, — is, — is, — very good?”

  “Yes, indeed. You ask Lord Brentford, an
d Mr. Kennedy. You know he saved poor Mr. Kennedy from being throttled in the streets.”

  “That has nothing to do with it. A policeman might have done that.”

  “Then he would have been A 1 of policemen, — though A 1 does not mean a policeman.”

  “He would have done his duty, and so perhaps did Mr. Finn.”

  “Of course he did, aunt. It couldn’t have been his duty to stand by and see Mr. Kennedy throttled. And he nearly killed one of the men, and took the other prisoner with his own hands. And he made a beautiful speech the other day. I read every word of it. I am so glad he’s a Liberal. I do like young men to be Liberals.” Now Lord Baldock was a Tory, as had been all the Lord Baldocks, — since the first who had been bought over from the Whigs in the time of George III at the cost of a barony.

  “You have nothing to do with politics, Violet.”

  “Why shouldn’t I have something to do with politics, aunt?”

  “And I must tell you that your name is being very unpleasantly mentioned in connection with that of this young man because of your indiscretion.”

  “What indiscretion?” Violet, as she made her demand for a more direct accusation, stood quite upright before her aunt, looking the old woman full in the face, — almost with her arms akimbo.

  “Calling him A 1, Violet.”

  “People have been talking about me and Mr. Finn, because I just now, at this very moment, called him A 1 to you! If you want to scold me about anything, aunt, do find out something less ridiculous than that.”

  “It was most improper language, — and if you used it to me, I am sure you would to others.”

  “To what others?”

  “To Mr. Finn, — and those sort of people.”

  “Call Mr. Finn A 1 to his face! Well, — upon my honour I don’t know why I should not. Lord Chiltern says he rides beautifully, and if we were talking about riding I might do so.”

  “You have no business to talk to Lord Chiltern about Mr. Finn at all.”

  “Have I not? I thought that perhaps the one sin might palliate the other. You know, aunt, no young lady, let her be ever so ill-disposed, can marry two objectionable young men, — at the same time.”