Before he sat down, Phineas made one allusion to that former scuttling of the ship, — an accusation as to which had been made against him so injuriously by Mr. Bonteen. He himself, he said, had been called impractical, and perhaps he might allude to a vote which he had given in that House when last he had the honour of sitting there, and on giving which he resigned the office which he had then held. He had the gratification of knowing that he had been so far practical as to have then foreseen the necessity of a measure which had since been passed. And he did not doubt that he would hereafter be found to have been equally practical in the view that he had expressed on the hustings at Tankerville, for he was convinced that before long the anomaly of which he had spoken would cease to exist under the influence of a Government that would really believe in the work it was doing.
There was no doubt as to the success of his speech. The vehemence with which his insolence was abused by one after another of those who spoke later from the other side was ample evidence of its success. But nothing occurred then or at the conclusion of the debate to make him think that he had won his way back to Elysium. During the whole evening he exchanged not a syllable with Mr. Gresham, — who indeed was not much given to converse with those around him in the House. Erle said a few good-natured words to him, and Mr. Monk praised him highly. But in reading the general barometer of the party as regarded himself, he did not find that the mercury went up. He was wretchedly anxious, and angry with himself for his own anxiety. He scorned to say a word that should sound like an entreaty; and yet he had placed his whole heart on a thing which seemed to be slipping from him for the want of asking. In a day or two it would be known whether the present Ministry would or would not go out. That they must be out of office before a month was over seemed to him the opinion of everybody. His fate, — and what a fate it was! — would then be absolutely in the hands of Mr. Gresham. Yet he could not speak a word of his hopes and fears even to Mr. Gresham. He had given up everything in the world with the view of getting into office; and now that the opportunity had come, — an opportunity which if allowed to slip could hardly return again in time to be of service to him, — the prize was to elude his grasp!
But yet he did not say a word to any one on the subject that was so near his heart, although in the course of the night he spoke to Lord Cantrip in the gallery of the House. He told his friend that a correspondence had taken place between himself and Mr. Bonteen, in which he thought that he had been ill-used, and as to which he was quite anxious to ask His Lordship’s advice. “I heard that you and he had been tilting at each other,” said Lord Cantrip, smiling.
“Have you seen the letters?”
“No; — but I was told of them by Lord Fawn, who has seen them.”
“I knew he would show them to every newsmonger about the clubs,” said Phineas angrily.
“You can’t quarrel with Bonteen for showing them to Fawn, if you intend to show them to me.”
“He may publish them at Charing Cross if he likes.”
“Exactly. I am sure that there will have been nothing in them prejudicial to you. What I mean is that if you think it necessary, with a view to your own character, to show them to me or to another friend, you cannot complain that he should do the same.”
An appointment was made at Lord Cantrip’s house for the next morning, and Phineas could but acknowledge to himself that the man’s manner to himself had been kind and constant. Nevertheless, the whole affair was going against him. Lord Cantrip had not said a word prejudicial to that wretch Bonteen; much less had he hinted at any future arrangements which would be comfortable to poor Phineas. They two, Lord Cantrip and Phineas, had at one period been on most intimate terms together; — had worked in the same office, and had thoroughly trusted each other. The elder of the two, — for Lord Cantrip was about ten years senior to Phineas, — had frequently expressed the most lively interest in the prospects of the other; and Phineas had felt that in any emergency he could tell his friend all his hopes and fears. But now he did not say a word of his position, nor did Lord Cantrip allude to it. They were to meet on the morrow in order that Lord Cantrip might read the correspondence; — but Phineas was sure that no word would be said about the Government.
At five o’clock in the morning the division took place, and the Government was beaten by a majority of 72. This was much higher than any man had expected. When the parties were marshalled in the opposite lobbies it was found that in the last moment the number of those Conservatives who dared to rebel against their Conservative leaders was swelled by the course which the debate had taken. There were certain men who could not endure to be twitted with having deserted the principles of their lives, when it was clear that nothing was to be gained by the party by such desertion.
CHAPTER XXXVII
The Conspiracy
On the morning following the great division Phineas was with his friend, Lord Cantrip, by eleven o’clock; and Lord Cantrip, when he had read the two letters in which were comprised the whole correspondence, made to our unhappy hero the following little speech. “I do not think that you can do anything. Indeed, I am sure that Mr. Monk is quite right. I don’t quite see what it is that you wish to do. Privately, — between our two selves, — I do not hesitate to say that Mr. Bonteen has intended to be ill-natured. I fancy that he is an ill-natured — or at any rate a jealous — man; and that he would be willing to run down a competitor in the race who had made his running after a fashion different from his own. Bonteen has been a useful man, — a very useful man; and the more so perhaps because he has not entertained any high political theory of his own. You have chosen to do so, — and undoubtedly when you and Monk left us, to our very great regret, you did scuttle the ship.”
“We had no intention of that kind.”
“Do not suppose that I blame you. That which was odious to the eyes of Mr. Bonteen was to my thinking high and honourable conduct. I have known the same thing done by members of a Government perhaps half-a-dozen times, and the men by whom it has been done have been the best and noblest of our modern statesmen. There has generally been a hard contest in the man’s breast between loyalty to his party and strong personal convictions, the result of which has been an inability on the part of the struggler to give even a silent support to a measure which he has disapproved. That inability is no doubt troublesome at the time to the colleagues of the seceder, and constitutes an offence hardly to be pardoned by such gentlemen as Mr. Bonteen.”
“For Mr. Bonteen personally I care nothing.”
“But of course you must endure the ill-effects of his influence, — be they what they may. When you seceded from our Government you looked for certain adverse consequences. If you did not, where was your self-sacrifice? That such men as Mr. Bonteen should feel that you had scuttled the ship, and be unable to forgive you for doing so, — that is exactly the evil which you knew you must face. You have to face it now, and surely you can do so without showing your teeth. Hereafter, when men more thoughtful than Mr. Bonteen shall have come to acknowledge the high principle by which your conduct has been governed, you will receive your reward. I suppose Mr. Daubeny must resign now.”
“Everybody says so.”
“I am by no means sure that he will. Any other Minister since Lord North’s time would have done so, with such a majority against him on a vital measure; but he is a man who delights in striking out some wonderful course for himself.”
“A prime minister so beaten surely can’t go on.”
“Not for long, one would think. And yet how are you to turn him out? It depends very much on a man’s power of endurance.”
“His colleagues will resign, I should think.”
“Probably; — and then he must go. I should say that that will be the way in which the matter will settle itself. Good morning, Finn; — and take my word for it, you had better not answer Mr. Bonteen’s letter.”
Not a word had fallen from Lord Cantrip’s friendly lips as to the probability of Phineas being invited
to join the future Government. An attempt had been made to console him with the hazy promise of some future reward, — which however was to consist rather of the good opinion of good men than of anything tangible and useful. But even this would never come to him. What would good men know of him and of his self-sacrifice when he should have been driven out of the world by poverty, and forced probably to go to some New Zealand or back Canadian settlement to look for his bread? How easy, thought Phineas, must be the sacrifices of rich men, who can stay their time, and wait in perfect security for their rewards! But for such a one as he, truth to a principle was political annihilation. Two or three years ago he had done what he knew to be a noble thing; — and now, because he had done that noble thing, he was to be regarded as unfit for that very employment for which he was peculiarly fitted. But Bonteen and Co. had not been his only enemies. His luck had been against him throughout. Mr. Quintus Slide, with his People’s Banner, and the story of that wretched affair in Judd Street, had been as strong against him probably as Mr. Bonteen’s ill-word. Then he thought of Lady Laura, and her love for him. His gratitude to Lady Laura was boundless. There was nothing he would not do for Lady Laura, — were it in his power to do anything. But no circumstance in his career had been so unfortunate for him as this affection. A wretched charge had been made against him which, though wholly untrue, was as it were so strangely connected with the truth, that slanderers might not improbably be able almost to substantiate their calumnies. She would be in London soon, and he must devote himself to her service. But every act of friendship that he might do for her would be used as proof of the accusation that had been made against him. As he thought of all this he was walking towards Park Lane in order that he might call upon Madame Goesler according to his promise. As he went up to the drawing-room he met old Mr. Maule coming down, and the two bowed to each other on the stairs. In the drawing-room, sitting with Madame Goesler, he found Mrs. Bonteen. Now Mrs. Bonteen was almost as odious to him as was her husband.
“Did you ever know anything more shameful, Mr. Finn,” said Mrs. Bonteen, “than the attack made upon Mr. Bonteen the night before last?” Phineas could see a smile on Madame Goesler’s face as the question was asked; — for she knew, and he knew that she knew, how great was the antipathy between him and the Bonteens.
“The attack was upon Mr. Gresham, I thought,” said Phineas.
“Oh, yes; nominally. But of course everybody knows what was meant. Upon my word there is twice more jealousy among men than among women. Is there not, Madame Goesler?”
“I don’t think any man could be more jealous than I am myself,” said Madame Goesler.
“Then you’re fit to be a member of a Government, that’s all. I don’t suppose that there is a man in England has worked harder for his party than Mr. Bonteen.”
“I don’t think there is,” said Phineas.
“Or made himself more useful in Parliament. As for work, only that his constitution is so strong, he would have killed himself.”
“He should take Thorley’s mixture, — twice a day,” said Madame Goesler.
“Take! — he never has time to take anything. He breakfasts in his dressing-room, carries his lunch in his pocket, and dines with the division bell ringing him up between his fish and his mutton chop. Now he has got their decimal coinage in hand, and has not a moment to himself, even on Sundays!”
“He’ll be sure to go to Heaven for it, — that’s one comfort.”
“And because they are absolutely obliged to make him Chancellor of the Exchequer, — just as if he had not earned it, — everybody is so jealous that they are ready to tear him to pieces!”
“Who is everybody?” asked Phineas.
“Oh! I know. It wasn’t only Sir Orlando Drought. Who told Sir Orlando? Never mind, Mr. Finn.”
“I don’t in the least, Mrs. Bonteen.”
“I should have thought you would have been so triumphant,” said Madame Goesler.
“Not in the least, Madame Goesler. Why should I be triumphant? Of course the position is very high, — very high indeed. But it’s no more than what I have always expected. If a man give up his life to a pursuit he ought to succeed. As for ambition, I have less of it than any woman. Only I do hate jealousy, Mr. Finn.” Then Mrs. Bonteen took her leave, kissing her dear friend, Madame Goesler, and simply bowing to Phineas.
“What a detestable woman!” said Phineas.
“I know of old that you don’t love her.”
“I don’t believe that you love her a bit better than I do, and yet you kiss her.”
“Hardly that, Mr. Finn. There has come up a fashion for ladies to pretend to be very loving, and so they put their faces together. Two hundred years ago ladies and gentlemen did the same thing with just as little regard for each other. Fashions change, you know.”
“That was a change for the worse, certainly, Madame Goesler.”
“It wasn’t of my doing. So you’ve had a great victory.”
“Yes; — greater than we expected.”
“According to Mrs. Bonteen, the chief result to the country will be that the taxes will be so very safe in her husband’s hands! I am sure she believes that all Parliament has been at work in order that he might be made a Cabinet Minister. I rather like her for it.”
“I don’t like her, or her husband.”
“I do like a woman that can thoroughly enjoy her husband’s success. When she is talking of his carrying about his food in his pocket she is completely happy. I don’t think Lady Glencora ever cared in the least about her husband being Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
“Because it added nothing to her own standing.”
“That’s very ill-natured, Mr. Finn; and I find that you are becoming generally ill-natured. You used to be the best-humoured of men.”
“I hadn’t so much to try my temper as I have now, and then you must remember, Madame Goesler, that I regard these people as being especially my enemies.”
“Lady Glencora was never your enemy.”
“Nor my friend, — especially.”
“Then you wrong her. If I tell you something you must be discreet.”
“Am I not always discreet?”
“She does not love Mr. Bonteen. She has had too much of him at Matching. And as for his wife, she is quite as unwilling to be kissed by her as you can be. Her Grace is determined to fight your battle for you.”
“I want her to do nothing of the kind, Madame Goesler.”
“You will know nothing about it. We have put our heads to work, and Mr. Palliser, — that is, the new Duke, — is to be made to tell Mr. Gresham that you are to have a place. It is no good you being angry, for the thing is done. If you have enemies behind your back, you must have friends behind your back also. Lady Cantrip is to do the same thing.”
“For Heaven’s sake, not.”
“It’s all arranged. You’ll be called the ladies’ pet, but you mustn’t mind that. Lady Laura will be here before it’s arranged, and she will get hold of Mr. Erle.”
“You are laughing at me, I know.”
“Let them laugh that win. We thought of besieging Lord Fawn through Lady Chiltern, but we are not sure that anybody cares for Lord Fawn. The man we specially want now is the other Duke. We’re afraid of attacking him through the Duchess because we think that he is inhumanly indifferent to anything that his wife says to him.”
“If that kind of thing is done I shall not accept place even if it is offered me.”
“Why not? Are you going to let a man like Mr. Bonteen bowl you over? Did you ever know Lady Glen fail in anything that she attempted? She is preparing a secret with the express object of making Mr. Ratler her confidant. Lord Mount Thistle is her slave, but then I fear Lord Mount Thistle is not of much use. She’ll do anything and everything, — except flatter Mr. Bonteen.”
“Heaven forbid that anybody should do that for my sake.”
“The truth is that he made himself so disagreeable at Matching that Lady Glen is broken-hearted a
t finding that he is to seem to owe his promotion to her husband’s favour. Now you know all about it.”
“You have been very wrong to tell me.”
“Perhaps I have, Mr. Finn. But I thought it better that you should know that you have friends at work for you. We believe, — or rather, the Duchess believes, — that falsehoods have been used which are as disparaging to Lady Laura Kennedy as they are injurious to you, and she is determined to put it right. Some one has told Mr. Gresham that you have been the means of breaking the hearts both of Lord Brentford and Mr. Kennedy, — two members of the late Cabinet, — and he must be made to understand that this is untrue. If only for Lady Laura’s sake you must submit.”
“Lord Brentford and I are the best friends in the world.”
“And Mr. Kennedy is a madman, — absolutely in custody of his friends, as everybody knows; and yet the story has been made to work.”
“And you do not feel that all this is derogatory to me?”
Madame Goesler was silent for a moment, and then she answered boldly, “Not a whit. Why should it be derogatory? It is not done with the object of obtaining an improper appointment on behalf of an unimportant man. When falsehoods of that kind are told you can’t meet them in a straightforward way. I suppose I know with fair accuracy the sort of connection there has been between you and Lady Laura.” Phineas very much doubted whether she had any such knowledge; but he said nothing, though the lady paused a few moments for reply. “You can’t go and tell Mr. Gresham all that; nor can any friend do so on your behalf. It would be absurd.”
“Most absurd.”
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