The Palliser Novels

by Anthony Trollope

  “And yet it is essential to your interests that he should know it. When your enemies are undermining you, you must countermine or you’ll be blown up.”

  “I’d rather fight above ground.”

  “That’s all very well, but your enemies won’t stay above ground. Is that newspaper man above ground? And for a little job of clever mining, believe me, that there is not a better engineer going than Lady Glen; — not but what I’ve known her to be very nearly ‘hoist with her own petard,’” — added Madame Goesler, as she remembered a certain circumstance in their joint lives.

  All that Madame Goesler said was true. A conspiracy had been formed, in the first place at the instance of Madame Goesler, but altogether by the influence of the young Duchess, for forcing upon the future Premier the necessity of admitting Phineas Finn into his Government. On the Wednesday following the conclusion of the debate, — the day on the morning of which the division was to take place, — there was no House. On the Thursday, the last day on which the House was to sit before the Easter holidays, Mr. Daubeny announced his intention of postponing the declaration of his intentions till after the adjournment. The House would meet, he said, on that day week, and then he would make his official statement. This communication he made very curtly, and in a manner that was thought by some to be almost insolent to the House. It was known that he had been grievously disappointed by the result of the debate, — not probably having expected a majority since his adversary’s strategy had been declared, but always hoping that the deserters from his own standard would be very few. The deserters had been very many, and Mr. Daubeny was majestic in his wrath.

  Nothing, however, could be done till after Easter. The Ratlers of the Liberal party were very angry at the delay, declaring that it would have been much to the advantage of the country at large that the vacation week should have been used for constructing a Liberal Cabinet. This work of construction always takes time, and delays the business of the country. No one can have known better than did Mr. Daubeny how great was the injury of delay, and how advantageously the short holiday might have been used. With a majority of seventy-two against him, there could be no reason why he should not have at once resigned, and advised the Queen to send for Mr. Gresham. Nothing could be worse than his conduct. So said the Liberals, thirsting for office. Mr. Gresham himself did not open his mouth when the announcement was made; — nor did any man, marked for future office, rise to denounce the beaten statesman. But one or two independent Members expressed their great regret at the unnecessary delay which was to take place before they were informed who was to be the Minister of the Crown. But Mr. Daubeny, as soon as he had made his statement, stalked out of the House, and no reply whatever was made to the independent Members. Some few sublime and hot-headed gentlemen muttered the word “impeachment.” Others, who were more practical and less dignified, suggested that the Prime Minister “ought to have his head punched.”

  It thus happened that all the world went out of town that week, — so that the Duchess of Omnium was down at Matching when Phineas called at the Duke’s house in Carlton Terrace on Friday. With what object he had called he hardly knew himself; but he thought that he intended to assure the Duchess that he was not a candidate for office, and that he must deprecate her interference. Luckily, — or unluckily, — he did not see her, and he felt that it would be impossible to convey his wishes in a letter. The whole subject was one which would have defied him to find words sufficiently discreet for his object.

  The Duke and Duchess of St. Bungay were at Matching for the Easter, — as also was Barrington Erle, and also that dreadful Mr. Bonteen, from whose presence the poor Duchess of Omnium could in these days never altogether deliver herself. “Duke,” she said, “you know Mr. Finn?”

  “Certainly. It was not very long ago that I was talking to him.”

  “He used to be in office, you remember.”

  “Oh yes; — and a very good beginner he was. Is he a friend of Your Grace’s?”

  “A great friend. I’ll tell you what I want you to do. You must have some place found for him.”

  “My dear Duchess, I never interfere.”

  “Why, Duke, you’ve made more Cabinets than any man living.”

  “I fear, indeed, that I have been at the construction of more Governments than most men. It’s forty years ago since Lord Melbourne first did me the honour of consulting me. When asked for advice, my dear, I have very often given it. It has occasionally been my duty to say that I could not myself give my slender assistance to a Ministry unless I were supported by the presence of this or that political friend. But never in my life have I asked for an appointment as a personal favour; and I am sure you won’t be angry with me if I say that I cannot begin to do so now.”

  “But Mr. Finn ought to be there. He did so well before.”

  “If so, let us presume that he will be there. I can only say, from what little I know of him, that I shall be happy to see him in any office to which the future Prime Minister may consider it to be his duty to appoint him.” “To think,” said the Duchess of Omnium afterwards to her friend Madame Goesler, — “to think that I should have had that stupid old woman a week in the house, and all for nothing!”

  “Upon my word, Duchess,” said Barrington Erle, “I don’t know why it is, but Gresham seems to have taken a dislike to him.”

  “It’s Bonteen’s doing.”

  “Very probably.”

  “Surely you can get the better of that?”

  “I look upon Phineas Finn, Duchess, almost as a child of my own. He has come back to Parliament altogether at my instigation.”

  “Then you ought to help him.”

  “And so I would if I could. Remember I am not the man I used to be when dear old Mr. Mildmay reigned. The truth is, I never interfere now unless I’m asked.”

  “I believe that every one of you is afraid of Mr. Gresham.”

  “Perhaps we are.”

  “I’ll tell you what. If he’s passed over I’ll make such a row that some of you shall hear it.”

  “How fond all you women are of Phineas Finn.”

  “I don’t care that for him,” said the Duchess, snapping her fingers — “more than I do, that is, for any other mere acquaintance. The man is very well, as most men are.”

  “Not all.”

  “No, not all. Some are as little and jealous as a girl in her tenth season. He is a decently good fellow, and he is to be thrown over, because — “

  “Because of what?”

  “I don’t choose to name any one. You ought to know all about it, and I do not doubt but you do. Lady Laura Kennedy is your own cousin.”

  “There is not a spark of truth in all that.”

  “Of course there is not; and yet he is to be punished. I know very well, Mr. Erle, that if you choose to put your shoulder to the wheel you can manage it; and I shall expect to have it managed.”

  “Plantagenet,” she said the next day to her husband, “I want you to do something for me.”

  “To do something! What am I to do? It’s very seldom you want anything in my line.”

  “This isn’t in your line at all, and yet I want you to do it.”

  “Ten to one it’s beyond my means.”

  “No, it isn’t. I know you can if you like. I suppose you are all sure to be in office within ten days or a fortnight?”

  “I can’t say, my dear. I have promised Mr. Gresham to be of use to him if I can.”

  “Everybody knows all that. You’re going to be Privy Seal, and to work just the same as ever at those horrible two farthings.”

  “And what is it you want, Glencora?”

  “I want you to say that you won’t take any office unless you are allowed to bring in one or two friends with you.”

  “Why should I do that? I shall not doubt any Cabinet chosen by Mr. Gresham.”

  “I’m not speaking of the Cabinet; I allude to men in lower offices, lords, and Under-Secretaries, and Vice-people. You know what I m
ean.”

  “I never interfere.”

  “But you must. Other men do continually. It’s quite a common thing for a man to insist that one or two others should come in with him.”

  “Yes. If a man feels that he cannot sustain his own position without support, he declines to join the Government without it. But that isn’t my case. The friends who are necessary to me in the Cabinet are the very men who will certainly be there. I would join no Government without the Duke; but — “

  “Oh, the Duke — the Duke! I hate dukes — and duchesses too. I’m not talking about a duke. I want you to oblige me by making a point with Mr. Gresham that Mr. Finn shall have an office.”

  “Mr. Finn!”

  “Yes, Mr. Finn. I’ll explain it all if you wish it.”

  “My dear Glencora, I never interfere.”

  “Who does interfere? Everybody says the same. Somebody interferes, I suppose. Mr. Gresham can’t know everybody so well as to be able to fit all the pegs into all the holes without saying a word to anybody.”

  “He would probably speak to Mr. Bonteen.”

  “Then he would speak to a very disagreeable man, and one I’m as sick of as I ever was of any man I ever knew. If you can’t manage this for me, Plantagenet, I shall take it very ill. It’s a little thing, and I’m sure you could have it done. I don’t very often trouble you by asking for anything.”

  The Duke in his quiet way was an affectionate man, and an indulgent husband. On the following morning he was closeted with Mr. Bonteen, two private Secretaries, and a leading clerk from the Treasury for four hours, during which they were endeavouring to ascertain whether the commercial world of Great Britain would be ruined or enriched if twelve pennies were declared to contain fifty farthings. The discussion had been grievously burdensome to the minds of the Duke’s assistants in it, but he himself had remembered his wife through it all. “By the way,” he said, whispering into Mr. Bonteen’s private ear as he led that gentleman away to lunch, “if we do come in — “

  “Oh, we must come in.”

  “If we do, I suppose something will be done for that Mr. Finn. He spoke well the other night.”

  Mr. Bonteen’s face became very long. “He helped to upset the coach when he was with us before.”

  “I don’t think that that is much against him.”

  “Is he — a personal friend of Your Grace’s?”

  “No — not particularly. I never care about such things for myself; but Lady Glencora — “

  “I think the Duchess can hardly know what has been his conduct to poor Kennedy. There was a most disreputable row at a public-house in London, and I am told that he behaved — very badly.”

  “I never heard a word about it,” said the Duke.

  “I’ll tell you just the truth,” said Mr. Bonteen. “I’ve been asked about him, and I’ve been obliged to say that he would weaken any Government that would give him office.”

  “Oh, indeed!”

  That evening the Duke told the Duchess nearly all that he had heard, and the Duchess swore that she wasn’t going to be beaten by Mr. Bonteen.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  Once Again in Portman Square

  On the Wednesday in Easter week Lord Brentford and Lady Laura Kennedy reached Portman Square from Dresden, and Phineas, who had remained in town, was summoned thither by a note written at Dover. “We arrived here to-day, and shall be in town to-morrow afternoon, between four and five. Papa wants to see you especially. Can you manage to be with us in the Square at about eight? I know it will be inconvenient, but you will put up with inconvenience. I don’t like to keep Papa up late; and if he is tired he won’t speak to you as he would if you came early. — L. K.” Phineas was engaged to dine with Lord Cantrip; but he wrote to excuse himself, — telling the simple truth. He had been asked to see Lord Brentford on business, and must obey the summons.

  He was shown into a sitting-room on the ground floor, which he had always known as the Earl’s own room, and there he found Lord Brentford alone. The last time he had been there he had come to plead with the Earl on behalf of Lord Chiltern, and the Earl had then been a stern self-willed man, vigorous from a sense of power, and very able to maintain and to express his own feelings. Now he was a broken-down old man, — whose mind had been, as it were, unbooted and put into moral slippers for the remainder of its term of existence upon earth. He half shuffled up out of his chair as Phineas came up to him, and spoke as though every calamity in the world were oppressing him. “Such a passage! Oh, very bad, indeed! I thought it would have been the death of me. Laura thought it better to come on.” The fact, however, had been that the Earl had so many objections to staying at Calais, that his daughter had felt herself obliged to yield to him.

  “You must be glad at any rate to have got home,” said Phineas.

  “Home! I don’t know what you call home. I don’t suppose I shall ever feel any place to be home again.”

  “You’ll go to Saulsby; — will you not?”

  “How can I tell? If Chiltern would have kept the house up, of course I should have gone there. But he never would do anything like anybody else. Violet wants me to go to that place they’ve got there, but I shan’t do that.”

  “It’s a comfortable house.”

  “I hate horses and dogs, and I won’t go.”

  There was nothing more to be said on that point. “I hope Lady Laura is well.”

  “No, she’s not. How should she be well? She’s anything but well. She’ll be in directly, but she thought I ought to see you first. I suppose this wretched man is really mad.”

  “I am told so.”

  “He never was anything else since I knew him. What are we to do now? Forster says it won’t look well to ask for a separation only because he’s insane. He tried to shoot you?”

  “And very nearly succeeded.”

  “Forster says that if we do anything, all that must come out.”

  “There need not be the slightest hesitation as far as I am concerned, Lord Brentford.”

  “You know he keeps all her money.”

  “At present I suppose he couldn’t give it up.”

  “Why not? Why shouldn’t he give it up? God bless my soul! Forty thousand pounds and all for nothing. When he married he declared that he didn’t care about it! Money was nothing to him! So she lent it to Chiltern.”

  “I remember.”

  “But they hadn’t been together a year before he asked for it. Now there it is; — and if she were to die to-morrow it would be lost to the family. Something must be done, you know. I can’t let her money go in that way.”

  “You’ll do what Mr. Forster suggests, no doubt.”

  “But he won’t suggest anything. They never do. He doesn’t care what becomes of the money. It never ought to have been given up as it was.”

  “It was settled, I suppose.”

  “Yes; — if there were children. And it will come back to her if he dies first. But mad people never do die. That’s a well-known fact. They’ve nothing to trouble them, and they live for ever. It’ll all go to some cousin of his that nobody ever saw.”

  “Not as long as Lady Laura lives.”

  “But she does not get a penny of the income; — not a penny. There never was anything so cruel. He has published all manner of accusations against her.”

  “Nobody believes a word of that, my lord.”

  “And then when she is dragged forward by the necessity of vindicating her character, he goes mad and keeps all her money! There never was anything so cruel since the world began.”

  This continued for half-an-hour, and then Lady Laura came in. Nothing had come, or could have come, from the consultation with the Earl. Had it gone on for another hour, he would simply have continued to grumble, and have persevered in insisting upon the hardships he endured. Lady Laura was in black, and looked sad, and old, and careworn; but she did not seem to be ill. Phineas could not but think at the moment how entirely her youth had passed away from her. She ca
me and sat close by him, and began at once to speak of the late debate. “Of course they’ll go out,” she said.

  “I presume they will.”

  “And our party will come in.”

  “Oh, yes; — Mr. Gresham, and the two dukes, and Lord Cantrip, — with Legge Wilson, Sir Harry Coldfoot, and the rest of them.”

  “And you?”

  Phineas smiled, and tried to smile pleasantly, as he answered, “I don’t know that they’ll put themselves out by doing very much for me.”

  “They’ll do something.”

  “I fancy not. Indeed, Lady Laura, to tell the truth at once, I know that they don’t mean to offer me anything.”

  “After making you give up your place in Ireland?”

  “They didn’t make me give it up. I should never dream of using such an argument to any one. Of course I had to judge for myself. There is nothing to be said about it; — only it is so.” As he told her this he strove to look light-hearted, and so to speak that she should not see the depth of his disappointment; — but he failed altogether. She knew him too well not to read his whole heart in the matter.

  “Who has said it?” she asked.

  “Nobody says things of that kind, and yet one knows.”

  “And why is it?”

  “How can I say? There are various reasons, — and, perhaps, very good reasons. What I did before makes men think that they can’t depend on me. At any rate it is so.”

  “Shall you not speak to Mr. Gresham?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “What do you say, Papa?”

  “How can I understand it, my dear? There used to be a kind of honour in these things, but that’s all old-fashioned now. Ministers used to think of their political friends; but in these days they only regard their political enemies. If you can make a Minister afraid of you, then it becomes worth his while to buy you up. Most of the young men rise now by making themselves thoroughly disagreeable. Abuse a Minister every night for half a session, and you may be sure to be in office the other half, — if you care about it.”

  “May I speak to Barrington Erle?” asked Lady Laura.

  “I had rather you did not. Of course I must take it as it comes.”