“They shouldn’t conquer me! After all, what is it that they say about the money? That you ought not to have paid it?”
“I begin to think that I was wrong to pay it.”
“You certainly were not wrong. I had led the man on. I had been mistaken. I had thought that he was a gentleman. Having led him on at first, before you had spoken to me, I did not like to go back from my word. I did go to the man at Silverbridge who sells the pots, and no doubt the man, when thus encouraged, told it all to Lopez. When Lopez went to the town he did suppose that he would have what the people call the Castle interest.”
“And I had done so much to prevent it!”
“What’s the use of going back to that now, unless you want me to put my neck down to be trodden on? I am confessing my own sins as fast as I can.”
“God knows I would not have you trodden on.”
“I am willing, — if it be necessary. Then came the question; — as I had done this evil, how was it to be rectified? Any man with a particle of spirit would have taken his rubs and said nothing about it. But as this man asked for the money, it was right that he should have it. If it is all made public he won’t get very well out of it.”
“What does that matter to me?”
“Nor shall I; — only luckily I do not mind it.”
“But I mind it for you.”
“You must throw me to the whale. Let somebody say in so many words that the Duchess did so and so. It was very wicked no doubt; but they can’t kill me, — nor yet dismiss me. And I won’t resign. In point of fact I shan’t be a penny the worse for it.”
“But I should resign.”
“If all the Ministers in England were to give up as soon as their wives do foolish things, that question about the Queen’s Government would become very difficult.”
“They may do foolish things, dear; and yet — “
“And yet what?”
“And yet not interfere in politics.”
“That’s all you know about it, Plantagenet. Doesn’t everybody know that Mrs. Daubeny got Dr. MacFuzlem made a bishop, and that Mrs. Gresham got her husband to make that hazy speech about women’s rights, so that nobody should know which way he meant to go? There are others just as bad as me, only I don’t think they get blown up so much. You do now as I ask you.”
“I couldn’t do it, Cora. Though the stain were but a little spot, and the thing to be avoided political destruction, I could not ride out of the punishment by fixing that stain on my wife. I will not have your name mentioned. A man’s wife should be talked about by no one.”
“That’s high-foluting, Plantagenet.”
“Glencora, in these matters you must allow me to judge for myself, and I will judge. I will never say that I didn’t do it; — but that it was my wife who did.”
“Adam said so, — because he chose to tell the truth.”
“And Adam has been despised ever since, — not because he ate the apple, but because he imputed the eating of it to a woman. I will not do it. We have had enough of this now.” Then she turned to go away, — but he called her back. “Kiss me, dear,” he said. Then she stooped over him and kissed him. “Do not think I am angry with you because the thing vexes me. I am dreaming always of some day when we may go away together with the children, and rest in some pretty spot, and live as other people live.”
“It would be very stupid,” she muttered to herself as she left the room.
He did go up to town for the Cabinet meeting. Whatever may have been done at that august assembly there was certainly no resignation, or the world would have heard it. It is probable, too, that nothing was said about these newspaper articles. Things if left to themselves will generally die at last. The old Duke and Phineas Finn and Barrington Erle were all of opinion that the best plan for the present was to do nothing. “Has anything been settled?” the Duchess asked Phineas when he came back.
“Oh yes; — the Queen’s Speech. But there isn’t very much in it.”
“But about the payment of this money?”
“I haven’t heard a word about it,” said Phineas.
“You’re just as bad as all the rest, Mr. Finn, with your pretended secrecy. A girl with her first sweetheart isn’t half so fussy as a young Cabinet Minister.”
“The Cabinet Ministers get used to it sooner, I think,” said Phineas Finn.
Parliament had already met before Mr. Slide had quite determined in what way he would carry on the war. He could indeed go on writing pernicious articles about the Prime Minister ad infinitum, — from year’s end to year’s end. It was an occupation in which he took delight, and for which he imagined himself to be peculiarly well suited. But readers will become tired even of abuse if it be not varied. And the very continuation of such attacks would seem to imply that they were not much heeded. Other papers had indeed taken the matter up, — but they had taken it up only to drop it. The subject had not been their own. The little discovery had been due not to their acumen, and did not therefore bear with them the highest interest. It had almost seemed as though nothing would come of it; — for Mr. Slide in his wildest ambition could have hardly imagined the vexation and hesitation, the nervousness and serious discussions which his words had occasioned among the great people at Matching. But certainly the thing must not be allowed to pass away as a matter of no moment. Mr. Slide had almost worked his mind up to real horror as he thought of it. What! A prime minister, a peer, a great duke, — put a man forward as a candidate for a borough, and, when the man was beaten, pay his expenses! Was this to be done, — to be done and found out and then nothing come of it in these days of purity, when a private member of Parliament, some mere nobody, loses his seat because he has given away a few bushels of coals or a score or two of rabbits! Mr. Slide’s energetic love of public virtue was scandalised as he thought of the probability of such a catastrophe. To his thinking, public virtue consisted in carping at men high placed, in abusing ministers and judges and bishops — and especially in finding out something for which they might be abused. His own public virtue was in this matter very great, for it was he who had ferreted out the secret. For his intelligence and energy in that matter the country owed him much. But the country would pay him nothing, would give him none of the credit he desired, would rob him of this special opportunity of declaring a dozen times that the “People’s Banner” was the surest guardian of the people’s liberty, — unless he could succeed in forcing the matter further into public notice. “How terrible is the apathy of the people at large,” said Mr. Slide to himself, “when they cannot be wakened by such a revelation as this!”
Mr. Slide knew very well what ought to be the next step. Proper notice should be given and a question should be asked in Parliament. Some gentleman should declare that he had noticed such and such statements in the public press, and that he thought it right to ask whether such and such payments had been made by the Prime Minister. In his meditations Mr. Slide went so far as to arrange the very words which the indignant gentleman should utter, among which words was a graceful allusion to a certain public-spirited newspaper. He did even go so far as to arrange a compliment to the editor, — but in doing so he knew that he was thinking only of that which ought to be, and not of that which would be. The time had not come as yet in which the editor of a newspaper in this country received a tithe of the honour due to him. But the question in any form, with or without a compliment to the “People’s Banner,” would be the thing that was now desirable.
Who was to ask the question? If public spirit were really strong in the country there would be no difficulty on that point. The crime committed had been so horrible that all the great politicians of the country ought to compete for the honour of asking it. What greater service can be trusted to the hands of a great man than that of exposing the sins of the rulers of the nation? So thought Mr. Slide. But he knew that he was in advance of the people, and that the matter would not be seen in the proper light by those who ought so to see it. There might be a difficulty in
getting any peer to ask the question in the House in which the Prime Minister himself sat, and even in the other House there was now but little of that acrid, indignant opposition upon which, in Mr. Slide’s opinion, the safety of the nation altogether depends.
When the statement was first made in the “People’s Banner,” Lopez had come to Mr. Slide at once and had demanded his authority for making it. Lopez had found the statement to be most injurious to himself. He had been paid his election expenses twice over, making a clear profit of £500 by the transaction; and, though the matter had at one time troubled his conscience, he had already taught himself to regard it as one of those bygones to which a wise man seldom refers. But now Mr. Wharton would know that he had been cheated, should this statement reach him. “Who gave you authority to publish all this?” asked Lopez, who at this time had become intimate with Mr. Slide.
“Is it true, Lopez?” asked the editor.
“Whatever was done was done in private, — between me and the Duke.”
“Dukes, my dear fellow, can’t be private, and certainly not when they are Prime Ministers.”
“But you’ve no right to publish these things about me.”
“Is it true? If it’s true I have got every right to publish it. If it’s not true, I’ve got the right to ask the question. If you will ‘ave to do with Prime Ministers you can’t ‘ide yourself under a bushel. Tell me this; — is it true? You might as well go ‘and in ‘and with me in the matter. You can’t ‘urt yourself. And if you oppose me, — why, I shall oppose you.”
“You can’t say anything of me.”
“Well; — I don’t know about that. I can generally ‘it pretty ‘ard if I feel inclined. But I don’t want to ‘it you. As regards you I can tell the story one way, — or the other, just as you please.” Lopez, seeing it in the same light, at last agreed that the story should be told in a manner not inimical to himself. The present project of his life was to leave his troubles in England, — Sexty Parker being the worst of them, — and get away to Guatemala. In arranging this the good word of Mr. Slide might not benefit him, but his ill word might injure him. And then, let him do what he would, the matter must be made public. Should Mr. Wharton hear of it, — as of course he would, — it must be brazened out. He could not keep it from Mr. Wharton’s ears by quarrelling with Quintus Slide.
“It was true,” said Lopez.
“I knew it before just as well as though I had seen it. I ain’t often very wrong in these things. You asked him for the money, — and threatened him.”
“I don’t know about threatening him.”
“‘E wouldn’t have sent it else.”
“I told him that I had been deceived by his people in the borough, and that I had been put to expense through the misrepresentations of the Duchess. I don’t think I did ask for the money. But he sent a cheque, and of course I took it.”
“Of course; — of course. You couldn’t give me a copy of your letter?”
“Never kept a copy.” He had a copy in his breast coat-pocket at that moment, and Slide did not for a moment believe the statement made. But in such discussions one man hardly expects truth from another. Mr. Slide certainly never expected truth from any man. “He sent the cheque almost without a word,” said Lopez.
“He did write a note, I suppose?”
“Just a few words.”
“Could you let me ‘ave that note?”
“I destroyed it at once.” This was also in his breast-pocket at the time.
“Did ‘e write it ‘imself?”
“I think it was his private Secretary, Mr. Warburton.”
“You must be sure, you know. Which was it?”
“It was Mr. Warburton.”
“Was it civil?”
“Yes, it was. If it had been uncivil I should have sent it back. I’m not the man to take impudence even from a duke.”
“If you’ll give me those two letters, Lopez, I’ll stick to you through thick and thin. By heavens I will! Think what the ‘People’s Banner’ is. You may come to want that kind of thing some of these days.” Lopez remained silent, looking into the other man’s eager face. “I shouldn’t publish them, you know; but it would be so much to me to have the evidence in my hands. You might do worse, you know, than make a friend of me.”
“You won’t publish them?”
“Certainly not. I shall only refer to them.”
Then Lopez pulled a bundle of papers out of his pocket. “There they are,” he said.
“Well,” said Slide, when he had read them; “it is one of the rummest transactions I ever ‘eard of. Why did ‘e send the money? That’s what I want to know. As far as the claim goes, you ‘adn’t a leg to stand on.”
“Not legally.”
“You ‘adn’t a leg to stand on any way. But that doesn’t much matter. He sent the money, and the sending of the money was corrupt. Who shall I get to ask the question? I suppose young Fletcher wouldn’t do it?”
“They’re birds of a feather,” said Lopez.
“Birds of a feather do fall out sometimes. Or Sir Orlando Drought? I wonder whether Sir Orlando would do it. If any man ever ‘ated another, Sir Orlando Drought must ‘ate the Duke of Omnium.”
“I don’t think he’d let himself down to that kind of thing.”
“Let ‘imself down! I don’t see any letting down in it. But those men who have been in cabinets do stick to one another even when they are enemies. They think themselves so mighty that they oughtn’t to be ‘andled like other men. But I’ll let ‘em know that I’ll ‘andle ‘em. A Cabinet Minister or a cowboy is the same to Quintus Slide when he has got his pen in ‘is ‘and.”
On the next morning there came out another article in the “People’s Banner,” in which the writer declared that he had in his own possession the damnatory correspondence between the Prime Minister and the late candidate at Silverbridge. “The Prime Minister may deny the fact,” said the article. “We do not think it probable, but it is possible. We wish to be fair and above-board in everything. And therefore we at once inform the noble Duke that the entire correspondence is in our hands.” In saying this Mr. Quintus Slide thought that he had quite kept the promise which he made when he said that he would only refer to the letters.
CHAPTER LII
“I Can Sleep Here To-night, I Suppose?”
That scheme of going to Guatemala had been in the first instance propounded by Lopez with the object of frightening Mr. Wharton into terms. There had, indeed, been some previous thoughts on the subject, — some plan projected before his marriage; but it had been resuscitated mainly with the hope that it might be efficacious to extract money. When by degrees the son-in-law began to feel that even this would not be operative on his father-in-law’s purse, — when under this threat neither Wharton nor Emily gave way, — and when, with the view of strengthening his threat, he renewed his inquiries as to Guatemala and found that there might still be an opening for him in that direction, — the threat took the shape of a true purpose, and he began to think that he would in real earnest try his fortunes in a new world. From day to day things did not go well with him, and from day to day Sexty Parker became more unendurable. It was impossible for him to keep from his partner this plan of emigration, — but he endeavoured to make Parker believe that the thing, if done at all, was not to be done till all his affairs were settled, — or in other words all his embarrassments cleared by downright money payments, and that Mr. Wharton was to make these payments on the condition that he thus expatriated himself. But Mr. Wharton had made no such promise. Though the threatened day came nearer and nearer he could not bring himself to purchase a short respite for his daughter by paying money to a scoundrel, — which payment he felt sure would be of no permanent service. During all this time Mr. Wharton was very wretched. If he could have freed his daughter from her marriage by half his fortune he would have done it without a second thought. If he could have assuredly purchased the permanent absence of her husband, he would have done i
t at a large price. But let him pay what he would, he could see his way to no security. From day to day he became more strongly convinced of the rascality of this man who was his son-in-law, and who was still an inmate in his own house. Of course he had accusations enough to make within his own breast against his daughter, who, when the choice was open to her, would not take the altogether fitting husband provided for her, but had declared herself to be broken-hearted for ever unless she were allowed to throw herself away upon this wretched creature. But he blamed himself almost as much as he did her. Why had he allowed himself to be so enervated by her prayers at last as to surrender everything, — as he had done? How could he presume to think that he should be allowed to escape, when he had done so little to prevent this misery?
He spoke to Emily about it, — not often indeed, but with great earnestness. “I have done it myself,” she said, “and I will bear it.”
“Tell him you cannot go till you know to what home you are going.”
“That is for him to consider. I have begged him to let me remain, and I can say no more. If he chooses to take me, I shall go.”
Then he spoke to her about money. “Of course I have money,” he said. “Of course I have enough both for you and Everett. If I could do any good by giving it to him, he should have it.”
“Papa,” she answered, “I will never again ask you to give him a single penny. That must be altogether between you and him. He is what they call a speculator. Money is not safe with him.”
“I shall have to send it you when you are in want.”
“When I am — dead there will be no more to be sent. Do not look like that, papa. I know what I have done, and I must bear it. I have thrown away my life. It is just that. If baby had lived it would have been different.” This was about the end of January, and then Mr. Wharton heard of the great attack made by Mr. Quintus Slide against the Prime Minister, and heard, of course, of the payment alleged to have been made to Ferdinand Lopez by the Duke on the score of the election at Silverbridge. Some persons spoke to him on the subject. One or two friends at the club asked him what he supposed to be the truth in the matter, and Mrs. Roby inquired of him on the subject. “I have asked Lopez,” she said, “and I am sure from his manner that he did get the money.”
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