‘Good Lord, I couldn’t allow that!’ Roddy said, with genuine alarm, ‘we chaps aren’t allowed to side with either party, although we’re naturally expected to vote Tory! Will you be helping your husband in the campaign, Mrs Craddock?’
‘No, I’m afraid I won’t,’ declared Grace, ‘I’m every bit as opposed to the Establishment as he is but I don’t think the Liberals offer anything better. I’m a Suffragist, you see.’
He was surprised more than shocked, although a trace of shock showed on his face. He said, ‘You surely don’t mean you’re one of Mrs Pankhurst’s women?’
‘Well, not yet,’ Grace told him, laughing, ‘but I certainly would be if I lived in town. I attended a few meetings in London, before I was married and I still get all the literature through the post, I even subscribe five guineas a year to the cause.’
Roddy said, gaily, ‘Well, jolly good luck to you, Mrs Craddock! Those politicians need a shake-up! I think you’ll get the vote, if you keep tormenting them!’ But John Rudd, who knew his son rather better than the latter was aware, was thinking, ‘Now why did he say that? He doesn’t believe in women’s votes any more than I do,’ and he smiled, thinking it amusing that a boy who had never had a serious thought in his head should be so obviously smitten by Grace Lovell, for he was still unable to think of her as Grace Craddock, any more than he could adjust himself to other changes of names in the Valley. He said, rising, ‘Well, I’ve work to do. We shan’t see much of your husband for the next month! He can hardly wait to take a crack at Gilroy’s nominee and I can’t help feeling that Grenfell chap stands a chance this time,’ but when he proposed that Roddy should ask Mrs Handcock to make him up a bed at the lodge Grace said, ‘Why does he have to do that? The spare bedroom there is like a cupboard and our guest rooms are hardly ever used!’ and without waiting for his assent she went to find the housekeeper.
‘Were you surprised to find Paul Craddock was married, Roddy?’ Rudd asked and when his son admitted that he was, he added, ‘Well, the truth is I’ve never liked our Mrs Craddock until lately and I suppose that was simply because she was a Lovell. I’m ready to admit, however, that I was prejudiced. It’s been a much better match than I hoped.’
‘She was interested in the motor,’ Roddy said. ‘Imagine that! A woman like her, getting oil all over her hands!’
‘Oh, she’s very much in favour of the new century,’ John said, ‘but, the Squire isn’t and never will be! However, he’s a good chap, and you’ll like him. He’s made a big difference to my life, I can tell you. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt needed and I’m beginning to like it!’
Roddy looked at him with affection. They had seen very little of one another but the boy was not unaware of the source of his father’s surliness, or the difference in him since Shallowford had changed hands. He said, as proof of their new relationship, ‘Look here, Gov’nor, I hope you’ve put that silly business about the Prince Imperial behind you! It’s ancient history now and nobody my age has ever heard of the damned Frog! There was no future in the Army anyway and you were lucky to get clear of it. The Navy is the only thing that counts, the Army is just a glorified polo club.’
John said, slowly, ‘Yes, Roddy, I have put that drumming-out business behind me but I only succeeded in doing it since the change-over here. As I say, I feel I’ve found a purpose in life after more than twenty years and it was Craddock who helped me find it. He’s become a kind of son to me, you understand, and not only because of what I owe him but because I believe in what he’s trying to do down here.’
‘What exactly is he trying to do?’ Roddy asked, innocently. ‘I hear he has plenty of money and can’t imagine why he doesn’t want to cut a dash with it! Most fellows of his age would.’
‘I daresay,’ Rudd said defensively, ‘but Craddock isn’t that kind of man. He’s an anachronism maybe, but he’s a sincere one and the country has to be nursed into the twentieth century, as well as the cities. Will you stop a day or two?’
‘I’d like to,’ Roddy said but without adding that it was the prospect of driving the fetching Mrs Craddock about the district and not an interest in a rural renaissance that attracted him.
II
Paul was enjoying the campaign more then he anticipated and this not solely because he was much encouraged by the local support Grenfell was getting. In spite of the Candidate’s careful priming Paul mounted his first public platform with a shrinking sensation in his stomach but he soon realised that he was not expected to juggle with political issues but to act as a buffer between the Candidate and Tory hecklers, who followed them everywhere and did their utmost to prevent Grenfell getting a hearing. Soon he found himself looking forward to engagements, for James proved himself adroit at handling the opposition and, as Jorrocks might have put it, the campaign had all the excitement of war and only half the danger. The adoption meeting was an unqualified success. Several small landowners from the area north of Paxtonbury came forward with support and subscriptions and as they drove about the constituency Paul realised that they could count on the Nonconformist vote to a man, as well as on a proportion of the smaller tradesmen and professional men. Gradually, and with a wonderful display of patience, Grenfell mustered his array and by the first week of the campaign candidates were running neck-and-neck and local excitement was mounting. Lloyd George himself wired his promise to travel down for the eve-of-poll meeting, and after hearing the new Gilroy nominee speak, Paul’s confidence in turning the tide grew with every meeting, so that he was caught up in the whirl of the battle, devoting every moment of his time and every ounce of his nervous energy to presenting James Grenfell as the only fit and proper man to represent the constituency at Westminster.
The big farms provided their toughest opposition for the more successful farmers feared the entry of cheap food into the country and were thus fiercely Protectionist but among their labourers the Radicals made progress, although they had to work very carefully, for many of the men feared their jobs if it became known that they would vote contrary to their employers’ interests and this was especially so within Gilroy boundaries, where Grenfell was received like a poacher.
Paul’s singlemindedness, and the enthusiasm that he could bring to the cause on account of his sincere admiration for Grenfell, kept him absent from home for the greater part of the month, so that he saw little of Grace and observed their unspoken pact not to involve her in a cause for which she lacked conviction. Sometimes, a little forlornly, he wished that James would openly espouse the cause of Women’s Suffrage and bring Grace in but he did not, holding to his theory that, while universal franchise was bound to come, it was an issue that would cost precious votes and to some extent Paul agreed with him for whenever Women’s Suffrage was raised at a meeting the issue was invariably greeted with derision. In the main they stuck doggedly to the major issues, Free Trade, Chinese labour in South Africa (where Paul’s local knowledge was useful) and social legislation, including workmen’s compensation in factories, better housing, public health and education. Now and then they touched on broader topics, like the Irish Question and the Kaiser’s new fleet but these subjects had small appeal for countrymen who regarded the Irish as noisy clowns, the German as bandsmen and the Kaiser as a sausage-eating buffoon in an eagle-crested helmet. Germany’s attempts to rival the British Navy was an even better joke than votes for women, for down here, within rumour reach of Devonport, most voters took a personal pride in Britain’s ironclads and dressed their children in sailor suits with the names of dreadnoughts braided into the ribbon bands of their hats.
Paul had been introduced to young Rudd and privately considered him a rather shallow young man, preoccupied with explosive mechanical toys and moulded to a type by the traditions of the Senior Service. He lacked, he thought, John’s steadiness and confused prejudices with judgements. The campaign had made Paul edgy and even Rudd, who had promised to vote for Grenfell, smiled at the Squire’s lurch
towards demagoguery, but whereas Rudd was old enough to enjoy watching a young man get drunk on politics Grace was not, and Paul’s obsession began to irritate her a little as the campaign moved to its climax.
‘You really should try and keep a sense of proportion,’ she said to him one night, after he and Young Rudd had exchanged acrimonious views on the causes of the South African war. ‘After all, a Devon bye-election isn’t the end of the world and Roddy is not only a guest but hardly more than a boy!’
‘He’s only a year younger than me, so it’s high time somebody put him right on his facts!’
‘He’s had a Service upbringing,’ Grace argued, ‘and in my opinion he’s weathered it very well! He isn’t nearly as stuffy as most naval officers and at least he makes an effort to keep abreast of the times, which is more than I can say for you!’
He was outraged, if only momentarily, by her criticism. ‘Good God!’ he said, ‘Roddy Rudd’s political thought is lagging behind Palmerston’s! He believes in sending gunboats to discipline natives! How can you say a thing like that?’
She said, with the moderation she always used when they disagreed, ‘He knows about motors and he’s interested in flying, that’s all I meant. There’s nothing personal about it! I find him intelligent and he’s been good company all the time you’ve been barnstorming. However, if you really dislike him, and want him to go, all you have to do is to drop a hint to John!’
As usual when they approached an impasse Paul pulled back. Her championship of Roddy had pricked his self-esteem but he was hampered by the realisation that he had neglected her shamefully since the campaign had opened. ‘I don’t dislike him,’ he said, ‘and I’m glad he’s been fun for you but you must understand I’ve got to do all I can to help Jimmy Grenfell. He’s got a terrific fight on his hands and every vote counts!’
‘I don’t quarrel with that in the least, Paul,’ she said, in the same quiet tone, ‘but please don’t pretend that you are making domestic sacrifices! I’ve never seen you enjoy anything so much!’
‘Why does a thing have to become a drudgery before it qualifies as a virtue?’ he demanded, asking the rhetorical question that millions of husbands had asked before him. ‘Damn it, that’s the trouble with women …’ but he stopped for she was now regarding him over her shoulder as she sat at her dressing-table mirror and he recognised her look at once. It recalled the Smut Potter issue and warned him that there was a boundary to their truce over which it might be unprofitable to stray. He said, grumpily, ‘You have to admit that it would be easier if man and wife could pull together on this kind of issue. After all, it is fundamental, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ she said, laying down her brush, ‘not in the least fundamental, Paul. If you haven’t learned that after nearly eighteen months with me you can’t have learned anything! Your kind of politics, Grenfell’s and Gilroy’s politics, aren’t fundamental! That’s what’s wrong with them!’
‘But yours are?’ he countered. ‘The only fundamental issue in politics today is women’s suffrage?’
‘Now you’re being very tiresome, Paul,’ she replied, wearily, but he was so nettled that he did not take her hint.
‘Isn’t that what you meant?’
‘No,’ she said, very sharply now, ‘it isn’t what I meant! Women’s suffrage is very important to me but I concede that it isn’t to you, or to your precious James Grenfell. There are plenty of fundamental issues but political parties dependent on a flow of wealth from one class or the other aren’t deeply concerned with them! Their impetus doesn’t depend on a cause but on personal ambitions. That isn’t true of you and it isn’t true of Grenfell but it is true of all the other rabble rousers!’ Then with the edge of her voice blunted, ‘Do we have to prolong this stupid quarrel, Paul? It began over Roddy Rudd.’
He had forgotten that and now that he thought about Rudd again, he realised that he had been rather boorish, and ought, perhaps, to be grateful to the young man for entertaining Grace while he devoted his attention to the campaign.
‘I’m sorry, dear,’ he said, stooping and kissing her shoulder, ‘the fact is I’m overtired, and liable to fly off the handle. We’re having to fight every step of the way and today was a bad day. We couldn’t even get a hearing in Whinmouth.’
She turned slowly on her stool and regarded him gravely.
‘When is election day?’ she asked and he told her on July 20th, about a fortnight from now.
‘Do you remember a promise you made to me on our honeymoon, Paul? A promise you made the night we attended the ballet? You said that when the Company came to London we would go up to town for a few days.’
He did not recall such a promise, although he did remember how much she had enjoyed the occasion. ‘Are they in London now?’ he asked, knowing that he would have to refuse her and wondering how it could be gracefully achieved.
‘No,’ she replied, to his relief, ‘but I hear they are to pay a two-night visit to Bristol soon. If they do, will you take me? No matter what?’
‘Darling, of course I will,’ he said, happy to be out of it so cheaply and she replied, quietly, ‘Thank you, Paul, I should like that very much.’
‘As to Roddy,’ he said, ‘I admit I was a bit short with him, and as you say, he is a guest. I’ll apologise to him in the morning!’
In the morning, however, one of Grenfell’s runners arrived with sensational news. There had been a major split over policy in the local Tory Party and Sir Keith Cresswell, a wealthy manufacturer of agricultural machinery on the northern edge of the constituency, had declared for Free Trade, so that the balance was now tipped slightly in favour of the Radicals. In the excitement he forgot all about Roddy and all about the ballet, galloping off on Snowdrop to the Liberal headquarters, to be seen no more for three days for he was canvassing fifteen hours a day. To save journeys he slept at Grenfell’s rooms in Cathedral Close each night.
III
That same day Roddy had an idea. It was fine and warm and he suggested that they should drive to a village near the Somerset border where a former shipmate of his, a young man who had recently come into money and left the Service, had just bought one of the latest models assembled by Charles Rolls, the man who had converted King Edward to motors.
‘It should take us about three hours each way,’ he said, ‘and Branwell will give us lunch. He keeps a big place near Dulverton!’
Grace agreed to go and Roddy asked his father if he would accompany them but Rudd, with too much work on his hands, declined but promised to wait dinner for them. He watched them chug down the drive with Grace at the wheel, her wide straw hat tied on with a chiffon scarf and her body shrouded in a long white dustcoat, borrowed from Roddy. He thought, ‘I suppose I understand their enthusiasm for the honking, snorting little abortion! It’s their world, one of machines and gadgets of one kind or another and Paul might as well invest in a motor, if only to keep her happy, for she seems to get plenty of fun out of Roddy’s!’ He made a mental note to suggest as much and this led him to a morose contemplation of Paul’s entry into politics and the change it had wrought in him. It was only temporary, he hoped, for ordinarily the youngster was a tolerant, easy-going soul but the campaign had shattered the rhythm of the estate and this displeased him, for things had been progressing very well lately, particularly over at Four Winds, where the Eveleigh family were proving their worth. Life was quiet in the Coombe, too, now that Smut was out of the way and even Tamer seemed resigned to using hired labour and the equipment the estate had loaned him. It was years, John reflected, since Low Coombe fields had been properly ploughed and now the old rascal was said to be going in for sugar beet, as had Derwent, on his new cliff fields. Willoughby’s lad was proving his mettle too, and so were Will and Elinor over at Periwinkle, whereas he had never seen the Home Farm so fruitful after its record lambing season and the introduction of a small Guernsey herd during the winter. It was a pity, he refl
ected, that Paul had to be absent now, when the promise of the Valley was so rich. Political issues were ephemeral but the land was always there, waiting to be loved, coaxed and cared for and he would have thought that Paul was old enough to get his values right. It did not occur to him, however, to give more than a casual thought to Roddy, driving off with an unchaperoned Grace, for he had never been able to take Roddy or his enthusiasms seriously. He was like his mother, who had romped through her short life without a thought beyond how pretty she looked and he wondered what she would have thought of her son and his obsession with mechanical toys. Then, remembering he was due at a sale across the county border, he forgot about Paul and the motorists and did not remember them again until a message reached him from Paul saying he would be away for the night and he was to tell Grace what had happened and how they now had a more than even chance of ‘giving old Gilroy a thrashing at the polls’. He thought, ‘Much she’ll care!’ and ordered dinner for seven-thirty, returning to the lodge and sitting at his open window smoking as he watched the ford over which the Benz would come. Soon the heat went out of the day and the shadows of the chestnuts fell across the paddock but there was no sign of the motor. Grumpily, because he was both hungry and lonely, he trudged up to the house and ate a solitary meal. By nine o’clock he was irritated; by the time darkness had fallen he was worried and considering saddling up and riding along the river road down which they must come.
It would have availed him little. At that moment the Benz was stationary in a deep, leafy lane, fifteen miles north-west of Paxtonbury and about the same distance from the house where Roddy and Grace had lunched.
The outward journey had been made in record time, forty miles in one hour forty-five minutes, and after lunch Roddy’s host had taken them for a drive in his Panhard, allowing Grace a turn at the wheel and encouraging her to coast over a flat stretch of moor at a speed just under forty miles per hour. They had returned about tea-time and Roddy had persuaded Grace to stay for dinner, pointing out that the drive home would provide them with appetites for another at Shallowford. Branwell, his friend, had been so kind and hospitable that Grace did not like to refuse, so they made a latish start, taking a cross-country route aimed at the main road north of Paxtonbury. It was growing dusk when they stopped in the lane to light the big brass lamps and then, to Roddy’s astonishment, the Benz refused to start. He swung her until he was wet with perspiration and had Grace hold one of the unscrewed lamps while he opened the bonnet and probed in the engine. It was no use. The Benz remained silent and Roddy said they would have to accept a humiliating tow from a cart-horse.
Long Summer Day (A Horseman Riding By) Page 41
