The Duchess in Manchester Square
The Duke said not a word to his wife as to this new proposition, and
when she asked him what tidings their old friend had brought as to
the state of affairs, he almost told a fib in his anxiety to escape
from her persecution. "He is in some doubt what he means to do
himself," said the Duke. The Duchess asked many questions, but got no
satisfactory reply to any of them. Nor did Mrs. Finn learn anything
from her husband, whom, however, she did not interrogate very
closely. She would be contented to know when the proper time might
come for ladies to be informed. The Duke, however, was determined
to take his twenty-four hours all alone,--or at any rate not to be
driven to his decision by feminine interference.
In the meantime the Duchess went to Manchester Square intent on
performing certain good offices on behalf of the poor widow. It may
be doubted whether she had clearly made up her mind what it was that
she could do, though she was clear that some debt was due by her to
Mrs. Lopez. And she knew too in what direction assistance might be
serviceable, if only it could in this case be given. She had heard
that the present member for Silverbridge had been the lady's lover
long before Mr. Lopez had come upon the scene, and with those
feminine wiles of which she was a perfect mistress she had extracted
from him a confession that his mind was unaltered. She liked Arthur
Fletcher,--as indeed she had for a time liked Ferdinand Lopez,--and
felt that her conscience would be easier if she could assist in this
good work. She built castles in the air as to the presence of the
bride and bridegroom at Matching, thinking how she might thus repair
the evil she had done. But her heart misgave her a little as she
drew near to the house, and remembered how very slight was her
acquaintance and how extremely delicate the mission on which she had
come. But she was not the woman to turn back when she had once put
her foot to any work; and she was driven up to the door in Manchester
Square without any expressed hesitation on her own part. "Yes,--his
mistress was at home," said the butler, still shrinking at the sound
of the name which he hated. The Duchess was then shown upstairs, and
was left alone for some minutes in the drawing-room. It was a large
handsome apartment, hung round with valuable pictures, and having
signs of considerable wealth. Since she had first invited Lopez to
stand for Silverbridge she had heard much about him, and had wondered
how he had gained possession of such a girl as Emily Wharton. And
now, as she looked about, her wonder was increased. She knew enough
of such people as the Whartons and the Fletchers to be aware that
as a class they are more impregnable, more closely guarded by their
feelings and prejudices against strangers than any other. None keep
their daughters to themselves with greater care, or are less willing
to see their rules of life changed or abolished. And yet this man,
half foreigner half Jew,--and as it now appeared, whole pauper,--had
stepped in and carried off a prize for which such a one as Arthur
Fletcher was contending! The Duchess had never seen Emily but
once,--so as to observe her well,--and had then thought her to be a
very handsome woman. It had been at the garden party at Richmond,
and Lopez had then insisted that his wife should be well dressed. It
would perhaps have been impossible in the whole of that assembly to
find a more beautiful woman than Mrs. Lopez then was,--or one who
carried herself with a finer air. Now when she entered the room in
her deep mourning it would have been difficult to recognise her. Her
face was much thinner, her eyes apparently larger, and her colour
faded. And there had come a settled seriousness on her face which
seemed to rob her of her youth. Arthur Fletcher had declared that as
he saw her now she was more beautiful than ever. But Arthur Fletcher,
in looking at her, saw more than her mere features. To his eyes there
was a tenderness added by her sorrow which had its own attraction
for him. And he was so well versed in every line of her countenance,
that he could see there the old loveliness behind the sorrow; the
loveliness which would come forth again, as bright as ever, if the
sorrow could be removed. But the Duchess, though she remembered the
woman's beauty as she might that of any other lady, now saw nothing
but a thing of woe wrapped in customary widow's weeds. "I hope," she
said, "I am not intruding in coming to you; but I have been anxious
to renew our acquaintance for reasons which I am sure you will
understand."
Emily at the moment hardly knew how to address her august visitor.
Though her father had lived all his life in what is called good
society, he had not consorted much with dukes and duchesses. She
herself had indeed on one occasion been for an hour or two the guest
of this grand lady, but on that occasion she had hardly been called
upon to talk to her. Now she doubted how to name the Duchess, and
with some show of hesitation decided at last upon not naming her at
all. "It is very good of you to come," she said in a faltering voice.
"I told you that I would when I wrote, you know. That is many months
ago, but I have not forgotten it. You have been in the country since
that, I think?"
"Yes, in Herefordshire. Herefordshire is our county."
"I know all about it," said the Duchess, smiling. She generally did
contrive to learn "all about" the people whom she chose to take by
the hand. "We have a Herefordshire gentleman sitting for,--I must
not say our borough of Silverbridge." She was anxious to make some
allusion to Arthur Fletcher; but it was difficult to travel on that
Silverbridge ground, as Lopez had been her chosen candidate when she
still wished to claim the borough as an appanage of the Palliser
family. Emily, however, kept her countenance and did not show by any
sign that her thoughts were running in that direction. "And though we
don't presume to regard Mr. Fletcher," continued the Duchess, "as in
any way connected with our local interests, he has always supported
the Duke, and I hope has become a friend of ours. I think he is a
neighbour of yours in the country."
"Oh, yes. My cousin is married to his brother."
"I knew there was something of that kind. He told me that there was
some close alliance." The Duchess as she looked at the woman to whom
she wanted to be kind did not as yet dare to express a wish that
there might at some not very distant time be a closer alliance. She
had come there intending to do so; and had still some hope that she
might do it before the interview was over. But at any rate she would
not do it yet. "Have I not heard," she said, "something of another
marriage?"
"My brother is going to marry his cousin, Sir Alured Wharton's
daughter."
"Ah;--I thought it had been one of the Fletchers. It was our member
who told me, and he spoke as though they were all his very dear
friends."
"They are dear friends,--very." Poor Emily still didn't know whether
to call her Duchess, my Lady, or your Grace,--and yet felt the need
of calling her by some special name.
"Exactly. I supposed it was so. They tell me Mr. Fletcher will become
quite a favourite in the House. At this present moment nobody knows
on which side anybody is going to sit to-morrow. It may be that Mr.
Fletcher will become the dire enemy of all the Duke's friends."
"I hope not."
"Of course I'm speaking of political enemies. Political enemies are
often the best friends in the world; and I can assure you from my own
experience that political friends are often the bitterest enemies.
I never hated any people so much as some of our supporters." The
Duchess made a grimace, and Emily could not refrain from smiling.
"Yes, indeed. There's an old saying that misfortune makes strange
bedfellows, but political friendship makes stranger alliances than
misfortune. Perhaps you never met Sir Timothy Beeswax."
"Never."
"Well;--don't. But, as I was saying, there is no knowing who may
support whom now. If I were asked who would be Prime Minister
to-morrow, I should take half-a-dozen names and shake them in a bag."
"It is not settled then?"
"Settled! No, indeed. Nothing is settled." At that moment indeed
everything was settled, though the Duchess did not know it. "And so
we none of us can tell how Mr. Fletcher may stand with us when things
are arranged. I suppose he calls himself a Conservative?"
"Oh, yes!"
"All the Whartons, I suppose, are Conservatives,--and all the
Fletchers."
"Very nearly. Papa calls himself a Tory."
"A very much better name, to my thinking. We are all Whigs, of
course. A Palliser who was not a Whig would be held to have disgraced
himself for ever. Are not politics odd? A few years ago I only barely
knew what the word meant, and that not correctly. Lately I have been
so eager about it, that there hardly seems to be anything else left
worth living for. I suppose it's wrong, but a state of pugnacity
seems to me the greatest bliss which we can reach here on earth."
"I shouldn't like to be always fighting."
"That's because you haven't known Sir Timothy Beeswax and two or
three other gentlemen whom I could name. The day will come, I dare
say, when you will care for politics."
Emily was about to answer, hardly knowing what to say, when the
door was opened and Mrs. Roby came into the room. The lady was not
announced, and Emily had heard no knock at the door. She was forced
to go through some ceremony of introduction. "This is my aunt, Mrs.
Roby," she said. "Aunt Harriet, the Duchess of Omnium." Mrs. Roby was
beside herself,--not all with joy. That feeling would come afterwards
as she would boast to her friends of her new acquaintance. At present
there was the embarrassment of not quite knowing how to behave
herself. The Duchess bowed from her seat, and smiled sweetly,--as
she had learned to smile since her husband had become Prime Minister.
Mrs. Roby curtsied, and then remembered that in these days only
housemaids ought to curtsey.
"Anything to our Mr. Roby?" said the Duchess, continuing her
smile,--"ours as he was till yesterday at least." This she said in an
absurd wail of mock sorrow.
"My brother-in-law, your Grace," said Mrs. Roby, delighted.
"Oh indeed. And what does Mr. Roby think about it, I wonder? But I
dare say you have found, Mrs. Roby, that when a crisis comes,--a real
crisis,--the ladies are told nothing. I have."
"I don't think, your Grace, that Mr. Roby ever divulges political
secrets."
"Doesn't he indeed! What a dull man your brother-in-law must be to
live with,--that is as a politician! Good-bye, Mrs. Lopez. You must
come and see me and let me come to you again. I hope, you know,--I
hope the time may come when things may once more be bright with you."
These last words she murmured almost in a whisper, as she held the
hand of the woman she wished to befriend. Then she bowed to Mrs.
Roby, and left the room.
"What was it she said to you?" asked Mrs. Roby.
"Nothing in particular, Aunt Harriet."
"She seems to be very friendly. What made her come?"
"She wrote some time ago to say she would call."
"But why?"
"I cannot tell you. I don't know. Don't ask me, aunt, about things
that are passed. You cannot do it without wounding me."
"I don't want to wound you, Emily, but I really think that that is
nonsense. She is a very nice woman;--though I don't think she ought
to have said that Mr. Roby is dull. Did Mr. Wharton know that she was
coming?"
"He knew that she said she would come," replied Emily very sternly,
so that Mrs. Roby found herself compelled to pass on to some other
subject. Mrs. Roby had heard the wish expressed that something "once
more might be bright," and when she got home told her husband that
she was sure that Emily Lopez was going to marry Arthur Fletcher.
"And why the d---- shouldn't she?" said Dick. "And that poor man
destroying himself not much more than twelve months ago! I couldn't
do it," said Mrs. Roby. "I don't mean to give you the chance," said
Dick.
The Duchess when she went away suffered under a sense of failure. She
had intended to bring about some crisis of female tenderness in which
she might have rushed into future hopes and joyous anticipations, and
with the freedom which will come from ebullitions of feeling, have
told the widow that the peculiar circumstances of her position would
not only justify her in marrying this other man but absolutely called
upon her to do it. Unfortunately she had failed in her attempt to
bring the interview to a condition in which this would have been
possible, and while she was still making the attempt that odious
aunt had come in. "I have been on my mission," she said to Mrs. Finn
afterwards.
"Have you done any good?"
"I don't think I've done any harm. Women, you know, are so very
different! There are some who would delight to have an opportunity
of opening their hearts to a Duchess, and who might almost be talked
into anything in an ecstasy."
"Hardly women of the best sort, Lady Glen."
"Not of the best sort. But then one doesn't come across the very
best, very often. But that kind of thing does have an effect; and as
I only wanted to do good, I wish she had been one of the sort for the
occasion."
"Was she--offended?"
"Oh dear, no. You don't suppose I attacked her with a husband at the
first word. Indeed, I didn't attack her at all. She didn't give me an
opportunity. Such a Niobe you never saw."
"Was she weeping?"
"Not actual tears. But her gown, and her cap, and her strings were
weeping. Her voice wept, and her hair, and her nose, and her mouth.
Don't you know that look of subdued mourning? And yet they say that
that man is dying for love. How beautiful it is to see that there is
such a thing as constancy left in the world."
When she got home she found that her husband had just returned from
the old Duke's house, where he had met Mr. Monk, Mr. Gresham, and
Lord Cantrip. "It's all settled at last," he said cheerfully.