Disappointed in his matrimonial project, the Rev. Scatchard Vialls
devoted himself with acrid zeal to the interests of the Conservative
party. He was not the most influential of the Polterham clerics, for
women in general rather feared than liked him; a sincere ascetic, he
moved but awkwardly in the regions of tea and tattle, and had an
uncivil habit of speaking what he thought the truth without regard to
time, place, or person. Some of his sermons had given offence, with the
result that several ladies betook themselves to gentler preachers. But
the awe inspired by his religious enthusiasm was practically useful now
that he stood forward as an assailant of the political principles held
in dislike by most Polterham church-goers. There was a little band of
district-visitors who stood by him the more resolutely for the coldness
with which worldly women regarded him; and these persons, with their
opportunities of making interest in poor households, constituted a
party agency not to be despised. They worked among high and low with an
unscrupulous energy to which it is not easy to do justice. Wheedling or
menacing--doing everything indeed but argue--they blended the cause of
Mr. Welwyn-Baker and that of the Christian religion so inextricably
that the wives of humble electors came to regard the Tory candidate as
Christ's vicegerent upon earth, and were convinced that their husbands'
salvation depended upon a Tory vote.
One Sunday, Mr. Vialls took for his text, "But rather seek ye the
kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you." He began
by pointing out how very improper it would be for a clergyman to make
the pulpit an ally of the hustings; far indeed be it from him to
discourse in that place of party questions--to speak one word which
should have for its motive the advancements of any electioneering
cause. But in these times of social discontent and upheaval it must not
be forgotten that eternal verities were at stake. There were men--there
were multitudes, alas! who made it the object of their life-long
endeavour to oust Christianity from the world; if not avowedly, at all
events in fact. Therefore would he describe to them in brief, clear
sentences what really was implied in a struggle between the parties
commonly known as Conservative and Liberal. He judged no individual; he
spoke only of principles, of a spirit, an attitude. The designs of
Russia, the troubles in Ireland--of these things he knew little and
recked less; they were "party shibboleths," and did not concern a
Christian minister in his pulpit. But deeper lay the interests for
which parties nowadays were in truth contending. It had come to this:
are we to believe, or are we _not_ to believe that the "kingdom of God"
must have precedence of worldly goods? The working classes of this
country--ah, how sad to have to speak with condemnation of the
poor!--were being led to think that the only object worth striving
after was an improvement of their material condition. Marvellous to
say, they were encouraged in this view by people whom Providence had
blessed with all the satisfactions that earth can give. When the
wealthy, the educated thus repudiated the words of Christ, what could
be expected of those whom supreme Goodness has destined to a
subordinate lot? No! material improvement was _not_ the first thing,
even for those unhappy people (victims for the most part of their own
improvident or vicious habits) who had scarcely bread to eat and
raiment wherewith to clothe themselves. Let them seek the kingdom of
God, and these paltry, temporal things shall surely be added unto them.
This sermon was printed at the office of the _Polterham Mercury_, and
distributed freely throughout the town. He had desired no such thing,
said Mr. Vialls, but the pressure of friends was irresistible. In
private, meanwhile, he spoke fiercely against the Radical candidate,
and never with such acrimony as in Mrs. Mumbray's drawing-room when
Serena was present. One afternoon he stood up, tea-cup in hand, and, as
his habit was, delivered a set harangue on the burning topic.
"In one respect," he urged, after many other accusations, "I consider
that Mr. Quarrier is setting the very worst, the most debasing, the
most demoralizing example to these working folk, whose best interests
he professes to have at heart. I am assured (and the witness of my own
eyes in one instance warrants me in giving credit to the charge) that
he constantly enters public-houses, taverns, even low dram-shops, to
satisfy his thirst for strong liquor in the very face of day, before
the eyes of any one who may happen to be passing. This is simply
abominable. If an honourable man has one duty--one social duty--more
incumbent upon him than another, it is to refrain from setting an
example of intemperance."
Serena had listened thus far with a look of growing irritation. At
length she could resist no longer the impulse to speak out.
"But surely, Mr. Vialls, you don't charge Mr. Quarrier with
intemperance?"
"I do, Miss Mumbray," replied the clergyman, sternly. "Intemperance
does not necessarily imply drunkenness. It is intemperate to enter
public-houses at all hours and in all places, even if the liquor
partaken of has no obvious effect upon the gait or speech of the
drinker. I maintain"----
"Mr. Quarrier does not go about as you would have us believe."
"Serena!" interfered her mother. "Do you contradict Mr. Vialls?"
"Yes, mother, I do, and every one ought to who _knows_ that he is
exaggerating. I have heard this calumny before, and I have been told
how it has arisen. Mr. Quarrier takes a glass of beer when he is having
a long country walk; and why he shouldn't quench his thirst I'm sure I
can't understand."
"Miss Mumbray," said the clergyman, glaring at her, yet affecting
forbearance, "you seem to forget that our cottagers are not so
inhospitable as to refuse a glass of water to the weary pedestrian who
knocks at their door."
"I don't forget it, Mr. Vialls," replied Serena, who was trembling at
her own boldness, but found a pleasure in persevering. "And I know very
well what sort of water one generally gets at cottages about here. I
remember the family at Rickstead that died one after another of their
temperance beverage."
"Forgive me! That is not at all to the point. Granting that the quality
of the water is suspicious, are there not pleasant little shops where
lemonade can be obtained? But no; it is _not_ merely to quench a
natural thirst that Mr. Quarrier has recourse to those pestilent
vendors of poison; the drinking of strong liquor has become a
tyrant-habit with him."
"I deny it, Mr. Vialls!" exclaimed the girl, almost angrily. (Mrs.
Mumbray in vain tried to interpose, and the other ladies present were
partly shocked, partly amused, into silence.) "If so, then my father is
a victim to the habit of drink--and so is Mr. Welwyn-Baker himself!"
This was laying a hand upon the Ark. Mrs. Mumbray gave a little scream,
and several "Oh's!" were heard. Mr. Vialls shook his head and smiled
with grim sadness.
"My dear young lady, I fear we shall not understand each other. I am
far from being one of those who deny to ladies the logical faculty,
but"----
"But you feel that I am right, and that party prejudice has carried you
too far!" interrupted Serena, rising from her chair. "I had better go
away, or I shall say disagreeable things about the Conservatives. I am
not one of them, and I should like that to be understood."
She walked quietly from the room, and there ensued an awkward silence.
"Poor Serena!" breathed Mrs. Mumbray, with a deep sigh. "She has fallen
under the influence of Mrs. Quarrier--a most dangerous person. How such
things come to pass I cannot understand."
Mrs. Tenterden's deep voice chimed in:
"We must certainly guard our young people against Mrs. Quarrier. From
the look of her, no one could have guessed what she would turn out. The
idea of so young a woman going to people's houses and talking politics!"
"Oh, I think nothing of that!" remarked a lady who particularly wished
to remind the company that she was still youthful. "I canvass myself;
it's quite the proper thing for ladies to do. But I'm told she has
rather an impertinent way of speaking to every one who doesn't fall
down and worship her husband."
"Mrs. Lester," broke in the grave voice of the clergyman, "I trust you
will pardon me, but you have inadvertently made use of a phrase which
is, or should be, consecrated by a religious significance."
The lady apologized rather curtly, and Mr. Vialls made a stiff bow.
At this same moment the subject of their conversation was returning
home from a bold expedition into the camp of the enemy. Encouraged by
the personal friendliness that had been shown her in the family of Mr.
Samuel Quarrier, Lilian conceived and nourished the hope that it was
within her power to convert the sturdy old Tory himself. Samuel made a
joke of this, and entertained himself with a pretence of lending ear to
her arguments. This afternoon he had allowed her to talk to him for a
long time. Lilian's sweetness was irresistible, and she came back in
high spirits with report of progress. Denzil, who had just been
badgered by a deputation of voters who wished to discover his mind on
seven points of strictly non-practical politics, listened with idle
amusement.
"Dear girl," he said presently, "the old fellow is fooling you! You
can no more convert him than you could the Dalai-Lama to Christianity."
"But he speaks quite seriously, Denzil! He owns that he doesn't like
Beaconsfield, and"----
"Don't waste your time and your patience. It's folly, I assure you.
When you are gone he explodes with laughter."
Lilian gazed at him for a moment with wide eyes, then burst into tears.
"Good heavens! what is the matter with you, Lily?" cried Denzil,
jumping up. "Come, come, this kind of thing won't do! You are
overtaxing yourself. You are getting morbidly excited."
It was true enough, and Lilian was herself conscious of it, but she
obeyed an impulse from which there seemed no way of escape. Her
conscience and her fears would not leave her at peace; every now and
then she found herself starting at unusual sounds, trembling in mental
agitation if any one approached her with an unwonted look, dreading the
arrival of the post, the sight of a newspaper, faces in the street.
Then she hastened to the excitement of canvassing, as another might
have turned to more vulgar stimulants. Certainly her health had
suffered. She could not engage in quiet study, still less could rest
her mind in solitary musing, as in the old days.
Denzil seated himself by her on the sofa.
"If you are to suffer in this way, little girl, I shall repent sorely
that ever I went in for politics."
"How absurd of me! I can't think why I behave so ridiculously!"
But still she sobbed, resting her head against him.
"I have an idea," he said at length, rendered clairvoyant by his
affection, "that after next week you will feel much easier in your
mind."
"After next week?"
"Yes; when Glazzard is married and gone away."
She would not confess that he was right, but her denials strengthened
his surmise.
"I can perfectly understand it, Lily. It certainly was unfortunate; and
if it had been any one but Glazzard, I might myself have been wishing
the man away. But you know as well as I do that Glazzard would not
breathe a syllable."
"Not even to his wife?" she whispered.
"Not even to her! I assure you"--he smiled--"men have no difficulty in
keeping important secrets, Samson notwithstanding. Glazzard would think
himself for ever dishonoured. But in a week's time they will be gone;
and I shouldn't wonder if they remain abroad for years. So brighten up,
dearest dear, and leave Sam alone; he's a cynical old fellow, past hope
of mending his ways. See more of Molly; she does you good. And,
by-the-bye, it's time you called on the Catesbys. They will always be
very glad to see you."
This family of Catesby was one of the few really distinguished in the
neighbourhood. Colonel Catesby, a long-retired warrior, did not mingle
much with local society, but with his wife and daughter he had appeared
at Denzil's first political dinner; they all "took to" their hostess,
and had since manifested this liking in sundry pleasant ways.
Indeed, Lilian was become a social success--that is to say, with people
who were at all capable of appreciating her. Herein, as in other
things, she had agreeably surprised Denzil. He had resigned himself to
seeing her remain a loving, intelligent, but very unambitious woman; of
a sudden she proved equal to all the social claims connected with his
candidature--unless the efforts, greater than appeared, were
undermining her health. Having learned to trust herself in
conversation, she talked with a delightful blending of seriousness and
gentle merriment. Her culture declared itself in every thought; there
was much within the ordinary knowledge of people trained to the world
that she did not know, but the simplicity resulting from this could
never be confused with want of education or of tact. When the Catesbys
made it evident that they approved her, Quarrier rejoiced exceedingly;
he was flattered in his deepest sensibilities, and felt that henceforth
nothing essential would be wanting to his happiness--whether Polterham
returned him or not.
That he would be returned, he had no doubt. The campaign proceeded
gloriously. Whilst Mr. Gladstone flowed on for ever in Midlothian
rhetoric, Denzil lost no opportunity of following his leader, and was
often astonished at the ease with which he harangued as long as
Polterham patience would endure him. To get up and make a two hours'
speech no longer cost him the least effort; he played with the stock
subjects of eloquence, sported among original jokes and catch-words,
burned through perorations with the joy of an improvisatore in happiest
mood. The _Examiner_ could not report him for lack of space; the
_Mercury_ complained of a headache caused by this "blatant youthfulness
striving to emulate garrulous senility"--a phrase which moved Denzil to
outrageous laughter. And on the whole he kept well within such limits
of opinion as Polterham approved. Now and then Mr. Chown felt moved by
the spirit to interrogate him as to the "scope and bearing and
significance" of an over-bold expression, but the Radical section was
too delighted with a prospect of victory to indulge in "heckling," and
the milder Progressives considered their candidate as a man of whom
Polterham might be proud, a man pretty sure to "make his mark" at
Westminster.
In the hostile ranks there was a good deal of loud talk and frequent
cheering, but the speeches were in general made by lieutenants, and the
shouts seemed intended to make up for the defective eloquence of their
chief. Mr. Welwyn-Baker was too old and too stout and too shaky for the
toil of personal electioneering. He gave a few dinners at his big house
three miles away, and he addressed (laconically) one or two select
meetings; for the rest, his name and fame had to suffice. There was no
convincing him that his seat could possibly be in danger. He smiled
urbanely over the reports of Quarrier's speeches, called his adversary
"a sharp lad," and continued through all the excitement of the borough
to conduct himself with this amiable fatuity.
"I vow and protest," said Mr. Mumbray, in a confidential ear, "that if
it weren't for the look of the thing, I would withhold my vote
altogether! W.-B. is in his dotage. And to think that we might have put
new life into the party! Bah!"
Conservative canvassers did not fail to make use of the fact that Mr.
Welwyn-Baker had always been regardful of the poor. His alms-houses
were so pleasantly situated and so tastefully designed that many
Polterham people wished they were for lease on ordinary terms. The
Infirmary was indebted to his annual beneficence, and the Union had to
thank him--especially through this past winter--for a lightening of its
burden. Aware of these things, Lilian never felt able to speak harshly
against the old Tory. In theory she acknowledged that the relief of a
few families could not weigh against principles which enslaved a whole
population (thus Quarrier put it), but her heart pleaded for the man
who allayed suffering at his gates; and could Mr. Chown have heard the
admissions she made to Welwyn-Baker's advocates, he would have charged
her with criminal weakness, if not with secret treachery. She herself
had as yet been able to do very little for the poor of the town; with
the clergy she had no intimate relations (church-going was for her and
Denzil only a politic conformity); and Polterham was not large enough
to call for the organization of special efforts. But her face invited
the necessitous; in the by-ways she had been appealed to for charity,
with results which became known among people inclined to beg. So it
happened that she was one day led on a benevolent mission into the
poorest part of the town, and had an opportunity of indulging her
helpful instincts.
This was in the afternoon. Between nine and ten that evening, as Denzil
and she sat together in the library (for once they were alone and at
peace), a servant informed her that Mrs. Wade wished to speak for a
moment on urgent business. She went out and found her friend in the
drawing-room.
"Can you give me a few minutes?"
"As long as ever you like! No one is here, for a wonder. Do you wish to
talk privately, or will you come into the study? We were sitting there."
"It's only politics."
"Oh, then come."
Quarrier would rather have been left in quiet over the proof-sheets of
his book--it was already going through the press--but he welcomed the
visitor with customary friendliness.
"Capital speech of Hartington's yesterday."
"Very good answer to Cross. What do you think of John Bright and the
licensed victuallers?"
"Oh," laughed Denzil, "he'll have to talk a good deal before he
persuades them that temperance is money in their pockets! I don't see
the good of that well-intentioned sophistry. But then, you know, I
belong to the habitual drunkards! You have heard that Scatchard Vialls
so represents me to all and sundry?"
"I should proceed against him for slander."
"On the contrary, I think it does me good. All the honest topers will
rally to me, and the sober Liberals will smile indulgently. Sir Wilfred
Lawson would long ago have been stamped out as a bore of the first
magnitude but for his saving humour."
Mrs. Wade presently made known her business; but with a preface which
disturbed the nerves of both her listeners.
"The enemy have a graver charge against you. I happened, an hour ago,
to catch a most alarming rumour. Mr. Quarrier, your wife will be your
ruin!"
Notwithstanding the tone of burlesque, Lilian turned pale, and Quarrier
stood frowning. Mrs. Wade examined them both, her bright eyes glancing
quickly from one face to the other and back again. She did not
continue, until Quarrier exclaimed impatiently:
"What is it now?"
"Nothing less than an accusation of bribery and corruption."
Relief was audible in Denzil's laugh.
"It's reported," Mrs. Wade went on, "that Mrs. Quarrier has been
distributing money--money in handfuls, through half-a-dozen streets
down by the river."
"You don't really mean"----began Lilian, who could not even yet quite
command her voice.
"It's positively going about! I thought it my duty to come and tell you
at once. What is the foundation?"
"I warned you, Lily," said Denzil, good-humouredly. "The fact is, Mrs.
Wade, she gave half-a-crown to some old woman in Water Lane this
afternoon. It was imprudent, of course. Who told you about it?"
"Mr. Rook, the stationer. It was talked of up and down High Street, he
assures me. We may laugh, but this kind of misrepresentation goes a
long way."
"Let the blackguards make the most of it!" cried Quarrier. "I have as
good things in store for them. One of Jobson's workmen told me this
morning that he and his fellows were being distinctly intimidated;
Jobson has told them several times that if the Radicals won, work would
be scarce, and that the voters would have only themselves to thank for
it. And Thomas Barker has been promising lowered rents at Lady-day."
"But who _could_ have told such falsehoods about me?" asked Lilian.
"Some old woman who didn't get the half-crown, no doubt," replied Mrs.
Wade.
"Those poor creatures I went to see have no vote."
"Oh, but handfuls of money, you know! It's the impression made on the
neighbourhood. Seriously, they are driven to desperate resources; and I
believe there _is_ a good deal of intimidation going on--especially on
the part of district-visitors. Mrs. Alexander told me of several
instances. And the wives (of course) are such wretched cowards! That
great big carpenter, East, is under his wife's thumb, and she has been
imploring him not to vote Liberal for fear of consequences--she sits
weeping, and talking about the workhouse. Contemptible idiot! It would
gratify me extremely to see her really going to the workhouse."
"And pray," asked Denzil, with a laugh, "what would be the result of
giving the franchise to such women?"
"The result _might_ be that, in time to come, there wouldn't be so many
of them."
"In time to come--possibly. In the meanwhile, send their girls to
school to learn a wholesome contempt for their mothers."
"Oh, Denzil!"
"Well, it sounds brutal, but it's very good sense. All progress
involves disagreeable necessities."
Mrs. Wade was looking about the room, smiling, absent. She rose
abruptly.
"I mustn't spoil your one quiet evening. How do the proofs go on?"
"Would you care to take a batch of them?" asked Quarrier. "These are
revises--you might be able to make a useful suggestion."
She hesitated, but at length held out her hand.
"You have rather a long walk," said Lilian. "I hope it's fine."
"No; it drizzles."
"Oh, how kind of you to take so much trouble on our account!"
Mrs. Wade went out into the darkness. It was as disagreeable a night as
the time of year could produce; black overhead, slimy under foot, with
a cold wind to dash the colder rain in one's face. The walk home took
more than half an hour, and she entered her cottage much fatigued.
Without speaking to the girl who admitted her, she went upstairs to
take off her out-of-door things; on coming down to the sitting-room,
she found her lamp lit, her fire burning, and supper on the table--a
glass of milk and some slices of bread and butter. Her friends would
have felt astonishment and compassion had they learned how plain and
slight was the fare that supported her; only by reducing her household
expenditure to the strict minimum could she afford to dress in the
manner of a lady, supply herself with a few papers and books, and keep
up the appearances without which it is difficult to enjoy any society
at all.
To-night she ate and drank with a bitter sense of her poverty and
loneliness. Before her mind's eye was the picture of Denzil Quarrier's
study--its luxury, brightness, wealth of volumes; and Denzil's face
made an inseparable part of the scene. That face had never ceased to
occupy her imagination since the evening of his lecture at the
Institute. Its haunting power was always greatest when she sat here
alone in the stillness. This little room, in which she had known the
pleasures of independence and retirement, seemed now but a prison. It
was a mean dwelling, fit only for labouring folk; the red blind
irritated her sight, and she had to turn away from it.
What a hope had come to her of a sudden last autumn! How recklessly she
had indulged it, and how the disappointment rankled!
A disappointment which she could not accept with the resignation due to
fate. At first she had done so; but then a singular surmise crept into
her thoughts--a suspicion which came she knew not whence--and
thereafter was no rest from fantastic suggestions. Her surmise did not
remain baseless; evidence of undeniable strength came to its support,
yet all was so vague--so unserviceable.
She opened the printed sheets that Quarrier had given her and for a few
minutes read with interest. Then her eyes and thoughts wandered.
Her servant knocked and entered, asking if she should remove the
supper-tray. In looking up at the girl, Mrs. Wade noticed red eyes and
other traces of weeping.
"What is the matter?" she asked, sharply. "Have you any news?"
The girl answered with a faltering negative. She, too, had her unhappy
story. A Polterham mechanic who made love to her lost his employment,
went to London with hopes and promises, and now for more than half a
year had given no sign of his existence. Mrs. Wade had been wont to
speak sympathetically on the subject, but to-night it excited her anger.
"Don't be such a simpleton, Annie! If only you knew anything of life,
you would be glad of what has happened. You are free again, and freedom
is the one thing in the world worth having. To sit and cry because--I'm
ashamed of you!"
Surprise and misery caused the tears to break forth again.
"Go to bed, and go to sleep!" said the mistress, harshly. "If ever you
_are_ married, you'll remember what I said, and look back to the time
when you knew nothing worse than silly girlish troubles. Have you no
pride? It's girls like you that make men think so lightly of all
women--despise us--say we are unfit for anything but cooking and
cradle-rocking! If you go on in this way you must leave me; I won't
have a silly, moping creature before my eyes, to make me lose all
patience!"
The girl took up the tray and hurried off. Her mistress sat till late
in the night, now reading a page of the proofs, now brooding with dark
countenance.