The Liberal Candidate and His Precursor
Jemima did not know whether she wished to go to Abermouth or not.
She longed for change. She wearied of the sights and sounds of
home. But yet she could not bear to leave the neighbourhood of Mr
Farquhar; especially as, if she went to Abermouth, Ruth would in all
probability be left to take her holiday at home.
When Mr Bradshaw decided that she was to go, Ruth tried to feel glad
that he gave her the means of repairing her fault towards Elizabeth;
and she resolved to watch over the two girls most faithfully and
carefully, and to do all in her power to restore the invalid to
health. But a tremor came over her whenever she thought of leaving
Leonard; she had never quitted him for a day, and it seemed to her as
if her brooding, constant care was his natural and necessary shelter
from all evils--from very death itself. She would not go to sleep at
nights, in order to enjoy the blessed consciousness of having him
near her; when she was away from him teaching her pupils, she kept
trying to remember his face, and print it deep on her heart, against
the time when days and days would elapse without her seeing that
little darling countenance. Miss Benson would wonder to her brother
that Mr Bradshaw did not propose that Leonard should accompany his
mother; he only begged her not to put such an idea into Ruth's head,
as he was sure Mr Bradshaw had no thoughts of doing any such thing,
yet to Ruth it might be a hope, and then a disappointment. His sister
scolded him for being so cold-hearted; but he was full of sympathy,
although he did not express it, and made some quiet little sacrifices
in order to set himself at liberty to take Leonard a long walking
expedition on the day when his mother left Eccleston.
Ruth cried until she could cry no longer, and felt very much ashamed
of herself as she saw the grave and wondering looks of her pupils,
whose only feeling on leaving home was delight at the idea of
Abermouth, and into whose minds the possibility of death to any of
their beloved ones never entered. Ruth dried her eyes, and spoke
cheerfully as soon as she caught the perplexed expression of their
faces; and by the time they arrived at Abermouth, she was as much
delighted with all the new scenery as they were, and found it hard
work to resist their entreaties to go rambling out on the seashore at
once; but Elizabeth had undergone more fatigue that day than she had
had before for many weeks, and Ruth was determined to be prudent.
Meanwhile, the Bradshaws' house at Eccleston was being rapidly
adapted for electioneering hospitality. The partition-wall between
the unused drawing-room and the school-room was broken down, in order
to admit of folding doors; the "ingenious" upholsterer of the town
(and what town does not boast of the upholsterer full of contrivances
and resources, in opposition to the upholsterer of steady capital and
no imagination, who looks down with uneasy contempt on ingenuity?)
had come in to give his opinion, that "nothing could be easier than
to convert a bathroom into a bedroom, by the assistance of a little
drapery to conceal the shower-bath," the string of which was to be
carefully concealed, for fear that the unconscious occupier of the
bath-bed might innocently take it for a bell-rope. The professional
cook of the town had been already engaged to take up her abode for a
month at Mr Bradshaw's, much to the indignation of Betsy, who became
a vehement partisan of Mr Cranworth, as soon as ever she heard of the
plan of her deposition from sovereign authority in the kitchen, in
which she had reigned supreme for fourteen years. Mrs Bradshaw sighed
and bemoaned herself in all her leisure moments, which were not many,
and wondered why their house was to be turned into an inn for this
Mr Donne, when everybody knew that the George was good enough for
the Cranworths, who never thought of asking the electors to the
Hall;--and they had lived at Cranworth ever since Julius Caesar's
time, and if that was not being an old family, she did not know what
was. The excitement soothed Jemima. There was something to do. It was
she who planned with the upholsterer; it was she who soothed Betsy
into angry silence; it was she who persuaded her mother to lie down
and rest, while she herself went out to buy the heterogeneous things
required to make the family and house presentable to Mr Donne and
his precursor--the friend of the parliamentary agent. This latter
gentleman never appeared himself on the scene of action, but pulled
all the strings notwithstanding. The friend was a Mr Hickson, a
lawyer--a briefless barrister, some people called him; but he himself
professed a great disgust to the law, as a "great sham," which
involved an immensity of underhand action, and truckling, and
time-serving, and was perfectly encumbered by useless forms and
ceremonies, and dead obsolete words. So, instead of putting his
shoulder to the wheel to reform the law, he talked eloquently against
it, in such a high-priest style, that it was occasionally a matter of
surprise how he could ever have made a friend of the parliamentary
agent before mentioned. But, as Mr Hickson himself said, it was the
very corruptness of the law which he was fighting against, in doing
all he could to effect the return of certain members to Parliament;
these certain members being pledged to effect a reform in the law,
according to Mr Hickson. And, as he once observed confidentially, "If
you had to destroy a hydra-headed monster, would you measure swords
with the demon as if he were a gentleman? Would you not rather seize
the first weapon that came to hand? And so do I. My great object in
life, sir, is to reform the law of England, sir. Once get a majority
of Liberal members into the House, and the thing is done. And I
consider myself justified, for so high--for, I may say, so holy--an
end, in using men's weaknesses to work out my purpose. Of course, if
men were angels, or even immaculate--men invulnerable to bribes, we
would not bribe."
"Could you?" asked Jemima, for the conversation took place at Mr
Bradshaw's dinner-table, where a few friends were gathered together
to meet Mr Hickson; and among them was Mr Benson.
"We neither would nor could," said the ardent barrister, disregarding
in his vehemence the point of the question, and floating on over the
bar of argument into the wide ocean of his own eloquence: "As it
is--as the world stands, they who would succeed even in good deeds
must come down to the level of expediency; and therefore, I say once
more, if Mr Donne is the man for your purpose, and your purpose is
a good one, a lofty one, a holy one" (for Mr Hickson remembered the
Dissenting character of his little audience, and privately considered
the introduction of the word "holy" a most happy hit), "then, I say,
we must put all the squeamish scruples which might befit Utopia, or
some such place, on one side, and treat men as they are. If they are
avaricious, it is not we who have made them so; but as we have to
do with them, we must consider their failings in dealing with them;
if they have been careless or extravagant, or have had their little
peccadillos, we must administer the screw. The glorious reform of the
law will justify, in my idea, all means to obtain the end--that law,
from the profession of which I have withdrawn myself from perhaps a
too scrupulous conscience!" he concluded softly to himself.
"We are not to do evil that good may come," said Mr Benson. He was
startled at the deep sound of his own voice as he uttered these
words; but he had not been speaking for some time, and his voice came
forth strong and unmodulated.
"True, sir; most true," said Mr Hickson, bowing. "I honour you for
the observation." And he profited by it, insomuch that he confined
his further remarks on elections to the end of the table, where
he sat near Mr Bradshaw, and one or two equally eager, though not
equally influential partisans of Mr Donne's. Meanwhile, Mr Farquhar
took up Mr Benson's quotation, at the end where he and Jemima sat
near to Mrs Bradshaw and him.
"But in the present state of the world, as Mr Hickson says, it is
rather difficult to act upon that precept."
"Oh, Mr Farquhar!" said Jemima, indignantly, the tears springing to
her eyes with a feeling of disappointment. For she had been chafing
under all that Mr Hickson had been saying, perhaps the more for one
or two attempts on his part at a flirtation with the daughter of
his wealthy host, which she resented with all the loathing of a
pre-occupied heart; and she had longed to be a man, to speak out her
wrath at this paltering with right and wrong. She had felt grateful
to Mr Benson for his one clear, short precept, coming down with a
divine force against which there was no appeal; and now to have Mr
Farquhar taking the side of expediency! It was too bad.
"Nay, Jemima!" said Mr Farquhar, touched, and secretly flattered by
the visible pain his speech had given. "Don't be indignant with me
till I have explained myself a little more. I don't understand myself
yet; and it is a very intricate question, or so it appears to me,
which I was going to put, really, earnestly, and humbly, for Mr
Benson's opinion. Now, Mr Benson, may I ask, if you always find it
practicable to act strictly in accordance with that principle? For
if you do not, I am sure no man living can! Are there not occasions
when it is absolutely necessary to wade through evil to good? I am
not speaking in the careless, presumptuous way of that man yonder,"
said he, lowering his voice, and addressing himself to Jemima more
exclusively; "I am really anxious to hear what Mr Benson will say
on the subject, for I know no one to whose candid opinion I should
attach more weight."
But Mr Benson was silent. He did not see Mrs Bradshaw and Jemima
leave the room. He was really, as Mr Farquhar supposed him,
completely absent, questioning himself as to how far his practice
tallied with his principle. By degrees he came to himself; he found
the conversation still turned on the election; and Mr Hickson, who
felt that he had jarred against the little minister's principles,
and yet knew, from the _carte du pays_ which the scouts of the
parliamentary agent had given him, that Mr Benson was a person to be
conciliated, on account of his influence over many of the working
people, began to ask him questions with an air of deferring to
superior knowledge, that almost surprised Mr Bradshaw, who had been
accustomed to treat "Benson" in a very different fashion, of civil
condescending indulgence, just as one listens to a child who can have
had no opportunities of knowing better.
At the end of a conversation that Mr Hickson held with Mr Benson, on
a subject in which the latter was really interested, and on which he
had expressed himself at some length, the young barrister turned to
Mr Bradshaw, and said very audibly,
"I wish Donne had been here. This conversation during the last
half-hour would have interested him almost as much as it has done
me."
Mr Bradshaw little guessed the truth, that Mr Donne was, at that
very moment, coaching up the various subjects of public interest in
Eccleston, and privately cursing the particular subject on which
Mr Benson had been holding forth, as being an unintelligible piece
of Quixotism; or the leading Dissenter of the town need not have
experienced a pang of jealousy at the possible future admiration his
minister might excite in the possible future member for Eccleston.
And if Mr Benson had been clairvoyant, he need not have made an
especial subject of gratitude out of the likelihood that he might
have an opportunity of so far interesting Mr Donne in the condition
of the people of Eccleston as to induce him to set his face against
any attempts at bribery.
Mr Benson thought of this half the night through; and ended by
determining to write a sermon on the Christian view of political
duties, which might be good for all, both electors and member, to
hear on the eve of an election. For Mr Donne was expected at Mr
Bradshaw's before the next Sunday; and, of course, as Mr and Miss
Benson had settled it, he would appear at the chapel with them on
that day. But the stinging conscience refused to be quieted. No
present plan of usefulness allayed the aching remembrance of the evil
he had done that good might come. Not even the look of Leonard, as
the early dawn fell on him, and Mr Benson's sleepless eyes saw the
rosy glow on his firm round cheeks; his open mouth, through which the
soft, long-drawn breath came gently quivering; and his eyes not fully
shut, but closed to outward sight--not even the aspect of the quiet,
innocent child could soothe the troubled spirit.
Leonard and his mother dreamt of each other that night. Her dream of
him was one of undefined terror--terror so great that it wakened her
up, and she strove not to sleep again, for fear that ominous ghastly
dream should return. He, on the contrary, dreamt of her sitting
watching and smiling by his bedside, as her gentle self had been many
a morning; and when she saw him awake (so it fell out in the dream),
she smiled still more sweetly, and bending down she kissed him, and
then spread out large, soft, white-feathered wings (which in no way
surprised her child--he seemed to have known they were there all
along), and sailed away through the open window far into the blue
sky of a summer's day. Leonard wakened up then, and remembered how
far away she really was--far more distant and inaccessible than the
beautiful blue sky to which she had betaken herself in his dream--and
cried himself to sleep again.
In spite of her absence from her child, which made one great and
abiding sorrow, Ruth enjoyed her seaside visit exceedingly. In the
first place, there was the delight of seeing Elizabeth's daily and
almost hourly improvement. Then, at the doctor's express orders,
there were so few lessons to be done, that there was time for the
long exploring rambles, which all three delighted in. And when the
rain came and the storms blew, the house, with its wild sea-views,
was equally delightful.
It was a large house, built on the summit of a rock, which nearly
overhung the shore below; there were, to be sure, a series of zigzag
tacking paths down the face of this rock, but from the house they
could not be seen. Old or delicate people would have considered the
situation bleak and exposed; indeed, the present proprietor wanted to
dispose of it on this very account; but by its present inhabitants,
this exposure and bleakness were called by other names, and
considered as charms. From every part of the rooms they saw the grey
storms gather on the sea-horizon, and put themselves in marching
array; and soon the march became a sweep, and the great dome of the
heavens was covered with the lurid clouds, between which and the
vivid green earth below there seemed to come a purple atmosphere,
making the very threatening beautiful; and by-and-by the house was
wrapped in sheets of rain shutting out sky, and sea, and inland view;
till, of a sudden, the storm was gone by, and the heavy rain-drops
glistened in the sun as they hung on leaf and grass, and the "little
birds sang east, and the little birds sang west," and there was a
pleasant sound of running waters all abroad.
"Oh! if papa would but buy this house!" exclaimed Elizabeth, after
one such storm, which she had watched silently from the very
beginning of the "little cloud no bigger than a man's hand."
"Mamma would never like it, I am afraid," said Mary. "She would call
our delicious gushes of air, draughts, and think we should catch
cold."
"Jemima would be on our side. But how long Mrs Denbigh is! I hope she
was near enough the post-office when the rain came on!"
Ruth had gone to "the shop" in the little village, about half-a-mile
distant, where all letters were left till fetched. She only expected
one, but that one was to tell her of Leonard. She, however, received
two; the unexpected one was from Mr Bradshaw, and the news it
contained was, if possible, a greater surprise than the letter
itself. Mr Bradshaw informed her, that he planned arriving by
dinner-time the following Saturday at Eagle's Crag; and more, that he
intended bringing Mr Donne and one or two other gentlemen with him,
to spend the Sunday there! The letter went on to give every possible
direction regarding the household preparations. The dinner-hour was
fixed to be at six; but, of course, Ruth and the girls would have
dined long before. The (professional) cook would arrive the day
before, laden with all the provisions that could not be obtained
on the spot. Ruth was to engage a waiter from the inn, and this it
was that detained her so long. While she sat in the little parlour,
awaiting the coming of the landlady, she could not help wondering why
Mr Bradshaw was bringing this strange gentleman to spend two days
at Abermouth, and thus giving himself so much trouble and fuss of
preparation.
There were so many small reasons that went to make up the large one
which had convinced Mr Bradshaw of the desirableness of this step,
that it was not likely that Ruth should guess at one half of them. In
the first place, Miss Benson, in the pride and fulness of her heart,
had told Mrs Bradshaw what her brother had told her; how he meant to
preach upon the Christian view of the duties involved in political
rights; and as, of course, Mrs Bradshaw had told Mr Bradshaw, he
began to dislike the idea of attending chapel on that Sunday at all;
for he had an uncomfortable idea that by the Christian standard--that
divine test of the true and pure--bribery would not be altogether
approved of; and yet he was tacitly coming round to the understanding
that "packets" would be required, for what purpose both he and Mr
Donne were to be supposed to remain ignorant. But it would be very
awkward, so near to the time, if he were to be clearly convinced that
bribery, however disguised by names and words, was in plain terms
a sin. And yet he knew Mr Benson had once or twice convinced him
against his will of certain things, which he had thenceforward found
it impossible to do, without such great uneasiness of mind, that he
had left off doing them, which was sadly against his interest. And if
Mr Donne (whom he had intended to take with him to chapel, as fair
Dissenting prey) should also become convinced, why, the Cranworths
would win the day, and he should be the laughing-stock of Eccleston.
No! in this one case bribery must be allowed--was allowable; but
it was a great pity human nature was so corrupt, and if his member
succeeded, he would double his subscription to the schools, in order
that the next generation might be taught better. There were various
other reasons, which strengthened Mr Bradshaw in the bright idea
of going down to Abermouth for the Sunday; some connected with the
out-of-door politics, and some with the domestic. For instance,
it had been the plan of the house to have a cold dinner on the
Sundays--Mr Bradshaw had piqued himself on this strictness--and yet
he had an instinctive feeling that Mr Donne was not quite the man to
partake of cold meat for conscience' sake with cheerful indifference
to his fare.
Mr Donne had, in fact, taken the Bradshaw household a little by
surprise. Before he came, Mr Bradshaw had pleased himself with
thinking, that more unlikely things had happened than the espousal
of his daughter with the member of a small borough. But this pretty
airy bubble burst as soon as he saw Mr Donne; and its very existence
was forgotten in less than half an hour, when he felt the quiet but
incontestible difference of rank and standard that there was, in
every respect, between his guest and his own family. It was not
through any circumstance so palpable, and possibly accidental, as the
bringing down a servant, whom Mr Donne seemed to consider as much
a matter of course as a carpet-bag (though the smart gentleman's
arrival "fluttered the Volscians in Corioli" considerably more
than his gentle-spoken master's). It was nothing like this; it was
something indescribable--a quiet being at ease, and expecting every
one else to be so--an attention to women, which was so habitual as
to be unconsciously exercised to those subordinate persons in Mr
Bradshaw's family--a happy choice of simple and expressive words,
some of which it must be confessed were slang, but fashionable
slang, and that makes all the difference--a measured, graceful way
of utterance, with a style of pronunciation quite different to
that of Eccleston. All these put together make but a part of the
indescribable whole which unconsciously affected Mr Bradshaw, and
established Mr Donne in his estimation as a creature quite different
to any he had seen before, and as most unfit to mate with Jemima. Mr
Hickson, who had appeared as a model of gentlemanly ease before Mr
Donne's arrival, now became vulgar and coarse in Mr Bradshaw's eyes.
And yet, such was the charm of that languid, high-bred manner, that
Mr Bradshaw "cottoned" (as he expressed it to Mr Farquhar) to his
new candidate at once. He was only afraid lest Mr Donne was too
indifferent to all things under the sun to care whether he gained or
lost the election; but he was reassured after the first conversation
they had together on the subject. Mr Donne's eye lightened with an
eagerness that was almost fierce, though his tones were as musical,
and nearly as slow, as ever; and when Mr Bradshaw alluded distantly
to "probable expenses" and "packets," Mr Donne replied,
"Oh, of course! disagreeable necessity! Better speak as little about
such things as possible; other people can be found to arrange all the
dirty work. Neither you nor I would like to soil our fingers by it, I
am sure. Four thousand pounds are in Mr Pilson's hands, and I shall
never inquire what becomes of them; they may, very probably, be
absorbed in the law expenses, you know. I shall let it be clearly
understood from the hustings, that I most decidedly disapprove of
bribery, and leave the rest to Hickson's management. He is accustomed
to these sort of things. I am not."
Mr Bradshaw was rather perplexed by this want of bustling energy on
the part of the new candidate; and if it had not been for the four
thousand pounds aforesaid, would have doubted whether Mr Donne
cared sufficiently for the result of the election. Jemima thought
differently. She watched her father's visitor attentively, with
something like the curious observation which a naturalist bestows on
a new species of animal.
"Do you know what Mr Donne reminds me of, mamma?" said she, one day,
as the two sat at work, while the gentlemen were absent canvassing.
"No! he is not like anybody I ever saw. He quite frightens me, by
being so ready to open the door for me if I am going out of the room,
and by giving me a chair when I come in. I never saw any one like
him. Who is it, Jemima?"
"Not any person--not any human being, mamma," said Jemima, half
smiling. "Do you remember our stopping at Wakefield once, on our way
to Scarborough, and there were horse-races going on somewhere, and
some of the racers were in the stables at the inn where we dined?"
"Yes! I remember it; but what about that?"
"Why, Richard, somehow, knew one of the jockeys, and, as we were
coming in from our ramble through the town, this man, or boy, asked
us to look at one of the racers he had the charge of."
"Well, my dear!"
"Well, mamma! Mr Donne is like that horse!"
"Nonsense, Jemima; you must not say so. I don't know what your father
would say, if he heard you likening Mr Donne to a brute."
"Brutes are sometimes very beautiful, mamma. I am sure I should think
it a compliment to be likened to a race-horse, such as the one we
saw. But the thing in which they are alike, is the sort of repressed
eagerness in both."
"Eager! Why, I should say there never was any one cooler than Mr
Donne. Think of the trouble your papa has had this month past, and
then remember the slow way in which Mr Donne moves when he is going
out to canvass, and the low, drawling voice in which he questions the
people who bring him intelligence. I can see your papa standing by,
ready to shake them to get out their news."
"But Mr Donne's questions are always to the point, and force out the
grain without the chaff. And look at him, if any one tells him ill
news about the election! Have you never seen a dull red light come
into his eyes? That is like my race-horse. Her flesh quivered all
over, at certain sounds and noises which had some meaning to her;
but she stood quite still, pretty creature! Now, Mr Donne is just as
eager as she was, though he may be too proud to show it. Though he
seems so gentle, I almost think he is very headstrong in following
out his own will."
"Well! don't call him like a horse again, for I am sure papa would
not like it. Do you know, I thought you were going to say he was like
little Leonard, when you asked me who he was like."
"Leonard! Oh, mamma, he is not in the least like Leonard. He is
twenty times more like my race-horse.
"Now, my dear Jemima, do be quiet. Your father thinks racing so
wrong, that I am sure he would be very seriously displeased if he
were to hear you."
To return to Mr Bradshaw, and to give one more of his various reasons
for wishing to take Mr Donne to Abermouth. The wealthy Eccleston
manufacturer was uncomfortably impressed with an indefinable sense of
inferiority to his visitor. It was not in education, for Mr Bradshaw
was a well-educated man; it was not in power, for, if he chose, the
present object of Mr Donne's life might be utterly defeated; it
did not arise from anything overbearing in manner, for Mr Donne
was habitually polite and courteous, and was just now anxious to
propitiate his host, whom he looked upon as a very useful man.
Whatever this sense of inferiority arose from, Mr Bradshaw was
anxious to relieve himself of it, and imagined that if he could make
more display of his wealth his object would be obtained. Now his
house in Eccleston was old-fashioned, and ill-calculated to exhibit
money's worth. His mode of living, though strained to a high pitch
just at this time, he became aware was no more than Mr Donne was
accustomed to every day of his life. The first day at dessert, some
remark (some opportune remark, as Mr Bradshaw in his innocence had
thought) was made regarding the price of pine-apples, which was
rather exorbitant that year, and Mr Donne asked Mrs Bradshaw, with
quiet surprise, if they had no pinery, as if to be without a pinery
were indeed a depth of pitiable destitution. In fact, Mr Donne had
been born and cradled in all that wealth could purchase, and so had
his ancestors before him for so many generations, that refinement
and luxury seemed the natural condition of man, and they that dwelt
without were in the position of monsters. The absence was noticed;
but not the presence.
Now, Mr Bradshaw knew that the house and grounds of Eagle's Crag were
exorbitantly dear, and yet he really thought of purchasing them. And
as one means of exhibiting his wealth, and so raising himself up to
the level of Mr Donne, he thought that if he could take the latter
down to Abermouth, and show him the place for which, "because his
little girls had taken a fancy to it," he was willing to give the
fancy-price of fourteen thousand pounds, he should at last make those
half-shut dreamy eyes open wide, and their owner confess that, in
wealth at least, the Eccleston manufacturer stood on a par with him.
All these mingled motives caused the determination which made Ruth
sit in the little inn-parlour at Abermouth during the wild storm's
passage.
She wondered if she had fulfilled all Mr Bradshaw's directions. She
looked at the letter. Yes! everything was done. And now home with her
news, through the wet lane, where the little pools by the roadside
reflected the deep blue sky and the round white clouds with even
deeper blue and clearer white; and the rain-drops hung so thick on
the trees, that even a little bird's flight was enough to shake them
down in a bright shower as of rain. When she told the news, Mary
exclaimed,
"Oh, how charming! Then we shall see this new member after all!"
while Elizabeth added,
"Yes! I shall like to do that. But where must we be? Papa will want
the dining-room and this room, and where must we sit?"
"Oh!" said Ruth, "in the dressing-room next to my room. All that your
papa wants always, is that you are quiet and out of the way."