THE WORLD BECOMES COLD.
A great deal was said by very many persons in London as to the
murderous attack which had been made by Mr. Kennedy on Phineas Finn
in Judd Street, but the advice given by Mr. Slide in The People's
Banner to the police was not taken. No public or official inquiry
was made into the circumstance. Mr. Kennedy, under the care of his
cousin, retreated to Scotland; and, as it seemed, there was to be
an end of it. Throughout the month of March various smaller bolts
were thrust both at Phineas and at the police by the editor of
the above-named newspaper, but they seemed to fall without much
effect. No one was put in prison; nor was any one ever examined. But,
nevertheless, these missiles had their effect. Everybody knew that
there had been a "row" between Mr. Kennedy and Phineas Finn, and that
the "row" had been made about Mr. Kennedy's wife. Everybody knew
that a pistol had been fired at Finn's head; and a great many people
thought that there had been some cause for the assault. It was
alleged at one club that the present member for Tankerville had spent
the greater part of the last two years at Dresden, and at another
that he had called on Mr. Kennedy twice, once down in Scotland,
and once at the hotel in Judd Street, with a view of inducing that
gentleman to concede to a divorce. There was also a very romantic
story afloat as to an engagement which had existed between Lady Laura
and Phineas Finn before the lady had been induced by her father to
marry the richer suitor. Various details were given in corroboration
of these stories. Was it not known that the Earl had purchased the
submission of Phineas Finn by a seat for his borough of Loughton?
Was it not known that Lord Chiltern, the brother of Lady Laura, had
fought a duel with Phineas Finn? Was it not known that Mr. Kennedy
himself had been as it were coerced into quiescence by the singular
fact that he had been saved from garotters in the street by the
opportune interference of Phineas Finn? It was even suggested that
the scene with the garotters had been cunningly planned by Phineas
Finn, that he might in this way be able to restrain the anger of
the husband of the lady whom he loved. All these stories were very
pretty; but as the reader, it is hoped, knows, they were all untrue.
Phineas had made but one short visit to Dresden in his life. Lady
Laura had been engaged to Mr. Kennedy before Phineas had ever spoken
to her of his love. The duel with Lord Chiltern had been about
another lady, and the seat at Loughton had been conferred upon
Phineas chiefly on account of his prowess in extricating Mr. Kennedy
from the garotters,--respecting which circumstance it may be said
that as the meeting in the street was fortuitous, the reward was
greater than the occasion seemed to require.
While all these things were being said Phineas became something of a
hero. A man who is supposed to have caused a disturbance between two
married people, in a certain rank of life, does generally receive a
certain meed of admiration. A man who was asked out to dinner twice
a week before such rumours were afloat, would probably receive double
that number of invitations afterwards. And then to have been shot
at by a madman in a room, and to be the subject of the venom of a
People's Banner, tends also to Fame. Other ladies besides Madame
Goesler were anxious to have the story from the very lips of the
hero, and in this way Phineas Finn became a conspicuous man. But
Fame begets envy, and there were some who said that the member for
Tankerville had injured his prospects with his party. It may be very
well to give a dinner to a man who has caused the wife of a late
Cabinet Minister to quarrel with her husband; but it can hardly be
expected that he should be placed in office by the head of the party
to which that late Cabinet Minister belonged. "I never saw such a
fellow as you are," said Barrington Erle to him. "You are always
getting into a mess."
"Nobody ought to know better than you how false all these calumnies
are." This he said because Erle and Lady Laura were cousins.
"Of course they are calumnies; but you had heard them before, and
what made you go poking your head into the lion's mouth?"
Mr. Bonteen was very much harder upon him than was Barrington Erle.
"I never liked him from the first, and always knew he would not run
straight. No Irishman ever does." This was said to Viscount Fawn, a
distinguished member of the Liberal party, who had but lately been
married, and was known to have very strict notions as to the bonds of
matrimony. He had been heard to say that any man who had interfered
with the happiness of a married couple should be held to have
committed a capital offence.
"I don't know whether the story about Lady Laura is true."
"Of course it's true. All the world knows it to be true. He was
always there; at Loughlinter, and at Saulsby, and in Portman
Square after she had left her husband. The mischief he has done is
incalculable. There's a Conservative sitting in poor Kennedy's seat
for Dunross-shire."
"That might have been the case anyway."
"Nothing could have turned Kennedy out. Don't you remember how he
behaved about the Irish Land Question? I hate such fellows."
"If I thought it true about Lady Laura--"
Lord Fawn was again about to express his opinion in regard to
matrimony, but Mr. Bonteen was too impetuous to listen to him. "It's
out of the question that he should come in again. At any rate if he
does, I won't. I shall tell Gresham so very plainly. The women will
do all that they can for him. They always do for a fellow of that
kind."
Phineas heard of it;--not exactly by any repetition of the words
that were spoken, but by chance phrases, and from the looks of men.
Lord Cantrip, who was his best friend among those who were certain
to hold high office in a Liberal Government, did not talk to him
cheerily,--did not speak as though he, Phineas, would as a matter
of course have some place assigned to him. And he thought that Mr.
Gresham was hardly as cordial to him as he might be when they met
in the closer intercourse of the House. There was always a word
or two spoken, and sometimes a shaking of hands. He had no right
to complain. But yet he knew that something was wanting. We can
generally read a man's purpose towards us in his manner, if his
purposes are of much moment to us.
Phineas had written to Lady Laura, giving her an account of the
occurrence in Judd Street on the 1st of March, and had received from
her a short answer by return of post. It contained hardly more than
a thanksgiving that his life had not been sacrificed, and in a day or
two she had written again, letting him know that she had determined
to consult her father. Then on the last day of the month he received
the following letter:--
Dresden, March 27th, 18--.
MY DEAR FRIEND,--
At last we have resolved that we will go back to
England,--almost at once. Things have gone so rapidly
that I hardly know how to explain them all, but that is
Papa's resolution. His lawyer, Mr. Forster, tells him
that it will be best, and goes so far as to say that it
is imperative on my behalf that some steps should be taken
to put an end to the present state of things. I will
not scruple to tell you that he is actuated chiefly by
considerations as to money. It is astonishing to me that
a man who has all his life been so liberal should now in
his old age think so much about it. It is, however, in no
degree for himself. It is all for me. He cannot bear to
think that my fortune should be withheld from me by Mr.
Kennedy while I have done nothing wrong. I was obliged to
show him your letter, and what you said about the control
of money took hold of his mind at once. He thinks that
if my unfortunate husband be insane, there can be no
difficulty in my obtaining a separation on terms which
would oblige him or his friends to restore this horrid
money.
Of course I could stay if I chose. Papa would not refuse
to find a home for me here. But I do agree with Mr.
Forster that something should be done to stop the tongues
of ill-conditioned people. The idea of having my name
dragged through the newspapers is dreadful to me; but if
this must be done one way or the other, it will be better
that it should be done with truth. There is nothing that
I need fear,--as you know so well.
I cannot look forward to happiness anywhere. If the
question of separation were once settled, I do not know
whether I would not prefer returning here to remaining in
London. Papa has got tired of the place, and wants, he
says, to see Saulsby once again before he dies. What can
I say in answer to this, but that I will go? We have sent
to have the house in Portman Square got ready for us, and
I suppose we shall be there about the 15th of next month.
Papa has instructed Mr. Forster to tell Mr. Kennedy's
lawyer that we are coming, and he is to find out, if he
can, whether any interference in the management of the
property has been as yet made by the family. Perhaps I
ought to tell you that Mr. Forster has expressed surprise
that you did not call on the police when the shot was
fired. Of course I can understand it all. God bless you.
Your affectionate friend,
L. K.
Phineas was obliged to console himself by reflecting that if she
understood him of course that was everything. His first and great
duty in the matter had been to her. If in performing that duty he had
sacrificed himself, he must bear his undeserved punishment like a
man. That he was to be punished he began to perceive too clearly. The
conviction that Mr. Daubeny must recede from the Treasury Bench after
the coming debate became every day stronger, and within the little
inner circles of the Liberal party the usual discussions were made
as to the Ministry which Mr. Gresham would, as a matter of course,
be called upon to form. But in these discussions Phineas Finn did
not find himself taking an assured and comfortable part. Laurence
Fitzgibbon, his countryman,--who in the way of work had never been
worth his salt,--was eager, happy, and without a doubt. Others of the
old stagers, men who had been going in and out ever since they had
been able to get seats in Parliament, stood about in clubs, and in
lobbies, and chambers of the House, with all that busy, magpie air
which is worn only by those who have high hopes of good things to
come speedily. Lord Mount Thistle was more sublime and ponderous
than ever, though they who best understood the party declared that
he would never again be invited to undergo the cares of office. His
lordship was one of those terrible political burdens, engendered
originally by private friendship or family considerations, which
one Minister leaves to another. Sir Gregory Grogram, the great Whig
lawyer, showed plainly by his manner that he thought himself at last
secure of reaching the reward for which he had been struggling all
his life; for it was understood by all men who knew anything that
Lord Weazeling was not to be asked again to sit on the Woolsack.
No better advocate or effective politician ever lived; but it was
supposed that he lacked dignity for the office of first judge in
the land. That most of the old lot would come back was a matter of
course.
There would be the Duke,--the Duke of St. Bungay, who had for years
past been "the Duke" when Liberal administrations were discussed, and
the second Duke, whom we know so well; and Sir Harry Coldfoot, and
Legge Wilson, Lord Cantrip, Lord Thrift, and the rest of them. There
would of course be Lord Fawn, Mr. Ratler, and Mr. Erle. The thing was
so thoroughly settled that one was almost tempted to think that the
Prime Minister himself would have no voice in the selections to be
made. As to one office it was acknowledged on all sides that a doubt
existed which would at last be found to be very injurious,--as some
thought altogether crushing,--to the party. To whom would Mr. Gresham
entrust the financial affairs of the country? Who would be the new
Chancellor of the Exchequer? There were not a few who inferred that
Mr. Bonteen would be promoted to that high office. During the last
two years he had devoted himself to decimal coinage with a zeal only
second to that displayed by Plantagenet Palliser, and was accustomed
to say of himself that he had almost perished under his exertions. It
was supposed that he would have the support of the present Duke of
Omnium,--and that Mr. Gresham, who disliked the man, would be coerced
by the fact that there was no other competitor. That Mr. Bonteen
should go into the Cabinet would be gall and wormwood to many brother
Liberals; but gall and wormwood such as this have to be swallowed.
The rising in life of our familiar friends is, perhaps, the bitterest
morsel of the bitter bread which we are called upon to eat in life.
But we do eat it; and after a while it becomes food to us,--when we
find ourselves able to use, on behalf, perhaps, of our children, the
influence of those whom we had once hoped to leave behind in the race
of life. When a man suddenly shoots up into power few suffer from it
very acutely. The rise of a Pitt can have caused no heart-burning.
But Mr. Bonteen had been a hack among the hacks, had filled the usual
half-dozen places, had been a junior Lord, a Vice-President, a Deputy
Controller, a Chief Commissioner, and a Joint Secretary. His hopes
had been raised or abased among the places of £1,000, £1,200, or
£1,500 a year. He had hitherto culminated at £2,000, and had been
supposed with diligence to have worked himself up to the top of
the ladder, as far as the ladder was accessible to him. And now he
was spoken of in connection with one of the highest offices of the
State! Of course this created much uneasiness, and gave rise to
many prophecies of failure. But in the midst of it all no office
was assigned to Phineas Finn; and there was a general feeling, not
expressed, but understood, that his affair with Mr. Kennedy stood in
his way.
Quintus Slide had undertaken to crush him! Could it be possible that
so mean a man should be able to make good so monstrous a threat?
The man was very mean, and the threat had been absurd as well as
monstrous; and yet it seemed that it might be realised. Phineas was
too proud to ask questions, even of Barrington Erle, but he felt
that he was being "left out in the cold," because the editor of The
People's Banner had said that no government could employ him; and at
this moment, on the very morning of the day which was to usher in the
great debate, which was to be so fatal to Mr. Daubeny and his Church
Reform, another thunderbolt was hurled. The "we" of The People's
Banner had learned that the very painful matter, to which they had
been compelled by a sense of duty to call the public attention in
reference to the late member for Dunross-shire and the present member
for Tankerville, would be brought before one of the tribunals of the
country, in reference to the matrimonial differences between Mr.
Kennedy and his wife. It would be in the remembrance of their readers
that the unfortunate gentleman had been provoked to fire a pistol
at the head of the member for Tankerville,--a circumstance which,
though publicly known, had never been brought under the notice of
the police. There was reason to hope that the mystery might now
be cleared up, and that the ends of justice would demand that a
certain document should be produced, which they,--the "we,"--had been
vexatiously restrained from giving to their readers, although it had
been most carefully prepared for publication in the columns of The
People's Banner. Then the thunderbolt went on to say that there was
evidently a great move among the members of the so-called Liberal
party, who seemed to think that it was only necessary that they
should open their mouths wide enough in order that the sweets of
office should fall into them. The "we" were quite of a different
opinion. The "we" believed that no Minister for many a long day had
been so firmly fixed on the Treasury Bench as was Mr. Daubeny at the
present moment. But this at any rate might be inferred;--that should
Mr. Gresham by any unhappy combination of circumstances be called
upon to form a Ministry, it would be quite impossible for him to
include within it the name of the member for Tankerville. This was
the second great thunderbolt that fell,--and so did the work of
crushing our poor friend proceed.
There was a great injustice in all this; at least so Phineas
thought;--injustice, not only from the hands of Mr. Slide, who was
unjust as a matter of course, but also from those who ought to have
been his staunch friends. He had been enticed over to England almost
with a promise of office, and he was sure that he had done nothing
which deserved punishment, or even censure. He could not condescend
to complain,--nor indeed as yet could he say that there was ground
for complaint. Nothing had been done to him. Not a word had been
spoken,--except those lying words in the newspapers which he was too
proud to notice. On one matter, however, he was determined to be
firm. When Barrington Erle had absolutely insisted that he should
vote upon the Church Bill in opposition to all that he had said upon
the subject at Tankerville, he had stipulated that he should have an
opportunity in the great debate which would certainly take place of
explaining his conduct,--or, in other words, that the privilege of
making a speech should be accorded to him at a time in which very
many members would no doubt attempt to speak and would attempt in
vain. It may be imagined,--probably still is imagined by a great
many,--that no such pledge as this could be given, that the right
to speak depends simply on the Speaker's eye, and that energy at
the moment in attracting attention would alone be of account to an
eager orator. But Phineas knew the House too well to trust to such
a theory. That some preliminary assistance would be given to the
travelling of the Speaker's eye, in so important a debate, he knew
very well; and he knew also that a promise from Barrington Erle or
from Mr. Ratler would be his best security. "That will be all right,
of course," said Barrington Erle to him on the evening the day before
the debate: "We have quite counted on your speaking." There had been
a certain sullenness in the tone with which Phineas had asked his
question as though he had been labouring under a grievance, and he
felt himself rebuked by the cordiality of the reply. "I suppose we
had better fix it for Monday or Tuesday," said the other. "We hope
to get it over by Tuesday, but there is no knowing. At any rate you
shan't be thrown over." It was almost on his tongue,--the entire
story of his grievance, the expression of his feeling that he was not
being treated as one of the chosen; but he restrained himself. He
liked Barrington Erle well enough, but not so well as to justify him
in asking for sympathy.
Nor had it been his wont in any of the troubles of his life to ask
for sympathy from a man. He had always gone to some woman;--in old
days to Lady Laura, or to Violet Effingham, or to Madame Goesler. By
them he could endure to be petted, praised, or upon occasion even
pitied. But pity or praise from any man had been distasteful to him.
On the morning of the 1st of April he again went to Park Lane, not
with any formed plan of telling the lady of his wrongs, but driven by
a feeling that he wanted comfort, which might perhaps be found there.
The lady received him very kindly, and at once inquired as to the
great political tournament which was about to be commenced. "Yes; we
begin to-day," said Phineas. "Mr. Daubeny will speak, I should say,
from half-past four till seven. I wonder you don't go and hear him."
"What a pleasure! To hear a man speak for two hours and a half about
the Church of England. One must be very hard driven for amusement!
Will you tell me that you like it?"
"I like to hear a good speech."
"But you have the excitement before you of making a good speech in
answer. You are in the fight. A poor woman, shut up in a cage, feels
there more acutely than anywhere else how insignificant a position
she fills in the world."
"You don't advocate the rights of women, Madame Goesler?"
"Oh, no. Knowing our inferiority I submit without a grumble; but I am
not sure that I care to go and listen to the squabbles of my masters.
You may arrange it all among you, and I will accept what you do,
whether it be good or bad,--as I must; but I cannot take so much
interest in the proceeding as to spend my time in listening where I
cannot speak, and in looking when I cannot be seen. You will speak?"
"Yes; I think so."
"I shall read your speech, which is more than I shall do for most of
the others. And when it is all over, will your turn come?"
"Not mine individually, Madame Goesler."
"But it will be yours individually;--will it not?" she asked with
energy. Then gradually, with half-pronounced sentences, he explained
to her that even in the event of the formation of a Liberal
Government, he did not expect that any place would be offered to him.
"And why not? We have been all speaking of it as a certainty."
He longed to inquire who were the all of whom she spoke, but he could
not do it without an egotism which would be distasteful to him. "I
can hardly tell;--but I don't think I shall be asked to join them."
"You would wish it?"
"Yes;--talking to you I do not see why I should hesitate to say so."
"Talking to me, why should you hesitate to say anything about
yourself that is true? I can hold my tongue. I do not gossip about my
friends. Whose doing is it?"
"I do not know that it is any man's doing."
"But it must be. Everybody said that you were to be one of them if
you could get the other people out. Is it Mr. Bonteen?"
"Likely enough. Not that I know anything of the kind; but as I hate
him from the bottom of my heart, it is natural to suppose that he has
the same feeling in regard to me."
"I agree with you there."
"But I don't know that it comes from any feeling of that kind."
"What does it come from?"
"You have heard all the calumny about Lady Laura Kennedy."
"You do not mean to say that a story such as that has affected your
position."
"I fancy it has. But you must not suppose, Madame Goesler, that I
mean to complain. A man must take these things as they come. No one
has received more kindness from friends than I have, and few perhaps
more favours from fortune. All this about Mr. Kennedy has been
unlucky,--but it cannot be helped."
"Do you mean to say that the morals of your party will be offended?"
said Madame Goesler, almost laughing.
"Lord Fawn, you know, is very particular. In sober earnest one cannot
tell how these things operate; but they do operate gradually. One's
friends are sometimes very glad of an excuse for not befriending
one."
"Lady Laura is coming home?"
"Yes."
"That will put an end to it."
"There is nothing to put an end to except the foul-mouthed malice of
a lying newspaper. Nobody believes anything against Lady Laura."
"I'm not so sure of that. I believe nothing against her."
"I'm sure you do not, Madame Goesler. Nor do I think that anybody
does. It is too absurd for belief from beginning to end. Good-bye.
Perhaps I shall see you when the debate is over."
"Of course you will. Good-bye, and success to your oratory." Then
Madame Goesler resolved that she would say a few judicious words to
her friend, the Duchess, respecting Phineas Finn.