In the meantime, the great news being no longer a secret, the utmost
excitement prevailed in the world of politics. The Tories had quite made
up their minds that the ministry would have resigned, and were sanguine,
under such circumstances, of the result. The parliament, which the
ministry was going to dissolve, was one which had been elected by
their counsel and under their auspices. It was unusual, almost
unconstitutional, thus to terminate the body they had created.
Nevertheless, the Whigs, never too delicate in such matters, thought
they had a chance, and determined not to lose it. One thing they
immediately succeeded in, and that was, frightening their opponents.
A dissolution with the Tories in opposition was not pleasant to that
party; but a dissolution with a cry of “Cheap bread!” amid a partially
starving population, was not exactly the conjuncture of providential
circumstances which had long been watched and wished for, and cherished
and coddled and proclaimed and promised, by the energetic army of
Conservative wire-pullers.
Mr. Tadpole was very restless at the crowded Carlton, speaking to
every one, unhesitatingly answering every question, alike cajoling and
dictatorial, and yet, all the time, watching the door of the morning
room with unquiet anxiety.
“They will never be able to get up the steam, Sir Thomas; the Chartists
are against them. The Chartists will never submit to anything that is
cheap. In spite of their wild fancies, they are real John Bulls. I
beg your pardon, but I see a gentleman I must speak to,” and he rushed
towards the door as Waldershare entered.
“Well, what is your news?” asked Mr. Tadpole, affecting unconcern.
“I come here for news,” said Waldershare. “This is my Academus, and you,
Tadpole, are my Plato.”
“Well, if you want the words of a wise man, listen to me. If I had a
great friend, which Mr. Waldershare probably has, who wants a great
place, these are times in which such a man should show his power.”
“I have a great friend whom I wish to have a great place,” said
Waldershare, “and I think he is quite ready to show his power, if he
knew exactly how to exercise it.”
“What I am saying to you is not known to a single person in this room,
and to only one out of it, but you may depend upon what I say. Lord
Montfort’s cousin retires from Northborough to sit for the county. They
think they can nominate his successor as a matter of course. A delusion;
your friend Lord Beaumaris can command the seat.”
“Well, I think you can depend on Beaumaris,” said Waldershare, much
interested.
“I depend upon you,” said Mr. Tadpole, with a glance of affectionate
credulity. “The party already owes you much. This will be a crowning
service.”
“Beaumaris is rather a queer man to deal with,” said Waldershare; “he
requires gentle handling.”
“All the world says he consults you on everything.”
“All the world, as usual, is wrong,” said Waldershare. “Lord Beaumaris
consults no one except Lady Beaumaris.”
“Well then we shall do,” rejoined Mr. Tadpole triumphantly. “Our man
that I want him to return is a connection of Lady Beaumaris, a Mr.
Rodney, very anxious to get into parliament, and rich. I do not know who
he is exactly, but it is a good name; say a cousin of Lord Rodney until
the election is over, and then they may settle it as they like.”
“A Mr. Rodney,” said Waldershare musingly; “well, if I hear anything I
will let you know. I suppose you are in pretty good spirits?”
“I should like a little sunshine. A cold spring, and now a wet summer,
and the certainty of a shocking harvest combined with manufacturing
distress spreading daily, is not pleasant, but the English are a
discriminating people. They will hardly persuade them that Sir Robert
has occasioned the bad harvests.”
“The present men are clearly responsible for all that,” said
Waldershare.
There was a reception at Lady Roehampton’s this evening. Very few Tories
attended it, but Lady Beaumaris was there. She never lost an opportunity
of showing by her presence how grateful she was to Myra for the kindness
which had greeted Imogene when she first entered society. Endymion,
as was his custom when the opportunity offered, rather hung about
Lady Beaumaris. She always welcomed him with unaffected cordiality and
evident pleasure. He talked to her, and then gave way to others, and
then came and talked to her again, and then he proposed to take her to
have a cup of tea, and she assented to the proposal with a brightening
eye and a bewitching smile.
“I suppose your friends are very triumphant, Lady Beaumaris?” said
Endymion.
“Yes; they naturally are very excited. I confess I am not myself.”
“But you ought to be,” said Endymion. “You will have an immense
position. I should think Lord Beaumaris would have any office he chose,
and yours will be the chief house of the party.”
“I do not know that Lord Beaumaris would care to have office, and I
hardly think any office would suit him. As for myself, I am obliged to
be ambitious, but I have no ambition, or rather I would say, I think I
was happier when we all seemed to be on the same side.”
“Well, those were happy days,” said Endymion, “and these are happy days.
And few things make me happier than to see Lady Beaumaris admired and
appreciated by every one.”
“I wish you would not call me Lady Beaumaris. That may be, and indeed
perhaps is, necessary in society, but when we are alone, I prefer being
called by a name which once you always and kindly used.”
“I shall always love the name,” said Endymion, “and,” he added with some
hesitation, “shall always love her who bears it.”
She involuntarily pressed his arm, though very slightly; and then in
rather a hushed and hurried tone she said, “They were talking about you
at dinner to-day. I fear this change of government, if there is to be
one, will be injurious to you--losing your private secretaryship to Mr.
Wilton, and perhaps other things?”
“Fortune of war,” said Endymion; “we must bear these haps. But the truth
is, I think it is not unlikely that there may be a change in my life
which may be incompatible with retaining my secretaryship under any
circumstances.”
“You are not going to be married?” she said quickly.
“Not the slightest idea of such an event.”
“You are too young to marry.”
“Well, I am older than you.”
“Yes; but men and women are different in that matter. Besides, you have
too many fair friends to marry, at least at present. What would Lady
Roehampton say?”
“Well, I have sometimes thought my sister wished me to marry.”
“But then there are others who are not sisters, but who are equally
interested in your welfare,” said Lady Beaumaris, looking up into his
face with her wondrous eyes; but the lashes were so long, that it was
impossible to decide whether the glance was an anxious one or one half
of mockery.
“Well, I do not think I shall ever marry,” said Endymion. “The change in
my life I was alluding to is one by no means of a romantic character. I
have some thoughts of trying my luck on the hustings, and getting into
parliament.”
“That would be delightful,” said Lady Beaumaris. “Do you know that it
has been one of my dreams that you should be in parliament?”
“Ah! dearest Imogene, for you said I might call you Imogene, you must
take care what you say. Remember we are unhappily in different camps.
You must not wish me success in my enterprise; quite the reverse; it
is more than probable that you will have to exert all your influence
against me; yes, canvass against me, and wear hostile ribbons, and use
all your irresistible charms to array electors against me, or to detach
them from my ranks.”
“Even in jest, you ought not to say such things,” said Lady Beaumaris.
“But I am not in jest, I am in dreadful earnest. Only this morning I was
offered a seat, which they told me was secure; but when I inquired into
all the circumstances, I found the interest of Lord Beaumaris so great,
that it would be folly for me to attempt it.”
“What seat?” inquired Lady Beaumaris in a low voice.
“Northborough,” said Endymion, “now held by Lord Montfort’s cousin, who
is to come in for his county. The seat was offered to me, and I was told
I was to be returned without opposition.”
“Lady Montfort offered it to you?” asked Imogene.
“She interested herself for me, and Lord Montfort approved the
suggestion. It was described to me as a family seat, but when I looked
into the matter, I found that Lord Beaumaris was more powerful than Lord
Montfort.”
“I thought that Lady Montfort was irresistible,” said Imogene; “she
carries all before her in society.”
“Society and politics have much to do with each other, but they are not
identical. In the present case, Lady Montfort is powerless.”
“And have you formally abandoned the seat?” inquired Lady Beaumaris.
“Not formally abandoned it; that was not necessary, but I have dismissed
it from my mind, and for some time have been trying to find another
seat, but hitherto without success. In short, in these days it is no
longer possible to step into parliament as if you were stepping into a
club.”
“If I could do anything, however little?” said Imogene. “Perhaps Lady
Montfort would not like me to interfere?”
“Why not?”
“Oh! I do not know,” and then after some hesitation she added, “Is she
jealous?”
“Jealous! why should she be jealous?”
“Perhaps she has had no cause.”
“You know Lady Montfort. She is a woman of quick and brilliant feeling,
the best of friends and a dauntless foe. Her kindness to me from the
first moment I made her acquaintance has been inexpressible, and I
sincerely believe she is most anxious to serve me. But our party is not
very popular at present; there is no doubt the country is against us. It
is tired of us. I feel myself the general election will be disastrous.
Liberal seats are not abundant just now, quite the reverse, and though
Lady Montfort has done more than any one could under the circumstances,
I feel persuaded, though you think her irresistible, she will not
succeed.”
“I hardly know her,” said Imogene. “The world considers her
irresistible, and I think you do. Nevertheless, I wish she could
have had her way in this matter, and I think it quite a pity that
Northborough has turned out not to be a family seat.”