My friends were singularly successful in their negotiations on my
behalf. Not a single bishop proceeded with his libel action against
Lalage. Nor was I forced to buy any of them off by building even a small
cathedral. I attribute our escape from their vengeance entirely to the
Provost. His clear statement of the impossibility of obtaining damages
by any legal process must have had its effect.
Gossip too died away with remarkable suddenness. I heard afterward that
old Tollerton got rapidly worse and succumbed to his disease, whatever
it was, very shortly after his last interview with my uncle. I have
no doubt that his death had a good deal to do with the decay of public
interest in the _Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette_. The Archdeacon, who also was
inclined to talk a good deal, had his mind distracted by other events.
The bishop of our diocese had a paralytic stroke. He was not one of
those whom Lalage libelled, so the blame for his misfortune cannot be
laid on us. The Archdeacon was, in consequence, very fully occupied in
the management of diocesan affairs and forgot all about the _Gazette_.
Canon Beresford ventured back to his parish after a stay of six weeks in
Wick. He would not have dared to return if there had been the slightest
chance of the Archdeacon’s reverting to the painful subject in
conversation. Had there been even the slightest reference to it in the
newspapers, Canon Beresford, instead of returning home, would have gone
farther afield to an Orkney Island or the Shetland group, or, perhaps,
to one of those called Faroe, which do not appear on ordinary maps but
are believed by geographers to exist. Thus when my mother, in the course
of one of her letters, mentioned casually that Canon Beresford had
lunched with her, I knew, as Noah did when the dove no longer returned
to him, that the flood had abated.
My uncle was also successful, too successful, in his effort. His
definite denial of my connection with the _Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette_
obtained credence with the Committee of the Conservative and Unionist
Parliamentary Association. My name retained its place on their books
and they continued to put me forward as a candidate for the East Connor
division of Down at the General Election.
I only found this fact out by degrees, for nobody seemed to think it
worth while to tell me. My uncle said afterward that my ignorance, in
which he found it very difficult to believe, was entirely my own fault.
I cannot deny this: though I still hold that I ought to have been
plainly informed of my destiny and not left to infer it from the figures
in the accounts which were sent to me from time to time. When I went to
Portugal I left my money affairs very much in the hands of my mother and
my uncle. I had what I wanted. They spent what they thought right in
the management of my estate, in subscriptions and so forth. The accounts
which they sent me, very different indeed from the spirited statements
of Selby-Harrison, bored me, and I did not realize for some time that I
was subscribing handsomely to a large number of local objects in places
of which I had never even heard the names. I now know that they are
towns and villages in the East Connor division of Down, and my uncle
has told me that this kind of expenditure is called nursing the
constituency.
The first definite news of my candidature came to me, curiously enough,
from Lalage. She wrote me a letter during the Christmas holidays:
“There was a party (flappers, with dancing and a sit-down supper, not
a Christmas tree) at Thormanby Park last night. I got a bit fed up with
‘the dear girls’ (Cattersby’s expression) at about nine o’clock and
slipped off with Hilda in hope of a cigarette. (Hilda’s mother’s cook
got scarlatina, so she had to give in about Hilda coming here for the
hols after all. Rather a climb down for her, I should say.) It was jolly
lucky we did, as it turned out, though we didn’t succeed in getting the
whiff. Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were in the smoking room, so we
pretended we’d come to look for Hilda’s pocket snuffler. The Archdeacon
came to the party with a niece, in a green dress, who’s over from
London, and stiff with swank, though what about I don’t know, for she
can’t play hockey a bit, has only read the most rotten books, and isn’t
much to look at, though the green dress is rather sweet, with a lace
yoke and sequins on the skirt. Why didn’t you tell me you were going
into Parliament? I’m frightfully keen on elections and mean to go and
help you. So does Hilda now that she knows about it, and I wrote to
Selby-Harrison this morning. We’ve changed the name of the society to
the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying (A.S.P.L.). Rather
appropriate, isn’t it, with a general election just coming on? Of course
you’re still a life member. The change of name isn’t a constitutional
alteration. Selby-Harrison made sure of that before we did it, so it
doesn’t break up the continuity, which is most important for us all.
Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were jawing away like anything while
we were searching about for the hanker, and took no notice of us,
although the Archdeacon is frightfully polite now as a rule, quite
different from what he used to be. They said the election was a soft
thing for you unless somebody went and put up a third man. I rather hope
they will, don’t you? Dead certs are so rottenly unsporting. I’ll have
a meeting of the committee as soon as I get back to Dublin. This will be
just the chance we want, for we haven’t had any sort of a look in since
they suppressed the _Gazette._”
I put this letter of Lalage’s aside and did not answer it for some time.
I thought that she and Hilda might have misunderstood what my uncle
and the Archdeacon were saying. I did not regard it as possible that
an important matter of the kind should be settled without my knowing
anything about it; and I expected that Lalage would find out her mistake
for herself. It turned out in the end that she had not made a mistake.
Early in January I got three letters, all marked urgent. One was from
my uncle, one from the secretary of the Conservative and Unionist
Association and one from a Mr. Titherington, who seemed to be a person
of some importance in the East Connor division of County Down. They all
three told me the same news. I had been unanimously chosen by the
local association as Conservative candidate at the forthcoming general
election. They all insisted that I should go home at once. I did so, but
before starting I answered Lalage’s letter. I foresaw that the active
assistance of the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying in the
campaign before me might have very complicated results, and would
almost certainly bring on worry. The local conservative association,
for instance, might not care for Lalage. Hardly any local conservative
association would. Mr. Titherington might not hit it off with
Selby-Harrison, and I realized from the way he wrote, that Mr.
Titherington was a man of strong character. I worded my letter to Lalage
very carefully. I did not want to hurt her feelings by refusing an offer
which was kindly meant.
I wrote,
“I need scarcely tell you, how gladly I should welcome the assistance
offered by the A.S.P.L., if I had nothing but my own feelings to
consider. Speeches from you and Hilda would brighten up what threatens
to be a dull affair. Selby-Harrison’s advice would be invaluable. But
I cannot, in fairness to others, accept the offer unconditionally.
Selby-Harrison’s father ought to be consulted. He has already been put
to great expense through his son’s expulsion from the Divinity School,
and I would not like, now that he has, I suppose, paid some, at least,
of the fees for medical training, to put him to fresh expense by
involving his son in an enterprise which may very well result in his
being driven from the dissecting room. Then we must think of Hilda’s
mother. If she insisted on Miss Battersby accompanying her daughter
to Portugal in the capacity of chaperon, she is almost certain to have
prejudices against electioneering as a sport for young girls.
“Perhaps circumstances have altered since I last heard from you in
such a way as to make the consultations I suggest unnecessary. Mr.
Selby-Harrison senior and Hilda’s mother may both have died, prematurely
worn out by great anxiety. In that case I do not press for any
consideration of their wishes. But if they still linger on I should
particularly wish to obtain their approval before definitely accepting
the offer of the A.S.P.L.”
I thought that a good letter. It was possible that Mr. Selby-Harrison
had died, but I felt sure, judging from what I had heard of her, that
Hilda’s mother was a woman of vigour and determination who would live
as long as was humanly possible. I was not even slightly disquieted by a
telegram handed to me just before I left Lisbon.
“Letter received. Scruples strictly respected. Other
arrangements in contemplation.
“Lalage.”
I forgot all about the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying
and its offer of help when I arrived in Ireland. Mr. Titherington came
up to Dublin to meet me and showed every sign of keeping me very
busy indeed. He turned out to be a timber merchant by profession, who
organized elections by way of recreation whenever opportunity offered. I
was told in the office of the Conservative and Unionist Association that
no man living was more crafty in electioneering than Mr. Titherington,
and that I should do well to trust myself entirely to his guidance. I
made up my mind to do so. My uncle who also met me in Dublin, had been
making inquiries of his own about Mr. Titherington and gave me the
results of them in series of phrases which, I felt sure, he had picked
up from somebody else. “Titherington,” he said, “has his finger on
the pulse of the constituency.” “There isn’t a trick of the trade but
Titherington is thoroughly up to it.” “For taking the wind out of
the sails of the other side Titherington is absolutely A1.” All this
confirmed me in my determination to follow Mr. Titherington, blindfold.
The first time I met him he told me that we were going to have a sharp
contest and gave me the impression that he was greatly pleased. A
third candidate had taken the field, a man in himself despicable, whose
election was an impossibility; but capable perhaps of detaching from me
a number of votes sufficient to put the Nationalist in the majority.
“And O’Donoghue, let me tell you,” said Titherington, “is a smart man
and a right good speaker.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“I can see that.”
I do not profess to know how he saw it. So far as I know, inability to
make speeches does not show on a man’s face, and Titherington had no
other means of judging at that time except the appearance of my face. No
one in fact, not even my mother, could have been sure then that I was a
bad speaker. I had never spoken at a public meeting.
“But,” said Titherington, “we’ll pull you through all right. That
blackguard Vittie can’t poll more than a couple of hundred.”
“Vittie,” I said “is, I suppose, the tertium quid, not the Nationalist.
I’m sorry to trouble you with inquiries of this kind, but in case of
accident it’s better for me to know exactly who my opponents are.”
“He calls himself a Liberal. He’s going baldheaded for some temperance
fad and is backed by a score or so of Presbyterian ministers. We’ll have
to call canny about temperance.”
“If you want me to wear any kind of glass button on the lapel of my
coat, I’ll do it; but I’m not going to sign a total abstinence pledge.
I’d rather not be elected.”
Titherington was himself drinking whiskey and water while we talked. He
grinned broadly and I felt reassured. We had dined together in my hotel,
and Titherington had consumed the greater part of a bottle of champagne,
a glass of port, and a liqueur with his coffee. It was after dinner that
he demanded whiskey and water. It seemed unlikely that he would ask me
even to wear a button.
“As we’re on the subject of temperance,” he said, “you may as well sign
a couple of letters. I have them ready for you and I can post them as I
go home to-night.” He picked up a despatch box which he had brought with
him and kept beside him during dinner. It gave me a shock to see the box
opened. It actually overflowed with papers and I felt sure that they
all concerned my election. Titherington tossed several bundles of them
aside, and came at last upon a small parcel kept together by an elastic
band.
“This,” he said, handing me a long typewritten document, “is from the
Amalgamated Association of Licensed Publicans. You needn’t read it. It
simply asks you to pledge yourself to oppose all legislation calculated
to injure the trade. This is your answer.”
He handed me another typewritten document.
“Shall I read it?” I asked.
“You needn’t unless you like. All I require is your signature.”
I have learned caution in the diplomatic service. I read my letter
before signing it, although I intended to sign it whatever it might
commit me to. I had promised my uncle and given the Conservative and
Unionist Parliamentary Association to understand that I would place
myself unreservedly in Titherington’s hands.
“I see,” I said, “that I pledge myself----”
“You give the Amalgamated Association to understand that you pledge
yourself,” said Titherington.
“The same thing, I suppose?”
“Not quite,” said Titherington grinning again.
“Anyhow,” I said, “it’s the proper thing, the usual thing to do?”
“O’Donoghue has done it, and I expect that ruffian Vittie will have to
in the end, little as he’ll like it.”
I signed.
“Here,” said Titherington, “is the letter of the joint committee of the
Temperance Societies.”
“There appear to be twenty-three of them,” I said, glancing at the
signatures.
“There are; and if there were only ten voters in each it would be more
than we could afford to lose. Vittie thinks he has them all safe in his
breeches pocket, but I have a letter here which will put his hair out of
curl for a while.”
“I hate men with curly hair,” I said. “It’s so effeminate.”
Titherington seemed to think this remark foolish, though I meant it as
an additional evidence of my determination to oppose Vittie to the last.
“Read the letter,” he said.
I read it. If such a thing had been physically possible it would have
put my hair into curl. It did, I feel almost certain, make it rise up
and stand on end.
“I see by this letter,” I said, “that I am pledging myself to support
some very radical temperance legislation.”
“You’re giving them to understand that you pledge yourself. There’s a
difference, as I told you before.”
“I may find myself in rather an awkward position if----”
“You’ll, be in a much awkwarder one if Vittie gets those votes and lets
O’Donoghue in!”
Titherington spoke in such a determined tone that I signed the letter at
once.
“Is there anything else?” I asked. “Now that I am pledging myself in
this wholesale way there’s no particular reason why I shouldn’t go on.”
Titherington shuffled his papers about.
“Most of the rest of them,” he said, “are just the ordinary things. We
needn’t worry about them. There’s only one other letter--ah! here it is.
By the way, have you any opinions about woman’s suffrage?”
“Not one,” I said, “but I don’t, of course, want to be ragged if it can
be avoided. Shall I pledge myself to get votes for all the unmarried
women in the constituency, or ought I to go further?”
Titherington looked at me severely. Then he said:
“It won’t do us any harm if Vittie is made to smell hell by a few
militant Suffragettes.”
“After the hole he’s put us in about temperance,” I said, “he’ll deserve
the worst they can do to him.”
“In any ordinary case I’d hesitate; for women are a nuisance, a d----d
nuisance. But this is going to be such an infernally near thing that I’m
half inclined---- It’s nuts and apples to them to get their knives into
any one calling himself a Liberal, which shows they have some sense.
Besides, the offer has, so to speak, dropped right into our mouths. It
would be sinning against our mercies and flying in the face of
Providence not to consider it.”
I had, up to that moment, no reason for suspecting Titherington of
any exaggerated respect for Providence. But there are queer veins of
religious feeling in the most hard-headed men. I saw that Titherington
had a theological side to his character and I respected him all the more
for it.
“Here’s a letter,” he said, “from one of the suffrage societies,
offering to send down speakers to help us. As I said before, women are
a nuisance, but it’s just possible that there may be a few cranks
among that temperance lot. You’ll notice that if a man has one fad he
generally runs to a dozen, and there may be a few who really want women
to get votes. We can’t afford to chuck away any chances. If I could get
deputations from the Anti-Vaccinationists and the Anti-Gamblers I would.
But I’d be afraid of their going back on us and supporting Vittie.
Anyhow, if these women are the right sort they’ll pursue Vittie round
and round the constituency and yell at him every time he opens his
mouth.”
I took the letter from Titherington. It was headed A.S.P.L. and signed
Lalage Beresford.
“Are you quite sure,” I said, “that the A.S.P.L. is a woman’s suffrage
society?”
“It must be,” said Titherington. “The letter’s signed by a woman, at
least I suppose Lalage is a woman’s name. It certainly isn’t a man’s.”
“Still----”
“And what the devil would women be writing to us for if they weren’t
Suffragettes?”
“But A.S.P.L. doesn’t stand for----”
“It must,” said Titherington. “S stands for Suffrage, doesn’t it? The
rest is some fancy conglomeration. I tell you that there are so many of
these societies nowadays that it’s pretty hard for a new one to find a
name at all.”
“All the same----”
“There’s no use arguing about their name. The question we have to
decide is whether it’s worth our while importing Suffragettes into the
constituency or not.”
If Titherington had not interrupted me so often and if he had not
displayed such complete self-confidence I should have told him what the
A.S.P.L. really was and warned him to be very careful about enlisting
Lalage’s aid. But I was nettled by his manner and felt that it would
be very good for him to find out his mistake for himself. I remained
silent.
“I think the best thing I can do,” he said, “is to interview the lady. I
can judge then whether she’s likely to be any use to us.”
I felt very pleased to think that Titherington would learn his mistake
from Lalage herself. He will be much less arrogant afterward.
“If she is simply an old frump with a bee in her bonnet,” he said, “who
wants to bore people, I’ll head her off at once. If she’s a sporting
sort of girl who’ll take on Vittie at his own meetings and make things
hum generally, I think I’ll engage her and her lot. I don’t happen to be
a magistrate myself, but most of them are your supporters. There won’t
be a bit of use his trying to have her up for rioting. We’ll simply
laugh at him and she’ll be worse afterward. Let me see now. She’s in
Dublin. ‘Trinity Hall,’ whatever that is. If I write to-night she’ll get
the letter in the morning. Suppose I say 11 a.m.”
“I should rather like to be present at the interview,” I said.
“You needn’t trouble yourself. I sha’n’t commit you to anything and the
whole thing will be verbal. There won’t be a scrap of paper for her to
show afterward, even if she turns nasty.”
It seemed to me likely that there would be paper to show afterward. If
Lalage has Selby-Harrison behind her she will go to that interview with
an agreement in her pocket ready for signature.
“All the same,” I said, “I’d like to be there simply out of curiosity.”
Titherington shrugged his shoulders.
“Very well,” he said, “but let me do the talking. I don’t want you to
get yourself tied up in some impossible knot. You’d far better leave it
to me.”
I assured him that I did not in the least want to talk, but I persisted
in my determination to be present at the interview. Titherington had
bullied me enough for one evening and my promise to put myself entirely
in his hands was never meant to extend to the limiting of my intercourse
with Lalage. Besides, I enjoyed the prospect of seeing him tied up in
some impossible knot, and I believed that Lalage was just the girl to
tie him.