THE PRIME MINISTER (64 page)

MY DEAR LOPEZ
,

I cannot say that your statement is satisfactory, nor can I reconcile it to your assurance
to me that you have made a trade income for some years past of £2,000 a year. I do not know much of business, but I cannot imagine such a result from such a condition of things as you describe. Have you any books; and, if so, will you allow them to be inspected by any accountant I may name?

You say that a sum of £20,000 would suit your business better now than when I’m dead. Very likely. But
with such an account of the business as that you have given me, I do not know that I feel disposed to confide the savings of my life to assist so very doubtful an enterprise. Of course whatever I may do to your advantage will be done for the sake of Emily and her children, should she have any. As far as I can see at present, I shall best do my duty to her, by leaving what I may have to leave to her,
to trustees, for her benefit and that of her children.

Yours truly,

A. WHARTON
.

This, of course, did not tend to mollify the spirit of the man to whom it was written, or to make him gracious towards his wife. He received the letter three weeks before the lodgings at Dovercourt were given up, – but during these three weeks he was very little at the place, and when there did not mention the letter.
On these occasions he said nothing about business, but satisfied himself with giving strict injunctions as to economy. Then he took her back to town on the day after her promise to Mrs Parker that she would ‘try’. Mrs Parker had told her that no woman ought to be afraid to speak to her husband, and, if necessary, to speak roundly on such
subjects. Mrs Parker was certainly not a highly educated
lady, but she had impressed Emily with an admiration for her practical good sense and proper feeling. The lady who was a lady had begun to feel that in the troubles of her life she might find a much less satisfactory companion than the lady who was not a lady. She would do as Mrs Parker had told her. She would not be afraid. Of course it was right that she should speak on such a matter. She knew
herself to be an obedient wife. She had borne all her unexpected sorrows without a complaint, with a resolve that she would bear all for his sake, – not because she loved him, but because she had made herself his wife. Into whatever calamities he might fall, she would share them. Though he should bring her utterly into the dirt, she would remain in the dirt with him. It seemed probable to her that
it might be so, – that they might have to go into the dirt; – and if it were so, she would still be true to him. She had chosen to marry him, and she would be his true wife. But, as such, she would not be afraid of him. Mrs Parker had told her that ‘a woman should never be afraid of ’em’, and she believed in Mrs Parker. In this case, too, it was clearly her duty to speak, – for the injury being done
was terrible, and might too probably become tragical. How could she endure to think of that woman and her children, should she come to know that the husband of the woman and the father of the children had been ruined by her husband?

Yes, – she would speak to him. But she did fear. It is all very well for a woman to tell herself that she will encounter some anticipated difficulty without fear,
– or for a man either. The fear cannot be overcome by will. The thing, however, may be done, whether it be leading a forlorn hope, or speaking to an angry husband, – in spite of fear. She would do it; but when the moment for doing it came, her very heart trembled within her. He had been so masterful with her, so persistent in repudiating her interference, so exacting in his demands for obedience,
so capable of making her miserable by his moroseness when she failed to comply with his wishes, that she could not go to her task without fear. But she did feel that she ought not to be afraid, or that her fears, at any rate, should not be allowed to restrain her. A wife, she knew, should be prepared to yield, but yet was entitled to be her husband’s counsellor. And it was now the case that in this
matter she was conversant with circumstances which
were unknown to her husband. It was to her that Mrs Parker’s appeal had been made, and with a direct request from the poor woman that it should be repeated to her husband’s partner.

She found that she could not do it on the journey home from Dovercourt, nor yet on that evening. Mrs Dick Roby, who had come back from a sojourn at Boulogne, was
with them in the Square, and brought her dear friend Mrs Leslie with her, and also Lady Eustace. The reader may remember that Mr Wharton had met these ladies at Mrs Dick’s house some months before his daughter’s marriage, but he certainly had never asked them into his own. On this occasion Emily had given them no invitation, but had been told by her husband that her aunt would probably bring them
in with her. ‘Mrs Leslie and Lady Eustace!’ she exclaimed with a little shudder. ‘I suppose your aunt may bring a couple of friends with her to see you, though it is your father’s house?’ he had replied. She had said no more, not daring to have a fight on that subject at present, while the other matter was pressing on her mind. The evening had passed away pleasantly enough, she thought, to all except
herself. Mrs Leslie and Lady Eustace had talked a great deal, and her husband had borne himself quite as though he had been a wealthy man and the owner of the house in Manchester Square. In the course of the evening Dick Roby came in and Major Pountney, who since the late affairs at Silverbridge had become intimate with Lopez. So that there was quite a party; and Emily was astonished to hear her
husband declare that he was only watching the opportunity of another vacancy in order that he might get into the House, and expose the miserable duplicity of the Duke of Omnium. And yet this man, within the last month, had taken away her subscription at Mudie’s, and told her that she shouldn’t wear things that wanted washing! But he was able to say ever so many pretty little things to Lady Eustace,
and had given a new fan to Mrs Dick, and talked of taking a box for Mrs Leslie at The Gaiety.

But on the next morning before breakfast she began. ‘Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘while I was at Dovercourt I saw a good deal of Mrs Parker.’

‘I could not help that. Or rather you might have helped it if you pleased. It was necessary that you should meet, but I didn’t tell you that you were to see a great
deal of her.’

‘I liked her very much.’

‘Then I must say you’ve got a very odd taste. Did you like him?’

‘No. I did not see so much of him, and I think that the manners of women are less objectionable than those of men. But I want to tell you what passed between her and me.’

‘If it is about her husband’s business she ought to have held her tongue, and you had better hold yours now.’

This was
not a happy beginning, but still she was determined to go on. ‘It was I think more about your business than his.’

‘Then it was infernal impudence on her part, and you should not have listened to her for a moment.’

‘You do not want to ruin her and her children!’

‘What have I to do with her and her children? I did not marry her, and I am not their father. He has got to look to that.’

‘She thinks
that you are enticing him into risks which he cannot afford.’

‘Am I doing anything for him that I ain’t doing for myself! If there is money made, will not he share it? If money has to be lost, of course he must do the same.’ Lopez in stating his case omitted to say that whatever capital was now being used belonged to his partner. ‘But women when they get together talk all manner of nonsense.
Is it likely that I shall alter my course of action because you tell me that she tells you that he tells her that he is losing money? He is a halfhearted fellow who quails at every turn against him. And when he is crying drunk I dare say he makes a poor mouth to her.’

‘I think, Ferdinand, it is more than that. She says that –’

‘To tell you the truth, Emily, I don’t care a d— what she says. Now
give me some tea.’

The roughness of this absolutely quelled her. It was not now that she was afraid of him, – not at this moment, but that she was knocked down as though by a blow. She had been altogether so unused to such language that she could not get on with her matter in hand, letting the bad word pass by her as an unmeaning expletive. She wearily poured out the cup of tea and sat herself
down silent. The man was too strong for her, and would be so always. She told herself at this moment that language such as that must always absolutely silence her. Then, within a few minutes, he desired her, quite cheerfully, to ask her uncle and aunt to dinner the day but one
following, and also to ask Lady Eustace and Mrs Leslie. ‘I will pick up a couple of men which will make us all right,’
he said.

This was in every way horrible to her. Her father had been back in town, had not been very well, and had been recommended to return to the country. He had consequently removed himself, – not to Herefordshire, – but to Brighton, and was now living at an hotel, almost within an hour of London. Had he been at home he certainly would not have invited Mrs Leslie and Lady Eustace to his house.
He had often expressed a feeling of dislike to the former lady in the hearing of his son-in-law, and had ridiculed his sister-in-law for allowing herself to be made acquainted with Lady Eustace, whose name had at one time been very common in the mouths of people. Emily also felt that she was hardly entitled to give a dinner party in his house in his absence. And, after all that she had lately
heard about her husband’s poverty, she could not understand how he should wish to incur the expense. ‘You would not ask Mrs Leslie here!’ she said.

‘Why should we not ask Mrs Leslie?’

‘Papa dislikes her.’

‘But “papa”, as you call him, isn’t going to meet her.’

‘He has said that he doesn’t know what day he may be home. And he does more than dislike her. He disapproves of her.’

‘Nonsense! She
is your aunt’s friend. Because your father once heard some cock-and-bull story about her, and because he has always taken upon himself to criticize your aunt’s friends, I am not to be civil to a person I like.’

‘But, Ferdinand, I do not like her myself. She never was in this house till the other night.’

‘Look here, my dear, Lady Eustace can be useful to me, and I cannot ask Lady Eustace without
asking her friend. You do as I bid you, – or else I shall do it myself.’

She paused for a moment, and then she positively refused. ‘I cannot bring myself to ask Mrs Leslie to dine in this house. If she comes to dine with you, of course I shall sit at the table, but she will be sure to see that she is not welcome.’

‘It seems to me that you are determined to go against me in everything I propose.’

‘I don’t think you would say that if you knew how miserable you made me.’

‘I tell you that that other woman can be very useful to me.’

‘In what way useful?’

‘Are you jealous, my dear?’

‘Certainly not of Lady Eustace, – nor of any woman. But it seems so odd that such a person’s services should be required.’

‘Will you do as I tell you, and ask them? You can go round and tell your aunt about
it. She knows that I mean to ask them. Lady Eustace is a very rich woman, and is disposed to do a little in commerce. Now do you understand?’

‘Not in the least,’ said Emily.

‘Why shouldn’t a woman who has money buy coffee as well as buy shares?’

‘Does she buy shares?’

‘By George, Emily, I think that you’re a fool.’

‘I dare say I am, Ferdinand. I do not in the least know what it all means.
But I do know this, that you ought not, in papa’s absence, to ask people to dine here whom he particularly dislikes, and whom he would not wish to have in his house.’

‘You think that I am to be governed by you in such a matter as that?’

‘I do not want to govern you.’

‘You think that a wife should dictate to a husband as to the way in which he is to do his work, and the partners he may be allowed
to have in his business, and the persons whom he may ask to dinner! Because you have been dictating to me on all these matters. Now, look here, my dear. As to my business, you had better never speak to me about it any more. I have endeavoured to take you into my confidence and to get you to act with me, but you have declined that, and have preferred to stick to your father. As to my partners,
whether I may choose to have Sexty Parker or Lady Eustace, I am a better judge than you. And as to asking Mrs Leslie and Lady Eustace or any other persons to dinner, as I am obliged to make even the recreations of life subservient to its work, I must claim permission to have my own way.’ She had listened, but when he paused she made no reply. ‘Do you mean to do as I bid you and ask these ladies?’

‘I cannot do that. I know that it ought not to be done. This is papa’s house, and we are living here as his guests.’

‘D— your papa!’ he said as he burst out of the room. After a
quarter of an hour he put his head again into the room and saw her sitting, like a statue, exactly where he had left her. ‘I have written the notes both to Lady Eustace and to Mrs Leslie,’ he said. ‘You can’t think it
any sin at any rate to ask your aunt.’

‘I will see my aunt,’ she said.

‘And remember I am not going to be your father’s guest as you call it. I mean to pay for the dinner myself, and to send in my own wines. Your father shall have nothing to complain of on that head.’

‘Could you not ask them to Richmond, or to some hotel?’ she said.

‘What; in October! If you think that I am going to live in
a house in which I can’t invite a friend to dinner, you are mistaken.’ And with that he took his departure.

The whole thing had now become so horrible to her that she felt unable any longer to hold up her head. It seemed to her to be sacrilege that these women should come and sit in her father’s room; but when she spoke of her father her husband had cursed him with scorn! Lopez was going to send
food and wine into the house, which would be gall and wormwood to her father. At one time she thought she would at once write to her father and tell him of it all, – or perhaps telegraph to him; but she could not do so without letting her husband know what she had done, and then he would have justice on his side in calling her disobedient. Were she to do that, then it would indeed be necessary
that she should take part against her husband.