THE PRIME MINISTER (68 page)

Why had he allowed himself to be put into a position in which he was subject to such grievous
annoyance? Since he had held his office he had not had a happy day, nor, – so he told himself, – had he received from it any slightest gratification, nor could he buoy himself up with the idea that he was doing good service for his country. After a while he walked into the next room and showed the paper to Mr Warburton. ‘Perhaps you were right,’ he said, ‘when you told me not to send that money.’

‘It will matter nothing,’ said the private Secretary when he had read it, – thinking, however, that it might matter much, but wishing to spare the Duke.

‘I was obliged to repay the man as the Duchess had, – had encouraged him. The Duchess had not quite, – quite understood my wishes.’ Mr Warburton knew the whole history now, having discussed it all with the Duchess more than once.

‘I think your
Grace should take no notice of the article.’

No notice was taken of it, but three days afterwards there appeared a short paragraph in large type, – beginning with a question. ‘Does the Duke of Omnium intend to answer the question asked by us last Friday? Is it true that he paid the expenses of Mr Lopez when that gentleman stood for Silverbridge? The Duke may be assured that the question shall
be repeated till it is answered.’ This the Duke also saw and took to his private Secretary.

‘I would do nothing at any rate till it be noticed in some other paper,’ said the private Secretary. ‘The
People’s Banner
is known to be scandalous.’

‘Of course it is scandalous. And, moreover, I know the motives and the malice of the wretched man who is the editor. But the paper
is read, and the foul
charge if repeated will become known, and the allegation made is true. I did pay the man’s election expenses; – and, moreover, to tell the truth openly as I do not scruple to do to you, I am not prepared to state publicly the reason why I did so. And nothing but that reason could justify me.’

‘Then I think your Grace should state it.’

‘I cannot do so.’

‘The Duke of St Bungay is here. Would
it not be well to tell the whole affair to him?’

‘I will think of it. I do not know why I should have troubled you.’

‘Oh, my lord!’

‘Except that there is always some comfort in speaking even of one’s trouble. I will think about it. In the meantime you need perhaps not mention it again.’

‘Who? I? Oh, certainly not’

‘I did not mean to others, – but to myself. I will turn it in my mind and speak
of it when I have decided anything.’ And he did think about it, – thinking of it so much that he could hardly get the matter out of his mind day or night. To his wife he did not allude to it at all. Why trouble her with it? She had caused the evil, and he had cautioned her as to the future. She could not help him out of the difficulty she had created. He continued to turn the matter over in his
thoughts till he so magnified it, and built it up into such proportions, that he again began to think that he must resign. It was, he thought, true that a man should not remain in office as Prime Minister who in such a matter could not clear his own conduct.

Then there was a third attack in the
People’s Banner
, and after that the matter was noticed in the
Evening Pulpit.
This notice the Duke
of St Bungay saw and mentioned to Mr Warburton. ‘Has the Duke spoken to you of some allegations made in the press as to the expenses of the late election at Silverbridge?’ The old Duke was at this time, and had been for some months, in a state of nervous anxiety about his friend. He had almost admitted to himself that he had been wrong in recommending a politician so weakly organized to take the office
of Prime Minister. He had expected the man to be more manly, – had perhaps expected him to be less conscientiously scrupulous. But now, as the thing had been done, it must be maintained. Who else was there to take the office? Mr Gresham
would not. To keep Mr Daubeny out was the very essence of the Duke of St Bungay’s life, – the turning-point of his political creed, the one grand duty the idea
of which was always present to him. And he had, moreover; a most true and most affectionate regard for the man whom he now supported, appreciating the sweetness of his character, – believing still in the Minister’s patriotism, intelligence, devotion, and honesty; though he was forced to own to himself that the strength of a man’s heart was wanting.

‘Yes,’ said Warburton; ‘he did mention it.’

‘Does it trouble him?’

‘Perhaps you had better speak to him about it’ Both the old Duke and the private Secretary were as fearful and nervous about the Prime Minister as a mother is for a weakly child. They could hardly tell their opinions to each other, but they understood one another, and between them they coddled their Prime Minister. They were specially nervous as to what might be done by
the Prime Minister’s wife, nervous as to what was done by everyone who came in contact with him. It had been once suggested by the private Secretary that Lady Rosina should be sent for, as she had a soothing effect upon the Prime Minister’s spirit.

‘Has it irritated him?’ asked the Duke.

‘Well; – yes, it has; – a little, you know. I think your Grace had better speak to him; – and not perhaps
mention my name.’ The Duke of St Bungay nodded his head, and said that he would speak to the great man and would not mention anyone’s name.

And he did speak. ‘Has anyone said anything to you about it?’ asked the Prime Minister.

‘I saw it in the
Evening Pulpit
myself. I have not heard it mentioned anywhere.’

‘I did pay the man’s expenses.’

‘You did!’

‘Yes, – when the election was over, and,
as far as I can remember, some time after it was over. He wrote to me saying that he had incurred such and such expenses, and asking me to repay him. I sent him a cheque for the amount.’

‘But why?’

‘I was bound in honour to do it’

‘But why?’

There was a short pause before this second question was answered. ‘The man had been induced to stand by representations made to him from my house. He
had been, I fear, promised certain support which certainly was not given him when the time came.’

‘You had not promised it?’

‘No; – not I.’

‘Was it the Duchess?’

‘Upon the whole, my friend, I think I would rather not discuss it further, even with you. It is right that you should know that I did pay the money, – and also why I paid it. It may also be necessary that we should consider whether
there may be any further probable result from my doing so. But the money has been paid, by me myself, – and was paid for the reason I have stated.’

‘A question might be asked in the House.’

‘If so, it must be answered as I have answered you. I certainly shall not shirk any responsibility that may be attached to me.’

‘You would not like Warburton to write a line to the newspaper?’

‘What; –
to the
People’s Banner!’

‘It began there, did it? No, not to the
People’s Banner
, but to the
Evening Pulpit
. He could say, you know, that the money was paid by you, and that the payment had been made because your agents had misapprehended your instructions.’

‘It would not be true,’ said the Prime Minister slowly.

‘As far as I can understand that was what occurred,’ said the other Duke.

‘My
instructions were not misapprehended. They were disobeyed. I think that perhaps we had better say no more about it.’

‘Do not think that I wish to press you,’ said the old man tenderly; ‘but I fear that something ought to be done; – I mean for your own comfort.’

‘My comfort!’ said the Prime Minister. ‘That has vanished long ago; – and my peace of mind, and my happiness.’

‘There has been nothing
done which cannot be explained with perfect truth. There has been no impropriety.’

‘I do not know.’

‘The money was paid simply from an over-nice sense of honour.’

‘It cannot be explained. I cannot explain it even to you; and how then can I do it to all the gaping fools of the country who are ready
to trample upon a man simply because he is in some way conspicuous among them?’

After that the
old Duke again spoke to Mr Warburton, but Mr Warburton was very loyal to his chief. ‘Could one do anything by speaking to the Duchess?’ said the old Duke.

‘I think not.’

‘I suppose it was her Grace who did it all.’

‘I cannot say. My own impression is that he had better wait till the Houses meet, and then, if any question is asked, let it be answered. He himself would do it in the House of Lords,
or Mr Finn or Barrington Erle, in our House. It would surely be enough to explain that his Grace had been made to believe that the man had received encouragement at Silverbridge from his own agents, which he himself had not intended should be given, and that therefore he had thought it right to pay the money. After such an explanation what more could anyone say?’

‘You might do it yourself.’

‘I never speak.’

‘But in such a case as that you might do so; and then there would be no necessity for him to talk to another person on the matter.’

So the affair was left for the present, though the allusions to it in the
People’s Banner
were still continued. Nor did any other of the Prime Minister’s colleagues dare to speak to him on the subject. Barrington Erle and Phineas Finn talked of it
among themselves, but they did not mention it even to the Duchess. She would have gone to her husband at once; and they were too careful of him to risk such a proceeding. It certainly was the case that among them they coddled the Prime Minister.

Parliament was to meet on the 12th of February, and it was of course necessary that there should be a Cabinet Council before that time. The Prime Minister, about the end of the third week in January, was
prepared to name a day for this, and did so, most unwillingly. But he was then ill, and talked both to his friend the old Duke and his private Secretary
of having the meeting held without him. ‘Impossible!’ said the old Duke.

‘If I could not go it would have to be possible.’

‘We could all come here if it were necessary.’

‘Bring fourteen or fifteen ministers out of town because a poor creature such as I am is ill!’ But in truth the Duke of St Bungay hardly believed in this illness. The Prime Minister was unhappy rather than ill.

By this time
everybody in the House, – and almost everybody in the country who read the newspapers, – had heard of Mr Lopez and his election expenses, – except the Duchess. No one had yet dared to tell her. She saw the newspapers daily, but probably did not read them very attentively. Nevertheless she knew that something was wrong. Mr Warburton hovered about the Prime Minister more tenderly than usual; the Duke
of St Bungay was more concerned; the world around her was more mysterious, and her husband more wretched. ‘What is it that’s going on?’ she said one day to Phineas Finn.

‘Everything, – in the same dull way as usual.’

‘If you don’t tell me I’ll never speak to you again. I know there is something wrong.’

‘The Duke, I’m afraid, is not quite well.’

‘What makes him ill? I know well when he’s ill
and when he’s well. He’s troubled by something.’

‘I think he is, Duchess. But as he has not spoken to me I am loath to make guesses. If there be anything, I can only guess at it.’

Then she questioned Mrs Finn, and got an answer which, if not satisfactory, was at any rate explanatory. ‘I think he is uneasy about that Silverbridge affair.’

‘What Silverbridge affair?’

‘You know that he paid the
expenses which that man Lopez says that he incurred.’

‘Yes; – I know that’

‘And you know that that other man Slide has found it out, and published it all in the
People’s Banner?

‘No!’

‘Yes, indeed. And a whole army of accusations has been brought against him. I have never liked to tell you, and yet I do not think that you should be left in the dark-’

‘Everybody deceives me,’ said the Duchess
angrily.

‘Nay; – there has been no deceit’

‘Everybody keeps things from me. I think you will kill me among you. It was my doing. Why do they attack him? I will write to the papers. I encouraged the man after Plantagenet had determined that he should not be assisted, – and, because I had done so, he paid the man his beggarly money. What is there to hurt him in that? Let me bear it. My back is
broad enough.’

‘The Duke is very sensitive.’

‘I hate people to be sensitive. It makes them cowards. A man when he is afraid of being blamed, dares not at last even show himself, and has to be wrapped up in lamb’s-wool.’

‘Of course men are differently organized.’

‘Yes; – but the worst of it is, that when they suffer from this weakness, which you call sensitiveness, they think that they are
made of finer material than other people. Men shouldn’t be made of Sèvres china, but of good stone earthenware. However, I don’t want to abuse him, poor fellow.’

‘I don’t think you ought’

‘I know what that means. You do want to abuse me. So they’ve been bullying him about the money he paid to that man Lopez. How did anybody know anything about it?’

‘Lopez must have told of it,’ said Mrs Finn.

‘The worst, my dear, of trying to know a great many people is, that you are sure to get hold of some that are very bad. Now that man is very bad. Yet they say he has married a nice wife.’

‘That’s often the case, Duchess.’

‘And the contrary; – isn’t it, my dear? But I shall have it out with Plantagenet. If I have to write letters to all the newspapers myself, I’ll put it right’ She certainly
coddled her husband less than the others; and, indeed, in her heart of hearts disapproved altogether of the coddling system. But she was wont at this particular time to be somewhat tender to him because she was aware that she herself had been imprudent Since he had discovered her interference at Silver-bridge, and had made her understand its pernicious results, she had
been, – not, perhaps, shamefaced,
for that word describes a condition to which hardly any series of misfortunes could have reduced the Duchess of Omnium, – but inclined to quiescence by feelings of penitence. She was less disposed than heretofore to attack him with what the world of yesterday calls ‘chaff’, or with what the world of to-day calls ‘cheek’. She would not admit to herself that she was cowed; – but the greatness
of the game and the high interest attached to her husband’s position did in some degree dismay her. Nevertheless she executed her purpose of ‘having it out with Planta-genet’. ‘I have just heard,’ she said, having knocked at the door of his own room, and having found him alone, – ‘I have just heard, for the first time, that there is a row about the money you paid to Mr Lopez.’