there he remained for an hour, walking up and down beneath the elms. The quidnuncs of the town, who chanced to see him, and who had heard something of the political movements of the day, thought, no doubt, that he was meditating his future ministerial career. But he had not been there long before he had resolved that no ministerial career was at present open to him. “It has been my own fault,” he said, as he returned to his house, “and with God’s help I will mend it, if it be possible.”
But he was a slow man, and he did not go off instantly to the Duke. He had given himself to eight o’clock, and he took the full time. He could not go down to the House of Commons because men would make inquiries of him which he would find it difficult to answer. So he dined at home, alone. He had told his wife that he would see her at nine, and before that hour he would not go to her. He sat alone till it was time for him to get into his brougham, and thought it all over. That seat in the Cabinet and Chancellorship of the Exchequer, which he had so infinitely desired, were already done with. There was no doubt about that. It might have been better for him not to have married; but now that he was married, and that things had brought him untowardly to this pass, he knew that his wife’s safety was his first duty. “We will go through Switzerland,” he said to himself, “to Baden, and then we will get on to Florence and to Rome. She has seen nothing of all these things yet, and the new life will make a change in her. She shall have her own friend with her.” Then he went down to the House of Lords, and saw the Duke.
“Well, Palliser,” said the Duke, when he had listened to him, “of course I cannot argue it with you any more. I can only say that I am very sorry;—more sorry than perhaps you will believe. Indeed, it half breaks my heart.” The Duke’s voice was very sad, and it might almost have been thought that he was going to shed a tear. In truth he disliked Mr Finespun with the strongest political feeling of which he was capable, and had attached himself to Mr Palliser almost as strongly. It was a thousand pities! How hard had he not worked to bring about this arrangement, which was now to be upset because a woman had been foolish! “I never above half liked her,” said the Duke to himself, thinking perhaps a little of the Duchess’s complaints of her. “I must go to Brock at once,” he said aloud, “and tell him. God knows what we must do now. Goodbye! goodbye! No; I’m not angry. There shall be no quarrel. But I am very sorry.” In this way the two politicians parted.
We may as well follow this political movement to its end. The Duke saw Lord Brock that night, and then those two ministers sent for another minister,—another noble Lord, a man of great experience in Cabinets. These three discussed the matter together, and on the following day Lord Brock got up in the House, and made a strong speech in defence of his colleague, Mr Finespun. To the end of the Session, at any rate, Mr Finespun kept his position, and held the seals of the Exchequer while all the quidnuncs of the nation, shaking their heads, spoke of the wonderful power of Mr Finespun, and declared that Lord Brock did not dare to face the Opposition without him.
In the meantime Mr Palliser had returned to his wife, and told her of his resolution with reference to their tour abroad. “We may as well make up our minds to start at once,” said he. “At any rate, there is nothing on my side to hinder us.”
Chapter LX.
Alice Vavasor’s Name Gets Into the Money Market
Some ten or twelve days after George Vavasor’s return to London from Westmoreland he appeared at Mr Scruby’s offices with four small slips of paper in his hand. Mr Scruby, as usual, was pressing for money. The third election was coming on, and money was already being spent very freely among the men of the River Bank. So, at least, Mr Scruby declared. Mr Grimes, of the “Handsome Man,” had shown signs of returning allegiance. But Mr Grimes could not afford to be loyal without money. He had his little family to protect. Mr Scruby, too, had his little family, and was not ashamed to use it on this occasion. “I’m a family man, Mr Vavasor, and therefore I never run any risks. I never go a yard further than I can see my way back.” This he had said in answer to a proposition that he should take George’s note of hand for the expenses of the next election, payable in three months’ time. “It is so very hard to realize,” said George, “immediately upon a death, when all the property left is real property.” “Very hard indeed,” said Mr Scruby, who had heard with accuracy all the particulars of the old Squire’s will. Vavasor understood the lawyer, cursed him inwardly, and suggested to himself that some day he might murder Mr Scruby as well as John Grey,—and perhaps also a few more of his enemies. Two days after the interview in which his own note of hand had been refused, he again called in Great Marlborough Street. Upon this occasion he tendered to Mr Scruby for his approval the four slips of paper which have been mentioned. Mr Scruby regarded them with attention, looking first at one side horizontally, and then at the other side perpendicularly. But before we learn the judgement pronounced by Mr Scruby as to these four slips of paper, we must go back to their earlier history. As they were still in their infancy, we shall not have to go back far.
One morning, at about eleven o’clock the parlourmaid came up to Alice, as she sat alone in the drawing-room in Queen Anne Street, and told her there was a “gentleman” in the hall waiting to be seen by her. We all know the tone in which servants announce a gentleman when they know that the gentleman is not a gentleman.
“A gentleman wanting to see me! What sort of a gentleman?”
“Well, miss, I don’t think he’s just of our sort; but he’s decent to look at.”
Alice Vavasor had no desire to deny herself to any person but one. She was well aware that the gentleman in the hall could not be her cousin George, and therefore she did not refuse to see him.
“Let him come up,” she said. “But I think, Jane, you ought to ask him his name.” Jane did ask him his name, and came back immediately, announcing Mr Levy.
This occurred immediately after the return of Mr John Vavasor from Westmoreland. He had reached home late on the preceding evening, and at the moment of Mr Levy’s call was in his dressingroom.
Alice got up to receive her visitor, and at once understood the tone of her maid’s voice. Mr Levy was certainly not a gentleman of the sort to which she had been most accustomed. He was a little dark man, with sharp eyes, set very near to each other in his head, with a beaked nose, thick at the bridge, and a black moustache, but no other beard. Alice did not at all like the look of Mr Levy, but she stood up to receive him, made him a little bow, and asked him to sit down.
“Is papa dressed yet?” Alice asked the servant.
“Well, miss, I don’t think he is,—not to say dressed.”
Alice had thought it might be as well that Mr Levy should know that there was a gentleman in the house with her.
“I’ve called about a little bit of business, miss,” said Mr Levy, when they were alone. “Nothing as you need disturb yourself about. You’ll find it all square, I think.” Then he took a case out of his breast-pocket, and produced a note, which he handed to her. Alice took the note, and saw immediately that it was addressed to her by her cousin George. “Yes, Mr George Vavasor,” said Mr Levy. “I dare say you never saw me before, miss?”
“No, sir; I think not,” said Alice.
“I am your cousin’s clerk.”
“Oh, you’re Mr Vavasor’s clerk. I’ll read his letter, if you please, sir.”
“If you please, miss.”
George Vavasor’s letter
