long been friends; that our tempers are quieter than theirs; that our history and upbringing suit us to each other, as well as the content of our minds. Still, I cannot believe that it is right to marry so quickly upon the heels of your wonderful proposal (which I still count the happiest moment of my life, Charles). May we give it a year? Or longer? Please believe that this is written in love. From your own,
Jane
At the bottom in a hurried and untidy scrawl she had added:
Lenox sat in his bed, dumbfounded. What surprised him more than the sentiment of the letter was its wavering fretfulness; for years Lady Jane had been so dependable, the person in his life he knew he could count on should all others desert him. It was out of character. He wondered if there was something more than she confessed to in the letter, to make her feel as she did.
As he was about to read it for a second time, there was a sharp rap at the door, and Hilary came in.
“Good morning, Lenox. Sorry to catch you waking up.”
“Oh — it’s quite all right, James, of course.”
“Your first speech is in forty minutes?”
“That’s right, yes.”
“Do you know what you’re going to say?”
“I’ll follow what Crook planned out for the handbills. There are a few words I wrote down after you came and asked me to run.”
“Good, good,” said Hilary.
“Is anything the matter? You seem nervous.”
“Well, Lenox, I’m afraid I have to return to London this afternoon.”
“What? Why?”
“There are committee meetings to be attended, and… that sort of thing.”
“But you knew your schedule when you came up.”
Hilary sat down and sighed. “I’m sorry to say it, old chap, but Roodle looks awfully strong here. I got a telegram requesting that I return, in response to my telegram sending them the numbers Crook had worked up of past votes. It’s the time, you see — because Stoke died we don’t have enough time.”
Lenox felt at a conversational disadvantage, lying in bed, and his heart plummeted. “How does Roodle look strong?”
“He’s spending as much money as you’ll be able to, which frankly we didn’t expect. He has a much higher name recognition — and, though it’s not your fault, and though people here feel respectful of old Stoke, they’re ready for a change.”
“How poor do you think my chances are?”
“If you fight hard, you might get within a few hundred votes of him. Then — who knows?”
“But the chances aren’t good enough for you to stay?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Hilary with a guilty look. “You know we’re friends, and in the SPQR club together, Lenox, but damn it — politics is a ruthless game, and we have to follow the momentum.”
“I see.”
Hilary looked pained. “If it were simply up to me, I would have stayed till the bitter end. You know the respect I entertain for you, Lenox.”
“Well,” said Lenox, unsure of what to say.
Hilary stood up. “I’ll be downstairs. Come,” he said encouragingly, “let’s give a fight. This morning will be a good start.”
Lenox sat in his bed and listened to the footfalls as Hilary walked downstairs. Uncertainty, suddenly, where all had seemed promising. Lady Jane’s letter was still in his hand.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a long slog of a day, his first full one in Stirrington. Hilary took the latest train back that he could, with another string of apologies for Lenox before he went. More hopefully, Crook said, “Never mind him. These London types are weak willed, when it comes to politics. There’s fighting left to be done.” Strangely, because Crook was so gloomy these words meant much more than they would have coming from a more sanguine character.
Walking around the town that evening, Lenox felt heartened. He had given four speeches that day; the first, before a handful of shopkeepers on the edge of town, had been a timorous, uncertain homily about the importance of lending one another a hand. The line he had concluded with, “Friends before treasure!” had earned him only a few disapproving stares, not the applause he had hoped for, and he only realized belatedly that the men in the crowd were primarily concerned with their treasure — of friends they had enough. He had gained confidence as he went, though, and having walked around Stirrington all day, he now recognized some of the faces and many of the shops he passed.
He stopped into a chop house and had a supper of lamb and wine, talking the whole while with several men at the bar. At first they were taciturn, but Lenox did have one gift as a politician, even though he hadn’t had time to develop more than a raw way about him — he could listen. He liked to listen, in fact. When these men found that one of the quality was interested in what they said, they found their voices. Primarily they talked about Roodle.
“Bleeding Robert Roodle,” said a thin and thin-voiced one, “I was workin’ in his brewery and lost my job.”
“Did you get another one?”
“Well — yes,” said the man, in that particular grudging way of the English, “but no thanks to ’im.”
Here a jollier fellow, who had introduced himself to Lenox as the local blacksmith, chimed in. “What’s worse was ’is father, ’e was. A reg’lar tyrant.” Then he braced himself for a long soliloquy. “The facts about Stirrington, sir, is that we here like hard work, we like our ale, we like our Sunday service, and we like promises kept. That’s the secret, Mr. Lenox. Don’t make promises you can’t keep; we’ll find you out, sir, we will.”
“We will,” agreed Roodle’s aggrieved former employee.
“Beer tax — you’ve made a good start, sir.”
“Aye, it’s true,” said several of the mute chorus who had been listening to the conversation as they ate.
“One other thing, Mr. Lenox — there’s nothing to be gained by attacking Roodle. Everyone here knows his faults, we know his virtues — for he
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Lenox. “I hope I may count on your votes, at least?”
Finally, after supper, Lenox had time to return to his room and write back to Lady Jane. He sat for some time at the small table at the window of his room; it overlooked a large vegetable garden, but all was dark now, and he felt wracked with doubt. Doubt about Jane herself — never. Doubt in himself. He finally wrote:
My Dearest Jane,
Even your doubtful letter was the sweetest part of my day because it came from you, but I cannot lie: These have been difficult hours in my life. Hilary returned almost instantly to London, expressing grave concerns about my chances here before he left. I have constant visions of Thomas and Toto in their sorrow and feel I have shirked my duty in leaving, whatever the purpose. I can’t help but think that the two deaths that I take it still dominate the papers there might have been cleared away under my eye. Yet of all this I feel most sorrowful that you should doubt our marriage in June.
Which is not to say that I do not understand, dearest Jane; for I have analyzed at greater length than you will have had leisure to my own faults, the defects in my character that would preclude me from making a happy
