“I never knew a young man so badly spoken of at a place he’d left as he is in Baslehurst. I think it right to tell you; but if you have made up your mind to ask Mr. Comfort—”
“Yes; I have made up my mind to ask Mr. Comfort. He has sent to say he will call the day after tomorrow.” Then Mrs. Prime went back home, having seen neither the letter nor her sister.
It may be remembered that an election was impending over the town of Baslehurst, the coming necessities of which had induced Mrs. Butler Cornbury to grace Mrs. Tappitt’s ball. It was now nearly the end of July, and the election was to be made early in September. Both candidates were already in the field, and the politicians of the neighbourhood already knew to a nicety how the affair would go. Mr. Hart the great clothier from Houndsditch and Regent Street—Messrs. Hart and Jacobs of from 110 to 136 Houndsditch, and about as many more numbers in Regent Street—would come in at the top of the poll with 173 votes, and Butler Cornbury, whose forefathers had lived in the neighbourhood for the last four hundred years and been returned for various places in Devonshire to dozens of parliaments, would be left in the lurch with 171 votes. A petition might probably unseat the Jew clothier; but then, as was well known, the Cornbury estate could not bear the expenditure of the necessary five thousand pounds for the petition, in addition to the twelve hundred which the election itself was computed to cost. It was all known and thoroughly understood; and men in Baslehurst talked about the result as though the matter were past a doubt. Nevertheless there were those who were ready to bet on the Cornbury side of the question.
But though the thing was thus accurately settled, and though its termination was foreseen by so many and with so perfect a certainty, still the canvassing went on. In fact there were votes that had not even yet been asked, much less promised—and again, much less purchased. The Hart people were striving to frighten the Cornbury people out of the field by the fear of the probable expenditure; and had it not been for the good courage of Mrs. Butler Cornbury would probably have succeeded in doing so. The old squire was very fidgety about the money, and the young squire declared himself unwilling to lean too heavily upon his father. But the lady of the household declared her conviction that there was more smoke than fire, and more threats of bribery than intention of bribing. She would go on, she declared; and as her word passed for much at Cornbury Grange, the battle was still to be fought.
Among the votes which certainly had not as yet been promised was that of Mr. Tappitt. Mr. Hart in person had called upon him, but had not been quite satisfied with his reception. Mr. Tappitt was a man who thought much of his local influence and local privileges, and was by no means disposed to make a promise of his vote on easy terms, at a moment when his vote was becoming of so much importance. He was no doubt a liberal as was also Mr. Hart; but in small towns politics become split, and a man is not always bound to vote for a liberal candidate because he is a liberal himself. Mr. Hart had been confident in his tone, and had not sufficiently freed himself from all outer taint of his ancient race to please Mr. Tappitt’s taste. “He’s an impudent low Jew,” he had said to his wife. “As for Butler Cornbury he gives himself airs, and is too grand even to come and ask. I don’t think I shall vote at all.” His wife had reminded him how civil to them Mrs. Cornbury had been;—this was before the morning of the poker;—but Tappitt had only sneered, and declared he was not going to send a man to Parliament because his wife had come to a dance.
But we, who know Tappitt best, may declare now that his vote was to have been had by anyone who would have joined him energetically in abuse of Luke Rowan. His mind was full of his grievance. His heart was laden with hatred of his enemy. His very soul was heavy with that sorrow. Honyman, whom he had not yet dared to desert, had again recommended submission to him, submission to one of the three terms proposed. Let him take the thousand a year and go out from the brewery. That was Honyman’s first advice. If not that, then let him admit his enemy to a full partnership. If that were too distasteful to be possible, then let him raise ten thousand pounds on a mortgage on the whole property, and buy Rowan out. Honyman thought that the money might be raised if Tappitt were willing to throw into the lump the moderate savings of his past life. But in answer to either proposal Tappitt only raved. Had Mr. Hart known all about this, he might doubtless have secured Tappitt’s vote.
Butler Cornbury refused to call at the brewery. “The man’s a liberal,” he said to his wife, “and what’s the use? Besides he’s just the man I can’t stand. We’ve always hated each other.”
Whereupon Mrs. B. Cornbury determined to call on Mrs. Tappitt, and to see Tappitt himself if it were possible. She had heard something of the Rowan troubles, but not all. She had heard, too, of Rowan’s liking for Rachel Ray, having also seen something of it, as we know. But, unfortunately for her husband’s parliamentary interests, she had not learned that the two things were connected together. And, very unfortunately also for the same interests, she had taken it into her head that Rachel should
