Mrs. Cornbury saw it all at a glance;—saw it all and understood it. The vote was probably lost; but it would certainly be lost if Tappitt and his wife discussed the matter before he had pledged himself. The vote would probably be lost, even though Tappitt should, in his ignorance of what had just passed, pledge himself to give it. All that Mrs. Cornbury perceived, and knew that she could lose nothing by an immediate request.
“Mr. Tappitt,” said she, “I have come canvassing. The fact is this: Mr. Cornbury says you are a liberal, and that therefore he has not the face to ask you. I tell him that I think you would rather support a neighbour from the county, even though there may be a shade of difference in politics between you, than a stranger, whose trade and religion cannot possibly recommend him, and whose politics, if you really knew them, would probably be quite as much unlike your own as are my husband’s.”
The little speech had been prepared beforehand, but was brought out quite as naturally as though Mrs. Cornbury had been accustomed to speak on her legs for a quarter of a century.
Mr. Tappitt grunted. The attack came upon him so much by surprise that he knew not what else to do but to grunt. If Mr. Cornbury had come with the same speech in his mouth, and could then have sided off into some general abuse of Luke Rowan, the vote would have been won.
“I’m sure Mrs. Tappitt will agree with me,” said Mrs. Cornbury, smiling very sweetly upon the foe she had so lately vanquished.
“Women don’t know anything about it,” said Tappitt, meaning to snub no one but his own wife, and forgetting that Mrs. Cornbury was a woman. He blushed fiery red when the thought flashed upon him, and wished that his own drawing-room floor would open and receive him; nevertheless he was often afterwards heard to boast how he had put down the politician in petticoats when she came electioneering to the brewery.
“Well, that is severe,” said Mrs. Cornbury, laughing.
“Oh, T.! you shouldn’t have said that before Mrs. Cornbury!”
“I only meant my own wife, ma’am; I didn’t indeed.”
“I’ll forgive your satire if you’ll give me your vote,” said Mrs. Cornbury, with her sweetest smile. “He owes it me now; doesn’t he, Mrs. Tappitt?”
“Well—I really think he do.” Mrs. Tappitt, in her double trouble—in her own defeat and her shame on behalf of her husband’s rudeness—was driven back, out of all her latter-day conventionalities, into the thoughts and even into the language of old days. She was becoming afraid of Mrs. Cornbury, and submissive, as of old, to the rank and station of Cornbury Grange. In her terror she was becoming a little forgetful of niceties learned somewhat late in life. “I really think he do,” said Mrs. Tappitt.
Tappitt grunted again.
“It’s a very serious thing,” he said.
“So it is,” said Mrs. Cornbury, interrupting him. She knew that her chance was gone if the man were allowed to get himself mentally upon his legs. “It is very serious; but the fact that you are still in doubt shows that you have been thinking of it. We all know how good a churchman you are, and that you would not willingly send a Jew to Parliament.”
“I don’t know,” said Tappitt. “I’m not for persecuting even the Jews;—not when they pay their way and push themselves honourably in commerce.”
“Oh, yes; commerce! There is nobody who has shown himself more devoted to the commercial interests than Mr. Cornbury. We buy everything in Baslehurst. Unfortunately our people won’t drink beer because of the cider.”
“Tappitt doesn’t think a bit about that, Mrs. Cornbury.”
“I’m afraid I shall be called upon in honour to support my party,” said Tappitt.
“Exactly; but which is your party? Isn’t the Protestant religion of your country your party? These people are creeping down into all parts of the kingdom, and where shall we be if leading men like you think more of shades of difference between liberal and conservative than of the fundamental truths of the Church of England? Would you depute a Jew to get up and speak your own opinions in your own vestry-room?”
“That you wouldn’t, T.,” said Mrs. Tappitt, who was rather carried away by Mrs. Cornbury’s eloquence.
“Not in a vestry, because it’s joined on to a church,” said Tappitt.
“Or would you like a Jew to be mayor in Baslehurst;—a Jew in the chair where you yourself were sitting only three years ago?”
“That wouldn’t be seemly, because our mayor is expected to attend in church on Roundabout Sunday.” Roundabout Sunday, so called for certain local reasons which it would be long to explain, followed immediately on the day of the mayor’s inauguration.
“Would you like to have a Jew partner in your own business?”
Mrs. Butler Cornbury should have said nothing to Mr. Tappitt as to any partner in the brewery, Jew or Christian.
“I don’t want any partner, and what’s more, I don’t mean to have any.”
“Mrs. Cornbury is in favour of Luke Rowan; she takes his side,” said Mrs. Tappitt, some portion of her courage returning to her as this opportunity opened upon her. Mr. Tappitt turned his head full round and looked upon Mrs. Cornbury with an evil eye. That lady knew that the vote was lost, lost unless she would denounce the man whom Rachel loved; and she determined at once that she would not denounce him. There are many things which such a woman will do to gain such an object. She could smile when Tappitt was offensive; she could smile again when Mrs. Tappitt talked like a kitchenmaid. She could flatter them both, and pretend to talk seriously with them about Jews and her own Church feelings. She could have given up to them Luke Rowan—if he had stood alone. But she could not give up the girl she had chaperoned, and upon whom, during that chaperoning, her goodwill and kindly feelings had fallen. Rachel
