“Drummond contradicted him the other day.”
“I knew there was something. He has got to be like a bear with a sore head, Duke. You should have seen his face the other day, when Mr. Rattler made some suggestion to him about the proper way of dividing farms.”
“I don’t think he ever liked Rattler.”
“What of that? Don’t I have to smile upon men whom I hate like poison;—and women too, which is worse? Do you think that I love old Lady Ramsden, or Mrs. MacPherson? He used to be so fond of Lord Cantrip.”
“I think he likes Lord Cantrip,” said the Duke.
“He asked his lordship to do something, and Lord Cantrip declined.”
“I know all about that,” said the Duke.
“And now he looks gloomy at Lord Cantrip. His friends won’t stand that kind of thing, you know, forever.”
“He is always courteous to Finn,” said the Duke.
“Yes;—just now he is on good terms with Mr. Finn. He would never be harsh to Mr. Finn, because he knows that Mrs. Finn is the one really intimate female friend whom I have in the world. After all, Duke, besides Plantagenet and the children, there are only two persons in the world whom I really love. There are only you and she. She will never desert me;—and you must not desert me either.” Then he put his hand behind her waist, and stooped over her and kissed her brow, and swore to her that he would never desert her.
But what was he to do? He knew, without being told by the Duchess, that his colleague and chief was becoming, from day to day, more difficult to manage. He had been right enough in laying it down as a general rule that Prime Ministers are selected for that position by the general confidence of the House of Commons;—but he was aware at the same time that it had hardly been so in the present instance. There had come to be a deadlock in affairs, during which neither of the two old and well-recognised leaders of parties could command a sufficient following for the carrying on of the Government. With unusual patience these two gentlemen had now for the greater part of three Sessions sat by, offering but little opposition to the Coalition, but of course biding their time. They, too, called themselves—perhaps thought themselves—Cincinnatuses. But their ploughs and peaches did not suffice to them, and they longed again to be in every mouth, and to have, if not their deeds, then even their omissions blazoned in every paragraph. The palate accustomed to Cayenne pepper can hardly be gratified by simple salt. When that deadlock had come, politicians who were really anxious for the country had been forced to look about for a Premier—and in the search the old Duke had been the foremost. The Duchess had hardly said more than the truth when she declared that her husband’s promotion had been effected by their old friend. But it is sometimes easier to make than to unmake. Perhaps the time had now in truth come, in which it would be better for the country that the usual state of things should again exist. Perhaps—nay, the Duke now thought that he saw that it was so—Mr. Gresham might again have a Liberal majority at his back if the Duke of Omnium could find some graceful mode of retiring. But who was to tell all this to the Duke of Omnium? There was only one man in all England to whom such a task was possible, and that was the old Duke himself—who during the last two years had been constantly urgent with his friend not to retire! How often since he had taken office had the conscientious and timid Minister begged of his friend permission to abandon his high office! But that permission had always been refused, and now, for the last three months, the request had not been repeated. The Duchess probably was right in saying that her husband “didn’t want to give it up now.”
But he, the Duke of St. Bungay, had brought his friend into the trouble, and it was certainly his duty to extricate him from it. The admonition might come in the rude shape of repeated minorities in the House of Commons. Hitherto the number of votes at the command of the Ministry had not been very much impaired. A few always fall off as time goes on. Aristides becomes too just, and the mind of man is greedy of novelty. Sir Orlando, also, had taken with him a few, and it may be that two or three had told themselves that there could not be all that smoke raised by the People’s Banner without some fire below it. But there was a good working majority—very much at Mr. Monk’s command—and Mr. Monk was moved by none of that feeling of rebellion which had urged Sir Orlando on to his destruction. It was difficult to find a cause for resignation. And yet the Duke of St. Bungay, who had watched the House of Commons closely for nearly half a century, was aware that the Coalition which he had created had done its work, and was almost convinced that it would not be permitted to remain very much longer in power. He had seen symptoms of impatience in Mr. Daubeny, and Mr. Gresham had snorted once or twice, as though eager for the battle.
LXIV
The New K.G.
Early in June had died the Marquis of Mount Fidgett. In all England there was no older family than that of the Fichy Fidgetts, whose baronial castle of Fichy Fellows is still kept up, the glory of archaeologists and the charm of tourists. Some people declare it to be
