The Duchess behaved very well to her friend, saying not a single word to twit her with the love which she betrayed. She seemed to take it as a matter of course that Madame Goesler’s interest in Phineas Finn should be as it was. The Duke, she said, could not come home to dinner, and Madame Goesler should stay with her. Both Houses were in such a ferment about the murder, that nobody liked to be away. Everybody had been struck with amazement, not simply—not chiefly—by the fact of the murder, but by the double destruction of the two men whose ill-will to each other had been of late so often the subject of conversation. So Madame Goesler remained at Carlton Terrace till late in the evening, and during the whole visit there was nothing mentioned but the murder of Mr. Bonteen and the peril of Phineas Finn. “Someone will go and see him, I suppose,” said Madame Goesler.
“Lord Cantrip has been already—and Mr. Monk.”
“Could not I go?”
“Well, it would be rather strong.”
“If we both went together?” suggested Madame Goesler. And before she left Carlton Terrace she had almost extracted a promise from the Duchess that they would together proceed to the prison and endeavour to see Phineas Finn.
XLIX
Showing What Mrs. Bunce Said to the Policeman
“We have left Adelaide Palliser down at the Hall. We are up here only for a couple of days to see Laura, and try to find out what had better be done about Kennedy.” This was said to Phineas Finn in his own room in Great Marlborough Street by Lord Chiltern, on the morning after the murder, between ten and eleven o’clock. Phineas had not as yet heard of the death of the man with whom he had quarrelled. Lord Chiltern had now come to him with some proposition which he as yet did not understand, and which Lord Chiltern certainly did not know how to explain. Looked at simply, the proposition was one for providing Phineas Finn with an income out of the wealth belonging, or that would belong, to the Standish family. Lady Laura’s fortune would, it was thought, soon be at her own disposal. They who acted for her husband had assured the Earl that the yearly interest of the money should be at her ladyship’s command as soon as the law would allow them so to plan it. Of Robert Kennedy’s inability to act for himself there was no longer any doubt whatever, and there was, they said, no desire to embarrass the estate with so small a disputed matter as the income derived from £40,000. There was great pride of purse in the manner in which the information was conveyed;—but not the less on that account was it satisfactory to the Earl. Lady Laura’s first thought about it referred to the imminent wants of Phineas Finn. How might it be possible for her to place a portion of her income at the command of the man she loved so that he should not feel disgraced by receiving it from her hand? She conceived some plan as to a loan to be made nominally by her brother—a plan as to which it may at once be said that it could not be made to hold water for a minute. But she did succeed in inducing her brother to undertake the embassy, with the view of explaining to Phineas that there would be money for him when he wanted it. “If I make it over to Papa, Papa can leave it him in his will; and if he wants it at once there can be no harm in your advancing to him what he must have at Papa’s death.” Her brother had frowned angrily and had shaken his head. “Think how he has been thrown over by all the party,” said Lady Laura. Lord Chiltern had disliked the whole affair—had felt with dismay that his sister’s name would become subject to reproach if it should be known that this young man was supported by her bounty. She, however, had persisted, and he had consented to see the young man, feeling sure that Phineas would refuse to bear the burden of the obligation.
But he had not touched the disagreeable subject when they were interrupted. A knocking of the door had been heard, and now Mrs. Bunce came upstairs, bringing Mr. Low with her. Mrs. Bunce had not heard of the tragedy, but she had at once perceived from the barrister’s manner that there was some serious matter forward—some matter that was probably not only serious, but also calamitous. The expression of her countenance announced as much to the two men, and the countenance of Mr. Low when he followed her into the room told the same story still more plainly. “Is anything the matter?” said Phineas, jumping up.
“Indeed, yes,” said Mr. Low, who then looked at Lord Chiltern and was silent.
“Shall I go?” said Lord Chiltern. Mr. Low did not know him, and of course was still silent.
“This is my friend, Mr. Low. This is my friend, Lord Chiltern,” said Phineas, aware that each was well acquainted with the other’s name. “I do not know of any reason why you should go. What is it, Low?”
Lord Chiltern had come there about money, and it occurred to him that the impecunious young barrister might already be in some scrape on that head. In nineteen cases out of twenty, when a man is in a scrape, he simply wants money. “Perhaps I can be of help,” he said.
“Have you heard, my Lord, what happened last night?” said Mr. Low, with his eyes fixed on Phineas Finn.
“I have heard nothing,” said Lord Chiltern.
“What has happened?” asked Phineas, looking aghast. He knew Mr. Low well enough to be sure that the thing referred to was of great and distressing moment.
“You, too, have heard nothing?”
“Not a word—that I know of.”
“You were at The Universe
