The Testing of Diana Mallory Part 64

"John!--John!" he groaned. "They'll be dancing and triumphing on your grave to-night, John; and that fellow you were a father to--like the rest. But they shall do it without me, John--they shall do it without me!"

And he thought, with a grim satisfaction, of the note he had just confided to the Premier's second messenger refusing the offer of the Attorney-Generalship. He was sorry for Broadstone; he had done his best to comfort him; but he would serve in no Government with John's supplanters.

Meanwhile Marsham was speeding up to town. At every way-side station, under the evening light, he saw the long lines of placards: "Sudden death of Mr. Ferrier. Effect on the new Ministry." Every paper he bought was full of comments and hasty biographies. There was more than a conventional note of loss in them. Ferrier was not widely popular, in the sense in which many English statesmen have been popular, but there was something in his personality that had long since won the affection and respect of all that public, in all cla.s.ses, which really observes and directs English affairs. He was sincerely mourned, and he would be practically missed.

But the immediate effect would be the triumph of the Cave, a new direction given to current politics. That no one doubted.

Marsham was lost in tumultuous thought. The truth was that the two articles in the _Herald_ of that morning, which had arrived at Tallyn by nine o'clock, had struck him with nothing less than consternation.

Ever since his interview with Barrington, he had persuaded himself that in it he had laid the foundations of party reunion; and he had since been eagerly scanning the signs of slow change in the att.i.tude of the party paper, combined--as they had been up to this very day--with an unbroken personal loyalty to Ferrier. But the article of this morning had shown a complete--and in Oliver's opinion, as he read it at the breakfast-table--an extravagant _volte-face_. It amounted to nothing less than a vehement appeal to the new Prime Minister to intrust the leadership of the House of Commons, at so critical a moment, to a man more truly in sympathy with the forward policy of the party.

"We have hoped against hope," said the _Herald_; "we have supported Mr.

Ferrier against all opposition; but a careful reconsideration and a.n.a.lysis of his latest speeches--taken together with our general knowledge public and private, of the political situation--have convinced us, sorely against our will, that while Mr. Ferrier must, of course, hold one of the most important offices in the new Cabinet, his leadership of the Commons--in view of the two great measures to which the party is practically pledged--could only bring calamity. He will not oppose them; that, of course, we know; but is it possible that he can _fight them through_ with success? We appeal to his patriotism, which has never yet failed him or us. If he will only accept the peerage he has so amply earned, together with either the War Office or the Admiralty, and represent the Government in the Lords, where it is sorely in need of strength, all will be well. The leadership of the Commons must necessarily fall to that section of the party which, through Lord Philip's astonishing campaign, has risen so rapidly in public favor. Lord Philip himself, indeed, is no more acceptable to the moderates than Mr. Ferrier to the Left Wing. Heat of personal feeling alone would prevent his filling the part successfully. But two or three men are named, under whom Lord Philip would be content to serve, while the moderates would have nothing to say against them."

This was damaging enough. But far more serious was the "communicated"

article on the next page--"from a correspondent"--on which the "leader"

was based.

Marsham saw at once that the "correspondent" was really Barrington himself, and that the article was wholly derived from the conversation which had taken place at Tallyn, and from the portions of Ferrier's letters, which Marsham had read or summarized for the journalist's benefit.

The pa.s.sage in particular which Ferrier's dying hand had marked--he recalled the gleam in Barrington's black eyes as he had listened to it, the instinctive movement in his powerful hand, as though to pounce, vulturelike, on the letter--and his own qualm of anxiety--his sudden sense of having gone too far--his insistence on discretion.

Discretion indeed! The whole thing was monstrous treachery. He had warned the man that these few sentences were not to be taken literally--that they were, in fact, Ferrier's caricature of himself and his true opinion. "You press on me a particular measure," they said, in effect, "you expect the millennium from it. Well, I'll tell you what you'll really get by it!"--and then a forecast of the future, after the great Bill was pa.s.sed, in Ferrier's most biting vein.

The pa.s.sage in the _Herald_ was given as a paraphrase, or, rather, as a kind of _reductio ad absurdum_ of one of Ferrier's last speeches in the House. It was, in truth, a literal quotation from one of the letters.

Barrington had an excellent memory. He had omitted nothing. The stolen sentences made the point, the d.a.m.ning point, of the article. They were not exactly quoted as Ferrier's, but they claimed to express Ferrier more closely than he had yet expressed himself. "We have excellent reason to believe that this is, in truth, the att.i.tude of Mr. Ferrier."

How, then, could a man of so cold and sceptical a temper continue to lead the young reformers of the party? The _Herald_, with infinite regret, made its bow to its old leader, and went over bag and baggage to the camp of Lord Philip, who, Marsham could not doubt, had been in close consultation with the editor through the whole business.

Again and again, as the train sped on, did Marsham go back over the fatal interview which had led to these results. His mind, full of an agony of remorse he could not still, was full also of storm and fury against Barrington. Never had a journalist made a more shameful use of a trust reposed in him.

With torturing clearness, imagination built up the scene in the garden: the arrival of Broadstone's letter; the hand of the stricken man groping for the newspaper; the effort of those pencilled lines; and, finally, that wavering mark, John Ferrier's last word on earth.

If it had, indeed, been meant for him, Oliver--well, he had received it; the dead man had reached out and touched him; he felt the brand upon him; and it was a secret forever between Ferrier and himself.

The train was nearing St. Pancras. Marsham roused himself with an effort. After all, what fault was it of his--this tragic coincidence of a tragic day? If Ferrier had lived, all could have been explained; or if not all, most. And because Ferrier had died of a sudden ailment, common among men worn out with high responsibilities, was a man to go on reproaching himself eternally for another man's vile behavior--for the results of an indiscretion committed with no ill-intent whatever? With miserable self-control, Oliver turned his mind to his approaching interview with the Prime Minister. Up to the morning of this awful day he had been hanging on the Cabinet news from hour to hour. The most important posts would, of course be filled first. Afterward would come the minor appointments--and then!

Marsham found the Premier much shaken. He was an old man; he had been a warm personal friend of Ferrier's; and the blow had hit him hard.

Evidently for a few hours he had been determined to resign; but strong influences had been brought to bear, and he had wearily resumed his task.

Reluctantly, Marsham told the story. Poor Lord Broadstone could not escape from the connection between the arrival of his letter and the seizure which had killed his old comrade. He sat bowed beneath it for a while; then, with a fort.i.tude and a self-control which never fails men of his type in times of public stress and difficulty, he roused himself to discuss the political situation which had arisen--so far, at least, as was necessary and fitting in the case of a man not in the inner circle.

As the two men sat talking the messenger arrived from Beechcote with Sir James Chide's letter. From the Premier's expression as he laid it down Marsham divined that it contained Chide's refusal to join the Government. Lord Broadstone got up and began to move to and fro, wrapped in a cloud of thought. He seemed to forget Marsham's presence, and Marsham made a movement to go. As he did so Lord Broadstone looked up and came toward him.

"I am much obliged to you for having come so promptly," he said, with melancholy courtesy. "I thought we should have met soon--on an occasion--more agreeable to us both. As you are here, forgive me if I talk business. This rough-and-tumble world has to be carried on, and if it suits you, I shall be happy to recommend your appointment to her Majesty--as a Junior Lord of the Treasury--carrying with it, as of course you understand, the office of Second Whip."

Ten minutes later Marsham left the Prime Minister's house. As he walked back to St. Pancras, he was conscious of yet another smart added to the rest. If _anything_ were offered to him, he had certainly hoped for something more considerable.

It looked as though while the Ferrier influence had ignored him, the Darcy influence had not troubled itself to do much for him. That he had claims could not be denied. So this very meagre bone had been flung him.

But if he had refused it, he would have got nothing else.

The appointment would involve re-election. All that infernal business to go through again!--probably in the very midst of disturbances in the mining district. The news from the collieries was as bad as it could be.

He reached home very late--close on midnight. His mother had gone to bed, ill and worn out, and was not to be disturbed. Isabel Fotheringham and Alicia awaited him in the drawing-room.

Mrs. Fotheringham had arrived in the course of the evening. She herself was peevish with fatigue, incurred in canva.s.sing for two of Lord Philip's most headlong supporters. Personally, she had broken with John Ferrier some weeks before the election; but the fact had made more impression on her own mind than on his.

"Well, Oliver, this is a shocking thing! However, of course, Ferrier had been unhealthy for a long time; any one could see that. It was really better it should end so."

"You take it calmly!" he said, scandalized by her manner and tone.

"I am sorry, of course. But Ferrier had outlived himself. The people I have been working among felt him merely in the way. But, of course, I am sorry mamma is dreadfully upset. That one must expect. Well, now then--you have seen Broadstone?"

She rose to question him, the political pa.s.sion in her veins a.s.serting itself against her weariness. She was still in her travelling dress.

From her small, haggard face the reddish hair was drawn tightly back; the spectacled eyes, the dry lips, expressed a woman whose life had hardened to dusty uses. Her mere aspect chilled and repelled her brother, and he answered her questions shortly.

"Broadstone has treated you shabbily!" she remarked, with decision; "but I suppose you will have to put up with it. And this terrible thing that has happened to-day may tell against you when it comes to the election. Ferrier will be looked upon as a martyr, and we shall suffer."

Oliver turned his eyes for relief to Alicia. She, in a soft black dress, with many slender chains, studded with beautiful turquoises, about her white neck, rested and cheered his sight. The black was for sympathy with the family sorrow; the turquoises were there because he specially admired them; he understood them both. The night was hot, and without teasing him with questions she had brought him a gla.s.s of iced lemonade, touching him caressingly on the arm while he drank it.

"Poor Mr. Ferrier! It was terribly, terribly sad!" Her voice was subtly tuned and pitched. It made no fresh claim on emotion, of which, in his mental and moral exhaustion, he had none to give; but it more than met the decencies of the situation, which Isabel had flouted.

"So there will be another election?" she said, presently, still standing in front of him, erect and provocative, her eyes fixed on his.

"Yes; but I sha'n't be such a brute as to bother you with it this time."

"I shall decide that for myself," she said, lightly. Then--after a pause: "So Lord Philip has won!--all along the line! I should like to know that man!"

"You do know him."

"Oh, just to pa.s.s the time of day. That's nothing. But I am to meet him at the Treshams' next week." Her eyes sparkled a little. Marsham glanced at his sister, who was gathering up some small possessions at the end of the room.

"Don't try and make a fool of him!" he said, in a low voice. "He's not your sort."

"Isn't he?" She laughed. "I suppose he's one of the biggest men in England now. And somebody told me the other day that, after losing two or three fortunes, he had just got another."

Marsham nodded.

"Altogether, an excellent _parti_."

Alicia's infectious laugh broke out. She sat down beside him, with her hands round her knees.

"You look miles better than when you came in. But I think--you'd better go to bed."