My friends were singularly successful
in their negotiations on my behalf. Not a single
bishop proceeded with his libel action against Lalage.
Nor was I forced to buy any of them off by building
even a small cathedral. I attribute our escape
from their vengeance entirely to the Provost.
His clear statement of the impossibility of obtaining
damages by any legal process must have had its effect.
Gossip too died away with remarkable
suddenness. I heard afterward that old Tollerton
got rapidly worse and succumbed to his disease, whatever
it was, very shortly after his last interview with
my uncle. I have no doubt that his death had
a good deal to do with the decay of public interest
in the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette. The Archdeacon,
who also was inclined to talk a good deal, had his
mind distracted by other events. The bishop of
our diocese had a paralytic stroke. He was not
one of those whom Lalage libelled, so the blame for
his misfortune cannot be laid on us. The Archdeacon
was, in consequence, very fully occupied in the management
of diocesan affairs and forgot all about the Gazette.
Canon Beresford ventured back to his parish after a
stay of six weeks in Wick. He would not have
dared to return if there had been the slightest chance
of the Archdeacon’s reverting to the painful
subject in conversation. Had there been even
the slightest reference to it in the newspapers, Canon
Beresford, instead of returning home, would have gone
farther afield to an Orkney Island or the Shetland
group, or, perhaps, to one of those called Faroe,
which do not appear on ordinary maps but are believed
by geographers to exist. Thus when my mother,
in the course of one of her letters, mentioned casually
that Canon Beresford had lunched with her, I knew,
as Noah did when the dove no longer returned to him,
that the flood had abated.
My uncle was also successful, too
successful, in his effort. His definite denial
of my connection with the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette
obtained credence with the Committee of the Conservative
and Unionist Parliamentary Association. My name
retained its place on their books and they continued
to put me forward as a candidate for the East Connor
division of Down at the General Election.
I only found this fact out by degrees,
for nobody seemed to think it worth while to tell
me. My uncle said afterward that my ignorance,
in which he found it very difficult to believe, was
entirely my own fault. I cannot deny this:
though I still hold that I ought to have been plainly
informed of my destiny and not left to infer it from
the figures in the accounts which were sent to me
from time to time. When I went to Portugal I
left my money affairs very much in the hands of my
mother and my uncle. I had what I wanted.
They spent what they thought right in the management
of my estate, in subscriptions and so forth. The
accounts which they sent me, very different indeed
from the spirited statements of Selby-Harrison, bored
me, and I did not realize for some time that I was
subscribing handsomely to a large number of local objects
in places of which I had never even heard the names.
I now know that they are towns and villages in the
East Connor division of Down, and my uncle has told
me that this kind of expenditure is called nursing
the constituency.
The first definite news of my candidature
came to me, curiously enough, from Lalage. She
wrote me a letter during the Christmas holidays:
“There was a party (flappers,
with dancing and a sit-down supper, not a Christmas
tree) at Thormanby Park last night. I got a bit
fed up with ‘the dear girls’ (Cattersby’s
expression) at about nine o’clock and slipped
off with Hilda in hope of a cigarette. (Hilda’s
mother’s cook got scarlatina, so she had to
give in about Hilda coming here for the hols after
all. Rather a climb down for her, I should say.)
It was jolly lucky we did, as it turned out, though
we didn’t succeed in getting the whiff.
Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were in the smoking
room, so we pretended we’d come to look for
Hilda’s pocket snuffler. The Archdeacon
came to the party with a niece, in a green dress, who’s
over from London, and stiff with swank, though what
about I don’t know, for she can’t play
hockey a bit, has only read the most rotten books,
and isn’t much to look at, though the green
dress is rather sweet, with a lace yoke and sequins
on the skirt. Why didn’t you tell me you
were going into Parliament? I’m frightfully
keen on elections and mean to go and help you.
So does Hilda now that she knows about it, and I wrote
to Selby-Harrison this morning. We’ve changed
the name of the society to the Association for the
Suppression of Public Lying (A.S.P.L.). Rather
appropriate, isn’t it, with a general election
just coming on? Of course you’re still
a life member. The change of name isn’t
a constitutional alteration. Selby-Harrison made
sure of that before we did it, so it doesn’t
break up the continuity, which is most important for
us all. Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were
jawing away like anything while we were searching
about for the hanker, and took no notice of us, although
the Archdeacon is frightfully polite now as a rule,
quite different from what he used to be. They
said the election was a soft thing for you unless
somebody went and put up a third man. I rather
hope they will, don’t you? Dead certs are
so rottenly unsporting. I’ll have a meeting
of the committee as soon as I get back to Dublin.
This will be just the chance we want, for we haven’t
had any sort of a look in since they suppressed the
Gazette.”
I put this letter of Lalage’s
aside and did not answer it for some time. I
thought that she and Hilda might have misunderstood
what my uncle and the Archdeacon were saying.
I did not regard it as possible that an important
matter of the kind should be settled without my knowing
anything about it; and I expected that Lalage would
find out her mistake for herself. It turned out
in the end that she had not made a mistake. Early
in January I got three letters, all marked urgent.
One was from my uncle, one from the secretary of the
Conservative and Unionist Association and one from
a Mr. Titherington, who seemed to be a person of some
importance in the East Connor division of County Down.
They all three told me the same news. I had been
unanimously chosen by the local association as Conservative
candidate at the forthcoming general election.
They all insisted that I should go home at once.
I did so, but before starting I answered Lalage’s
letter. I foresaw that the active assistance
of the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying
in the campaign before me might have very complicated
results, and would almost certainly bring on worry.
The local conservative association, for instance,
might not care for Lalage. Hardly any local conservative
association would. Mr. Titherington might not
hit it off with Selby-Harrison, and I realized from
the way he wrote, that Mr. Titherington was a man
of strong character. I worded my letter to Lalage
very carefully. I did not want to hurt her feelings
by refusing an offer which was kindly meant.
I wrote,
“I need scarcely tell you, how
gladly I should welcome the assistance offered by
the A.S.P.L., if I had nothing but my own feelings
to consider. Speeches from you and Hilda would
brighten up what threatens to be a dull affair.
Selby-Harrison’s advice would be invaluable.
But I cannot, in fairness to others, accept the offer
unconditionally. Selby-Harrison’s father
ought to be consulted. He has already been put
to great expense through his son’s expulsion
from the Divinity School, and I would not like, now
that he has, I suppose, paid some, at least, of the
fees for medical training, to put him to fresh expense
by involving his son in an enterprise which may very
well result in his being driven from the dissecting
room. Then we must think of Hilda’s mother.
If she insisted on Miss Battersby accompanying her
daughter to Portugal in the capacity of chaperon,
she is almost certain to have prejudices against electioneering
as a sport for young girls.
“Perhaps circumstances have
altered since I last heard from you in such a way
as to make the consultations I suggest unnecessary.
Mr. Selby-Harrison senior and Hilda’s mother
may both have died, prematurely worn out by great
anxiety. In that case I do not press for any
consideration of their wishes. But if they still
linger on I should particularly wish to obtain their
approval before definitely accepting the offer of
the A.S.P.L.”
I thought that a good letter.
It was possible that Mr. Selby-Harrison had died,
but I felt sure, judging from what I had heard of her,
that Hilda’s mother was a woman of vigour and
determination who would live as long as was humanly
possible. I was not even slightly disquieted by
a telegram handed to me just before I left Lisbon.
“Letter received.
Scruples strictly respected. Other
arrangements in contemplation.
“Lalage.”
I forgot all about the Association
for the Suppression of Public Lying and its offer
of help when I arrived in Ireland. Mr. Titherington
came up to Dublin to meet me and showed every sign
of keeping me very busy indeed. He turned out
to be a timber merchant by profession, who organized
elections by way of recreation whenever opportunity
offered. I was told in the office of the Conservative
and Unionist Association that no man living was more
crafty in electioneering than Mr. Titherington, and
that I should do well to trust myself entirely to his
guidance. I made up my mind to do so. My
uncle who also met me in Dublin, had been making inquiries
of his own about Mr. Titherington and gave me the
results of them in series of phrases which, I felt
sure, he had picked up from somebody else. “Titherington,”
he said, “has his finger on the pulse of the
constituency.” “There isn’t
a trick of the trade but Titherington is thoroughly
up to it.” “For taking the wind out
of the sails of the other side Titherington is absolutely
A1.” All this confirmed me in my determination
to follow Mr. Titherington, blindfold.
The first time I met him he told me
that we were going to have a sharp contest and gave
me the impression that he was greatly pleased.
A third candidate had taken the field, a man in himself
despicable, whose election was an impossibility; but
capable perhaps of detaching from me a number of votes
sufficient to put the Nationalist in the majority.
“And O’Donoghue, let me
tell you,” said Titherington, “is a smart
man and a right good speaker.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“I can see that.”
I do not profess to know how he saw
it. So far as I know, inability to make speeches
does not show on a man’s face, and Titherington
had no other means of judging at that time except
the appearance of my face. No one in fact, not
even my mother, could have been sure then that I was
a bad speaker. I had never spoken at a public
meeting.
“But,” said Titherington,
“we’ll pull you through all right.
That blackguard Vittie can’t poll more than
a couple of hundred.”
“Vittie,” I said “is,
I suppose, the tertium quid, not the Nationalist.
I’m sorry to trouble you with inquiries of this
kind, but in case of accident it’s better for
me to know exactly who my opponents are.”
“He calls himself a Liberal.
He’s going baldheaded for some temperance fad
and is backed by a score or so of Presbyterian ministers.
We’ll have to call canny about temperance.”
“If you want me to wear any
kind of glass button on the lapel of my coat, I’ll
do it; but I’m not going to sign a total abstinence
pledge. I’d rather not be elected.”
Titherington was himself drinking
whiskey and water while we talked. He grinned
broadly and I felt reassured. We had dined together
in my hotel, and Titherington had consumed the greater
part of a bottle of champagne, a glass of port, and
a liqueur with his coffee. It was after dinner
that he demanded whiskey and water. It seemed
unlikely that he would ask me even to wear a button.
“As we’re on the subject
of temperance,” he said, “you may as well
sign a couple of letters. I have them ready for
you and I can post them as I go home to-night.”
He picked up a despatch box which he had brought with
him and kept beside him during dinner. It gave
me a shock to see the box opened. It actually
overflowed with papers and I felt sure that they all
concerned my election. Titherington tossed several
bundles of them aside, and came at last upon a small
parcel kept together by an elastic band.
“This,” he said, handing
me a long typewritten document, “is from the
Amalgamated Association of Licensed Publicans.
You needn’t read it. It simply asks you
to pledge yourself to oppose all legislation calculated
to injure the trade. This is your answer.”
He handed me another typewritten document.
“Shall I read it?” I asked.
“You needn’t unless you like. All
I require is your signature.”
I have learned caution in the diplomatic
service. I read my letter before signing it,
although I intended to sign it whatever it might commit
me to. I had promised my uncle and given the Conservative
and Unionist Parliamentary Association to understand
that I would place myself unreservedly in Titherington’s
hands.
“I see,” I said, “that I pledge
myself ”
“You give the Amalgamated Association
to understand that you pledge yourself,” said
Titherington.
“The same thing, I suppose?”
“Not quite,” said Titherington grinning
again.
“Anyhow,” I said, “it’s the
proper thing, the usual thing to do?”
“O’Donoghue has done it,
and I expect that ruffian Vittie will have to in the
end, little as he’ll like it.”
I signed.
“Here,” said Titherington,
“is the letter of the joint committee of the
Temperance Societies.”
“There appear to be twenty-three
of them,” I said, glancing at the signatures.
“There are; and if there were
only ten voters in each it would be more than we could
afford to lose. Vittie thinks he has them all
safe in his breeches pocket, but I have a letter here
which will put his hair out of curl for a while.”
“I hate men with curly hair,”
I said. “It’s so effeminate.”
Titherington seemed to think this
remark foolish, though I meant it as an additional
evidence of my determination to oppose Vittie to the
last.
“Read the letter,” he said.
I read it. If such a thing had
been physically possible it would have put my hair
into curl. It did, I feel almost certain, make
it rise up and stand on end.
“I see by this letter,”
I said, “that I am pledging myself to support
some very radical temperance legislation.”
“You’re giving them to
understand that you pledge yourself. There’s
a difference, as I told you before.”
“I may find myself in rather an awkward position
if ”
“You’ll, be in a much
awkwarder one if Vittie gets those votes and lets
O’Donoghue in!”
Titherington spoke in such a determined
tone that I signed the letter at once.
“Is there anything else?”
I asked. “Now that I am pledging myself
in this wholesale way there’s no particular
reason why I shouldn’t go on.”
Titherington shuffled his papers about.
“Most of the rest of them,”
he said, “are just the ordinary things.
We needn’t worry about them. There’s
only one other letter ah! here it is.
By the way, have you any opinions about woman’s
suffrage?”
“Not one,” I said, “but
I don’t, of course, want to be ragged if it can
be avoided. Shall I pledge myself to get votes
for all the unmarried women in the constituency, or
ought I to go further?”
Titherington looked at me severely. Then he said:
“It won’t do us any harm
if Vittie is made to smell hell by a few militant
Suffragettes.”
“After the hole he’s put
us in about temperance,” I said, “he’ll
deserve the worst they can do to him.”
“In any ordinary case I’d
hesitate; for women are a nuisance, a d d
nuisance. But this is going to be such an infernally
near thing that I’m half inclined
It’s nuts and apples to them to get their knives
into any one calling himself a Liberal, which shows
they have some sense. Besides, the offer has,
so to speak, dropped right into our mouths. It
would be sinning against our mercies and flying in
the face of Providence not to consider it.”
I had, up to that moment, no reason
for suspecting Titherington of any exaggerated respect
for Providence. But there are queer veins of
religious feeling in the most hard-headed men.
I saw that Titherington had a theological side to
his character and I respected him all the more for
it.
“Here’s a letter,”
he said, “from one of the suffrage societies,
offering to send down speakers to help us. As
I said before, women are a nuisance, but it’s
just possible that there may be a few cranks among
that temperance lot. You’ll notice that
if a man has one fad he generally runs to a dozen,
and there may be a few who really want women to get
votes. We can’t afford to chuck away any
chances. If I could get deputations from the
Anti-Vaccinationists and the Anti-Gamblers I would.
But I’d be afraid of their going back on us and
supporting Vittie. Anyhow, if these women are
the right sort they’ll pursue Vittie round and
round the constituency and yell at him every time he
opens his mouth.”
I took the letter from Titherington.
It was headed A.S.P.L. and signed Lalage Beresford.
“Are you quite sure,”
I said, “that the A.S.P.L. is a woman’s
suffrage society?”
“It must be,” said Titherington.
“The letter’s signed by a woman, at least
I suppose Lalage is a woman’s name. It certainly
isn’t a man’s.”
“Still ”
“And what the devil would women
be writing to us for if they weren’t Suffragettes?”
“But A.S.P.L. doesn’t stand for ”
“It must,” said Titherington.
“S stands for Suffrage, doesn’t it?
The rest is some fancy conglomeration. I tell
you that there are so many of these societies nowadays
that it’s pretty hard for a new one to find a
name at all.”
“All the same ”
“There’s no use arguing
about their name. The question we have to decide
is whether it’s worth our while importing Suffragettes
into the constituency or not.”
If Titherington had not interrupted
me so often and if he had not displayed such complete
self-confidence I should have told him what the A.S.P.L.
really was and warned him to be very careful about
enlisting Lalage’s aid. But I was nettled
by his manner and felt that it would be very good
for him to find out his mistake for himself. I
remained silent.
“I think the best thing I can
do,” he said, “is to interview the lady.
I can judge then whether she’s likely to be
any use to us.”
I felt very pleased to think that
Titherington would learn his mistake from Lalage herself.
He will be much less arrogant afterward.
“If she is simply an old frump
with a bee in her bonnet,” he said, “who
wants to bore people, I’ll head her off at once.
If she’s a sporting sort of girl who’ll
take on Vittie at his own meetings and make things
hum generally, I think I’ll engage her and her
lot. I don’t happen to be a magistrate
myself, but most of them are your supporters.
There won’t be a bit of use his trying to have
her up for rioting. We’ll simply laugh
at him and she’ll be worse afterward. Let
me see now. She’s in Dublin. ‘Trinity
Hall,’ whatever that is. If I write to-night
she’ll get the letter in the morning. Suppose
I say 11 a.m.”
“I should rather like to be
present at the interview,” I said.
“You needn’t trouble yourself.
I sha’n’t commit you to anything and the
whole thing will be verbal. There won’t
be a scrap of paper for her to show afterward, even
if she turns nasty.”
It seemed to me likely that there
would be paper to show afterward. If Lalage has
Selby-Harrison behind her she will go to that interview
with an agreement in her pocket ready for signature.
“All the same,” I said,
“I’d like to be there simply out of curiosity.”
Titherington shrugged his shoulders.
“Very well,” he said,
“but let me do the talking. I don’t
want you to get yourself tied up in some impossible
knot. You’d far better leave it to me.”
I assured him that I did not in the
least want to talk, but I persisted in my determination
to be present at the interview. Titherington had
bullied me enough for one evening and my promise to
put myself entirely in his hands was never meant to
extend to the limiting of my intercourse with Lalage.
Besides, I enjoyed the prospect of seeing him tied
up in some impossible knot, and I believed that Lalage
was just the girl to tie him.