Chippinge Borough

  III

  TWO LETTERS

  The Hall was empty when Vaughan came forth; and as the young manstrode down its echoing length there was nothing save his ownfootsteps on the pavement to distract his mind from the scene in whichhe had taken part. He was excited and a little uplifted, as wasnatural. The promises made, if they were to be counted as promises,were of the vague and indefinite character which it is as easy toevade as to fulfil. But the Chancellor had spoken to him as to anequal and treated him as one who had but to choose a career to succeedin it, and to win the highest prizes which it could bestow. This wasflattering; nor was it to a young man who had little experience of theworld, less flattering to be deemed the owner of a stake in thecountry, and a person through whom offers of the most confidential andimportant character might be properly made.

  He walked to his rooms in Bury Street with a pleasant warmth at hisheart. And at the Academic that evening, where owing to the events ofthe day there was a fuller house than had ever been known, and afiercer debate, he championed the Government and upheld thedissolution in a speech which not only excelled his previous efforts,but was a surprise to those who knew him best. Afterwards herecognised that his peroration had been only a paraphrase ofBrougham's impassioned "Light! More Light!" and that the whole owedmore than he cared to remember to the same source. But, after all, whynot? It was not to be expected that he could at once rise to theheights of the greatest of living orators. And it was much that he hadmade a hit; that as he left the room he was followed by all eyes.

  Nor did a qualm worthy of the name trouble him until the morning ofthe 27th, five days later--a Wednesday. Then he found beside hisbreakfast plate two letters bearing the postmark of Chippinge.

  "What's afoot?" he muttered. But he had a prevision before he brokethe seal of the first. And the contents bore out his fears. The letterran thus:

  "Stapylton, Chippinge.

  "Dear Sir--I make no apology for troubling you in a matter in whichyour interest is second only to mine and which is also of a characterto make apology beside the mark. It has not been necessary to requireyour presence at Chippinge upon the occasion of former elections. Butthe unwholesome ferment into which the public mind has been cast bythe monstrous proposals of Ministers has nowhere been more stronglyexemplified than here, by the fact that, for the first time in half acentury, the right of our family to nominate the members for theBorough is challenged. Since the year 1783 no serious attempt hasbeen made to disturb the Vermuyden interest. And I have yet to learnthat--short of this anarchical Bill, which will sweep away all theprivileges attaching to property--such an attempt can be made with anychance of success.

  "I am informed nevertheless that Lord Lansdowne, presuming on a smallconnection in the Corporation, intends to send at least one candidateto the poll. Our superiority is so great that I should not, even so,trouble you to be present, were it not an object to discourage theseattempts by the exhibition of our full strength, and were it not stillmore important to do so at a time when the existence of the Boroughitself is at stake.

  "Isaac White will apprise you of the arrangements to be made and willkeep you informed of all matters which you should know. Be good enoughto let Mapp learn the day and hour of your arrival, and he will seethat the carriage and servants meet the coach at Chippenham. Probablyyou will come by the York House. It is the most convenient.

  "I have the honour to be

  "Your sincere kinsman,

  "Robert Vermuyden.

  "To Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan, Esquire,

  "17 Bury Street, St. James's."

  Vaughan's face grew long, and his fork hung suspended above his plate,as he perused the old gentleman's epistle. When all was read he laidit down, and whistled. "Here's a fix!" he muttered. And he thought ofhis speech at the Academic; and for the first time he was sorry thathe had made it. "Here's a fix!" he repeated. "What's to be done?"

  He was too much disturbed to go on with his breakfast, and he toreopen the other letter. It was from Isaac White, his cousin's attorneyand agent. It ran thus:

  "High Street, Chippinge,

  "April 25, 1831.

  "_Chippinge Parliamentary Election_.

  "Sir.--I have the honour to inform you, as upon former occasions, thatthe writ in the above is expected and that Tuesday the 3rd day of Maywill be appointed for the nomination. It has not been needful totrouble you heretofore, but on this occasion I have reason to believethat Sir Robert Vermuyden's candidates will be opposed by nominees inthe Bowood Interest, and I have therefore, honoured Sir, to intimatethat your attendance will oblige.

  "The Vermuyden dinner will take place at the White Lion on Monday the2nd, when the voters and their friends will sit down at 5 P. M. TheAlderman will preside, and Sir Robert hopes that you will be present.The procession to the Hustings will leave the White Lion at ten onTuesday the 3d, and a poll, if demanded, will be taken after the usualproceedings.

  "Any change in the order of the arrangements will be punctuallycommunicated to you.

  "I have the honour to be, Sir,

  "Your humble obedient servant,

  "Isaac White.

  "Arthur V. Vaughan, Esq.,(late H.M.'s 14th Dragoons),

  "17 Bury Street, London."

  Vaughan flung the letter down and resumed his breakfast moodily. Itwas a piece of shocking ill-fortune, that was all there was to besaid.

  Not that he really regretted his speech! It had committed him a littlemore deeply, but morally he had been committed before. It is a poorconscience that is not scrupulous in youth; and he was convinced, oralmost convinced, that if he had never seen the Chancellor he wouldstill have found it impossible to support Sir Robert's candidates.

  For he was sincere in his support of the Bill; a little because itflattered his intellect to show himself above the prejudices of theclass to which he belonged; more, because he was of an age to viewwith resentment the abuses which the Bill promised to sweep away. AGovernment truly representative of the people, such as this Bill mustcreate, would not tolerate the severities which still disgraced thecriminal law. It would not suffer the heartless delays which made thename of Chancery synonymous with ruin. Under it spring-guns andman-traps would no longer scare the owner from his own coverts. Thepoor would be taught, the slave would be freed. Above all, wholeclasses of the well-to-do would no longer be deprived of a voice inthe State. No longer would the rights of one small class override therights of all other classes.

  He was at an age, in a word, when hope invites to change; and he wasfor the Bill. "Ay, by Jove, I am!" he muttered, casting the die infancy, "and I'll not be set down! It will be awkward! It will beodious! But I must go through with it!"

  Still, he was sorry. He sprang from the class which had profited bythe old system--that system under which some eight-score men returneda majority of the House of Commons. He had himself the prospect ofreturning two members. He could, therefore enter, to a degree--attimes to a greater degree than he liked,--into the feelings with whichthe old-fashioned and the interested, the prudent and the timid,viewed a change so great and so radical. But his main objection waspersonal. He hated the necessity which forced him to cross the wishesand to trample on the prejudices of an old man whom he regarded withrespect, and even with reverence: a solitary old man, the head of hisfamily, to whom he owed the very vote he must withhold; and who wouldhardly, even by the logic of facts, be brought to believe that one ofhis race and breeding could turn against him.

  Still it must be done; the die was cast. The sooner, therefore, it wasdone, the better. He would go down to Stapylton at once, while hiscourage was high; and he would tell Sir Robert. Then, whatever came ofit, he would have nothing with
which to reproach himself. In the heatof resolve he felt very brave and very virtuous; and the moment herose from breakfast he went to the coach office, and finding that theYork House, the fashionable Bath, coach was full for the followingday, he booked an outside seat on the Bristol White Lion Coach, whichalso passed through Chippenham. From Chippenham, Chippinge is distanta short nine miles.

  That evening proved to be memorable; for the greater part of Londonwas illuminated by the Reformers in honour of the Dissolution; notwithout rioting and drunkenness, violence on the part of the mob, andrage on the side of the minority. When Vaughan passed through thestreets before six next morning, on his way to the White HorseCellars, traces of the night's work still remained; and where theearly sun fell on them showed ugly and grisly and menacing enough. Amoderate reformer might well have blenched at the sight, andquestioned--as many did question--whither this was tending. ButVaughan was late; the coach, one out of three which were waiting tostart, was horsed. He had only eyes, as he came hurriedly up, for theseat he had reserved behind the coachman.

  It was empty, and so far his fears were vain. But it annoyed him tofind that his next-door neighbour was a young lady travelling alone.She had the seat on the near side.

  He climbed up quickly, and to reach his place had to pass before her.The space between the seat and the coachman's box was narrow, and asshe rose to allow him to pass she glanced up. Their eyes met; Vaughanraised his hat in mute apology, and took his seat. He said no word.But a miracle had happened, as miracles do happen, when the world isyoung. In his mind, as he sat down, he was not repeating, "What anuisance!" but was saying, "What eyes! What a face! And, oh, heaven,what beauty! What blush-rose cheeks! What a lovely mouth!"

  _For 'twas from eyes of liquid blue A host of quivered Cupids flew, And now his heart all bleeding lies Beneath the army of the eyes_.

  He gazed gravely at the group of watermen and night-birds who stood inthe roadway below waiting to see the coach start. And apparently hewas unmoved. Apparently he was the same Arthur Vermuyden Vaughan whohad passed round the boot of the coach to reach the ladder and hisplace. But he was not the same. His thoughts were no longer querulous,full of the haste he had made, and the breakfast he had to make; butof a pair of gentle eyes which had looked for one instant into his, ofa modest face, sweet and shy, of a Quaker-like bonnet that ravished asno other bonnet had ever ravished the most susceptible!

  He was still gazing at the group of loiterers, without seeing them,when he became aware that an elderly woman plainly but respectablydressed, who was standing by the forewheel of the coach, was lookingup at him, and trying to attract his attention. Seeing that she hadcaught his eye she spoke:

  "Gentleman! Gentleman!" she said--but in a restrained voice, as if shedid not wish to be generally heard. "The young lady's address! Pleasesay that she's not left it! For the laundress!"

  He turned and made sure that there was only one of the sex on thecoach. Then--to be honest, not without a tiny flutter at his heart--headdressed his neighbour. "Pardon me," he said "but there is someonebelow who wants your address."

  She turned her eyes on him and his heart gave a perceptible jump. "Myaddress?" she echoed in a voice as sweet as her face. "I think thatthere must be some mistake." And then for a moment she looked at himas if she doubted his intentions.

  The doubt was intolerable. "It's for the laundress," he said. "See,there she is!"

  The girl rose to look over the side of the coach and perforce leantacross him. He saw that she had the slenderest waist and the prettiestfigure--he had every opportunity of seeing. Then the coach startedwith a jerk, and if she had not steadied herself by laying her hand onhis shoulder, she must have relapsed on his knees. As it was she fellback safely into her seat. She blushed.

  "I beg your pardon," she said.

  But he was looking back. He had his eye on the woman, who remained inthe roadway, pointing after the coach and apparently asking abystander some question respecting it--perhaps where it stopped."There she is!" he exclaimed. "The woman with the umbrella! She ispointing after us."

  His neighbour looked back but made nothing of it. "I know no one inLondon," she said a little primly--but with sweet primness--"exceptthe lady at whose house I stayed last night. And she is not able toleave the house. It must be a mistake." And with a gentle reservewhich had in it nothing of coquetry, she turned her face from him.

  Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! They were away, bowling down the slope ofbroad empty Piccadilly with the four nags trotting merrily, and theApril sun gilding the roofs of the houses, and falling aslant on theverdure of the Green Park. Then merrily up the rise to Hyde ParkCorner, where the new Grecian Gates looked across at the equally newarch on Constitution Hill; and where Apsley House, the residence of"the Duke," hiding with its new coat of Bath stone the old brickwalls, peeped through the trees at the statue of Achilles, erected tenyears back in the Duke's honour.

  But, alas! what was this? Wherefore the crowd that even at this earlyhour was large enough to fill the roadway and engage the attention ofthe New Police? Vaughan looked and saw that every blind in ApsleyHouse was lowered, and that more than half of the windows wereshattered. And the little French gentleman who, to the coachman'sdisgust, had taken the box-seat, saw it too; nay, had seen it before,for he had come that way to the coach office. He pointed to thesilent, frowning mansion, and snapped his fingers.

  "That is your reward for your Vellington!" he cried, turning in hisexcitement to the two behind him. "And his lady, I am told, she liedead behind the broken vindows! They did that last night, your_canaille!_ But he vill not forget! And when the refolutioncome--bah--he vill have the iron hand! He vill be the Emperor and hevill repay!"

  No one answered; they treated him with silent British scorn. But theyone and all stared back at the scene, at the grim blind house in theearly sunshine, and the gaping crowd--as long as it remained in sight.And some, no doubt, pondered the sight. But who, with a pretty facebeside him and a long day's drive before him, a drive by mead andshining river, over hill and down, under the walls of grey churchesand by many a marketplace and cheery inn-yard--who would long dwell onchanges past or to come? Or fret because in the womb of time might liethat "refolution" of which the little Frenchman spoke?