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SIR GEORGE TRESSADY, VOLUME I
IN TWO VOLUMES
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
To my Brother and friend
WILLIAM THOMAS ARNOLD
I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK
PART I
"Well, that's over, thank Heaven!"
The young man speaking drew in his head from the carriage-window. But instead of sitting down he turned with a joyous, excited gesture and lifted the flap over the little window in the back of the landau, supporting himself, as he stooped to look, by a hand on his companion's shoulder. Through this peephole he saw, as the horses trotted away, the crowd in the main street of Market Malford, still huzzaing and waving, the wild glare of half a dozen torches on the faces and the moving forms, the closed shops on either hand, the irregular roofs and chimneys sharp-cut against a wintry sky, and in the far distance the little lantern belfry and taller mass of the new town-hall.
"I'm much astonished the horses didn't bolt!" said the man addressed. "That bay mare would have lost all the temper she's got in another moment. It's a good thing we made them shut the carriage--it has turned abominably cold. Hadn't you better sit down?"
And Lord Fontenoy made a movement as though to withdraw from the hand on his shoulder.
The owner of the hand flung himself down on the seat, with a word of apology, took off his hat, and drew a long breath of fatigue. At the same moment a sudden look of disgust effaced the smile with which he had taken his last glimpse at the crowd.
He took out a cigarette, and lit it at his companion's with a rather unsteady hand. He had a thin, long face and fair hair; and one would have guessed him some ten years younger than the man beside him.
"Certainly--it will stick," said the other. "Election promises nowadays are sharply looked after. I heard no bunkum. As far as I know, our party doesn't talk any. We leave that to the Government!"
Sir George Tressady, the young man addressed, shrugged his shoulders. His mouth was still twitching under the influence of nervous excitement. But as they rolled along between the dark hedges, the carriage-lamps shining on their wet branches, green yet, in spite of November, he began to recover a half-cynical self-control. The poll for the Market Malford Division of West Mercia had been declared that afternoon, between two and three o'clock, after a hotly contested election; he, as the successful candidate by a very narrow majority, had since addressed a shouting mob from the balcony of the Greyhound Hotel, had suffered the usual taking out of horses and triumphal dragging through the town, and was now returning with his supporter and party-leader, Lord Fontenoy, to the great Tory mansion which had sent them forth in the morning, and had been Tressady's headquarters during the greater part of the fight.
Lord Fontenoy nodded.
"I thought his speeches showed ability," he said indifferently, "only of a kind that must be kept out of Parliament--that's all. Sorry you have qualms--quite unnecessary, I assure you! At the present moment, either Burrows and his like knock under, or you and your like. This time--by seventeen votes--Burrows knocks under. Thank the Lord! say I"--and the speaker opened the window an instant to knock off the end of his cigar.
The two rolled along a while in silence. They were passing through an undulating midland country, dimly seen under the stars. At frequent intervals rose high mounds, with tall chimneys and huddled buildings beside them or upon them which marked the sites of collieries; while the lights also, which had begun to twinkle over the face of the land, showed that it was thickly inhabited.
Suddenly the carriage rattled into a village, and Tressady looked out.
"I say, Fontenoy, here's a crowd! Do you suppose they know? Why, Gregson's taken us another way round!"
Lord Fontenoy let down his window, and identified the small mining village of Battage.
"Why did you bring us this way, Gregson?" he said to the coachman.
The man, a Londoner, turned, and spoke in a low voice. "I thought we might find some rioting going on in Marraby, my lord. And now I see there's lots o' them out here!"
Indeed, with the words he had to check his horses. The village street was full from end to end with miners just come up from work. Fontenoy at once perceived that the news of the election had arrived. The men were massed in large groups, talking and discussing, with evident and angry excitement, and as soon as the well-known liveries on the box of the new member's carriage were identified there was an instant rush towards it. Some of the men had already gone into their houses on either hand, but at the sound of the wheels and the uproar they came rushing out again. A howling hubbub arose, a confused sound of booing and groaning, and the carriage was soon surrounded by grimed men, gesticulating and shouting.
"Whativer do we want wi' the loikes o' yo representin us!" shouted another man, pointing at Tressady. "Look at 'im; ee can't walk, ee can't; mus be druv, poor hinnercent! When did yo iver do a day's work, eh? Look at my 'ands! Them's the 'ands for honest men--ain't they, you fellers?"
There was a roar of laughter and approval from the crowd, and up went a forest of begrimed hands, flourishing and waving.
George calmly put down the carriage-window, and, leaning his arms upon it, put his head out. He flung some good-humoured banter at some of the nearest men, and two or three responded. But the majority of the faces were lowering and fierce, and the horses were becoming inconveniently crowded.
"Get on, Gregson," said Fontenoy, opening the front window of the brougham.
"If they'll let me, your lordship," said Gregson, rather pale, raising his whip.
The horses made a sudden start forward. There was a yell from the crowd, and three or four men had just dashed for the horses' heads, when a shout of a different kind ascended.
"Burrows! 'Ere's Burrows! Three cheers for Burrows!"
And some distance behind them, at the corner of the village street, Tressady suddenly perceived a tall dogcart drawing up with two men in it. It was already surrounded by a cheering and tumultuous assembly, and one of the men in the cart was shaking hands right and left.
George drew in his head, with a laugh. "This is dramatic. They've stopped the horses, and here's Burrows!"
Fontenoy shrugged his shoulders. "They'll blackguard us a bit, I suppose, and let us go. Burrows 'll keep them in order."
"Then you should have given him seventeen more votes," said George, composedly, as he thrust his hands into his pockets. "It's the fortunes of war--your turn next time. I say, suppose you tell your fellows to let our man get on. We've had a long day, and we're hungry. Ah"--to Fontenoy--"here's Burrows coming!"
Fontenoy turned, and saw that the dogcart had drawn up alongside them, and that one of the men was standing on the step of it, holding on to the rail of the cart.
He was a tall, finely built man, and as he looked down on the carriage, and on Tressady leaning over the window, the light from a street-lamp near showed a handsome face blanched with excitement and fatigue.
He pointed peremptorily to the men holding the horses. They and the crowd instantly obeyed him.
The carriage swept on, followed by the hooting and groans of the whole community, men, women, and children, who were now massed along the street on either hand.
"It's easy to see this man Gregson's a new hand," said Fontenoy, with an accent of annoyance, as they got clear of the village. "I believe the Wattons have only just imported him, otherwise he'd never have avoided Marraby, and come round by Battage."
"Battage has some special connection with Burrows, hasn't it? I had forgotten."
"Of course. He was check-weigher at the Acme pit here for years, before they made him district secretary of the union."
"That's why they gave me such a hot meeting here a fortnight ago!--I remember now; but one thing drives another out of one's head. Well, I daresay you and I'll have plenty more to do with Burrows before we've done."
Tressady threw himself back in his corner with a yawn.
Fontenoy laughed.
"There'll be another big strike some time next year," he said drily--"bound to be, as far as I can see. We shall all have plenty to do with Burrows then."
"All right," said Tressady, indistinctly, pulling his hat over his eyes. "Burrows or anybody else may blow me up next year, so long as they let me go to sleep now."
However, he did not find it so easy to go to sleep. His pulses were still tingling under the emotions of the day and the stimulus of the hubbub they had just passed through. His mind raced backwards and forwards over the incidents and excitements of the last six months, over the scenes of his canvass--and over some other scenes of a different kind which had taken place in the country-house whither he and Fontenoy were returning.
But he did his best to feign sleep. His one desire was that Fontenoy should not talk to him. Fontenoy, however, was not easily taken in, and no sooner did George make his first restless movement under the rug he had drawn over him, than his companion broke silence.
George fidgeted and mumbled. Fontenoy, undaunted, began to harangue on certain minutiae of factory law with a monotonous zest of voice and gesture which seemed to Tressady nothing short of amazing.
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