# The Semi-attached Couple/Chapter 37

CHAPTER XXXVII
The mysterious coldness of the Douglases was unpleasantly explained the next day. The Duke of Broughton found it necessary to propose a second candidate, and he thought it advisable to choose a gentleman connected with the borough, rather than one of his own adherents. A requisition was got up in a few hours, and a deputation appointed to convey it to Mr. Douglas, and he was also assured by the duke's agent that he should be returned free of all expense if he would consent to be put in nomination.
Mr. Douglas would rather have declined the honour; he was no politician, he did not fancy the trouble of canvassing, and, above all, he did not like the idea of opposing the Eskdales. But this last contingency naturally delighted Mrs. Douglas, and her weight was forthwith thrown into the Broughton scale. The château qui parle et femme qui écoute are not more certain to capitulate than is the English gentleman who ponders over the requisition of a body of electors. After walking at least five miles up and down his library, contradicting in a sort of snappish agony every suggestion made by his wife, by Mr. Wentworth, and by Scrimshaw, the duke's agent, and after having declared fourteen several times that nothing should induce him to undertake the task of an election, he was sufficiently composed to sit down and write, under the dictation of Scrimshaw, his address to the electors, soliciting their votes. And at the moment in which Lady Eskdale drove to the door to solicit his support, he was making his entry into ​the town, preceded by two pink banners, and followed by Scrimshaw and ten shabby-looking men on horseback, riders and steeds covered with pink ribbons. The pinks said it was a very fine procession; the blues pitied "poor old Douglas" from the bottom of their souls for being mixed up with a paltry set of scamps, and for looking so "like a guy" himself And now war was declared in good earnest.
The duke's nominees, as the opposite party of course termed Mr. Douglas and Captain Luttridge, were backed by many of the richer tradespeople, but they were unpopular with the mob; and, therefore, whatever might be the real results of the strife, its pleasures, while it lasted, were for the Beauforts. Ever, while you live, choose the popular side in an election; that is, if you have no particular regard for the good of your country, and no particular political prejudices of your own; for there is no comparison between a reception of cheers, applause, and good-will, and one of cabbage-stalks, groans, and bad eggs. Besides, there is something exhilarating in the real, genuine affection (while it lasts) of a mob for their favourite of a day. Lady Eskdale and her daughters had the full enjoyment of this position: they drove into the town constantly, and seemed suddenly to have discovered that they were without any of the necessaries or luxuries of life, for the extent of their dealings with well-thinking tradespeople was prodigious, and it might have been supposed that they were covertly sullying the purity of election; but, as they justly alleged, shopping was what every woman was born for, and could not, under any circumstances, be considered illegal; and every day they were received with cheers and applause by all the little dirty boys of the place, screaming like so many animated hurdy-gurdies, "Beaufort for ever! the Colonel for ever!"
Sometimes they met Mr. Douglas emerging from a careful ​canvass of Five Courts Lane, or Stitcher's Row, and at first they thought it magnanimous to stop and shake hands with him. This greeting soon dwindled into a bow and a forced smile, with the remark that after all he had not behaved well to Beaufort; and at last they turned away their heads when they saw the pinks coming, and Lady Sophia asked her mother if she did not rather hate the sight of old Douglas.
The day of election arrived. Lord Beaufort and his cousin rode into the town, accompanied by a long train of Lord Eskdale's tenantry; and shortly after, Lady Eskdale, with the Waldegraves and Amelia, followed in her carriage; while Lady Teviot drove Miss Forrester in her pony phaeton. They were all deposited in the second floor of the house of Mrs. Harris, the milliner, which looked on the hustings. An election was a new sight to them, and they were, in their various ways, worked up to a high pitch of excitement. Mrs. Harris was overflowing with politeness, proud to receive "the Countess," prouder that she should be consulted on the probable results of the election, and proudest that she had made Harris vote against his conscience and inclination for my lord and the colonel.
Mrs. Douglas and her daughters were at the Broughton Arms, at the opposite corner of the market-place, and well was it for Eliza that pink was the badge of her party; it was her only chance of a tinge of colour, for she was as pale as ashes at the shocking contest between her father and her lover, as in her inmost heart she designated Colonel Beaufort. She looked upon her position as one of unprecedented difficulty, only to be paralleled perhaps by that of the daughter of Horatius, who figures in that interesting old romance which we obligingly call the Roman history. She had not seen Colonel Beaufort since his arrival, and now she was to appear to him decked out in this inimical ​colour. Moreover, he and his cousin were never named now by Mrs. Douglas but as "those horrid Beauforts."
The polling began, and for three hours was nearly equal on both sides; but at two o'clock Captain Luttridge was at the head of the poll, and Mr. Douglas was five ahead of Lord Beaufort, and eight of his cousin. Mrs. Douglas was delighted, threw open the window, and looked out with many smiles and much affectation. Lady Eskdale was low, and sent off a groom with a bulletin to Lord Eskdale, and tried to eat half a sandwich and drink a quarter of a glass of gooseberry wine, assuring Mrs. Harris that her bread and butter were superior to any at the Castle, and that she should have taken the gooseberry wine for champagne if she had not been forewarned. Helen felt sure that the next hour would do wonders; and Lady Sophia complained of her headache, and begged Sir William to stay quietly in the room, and not go and get crushed in the crowd.
The pinks marched by the window with their band playing and their banners streaming, and the mob groaned. Mr. Mullins and Mr. Dickson, and Mr. Wyvill and Mr. Winthrop, of the Beaufort committee—all great men in that, their day—rushed up the stairs at intervals to beg Lady Eskdale would not be alarmed, everything was going on well—they were sure to win. Lord Beaufort himself put his head in and said "Don't be afraid, all's right"; and Ernest, who was strutting about the town with Tom Rogerson, who had a very red face, and a great hole in his coat-sleeve, looked up and nodded a nod of encouragement.
Three o'clock came. The state of the poll still worse; Lord Beaufort twelve in arrear, and Colonel Beaufort twenty-one. Mrs. Douglas could not control her delight, and added much to it by making signs of astonishment, and throwing looks of commiseration in the direction of Mrs. Harris's house. Lady Eskdale sent off another groom ​to Lord Eskdale, and tried to finish her sandwich, but thought the bread was dry and the butter strong, and again sipped her gooseberry wine, and avowed that she never quite liked home-made wines. Lady Sophia's headache was exchanged for a violent palpitation, and she could not recover her astonishment that Sir William could remain quietly in the room, and was not exerting himself in the town.
The band of the pinks played louder than ever, and the groans of the mob became fiercer. Again Mullins, Dickson, Wyvill, and Winthrop rushed from the various polling-booths to assert that all was going on well. There was of course the most shameful bribery and intimidation on the other side; but Mullins would stake his head, and Dickson would pledge his life, and all the rest of the committee would hazard stakes of equal value, that all would end well. Lord Beaufort had not time to come and see them, but they had a distant view of Ernest shaking hands with two pink butchers, who were giving up their colours; Tom Rogerson standing by, his arms folded, Coriolanus fashion, and his torn sleeve nearly detached from his coat by the force of his previous gesticulations. At four the first day's poll closed, and the numbers were:—
Deep and silent consternation in Mr. Harris's parlour, and riotous congratulations at the Broughton Arms. The mob thickened round the hustings, ostensibly to hear the speeches of the candidates, but, in fact, to prevent a word that they said from being heard. The unpopular gentlemen had to speak first, but, except by the movements of ​their lips and arms, it was difficult to guess whether they made any attempt to address their friends. The groans and hootings of the crowd below never ceased, and were intermingled with those odd accusations generally made by a mob against the objects of their spleen. "Now for it, Luttridge; who flogs the niggers?" "What was your grandfather's name?" "Who killed the young donkey?" "Take a little donkey broth; it is good for the poor": and then came a shower of thick black mud. "Want a black slave? here's one"; and a wretched little black kitten was thrown in Captain Luttridge's face. But a joke is a joke to the candidates who are at the head of the poll; and they seemed as much amused as their assailants. When Lord Beaufort appeared, there was an attempt made at silence, with such success that several words and half of one sentence were distinctly heard; and Lady Eskdale had tears in her eyes when she thought that such eloquence would perhaps be lost to the House of Commons. Then Ernest appeared, and made an oration so violent in words, and so languid and dawdling in manner, that it tickled the fancy of his hearers, and made even Captain Luttridge laugh. And then the fun ceased for that day, so far as the election was concerned.
But a little additional excitement was provided by the energy of the mob. Lady Eskdale's barouche drove safely off, and was soon out of sight. Helen and Miss Forrester waited five minutes longer, talking over the events of the day, and then, as a few drops of rain began to fall. Lord Beaufort hurried them into their little open carriage, and advised Helen to make the best of her way home. Either she had in her haste given the ponies their head too soon, or they were unused to be cheered on their way, which was their fate this day, but so it was, that they began with a little kicking and snorting, and then fairly ran away, which, of course, made several little boys call out, " ​Beaufort for ever!" more ecstatically than before. Lord Beaufort and Ernest followed at full gallop, and about half-way to the Castle they found the phaeton with one wheel in a ditch, Helen still seated in it. Miss Forrester standing at the ponies' heads, and the rain falling in torrents.
"I am so glad you are come," said Mary, looking at Colonel Beaufort; "we are in a most melancholy plight."
"Are you hurt? tell me, Helen, for mercy's sake," said Lord Beaufort, springing off his horse, and rushing up to her.
"No, not the least, but very much frightened," said Lady Teviot, half laughing, half crying. "I thought at first we were overturned; there was a crash, such a horrid crash——"
"Yes, the pole is broken. Colonel Beaufort; if you will have the kindness to take my place, I can go to Helen, she is still frightened"; and then Mary went to her, and taking off her own cloak wrapped it round Lady Teviot, so as to defend her from the rain, and soothed her, and talked so naturally and calmly that Helen began to recover her nerves.
"But how did you escape being thrown out?" said Lord Beaufort, who was still pale with alarm. "What a shock you must have had!"
"She had, indeed," said Mary; "but it is all over now, is not it, Helen, dear? I sent the groom on to Eskdale Castle to fetch the carriage; and now, if you would try to walk on and meet it, it would be much better for you than sitting there in the rain. Are you able to walk, love?"
"Perfectly, I am wiser now," said Lady Teviot, springing out; "but what nerves you have, Mary! I wanted to jump out at one moment, but she would not let me, and she stretched her arms out before me, to prevent my being thrown out; and when the wheel went into the ditch, ​and I did nothing but scream, she jumped out, and ran to those dreadful ponies' heads, and talked to them, and quieted them, though they were kicking dreadfully; and when the groom came up she sent him off for a carriage, and warned him not to tell mamma what had happened. In short, she thought of everything, and I could not think of anything but how frightened I was."
"She did indeed behave gallantly," said Lord Beaufort; "and now let us walk on, for you are both getting wet. Luckily there is the carriage in sight."
So, leaving Colonel Beaufort's servant with the recusant ponies, they hurried on; the ladies were hurried into the carriage, and the gentlemen rode on with them. Lord Beaufort was much struck by Mary's presence of mind and cheerfulness in a situation that was trying, to say the least of it; and when the carriage stopped at the lodge gate, he rode up to the side on which she was seated, and said, in a tone of great interest, "May I ask how you feel? I fear you must be both cold and exhausted."
"Your sister is on the other side," she said. "Helen, Lord Beaufort has come to ask you how you are."
"She really believes," he thought with vexation, "that I have not the common feelings of humanity where she is concerned; that I cannot ask her a civil question. How provoking it is—and she looked so handsome too!" and by dint of assiduous thought on this subject, he arrived too late to hand her out, and saw her and his sister run quickly up-stairs to change their wet clothes, and to break their disaster to Lady Eskdale.
As no real harm had occurred, their adventures served as a relief to the gloomy cogitations of the evening over the state of the poll. Several gentlemen of the committee had been asked to dinner, and of course the conversation turned exclusively on the events of the morning; and at any other time the family would have been the first to ​laugh at their own volubility and prejudices. When the ladies returned to the drawing-room, Lady Eskdale threw herself on the sofa with a deep sigh, which was echoed by her daughters as they ranged themselves round her.
"I feel quite desponding about the election to-night," she said, "and it is so mortifying to lose it; and I never heard anything so atrocious as the accounts of the bribery and intimidation on the other side. Mr. Mullins has been telling me all about it; he says it is quite unprecedented."
"So Mr. Winthrop says," added Lady Sophia.
"And Mr. Dickson," said Lady Teviot.
"And Mr. Wyvill," said Lady Walden.
"I cannot think such horrible wickedness can succeed," continued Lady Eskdale; "there will be a judgment upon it; and I really believe the Duke of Broughton is capable of anything atrocious. However, there is still a chance left; and if our friends are to be believed—and I quite put my faith in that nice Mr. Mullins—Beaufort and Ernest ought to succeed. There are 230 voters still unpolled, and Mr. Mullins assures me that of those we are sure of 120 or 130, I forget which; and so you see, my loves, we must subtract 130 from 250, and 287 from 130, and then add—— No, that is not right, sums are so difficult; but that the result would give us a majority I know, because Mullins says so."
"Mr. Winthrop says he is sure of it," added Lady Sophia.
"Mr. Dickson says we stand much higher than he had expected the first day," said Lady Teviot.
"So Mr. Wyvill says," added Lady Walden.
"I think I feel sure we shall win all the time," said Lady Eskdale.
"And so do I," said Mary, after a pause; "and yet I cannot help thinking, though of course these gentlemen know best, that we should feel more sure if we were at ​the head of the poll instead of being in a minority of thirty."
"Well, I think so too, Mary," said Lady Teviot; and then they were all silent again.
"Mamma," said Lady Sophia, "did it not strike you to-day that Mr. Douglas has a remarkably bad countenance? It never occurred to me before."
"Well, I thought so too, Sophia," said Lady Teviot; "he used to have such an open, good-humoured look, but after studying his face to-day when he was speaking, I thought it had a false, forbidding sort of expression."
"Perhaps so, my dear," said Lady Eskdale, resignedly; "he never at the best of times had a distinguished look, and I dare say, poor man, he must have moments of painful remorse for his treachery to Beaufort, and that tells on his countenance. However, if we have lost one friend, we have gained several others. I never saw anything like the devotion of all those dear good creatures in the next room. Mr. Mullins tells me he is quite as anxious for our success as if he were standing himself; he says he has hardly been in bed more than five hours this week, and he is quite hoarse with speaking. I like Mr. Mullins."
"And I dote upon Mr. Winthrop: he is not a bit less eager than your Mullins, mamma," said Lady Sophia.
"And my Mr. Dickson has not had a wink more sleep," said Lady Teviot.
"And I am proud to say Mr. Wyvill has completely lost his voice," said Lady Walden.
"Well, you may laugh, my dear children, but they are very delightful people, and I mean to see a great deal of them in future, and to ask them here constantly. And now let us rest till the gentlemen come, for I am half dead with the election, and that horrid accident with your phaeton, dearest Nell. I feel quite ill, and I think we ​have all agreed not to go into the town to-morrow; so now let us keep quiet."
To this they all consented heartily, and then, after a silence that lasted at least two minutes, they all recommenced their surmises and remarks. The gentlemen joined them, and till one in the morning they continued discussing the chances of each remaining vote without ever wearying of the subject. They parted with the avowed determination to get up very late the next day. At eight the following morning every bell was ringing, and each lady had decided that though it was advisable that the others should stay at home, she herself should be anxious and miserable at a distance from the scene of action. So at nine they were all on their way once more to the faithful Mrs. Harris, and full of renovated hopes.