# The Semi-attached Couple/Chapter 38

CHAPTER XXXVIII
The town was more crowded and more disorderly than ever; the mob more eager and considerably more drunk. The horses could hardly make their way through the crowd, and innumerable were the hands that were thrust into the carriage; and dirty as they were, Lady Eskdale shook them all heartily, though she afterwards assured her son that it was the greatest stretch of maternal affection she had ever made for him. Contrary to the general expectation, the Beauforts gained ground from the first hour, and at twelve o'clock Lord Beaufort was within one of Mr. Douglas, and Ernest within five. The agitation that had prevailed in Mrs. Harris's parlour began to evince itself at the Broughton Arms; and Mrs. Douglas was frantic with anger and spite, and added ten years at once to the ages of all the opposite party. Eliza, who had all along asserted that her father and Colonel Beaufort would and must win, adhered to that opinion, which no announcement of numbers, no force of calculation could possibly shake.
Another hour passed away. Lord Beaufort was at the head of the poll, and Colonel Beaufort within four of Captain Luttridge. Mullins and Co. were in a state of unexampled activity and triumph. Lady Eskdale and her daughters were speechless, for now that one Beaufort seemed secure their eagerness for Ernest's success was redoubled. A shout was heard, and a chaise whirled up. "Oh!" said Lady Walden, "there is my dear Wyvill waving his hat to us. Such a treasure of a man! but why has he powdered his face like a clown at Astley's?" ​This was explained by his handing out of the chaise two very white millers, whom he had torn from their innocent farinaceous privacy into the pink and blue crowd. They polled for the Beauforts; Wyvill gave his own vote at the same time, and immediately after, Tom Rogerson was seen hauling along a very small pale-faced cripple, an ironmonger by trade, whom he had by dint of threats and brandy forced to the hustings; and who with faltering voice, and eyes fixed on Tom, voted for Colonel Beaufort and Mr. Douglas. "I allow the little wretch one vote," said Tom, with an air of condescension, "because he is his Grace's private tinker, and it does us no harm; but in a general way, I don't like to see such little hatomeys go for to think for theirselves." The numbers now were for—
There was a pause for ten minutes, not another vote apparently to be had for love or money. The mayor had wisely abstained from giving any opinion, and neither party dared press him to vote: the delay became more aggravating every moment; at last there was a stir amongst the crowd as if some interesting event were in preparation at the end of the street. The ladies stretched their heads out of the windows quite as far as was safe; but their hearts misgave them, for there were no hurrahs to herald the approach of another Beaufortite. But yet the mob looked joyful, though so quiet; and at last there appeared, in grand procession, eight men bearing a bed, on which was laid an unfortunate master chimney-sweeper, who had broken his leg the day before, and who now was borne along, stretched at full length, with his wife's red cloak ​over his shoulders, and her flannel petticoat turbaned round his head, his face partially streaked with white, thanks to his forced seclusion from soot, and a blue flag thrown over his bed to conceal the patchwork quilt. Tom Rogerson was walking beside him, with a bottle of spirits (to be used in case of faintness) in one hand, and with the other making most imperative signs to the people not to agitate the sick man with their applause. It was a most impressive scene, particularly when the black lips opened in answer to the interrogation of the polling-clerk, and announced a plumper for Colonel Beaufort. There was a low murmur of delight, followed by a stern "Hush" from Tom Rogerson, who was so much affected that he was obllged to have recourse to the spirits which he had brought for the sick man. The procession moved on, and no sooner was the gallant chimney-sweeper out of hearing, than the numbers were again announced; and the shouts of the crowd burst forth. The election was decided; the five or six voters who had hung back all came in to the winning side; and in half an hour Lord Beaufort and his cousin were declared duly elected. Mrs. Douglas was in hysterics, and Lady Sophia, Lady Walden, and Lady Teviot were dancing a reel at the back of Mrs. Harris's parlour, out of sight of the street, and merely as a necessary relief to their over-excited spirits. Mrs. Harris was urging Lady Eskdale to drink the health of the new members in her gooseberry wine, to which request Lady Eskdale acceded, thought it tasted to-day much better than champagne, and begged for the receipt. Altogether it was a glorious day for Eskdale Castle. Every being in the house, from its owner down to steward's-room boy, was in a state of triumph, and the evening was passed in such hilarity that it was much to the credit of the establishment that there were enough sober servants to carry to bed those who were drunk.
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