Part 33 (1/2)
CHAPTER XXIV
The Willingford Bull
Phineas left London by a night mail train on Easter Sunday, and found himself at the Willingford Bull about half an hour after midnight.
Lord Chiltern was up and waiting for him, and supper was on the table. The Willingford Bull was an English inn of the old stamp, which had now, in these latter years of railway travelling, ceased to have a road business,--for there were no travellers on the road, and but little posting--but had acquired a new trade as a depot for hunters and hunting men. The landlord let out horses and kept hunting stables, and the house was generally filled from the beginning of November till the middle of April. Then it became a desert in the summer, and no guests were seen there, till the pink coats flocked down again into the s.h.i.+res.
”How many days do you mean to give us?” said Lord Chiltern, as he helped his friend to a devilled leg of turkey.
”I must go back on Wednesday,” said Phineas.
”That means Wednesday night. I'll tell you what we'll do. We've the Cottesmore to-morrow. We'll get into Tailby's country on Tuesday, and Fitzwilliam will be only twelve miles off on Wednesday. We shall be rather short of horses.”
”Pray don't let me put you out. I can hire something here, I suppose?”
”You won't put me out at all. There'll be three between us each day, and we'll run our luck. The horses have gone on to Empingham for to-morrow. Tailby is rather a way off,--at Somerby; but we'll manage it. If the worst comes to the worst, we can get back to Stamford by rail. On Wednesday we shall have everything very comfortable. They're out beyond Stilton and will draw home our way. I've planned it all out. I've a trap with a fast stepper, and if we start to-morrow at half-past nine, we shall be in plenty of time. You shall ride Meg Merrilies, and if she don't carry you, you may shoot her.”
”Is she one of the pulling ones?”
”She is heavy in hand if you are heavy at her, but leave her mouth alone and she'll go like flowing water. You'd better not ride more in a crowd than you can help. Now what'll you drink?”
They sat up half the night smoking and talking, and Phineas learned more about Lord Chiltern then than ever he had learned before. There was brandy and water before them, but neither of them drank. Lord Chiltern, indeed, had a pint of beer by his side from which he sipped occasionally. ”I've taken to beer,” he said, ”as being the best drink going. When a man hunts six days a week he can afford to drink beer.
I'm on an allowance,--three pints a day. That's not too much.”
”And you drink nothing else?”
”Nothing when I'm alone,--except a little cherry-brandy when I'm out.
I never cared for drink;--never in my life. I do like excitement, and have been less careful than I ought to have been as to what it has come from. I could give up drink to-morrow, without a struggle,--if it were worth my while to make up my mind to do it. And it's the same with gambling. I never do gamble now, because I've got no money; but I own I like it better than anything in the world. While you are at it, there is life in it.”
”You should take to politics, Chiltern.”
”And I would have done so, but my father would not help me. Never mind, we will not talk about him. How does Laura get on with her husband?”
”Very happily, I should say.”
”I don't believe it,” said Lord Chiltern. ”Her temper is too much like mine to allow her to be happy with such a log of wood as Robert Kennedy. It is such men as he who drive me out of the pale of decent life. If that is decency, I'd sooner be indecent. You mark my words.
They'll come to grief. She'll never be able to stand it.”
”I should think she had her own way in everything,” said Phineas.
”No, no. Though he's a prig, he's a man; and she will not find it easy to drive him.”
”But she may bend him.”
”Not an inch;--that is if I understand his character. I suppose you see a good deal of them?”
”Yes,--pretty well. I'm not there so often as I used to be in the Square.”
”You get sick of it, I suppose. I should. Do you see my father often?”