The couple were swift to recognise Lady Bell’s position, as she recognised theirs, and to show her what had become the courtesy of foes. It touched her all the more when she recalled it, after she had happened to see from her window Mr. Trevor’s encounter with Mr. Sundon in the market-place. In return for the grace of Mr. Sundon’s punctilious bow, Squire Trevor had vouchsafed only a savage scowl.
Into the house of one of the voters Lady Bell walked on the heels of Mrs. Sundon, going her rounds on a similar errand, so that the two ladies had nearly jostled each other in the doorway.
But the elder lady gave way to the younger, before Lady Bell, in her agitation, could think of what she ought to do. “The place is yours, Lady Bell Trevor,” said a sweet, sonorous voice, with a shade of emphasis on the Lady Bell. Then, as if regretting even that slightly ungracious inference, Mrs. Sundon added, “I am happy to yield it to you; ladies need not quarrel though gentlemen contest seats in Parliament;” finally, she remarked with a still franker, more winning cordiality, “I think that you and I should not quarrel, Lady Bell.”
“I think not, madam,” sighed Lady Bell, in a troubled fashion, conscious, with no ignoble envy, that Mrs. Sundon was her superior in manners as well as in years.
“If I don’t have a care,” reflected Lady Bell in alarm, and with the crude unmincing expression of opinion which belonged to her years and her generation, “I’ll soon be as great a brute as Trevor.”
The heat of the election grew intense and consuming, overthrowing all barriers, swallowing up all scruples, till it was not without call that the sheriff, and the company of soldiers were looked for, at the last moment, to keep the tottering peace.
Lady Bell’s room in the Trevor’s lodgings had come to be invaded with the Squire’s supporters, agents, and whippers-in, as they sought privacy in which to make up their lists, yell the sum total, wrangle, start new and more audacious schemes, and openly discuss infamous and scoundrelly plans.
In spite of the weight of Mr. Trevor’s character and stake in the county, there arose a horrible suspicion that the whig interest had gained ground in Peasmarsh, and that the tories might be defeated.
Forbid it, all ye powers of moral orthodox landowners, since Gregory Sundon, of Chevely, in addition to having been a gamester of the first water, a hard drinker, a frequenter of riotous company, after the pattern of his worthy master in statesmanship, was also a renegade to Charles James Fox’s revolutionary American creed. Let all the powers of torydom be fitly called in to circumvent such vile traitors!
“Egad! I would rather call Greg. Sundon out, and wing him before the nomination day,” suggested a fire-eater.