True, he might use such power as he had. But it was imperfect, and in its use he must come to grips with one who had shown himself his better both in courage and cunning. He had imbibed a strong fear of his master, and he could not without a qualm contemplate a struggle with him.
For a week after his detection by Mary, he went about his work in a fever of anxiety. And nothing happened; it was that which tried him. More than once he was on the point of throwing himself at her feet, of telling her all he knew, of imploring her pardon. It was only her averted eyes and cold tone that held him back.
Such a crisis makes a man either better or worse, and it made Toft worse. At the end of three days a chance word put a fine point on his fears and stung him to action. He might not know enough to face John Audley, but he thought that he knew enough to sell his secret—in the other camp. His lordship was young and probably malleable. He would go to him and strike a bargain.
Arrived at this point the man did not hide from himself that he was going to do a hateful thing. He thought of his wife and her wonder could she know. He thought of Etruria’s mild eyes and her goodness. And he shivered. But it was for her. It was for them. Within twenty-four hours he was in Riddsley.
As he passed the Maypole, where Mr. Colet had his lodgings, he noticed that the town wore an unusual aspect. Groups of men stood talking in the doorway, or on the doorsteps. A passing horseman was shouting to a man at a window. Nearer the middle of the town the stir was greater. About the saddler’s door, about the steps leading up to the Audley Arms, and round the yard of the inn, knots of men argued and gesticulated. Toft asked the saddler what it was.
“Haven’t you heard?”
“No. What’s the news?”
“The General Election’s off!” The saddler proclaimed it with an inflamed look. “Peel’s in again! And damn me, after this,” he continued, “there’s nothing I won’t swallow! He come in in the farming interest, and the hunting interest, and the racing interest, and the gentlemanly interest, that I live by, and you too, Mr. Toft! And it was bad enough when he threw it up! But to go in again and to take our money and do the Radicals’ work!” The saddler spat on the brick pavement. “Why, there was never such a thing heard of in the ’varsal world! Never! If Tamworth don’t blush for him and his pigs turn pink, I’m d—d, and that’s all.”
Toft had to ask half a dozen questions before he grasped the position. Gradually he learned that after Peel had resigned the Whigs had tried to form a government; that they had failed, and that now Peel was to come in again, expressly to repeal the Corn Laws. The Corn Laws which he had taken office to support, and to the maintenance of which his party was pledged!
The thing was not much in Toft’s way, nor his interest in it great, but as he passed along he caught odds and ends of conversation. “I don’t believe a word of it!” cried an angry man. “The Radicals have invented it!” “Like enough!” replied another. “Like enough! There’s naught they wouldn’t do!” “Well, after all,” suggested a third in a milder tone, “cheap bread is something.” “What? If you’ve got no money to buy it? You’re a fool! I tell you it’ll be the ruin of Riddsley!” “You’re right there, Joe!” answered the first speaker. “You’re right! There’ll be no farmer for miles round’ll pay his way!”