Chapter Fourteen: The election

 (It is spring 1761, and Charles Huntingdon hopes to be elected to Parliament for Bereton) 

    I had hoped that the election at Bereton might be uncontested, with Sir James Wilbrahim and myself able to take the two seats without the expensive necessity of a vote, but a third candidate now put his name forward. This was a certain Mr Thomas Cave, a gentleman of whom I had not previously heard, who had recently purchased a large estate several miles to the north of the town.

   When I had first discussed my candidature with Sir James, he had shown no great support for the idea, but directly he learnt that Mr Cave was also a candidate, his attitude changed absolutely, for he had a strong personal aversion to the man. 

  “His family, sir, is utterly undistinguished, but he has come into great wealth through the discovery of coal beneath his estate in Cumberland. Now I, sir, farm my lands as my father did, and his father before him. The rents are sufficient to support me: why should I want more? I know all my tenants here; I stand as godfather to many of their children; they know me and trust me, and as long as they pay their rents, work honestly, follow my instructions and preserve my fox covets I shall always protect their interests and help them in sickness and old age. Why should I, or they, wish for any change?

   “No, sir, I stand firm for Old England, and always will. I detest all this modern craze for coalmines, and enclosure, and turnpikes, and canals, and all other fooleries!”

   He now readily agreed that we should combine our forces against this unwarranted intruder.

  

   I met Cave himself soon afterwards. He was a tall, heavy man, simply dressed in old-fashioned clothes that were drab in colour. He kept very still as he talked, and his features betrayed no emotion, nor did his unblinking eyes, which were dull and the colour of pewter; but his manner was full of quiet menace. He was obviously accustomed to intimidating his opponents by his mere presence, but I resolved to remain calm and unimpressed, no matter what he said.

    Was I aware, he asked me, that the ownership of lands in Cumberland that I had inherited from my aunt had been in dispute for many years? And that the best legal opinion was that they rightly belonged to him? He warned me that any dispute could prove wearisome and expensive, and suggested that he would not pursue it, and would indeed undertake to buy the land from me for a generous price, provided I withdrew from the election. I refrained from committing myself on the matter, and took the first opportunity to bring the interview to an end, pleading an urgent prior engagement. He must have guessed I was lying, and said nothing, but I could see that he was not pleased. I counted this as a small victory.

  I wrote to Mr Braithwaite to discover his opinion of Mr Cave, thinking that he might have had dealings with the man through his own estates in the north-west. He soon replied, saying that his own experience had been that Cave was an implacable opponent of anyone who stood in the way of his ambitions. He always strove to intimidate with threats of expensive lawsuits, to which many had succumbed and done his bidding; indeed, much of his wealth had been accrued by these methods. He assured me that, in his opinion, Cave believed coal might lie beneath my land, that his claim of ownership was probably without a shred of legal validity, and I should ignore his threats. Acting on this advice I resolved to stand firm against attempts at either intimidation or bribes, and for the rest of the campaign I avoided meeting with Cave.

 

   If Sir James’s support was determined solely by his detestation of Mr Cave, that of his daughter was whole-hearted. When I next visited Stanegate I found Miss Louisa bubbling with excitement at the thought of a contest, though she feared her father would not permit her to visit the town and watch the campaign. She was disgusted by what she had heard about Mr Cave.

   “He is a very wicked man! My father hates him, and so do I! He has been mining for coal up in Cumberland, and some of the seams run out under the sea: can you believe that? And his miners are kept in servitude! They have to work for him till they die, and they do not even get paid in proper money: they have to live in his cottages and get their food from his shops! And their children have to go underground when they are only five years old! The people up there call him Wicked Tommy!

   “And his wife! She is the daughter of a rich merchant from Liverpool. She is so rude and ill-mannered; and do you know what her money comes from? It’s slaves! Her father’s ships take hundreds of them across the sea to work in the sugar plantations, packed together in the hold as if they were sacks of produce! It makes me want to cry to think of them!

   “No, Mr Huntingdon, you must work with my father that such a terrible man must never be our representative in the Parliament!”

   I thought it best not to mention that my patron, Lord Teesdale, had sugar plantations in Jamaica that were worked by slaves.

 

   The Rector, Mr Bunbridge, opened the campaign on Sunday by preaching a sermon in which he ingeniously interpreted numerous texts of scripture as demonstrating that it was the clear duty of all to vote for Sir James Wilbrahim. I received a brief, and, I thought, rather grudging mention, but at least there was no support for Mr Cave.

   The campaign was now well under way, and I began the rounds of meeting all the voters to attract their support. An investigation of the poll books that there were, as Jarrett had estimated about fifty men who could vote in the town, though some had been lost from sight and no-one knew how many of these might have died since the books were last complied. All would have two votes, and our strategy would be based upon persuading Sir James Wilbrahim’s supporters to give their second votes to me.

   The voters might have been few in number, but the whole town, including the women and children, joined in the excitement, expecting to be entertained by parades and music as well as plentifully supplied with food and drink. Sir James Wilbrahim knew his supporters would always remain true to him, and he duly fulfilled their expectations with lavish provisions, but delivered no public speeches.

 

    The best tavern in Bereton was the Queen’s Head, which had a substantial assembly hall panelled in old oak. Sir James always conducted his election campaigns from this tavern, and at his invitation I also used it as my headquarters, to emphasise that we were working together in alliance against the intruder Cave. Every man who came to the Queen’s Head and promised to vote for me would be served a drink. No doubt many of them were treated in a similar fashion elsewhere by Mr Cave.

    I had a narrow escape from disaster when I found hanging in pride of place an old painting of a person whom I supposed to be Queen Anne; the work of some local artist, and commented on its extreme badness to Clifford. He replied with alarm that I should on no account say this in public, since it had been paid for by Sir James’s grandfather! 

   A day or so into the campaign I was approached by a sharp-faced, soberly-dressed man. He introduced himself as Howard Bagley, Sir James Wilbrahim’s agent and man of business, and indicated that he was ready and willing to act in the same capacity for me, should I wish for his services. I replied that Mr Clifford had handled all my aunt’s affairs: he had a thorough understanding of the estate, and that therefore I was happy for him to continue in the role.

   “Ah yes, Clifford!” he replied in a sneering tone, indicating a degree of contempt. He then consulted a large and costly-looking watch and left me without further comment. I decided I did not like the man. Clifford confirmed this, saying Bagley had a bed reputation in the town. More usefully, Alderman Stout introduced me to a fellow by the name of Cartwright, who agreed, for a consideration, to organise groups of people to shout for me and jeer at my opponent. I could not fault his achievements in this task.

   My most successful canvasser, however, was without doubt Mrs Timmis. My formidable housekeeper knew everyone in Bereton, and she now visited all the tradesmen and shopkeepers who had votes. To the victuallers she spoke of how, if I was elected, I would hold a magnificent feast for the town, for which, immense quantities of food and drink would be purchased; to shoemakers she suggested that after the election I would be ordering new shoes for my entire household, and so forth. At her suggestion I toured all the shops and was always careful to praise the quality of the goods on sale. If I saw that a lady customer particularly liked a particular item I would shyly offer, as a mark of respect, to purchase it for her as a gift. Such a proposal was seldom rejected.

   Mrs Timmis informed me that Mr Cave’s wife had not made a good impression in the town, for she had barely concealed her contempt for what she considered the coarseness of the citizens and the inferior quality of the goods in the shops. “And I can promise that this will tell against her husband,” Mrs Timmis assured me, “I shall make sure of it!”

   I bought presents at the shops for Ned Timmis’s wife and daughter; but for Mrs Timmis herself I had something from London.

   “Lor, sir, I don’t know when I’ll have occasion to use these!” she protested as I presented her with a silk scarf and an elegant pair of gloves; but nonetheless I saw her wearing them with pride next Sunday.

  

   Sir James, knowing his position secure, did not have to deliver any public speeches, but I was obliged to be more active. In my campaign I said that I was a supporter of Mr Pitt and his victorious war, but I found that national issues played but little part in this election. Instead, Alderman Jabez Stout and the other city fathers spoke to me of work urgently needing to be done in the town, in the forwarding of which the unlamented Mr Bailey had proved so sadly deficient. The list seemed endless: paving the streets, digging new drains, repairing the bridge over the little river below the town, and so forth: every alderman appearing to have his own pet scheme. It was the unspoken expectation that I should pay for much of this work out of my own pocket. Many wanted a new town hall to be built: I was not expected to meet the entire cost of this, but, I gathered, it would be incumbent on me to sponsor a private Act of Parliament to enable the necessary funds to be raised. There was even talk of digging a canal. The list seemed endless, and when Stout introduced me to the other aldermen, each had his own pet schemes. I was certain that they expected to profit personally from these works, but what could I do but give them my word of honour that I would do as requested? They appeared satisfied, at least for the moment.

  To supporters of Sir James, I constantly praised him; to those who held positions in the customs or excise or other offices, or hoped for such preferment in the future, I mentioned my letter of support from the Duke of Newcastle; but to others I proclaimed my independence. To the Dissenters I spoke of my admiration for my aunt, but I also made sure I was seen at the church on Sundays, where I was once again invited to share the Wilbrahim family pew. I discovered afterwards that Louisa had insisted to her father that I should always be given this privilege. 

 

   Mr Cave knew he was unlikely to win over many Wilbrahimites, so he concentrated his attacks on my person. He tried to portray me as a mere puppet of the Earl of Teesdale and his son, whom he called, “Degenerate Staines”; and to this end, produced a crudely-drawn placard depicting me as a puppet, dangling from strings manipulated by a sinister figure in a coronet, at which passers-by were encouraged to throw mud and filth. He announced that he was the candidate for “Church and King”, whereas I, he said, was the nephew of “notorious freethinkers and atheists” this being his description of my late uncle and aunt. He doubted whether I would have sufficient money to benefit the town, though I would have to concede that this last point had a degree of truth.

   One day a number of handbills appeared, making the most disgusting allegations concerning my friendship with Lord Staines. Clifford advised me to ignore them, and pointed out to me a fellow by the name of Smalling, who, he said, was the probable author. “He calls himself a scrivener.” I was told, “He scrapes a living composing lies and libels for anyone who pays him. But if he offers to write for you, do not give him any money, for he is not to be trusted.”

   Instead, I encouraged Cartwright to publish our own denunciations of Cave in pictures and songs. He forthwith produced a splendid banner portraying “Wicked Tommy” with a devil’s horns and cloven hoofs, which was paraded around the town by a mob hooting insults.

 

   The climax of Sir James’s campaign was a lavish event eagerly anticipated by all. A huge tent was erected in a meadow, where he hosted an election dinner for the whole town. An ox was roasted, and also a hog, but these were overshadowed by the immense quantities of drink on offer. Vast tubs of punch were provided, as well as beer and wine. Musicians were hired, and there was singing, but all was soon drowned in general riotous noise. The feast was not only for the men, but respectable ladies did not attend, and their absence left nothing to restrain behaviour. The scenes of gentlemen and tradesmen all alike in coarse manners and unrestrained gluttony might have revolted some of my more refined London friends, but Sir James enjoyed the proceedings immensely. He seemed to know everyone by name, and greeted them all, whatever their rank, in a spirit of jollity and friendship.

    And so the campaign continued: torchlight processions with banners, bonfires, speeches, dinners, blatant demands for “presents” from the voters and more free drink provided for the citizens of Bereton by all the candidates. There was occasional trouble at night and a few windows broken, but nothing that could be dignified with the name of a riot. At one point a group of Cave’s supporters, far gone in drink, attempted to march to the Priory and break all the windows, but Ned Timmis, forewarned, assembled a party of his farm lads and drove them off in disorder. This victory was duly celebrated with more feasting and drinking at my expense.

   Alderman Stout said it was all very tame stuff compared with the election of 1747.

  “It wasn’t more than two years since the rebels had passed through, and no-one dared oppose the Tory candidates, but there was a deal of rioting, and fights with the soldiers who were still billeted in the town, and the windows of any Whigs were smashed, and there was foul insulting of poor Mrs Andrew, who had lost her husband not long before, and a sad loss he was to the town!”

   My enjoyment was marred by realisation of the vast demands this electioneering was having on my purse. I realised I could be obliged to make a hard decision: to sell or mortgage some of my property, or to seek help from Lord Teesdale. My hopes of being fully independent in my political conduct were being steadily eroded. I approached Oswald Jarrett requesting a loan. But what choice did I have?

  

    At last on a fine spring morning the polling began.  Alderman Stout was the returning officer, despite an attempt by Mr Cave to have him replaced. The hustings were erected on the square outside the town hall, under a canvas to shield against rain, which happily was not needed. The voters had to climb wooden steps up to a platform, where their names were checked against a list of those eligible, and if they could prove their identity they could then swear an oath upon a Bible and cast their ballots, either for their two favoured candidates or, if they so chose, a “plumper” for just one. Clifford kept a close eye on the proceedings on my behalf to prevent any cheating, and Bagley acted on the same way for Sir James. Mr Cave’s interests were represented by a man I did not know, by the name of Francis, whom I was told was an attorney from Mulchester.

   I had never before witnessed anything resembling these events. The noise, the chaos and the confusion lasted all day, despite the voters being so few in number, for it seemed that everyone from many miles around had gathered to witness the event and join in the general revelry that an election brought. The ale and wine consumed would have been sufficient to float a ship. Presents of money were liberally distributed, and I saw one ingenious man accept gifts from the agents of all three candidates. Mr Cave provided free drinks for everyone, regardless, he said, of whether or not they intended to vote for him. Some men, however, held aloof from all offers. I assumed they were public-spirited citizens who rejected all bribes, but Clifford said that he knew most of them, and they were merely holding back their votes for the present, in the hope that, if the result appeared to be close, they could raise the price of their support.

   Sir James Wilbrahim arrived in great style, accompanied by a trumpeter who delivered a fanfare as he voted, amidst the cheers and applause of his supporters, for himself and for me. Mr Bunbridge (who, as Rector, was also an ex officio freeman of the borough) chose to cast a plumper for Sir James, and ignored me entirely. I took this as a personal snub.

   Some of the voters I had never seen before. I was much struck by one elderly gentleman in an ancient military coat, who had lost his right leg but walked vigorously with the aid of a crutch. He told me that he was a veteran officer of Marlborough’s army, and bade me make sure that our victories in our present war should not be frittered away as had happened on that earlier occasion. By contrast one poor unfortunate, wrapped in a woollen gown and with a bandage round his head, was carried up the steps and seated on a chair. He appeared to be at death’s door: his eyes were vacant and his mouth drooped open. How he could cast a valid vote was beyond my understanding; but Clifford whispered to me not to worry, for he was one of ours! Jabez Stout disqualified five voters for drunkenness, one for imbecility and four on the grounds that they were impersonating men who had died since the poll-books were compiled. This caused much fierce argument, since all of them were supporters of Mr Cave, but Stout was true to his name and refused to be swayed in his decisions.

   On the second day of polling strangers were brought in by carriage. I was told that they were normally resident some distance away, but retained their status as freemen. Their purpose on visiting the town on this occasion was purely and simply to vote. The majority of them had been brought in by Mr Cave, in order to swell his support, but a few voted for me, and it transpired that I owed these men’s presence to the work of Oswald Jarrett.

 

   After two days’ polling, the votes cast so far were:

Wilbrahim 36

Huntingdon 22

Cave 10

  We were expecting a renewal of voting the following morning, should any remaining freemen come to cast their votes. Mr Cave, however, now decided that despite all his efforts he had very little chance of success, despite his vast expenditure of money. He withdrew from the contest, but with a very ill grace. He did not deign to speak to me but had his man Francis inform me that that the conduct of the election had been dishonest throughout, and that there would shortly be a petitioning of Parliament to have the result overturned on the grounds of gross corruption. But I did not allow such threats to diminish my triumph. I had been elected!

   As soon as Alderman Stout announced that Sir James and I had won, a crowd of Bereton people of both sexes, very drunk, proceeded to demolished the hustings and bear off the wood and canvas for their own use, maintaining that to do so was their ancient traditional privilege and right. There then followed a ceremony known as “chairing the members”: Sir James and I were hoisted high on chairs attached to long poles, by which means we were hoisted aloft by brawny supporters and carried triumphantly through the town in a torch-lit procession, with much roaring and cheering. Sir James’s chair led the way. He constantly turned left and right, waving his hat to the crowd and clearly enjoying the proceedings immensely. Everywhere he was treated with respect, but when I followed, some remaining partisans of Mr Cave attempted to disrupt the procession. There was cursing and brawling, filth and a few stones were thrown, and one hulking brute, maddened by drink, assaulted my supporters with a threshing-flail. I feared that I might be overturned, but I continued to smile and salute the people, and eventually my supporters were able to drive off our opponents. Our success at the polls was followed by yet more banqueting, and our health was drunk, again at our expense, by all and sundry. The citizens who were most disappointed were those who had withheld their votes in the expectation of being able to charge a higher price on a later day of polling, for now they had gained nothing!

     I wrote to the Duke of Newcastle notifying him of my victory and pledging my zealous support in Parliament, but notifying him of the possibility of an attempt to have the result overturned. I received a prompt reply congratulating me and assuring me that I need not fear any petition to overturn the result, for he and his friends would ensure that any such appeal would be rejected. Mr Cave evidently came to the same conclusion, for he soon retreated to his northern coalmines, grumbling and licking his wounds and hoping for revenge. In the end he had to content himself with publishing a pamphlet claiming my victory had been achieved by bribery and voter impersonation. He also cited a report in the “Mulchester Courant”, a newspaper that had recently begun publication, alleging that my agents in that town had threatened violence to anyone intending to come to Bereton to vote for him. Clifford thought this libel was a product of Smalling’s fertile pen, and I did not bother to respond. Mr Cave’s finances might have been much reduced in the contest, and so had mine; but the moment I did not think to count the cost. I was now a gentleman of importance!

   Meanwhile, after more immense sums of money had been expended, Sir Anthony Pardington and Mr Braithwaite were returned unopposed as Members of Parliament for the County, just as had been the case at the previous election. One might call himself a Whig, and the other a Tory, but they both knew well the advantage of combining their forces to exclude any competitors.

    Following my victory and desiring some peaceful reflection, I made my long-postponed walk up Brackenridge hill. The day was fine,trees were in leaf, birds were singing and there were carpets of bluebells under the trees I climbed for more than an hour before I reached the summit, but I scarcely noticed the passing time or the signs of spring, for I had much to think about: visions of the deeds I would accomplish now that I was a man of importance. The stones, which had awakened the interest of my aunt and Mrs Waring, I found a disappointment. Most were buried beneath a mass of brambles, and I did not investigate them further. There was one single upright stone; an uncut boulder taller than me, leaning at a precarious angle. It occurred to me that the summit of Brackenridge would make a splendid site for a monument to the great Mr William Pitt, and I wondered whether Alderman Stout and his friends would support having the place cleared. 

 

 

   A few days later I visited Stanegate to discuss local business with Sir James, and found Louisa walking in the garden in the spring sunshine. She led me down the gravel paths, showing me the flowers that she had planted, and describing where others were soon to be placed. Her maid, who was called Becky, walked a few paces behind us. We found a man and a couple of boys clipping a yew hedge, and she greeted them by name and praised their work. She told me how delighted she was by my success, now I would be her father’s companion in Parliament, and that she had found the campaign thrilling. I asked her how much she could have witnessed, since I understood that her father had kept her at home throughout, no doubt believing that such an experience would have been unsuitable for a young lady. She chuckled, and gave me a mischievous glance.

    “You didn’t see me, but we saw you, Becky and I!” she said, “We watched you making speeches and talking to the tradesmen! I thought you spoke very well!”

   “No, I didn’t see you, and I’m sure your father didn’t see you either, for he would have been most displeased. But how did you contrive it?”

   She laughed. “That’s my secret! But promise you won’t ever tell anyone I was there? My father would be so angry, I don’t know what he might do! I can trust you, can’t I?”

   In the most formal courtly behaviour that I had learnt under Elizabeth Newstead’s tuition, I bowed low: with one hand I swept off my hat and with the other I took her hand and kissed it. “Miss Wilbrahim, I am forever your most devoted slave! Your slightest wish is eternally my command!” I announced. The whole procedure was intended as play-acting, and when we looked at each other’s eyes, with her hand at my lips, both of us laughed.

   We walked side by side to the house. She chattered merrily but my head was full of whirling emotions. She was so pretty, and so charming! But so young and so innocent: shielded by her father from all contact with the world! What would become of her?