Elizabeths Campaign

Elizabeth's Campaign

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Elizabeth's Campaign, by Mrs.
Humphrey Ward, Illustrated by C. Allan Gilbert
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Elizabeth's Campaign
Author: Mrs. Humphrey Ward
Release Date: October 1, 2004 [eBook #13573]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
ELIZABETH'S CAMPAIGN***
E-text prepared by Janet Kegg and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team

ELIZABETH'S CAMPAIGN
by
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
Author of _Lady Rose's Daughter_, _Missing_, etc.
Frontispiece in Color by C. Allan Gilbert
1918

[Illustration: ELIZABETH]

TO THE DEAR AND GALLANT MEMORY OF T. S. A.
PASSCHENDAELE, OCTOBER 11, 1917

FOREWORD

This book was finished in April 1918, and represents the mood of a
supremely critical moment in the war.
M. A. W.

ELIZABETH'S CAMPAIGN

CHAPTER I
'Remember, Slater, if I am detained, that I am expecting the two
gentlemen from the War Agricultural Committee at six, and Captain
Mills of the Red Cross is coming to dine and sleep. Ask Lady
Chicksands to look after him in case I am late--and put those Tribunal
papers in order for me, by the way. I really must go properly into that
Quaker man's case--horrid nuisance! I hope to be back in a couple of
hours, but I can't be sure. Hullo, Beryl! I thought you were out.'
The speaker, Sir Henry Chicksands, already mounted on his cob
outside his own front door, turned from his secretary, to whom he had
been giving these directions, to see his only daughter hurrying through
the inner hall with the evident intention of catching her father before he
rode off.
She ran down the steps, but instead of speaking at once she began to
stroke and pat his horse's neck, as though doubtful how to put what she
had to say.
'Well, Beryl, what's the matter?' said her father impatiently. The girl,
who was slender and delicate in build, raised her face to his.
'Are you--are you really going to Mannering, father?'
'I am--worse luck!'
'You'll handle him gently, won't you?' There was anxiety in the girl's
voice. 'But of course you will--I know you will.'
Chicksands shrugged his shoulders.

'I shall do my best. But you know as well as I do that he's a queer
customer when it comes to anything connected with the war.'
The girl looked behind her to make sure that the old butler of the house
had retired discreetly out of earshot.
'But he can't quarrel with _you_, father!'
'I hope not--for your sake.'
'Must you really tackle him?'
'Well, I thought I was the person to do it. It's quite certain nobody else
could make anything of it.'
Privately Beryl disagreed, but she made no comment.
'Aubrey seems to be pretty worried,' she said, in a depressed tone, as
she turned away.
'I don't wonder. He should have brought up his father better. Well,
good-bye, dear. Don't bother too much.'
She waved her hand to him as he made off, and stood watching him
from the steps--a gentle, attaching figure, her fair hair and the pale oval
of her face standing out against the panelled hall behind her.
Her father went his way down a long winding hill beyond his own
grounds, along a country road lined with magnificent oaks, through a
village where his practised eye noted several bad cottages with
disapproval, till presently he slackened his horse's pace, as he passed an
ill-looking farm about half a mile beyond the village.
'Not a decent gate in the whole place!' he said to himself with disgust.
'And the farm buildings only fit for a bonfire. High time indeed that we
made Mannering sit up!'
He paused also to look over the neighbouring hedge at some fields
literally choked with weeds.

'And as for Gregson--lazy, drunken fellow! Why didn't he set some
village women on? Just see what they've done on my place! Hullo, here
he is! Now I'm in for it!' For he saw a slouching man coming rapidly
towards him from the farmyard, with the evident intention of
waylaying him. The man's shabby, untidy dress and blotched
complexion did not escape Sir Henry's quick eye. 'Seems to have been
making a night of it,' was his inward comment.
'Good-day, Sir Henry,' said the farmer, laying a hand on Chicksands'
bridle, 'I wanted a word with you, sir. I give you fair warning, you and
your Committee, you'll not turn me out without a fight! I was never
given no proper notice--and there are plenty as 'll stand by me.'
The voice was