Illusions Of Change (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 6)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Eastwards, sir. The aim is to reach the Pacific Ocean one day, possibly by way of China.”

  “A long term policy?”

  “Very, and one that will be forestalled by Britain. The Russians may well take the frozen lands to the north of China, but the Middle Kingdom itself will never be theirs.”

  Robert returned to his office, sat back down to the problem of America, of the clandestine finance, and quite possibly creation, of a pro-slavery political grouping in Washington.

  The New Orleans end would be in the untrustworthy hands of Mr Henry Star, force put; he was there and must become aware of their activities and would be an affronted hindrance if he was not to play a leading role. Contact had already been made with him and some proportion of the monies sent to America would end up in his bank account, that was inevitable.

  What of a figure in the North?

  A man based in New York but with introductions to some of the figures in Washington, preferably an American citizen, even if very new. He was aware of none who would be capable of the job.

  He dined with his father that night, mentioned that Mostyn’s bank was seeking an agent in the north of the States to sound out the ground politically and give them an idea of what was what generally.

  “Had you considered Quillerson’s son, John?”

  Robert had not, knew only that he had had something to do with the Finedon emigrants.

  “An active and efficient young man, to my surprise, and his father’s. I hear from Mr White that he is now setting up a store for their village, and probably a number of others through the western parts. Selling salt and cloth and chinaware and guns and powder, ardent spirits as well probably. Buying furs and ingot metals, maybe cheeses and hams to go to the towns. There is room for a good profit in such an endeavour, especially repeated a dozen times over throughout the whole area.”

  A reputable young businessman, one developing contacts of his own, no doubt.

  “He is in with Colonel Miller, I believe.”

  Even better.

  “I might well send one of our young men to see him, to take a letter and perhaps arrange a commission with him. I cannot possibly take the time to go across myself, and he will probably not be able to find three or four months for me. Mr Mostyn has four very able nephews working in the firm, all soon to be given branches of their own. A venture overseas would be very good experience for one of them.”

  “Talking of which, how goes your Indian commitment?”

  “A first letter is most enthusiastic. There is a need in all three Presidencies and I have found two more men to go out to be juniors to Mr David Mostyn. We have great hopes of India, sir. So much so that we are giving the most active consideration to the Cape, though we had intended to wait a few more years before committing ourselves there. The wool is of a particularly high quality, we discover, having been put in the way of the Banks Report, the work of the great naturalist which transpires to be of commercial interest. Merino wool, fine quality and long staple and commanding a high price in Yorkshire. The old king had some interest there, back in the days when he had a mind to be interested with, that is.” Frances raised an eyebrow at this point, gave a half-smile. “The finance of a number of sheep walks would make very good sense as a starting point for activities there. The Cape had of course been Dutch and their banks are no longer active, leaving in effect an open field, we discover.”

  There was an expectant silence, Robert glancing across to Frances.

  “You do not mention the name of Miss Hannah Lightfoot, Robert.”

  “Never having heard of it, ma’am, I do not. Who, or what, was she?”

  “I do not really know, doubt that many people do. The story I heard, years back, was that she was a Quaker girl, of all things, who somehow crossed the King’s path as a young man. A most affecting story, he apparently falling in love and overbearing her scruples to the extent that she became his mistress. It seems that there was a child, perhaps more than one, I do not know how long the affair lasted. Her parents and the Quaker community were bitterly affronted and there was all of the makings of a scandal as they were not prepared to be discreetly silent as was expected of them. The King offered marriage and the powers in government were outraged, her parents being a long way outside of the aristocracy; it was made clear that the price of his obduracy would be abdication, a course which he saw as contrary to the Will of the Lord, he being most devout and dedicated to his duty while he was still sane. The word is that she and her children were shipped off to the Cape and settled in a very large landholding with a significant income, the condition being, obviously, that the FitzGeorges were never to return to England. The merino sheep may or may not have attracted His Majesty’s attention, but they provided a very good reason for his interest in the Cape.”

  Tom shook his head, he had never heard the tale, but he would not have, not having been a member of the right circles at the time.

  “I will speak to the Dowager Marchioness, Robert. She will have the story at her fingertips, I doubt not.”

  The conversation did not return to America, Robert making some effort to avoid it. He had no wish at all for his father to discover his anti-abolitionist activities.

  “Do you return to the estate for the Christmas, sir?”

  “I certainly intend to, Robert. What of you?”

  “I should not, sir. My wife will have no wish to bump about on the winter roads, I should imagine. In addition, we would have to return at an early date, for the new king’s business.”

  “We have not buried the old one yet!”

  “He will certainly not last the winter, sir. The word about Town is that his appetite is failing, that he is taking less and less nourishment and not always keeping down the little he eats. His days are numbered, sir. The Prince Regent is sufficiently sure of the throne that he has ordered his Coronation Robes, has indeed had a fitting for them, I am assured. He has already sent some of his people to discuss his immediate financial needs, expecting to have heavy expenses in his first few months as king.”

  “Will you lend to him?”

  “A few thousands only, without security. The great bulk of his needs will be met by the old banks, those who have dealt with the family for generations and who take a long view, and perhaps are less motivated by the need for profit. There is, it would seem, glory to be won by loyal sycophancy, but it is too expensive for us, I fear me.”

  “What says your goodfather, Robert?”

  “’Thank you’, I believe, sir. His baronetcy is to be promulgated at the end of this week and he has little further need for Royal favour.”

  The monthly reports from Windsor became weekly bulletins, all distinguished by their lack of information. The medical men said nothing, and the Privy Council stated only that His Majesty remained comfortable though bed-ridden.

  In mid-January the medical reports were made daily but still said very little. Towards the end of the month it was announced that members of the Royal Family and the Archbishop had been called to Windsor and that prayers had been said for His Majesty.

  Parliament was recalled and almost every member attended, a rarity indeed. Both Lords and Commons were jam-packed, the chambers themselves far too small to accommodate all those with a right to be there. The King had reigned for more than sixty years; his death was a lifetime event.

  There was comment made that Prince William Henry and the Duke of York both had taken up residence at Windsor, much affected by their father’s impending end. The Prince Regent had found himself unable to stay away from Town for so long, he had necessary business to attend to, it seemed. Kent died suddenly, predeceasing the old man, but Cambridge appeared at Carlton House, announcing where his loyalties and interest lay; it was the new power for him, it seemed.

  The word finally came, ‘the King was dead, long live the King’. The old, invisible presence that had brooded over them so long was gone, taking his legacy of war and spoiled triumphs with him.

  “The Seven
Years War, the American Revolutionary War, the First French War, the Napoleonic Wars, the Second American War – a sad legacy for a man who had the best of intentions, was a gentle, kindly soul, when he was sane. Under him we lost America and gained Canada, India, the Sugar Islands, the Cape and Malta, a tiny island but controlling the whole of the Mediterranean. We now have the Antipodes, if Botany Bay may be described as a treasure of the crown. We will have control of China, and the new South America loves us, for the while. The old gentleman might well have been satisfied, overall, with his legacy, if he could only have comprehended it!”

  Lord Castlereagh was in sombre mood; an age had passed, he felt, there was a new world that had crept upon them all unawares. From being a small, well-to-do but minor world power, Britain had become master of the known universe, was riding the tiger’s back, all-powerful, for the while. The country was rich, but it was a new, uncharted wealth and outside the control of the old landed powers of the aristocracy. The new industrialists had the bit between their teeth, were running out of control, would soon be the acknowledged masters of the country, unless somehow they could be brought to inclusion in the old certainties, in the way young Andrews had been…

  James was less affected.

  Like every man of his age, James had never seen the king, knew of him only as a vague, ghost-like figure, the unreal, almost mythical madman of Windsor. He had seen the new King, His Britannic Majesty, George, Fourth of that Name, and had been very much unimpressed – it is hard to revere a drunken, pot-bellied old fool.

  James was part of the new age, and he liked it. He was born to riches and happy with them, had never queried what or who he was, could not really see why Castlereagh should be so gloomy.

  Most of his contemporaries would have agreed with James, theirs was a remarkably well-regulated world, for those on the right side of the great divide. It was obviously a matter of divine providence that it should be so, had always been, always would be – there was no need for soul-searching, for doubt, all was as well as could be, with the exception of a few, minor problems, which could be adjusted, quite certainly, given a little time.

  The new King was a fraction less complacent – he had finally achieved the pinnacle of being, the aim of his whole adult life, and the gilt was already showing tarnished.

  His first action on being addressed as ‘Your Majesty’ had been to command Lord Liverpool to his presence, directing him to surrender his seals of office. The King had the right to ask any member of either Chamber to form a government for him, and could, therefore, dismiss any First Lord of the Treasury at his will. Regrettably, however, any Prime Minister had to command a majority in the two Houses of Parliament or his government would be unable to pass any Acts, including Finance Bills, would in fact be unable to govern. Lord Liverpool bowed loyally to his sovereign and stepped down from power; he did not, however, bother to move out of Number Ten, Downing Street, long the official residence of the Prime Minister.

  Grey, the leader of the Whigs, arrived at Carlton House, obedient to his King’s command, made his bow and refused to attempt to form a government. He could not, he said, command a majority in either House and did not believe that a General Election would serve to create one. His Majesty could, of course, attempt to govern without a Prime Minister and Ministers of the Crown, as, he believed, Charles the First had done, with memorable results. He should be reminded, most loyally, of the nature of the Army Act.

  The King needed no such reminder, he was only too well aware of the disloyal, treasonable nature of that infernal piece of legislation.

  Cromwell had let Parliament cut off the head of Charles the First and then used the army to establish his power, had in fact instituted a military government, one much resented in its day and feared since. Charles the Second, taken from near poverty in exile and placed upon the throne he had feared lost for all eternity, had been willing to agree to any and every condition for his return and had acquiesced in an Annual Act to legitimise the existence of the Army; probably he had not realised its significance. The Houses of Parliament had to pass an Army Act each year, or the Army became unlawful, must disband, could not be paid; therefore Parliament had to sit every year, without fail.

  Two days after commanding Lord Liverpool to resign his office, the King was obliged to summon him to Carlton House and then beg him to become his Prime Minister. Liverpool, very obligingly, accepted the commission, informing the King that he intended to reappoint each and every Minister of the Crown, without exception; he would bring his government to bow to the King at the next levee.

  “Was there any other matter exercising your mind, Your Majesty?”

  As Liverpool well knew, the question of Queen Caroline had to be raised.

  “The Archbishop of Canterbury informs us that every minister of the Church will pray for us each Sunday, a normal part of the liturgy. The Queen’s name is associated with ours in those prayers. We cannot believe this to be appropriate and would wish her name to be removed.”

  The Church of England was Established, its governance at the command and will of the King in Parliament. Any change in its laws or habits had to be authorised by Parliament.

  Liverpool was reasonably certain that he could command his majority to the extent that they would pass the Act the King was demanding, and it seemed a not unreasonable request bearing in mind the lady’s habits. He acquiesced, making it clear in his manner that he was agreeing to the King’s suggestion, not obeying an order.

  The Church of Scotland, equally Established, refused to accept the will of Parliament in this matter and continued to pray, often very loudly, for Queen Caroline. Liverpool informed the King that he was powerless to take further action, much to his monarch’s annoyance, he being convinced that something could and should be done.

  Parliament made its loyal addresses to the King and processed in good order to the funeral of his father. Queen Caroline landed at Dover and made her way to London, cheered by the mob every inch of the way, though it was possible that they were as much in favour of the team of white horses and the gilded chariot as the lady herself.

  Once settled in London the Queen proceeded, gleefully, to make herself a spectacle for the vulgar. What she wanted, other than amusement and revenge upon her husband was unclear, her representatives themselves seemed not to know. The King demanded a divorce; the mob wanted a continuation of the show; many of the Tories wanted to be rid of both embarrassments; the Whigs were happy to mock the Tories; the evangelical churches sermonised against King, Queen and Parliament equally and the Church of England dithered on the side-lines hoping against hope that all might turn out for the best.

  “Thank the Lord this did not happen a twelvemonth ago, Robert! It would have been the spark for revolution, that’s for sure!”

  Robert nodded gravely, in full agreement with his father. The country was prospering, there was work for every hand that could turn to it, farm labourers were flocking into the towns and wages in the countryside were creeping up from starvation level. As a result the mob was entertained rather than outraged by the antics of their rulers. It was pure luck that the old king had lasted long enough for the instability of the new monarch to be an irrelevance.

  “Is there to be a divorce, sir?”

  “Liverpool is to present a Bill of Pains and Penalties in the House of Lords which will examine the case for a divorce, considering only the behaviour of the Queen, of course. She is not to be permitted to sue for separation herself, so his misconduct will not be investigated. Unfortunately, the Committee Stage in the House of Commons, if it reaches that far, will have to follow the judicial procedure laid down for private divorce bills – there will have to be a hearing of evidence, the great bulk of which, all of the chief and cross-examinations, will take place in public. I very much fear that the lawyers will endeavour to establish her adulteries thrust by thrust, a process that will take many days of evidence to complete!”

  “And every word to be published, no doubt. It wi
ll do little good to either party, I fear, sir.”

  “None at all. The Queen will certainly lose her position and her income, but whether it will lead to divorce is uncertain. There are many of the peerage who oppose the very concept of divorce on religious grounds and not a few who will act and vote more from malice than any principle. Was the King less of a spendthrift then he could buy his way out of his quandary – one hundred peers at ten thousands apiece, cash in hand, would solve all of his problems, but he hasn’t got that cash. I could feel sorry for the poor little fellow, if I did not have such a contempt for him!”

  Book Six: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Three

  Mark Star sat at his desk, late in the evening for the third consecutive day, yet another set of briefs to master for the Assizes. He was to prosecute again, the Crown was very pleased with his services it would seem, which was in a way surprising because he did not believe he was noticeably better than his predecessor, a barrister of far more experience. Of course, it was always possible that the previous man had made himself an embarrassment - too drunk or too poxed; even too political, the wrong sort of politics, of course.

  He wondered if he should seek to recruit a junior into his chambers, a newly qualified young man who could take some of the load off his shoulders. It would not be too difficult to find a barrister looking to gain experience, one who had recently completed pupillage and wished to enter upon his own career, but it might seem presumptuous, as if he was expecting soon to be made silk, to become a King’s Counsel and need a junior, and that could cause hackles to rise.

  It was very difficult, he really needed advice, and he knew too few senior barristers who could provide it, a disadvantage of the Northern Circuit. The bulk of barristers based themselves in London, in the Inns of Court, travelling when necessary to attend cases at country assizes but returning as rapidly as they could to the comfort of the capital. Those who preferred to live away from London were often regarded with some slight suspicion for having removed themselves from the centre of legal knowledge, and power and promotion.