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

by Andrew Wareham

  “He is young yet for marriage, surely.”

  “Ladies bringing out an elder daughter this Season will quite possibly be weighing up the field for a younger girl next year or the one after. The unfortunate mama of four or five young ladies must needs plan her campaigns over eight or ten years.”

  “He surely cannot be so great a prize in the Marriage Stakes, can he?”

  “An income of two thousand a year, at least, which is twice or three times that of the bulk of younger sons. A small but highly respectable estate at Lutterworth, known to be encumbered, but which will in time, it is presumed, bolster his income. He is a member and with such connections that it is generally recognised he cannot remain long on the backbenches, must eventually become a junior Minister of the Crown, possibly more. He will not achieve the highest positions but will certainly be knighted, very probably take a baronetcy, a barony not likely but not wholly impossible. Elder brother to be second baron, and in all probabilities first viscount, and very wealthy, hence provision for James’ younger sons will be available – family influence with government and John Company assuring them a generously salaried place somewhere. He has connections in the banking world, and, more respectably, is a grandson of the Grafhams. Provided he is not an invalid who will die at an early age, then he is a desirable husband for a younger daughter with a meaningful portion. He is well within the sights of the ten thousand pounders, Thomas, and might stretch to even greater heights.”

  “Should I have a word with him, a quiet warning?”

  “His man will have done that, Thomas. Have you spoken to Murphy?”

  “Only to acknowledge him in passing. Should I do more?”

  “A very good sort, one of the best of retainers. He is an able man, was to be an attorney, I believe, but stepped out of line in Ireland and chose to join the army to preserve his neck. When James marries he will find less use for Murphy, in all probabilities, and he might then be employed by Roberts or the banks in some out-of-the-ordinary position. There is often a need, I suspect, for an enquirer into the affairs of would-be borrowers or customers or suppliers of goods, a bright, alert person who is not a gentleman, in any sense.”

  Tom made a mental note; he would remember Murphy.

  “Robert has spoken to him, I believe, Thomas. He has an eye to him as well.”

  “Good, we always need out of the ordinary men. The Cavendishes ball will open the Season, I presume?”

  “On Tuesday next, Thomas. We have accepted, of course. They are one of the hosts who chose to invite James in his own name. It would seem that the Devonshire clan has noticed his existence, possibly have plans for him. They are always on the alert to bring in young men of promise and will not really suppose that with his background he should be a natural Tory. The son of a manufacturer ought to be of the Whiggish persuasion, or so they will believe, and he could be a valuable catch for them.”

  “Strange to be thinking of James in such terms. I wonder just what he may become.”

  At Murphy’s recommendation, James decided to carry his cane at the Cavendishes ball. Doing so would serve to advertise his inability to dance and could avert possible embarrassments. It would also announce that he was not choosing to stay off the dance floor, that he was not making a pose of bored reclusivity.

  Both Brummel and Byron had made a play of being above their company, of not dancing because the young ladies were beneath their touch, and James had no wish to be seen to follow their example. Admittedly, few would mistake him for a poet of Byron’s determinedly Romantic quality and he lacked the acerbic wit and sense of style of Brummel, but he placed a value on courtesy for its own sake and had no desire to seek notoriety as a substitute for originality.

  He greeted his hosts, the Bachelor Duke and his sisters, and was guided gently towards the company of the only other single and non-dancing gentlemen in the room, a pair of older veterans of the wars, a captain with only one arm and a major in his own state. He knew neither and made his bow as he was introduced.

  “Mr James Andrews. Major Maitland, Captain Colquhoun.”

  “Rifles, I believe, Mr Andrews?”

  “Yes, Major. Invalided after the campaign in Ceylon.”

  “So I heard, sir. Waterloo did for myself and the Captain. Foot Guards, both.”

  Quite naturally, they discussed the great battle and its immense butcher’s bill, the worst, they thought, ever experienced by British forces.

  “Worthwhile, however, because it brought the wars to an end, and it will be many years before there is another in Europe. Even the most bellicose Prussian or Austrian must think twice after seeing such slaughter, sir, and the spirit of the French army was utterly broken.”

  James agreed. Britain need not expect to involve itself militarily on the Continent for many a year, hopefully not in his lifetime.

  “What of India, Mr Andrews? Will there be war there?”

  James thought there must be, but limited in scope. He explained that he believed that every independent princedom must fall under Company control but in a series of individual campaigns, there being no concept of an Indian nation. He commented as well that it seemed to him that the Company should be brought more under the government’s wing, its political role curtailed and its military dovetailed with the King’s forces who were obliged to do much of the work.

  They moved slowly in the direction of the refreshments and the wine waiters, sat at a table to the side of the massed phalanx of the dowagers and their cloud of gossip, stood repeatedly as one after another bore down upon them to make their greetings.

  “What does one do for the four hours which is the minimum one must remain out of courtesy?”

  “There are card tables in the salons downstairs, but one will inevitably be swept up to make a fourth at a whist table, normally to partner a nearly witless old lady who really jolly well enjoys a good game of cards, don’t you know!”

  James and Colquhoun winced in unison – they had never experienced the fate Maitland described but they could easily imagine it.

  “So, it is sit and talk, gentlemen, and there are only two topics to discuss. Which first?”

  “The hangings or the divorce? Shall we toss a coin?”

  They laughed, drawing pleased smiles from the elderly ladies who admired the fortitude of the young men, wounded and disabled in their country’s service and still able to present a jovial face. Perhaps losing an arm or leg was not such a bad thing after all!

  Tom led Frances onto the floor for the first pair of country dances, the ball always starting traditionally, quadrilles and waltzes following. They were sufficiently recently wed that it was permissible for husband and wife to dance together twice in the evening and Frances had demanded that he waltz with her later, despite his misgivings.

  “You do not have two left feet, my love! In any case I shall be able to assist as necessary, waltzing at least. I think you may have to escort me in conversation with parents and acquaintance during the sets of quadrilles – the intricacies of the pas d’ete are probably not for you, or for the poor lady who chances to be your partner!”

  They danced, Frances enjoying the half hour, Tom surviving.

  “Who is that in conversation with James, do you know him? Military men, both, obviously.”

  “The older man is Major Maitland, I believe. Guards, I think, and retired to half-pay after the battle. He wrote at least one critique of Wellington’s tactics which attracted a little attention at the time and gave him the ear of some of the leading Whigs. He believes that the Duke should have made better use of his light cavalry, an enveloping attack from the left, which he suggested might have cut up the French artillery at an early stage. He does, however, admit that the cavalry was so poorly led that it might have failed in its intent and probably would have been lost in its entirety, but he suggested that might have been a worthwhile price to save perhaps ten thousands of casualties amongst the Foot.”

  “Difficult! You know my opinion of the cavalry and i
ts officers.”

  “Lady Verity’s brother?”

  “Just so, ma’am! Let loose to charge an artillery position he would undoubtedly have chosen to attack from the front, straight down the cannon’s barrel. The concept of charging from the flank, if it even occurred to him, would have been dismissed as ‘ungentlemanly’. In any case he would probably have gotten lost once out of direct line of sight of his target.”

  “Yet he was a brave man.”

  “He was, and that was all that he was. I have never met a cavalry officer, Regular that is, not Militia, who was not a brave man; I have yet to come across one who was anything more. Though, thinking of it, there was Colonel Quentin, one of the Prince Regent’s coterie, at the heart of the scandal of the 10th, he was said to be a coward, but was held to be unique.”

  Frances had heard of Colonel Quentin and was not prepared to discuss him in public, there were too many interests to offend.

  “Perhaps one could educate the officers?”

  “Perhaps if they were capable of assimilating an education they would be otherwise employed, my dear!”

  They saw the Payntons and joined their group. Talk turned to lighter topics, inevitably the hangings and the divorce, interspersed with comments on the weather for the benefit of those of slower comprehensions.

  There was a general disapproval of the display of the severed heads of the traitors, an act more suited to primitive times and places it was felt. A man of Liverpool’s station and background should have known better, it was not as if they were French, when all was said and done.

  ‘It must never happen again’, was the judgement of almost all present, and they comprised every person in the nation who had a meaningful opinion. The message would reach the ears of the Prime Minister before the House sat and he could be expected to pass it back to Sidmouth, who was in any case present at the ball and would probably have heard it at second-hand already.

  Tom glanced across the floor, saw Sidmouth, lips compressed and very evidently not enjoying his company, decided that he certainly had been informed of his peers’ displeasure.

  “You never know, my dear, but judging by his high colour there is a good chance of him going off in an apoplexy.”

  “It would quite spoil the ball, but otherwise is much to be recommended!”

  They discussed for a few minutes whether it would be permissible to continue dancing after the untimely death of a Cabinet Minister in the ballroom, decided that it might seem a fraction ill-mannered, and, besides, the corpse would block part of the floor and it would be disrespectful to nudge it out of the way.

  Supper time came and Tom took Frances’ arm quite naturally, glanced about him to see whose husband was in company with which wife, the source always of rich gossip.

  “Who is that with James, my dear?”

  “One of the Misses Armistead, I believe. Not the eldest, who is engaged to be married to a nephew of the Greys, but her next sister, and I cannot remember her name. Pretty enough and quite level-headed, I gather, but her father was involved in some scandal some time ago; it was during the years we were in Canada, so I do not know the details. I do know that he withdrew from Society and died in obscurity last year or the year before. Her mother reappeared then, a respectable widow, and brought the girls out under the aegis of the Devonshires, she being one of the clan by birth. I do not know what the girl is worth, but I doubt she is poor.”

  She would also be Whig by connection.

  “Definitely attempting to recruit the boy to the Party. Why?”

  There would be nothing at all unusual in a young man’s discovery that he had sat in the interest of the wrong party in his first few months in the House, especially where his seat had been in his family’s gift rather than one secured by open election. Where a profitable marriage was involved it would be within reason normal for the gentleman to accept the guidance of his new family, except where his own father was deeply politically committed and a change of course might be seen as churlish.

  Tom accepted that he was seen as no more than a Backwoods Tory, one who supported the party by default rather than from any intellectual conviction. He was known to have little liking for the policy of Coercion and to be in favour of Free Trade so it might be considered that he would have no overwhelming objection to an acquisition of Whiggishness by his second son. He would have to give the matter thought, because that might actually be the case.

  “What would you say is the real difference between the two Parties, Frances?”

  “Reform, Thomas. Both Parties wish the country to continue in its present way, in effect unchanged, all political power to be retained in responsible hands, neither held by inadequate kings nor frittered away amongst the great mass of the unwashed. The Whigs believe that some alterations must be made in the mechanics of government, primarily to recognise that the seat of wealth is no longer wholly in the Land but also to maintain good order and to excise the worst of abuses committed by nouveau-riche manufacturers. The Tories think, if that is not to overstate the process, that the existing order is God-given and essentially perfect and therefore should remain in its current pristine state in all except the most minor of details. Neither Party will tolerate any great interference with the status quo.”

  “Would a foot in both camps be seen as untoward, do you think?”

  “Not at all, Thomas, not in the slightest! And, I would suggest, from Robert’s point of view, quite possibly advantageous. A banker must always wish to have the ear of Downing Street. Was it to be the case that when the Tories are in government then Lord Andrews may speak to the Prime Minister and, if the Whigs hold power, then Mr James Andrews might be a junior minister in the Administration… well, truly the best of both worlds.”

  “What do the Whigs gain from enticing James to join their ranks?”

  “Balance? Backwoods Tories to be to some extent matched by Backwoods Whigs? I do not really know. It could be just a matter of habitual practice to endeavour to recruit fresh blood to the Party. Possibly they wonder if he might be brought on as a counterbalance to Peel? He is, after all, of very similar background.”

  “He lacks some of Peel’s attributes”

  “Such as a penetrating intelligence, Thomas? Unfortunately, that is so, but one must remember that many of both sides regard Peel’s intellect as rather un-English, the sort of thing one expects of underbred foreigners with bulging foreheads. The British Bulldog is renowned for many qualities, but academic analysis is not one of them.”

  “There is indeed much to be said for dogmatic English stupidity – I have profited greatly from it on occasion.”

  James quite enjoyed his supper with Miss Jane Armistead. He had been directed to a small table at the side and a waiter had been placed at his service rather than having to scramble at the long buffet with the bulk of the guests. There were advantages to disability, he supposed, though he would rather have had his leg back. Miss Jane, however, was pleased with the distinction, shared otherwise only by the most elderly and prominent of the guests. She was a sturdily-made girl and had an appetite after her evening’s dancing and made inroads into lobster patties and little goose pies, following with a number of creams and jellies, accompanied, very correctly, by pressed lemonade, a properly brought-up girl not taking alcohol in the company of a young man, although in any case a well-trained waiter would almost certainly not have heard any demands for wine from her.

  She chatted well, pointing out persons he might not be familiar with and asking after his military service in a way that showed she had been made familiar with some of his background. James, less unsophisticated than he had been, noticed that she knew more of him than might have been expected of a casual acquaintance, wondered why. She had been introduced to him immediately before supper so that he had been obliged to invite her to accompany him downstairs. The Duke’s second sister it was who had brought her to his attention, so it smacked of more than an accidental encounter.

  They stood from their table
as the company began to shift back to the ballroom, James timing their movement to meet up with his father and Frances, making his greetings and introduction as a matter of course, turning to his father with a comment and thus placing Miss Jane Armistead into Frances’ ambit. He said nothing, quite sure that there was no need to. Lady Andrews would give him a very full report on the young lady when they met during the week.

  They stood out of the set of quadrilles, talking polite nothings, and then Miss Armistead’s next partner collected her to waltz, leaving the three together.

  “An amusing evening, James?”

  “To an extent, sir, though it can be tedious being unable to dance at a ball. One tends to talk a little too much politics. On which note, sir, I do not see Lord Castlereagh, although his lady is present. I had not thought he was returning to Vienna just yet.”

  “Canning is here, had let it slip that he would be present, and the ill-will between them is now so great that he will not share a room with him if he can avoid it.”

  James did not approve. Good manners should always prevail over every other consideration, and courtesy demanded Castlereagh’s presence at so major a function, the more because the Duke of York, heir to the throne, was expected to make a brief appearance and Cambridge, another of the King’s brothers, had been visible all evening. The Prime Minister could not attend; he was far too busy and would wish to avoid any risk of public controversy, so Castlereagh, often seen as second in importance in the government, should have shown himself.

  “Becoming just a fraction erratic, I fear. More than ever wise to be careful in your dealings with that gentleman, James.”

  “Noted, sir!”

  “What of your supper companion, James?”

  “A very good question, sir! A pretty enough girl, though not one of the ethereal types. Sensible rather than clever, which, I must admit, I like. Good family, I gather. The only pity is that I don’t in any way fancy her as a companion for life, which makes the whole exercise pointless. I presume it may be seen as an attempt to secure my allegiances, sir, would you agree?”