“Now that is very wise if you are going to talk to Angela Vernon or Mrs. Basingstoke,” Leonie put in, nodding approvingly. “They would be shocked and angry if you did not wave the flag and cheer for any tactic that would reconquer what they still think of as the rebel colonies.”
“This is assuming they realize either that the so-called war of liberation is over or that there is a new war going on with America,” Roger put in with a shrug.
Leonie frowned at him and made a shushing gesture. “In fact,” she continued, turning back to Abigail, “they would doubtless call you a rebel and most likely cut you dead the next time they saw you. But you need not worry about us, ma petite. Not that we will agree with you. Pas du tout. Perhaps we will even shout at you, but we will love you all the better for speaking your mind and never, never cut you dead.”
“Does it not occur to you, my beloved Leonie,” Perce said with a grin, “that what Violet might have been trying to avoid was a shouting match about the American war in her drawing room? I would imagine the argument must surely apprise just such persons as Angela Vernon, who is entering the room, and others of her ilk of Abigail’s unpopular opinions.”
“Bien sûr,” Leonie agreed. “Do you think I am such a fool as to shout at Abigail in Violet’s drawing room? I will take her home with me or visit in her home if I wish to scream at her.”
There was a moment of silence in which Perce and Roger both smiled fondly at her, and then Lady Vernon reached them and was introduced. She obviously knew Abigail’s background, but Roger’s remark about her seemed well deserved, for her conversation with Abigail did, indeed, smack of the sophisticate condescending to the poor little colonial. Mrs. Basingstoke was more of the same. Neither, as Roger had implied, seemed to realize that America had become an independent nation or that the Americans were at war with the British. They commented unfavorably on American fashions and manners and required Abigail to agree that she was relieved and delighted by her removal from the wilderness. Violet had followed them, but she quickly abandoned Abigail to divert Hilda from joining Bertram and Griselda when she saw that Abigail was struggling with mirth rather than temper.
Fortunately, before she disgraced herself, Lady Vernon and Mrs. Basingstoke were replaced by Mrs. Cowper and Lady Walters. These two ladies were even more removed from any scenes of life larger than those in their dressing rooms and nurseries, but Abigail found no difficulty in talking about clothing and children, although from time to time she cast a brief, longing glance at the Keverns and St. Eyres. But they, too, were engaged in small talk. Perce, Roger and Arthur had tried to coalesce, but they had been reprimanded and driven apart to do their duty now that all the guests had arrived.
Dinner was soon served and partial relief from boredom was at hand, for, as guest of honor, Abigail was seated at Arthur’s right hand. Unfortunately, protocol seated Hilda at his left and Lord Vernon on Abigail’s other side. The time Arthur was able to devote to her was delightful, although obviously he could say nothing about their trip to London at the dinner table. Nonetheless, a brief glance and touch said enough. Abigail knew the arrangements had been made. She felt herself flush slightly with excitement, just as she was required to turn to her other partner. This move left her time to think. It was not that Lord Vernon neglected to give her his attention. Indeed, he seemed ready to devote all his time to her, but as his interest was exhibited solely by trying to look down her dress to see what little the garment did not reveal, Abigail found him somewhat heavy at hand.
But when Violet gathered her ladies to leave the men to their wine, the worst was over. Abigail knew she was approved, there was a word and smile for her from all the ladies, but most of them clearly found her less interesting than their cronies. The usual cliques gathered, with Violet moving from one to the other for a few tactful words, but Sabrina and Leonie came directly to Abigail.
Sabrina said softly, “Would you mind telling me what you know about the war, Abigail? Perce and I expect to be returning to Russia soon as part of the embassy there. Do you know the name Count Rumiantsev?”
“Indeed I do,” Abigail replied. Could the mission the Keverns were to go on be related to the mediation of peace by the Russians despite what Arthur had said? “He is the Russian chancellor and has proposed that the tsar try to find terms of agreement to end the war.”
Looking rather startled, Sabrina asked, “Is that generally known in America?”
Abigail frowned. “Yes. Well, I believe so. The story was published in the NationalIntelligencer and other newspapers.” Then she smiled. “Of course, we have our Lord and Lady Vernons and Mr. and Mrs. Basingstokes, too. There are none so blind and deaf as those who will not hear or see.”
“And what was the reaction?” Leonie asked.
“It would depend upon what part of the country,” Abigail replied, “but I believe it was generally favorable. I know that President Madison and his Cabinet are very strongly in favor of the mediation.”
“There!” Leonie commented forcefully. “I have said from the beginning that the Americans do not want Canada. What would they want with a large, cold wilderness? They have more than enough of their own since Jefferson bought Louisiana from the French.”
“Certainly no one in the New England states wants Canada,” Abigail agreed carefully, “and if there were such ambitions in some of the western states, like Ohio, I think they have reconsidered.”
“Is this all general knowledge?” Sabrina asked. “I mean are you sure the desire for peace is serious?”
“I have a better source than most,” Abigail confessed, smiling. “The Secretary of the Treasury, which is the most important office next to that of the President, is my trustee and dear friend. In fact, that is how I know President Madison is totally committed to the Russian mediation. He is sending Mr. Albert Gallatin to join Mr. Adams, the Russian ambassador, and several others to be commissioners to negotiate the peace.”
“To Russia?” Leonie asked. Simultaneously Sabrina repeated, “Is sending. Forgive me, Abigail, and do not answer if you do not wish, but surely this is…er…not an ordinary, chatty piece of news.”
“No, but Albert had to explain that he could no longer manage my property, and he knows how eagerly I desire peace, so he wrote what he knew I would feel was good news.”
“But it is not!” Leonie exclaimed. “How could the President assume England would agree? I know the offer of mediation was refused firmly last winter.”
“The Americans were not interested last winter, either,” Abigail said. “It was only in the early spring, before I left New York, that the President accepted Dashkov’s suggestion. I am sure it was hinted by the Russians that this government had also reconsidered.”
“Not at all—and there is no chance they ever will,” Sabrina said.
“That is disgusting!” Abigail exploded. “But your fine armies will do you no good in America. If you think that you can win a war, you are very wrong!”
“Hush!” Leonie whispered. “Remember, we promised not to shout in Violet’s drawing room.”
“I am sorry I raised my voice.” Abigail spoke more quietly, but her color was high and her eyes blazing. “But I am not at all sorry for what I said. If the English government believes the United States can be conquered, they are utter fools. It could not be done thirty years ago, and the population has now nearly doubled. There will be no pitched battles with your red-coated soldiers, but little boys as well as grown men will shoot them from behind the trees. They will all fight—even the women.”
“We had heard that the New England states might rather welcome us.”
The male voice behind her made Abigail start. She was surprised that the men had spent so little time with the wine and thought she saw some looks of discontent cast at Arthur—but not from Roger, who had placed a hand affectionately on his wife’s shoulder, or from Perce, who came around the sofa on which she and Sabrina were sitting to stand in front of her. But she
was not about to back down and looked boldly up into Perce’s face.
“You heard that from that blithering idiot Francis Jackson, I suppose,” Abigail said. “New England opposed declaring war, but not, I assure you, because they wish to accept colonial status. They will fight as hard as any other to keep England out. I cannot imagine how such blind fools obtain appointments in the diplomatic service. Does the government wish to be misinformed?”
“Certainly,” Arthur said, grinning. “It is dangerous and costly but far preferable to needing to think about something unpleasant.” Then he looked at his family reprovingly. “Who set her on fire this time? I warn you, she has a flammable disposition. She told me so herself.”
“Be quiet, Arthur,” Roger said seriously. “Abigail has something to say that is worth hearing. My dear, we are not baiting you, and I agree wholeheartedly that Jackson’s manner is not conciliating—”
“To say the least,” Abigail interrupted. “And that is all wrong for dealing with Americans. Because he was sympathetic, Mr. Erskine obtained a most useful agreement. And if your government had not issued threats and deadlines through Mr. Baker after the news of the cancellation of the Orders in Council—”
“The American government is as much at fault,” Arthur cut her off loudly, “and no better at appointing diplomats. Your Mr. Russell could not wait to get his bags packed and brush the soil of Britain from his heels.”
“And I do not blame him!” Abigail’s voice rose also. “Since the only replies he received to the second, more moderate message the President sent concerning grounds for revoking the declaration of war was that it was ‘more covert and therefore more objectionable’, what had he to stay for?”
“Children!” Leonie cried. “The drawing room is neutral ground. Sheathe your weapons.”
“Let us abandon the subject of who is to blame,” Roger suggested. “It is too late to worry about that now. I am really interested in why Abigail is so sure the New England states are as opposed to making peace as the western states.”
“Opposed to making peace? Not at all!” Abigail exclaimed. “I do not think any of the states are opposed to making peace. I was just telling Sabrina that Mr. Gallatin is leaving—no, he must have already left—for Russia to be part of a commission to make peace. But Sabrina said that England was not willing to make peace.”
“No, we have misunderstood each other,” Sabrina said. “I meant there was no chance the Russian offer of mediation would be accepted.”
Abigail looked from one face to another. “Is that not the same thing? Now that Bonaparte is so much weaker, does not the British government think it can crush the United States completely?”
“Bonaparte may be weaker,” Perce put in, “but I don’t think anyone discounts his ability to produce surprises. What I think you fail to understand, Abigail, is that the British refusal of Russian mediation has little to do with not wanting peace. What Britain does not want is the Russians meddling in her affairs. Tsar Alexander may be opposed to Bonaparte, but that does not mean he likes the English—and Rumiantsev comes near to loathing us.”
Abigail caught the implication at once. “Can you mean that the whole offer to mediate peace was an attempt by Count Rumiantsev to make trouble?”
“Heaven knows what he has in mind,” Perce said. “But no, I do not mean to leave you with the impression that Rumiantsev is mad or that he does not wish to help America if he can. He is, in fact, a most astute person. The offer to mediate peace comes from two causes. The first is simple. Russia and almost every other nation in the world wish to see British maritime power curbed.”
“Well, that is certainly unfair, but—”
“Do you want to understand what is happening or don’t you?” Arthur challenged. “Listen for a minute.”
“Sorry,” Abigail said meekly.
Perce laughed. “I do tend to run on, and this is a dinner party. Why don’t we—”
“Please,” Abigail urged, “I am not being polite. I am truly interested. One of my dearest friends has set out on a long and dangerous mission. Please tell me why it must be useless.”
The sincerity in Abigail’s voice convinced Perce. It also startled Arthur. One of her “dearest friends”? What did that mean? And about whom was she speaking? In all their conversations, she had never mentioned any deep regret for a friend left behind.
“The second reason Rumiantsev offered Russian mediation is very complex because it involves both Tsar Alexander’s personality and the form of the Russian government.” He watched Abigail’s face, but it was absorbed and intent. Clearly she had been honest when she said she was interested. “England is a monarchy,” he went on, “but the government, with the agreement of Parliament, really holds the power, not the king. In Russia the tsar still rules absolutely. Often our poor king—or at present the regent—dislikes the ministers with whom he must work. This can cause some difficulty, and compromises are made, but the tsar need make no compromises. If he becomes disillusioned with a minister, the minister is dismissed.”
“You are oversimplifying, Perce,” Roger said.
Perce nodded. “A little, but not in any way that will affect what I am trying to explain to Abigail. For reasons that would take far too long to detail, Count Rumiantsev has lost much of Alexander’s confidence. On the other hand, Rumiantsev is an old man, partly crippled by a stroke, and Alexander is too kind to take away his office. Tsar Alexander is a good man. He has high ideals. He sees himself at this time as the savior of Europe. The result is that Rumiantsev hopes that he can provide his master with an opportunity to mediate a peace with the western continent, thereby allowing him to think of himself as the savior not only of Europe but of the world. Thus, he will reestablish himself in his master’s good opinion.”
Abigail shrugged. “So his purposes have an element of selfishness. I cannot see that as a valid reason to throw away an opportunity to end a stupid, useless war.”
“Ah, but you have forgotten the primary reason Rumiantsev has, the envy of Britain’s maritime power,” Roger pointed out. “A mediator must be neutral, and I am afraid, Alexander is not neutral about British maritime strength. Since it is principally maritime problems that are the basis of the present conflict—”
“What you mean is that England is afraid the tsar will agree with America,” Abigail interrupted.
“Afraid?” Arthur snapped. “It is not a question of fear. The British do not choose to wash family linen in public.”
“The United States,” Abigail snapped back, “is no longer part of the British ‘family’. Perhaps if you could get that through your thick heads, a great deal of trouble could be avoided.”
“Abigail has a good point,” Violet said calmly before Arthur could reply at the top of his lungs, which he clearly intended. She joined their circle and seated herself in an armchair opposite Leonie. “I have always said there are few heads thicker than those of the men at the head of the government. It is probably either a necessary or an acquired condition. So many brickbats are thrown at their heads. Doubtless they get hard from the constant pounding.”
Everyone laughed, and the tension dissipated. “But the problem remains,” Abigail sighed. “To say the government has thick heads and should think in a way they do not will not end the war.”
“I do not know what will end it if the Americans insist on Russian mediation.” Roger shook his head.
“What does that mean, Roger?” Arthur asked. “Is the government willing to negotiate directly?”
“I cannot give an absolute answer, but I know they would consider direct negotiations seriously, whereas they will fight until doomsday rather than let Tsar Alexander mediate.”
“Well, what would your dear friend say to that?” Arthur asked Abigail aggressively. “I think perhaps your ‘dear friend’ on the peace commission would be afraid to negotiate without a biased mediator to support him.”
The emphasis on “dear friend” almost wip
ed the importance of the political discussion from Abigail’s mind. Arthur’s jealousy brought his role as lover to the forefront of Abigail’s mind, and she answered him without heat. “I don’t know. I don’t think Albert would object to direct negotiations, but the decision is not his, and unless he knows there is that possibility… I don’t understand how matters got to this state. Why has your government not made clear to Count Rumiantsev that you will not negotiate through Russia?”
“My dear,” Perce said, “we have tried our best to make it clear. I believe Lord Cathcart has all but shouted in his ear and drummed on the table. What is more, we have communicated our unwillingness directly to the tsar. You said yourself there are none so deaf as those who will not hear. Perhaps Rumiantsev believes he can convince us, or perhaps it only suits his purposes to feed Alexander’s vanity with American applications for his help.”
“You mean you think Rumiantsev is not telling Mr. Adams the truth?” Abigail asked.
“Unless it is Mr. Adams who does not wish to hear,” Arthur remarked.
Abigail shook her head and smiled wryly. “Oh, no. If there is bad news, Mr. Adams will hear it. He is a very good man and a very clever man, but not at all a cheerful one.”
“You seem to know everyone in the government,” Roger commented.
“No, only those who lived in the New England states and who are readers. You see, most of them would stop in New York on the way home from Philadelphia or, more recently, Washington, and they would come to buy books from—from my father’s favorite bookseller.”
Abigail was appalled at what she had almost let slip and became much more cautious about answering other questions. In fact, she took much less part in the conversation, which quickly moved to Wellington’s maneuvers in Spain and what Bonaparte’s answer would be when Metternich presented an offer of mediation on relatively generous terms, the dissolution of the Duchy of Warsaw, the liberation of Hamburg, the withdrawal of all French troops from Prussia’s territory, and the restoration of Dalmatia to Austria. Abigail listened without close attention while Arthur protested that Bonaparte must be deposed because he would keep any treaty he signed only until he had gathered strength enough to break it, and Perce shrugged and said he did not think it mattered what terms were offered, because Bonaparte was contemptuous of the forces ranged against him and would not accept terms.
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