The source of his unease immediately became clear. Abigail grinned. “I really should demand that you accompany me on a shopping expedition or take me for a stroll in Hyde Park to look at the swans, just to see the look on your face and test your devotion. Unfortunately, such a test of your devotion would be as much of a trial to me as to you. The truth is that I prefer to shop without an impatient or long-suffering man in attendance, and what I really wish to do is to finish the charming book I was reading by Miss Jane Austen. However, if you insist that we suffer together—”
“Tease!” Arthur exclaimed.
“But I did not tease you,” Abigail pointed out, widening her eyes innocently, and then laughed. “I am sure you have business you would like to do now that you are here in London. Please do it. I have my own little business to do—and it is interesting and important to me even if you might find it foolish.”
Abigail had spoken lightly because she did not want Arthur to guess that she had real business to conduct, but then was hoist on her own petard. He believed her, since he had no reason not to, and thus remained doubtful, concerned that she would be bored because there were no other women for her to call on or to visit her, no parties to attend. She then had to assure him vehemently that she truly preferred to have time to herself, fearing that in his kindness he would insist on keeping her company and so prevent her from visiting the booksellers she wished to see and from speaking to Alexander Baring, who, according to Anne Louisa’s letter, would only be in the City that day and the next.
Arthur recognized the sincerity with which she was urging him to amuse himself in his own way and not trouble himself about her, but misinterpreted it completely, assuming that it was for his sake she was insisting they go separate ways. He also realized that if he did not agree to go off, Abigail would not be able to enjoy his company for fear he was not enjoying hers. Thus, he thanked her for her consideration, finished his breakfast, and went out to track down various political acquaintances—such as clerks and secretaries of government departments—who were not fortunate enough to be freed from their work even when Parliament was not in session.
Less than half an hour later, having summoned the carriage hired for her convenience, Abigail, too, was out of the house. Her first call was on Alexander Baring, who came out himself to show her into his office, exclaiming in surprise at seeing her in London.
“Did you write to Anne that you would be here?” he asked. “I cannot remember her mentioning it to me.”
“No,” Abigail replied, “I didn’t expect to be in Town when I last wrote to her,” and explained the business she had with Deedes that had to be completed before Quarter Day quite truthfully except for blaming the innocent Jameson for not telling her early enough to write. “And since I was here and knew you were too, I thought I would ask a favor of you,” she finished.
“Whatever I can do, my dear,” he assured her.
“I will not keep you to that,” Abigail said, shaking her head. “I hope you will not think what I wish is wrong or dangerous, but if you do, you must not do it.”
“Wrong and dangerous?” Baring repeated, undecided whether he should laugh or not. “Whatever in the world are you thinking of, Abigail?”
“I received a letter from Albert Gallatin about a week ago,” she said seriously. “The purpose was to tell me that he was about to transfer my business to me by deed of gift.”
“Why the devil is Gallatin still acting as your trustee?” Baring asked. “He should have made over the property to you as soon as Francis died. A widow can hold property in her own name.”
“Now, Alex,” Abigail protested, “you know Albert would not have held the trust a day longer than legally necessary. I had asked him to remain as trustee after Francis died because I knew I would have to bring Victor and Daphne to England and I wanted him to keep an eye on the business.”
“You should have sold it.” Baring shook his head. “It is ridiculous to try to run a business at the other end of an ocean.”
“Possibly,” Abigail said. She did not agree at all, but she did not want to argue that subject at the moment. “However, that is not what I came to see you about, and I do not want to waste your time. I know you must have more than enough to fill the few days you spend here. The reason Albert felt he had to deed the business back to me was that he cannot look after it. He has been appointed to a peace commission—”
“I know,” Baring interrupted. “He wrote to me also to arrange credit. He is on his way to Russia, it seems.”
“Yes, but I am afraid he does not know—I do not believe anyone in America knows—that the Russian mediation has been rejected and that there is no chance that it will be accepted in the future.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From Roger St. Eyre and Lord Kevern.” Abigail hesitated and then asked eagerly, “Could they have been mistaken?”
“No,” Baring replied. “I wish Madison were not so set on dealing through the Russians. I know our government will never agree to do so.”
“But Alex,” Abigail said eagerly, “I am not at all sure Madison is set on dealing through the Russians. Do you not see that if Rumiantsev is not telling Mr. Adams the truth about the British rejection of Russian mediation, he may not be telling Lord Cathcart the truth about the American willingness to negotiate directly either? And it is not as if Mr. Adams and Lord Cathcart were likely to be talking to each other. I know Mr. Adams. He will seize on any excuse not to attend a social function and would certainly not go to any attended by Lord Cathcart if he could avoid it. He is simply not the kind to have a friendly chat with the ambassador of a country with which his is at war. That would mean that Chancellor Rumiantsev is the only contact between them.”
“What are you getting at, Abigail?” Baring asked, frowning.
Abigail watched him doubtfully, wondering whether the frown betokened puzzlement, distaste for a woman mixing herself into politics, or, worse, a feeling that she was being disloyal to England. Nonetheless, she spoke firmly. “Mr. St. Eyre and Lord Kevern said that they believed Lord Castlereagh and Lord Liverpool might be willing to have direct talks with the commission about making peace, but someone must make sure that Albert and Mr. Adams know this possibility exists. If Rumiantsev will not tell them and Lord Cathcart believes they are set on Russian mediation, how are they to find out and request permission from the President to negotiate directly with England?”
“Hmmm.” Baring’s wordless remark was thoughtful, not accusatory.
Relieved, Abigail continued eagerly. “I would gladly write to Albert about it, but what in the world could he in turn write to Mr. Madison—that some woman in England had told him Rumiantsev was lying to them and that the British government would consider direct negotiations? Can you imagine the President’s reaction?”
Baring burst out laughing. “Madison might be one of the few men who would listen. He knows the value of his Dolley. But I see your point, Abigail. Yes indeed, I see your point. I have never known St. Eyre to be wrong when he offers an opinion, but it will be better if I write to Castlereagh and get a statement directly from him. When I have an answer, you may be sure I will write to Gallatin. I must write to him in any case.” He paused and stared thoughtfully past Abigail, then looked rather purposefully at her as he continued slowly, “If for some reason Lord Castlereagh does not wish me to make this communication, I will let you know and…er…I will leave it to your discretion—which I value very highly, my dear—to do as you think best.”
Abigail digested that last remark and the expression that accompanied it with a decided feeling of relief. Nonetheless, after a moment she asked, “You do believe it would be of benefit to England as well as to America to have peace? I know that—that some of my friends think I am prejudiced because of my long residence in America, but it seems to me from what I read in the papers that England also suffers from the limitation of trade.”
“It does indeed,” Baring repl
ied emphatically and without any hesitation. “The loss of the American market for our manufactured products has hurt business, and the depredations of the American privateers is disrupting trade with the West Indies and even South America. Peace would be of considerable benefit to this country.”
Her conscience salved and her determination set to do whatever she could to forward the peace effort, Abigail was now as ready to drop the subject as Baring was. She asked about Baring’s children and told him that her son would also be attending Westminster College when the term began. They chatted for only a few minutes, Abigail being conscious that her friend was a very busy man who would somehow have to make up the time he had spent with her. His parting from her was as friendly as ever, and he pressed her with such cordiality to let him know if she heard any further news that might relate to America that Abigail felt sure Alexander Baring did not regard her visit as a nuisance or a waste.
She drove off in the highest of spirits to Lackington’s bookstore. Having instructed the coachman that she would be some time in the shop, Abigail entered and then stood staring like a bumpkin. It was the sheer size that astounded her. Her shop could have fit into one corner of this huge emporium. The high room was filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of books, and above the large circular counter in the center of the room, the ceiling was open, showing balconies, also filled with books, rising to the roof of the building. However, when she gathered her wits and approached the counter to ask for Mr. Lackington, it soon became apparent that her direct management of her father’s business after his death had aroused a curiosity about her equal to her astonishment.
At first there was a little confusion because she gave her name as Lady Lydden rather than Abigail Lydden. She was told that Mr. Lackington had retired. But when she mentioned her letters and her order of books for America, she was recognized. Mr. Allen, the active partner, came to take her into his office, where she could wait while a messenger went off to tell Mr. Lackington she had arrived.
“But I do not wish to trouble him,” she protested. “I could go to him, if he is elderly or not well. He has been so very kind to me all these years—”
Mr. Allen smiled. “He is not a young man, but, praise God, his health is good. He comes to the shop now and again, particularly when a library has come into our hands, to value the books. I assure you he will enjoy this outing, and I know he wishes to meet you. He has become fond of you over the years, Missus—I mean, Lady Lydden.”
Obviously Mr. Lackington did not live far from his shop, because he came in just at that moment and trotted over quite briskly to kiss her hand and welcome her. He had also heard the tail end of Mr. Allen’s speech, because he smiled at him and said, “It is no doubt only in the United States that one can find a countess who not only manages a bookshop but can read Hebrew and Greek.” Then turning back to Abigail. “I am very pleased to meet you, Lady Lydden.”
“And I to meet you, Mr. Lackington. But why did you not tell me you were retired? There was no need for you to trouble yourself to transmit my orders. I could have written to Mr. Allen—or even to a good clerk.”
“It was no trouble,” he replied, patting her hand. “You had shocks and trouble enough and did not need the added worry that your orders would not be properly filled. It was a pleasure to correspond with so courageous and well educated a lady. And now, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I must arrange for shipping the books I ordered,” Abigail said, “but I would like to impose upon you personally just a little more, Mr. Lackington. I am very much afraid that this terrible, stupid war will grow worse and that trade will be cut off between England and America. You have always advised me most kindly about what to stock. I would like to buy and ship a stock in preparation for such an occurrence. I hope it will not happen, but if it does, my shop will have books to sell—and if it does not,” she finished smiling, “books do not spoil or grow stale, so I will have lost nothing.”
“Some go stale,” Allen remarked wryly.
“Not the ones I recommend,” Lackington said jocularly. Then he said to Abigail, “Let me first show you around the shop. Tastes must be different in America, and also there may be items that you know particular customers would like. Then let me give the matter of stock a little thought. Tomorrow or the next day you can come again, and we will discuss a list.”
There were, Abigail discovered, four more rooms in addition to the large central chamber and balconies that had amazed her. She was completely entranced and had quite a pile of books, as many for herself as for her customers in New York, when Mr. Lackington returned and asked if she would do him the honor of sharing a luncheon with him. She agreed with alacrity, knowing he would enjoy discussing the books she had selected. Actually, they became so lost in their literary conversation that Abigail realized she would not have time to go on to Hatchard’s bookstore, but it did not matter, for she could do that the next day.
Pleasantly tired, Abigail was happy to settle on the sofa with Sense and Sensibility when she arrived at the house on Mount Street. She had hardly begun to read when Arthur arrived and asked guiltily if she had been very bored.
“Not at all,” she responded cheerfully. “I was out all morning also, and have hardly had a chance to open my book.”
Arthur smiled, feeling relieved. He had never understood why women enjoyed ordering and being fitted for clothes. He found going to his tailor an unutterable bore, but he was grateful for the difference between the sexes, and he was grateful that Abigail was not like some women, who demanded male company even to go to a modiste. They said they needed a man’s opinion, but Arthur had always felt it was simply another device to exercise control over the men who believed they ruled the roost. Not that Abigail seemed to want to tie him to her apron strings, he thought. In fact, she seemed quite determined not to place any restrictions on him at all—and oddly, that did not please him as much as it should.
“I am glad you managed to amuse yourself so well,” Arthur said, “but where did you tell the shops to send their bills? I will pay them, of course—”
“Oh, no, you will not,” Abigail exclaimed forcefully. “I do not buy what I cannot afford to pay for myself. You had me at a disadvantage when you offered GoGo. I could not argue with you in front of the grooms and stableboys, and if you will not charge the Lydden estate with her price, I cannot force you. Unfortunately, I am already too fond of her to send her back to you, but you will not catch me unaware again.”
Arthur was somewhat taken aback by her vehemence, into which he could read only one meaning. “I did not mean to offend you, Abigail,” he said apologetically. “You cannot think I am trying to…to buy you. I only want to make you happy and to express my admiration and affection.”
A good part of Abigail’s violent refusal was owing to her fear that Arthur would discover that she had not been shopping and then would want to know what she had been doing, so she was happy to abandon the topic. She smiled at him and held out her hand. When he took it, she pulled him down toward her so she could kiss him.
“I know that you are not trying to buy me,” she murmured when their lips parted. “I was not offended, but—but it is better for me to pay my own way. Now, sit down and tell me what you have been doing. I am sure that will be much more interesting to me than my activities could be to you.”
Arthur laughed. “You are remarkably fair-minded, my love, but I must say that there is not much of interest to hear. There is, however, a good deal of tense expectation. Metternich is now known to be about to propose that Austria mediate a peace. I believe Perce mentioned that at the dinner.”
“Yes, he did,” Abigail agreed. She was delighted that she had diverted Arthur from her activities and was very willing to discuss Bonaparte or anything else that would interest him. “But I remember too that Perce seemed convinced that Bonaparte would not accept.”
“Oh, he may accept a meeting to discuss a peace,” Arthur said, “because his army is compo
sed of raw recruits and a longer truce may suit his purposes. I think that in the end he will refuse the terms offered—unless those terms are his own. We know what terms the Austrians have agreed to offer, but whether they stick to them or not depends on what happens in Spain. If Wellington wins a major victory there, the agreed terms will be offered, and Austria will almost certainly join Russia and Prussia if Bonaparte does not accept them. Unfortunately, if Wellington should lose or be unable to draw the French into a conclusive battle, Russia and Prussia might agree to even more lenient terms, and Austria’s declaration of war would become much more doubtful.”
“How likely is a victory in Spain?” Abigail asked.
“Quite likely,” Arthur replied. “That is what has everyone chewing his fingernails. Wellington is a brilliant general. He has outflanked the French by getting the army over what were considered impassable roads in the Trás os Montes Mountains, and he has crossed the Ebro with only a few skirmishes that have cost virtually no casualties. But whether he will be able to bring the French to battle in time cannot be known.”
“If Wellington drives the French out of Spain and Austria joins the war,” Abigail remarked thoughtfully, “you will have Bonaparte between the jaws of a pincer. Surely then he will make peace.”
She was thinking that if the war in Europe ended, there would be less need for American grain and cattle to feed the troops in Spain, so England would be less indulgent about allowing trade to continue despite the war. Worse yet, Britain’s navy would no longer be occupied in fighting French ships and keeping European ports blockaded. The full force of the navy could be exerted against American shipping, and the transports, now so busy bringing men to Spain and other places in Europe, could be employed to carry war-hardened veterans to Canada to fight the ill-trained American militiamen.
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