Scandal and Secrets

by Christopher Hoare

“He needs a divorce,” Roberta said. “And I am firm in my resolve not to offer him one.” She had learned of this necessity quite recently. She had been perfectly healthy these past weeks, but of late had found it impossible to contemplate eating breakfast. Aunt Nelly had immediately diagnosed the ailment as morning sickness. If it truly was, she now had the responsibility of making decisions for Lord Bond’s child as well as herself.

  Mr. Holmes coloured slightly. “Ahem. I am glad that you can look upon the matter in so business-like a manner, My Lady. He will doubtless send investigators to Clydebank in the hope of finding such evidence.”

  “What evidence is this, Dearie?” Aunt Nelly asked.

  Roberta answered her. “There is only one requirement for the Parliament to grant a divorce, Aunty. One of the parties must be found guilty of adultery. It will not be me.”

  Aunt Nelly put her hands to her face.

  Mr. Holmes appeared equally embarrassed. “Unfortunately it is not impossible for the Marquess to buy falsified evidence, although he will not be so ungentlemanly when his temper has had time to cool. But until then you must be on your guard against slanders.”

  “Yes,” Roberta agreed. “But you still address me as ‘my lady’?”

  “The title will stay with the marriage, and the mensa does not dissolve it. You are still Lady Bond.” Mr. Holmes directed his attention to his plate but Roberta could see he debated with himself whether to raise another point.

  “But if the Marquess could disinherit Lord Bond, the title would go, I presume.”

  He looked up. “Yes. I was not sure whether to mention his next action in that direction, but I see I must. The only successful instance of disinheritance that is known to my legal friends is the Baron Berkeley affair in the fifteenth century. The nobleman had no heirs of his blood but wanted to disinherit his younger brother who had married . . .” He seemed uncomfortable and took a drink of wine before continuing. “. . . beneath his status. The only way he was able to slight the brother was to settle the castle, lands, and titles upon the king himself, and this kept any and all Berkeley heirs from the inheritance for two generations until King Edward the Sixth died without issue.”

  “But surely that is a desperate measure,” Roberta said. “It ends the Tiverton peerage―perhaps forever. Would he do such a thing?”

  “We do not know. Julian says he is fixated on the doctrine of the nobility of the blood and sees even a legitimate offspring as ‘Corrupting the Blood’ because you have no claim to a noble ancestor.”

  Aunt Nelly’s face darkened. “She has as good ancestors as he, fer all they has nae titles. They has nair been sae cruel to treat they’s bairns in sic a way.”

  Mr. Holmes smiled at her. “Too true, Miss Stephenson, but the peerage depends upon the notion.”

  “But you wrote that Lord Bond went to his political friends in London to fight the disinheritance,” Roberta said. “Can an act of Parliament not help him?”

  “There, I can offer you no definitive answer, My Lady. For all the common perceptions that mathematics is an arcane study, I feel the practice of law is far more obscure than my discipline―all precedent can count for little in the give and take of a court of law. It would be as if in mathematics the numeral four could one day be declared to be greater than five. That is why we want you to come to London, My Lady. You dazzled Napoleon―perhaps you could dazzle the House of Lords.”

  “Good Grief,” Roberta said. “I think you have set my stock too high―and I believe I had a less bigoted opponent in the Corsican―I doubt if he considered the Empire an institution that could be harmed by corruption of the blood.”

  “They says he have made butchers inter Princes,” Aunt Nelly said.

  “―and all my husband attempted is to turn an engineman’s daughter into a lady,” Roberta said with a twisted little laugh, and then had to bury her face into her napkin until her composure was safe.

  Chapter Nine

  Plans Proposed: Some Fail

  Roberta’s discussions with Mr. Holmes seemed to have brought her only more matters to consider with, from her point of view, little benefit from her present difficult situation. The next working day they sat in her office over a cup of tea. Mr. Holmes leaned forward confidentially. “Julian has been trying for an audience with the Prince Regent, but believes some official in his entourage has blocked his request.”

  “Why does he wish to be granted this audience?” Roberta said. “You told us that the Marquess surely cannot be planning to make the Prince his heir.”

  “You do not have the details correct, My Lady. The bequest would have to be to the reigning monarch, and as is well understood, His Majesty’s sanity is constantly in the balance. Julian believes the Prince would be in favour of not burdening his already troubled father with such a consideration. If the Prince, as his father’s regent, would decline to accept the planned bequest then the Marquess will have lost even his last attempt at disinheritance.”

  “So my husband suspects some ally of the Marquess has removed the request from the Prince’s correspondence. Surely such things do not happen in this day and age?”

  Mr. Holmes laughed shortly. “I am sorry to have to tell you that such is exactly the way things are done in this monarchy.”

  “Yes, all very vexing, but why does this require my attention?”

  “Because we are given to understand, on very good authority, that the Prince rather fancies himself as a worthy foe of Napoleon, and not just as the ruler of the Empire’s greatest enemy, but in a manner more . . . man to man, as it were.”

  “Good heavens, he would fight him in a duel? Such things have long died out have they not?”

  “But perhaps not in the Prince’s imagination. He procures and reads every scrap of information about Napoleon that he can find.”

  Roberta cocked her head. “And so you want me to write to His Royal Highness and tell him of my experience in Antwerp.”

  “No. Better than that. We want him to learn about your experience and send you a summons for an audience. No official in the Prince’s entourage can block that.”

  Roberta could hardly suppress a gasp. Who had she become, that she should be the familiar of both these monarchs? But she saw Lord Bond’s intention. “And when I am at the audience I should inform his Highness of the family feud and ask that the Marquess be discouraged from making his bequest?”

  Mr. Holmes nodded. “Exactly, My Lady.”

  At last, it seemed as if there were something she could do, other than sit and fret while distant others were rearranging her life. Not that the prospect of an interview with the Prince Regent was something she could take in her stride. What preparations must she make―what would she wear―but the answer to that question was clearly to hand. She must wear exactly the same finery that she had worn to meet Napoleon.

  “When will this be arranged? I am not at liberty to leave Clydebank whenever I wish. Three of the spitefuls will be launched within the next month, and then much work has to be supervised when the engines and boilers are fitted and the whole interior of the crew spaces must be built and placed. Then, Antiochus is under construction and I must see how faithfully the plans have been adjusted to the larger vessel. And then―”

  Mr. Holmes raised his hands. “Please, My Lady. One thing at a time. It may take some devious stratagems to find a way to place your experience before the Prince, and before that I must take you to Cambridge to meet an old professor of mine to discuss what can be done in the ecclesiastical court.”

  “Good heavens, must I become a reader at laws now?”

  Mr. Holmes chuckled decorously. “Not at all, Professor Marsh is noted as the most expert interpreter of canon law in England. We need to learn as much of the ecclesiastical laws and customs as we can for you to defend your marriage. If there is any possibility that the writ of mensa et thoro can be abrogated then you and your husband can resume . . .” His face reddened slightly. “Your married state.”

  “Well, I se
e no hurry for that. I am well served at the moment with having my husband kept away. Although it would be a great pleasure to see him again, and have him meet all my new friends. But I have more than enough interest already with which to occupy my days. The shipbuilding claims my whole life.”

  Mr. Holmes wagged his head. “I think I will keep that observation to myself when next I see your husband. He has often mentioned being impatient to see you again.”

  No doubt, Roberta thought. Although her attitude could easily be judged spiteful—indeed, she did so herself. She felt sure His Lordship was in dire straits without female company―since the Marquess was surely wise to ensure there was no possibility of her having agents watching to catch her husband in adultery. The thought brought on another. Where was Elise, these days?

  Roberta was in a somewhat lighter mood from her conversation, but when she arrived home Aunt Nelly had something with which to bring her down again. She brandished a rather inexpertly printed broadsheet. “Read this, my dear.”

  Roberta scanned the first paragraph. Has our red-haired femme fatale risen into the peerage of the land or has she not? The rumour circulating through all the London drawing rooms is that her husband is trying to divorce her.

  She slammed the sheet down. “Why, the vicious lies.”

  Aunt Nelly wagged her head. “Read on―there’s worse.”

  Since the lady was a month in London, why did no marriage announcement offer the date or parish in the city where the supposed marriage took place? Who was the officiating divine? Can we be judged too suspicious if we wonder who placed the announcement and if it has any truth to it at all?

  “How can I name the place of marriage?” Roberta said angrily. “That is a secret that must be kept from the French. They must learn nothing with which to connect myself or Lord Bond to the Mr. and Mrs. Paine that they surely already suspect were spies.”

  “Aye Lassie, I knaws, but there is already gossip about the town of a marriage that seems to ha’ nay bridegroom. Ye must find some person ye might safely tell who could silence such gossip.”

  “That is easy to say, but who do I go to as confidant in London? I think the idea that even more than one or two salons have discussed the fate of my marriage is complete exaggeration, but I did have friends there who were kind enough to me that they should be reassured of the truth.”

  Next Sunday the congregation at Old Kilpatrick had fewer of her friends and acquaintances who had worshipped with her of late. Even the pastor seemed to watch her with a jaundiced eye. Only one person seemed to treat her with the same respect, but perhaps that was only because Lady Catherine Colquhoun was known to be impatient with gossip, and may not have seen the offending rag.

  Roberta succeeded in offering her a seat in her carriage after the kirk and tested the waters as the team set them into motion. “I am somewhat in need of your advice, if I may presume to ask it, Lady Catherine.”

  Lady Catherine stared down her nose. “I make it an unshakable rule never to become involved in rumours and scandal. I hope you are not suggesting that you wish me to pronounce on something of a personal nature.”

  “No. Certainly not, My Lady.” Roberta leaned forward with a very reassuring smile―but alas, that was exactly what she had hoped to discuss. She thought quickly and recalled that Her Ladyship was known as a great patriot and reader of war news. “You expressed an interest in my diamond brooch, and I have felt very guilty about deceiving you about it. My husband bought it in Antwerp as I said, but I neglected to say how recently. Instead, I felt compelled to agree with your judgment that it was a much older acquisition.”

  Lady Catherine frowned at her. “How could that be possible? Surely he has no truck with our country’s enemies.”

  “Only with an intention to do them harm, I assure you, My Lady. The matter is a secret of national significance,” Roberta paused and leaned forward confidentially, “but I would not wish to burden you with it. It has a great bearing on the warships we build to the Admiralty’s order in the Clyde and at London on the Thames.”

  Lady Catherine’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed, I read in the better newspapers that the employment your father’s shipyard has provided has been a great boon to the city. Are the ships part of the secret you refer to, or is some other matter intended when you speak of national secrets? I would assume your position as your father’s confidant affords you knowledge of such matters.”

  “You are quite right, of course, the ships are central to my need for advice, but I believe there are some facts in connection with Antwerp that I could safely confide in you.”

  “Such as, Lady Bond?”

  “Both I and my Husband were in Antwerp during this last month of September. Indeed, the very unconventional nature of our marriage in that month was brought about by the need for us to travel there as man and wife.”

  “Good heavens. So the marriage is not . . .”

  “It was made as true to canon law and the scriptures as possible, but it took place aboard His Majesty’s frigate Medusa about twenty nautical miles off Flushing in the English Channel.”

  Lady Catherine shook her head. “Surely not. Such a service is contrary to ecclesiastical law.”

  “Lord Bond had prepared for the necessity with a special license from the Archbishop.” Roberta smiled. “He had been pressing his suit before that, but I had thought it wise to avoid listening to his proposal.”

  “Hmm.” Lady Catherine seemed to lose interest.

  “But our journey to Antwerp was very important for the naval war,” Roberta continued. “Perhaps I was not remiss to conceal the circumstance of my husband’s recent purchase of the jewel. The French must not hear of our presence on the Continent but I am sure you must have heard many such pieces of delicate information when Lord Colquhoun was alive.”

  Lady Catherine stiffened her back. “I can sympathize with you, my Dear, for being unable to offer customary detail of your marriage―no doubt causing some people of poor discretion to gossip about your private affairs―but I will under no circumstance be given to express an opinion to others on the matter. You have, I can tell, a great need for your husband’s presence in Clydebank, but it is a matter of no concern to me. You must rely upon the fortitude that must have sustained you during your perilous―secret―presence in Antwerp. Now I see we are approaching my gate. If you would be so good as to instruct your coachman to stop.”

  Chapter Ten

  A Meeting at Breakfast

  When Lord Bond entered the breakfast room, he found Symington already sitting there with a coffee and toast.

  “Good Lord, when did you arrive?”

  “Little more than a half hour ago. Last night’s train from Paddington was delayed with a locomotive problem and I had to knock up the innkeeper at Sampford Peverell to find a bed.” He filled his cup from a coffee decanter on the table. “Came into Tiverton with the carter this morning.”

  “Have you seen the Old Man?”

  Symington shook his head. “I don’t think he’s up yet.”

  Bond nodded and seated himself as the footman pushed in his chair.

  “Coffee this morning, My Lord?”

  “Yes, I think so. Just pour me a cup.”

  “Fresh ham, My Lord? And we have some brown eggs boiled if you’d like.”

  “Very well.” He dismissed the man with a raised hand and looked at Symington. “So, what do you have for me today?”

  Symington glanced toward the door. “Perhaps I should tell you of my Clydebank visit while we are alone. Your Lady sends you her most affectionate wishes.”

  “Yes. I wish she could.”

  “She is all for trying to meet the Prince, but she would like some instruction before she has to appear in the Royal Court.”

  “Good for her. There’s a great little trooper if ever there was one. I wonder if I could prevail on someone to take the train to Glasgow to discuss the etiquette with her.”

  “Who? Not me, I hope. I’m not good at that.”


  “No, I’ll have to think about asking someone else. Any progress with identifying the blighter who is keeping my letters from reaching the Prince?”

  “Not yet, but I am rather suspecting one of his chaplains.”

  Bond nodded. “It makes sense. The Old Man has a living or two he can offer for the service. Never trust a hungry priest.”

  “I have also received a letter from Professor Marsh. He is willing to consider discussing the cannon law around marriage for Lady Bond, if I will bring her to Cambridge myself.”

  “You think that necessary?”

  “I fear it will be before this mess is settled.”

  “The Old Man is a pest. I am not comfortable with my wife taking a legal part in our marriage . . . it is not natural. Dammit, it’s not done!”

  “I would advise it as necessary.”

  “Yes. Well, do your best. Spare her the minutiae as you can.” He winked. “How are her ships doing?”

  “Great guns, by all accounts. The Antiochus is starting to look like a hull, and there are three―I believe three―spitefuls fitting out for engines and lower deck arrangements in the hull. The steam cranes are moving all day lowering some bulkheads or boilers inside. She expects to begin sea trials for one of them by the end of the year.”

  “What’s that?” came a voice from the doorway. “Sea trials for what?” The Marquess came into the room carrying the latest Times.

  Both of them stood to offer their greetings.

  “Yes. Yes, I did sleep well. Why should I not? I have no guilty conscience.” The footman fussed over him as he made his way to the seat at the head of the table.

  “Eggs? Boiled eggs again? Make me an omelette s’il vous plait with that ham. Cook does know French cooking still, eh?”

  “Yes, My Lord.”