Lady Madeline's Folly

by Joan Smith

  "It will be, Henry. You haven't been initiated into the inner doings yet. If you were reading the dispatch boxes that come for Papa instead of his dull stuff from the county, you would be fascinated. I wish you could come with me this afternoon."

  "Eskott will take care of you. He has earned some reward, after last night."

  "Yes, but I would have a better time with you."

  This won her a hurried kiss before Henry returned to his work.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Lady Madeline enjoyed her afternoon under the eaves of Westminster, despite the poor view of the proceedings be­low. Eskott put himself out to be entertaining. It was only her father's speech they listened to with any attention. The rest of the time she was beguiled with the latest gossip, a matter on which she had fallen behind in recent weeks.

  "They say Mrs. Jordan is threatening to publish the Duke of Clarence's letters if he don't ante up a better settlement on her," Eskott mentioned. "That should make entertaining reading. Twenty years of them."

  "What price is she asking for silence?"

  "Fifteen hundred a year for herself, the same for the children, and all manner of perks. She won't have to display her aging charms on the boards, if she's successful. Sad all the same—twenty years shot to hell."

  "She's thrown over, and he will take to himself a tender young wife."

  "If he can find anyone to have him. The girls are turning him off in droves. Miss Long, Miss Mercer, Lady Berkeley, Meg Elphinstone. She is the latest he has in his eye. Lord Keith, her father, will never hear of it. As a seaman himself, he has too shrewd a notion of a sailor's morals."

  "I expect he has a shrewd idea too that Clarence will never inherit the throne, or he'd hand her over fast enough, morals or no."

  "It might be the young lady herself who objects. Your breed seem singularly uninterested in social advancement this season."

  "Is that, by any chance, a reference to my cousin Henry?"

  "Whatever gave you that idea?" he asked sardonically.

  "I can't imagine, unless it is the sly way you said it. I wish you will quit casting out lures to him. He is such an innocent soul he half thinks you mean it."

  "You are such an innocent babe, you think I don't."

  "Eskott, how horrid of you, trying to steal my beau."

  "The fellow needs a decent position if you mean to marry him. You are going to, aren't you?" he asked, regarding her with interest.

  "We shall see. I may be more interested in my social position than you think. He will attend Perceval's do this Friday at Downing Street, to throw him in the way of any influential gentlemen he has not yet met. I expect something will come of it."

  "If it don't, you can always toss your handkerchief at the Duke of Clarence. I wonder he hasn't been throwing himself into your saloon before now."

  They drove through the park before returning home, though it was not a popular spot in the winter months. It was Eskott's aim to discover if she had definitely settled on Henry. He found her strangely evasive, which was at least better than a firm commitment. When he invited her out again the next afternoon, however, she declined.

  "I'll see you at Downing Street on Friday then," he said, as he left her at her door.

  Henry was wearing his new black jacket for that important occasion, and looked even more dashing and handsome than usual, but Madeline did not let herself be diverted by mere admiration. She instructed him on how to perform at the prime minister's party. There would be gentlemen from both political sides there. He was to concentrate on the proper side, making a good impression on Perceval if pos­sible.

  They went with Fordwich, and were admitted at the door by the porter. A steward draped in gold braid announced their arrival. They crossed the black and white marble floor to be received at the stairfront by Perceval and his hostess. Already the party was in progress.

  "We shan't stick together tonight, Henry," she told him. "You stay with my father. Capitalize on this opportunity to make yourself known. Every person in this room is important. I might almost say every important person in town is in this room. I shall circulate and puff you off to anyone who comes in my way."

  "There seems to be more Whigs than anything else," Henry said, scanning the crowd.

  "Everyone is here. I expect the Tories take it for a busi­ness meeting, and are huddled in the library at the head of the stairs, talking politics. Papa will rout them out. Ah, here is Eskott," she exclaimed as he approached. "I'll have a dance with him, and meet with you later."

  Before she broke away, Eskott joined himself to the party from St. James's Street. "What do you think is the reason for this sudden bout of hospitality on Perceval's part, Lord Fordwich?" he asked.

  "No idea. The party came as a surprise to us."

  "A farewell do, perhaps, as he will not much longer be in a position to offer the hospitality of Ten Downing Street?" Eskott suggested mischievously.

  "Wishful thinking on your part," Madeline answered swiftly. "You had your chance for a little power, and were foolish enough to turn it down only because the P.M. uses a style of letter you do not like. The poor man can't help it if he expresses himself like a washerwoman."

  "We are not likely to be contented with a little power, when the whole pie is within our grasp at last."

  "I shall draw you away, before Papa has an attack of apoplexy," Madeline said with an apologetic look at her father. "Why must you say such things, inciting him to anger?" she chided as they walked toward the dance floor.

  "He hears worse every day, if he is listening at all. Nice to see you behaving like your old self, and not sticking like a burr to your boy. His nose will be out of joint, not getting first dance with you."

  "We did not come here tonight for pleasure."

  "Was it for penance, as you voluntarily accepted my company? I shan't cavil. I am always happy to dance with you, whatever your reason."

  She enjoyed the dance, and the easy company of an old friend who knew what subjects amused her. She was not amused, however, when Eskott soon pointed out that Henry had fallen into conversation with the enemy Whigs.

  "The idiot!" she exclaimed. "I most particularly told him to talk to Eldon and van Sittart. Castlereagh too will prob­ably come into an important post before long."

  The word idiot, though spoken with feeling, was by no means an indication of lessening affection with Madeline. Eskott could not count the number of times she had casti­gated himself as one. Almost he was angry, to hear her speak so frankly of her new beau. "Who is the fellow he is talking to?" she asked. "I don't recognize him. Is he new, or just unimportant?"

  "He's one of the bucks from Ireland. Reed is his name. A head hunter for us, Maddie. You better go after Henry. Reed is more menacing to your cause than poor I, no matter how much you chide me."

  She hastened forward to detach Henry from this menace, using the excuse of wishing to dance with him. She burned his ears for choosing so unhelpful a conversational partner, at this, his greatest opportunity. "I had no idea who he was! He accosted me. You must have seen it."

  "I didn't notice. I was dancing."

  "You never notice me once Eskott enters a room," he sulked.

  "I thought you were with my father. I told you to stay with him."

  "He's gone to play cards with a bunch of old fellows. That Reed chap agrees with Eskott that this will be Per­ceval's last do at Number Ten."

  "Of course he does. He is a Whig. There—go and say how-do-you-do to William Lamb. You met him last week, remember?"

  She did not dance with Henry after all, but circulated through the crowd, chatting to friends. She was busy throughout the evening to make Henry known to anyone who could help him, but of course nothing specific in the line of an offer would be mentioned at a polite party. Henry was rather disgruntled when they got back home, becoming impatient with the perpetual delays.

  "You must do something for yourself, Henry," she pointed out. "I have got you an entrée to th
e prime minister's home. What do you expect of me, to dun him outright for a job for you?"

  "Of course not. I appreciate your efforts. I didn't mean to cast any slight on you."

  "Well then, you have met everyone. Go to call on some of them tomorrow. Tell them you are open to an offer. Something will come from it."

  "I am not in the custom of going, hat in hand, begging."

  "Maybe it is time you got in the habit then," she said angrily. Definitely Henry was less agreeable to her that night. He looked very sulky and was behaving with a child­ishness that displeased her. His conversation was not so amusing as Eskott's after all, or that of any of her old set.

  "I'm sorry, love. It is only the delay that irritates me. I hoped we might be able to be married in June. I know we said a year, but seeing you every day..." He put his arms around her, pulling her to him for a passionate embrace, murmuring soft words of desire and impatience. It was enjoyable enough to smooth her ruffled feathers, to make her forget his peevishness.

  In the morning, there was a new development at St. James's Street. An unofficial cabinet meeting was taking place, to decide what was to be done about Wellesley. Perceval was not present.

  "Wellesley has advised the regent to bring in Lords Castlereagh and Canning to strengthen the cabinet," Eldon told Fordwich, his head wagging in displeasure. "I for one am determined to resign if Wellesley does not. I hope we are all agreed upon it. If we act as one, the regent must accept our verdict. Our first allegiance is to our prime min­ister, and Perceval is still that. We owe it to the office, if not to the man. How is he expected to command, with Wellesley smirking at him from the corner, his resignation refused by the regent? The situation is intolerable."

  "His resignation has been turned down once," Tilsit men­tioned.

  "A formality only, indicating the prince's wishes. Of course he can resign if he really wants to. A man can always claim ill health, use a gentleman's excuse."

  "The prince might use it as an excuse to turn us out of office," Fordwich warned. "At this time, with the Whigs waiting like hawks to pounce, we would be better advised to use discretion."

  His words, though listened to, were not followed. After an hour's heated debate, it was decided to present their ultimatum to the prince regent. They requested Perceval himself to come and do it. A part of the cabinet went with him, and the others remained behind to hear the outcome after Perceval returned. While they were still assembled, Eskott dropped around for a purely social visit with the ladies.

  He noticed the collection of hats and gloves in the hall­way, and asked Madeline, when he joined her and Lady Margaret in a smaller parlor, what was afoot.

  "Nothing you would be interested in," she replied, with a laughing eye.

  "Aha, the cat is in with the pigeons now. I cannot think what the old fellows are about, presenting their ultimatum in such stringent terms. Not necessary either. The prince would not be allowed to accept Canning, whatever about Castlereagh. Canning is adamant on the matter of Catholic Emancipation, and Hertford don't allow Prinney to approve of it this year."

  "How did you know all about it? It only happened this morning," Lady Margaret exclaimed. "I didn't hear a word of it myself till I sneaked up and listened from the parlor next door. It is supposed to be a great secret, Eskott. Who is the spy, eh?"

  "It was overheard last night at Ten Downing. The name Canning was being whispered in every corner and Castle­reagh actually cropped out into a smile. He has teeth. I hadn't realized it before."

  "The ministers are all too discreet to discuss it openly at a party. I daresay they have known it was coming for a fortnight, but the decision to resign if Wellesley don't was only made today."

  "Well, now you see, I didn't know that was the deal. My understanding was that they would threaten to resign if Canning was invited in, and that was only conjecture, to be sure. We knew Perceval would insist on some hard ac­tion. His present position is untenable."

  "You see how he learns our secrets," Madeline said to her aunt. "Now he will suddenly find he has to leave—he has forgotten to feed his cat—but his intention is to dart to Grey and Grenville and Brougham with the story. We must be more discreet in future, Auntie."

  "To be sure we must, though it won't remain a secret for long if the resignation is accepted. Will it be, Eskott?"

  "No such luck. Wellesley is too crafty to split the party wide open over himself. Too damaging for his future pros­pects. He'll leave, for the time being, and woe betide those who have opposed him when he does get into power. He'll resign, I expect."

  "No woolsack for you this year, my friend," Madeline said.

  "All things come to those who wait. Speaking of waiting, where is Henry today?"

  "He is not working today. He usually takes Saturdays off to look after his own business matters."

  "Having his curls trimmed, is he? As you are left alone and pining, might I induce you to come over and help me entertain a bishop this afternoon? A demmed dull dog, who is battening himself and his family on me for the week. You and Lady Margaret come to tea and amuse the ladies for me."

  "I thought you would enjoy that part of the visit yourself," Madeline said with a pert smile.

  "You wouldn't think so if you had got a look at the ladies in question. Bring your Bibles, and any stray hymnals you have lying about the house. Be sure to wear two or three shawls too, if you plan to appear in that dashing gown, Maddie."

  "This modest old thing? Why there isn't a square inch of my sinful flesh showing. What's wrong with it?"

  "It clings. It is clear to the most disinterested observer that you have a waist. The bishop's ladies wear theirs hang­ing loose. I suspect the daughter might have something worth seeing too, if she weren't so bundled up in blankets. I don't know whether it was her or her mama who draped my fine Grecian nude statue of Aphrodite in a shawl. I am blaming it on Maude, the daughter."

  "Shall we oblige Eskott, Auntie?" Madeline asked. "We might as well. I have nothing better to do, and will end up ordering a new gown if I go to Bond Street."

  Lady Margaret was delighted to see a new closeness springing up between Eskott and Madeline. "We'll be happy to go. What time do you want us?"

  "Three will be fine. Any gossip you can scrape together regarding the outcome of the visit to Carlton House will be very acceptable too. The ladies are interested in politics."

  "No doubt you will tell us when we arrive what happened," Madeline said. "You appear to know as much about it as we do."

  "We stop at nothing to find out what you are up to, in order to exploit all opportunities for making mischief. I may be sitting on that woolsack yet. I must go now and feed my cat. See you at three."

  Madeline and Margaret exchanged a knowing nod at his true errand—off to report to Grey and Grenville. The little smile on Madeline's face caused her aunt to hope she was noticing how well Eskott looked that morning. The excite­ment of the pending cabinet resignation had lent a glow to his eyes, a heightening to his usually rather pale complexion.

  "He would make an excellent minister, would he not?" Margaret asked innocently.

  Her niece was not listening. Her next speech showed it clearly. "How did he know about the resignation? I'm sure it was not spoken of last night."

  "He didn't know, he guessed."

  "But how did he guess so accurately? I only had an inkling myself because I happened to look over Henry's shoulder at a letter he was writing for Papa that alluded to it. Even that did not use the word resignation, but last resort, which I took to mean resignation."

  "There could be a leak in the ship of state. I have often heard your father tell of such a thing during the days of Pitt's—the younger Pitt's, regime. Thurwell was the fellow doing it, I believe. They caught him red-handed. Just as he was swearing to Pitt he was innocent, a page boy came in and handed him his hat—told him he had left it in some chamber where the Whigs were known to be meeting. Sher­idan and Fox were in on it. What a storm it caused. Thurwell w
as after some great position for himself, and like the pres­ent situation, the government was expected to fall at any moment. It usually seems to bring the lower forms of bugs out of the woodwork, to scavenge for scraps. I'll mention it to Fordwich, and see what he thinks."

  "Yes, I think we had better do that."

  "It won't be necessary to mention we were goose enough to confirm Eskott's suspicions."

  "I think not, but we must be more discreet from now on."

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  They told Fordwich their fears. He was concerned at the possibility of a leak in the cabinet, but in the end concluded that none of his associates was capable of such wanton treachery as Eskott's knowledge would indicate.

  "Someone let an indiscreet word drop at Perceval's party. Parties are always dangerous, with so much wine flowing. We ought not to attend them when delicate negotiations are going forth. If he had been told by anyone, he would have had the thing straight. Our plan was not to resign if Canning was invited in, but if Wellesley did not resign. But he is resigning so that is an end to it."

  Lord Wellesley was soon driving up to Carlton House in full dress, to hand the seals of his office over to the regent, who expressed every distaste for the business. This success went to the cabinet's head, and they began preparing other nasty surprises for the beleaguered prince.

  It was known in a vague, general way that something else was brewing, but the precise nature of it was unclear to the Whigs. The excitement was enough to give an old man, which Fordwich was, an acute case of indigestion. He was not so incapacitated as to be left out of affairs entirely. He was sent to his bed by the prince's own physician. Sir William Knighton, where his colleagues called daily and also dispatched to him vast boxes of correspondence to keep him abreast of developments.

  The precarious state of the party did not restrict social doings in the least. Eskott still had two bishop's daughters and one wife to be entertained. They were vastly dull crea­tures, Lady Margaret declared, but she was agreeable to show them around the town when Madeline suggested it. Indeed she was pleasantly surprised at such condescension from Madeline. She did not realize Eskott was owed a special favor for having rescued Henry. She did know Henry was busier than usual with Fordwich home in bed, and sincerely hoped the absence of his handsome face would put him a little out of Maddie's mind.