SH02_Hugh Kenrick

by Edward Cline

  His sight stopped, though, on the grave face of Hugh Kenrick, who seemed to regard him as though he were some kind of unnatural phenomenon. He smiled and nodded once to the unexpected visitor. No doubt the boy would write home, and the Earl of Danvers would know that he had kept his promise to argue for more stringent trade restrictions, especially as they concerned colonial trade. He doffed his hat once, then turned to continue his harangue.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, pivoting around with both hands extended in dramatic helplessness, “must I ask these questions? Does the beadle instruct the university? Does the postilion choose his employer’s destination? Does the bailiff counsel the magistrate?” He paused. “No!” he exclaimed with vehemence. “Should the colonials be permitted to advise us of our business? No! This is a custom unwisely indulged and which must be corrected! They must be reminded as civilly but as strenuously as possible that they are residents of that far land at this nation’s leisure, pleasure, expense, and tolerance! This nation’s, and His Majesty’s! They wish us to respect their rights. Well, and why not? We would not deny them those rights. But, if they wish a greater role in the public affairs of this empire, let them repatriate themselves to this fair island, and queue up at the polling places—here!—where they may exercise those native rights on the soil from which they and those rights have sprung!”

  Again the benches cheered, but Sir Henoch waved his hands to silence his supporters. “Yes! For that is the nub of the matter! Here—” again the finger stabbed downward—“they will find no special circumstances, no calculated abridgment of their rights! There—” again the finger stabbed west—“in New York, and in Boston, in Philadelphia, and Williamsburg, and Charleston, they find themselves in special circumstances that necessitate abridgment, and like it not! But—they elect to be there, and not here! And if they cannot purchase this simple reasoning, if they persist in pelting us with petitions, memorials, and remonstrances, I say it must be the time to forget civility, and chastise the colonials as good parents would wisely chastise wayward and misbehaved children!”

  In the midst of another round of cheering, one man rose in the benches opposite Sir Henoch. The Speaker, from his raised throne over the busy clerks, noticed him and nodded to him. He recognized the individual as Mr. Herbert, member for Ruxton.

  Mr. Herbert waited until all eyes were on him, then said, addressing the Speaker, “May I remind the gentleman over there that we are here to debate, I hope in time in this committee, what portion of the likely war debt we may decently assign the North American colonies, and how this House may help them assume that responsibility? The gentleman’s sulfurous outrage seems out of proportion to the modest proposal to which he replies. We are, after all, at war with the French—or will be—and not with the colonies! Or has Sir Henoch been privileged to see an Admiralty plan for the blockading of Boston and New York harbors?”

  The House laughed, and Sir Henoch’s laugh was the heartiest. In a gesture of exaggerated humility, he bowed to Mr. Herbert and doffed his hat. “You are so right, sir! Will the House please forgive me my enthusiasm, my passion, and my misfired patriotism? I leave the floor so that the debate on the particulars of finance may continue.” He then bowed in thanks to the Speaker.

  Sir Henoch plumped down on his seat. He had accomplished his purpose, which was to put many members of the Commons in a certain rigid frame of mind in regard to the colonies; the particulars, for the moment, did not interest him. He leaned closer to Mr. Kemp, the member for Harbin, another pocket borough, and muttered, “Not yet, I don’t doubt!”

  Mr. Kemp frowned and shook his head. “Not yet? What don’t you doubt, sir?”

  Sir Henoch managed to look sagely melancholy. “Someday,” he answered, gesturing to the austere hall at large, “this great wapentake may need to sanction an extended bit of westering to prune and trim our Britannic flora.”

  Kemp scowled with impatience. “Oh? So we’re scratching our backs on that post again, are we?” He sighed. “You make too much of the matter, sir. I’ll hear no more of it, thank you. ’tis but idle card game chatter.”

  Sir Henoch shrugged, and turned to listen to the next speaker. “For the nonce, sir,” he said to himself. “For the nonce.”

  * * *

  The debates droned on past noon. Sir Henoch’s calculated outburst, which was in answer to another member’s proposed bill for relaxing restrictions on some imported manufactured items of colonial origin—among them, hats—was followed by verbal exchanges on a series of minor bills. These ranged in subject from an increase in the number of officers in the Scottish customs machinery, to an extraordinary levy on imported peacock feathers, to the appointment of a committee to study whether or not the ground powder of Abyssinian oryx horns, said by many physicians to possess remarkable purgative qualities, ought to be admitted duty-free. The Commons wished to dispose of these petit matters before turning in earnest to the subject of William Pitt’s speech of the day before attacking Newcastle’s proposed Hessian treaty.

  Many of the nearly six hundred members took an impromptu recess from the proceedings and from the airless hall to repair to nearby taverns for tea, ale, and dinner. Others milled about outside in the Palace Yard. The day was gray and damp, and the House’s servants had set up burning barrels in the Yard for members to warm themselves over.

  Sir Henoch Pannell and Mr. Kemp emerged from St. Stephen’s Chapel and took a turn around the Yard to warm their limbs. “I’ll say it again,” said the member for Harbin, “you make too much of it. And at a bad time. They’re all still dazzled by Mr. Pitt’s declaiming against those subsidies. Your words were forceful, though not, I’m afraid, as memorable as his will be. I must agree with Mr. Herbert that your ardor was disproportionate. The subject was a mole, and you advocated eliminating it with a howitzer!”

  Sir Henoch finished lighting his pipe, then said, “True, sir. But my words were forceful enough. Did you not observe our brothers? There’s the memory I care about! You know that the ember of a notion can sit for a long time in the ashes of a mind, and then, with the right draft, burst into a sudden flame that can set that mind on fire!”

  Kemp wrinkled his face. “What a pretty sentiment, Sir Henoch! Have you been having tea and talk at Twickenham with our brother Mr. Walpole?”

  “’twas my own thought, Mr. Kemp,” growled Pannell, “and you’d do well to mark its truth.” He saw someone watching them, and nudged his companion with an elbow. “Ah! Here’s a notable-to-be!”

  Hugh Kenrick had also left the hall for fresh air, and had been wandering around the Yard studying the men who governed the country. He stopped when he saw Pannell and Mr. Kemp approach. The member for Canovan bowed and made the introductions. “Well, milord,” he asked, “how did you find my speech?”

  “I found it interesting, sir,” replied Hugh.

  “Interesting? Thank you, milord.”

  Hugh frowned. “But strangely off the mark. It is my understanding that the colonies were not settled by any policy of government, at any time, but chiefly by men wanting to put some distance between themselves and the Crown and its policies. Your speech created an impression contrary to the recorded facts. I am not widely read in the subject, but I believe that what I have so far encountered in my limited exposure to it gives me leave to conclude that your analogy of ‘Britannic flora’ has no, well, roots.”

  Kemp chuckled, and rolled his eyes. “Well, my botanist friend,” he said to his companion, “how will you answer that charge?”

  Sir Henoch gave the member for Harbin an evil look, then looked blameless as he addressed Hugh Kenrick. “I’m sorry if I left you with that impression, milord. I don’t deny the facts. However, these long-late expatriates of whom you speak adopted English law to order their lives—and what better polity could they have adopted? How would they have fared if they had borrowed the French, or the Spanish, or the German modes—and in time accepted English customs and ways, and, I might add, English protection—at their invita
tion, permit me to remind you, milord—and their lands and destinies became, in effect, virtual English colonies and concerns.” He shook his head. “But, lack-a-day, milord! The facts and circumstances are now immaterial, as ghostly as the claims of the Jacobites!”

  Hugh’s brow knitted in thought. “We may adopt French fashions, Sir Henoch, and French art, and French food, and French social graces, but our doing so would not constitute an invitation to the French to invade England, or to punish it, or to chastise it, or to otherwise treat this nation as its colony.”

  Sir Henoch hummed. “It’s a very inexoteric subject, milord. We could stand here all day, tossing this ball back and forth. Forgive me for saying so, but I am more widely read in the subject, and I don’t believe a single history writer I have encountered has got it all right.”

  “I do agree with you that English law was the best polity to adopt, even though I think there are dubious aspects to it. And I agree with you that the writers have not yet found the correct prism of interpretation.”

  “You are gracious for saying so, milord.”

  Hugh studied the member for Canovan for a moment, then asked, “You are the one who hanged Romney Marsh, are you not?”

  A moment passed before Sir Henoch could reply. An unsavory feeling curdled his nerves. “I did not hang that criminal, milord,” he said. “That was the lawful duty of the sheriff of Falmouth, in obedience to a court’s instructions. I merely caught him and handed him over for justice.” He collected some courage, and asked, “Why do you ask, milord?”

  “Romney Marsh is a ghost I would like to have conjured up this morning. It would have been most interesting to hear what reply he would have made to your speech.”

  Sir Henoch permitted himself a mocking smile. “Am I to take it, milord, that, like your father, you have read that scurrilous fiction of his?”

  “Hyperborea? Yes, sir, I have. Many times.”

  “And also found it engaging?”

  “Engaging? No, sir. Enthralling, yes.” The city’s church bells marked one o’clock. Hugh checked his pocket watch, then said, “I must go now, Sir Henoch. I shall try to attend more of the sessions, my schedule permitting. I look forward to hearing you speak again.” He nodded to both men, turned, and walked away.

  The men bowed to the retreating figure. Sir Henoch’s eyes narrowed into slits. “There goes a republican puppy!” he remarked, some anger in his words.

  “So to speak,” replied Kemp, not understanding the anger.

  The pair moved to join a group of other members hovering around one of the burning barrels. The member for Norwich commented with gentle unkindness on Sir Henoch’s speech. “A fiery piece of hack-work, Sir Henoch, worthy of the ravings of an inmate of Bedlam—but,” he added, “very keen in its construction!”

  The member for Bristol seconded those remarks, and added, “We ought to be discreet in what we say about the colonials, Sir Henoch. Mr. Herbert is not only a friend of the member who proposed the bill you questioned, but he acts as agent for some of the larger purses in New York and Philadelphia. Your sentiments are likely to be conveyed to those parties on the next mail packet.”

  The member for Nottingham ventured, “And—we may need to approve a credit of perhaps a million to the government, Sir Henoch, and that may be barely enough to raise a proper army and outfit the navy. The colonials, whatever their shortcomings, may be obliged to make up the difference in the ranks, and in the accounts.”

  “What is wanted, sir,” volunteered a member for Oxford University, “is a dollop or two of commiseration, not a brace of cudgels!”

  Sir Henoch snorted violently. “The colonies ought to be lunged like any Arabian mount, sirs!” he roared. “Kept at a distance in politics, and exercised vigorously, until they learn who is the master, so that they may be led and ridden more easily!”

  This explosion of emotion startled the men around the barrel. They all knew that the man was not playing theatrics now, as he had for the benches.

  Sir Henoch went on, waving his pipe in the air. “No, sirs! The colonies have not been lunged vigorously enough! They have been allowed to acquire an elevated sense of themselves!” He snorted again. “Yes, sirs! The day will come, I fear, when we will too late realize that their impudence has been spawned by our neglect and indulgence!”

  A moment passed. The other men glanced at each other. Their colleague’s fit seemed to have passed, and it was safe enough to speak. “‘An elevated sense of themselves,’” mused the member for Norwich. “A quillety way of putting the matter, Sir Henoch. My compliments.” He saw the stolid features of his adversary soften a little. “Why, it could become the theme for a great speech!”

  “As indeed it will become, some day, sir!” answered Sir Henoch. “And I’ll be the one to deliver that oration! No cribbing from any of you now, or I’ll defame you!” he added, half in jest, half in warning.

  Kemp said, rubbing his hands together over the barrel’s flames, “There’s no chance of that, sir. Only you seem to know the lay of the notion.”

  Chapter 17: The Sparrowhawk

  WHEN HUGH RETURNED TO WINDRIDGE COURT, HULTON HANDED HIM two letters. The butler said, “The envelope in your father’s hand was delivered by a boy from Mr. Worley’s establishment, milord, about an hour after you left for the Commons. The second came not half an hour ago, and was delivered by a Negro gentleman.” Hugh thanked Hulton and took the letters to his room. The second envelope read, “Hon. Hugh Kenrick, Bart., Windridge Court.” He opened it first. It was from Glorious Swain.

  “Sir: Greetings! Good news, and bad. The members of the Society will not alter the rule of seven. They will, however, consider admitting you as an auditor of our meetings, with no privileges of participation. You would be but an honorary member, with no right to vote and no voice in Society affairs. They argue that I know your identity (which I did not divulge), and you, mine, and so this fact violates a cardinal rule of membership, which is mutual anonymity. However, I have given you my highest recommendation. They have asked that you submit an essay to them, on any subject matter, advocating some novel or unconventional notion, so that we may together judge the quality of your cogitations. Meet me tonight at eight of the clock at Ranelagh, if you can. I have an occasional position there as waiter. If this is not convenient, leave a message with Mabel Petty at the Fruit Wench fixing another time and place. Your grateful servant, Glorious Swain.”

  This letter left Hugh grinning. His father’s, though, put him in a more somber mood. It was dated four days earlier.

  “My dear son, Hugh: This letter may reach you before or after the fact. The expected hostilities with France (and perhaps even with Frederick of Prussia, if he combines with France—what inconstant enemies!) have moved your uncle to decide to attend Lords for an indefinite length of time. He is preparing for the journey even as I pen this caution. He feels it necessary to commune with his fellow ermines and comites to form a better opinion of the state of affairs and perhaps convene with them to weave a policy more to his liking. Please, I beg of you, do not provoke him on any matter. This will prove, I am certain, a difficult task for you, and if you accomplish it, I shall be both proud of you, and relieved.

  “I would come up to London myself, as I would like to, but I have deferred for too long my turn as justice of the peace in these parts and must fulfill that obligation. There is also urgent business to see to in Weymouth and Poole. Moreover, I have decided to set aside fallow parts of the estate for the cultivation of conies, and have been busy planning and supervising the digging of warrens and hutches for them. I anticipate an interruption (or, at least, a reduction) in the importation of American pelts and furs, and as the tailors and clothiers here will be wanting substitutes for their trade, the revenue to us from the hair of these prolific rabbits may prove lucrative. The meat also can fetch a nice price in the markets. A hundred gross of coney skins, at current prices, can net in excess of £30, and some forty thousand or so of them could keep us in silve
r for the duration of the war, which I fear will be a long and dreadful contest, if Newcastle retains the seals. Neither your uncle nor I expect him to; however, no matter when he resigns, his successor will need to sweep the stables clean of his blunders.

  “In any event, you and your uncle need only tolerate each other for two weeks. Though your uncle is in a foul temper, he has given me his promise not to bait you. I have said to him, and I say to you, that I wish sincerely that you and he could establish some form of amity. And, I say to you, in strictest confidence, that such an amity can only be of your design. Your uncle is, after all, an earl, and he subscribes to the idea that earls vanish in a puff of phlogiston if they practice the witchcraft of reasonableness, never to be seen again (except by God and his bailiffs). In two weeks, though, you will be coming down for the holidays. I have had nothing but glowing reports about you from Dr. Comyn and Mr. Worley, and I trust that you harbor no apprehension about your welcome. Your mother and I miss you sorely. We are planning some festivity in your honor (on top of the usual Epiphanic folderol!), and we will invite some neighbors here whom your uncle would otherwise scare off or rather not see. You can regale the company with your adventures in that great rabbit warren known as London.

  “Please have Mr. Hulton make preparations for your uncle’s arrival. The kitchen there has a list of his favorite fare and beverages, and these must be restocked. Your uncle is bringing his own major-domo, Alden Curle. You should warn Mr. Hulton that he may need to defer to Mr. Curle for the length of your uncle’s stay…”