Earl of Shadows: A moving historical novel about two brothers in 18th century England

by Jacqueline Reiter

  ‘Let us just say I have nothing more pressing to do at present.’

  Until now William had only had time for fleeting visits to John’s sickbed; even those must have cost him, for John well knew how busy his brother was. John pushed himself up against the pillows. ‘I feel there is something you want to say to me.’

  ‘Is it too much to believe that I simply want to spend time with you?’ William protested, and laughed when John tilted his head back and turned his incredulous gaze to the ceiling. ‘Apparently I am far too transparent, although seeing you so much better gives me more pleasure than poring over Foreign Office reports or chairing Treasury committees. I have news for you, John, which will hasten your convalescence.’

  John’s mind raced through the possible options. ‘You’re reducing taxes for gentlemen with fractured shins?’

  ‘Lord Howe has left the Admiralty,’ William said, ignoring John’s comment. ‘He and the Navy Board did not agree on the way the Admiralty is run. He has submitted his resignation and the King has accepted it.’ Not knowing what kind of answer William was looking for, John contented himself with a noncommittal grunt. William looked proud. ‘We shall therefore require a replacement for Lord Howe.’

  ‘I’m ecstatic,’ John said flatly. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because I hope very much you will take Lord Howe’s place.’

  John took a moment to arrange the words in his head so that they made sense. The room felt suddenly very hot. ‘First Lord …’ His voice cracked. ‘First Lord of the Admiralty?’

  ‘What do you say to it?’ William crossed his legs, for all the world as though he had just offered John a game of chess.

  ‘I’m a soldier,’ John managed at last. ‘You need a sailor.’

  ‘In my opinion sailors are the least fitted men to head the Admiralty. A man who is not bred to the sea will be more likely to think generally about the needs of the service. Lord Howe has shown me I need a man I can trust in charge of our naval forces.’

  ‘But I have no experience. No knowledge.’

  ‘The Navy Board will supply that. You’ll manage.’

  ‘I’m no orator.’

  William twitched an eyebrow. ‘Leave the oratory to me.’ He reached across and laid a hand over John’s. His eyes glistened with sincerity. ‘I nearly lost you in the past few weeks. All I could think of was that I never told you how much I value you. You are my brother, you are my friend, and I trust you with my life. I believe you have already saved it on one occasion.’

  The raw feeling in William’s voice robbed John of the ability to speak. Gratitude overwhelmed him, but at the same time the prospect of Cabinet office – and such an office – terrified him. He knew nothing of ships or sailors, nothing. ‘There must be a better man.’

  ‘There is no man I would rather have than you,’ William replied.

  There was nothing John could say to that. He closed his eyes and tried to believe the spinning of his head was entirely due to his fever. ‘In that case, I accept.’

  William’s face cleared instantly. ‘You will not regret it. Although obviously you must prepare.’ William crossed to the bell-pull and gave it a tug. ‘The Comptroller of the Navy has sent some books, which you will wish to peruse before taking up your duties. I took the liberty of bringing them today.’ Two footmen laid a large wooden crate next to John’s sofa. William pulled up the lid to reveal at least a dozen thick octavos and several bulging leather folders tied with silk cord. ‘You will no doubt find it heavy going, but I imagine you have some time on your hands.’

  John stared at the contents of the box. ‘You said this would help me feel better.’

  ‘Could it be worse than Miss Townshend’s prattle?’ William asked. John blinked, then gave a slow grin.

  ‘Nothing could be worse than Miss Townshend’s prattle.’

  The door opened and Mary came in, pulling off her gloves, her straw hat hanging off one arm. She froze when she saw William; John supposed she had been expecting to find him still in the company of her mother and sister. William kissed her on each cheek.

  ‘My dear Lady Chatham,’ he said, ‘you will soon be moving into new lodgings.’

  ‘New lodgings?’ Mary repeated. William took her hands and spun her round.

  ‘Yes, and we shall practically be neighbours. Admiralty House!’

  Mary fired an incredulous glance at John. John beamed back. First Lord of the Admiralty! A new day – a new opportunity – was just beginning. He knew Mary would agree.

  ****

  Later that evening Mary came into John’s drawing room while the footmen unfolded a table for them and laid it out with a light supper of fresh rolls, cold meats and dried fruit. She poured John a glass of claret and carried it to him. John barely looked up as she sank onto the edge of his sofa. His injured leg rested on a cushion; his sound one was bent at the knee to form a rudimentary bookrest for an enormous leather-bound volume bristling with roughly-cut pages and bookmarks.

  Mary stroked his powdered hair back over the top of his ear. ‘Do you not think you have read enough?’

  He jumped as though he had not noticed her enter the room. ‘I have at least eight more volumes of this to work through.’

  John had unfolded a cross-section of a large ship of the line, with various observations and mathematical calculations scribbled into the margin. Mary stretched out a hand and folded the sheet back into the book. ‘You need to eat your supper.’

  She helped him off the sofa and supported him across the room to the supper table. Mary could feel him leaning heavily on her arm; she could feel, too, how hot his hand was on hers. At least his appetite was returning: even a week ago, John could not have sat down to supper without complaining of queasiness, but now he ate two buttered rolls and some cheese with every appearance of enjoyment. Mary picked at her food and listened to him talk.

  ‘William tells me there are unlikely to be many Cabinet meetings until I am better, but there may be some dockyard inspections to undertake, since there are several ships building. Admiralty House will not be ready for us for a few months: Lord Howe was having it fitted up for himself, but it is not yet ready. We might visit it, however, if you like.’

  Mary nodded. John was talking about visits to dockyards and touring new houses as though he had not just needed her help to walk across the room. She bent her head over her roll and concentrated on buttering it.

  ‘I understand the salary of the First Lord is generous, so we shall have no trouble procuring more servants, for Admiralty House is larger than Berkeley Square.’

  ‘You will have to work for it,’ Mary said, before she could stop herself. John peered at her over the rim of his wineglass.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The salary.’ Mary laid her roll back on the plate, untouched. ‘You will have to earn it.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ John said, his brow creasing between his eyes. ‘Naturally, there will be work to do.’

  Did he know how much? Mary glanced across at the open chest of books, the volume John had been reading – one of eight – lying on the pillow of his sofa. Visits to dockyards, ship launches, inspections … All that was very well, but what of Board meetings, and Cabinets, and court levees and drawing rooms? What if there was war? Could John stand being roused by despatches in the small hours of the morning? Could he make decisions on which the fate of nations might depend? Was he strong enough to take responsibility when things went wrong?

  She looked at him from under her eyelashes. He looked so happy. John had always wanted the opportunity to show his worth; she suspected he needed convincing of it as much as the rest of the world. Why, then, was she not more pleased for him?

  He looked anxiously at her. ‘Mary? Are you well?’

  She loved him too much: that was the problem. She wanted him to succeed, but she did not want to think of what might happen if William’s gift became a burden to him. ‘Just surprised, my love, that is all. I still cannot believe
it.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ John said, and his grin was Mary’s reward. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, filling it with all the hope and love in her heart. He was a Pitt, the Earl of Chatham no less. Politics was in his blood. So long as he and William kept together, all would be well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  February 1793

  Mary awoke to the sound of marching. She gazed up at the diamond pattern inlaid on the wooden bed canopy and wondered whether the echo of booted feet against gravel came from dream or reality. Then she remembered: today the Foot Guards marched to Greenwich to embark for Holland.

  She pushed off the coverlet and slipped out of bed. John was a sound sleeper, but he stirred and reached across for her. When his arms encountered nothing but empty air he opened his eyes and murmured, ‘Mary?’

  Mary padded to the window. A burst of chill air met her as she parted the curtains. ‘I am supposed to be at Greenwich in a few hours. Will you come?’

  ‘To Greenwich?’ John spoke as though Mary had suggested a jaunt to Africa. ‘I suppose that involves getting out of bed?’

  Outside Admiralty House, on Horse Guards Parade, Mary could just about make out the shadows of hundreds of men moving in formation. A dense fog prevented her seeing much, but the trembling glow of oil lamps glanced off white cross-belts and silvery musket-barrels. ‘Go back to sleep, John,’ she muttered, but her husband had already turned over, pulled the blanket over his ears and started snoring.

  Mary looked at him in exasperation, but tried to make allowances for the difficulty of the circumstances. Just over a month had passed since France had executed her King in the throes of revolution, three weeks since she had declared war on Britain. The Duke of York was being sent to Helvoetsluys with 2,000 Foot Guards to join with the allied Austrian and Prussian army under the Prince of Coburg. Nine men-of-war waited at Greenwich to receive them, and Mary supposed John was entitled to sleep off the strain of the lengthy, late-night meetings and inter-departmental discussions required to get everything ready.

  Mary’s maid dressed her in a pink silk gown with the old-fashioned and impractical hoop dictated by court etiquette. She would happily have foregone the pleasure of going to Greenwich to see the troops embark, but the Queen had insisted. So it was that at seven, just as the Foot Guards began their march through Storey’s Gate, Mary came down Admiralty House’s elliptical staircase in her fur-lined tippet and muff, passed through the marble entrance hallway and stepped into the cobbled courtyard. She could barely see the top of the Admiralty’s tall pillars through the fog. The Admiralty’s cipher, an anchor wrapped around with rope, was completely lost to view.

  Lady Sydney’s carriage waited in the street. Her mother and sister lay half-asleep against the cushions, shrouded in furs and resting their feet on the charcoal brazier. They also wore court hoops, so there was not much room to spare once Mary wedged herself in.

  ‘When will the Queen arrive?’ Georgiana yawned as the carriage rattled off.

  ‘She leaves Buckingham House at eight. We should be at the Governor’s house by then.’

  ‘Is Sir Hugh expecting Her Majesty?’ Mary’s mother asked.

  ‘His Majesty asked her to keep her arrival as secret as possible.’ The brazier under Mary’s seat seemed to be having very little effect; her teeth chattered and she could barely feel her toes. ‘That is why Her Majesty invited us to watch the embarkation. She expects us to, ah … prepare Sir Hugh for the honour he is about to be paid.’

  Mary, Georgiana and Lady Sydney arrived at Greenwich Hospital shortly after eight o’clock. Sir Christopher Wren’s twin cupolas loomed out of the mist. The skeletal masts of the great ships waiting to transport the troops to Holland could just about be discerned on the river beyond. A long line of horses, carts and baggage waggons stood on the dockside waiting for the flat-bottomed boats to ferry them to the vessels. The shrill call of a boatswain’s whistle cut through the cold, thin air.

  Sir Hugh Palliser’s wide-set brown eyes widened when he found Mary in the Painted Hall gazing up at the high ceiling with its colourfully depicted allegories of British naval power. ‘Lady Chatham. You are here to watch the troops embark?’

  ‘Her Majesty commanded our presence here to receive her and the Princesses. They wish to bid farewell to the Duke of York as he embarks on his first continental command.’

  ‘The Queen? All – all six Princesses?’ Palliser was too well versed in the shocks and reverses of battle to be thrown by receiving half the Royal Family at the shortest possible notice. Even so, Mary saw the old man grip the pommel of his dress sword until his knuckles stood white. ‘We were expecting His Majesty and the Prince of Wales, but the Queen …’

  ‘If you wish, my mother and sister and I might make the arrangements,’ Mary suggested, taking pity on him. ‘We know what Her Majesty best likes.’

  Sir Hugh all too happily delegated responsibility for the preparations and hurried off, probably to drink a fortifying brandy before the arrival of the unexpected royal party. Lady Sydney and Georgiana went downstairs to the kitchens to order refreshments, while Mary went upstairs with the steward. She quickly found the best rooms, large and airy with tall sash windows that looked out onto the square towards the river. The Hospital’s servants bustled about under Mary’s orders, moving furniture, dusting the gold eaves until they gleamed, and arranging enormous plates of sandwiches and cold meats in the adjoining room.

  Mary was wiping perspiration from her brow when she heard hooves striking the cobbles of the Hospital courtyard. Five elegant, lightly-sprung coaches driven by grooms in red and gold royal livery drew up by the Governor’s door, followed by several gentlemen on horseback and the smaller carriages of Her Majesty’s attendants.

  Queen Charlotte’s long, flat face was grey from lack of sleep, the rings under her eyes barely concealed with powder and paste. Mary curtseyed low and wondered what it must be like to send a loved one off to war. Her palms went slick with sweat at the thought, and she was glad John had no intention of renewing his military career while he remained First Lord of the Admiralty.

  ‘Sir Hugh,’ the Queen said, allowing Palliser to kiss her hand. Thirty years after coming to England her German accent remained thick. Behind her stood the six Princesses, from the 26-year-old Princess Royal to 10-year-old Princess Amelia, in matching white and gold muslin dresses. ‘I trust we do not impose upon you.’

  ‘Not at all, Your Majesty,’ Palliser said. ‘It is an honour.’

  Mary led the royal party upstairs to the rooms which had been specially prepared. The Queen and Princesses looked upon the cold collation with distant approval but did not attempt to eat. The Queen looked like food was the last thing on her mind, and the Princesses looked strained. Princess Elizabeth was pale and distracted, and little Amelia seemed constantly on the verge of tears.

  The fog was lifting at last. The warehouses on the north bank could now clearly be seen, as could the nine enormous warships lying at anchor in the middle of the river, sails tightly furled. They bobbed up and down gently on the tide, while herring gulls whirled around them, screaming.

  Crowds had been gathering on the quay and along the roads for hours, and it was their cheering that warned Mary the Foot Guards were approaching at last. The Queen sat a little straighter in her chair and stopped talking to her ladies.

  A band played a jaunty march: flutes whistled; horns sounded; drums beat. The King appeared, on a white charger, his portly form encased in the scarlet of a general’s uniform. The Duke of York rode behind, his round, youthful face bright with excitement. Next to him was the Prince of Wales, in the dark uniform of the 10th Light Dragoons, of which he was colonel. Behind them marched the Foot Guards. Their boots struck dust from the road as they marched to the stately beat of ordinary time.

  The King and his sons the turned this way and that to acknowledge the acclaim. When they caught sight of the Queen and Princesses waving their handkerchiefs from the window of the Governor’s house the
y removed their hats and bowed. Strains of “God Save the King” wafted through the cheering crowd.

  ‘The Duke looks so handsome,’ Georgiana whispered to Mary. Mary nodded, but kept her eye on the 15-year-old Princess Sophia. At the sight of her father and brothers the poor girl had gone white and started to teeter. Mary was certain the Princess was about to faint. Her gaze crossed with that of Princess Mary. Some message must have passed between them, for the Princess stepped forwards and took her sister’s arm.

  The soldiers began to enter the flat-bottomed boats. They behaved as though they were on holiday, waving at the crowds and joining in with the patriotic songs. To Mary’s eye they were not quite sober, many moving in a markedly sinuous fashion. One or two stumbled out of line and were beaten back by their outraged sergeant.

  ‘Why are those men not marching in a straight line?’ Princess Amelia said, loudly.

  The Queen’s fan stopped whirring through the air. The Princess Royal, holding her younger sister’s hand, froze. Mary thought quickly and said, hurriedly, ‘They are overcome with the honour of Your Royal Highness’ presence.’

  Amelia looked satisfied and turned her large blue eyes back to the spectacle outside. Mary saw the relief cross the Queen’s face before the muscles tightened back into a neutral expression. Princess Augusta, on the other hand, looked across at Mary with a twitch that looked perilously like the beginning of a grin.

  The last men were embarking now. Only the Duke of York remained ashore. Mary watched the young general in his gold braid, the scarlet of his coat stark against the white road. He looked like a boy about to go on an adventure. When his turn came to board the transport he waved one last time at the crowds. The “huzzas” launched in response were deafening.

  ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Georgiana whispered again. ‘So moving.’

  Mary said nothing. Fifteen hundred of England’s best troops had just embarked amidst a show of loyal fervour.

  ‘O Lord our God, arise,

  Scatter his enemies