by Steven Neil
The Merest Loss
A Novel
Steven Neil
Copyright © 2017 Steven Neil
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events
and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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My thanks go to: my wife, Carol, for her constant encouragement and support, my university tutors and fellow students for their guidance and feedback, and those kind people who read my drafts and offered insights and suggestions. This book would not have been possible without you.
CHARACTER LIST
Elizabeth ‘Eliza’ Ann Harryet (later Harriet Howard and Comtesse de Beauregard)
Tom Olliver: jockey (later racehorse trainer)
Martin Harryet: son of Elizabeth Ann Harryet
James ‘Jem’ Mason: jockey
Francis Mountjoy-Martin: Guards officer
Nicholas Sly: civil servant
Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte (later Emperor Napoleon III)
George Carter: huntsman
Jack Skinner: whipper-in
Duke of Grafton (4th)
Davy Gibson: stable owner
Squire Joseph Gawen Harryet: father of Elizabeth Ann Harryet
Elizabeth Mary Harryet: mother of Elizabeth Ann Harryet
Allen McDonough: jockey
Will Pope: jockey
Queen Victoria
Prince Albert: consort of the Queen
King Louis Philippe
Lord Normanby: politician
Lady Normanby: politician’s wife
Lord Palmerston: politician
Lord Melbourne: politician
Lord Russell: politician
Mr Ridley: school principal
Mr Dalziel: school deputy principal
Melliora Findon: friend of Elizabeth Ann Harryet
Lavinia Lampard: friend of Elizabeth Ann Harryet
Guillaume Macaire: riding instructor
Francie Strabally: school pupil
Duke of Grafton (5th)
Jean Mocquard: Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s private secretary
Jean-Gilbert Fialin (Comte de Persigny): Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s advisor
Colonel Vaudrey: Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s advisor
Doctor Conneau: Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s physician
Benjamin Disraeli: politician
Viscount Fitzharris: politician
Edward Bulwer-Lytton: politician
Margaret, Lady Blessington: society hostess
Count D’Orsay: dandy
Donald Treves: actors’ agent
John Elmore: racehorse owner
George Dockeray: racehorse trainer
General Montholon: Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s
advisor
Colonel Parquin: Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s advisor
Lieutenant Aladenize: Louis Napoleon Bonaparte sympathiser
Captain Col-Puygelier: garrison commander
Major Girardet: garrison commander
Charles Thelin: Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s valet
Lord Strathmore: racehorse owner
Lord Chesterfield: racehorse owner
Sarah Langdon: actress
Lady Willoughby: courtier
Lord Aberdeen: politician
Josiah Mason: father of Jem Mason
Emily Elmore: daughter of John Elmore
Lord Sefton: racehorse owner
Lord Beauclerk: racehorse owner
Will McDonough: jockey
Tom Ferguson: jockey
Sir James Graham: politician
Lord Stanley: politician
Lord Malmesbury: politician
Lord Cowley: politician
Lady Cowley: politician’s wife
Nathaniel Strode: financier
Duke of Beaufort
Eleonore Vergeot: mother of two of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte’s sons
Princess Mathilde: cousin of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte
Lord Hertford: politician and racehorse owner
Lord Henry Seymour-Conway: racehorse owner and founder of the French Jockey Club
Comte Achille Delamarre: head of the French Jockey Club
Clarence Trelawney: Austrian hussar
Eugenie, Countess of Teba: Spanish countess
Armand-Jacques Leroy de Saint-Arnaud: military commander
Lord Clarendon: politician
Georges-Eugene Haussmann: architect
Virginia, Comtesse de Castiglione: Italian countess
Princess Carola of Vasa: Swedish princess
Princess Adelheid of Hohenlohe-Langenburg: German princess
Felice Orsini: Italian nationalist
Lord Derby: politician
Sir George Lewis: politician
Sir Robert Peel: politician
Alphonse Toulon: chief of police
Raymond Fitzgerald: husband of Lavinia Lampard
Count Alfred van Nieuwerkerke: friend of Princess Mathilde
Marguerite Bellanger: actress
Freddie Adams: jockey
William Cartwright: racehorse owner
Count Frederic Lagrange: racehorse owner
Harry O’Brien: head lad to Tom Olliver
Thomas Aldcroft: jockey
Tom Chaloner: jockey
James Snowden: jockey
Eleanor Strode: wife of Nathaniel Strode
Beatrice Findon: mother of Melliora Findon
Dr Villeneuve: physician
Marianne-Joséphine-Caroline de Csuzy: wife of Martin Harryet
Marie-Anne Mocquard: wife of Jean Mocquard
Amédée Mocquard: son of Jean Mocquard
Marie-Emilie Mocquard: daughter of Jean Mocquard
Tom Leader: assistant trainer to Tom Olliver
Sarah Clare: friend of Melliora Findon
Contents
Part One
One A French Accent
Two Mystery Boy
Three Education
Four No Finer Sight
Five Perfect Match
Six In the Stars
Seven The Proposition
Eight On the Verge
Nine No Way Out<
br />
Ten The Choice
Eleven Making the Best of Things
Twelve Executing the Plan
Thirteen Playing the Cards
Fourteen The Return
Part Two
Fifteen Putting the Pieces Together
Sixteen Changing of the Guard
Seventeen Everything Is Risked
Eighteen Power Behind the Throne
Nineteen The English Empress
Twenty For Services Rendered
Twenty-One House of Cards
Twenty-Two Cavalry to the Rescue
Twenty-Three Ends and Beginnings
Twenty-Four What Have We Done?
Twenty-Five Retribution
Twenty-Six The New Politics
Twenty-Seven A Royal Appointment
Twenty-Eight A Quiet Life
Part Three
Twenty-Nine Resolution
Thirty Last Chance
Thirty-One Landing the Odds
Thirty-Two In the Final Furlong
Thirty-Three Reconciliations
Thirty-Four Falling at the Last
Thirty-Five Something to Live For
Thirty-Six One Day
Part One
One
A French Accent
Newmarket, England
1862
The young man who walked into my Newmarket racing yard that red-skied spring morning was tall, slim and blessed with all the charm that a faultless command of English, with a strong French accent, bestows. At first, I gained the impression of a certain arrogance in his character, but I warmed to him as he spoke. He told me he would succeed to the French nobility and gave his name as Martin. He knew his English mother, although his relationship with her was strained, but he never knew his father. I couldn’t quite understand how these facts held together, or how his story could conceivably be connected to me, but I assumed this would be revealed in due course.
He explained he was born in England, but grew up in France. Having almost reached his twentieth birthday, he was back in England to solve the mystery that followed him all his life: his father’s identity. He said he possessed a piece of paper with five names written on it. My name, Tom Olliver, was one of them. He waited as I finished with the horses and we went into the house to take some breakfast. He asked if I would be prepared to help him. I swallowed hard at this, but I couldn’t help being intrigued.
‘Go ahead,’ I said. ‘Tell me the names. What do you need to know?’
‘Just tell me about them,’ he said.
The first name on the list was Jem Mason. I knew Jem well. We rode together as jockeys in the early days, but I saw him less in recent years. I knew he suffered some bouts of ill health. He was a fine man on a horse and it set me thinking about our adventures together. I remembered when he won the Grand National on Lottery in 1839 and, later, the years when we rode in France. They were happy times. Looking back, I think I already knew who Martin’s mother must be, but my mind rejected the obvious line of thought. I stuck to the logic that trying to narrow down the women who were known to both Jem and me in those days would not lead to a shortlist. We were young men then and we enjoyed ourselves.
I noted Martin looking at me closely as we talked together. It struck me he was trying to gauge my reactions: to see if I would betray anything in my speech or my actions that would give him some clue.
Before we went any further, I asked what seemed to me to be the obvious question.
‘Have you asked your mother who your father is?’
‘If it was so simple, I would not be here,’ he said.
The second name was Francis Mountjoy-Martin. At the mention of his name, any lingering doubt about the identity of the young man’s mother disappeared. I met Francis a few times. He always appeared the perfect gentleman: a rangy, thin Guards officer. I liked him.
‘Your mother is Harriet Howard,’ I said. ‘I am sorry I was so slow. I really am very pleased to meet you. Is your mother still very beautiful? I hope so.’
It was a naive thing to say and I felt my face flush.
‘The years have been kind to Mama,’ he said. ‘People say she has retained all her elegance. I am not the best one to judge these things, but I believe this is correct.’
The third name was Nicholas Sly. I never met him, but I knew his reputation. An enigmatic figure: something to do with the government and the military, but no one really knew. Harriet spoke about him several times. He had some hold over her, but I never discovered it. I thought she seemed afraid of him. I knew a story went with the name, but it eluded me at that moment.
I felt uneasy about the way things were going.
‘I am puzzled,’ I said. ‘May I speak plainly?’
He nodded.
‘This seems to be rather an elaborate charade. Have you considered just asking me the question? As I understand it, you believe I am one of five men who could be your father, yet you are vague about your mother’s identity, preferring that I deduce it from the hints you make. Then, when I do discover who she is, you continue with a discussion about someone else on the list. If you ask me the question, I will tell you what I know.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose and cast his head down. I felt embarrassed again, as if I was wounding him with my directness.
‘Sir, I appreciate your candour,’ he said. ‘I will also speak plainly. There is one name on the list who I have asked. He refused to discuss it. I know he is a liar, so even if he answered me his reply would be worth nothing. I prefer to make my own judgement. I have grown up not trusting others. I cannot even trust my own mother to tell me the answer to a simple question. You may be an honest man, but I cannot know that. I am grateful you have agreed to help me. I will understand if you terminate our discussion, but I hope you will not.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Let us continue.’
The fourth name was Louis Napoleon. I knew we would come to him: Louis Napoleon, now Emperor Napoleon III of France; the most public of Harriet’s acquaintances. I met him once and found him a strange fellow. He spoke perfect English, but with a vaguely German accent, tinged with American. He seemed very enthusiastic about horses, I remember. I have seen many portraits of him since, invariably mounted on a horse and, indeed, a dashing figure he cuts. However, when I met him, I thought him weedy and unimpressive. It occurred to me that if Louis Napoleon proved to be his father, Martin was fortunate to inherit his looks from his mother.
I rambled on about the “suspects” at length. I suppose I was just thinking out loud, but, of course, not everything came out. Some of it I kept to myself.
‘I am sorry. I am not sure if I am helping you,’ I said. ‘You will already know much of this.’
‘Yes it is helpful, but I have not come to you unprepared. Everything is building a picture for me. I have done my research.’
‘Will you share some with me? It may jog my memory.’
It emerged that he was a skilled detective. He knew, for example, that Harriet could be placed at various addresses in London during the 1840s: in Oxford Street with Jem Mason in 1841; with Francis Mountjoy-Martin in Rockingham House in 1844; with Louis Napoleon in Berkeley Square in 1847. He told me the problem he faced: the more information he found, the less helpful it was. Most of the facts and figures had the effect of ruling the men in rather than out. They might all have been his father, but obviously only one could be. It struck me he was being remarkably calm and businesslike about his quest, as if looking for a long-lost book, rather than the truth of his own life. As he spoke, images came into my mind. I recalled a glamorous occasion at Gore House, in Kensington, many years back and I pictured the young, flame-haired Harriet in a striking blue dress.
‘And the fifth name is Tom Olliver,’ I said, ‘if I understand you correctly.’
I certainly knew Harriet. I think she must have been about fourteen when I first met her in the hunting field, although we called her Elizabeth Ann or Eliza then, and memories flooded back. She was the daughter of a Norfolk family: the Harryets. The name change came later. I told him about the times we spent together and how Jem and I competed for her attention. I talked about myself. I enjoyed good luck through my riding career and I achieved enough success to set up as a racehorse trainer. It was all I knew and the wealthy friends I made in racing were happy to support me when I retired from race riding. I met Harriet many times over the years. We became good friends and I told him as much as I could about my recollections. I felt awkward, though, as if I was somehow betraying her, but by now I liked him and I wanted to help him. I had my own suspicions, but I respected his honesty and his diligence. I could see how important it was for him to know the truth about his father, but it was also clear that the discovery must be his own. He would be a son to make someone proud.
Our conversation seemed to reach a natural conclusion and he sat back in his chair and closed the black notepad in front of him. He thanked me for my help and I checked my pocket watch. Time seemed to speed past and I wondered what his arrangements were for transport and lodging. He was staying at The Golden Lion on the High Street and I agreed to ferry him there later, if only he would agree to stay on for lunch. I asked him if I could put some questions of my own to him.
He filled in some details of his mother’s life for me. I realised I had not seen her for almost five years, although we had exchanged letters and a great deal had happened in that time. I remembered more about her relationship with Emperor Napoleon. How could I not? For a while during the forties and fifties, Harriet was often in the newspapers. In 1848, she appeared by Louis Napoleon’s side in a carriage on the Champs Élysées. Just before Louis Napoleon became Emperor, the society writers called her “The English Empress”.
‘Would I be correct in thinking that the man to whom you asked the question, and who you say is a liar, is the very same man: the Emperor?’ I said.
‘Exactly so. I grew up with two of his sons as brothers. Now, he will not see me.’
‘And your mother?’