by Steven Neil
‘I cannot argue with you if you wish to describe it in those terms, but the reality will be somewhat different. I cannot tell you everything at this point, but you will need to trust me.’
‘Trust you? A man who I met once before, some three years ago, and who told me his name was Captain Margarson. Is that what you are saying?’
‘I am sorry. That was wrong of me. When you know my situation better, I hope you will understand me. I hope you will think better of me. In the meantime, we have few choices in the matter. I want to work with you to protect your interests. I genuinely intend to be your guardian.’
‘I need more than that. How will things be different? Why should I trust you?’
‘All I can say is that we are engaged in a long game. I think you will be called upon very little, if at all, for the time being.’
‘Is it a game we are playing?’
‘I’m sorry again. My choice of words may be ill advised. What I mean to say is that there is a long-term strategy in place. You are an important part of that strategy.’
‘I am intrigued. What is this strategy?’
‘I have already said too much. I must leave it there. On the question of trust, you must trust me because there is no one else. I will earn your trust, believe me.’
‘And we both answer to Sly?’
‘Yes, we do. He is not the ogre you think him. In my dealings with him, I have found him a hard man, but a straightforward one.’
‘I cannot share your enthusiasm. I loathe him.’
‘I understand you may not like him. We are all obeying orders. He does what is asked of him. That is the way of things.’
‘I loathe him for reasons you cannot begin to understand, sir. If I have the chance to put a knife into him, I will. Do you understand that?’
‘I see. That would be unwise, but I think we have said enough for now. I must tell you, though, that you will live a very comfortable life here. It would not be sensible to compromise your situation. Your son, Martin, will be well cared for. I will look after him as if he was my own.’
‘Perhaps he is.’
‘What?’
‘Perhaps he is your son. I don’t rule it out. You know his birth date, I think. How is your counting?’
‘That is enough, Harriet. I will call your maid. We will talk again later.’
***
Gore House dominates the scene, looking south across Kensington Gardens and, as Harriet exits Lancaster Walk, she feels apprehensive about her meeting. She has been in grand houses before, of course, but the size and scale of this house seem to lean in on her, as she walks up to the heavy door and surveys the assortment of polished brass door furnishings. While she is considering which bell to push, the door opens noiselessly and the butler signals her to follow him down a long, wide corridor to the left, which opens out into a vast drawing room, decorated with floral wallpaper and festooned with various family portraits. Lady Blessington is seated on a red buttoned sofa, the broad skirts of her pink dress spreading almost the width of the sofa itself. She is, perhaps, in her fifties, but she is lent a more youthful appearance by her long black hair, arranged in coils, and her prominent roseate cheekbones.
She indicates that Harriet is to sit on a high-backed chair, with a view out through wide, floor-length windows to an orangery beyond.
‘I am so pleased to meet you. You are every bit as beautiful as they say.’
‘Please spare me the flattery. I know what I am,’ says Harriet.
‘And every bit as curt.’
‘I am sorry. I am not adjusting well to my new life.’
‘I sympathise. We women have always to adjust to survive. I know you were not always Harriet Howard, but now you must learn how to be her in her new role. It may help you to know that I was not always Lady Blessington. That had to be learned. I can help you. You were a much more talented actress than I. I saw you.’
‘I was happy then. Now, my life is ruined. I cry myself to sleep, but in the morning I wake up angry. I cannot shake it off.’
‘You have suffered a bereavement. It is natural to feel the way you do. Your old life is gone, but “Harriet Howard” is alive. You can still have another life.’
‘That is easy for you to say.’
‘No, it is not. You presume too much. Let me tell you about my life. I was born Margaret Power in Ireland. My father was a waster. He married me to an English army officer, when I was fifteen, in order to pay his debts. My husband was a drunkard and a gambler. He beat me every night. The beatings only stopped when he was sent to the debtors’ prison. Fortunately, for me, he died there. I was left with nothing, but I was still alive. That is not easy for me to say and it never becomes any easier.’
‘I apologise. Forgive me.’
‘Do you see that painting over there? That is me when I was twenty-nine, not long after I married the Earl. I rode my luck, as you might say.’
‘You were very beautiful. You still are.’
‘Please spare me the flattery. I know what I am.’
‘You have me, Lady Blessington. I am put in my place.’
‘The Earl died in 1829 when I was forty years old. By then, I had expensive tastes. I followed my intuition in matters of the heart and my judgements were not always wise. I have squandered several fortunes and scandal has followed me all my life. Yet, I have survived.’
‘Thank you. I am grateful for your honesty.’
‘I understand the choice you have had to make. I made it myself. Among other things, I arrange introductions for Her Majesty’s Government. I provide guidance for young women who do not have my experience.’
‘I think I will need your guidance. I am finding it hard to come to terms with everything that has happened.’
‘Come, Harriet. We can be friends. We are not so different, you and I. You must learn to trust me. When we are alone, you must call me Margaret.’
***
London Gazette, Saturday 12th October 1844
FAMOUS JOCKEY MARRIES
This week saw the marriage of James (Jem) Mason, son of Mr & Mrs Josiah Mason, of Stilton in Cambridgeshire and Miss Emily Elmore, daughter of Mr & Mrs John Elmore, of Edgware, Middlesex, at St Mary Magdalene Church in Stilton. Jem Mason is, of course, well known to all racing followers as the winner of the Grand Liverpool Steeplechase in 1839 on Mr John Elmore’s Lottery and he now becomes Mr Elmore’s son-in-law, as well as his retained jockey. The guest list was a virtual “Who’s Who” of the sport of kings and Lord Sefton, Lord Chesterfield and Lord Beauclerk were in attendance. Jockeys Tom Olliver, Allen McDonough, Will McDonough and Tom Ferguson formed a guard of honour for the bride and groom as they left the church.
Eleven
Making the Best of Things
London, England
1845
Rockingham House
St John’s Wood
London
Dearest Mama
I’m so pleased to hear that you are well and that Papa is more settled now. It is always a worry that he will slip back into his old ways, but I trust that he will realise he has been given a second chance and will keep to the path.
I’m very busy these days with entertaining and Francis is such a sweet man and indulges me far more than he should. Martin is growing up quickly and is running, after a fashion. It is my greatest pleasure to be able to spend time with him. I hope I will be able to bring him with me the next time I come to see you.
It was lovely to have a visit from Tom Olliver recently. He brought me up to date with all the hunting gossip and made me laugh with his tales of racing skulduggery. I realise how much I miss that life and the people in it. Tom is quite the gentleman these days and making a name for himself as one of the very best riders. He has won not one, but two Grand National Steeplechases at Liverpool.
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Your loving daughter
Eliza
***
2 Ferry Lane
Norwich
My dear Eliza
I do so love to hear from you and I look forward to your little notes with snippets of news about this and that. It makes me so proud that you are doing so well. I can only imagine now what it is like attending so many wonderful parties and wearing such beautiful gowns. Your father and I had our time in society but it was all too brief. I have to pinch myself when I read in the London magazines that Miss Harriet Howard has attended this or that fine ball, to remember that this is our own little Eliza being talked about.
My only regret is that Francis is not able to marry you yet. Just imagine, a Guards officer for a husband. They say that poor Mrs Mountjoy-Martin is confined to her bed and may not have long to live. We will just have to hope for the best.
Please do be careful about Olliver and his associates. It troubles me that you should be pining for that time in your life when you have so much more to be grateful for in your new life. I was reading only last week that Olliver and his friend Mason had been involved in some new mischief at Bedford races. Remember that underneath the veneer of gentlemen they are little more than gypsy ruffians. You know very well your father’s view about Mason. You must not do anything to jeopardise your position.
Please write to me again when you can.
Send my love to Martin.
Mama
***
There is a tranquillity about Rockingham House. Harriet Howard and Major Francis Mountjoy-Martin live an unexceptional life – for all the world, they are a comfortably wealthy married couple. Neighbours think little about them. The major must have a good job, behind a desk, somewhere in Buckingham Gate, or perhaps Queen’s Walk. He is every inch the Guards officer. His wife is always well turned out and smiles graciously at anyone who catches her gaze. The little boy is full of energy and has a newly acquired hobbyhorse to amuse him. The major must have an important social role, as well as his military duties, since there are always cabs and carriages at the gates in the evenings and sometimes well into the early hours.
On this evening, Mountjoy-Martin and Harriet sit either side of the marble fireplace in the drawing room. Young Martin is in bed and the servants have been dismissed early. Harriet reads a book, but she fidgets in her chair and occasionally lets out a sigh. Mountjoy-Martin rifles through a pile of papers on a desk, makes some adjustments to a clock, adds a log to the fire, but can’t settle at anything.
‘I would like to talk about us,’ he says.
‘I won’t deny you that. I have reason to be grateful to you.’
‘We have been through a lot together, wouldn’t you say?’
‘You have been as good as a father to Martin. I cannot ask for more.’
‘You are coy about that,’ he says. ‘You talk about the truth, but you won’t tell me the truth about Martin.’
‘I am not telling you any lies,’ she says. ‘I am unsure. Besides, if it was you, how would that help either of us? You are married. You have enough to contend with. I am to answer to the requirements of Her Majesty’s Government, as they see fit. In case you haven’t noticed, I am not at liberty to elope with you and seek my freedom elsewhere. Was that what you were going to suggest?’
‘You know I cannot do that. We are both constrained. But it won’t always be like that, I believe. We could think about the future.’
‘Ah yes, the future. Let us make plans. Only to have them dashed? I was a great optimist once. I thought I could shape my life. I was wrong. You would do well to understand this truth above all others. It will save us both disappointment.’
A long silence ensues. Mountjoy-Martin is attuned to Harriet’s moods. He can tell there is something else on her mind.
‘You seem pensive, Harriet.’ he says. ‘Have I not been as good as my word?’
‘You have, Francis. I am thankful for it.’
‘We have made the best of things, have we not?’
‘More than that. You and Margaret have been very kind.’
‘Is something troubling you?’
‘I am called to Gore House tomorrow. Do you know about this?’
‘I do. I don’t know the details.’
‘Were you going to mention it?’
‘I heard about it today, probably at the same time as you. I will tell you what I know. Don’t chide me, Harriet. I am doing my best for us both.’
***
Gore House sparkles under a light morning frost. Kensington Gardens soaks up the sunlight and the Serpentine shimmers silver between the trees. Elegantly caparisoned riders and their horses move through the shaded paths.
Lady Blessington bustles into the library in riding habit, casting off clothes as she goes. Two maids follow behind her, gathering the crumpled items as they fall.
‘What a wonderful morning it is,’ she says. ‘I do so love riding out in the gardens at this time of year. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. Do you know why you are here?’
Harriet is bemused by the sight before her. Lady Blessington strips to her undergarments and is transformed before her eyes as the maids fuss around her, fitting new clothes and spraying great waves of eau de cologne. She is reminded of her own scene changes at the theatre in the old days and, for a few moments, she is distracted.
‘Harriet, are you alright?’
‘Yes, of course. I imagine something important is afoot. I have been expecting your invitation.’
‘I hope you are happy with the arrangements we have made for you? The price to pay not too onerous?’
‘Thank you. You have been a true friend.’
‘We have called on you very few times, I think, and the assignments have not been unpleasant ones, I believe. Francis tells me you are very settled together. Your new background is well established and very credible. Miss Harriet Howard has her position in society and you play the role very well. We are ready for the next assignment and I must tell you that it is the one we have been preparing for. It is a challenge, but I think you are ready.’
‘Yes. The long game.’
‘I don’t quite follow.’
‘Forgive me. It is a term Francis used once. Something to do with a long-term strategy. An important political alliance, if I understand the clues correctly.’
‘You are well informed.’
‘Perhaps. May I be better informed?’
‘All in good time. Others will deal with the detail. In the meantime, my remit is to provide a broad outline of the plans being made. There is a certain French person of interest to Her Majesty’s Government. He is being detained at present, but we understand that he will be free to travel in the near future. He will make his way to England at the earliest opportunity and he will find that he is welcomed here as a friend.’
‘And my role in this?’
‘I will introduce you. It is to be hoped that there will be an attraction on his part, perhaps even a mutual attraction.’
‘I see.’
‘We’ll send you away for a while to the country. You will learn everything that you need and we can put the final touches to the character of Miss Harriet Howard. I think it is all rather exciting.’
‘I will try to share in your enthusiasm.’
‘Come, Harriet. We have gowns to view. And shoes.’
***
The new Palace of Westminster looks as if it rises up out of the Thames on days like this, when there is a mist lying on the water, swirling at the base of the buildings. Inside his temporary office, where it feels as if the building work has been going on forever, Sir James Graham greets the Duke of Grafton.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Home Secretary,’ says the Duke. ‘It is very good of you. I am sure you have important matters o
f state to deal with.’
‘Yes, but I am never too busy to see you, Your Grace. I have taken the liberty of inviting Lord Normanby to our discussion. He knows some of the history of what you have told me and is a wise counsel.’
‘Excellent. How are you, Henry?’
‘Very well, Your Grace.’
Sir James Graham and Henry Normanby are old friends and share a love of clothes. To say that they are vain men, dandies, barely covers it. By contrast, the Duke looks as if he has just come from a farmers’ lunch. Perhaps he has. It is he who curtails the small talk.
‘This is all most unfortunate. I have been rather taken up with family matters since I succeeded my father last year. It has been very time-consuming and I have only just got around to this subject. Apparently, the old boy rather took a shine to one Elizabeth Ann Harryet a few years back. It now appears that he was intent on making a match with my son, William. Not that he consulted me about it. I don’t know what he could have been thinking. Her family was of no consequence, as far as I can tell. But it seems she could ride like the devil and was something of a beauty, which commended her enough in father’s book. The poor girl rather scuppered her chances by running off with some jockey fellow, but father didn’t seem to mind. I understand she is currently in the service of Her Majesty’s Government, although it all seems a bit odd, from what I can find out. I’m not sure exactly what she does. She now goes by the name of Harriet Howard.’
Sir James looks like a man who would rather be somewhere else. He glances towards Lord Normanby for help.
‘Can you shed any light on this, Henry?’
‘Well, yes. As a matter of fact, she works for you, Sir James. Indirectly.’
‘Oh, heavens. Does she?’
‘There is a chap called Nicholas Sly in State Services – used to work for me. Dreadful man. I think he got his claws into her last year. She is on our register of escorts. Lady Blessington looks after her, along with another of our chaps, Major Mountjoy-Martin.’