‘Lunatic would be a better word. Oh—’
The door of the breakfast room had burst open to reveal Philip Haverton himself. Young, slight and dark, he was dressed in the height of London fashion, his striped waistcoat, high cravat and profusion of jewellery presenting a marked contrast to his cousin’s country blue coat and buckskins. He stopped and flushed at sight of Lady Elinor, disapproving, teacup in hand. ‘I–I beg your pardon Lady Elinor. I did not know you were down yet.’ And then, eagerly, to Denbigh. ‘News at last. There is an urgent messenger this instant arrived from London.’ He handed him a letter. ‘Do you think it is our marching orders? Will there be time for me to order another half-dozen cravats before we leave? I knew I should have gone to town last week. My man tells me I have only four dozen shirts to my name, and as for cravats—he is quite in despair. Tell me quick, Giles, what’s the news?’
‘I shall know when you give me a chance to read this.’ Denbigh moved away to read the letter by the window.
‘“News at last?”’ Even at thirty-seven, Lady Elinor would have been a handsome woman if it had not been for her trick of either frowning or raising her eyebrows, as she did now. ‘You mean this project has been on the tapis for some time?’
‘Did you not know? Castlereagh has been urging Giles to go ever since hostilities recommenced this summer. There is the devil to pay among the Allies, you know—oh, I am sure I beg your pardon, Lady Elinor.’ It was significant that though he called her brother Giles, he always gave Lady Elinor her title. ‘They need someone like Giles to hold them together. He’ll do it, if it’s possible. How about it, Giles? When do we leave?’
‘At once. We have won a great victory, at Leipzig. Lord Castlereagh writes that the way is open to France—if only the Allies will take it. My instructions await me in town. A frigate is standing by to land us at Cuxhaven. Lord knows where Allied Headquarters will be by then: the French are in full retreat. Come, Philip, there are a thousand things to be seen to, if we are to reach London today. You will excuse us, Elinor?’
She inclined her head in stately acquiescence, but, inevitably, had the last word: ‘Believe me, no good will come of it.’
News of Leipzig reached another English breakfast table that morning. In his luxurious little house behind Park Lane, the richest man in London sat alone, as usual, over his tea and mutton chop. As usual, too, Henry Fessingham, MP, was reading—this time the latest government report on the condition of the agricultural labourer in the southern counties. Drinking lukewarm tea, he grunted irritably, ran his fingers through shaggy grey hair and folded down the corner of the page that had annoyed him. ‘Starvation wages!’ For lack of any other audience, he had been talking to himself for years. ‘And what will happen when peace comes—if it comes—’ He paused, impressively, as if addressing the crowded House of Commons, drank more cool tea and turned over the page. ‘Rack and ruin,’ he went on. ‘Enclosure; selfishness; going to the dogs. Can’t say I didn’t warn ’em. Not known as Cassandra in the House for nothing. But what’s the use?’ He pushed back his chair and walked across to the window. Outside, late autumn sunshine brought out the colours of the last roses in the town garden that stood, said London gossip, in the place of wife and child to him. It was a long time, now, since the last exasperated mamma had given up hope of snaring this elusive prey for her daughter. Twenty years ago, he had been London’s most eligible untitled bachelor, highly susceptible, and present at all the ton parties. Then, suddenly, he had given it all up, abandoning Almack’s and applying himself instead to Parliament and finance. It was too provoking, said London’s mammas, to see so much money put to so little use. They saw his plain coats and knew nothing of the schools he financed—nor would they have approved if they had. As for his garden, the privileged few who had managed to see it raised affronted hands: all that money to contrive a country garden in the heart of town! And not one glasshouse, either. Sent away with posies of seasonable flowers, violets or roses or even the stylish new chrysanthemums, they shook their heads and told each other that poor Fessingham got odder every day.
This morning, he looked out at his garden gloomily enough. ‘The roses need pruning,’ he told himself. ‘But what’s the use? “Weary, stale, flat and unprofitable—’” He threw open the window for a closer look at the roses, and then stopped, arrested by the sound of bells. One after another, London’s churches took up the melodious tale, which was punctuated, presently, by the heavy note of gunfire. Henry Fessingham stepped out on to the terrace and selected a last perfect rosebud for his buttonhole: ‘A victory at last,’ he told himself, ‘let us devoutly hope it is against France, and not those unlucky Americans. Yes—definitely they need pruning.’ He returned to his breakfast parlour and was about to ring the bell when a footman bounced unceremoniously into the room, then recollected himself and snapped to attention: ‘News, sir, splendid news. Boney’s beat—soundly beat at last. In Europe somewhere; I forget the name of the place.’
‘Excellent.’ Coolly as ever. ‘In that case, James, I believe I will celebrate with some hot tea and a fresh roll. One of the ones you have in the servants’ hall, perhaps…oh, and James…’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘What is that you are holding?’
‘I quite forgot. An urgent message from Whitehall, sir.’
‘Then you had best give it to me.’ He took the letter and read its brief contents. ‘My carriage at once. For Whitehall. Give the orders, will you, and forget about the roll and tea.’
Giving the necessary orders, James let it be known that the master got queerer every day. He tapped his forehead significantly: ‘Money and gardens, and politics,’ he said. ‘And not a chick nor child to bless himself with. Queer as Dick’s hatband, if you ask me.’
‘Nobody did,’ said the butler repressively. ‘And Lord Liverpool don’t seem to share your views. The carriage at once, didn’t you say? For Whitehall? I know what that means, even if you don’t.’
It was late when Fessingham returned home, and the huge flares were already burning in their sockets on either side of his front door. The butler himself was hovering anxiously in the front hall. ‘The Earl of Denbigh is here, sir.’ He came forward to help his master out of his heavy greatcoat. ‘And Mr Haverton.’
‘Good.’ Fessingham dropped York tan gloves on a mahogany chest. ‘They stay to dinner, of course. You have given the orders?’
‘Yes.’ The butler’s tone was reproving. ‘You will find them in the blue drawing room, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ He picked up the dispatch box he had brought home with him, crossed the hall and opened the door of the blue drawing room. ‘You have lost no time, gentlemen.’
‘I thought there was none to lose.’ Denbigh and Fessingham greeted each other with the casualness of old friends, while Philip Haverton stood a little to one side, concealing unwonted shyness by sucking the gold head of his cane. ‘You have our instructions?’ Denbigh asked, before turning to present ‘My ward Mr Haverton.’
‘Yes. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Haverton. You accompany your cousin on this mission?’
‘If there is no objection.’ Haverton sounded like a schoolboy, at once bashful and excited.
‘Not the least in the world. I am glad my friend Denbigh will have company on what I am afraid must prove an arduous journey. The frigate Careless awaits you at Harwich; your instructions are here.’ He put the dispatch box down on a side table. ‘We will discuss them when we have dined, and then—my carriage is at your disposal, gentlemen.’
‘You mean we leave at once?’ Philip Haverton’s tone betrayed that he had had very different ideas of how he would spend the night.
‘If it will not inconvenience you.’ This to Denbigh: ‘The wind is fair. Who knows how long it will continue so? I am sorry to put you to such fatigue.’ He was still speaking rather to Denbigh than to his companion. ‘There will be time, I hope, for sleep when once you are on board.’
‘But not for the far
ewells Haverton intended saying. Can it be done briefly, Philip? In two hours, say, while I confer with Mr Fessingham? But no sitting down to a hand of cards, mind. I’ll not wait for you so much as five minutes.’
‘Oh, thank you, sir.’ Philip’s worldly air was constantly being marred by his blush. ‘I promise you, I won’t so much as look in at Boodle’s—but there is someone—I ought to say goodbye.’
‘Should you? Well—don’t let her make you a Cheltenham tragedy of it. And no promises, mind: I never made a woman a promise but I lived to regret it. Right—two hours, then.’
‘Two hours!’—He consulted the jewelled watch that hung with a number of seals from his fob. ‘Then if you’ll excuse me, sir?’
Fessingham saw him out, then returned to his friend. ‘He will be useful to you?’
‘I hope so. On my public business, that is. As to the other—of course he will know nothing about it’
‘Quite so.’ Fessingham put his dispatch box on a table by the fire and drew up two chairs close to it. ‘You’ll take a glass of madeira?’
‘Thank you. And then, I hope, you will tell me what purpose I can serve in Europe when we are almost too nobly represented there already.’
Fessingham laughed. ‘Trust you to put your finger on the point. That is exactly it. We are too well represented. There is Sir Charles Stewart at the court of Prussia, Cathcart with the Russians and your friend Aberdeen with the Austrians. It was all very well when our various ministers were at the courts to which they were accredited. But now that all the monarchs have insisted—most foolishly, if you ask me—on following their armies, they—and the ministers—are thrown far too much together for comfort. It’s the deuce of a situation, you know.’
‘That I can well imagine.’
‘Yes. The Grand Alliance against Napoleon has been an uneasy one at the best of times. Well—I don’t need to remind you that all our present allies have been on his side at one time or another. The Emperor of Austria gave him his daughter—Prussia was his humble servant for years—and even the Czar would have continued his friend if he’d let him. Attacking Russia was Napoleon’s fatal mistake, I think. The Czar’s a strange man—but a leader of men. He—and English gold, of course—are what keeps the Alliance going.’
‘And I’m to represent the English gold?’
‘Precisely. And not only to see that the attack is pressed with all possible vigour, but to make sure of a just and reasonable peace when the end comes—as I am sure it must.’
‘And your just peace?’
Fessingham laughed. ‘I was afraid you would ask that. There of course, is exactly the difficulty—and, by the way, one of the points on which I particularly rely on you to keep me informed. There are as many views as to what should happen to France as there are Allies. More, I expect: the question is which one is right.’
‘Is it true that the Czar wants to put Bernadotte on the throne of France?’
‘So I have heard, and it may not be as fantastic a notion as it sounds.’
‘It seems crazy enough to me. One of Napoleon’s own marshals who turned against him? I’d as soon expect a Bourbon restoration.’
‘And you may be nearer the mark than you know. My informants report that there’s an increasingly powerful secret society both in and out of France working for the restoration of Louis or even of his brother the Comte d’Artois. You’ll want to watch out for them. And that brings me to the other side of your commission. You are going, you know, as my representative as well as Castlereagh’s. You do not mind?’
‘If you do not, I hardly see why I should. I only hope I have enough’—he paused—‘discretion.’
‘I am sure of it. That is why we have chosen you. And—you have other advantages. You are comparatively unknown—and unmarried.’ A sharp glance from under bushy eyebrows. ‘Lady Elinor did not object to staying behind?’
‘She objected, of course.’
‘But she stays?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. And young Haverton?’
‘Will act as my secretary—in the rest of my business.’
‘Yes. I wish we could have found someone trustworthy to send with you, but it is not easy. At all costs, we must keep your real errand secret. And now, since we have reached the subject, let us have another glass of Madeira and discuss codes and ciphers like a couple of master spies.’
Chapter Five
‘Lord, look at the crowds.’ Sonia turned from the high gabled window. ‘You’d think the whole world had come to Frankfurt.’
‘And you’d be about right.’ Elizabeth shook out the fine cambric frill she was sewing. ‘Charles says it was little short of a miracle he found us these apartments.’
‘With his usual modesty.’ Her tone was sardonic. ‘And I have no doubt he has agreed to pay far more for them than we can afford.’
‘Well,’ said Elizabeth reasonably. ‘We can hardly grumble at that, since he has been franking us ever since he met that providential cousin of his.’
‘Yes—his mysterious cousin. Shall we never meet him? Is Charles ashamed of him, d’you think? Maybe all his fine talk about being a duke’s grandson was nothing but moonshine and he doesn’t want us to meet his fat burgher kinsman.’ She turned once more to look out the window. ‘Look at them! Grumble, grumble, grumble all the time about their sufferings under Napoleon—iniquitous taxes, forced levies…and all of them as fat as butter, looking as if they’d never suffered in their lives.’
‘And making a pretty penny out of the Allies too, by all reports. I can see why they’re in no hurry to have Headquarters move on again. Another month or so of this and they’ll have gone far to recoup their losses under the French.’
‘A month? Do you really think it will be so long?’
‘Impossible to tell. I was asking Charles only this morning.’ And then, as he entered the room. ‘Ah, Charles, the very person. Now you can tell Sonia yourself what you think the chances are of Headquarters’ moving on.’
‘Poor.’ He dropped his heavy greatcoat on a chair and moved over to the big stove in the centre of the room. ‘At least for the time being. They sent a peace offer to Napoleon, you know, by M de Saint Aignan and intend to await his answer here. After all, it makes a change after the discomforts of the campaign.’
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth, ‘they seem to be entertaining themselves pretty well, what with parades and dinners and the opera. It must, as you say, make a pleasant change. Think of the road here.’
Sonia shivered. ‘Don’t talk about it. But tell me, Charles, isn’t M de Saint Aignan the man that mysterious cousin of yours works for?’
‘Yes. My cousin has returned to France with him—and why you call him mysterious beats me.’
‘Why, because you never brought him to call on us.’
‘And why should I, pray? Has it not occurred to your scatterbrain that a cousin of mine might be a trifle surprised at finding me equipped with a couple of relatives he had never heard of.’
‘Oh.’ Sonia took it in. ‘And now he’s gone back to France, without a penny of his money. He must be very devoted to you, Charles.’
Vincent laughed. ‘He means, I think, to have a friend at court in case the Allies contrive to pull themselves together, stop dining and wining each other, and march on Paris.’
‘Oh, God, if they only would.’ Sonia picked a rose out of a vase on the table beside her and began systematically shredding it to pieces. ‘I’m so tired of Frankfurt I could scream.’
‘Well don’t,’ said Charles Vincent. ‘The landlady would undoubtedly complain. As for Frankfurt, you were glad enough to get here, so far as I can recall.’
‘Of course I was! After that grisly journey: I shall never forget it.’
‘Nor will Elizabeth, I imagine.’ And then, as she snatched another rose out of the vase, ‘Blücher sent those roses: I expect him again tonight. He may be surprised to find them so diminished.’
‘He sent them to me, did he not?’
‘To you and Elizabeth. His gracious hostesses, if I remember the phrase aright. He would hardly call you gracious if he could see you now.’
‘No? Well, let me show you just how gracious I can be.’ She swept across the room to the chimney piece where the landlady had arranged a prized collection of china figures, snatched up a Dresden shepherdess and threw it at him with all the force she could muster.
‘Tut, Rapunzel.’ He caught it neatly as she turned and ran sobbing from the room. And then, to Elizabeth, ‘My fault, I suppose.’
‘Not really. Poor child; I wish I could convey to you how unlike she is to her usual self.’
He smiled his wry, delightful smile. ‘I’ll take your word for it. Poor child indeed. That was a bad day she went through.’
‘A terrible one. I cannot help feeling guilty for having been safely unconscious through it all.’
‘You should be grateful you were. I do not imagine you could have helped trying to intervene. Your unconsciousness most certainly saved your life.’
‘I suppose so. It’s a sobering thought. But—seriously, now we are alone, do you think we really have a chance of making enough money to get ourselves to England?’ How strange to find herself asking this, committed to this fantastic line of conduct. But for the thousandth time she asked herself, What else could I have done?
‘I’m sure we can.’ His confident tone was reassuring. ‘We’ve done pretty well this last week, you know. Well—everything is on our side. It is not merely that there are no ladies in Frankfurt: there are no homes. The men dine each other, day after day, with the same food sent in from the same inn, the same company, the same speeches. No wonder if we have been mobbed since we started keeping open house. I think our problem will continue to be rather to limit the number of our guests than to find them.’ And then, on a different note: ‘And no need to look so grave, either. I know you don’t much like it—nor, I suspect, now it’s real to her, does Sonia, but they can well afford to lose what we so badly need to win. We give them a pleasant evening and win from them money they’d lose elsewhere, if they did not here. Well, then?’
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