When called upon to give her evidence she spoke with calm confidence, her voice carrying across the chamber. She happily confirmed that she had received the bribe from the old man and passed the request on to the duke who arranged the transfer.
‘Was the duke aware that you had been paid to make the request?’ asked Wardle.
‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘I showed him the two notes for a hundred each and one of his servants got me change for them.’ There was laughter from across the House at that, particularly from us up in the gallery. People began to sense that there might be a worthwhile contest after all.
Beleaguered representatives from the government then rose to cross examine her but she answered all of their questions confidently. She teased and flirted with her interrogators and soon had them laughing at her suggestive comments. Certainly Lord Folkestone was so impressed that while she was giving evidence he sent her a note offering her three hundred guineas if she would spend the night with him. Most of the politicians, even on the government benches either knew or suspected that she was telling the truth, but duty obliged them to do all they could to protect the reputation of the royal family and the administration.
The government’s case collapsed over the next week as more people gave their testimony. Mary was asked to return to the House twice more and each time gave strong and convincing statements. What really destroyed the government’s position was the evidence of one of their own witnesses. He was Mary’s former landlord and he had been called to discredit her and imply she was seeing other men at the same time as the duke. But cross examination of his claims led to the discovery of a note that the duke sent to Mary referring to one of the requests, which he was clearly aware of.
The whole affair was the talk of the town for weeks, with all the details in Hansard and repeated in other journals so that everyone knew the intimate details of the duke’s life.
A vote was finally held on the sixteenth of March and while government supporters doggedly backed their commander in chief, the public had already made up their minds about his guilt. The duke was forced to resign from the army. Colonel Wardle was hailed as a hero in the streets and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his fame. But those that the public and the press raise up are often torn down again. Wardle’s new high status was built on foundations of sand, as I discovered two weeks later.
It was the only other time I met Mary Clarke. I had been trying to avoid her as word was out in government circles that the duke and the Attorney General were determined to track down and disgrace all those involved in the affair. I had taken a walk down to the river Thames as there had been rumours that the old medieval London Bridge, lined with shops, churches and houses would collapse soon due to flood water carrying down fallen trees which were trapped in its arches. I had bought a news sheet on the way and saw now attention was turning back to Spain and Portugal, with calls from those countries for a new expeditionary force. There was much talk of pockets of resistance and guerrilla armies weakening the French forces, who were reported to be near collapse. A new British army, it was claimed, would provide new backbone to the resistance. There was even speculation on who would command, with Wellesley amongst the front runners.
As I reached the old bridge there was a big crowd looking at the spectacle of the water foaming around the arches but it showed no sign of getting swept away. As I was about to leave, a lady whose face was hidden with a hood, came and stood beside me. At first I thought it was a tart plying her trade but then I heard Mary’s voice.
‘Hello Thomas, I have not thanked you for your assistance.’
I looked around to check we could not be overheard before replying, ‘It is not something that I plan to boast about, but it did seem to work rather well. I hear from Phillips that your memoirs have been written, which will increase your fame even further.’
‘They have been written,’ she replied quietly. ‘But they will not see the light of day.’
‘Why not?’ I asked, puzzled, for Phillips had been boasting that they would bring down the government and he would soon be as famous as Wardle.
‘Because I don’t trust either Wardle or Phillips; they are more concerned with embarrassing the government than my interests. Wardle still has not paid for my new house or furniture and now I am being chased for payment. The promised annuity has not appeared and I am sure that Phillips will cheat me on the book proceeds. I have never known such a slippery rogue. And anyway I have had a better offer.’
‘Who from?’ I whispered back.
‘Freddie has offered me ten thousand, plus the restoration of my four hundred pound annuity and new annuities of two hundred pounds each for both my daughters, with all the annuities guaranteed by three other gentlemen including an earl and a banker. In return I must hand over the manuscript and any printed copies of the memoirs as well as any letters I have from him, and promise not to write anything about the duke again.
‘By George that is capital!’ I was amazed at the duke’s largesse. He was certainly doing all he possibly could to limit any further embarrassment. ‘Phillips and Wardle will be furious when they find out.’ I could not resist smiling at the thought. ‘I doubt that they will ever pay for that furniture now,’ I added.
‘I suspect you are right but Wardle will be ruined if he doesn’t. The duke’s people tell me that the Attorney General is willing to act for the carpenter at no cost. I rather hope he doesn’t pay for he has become quite tiresome. I might have to let slip that the man who accused the duke of sexual immorality has his own mistress above a shop in Sloane Square.’
We parted then with whispered good wishes as Mary saw someone she knew in the crowd. But she was right; Wardle did not pay and consequently was ruined. The public had acclaimed him as a man fighting corruption and vice; when they learned that he had bribed his star witness and as a married man had his own mistress, they felt betrayed and turn on him viciously. But I missed all of that because I had my own problems just then.
A week after my meeting with Mary I received a note sent on behalf of the duke requesting that I attend a meeting the next day with a Mr Tasker at Horseguards, the building housing the headquarters of the army. A request from the duke had to be about the Clarke affair. Had Mary told the duke about my involvement now they seemed friends again, I wondered. If she had what did that mean for me? I spent much of the following morning trying to convince myself I was safe, but there was still a nervous feeling in my stomach as I marched across the Horseguard’s parade ground to the entrance of the building for my interview. The clerk at the entrance told me that Tasker was on the duke’s personal staff and directed me to the offices that had until a few days ago been occupied by His Royal Highness. It was as I was walking across a large and impressive hall that I heard someone call out my name.
‘Ah, Flashman, I had expected to see you sooner but you are most welcome, sir.’
I turned and there was Arthur Wellesley, who had been my senior officer when I was in India, walking towards me and smiling warmly. Given his normal frosty demeanour, this was a rare occurrence.
‘Since my appointment to command in Spain was confirmed I have been plagued by various petitioners for places on my staff, most completely useless. But I can certainly use you.’
‘Err… is Tasker on your staff sir?’ I asked, now quite confused as to what was happening.
‘I was sorry to hear about your lost commission,’ continued Wellesley as though I had not spoken at all. ‘Nothing I could do about that then of course, but I would be most delighted to reinstate you as Captain now. I recollect that you have been to Spain before, speak Spanish and I am sure you told me that your mother was the daughter of a Spanish nobleman. This makes you ideal to handle those Spanish grandees. I need you as a liaison officer on my staff.’ I stood staring at him trying to take it all in. ‘I know that there would not be as much action as you would like,’ Wellesley continued, ignoring my look of stupefaction. ‘But it is a vital role nevertheless.’ He beamed a
gain and barked, ‘What do you say eh?’
‘I am not really sure,’ I admitted. I had been worried about being prosecuted or disgraced and now I was being offered a job.
‘Look, I know you Flashman, you like to get stuck in at the sharp end and probably don’t fancy the role of a staff walloper, but your skills with the Spanish commanders will be invaluable early on. Later, when good relations have been established, I will see if we can get you something a bit more exciting to do. Will you join me?’ He stuck out his hand for me to shake and I just stared at him. My first thought was how little he did know me despite our time together. The last place I wanted to be in any conflict was the ‘sharp end’. If I had to serve then staff officer was exactly the role I would want. But after the debacle of the last campaign I had no wish to go to Spain at all.
‘I’m sorry sir,’ I replied at last. ‘There seems to be some confusion, I am here because I received a request to meet a Mr Tasker.’
‘Tasker,’ he exclaimed, ‘but he is the cove looking into the Clarke business. You are not involved in that are you?’
‘Absolutely not. That is why I am here, to make that very clear.’
‘So you don’t want to join my staff?’ he asked, disappointed.
‘I don’t know if I can until I have spoken to Tasker.’ I searched around for an excuse, ‘He might want me as a witness or to help with the investigation.’
He looked petulant and disappointed for a moment but then his face became set in its more habitual haughty look. ‘If you change your mind let me know,’ he said, before patting my shoulder and walking away. I was left standing in the big empty hallway feeling more confused than ever.
Tasker, when I found him in an office adjoining that of the duke, was a stern middle aged man dressed all in black. After I had introduced myself and he had shown me to a chair opposite his desk, he sat down and stared at me. He did not say a word, just looked at me with eyes half shut in concentration as though he could divine my intentions just from my appearance. It was damned unnerving; I could feel the sweat starting to break out on my brow.
‘How can I help you Mr Tasker?’ I asked to break the silence, but he did not show any sign of having heard me. After nearly a minute had passed, or so it seemed for I did not look at the clock, I began to get angry. I was not here to be stared at like some lunatic in the asylum. It was as I started to get up that he spoke.
‘Sit down Mr Flashman. You are here at the express request of His Royal Highness and His Majesty’s Government.’
‘I don't understand why,’ I responded tartly.
‘Have you ever met Mary Clarke?’ he asked, watching me closely. He was getting straight down to the point and no error. If I had not already been tense with anger I might have shown more reaction. I was fairly sure that no one had seen us together at the river, but several of Byron’s set must have seen us talking together at Dorant’s Hotel. If I denied we met there it would seem suspicious.
I endeavoured to look thoughtful for a moment, as though thinking back, and then said slowly as though trying to remember, ‘I think I did meet her at a party a while back.’
‘In December last year,’ he said referring to his notes.
‘Yes, it could have been,’ I conceded.
‘We believe that the plot to ruin His Royal Highness’ reputation was hatched by the conspirators in December.’
‘Well that had nothing to do with me,’ I stated firmly, trying to sound outraged. I felt a cold clammy feeling now in the pit of my stomach. ‘That was all Wardle’s doing and I don’t think I have even met that villain.’
‘We are taking care of Wardle and we have interviewed Sir Richard Phillips who was also closely involved. Yesterday he sat where you are now and told me that Thomas Cochrane and you were the real instigators of events.’
‘That is outrageous!’ I exclaimed, standing up again. ‘He is just trying to deflect the blame from his own nefarious activities.’
‘Sit down Mr Flashman,’ said Tasker wearily. ‘I have already spoken to Captain Cochrane and he assured me that you have never spoken to him about the matter. I am inclined to believe him.’
‘Then why am I here?’
‘Because I know that Phillips is not smart enough to think this through, so someone must have done it for him.’ He paused and then added slowly ‘Perhaps someone who has a grievance against the army, someone used to plotting and intrigues in India, and someone who knows lots of opposition members of Parliament.’
‘Or perhaps it was Mary herself,’ I countered, having every confidence that the truth would be the one thing he would not believe.
I was not disappointed. ‘Clarke’s skills, such as she has any, are employed when she is lying on her back,’ he snarled. Incidentally he was wrong about that; she had skills in all manner of positions. He added, ‘There is no way she could come up with a scheme like this.’
Before I could stop myself I responded ‘So it was the duke who came up with idea to take bribes was it?’
Tasker slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘That is a slanderous comment and you will withdraw it at once.’ He took a breath and calmed himself before continuing, now with a slight smile of triumph. ‘You show your true colours now I think. A man with means and motive to do the duke damage; a man who mixes not only with radicals but with poets and degenerates. Was that where the plot was hatched?’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ I responded coldly
‘I have a witness who tells me that you were seen talking to Mrs Clarke at a party given by Lord Byron at Dorant’s Hotel. Do you deny it?’
‘No, that is the one time I met her, I have already told you that. But there were a dozen people there. I imagine that lots of them spoke to Mary... err Mrs Clarke.’
‘Who else did you see speaking to her?’ I thought back and remembered Hobhouse’s sneering and‘man of bones’ comment. The stuffed shirt would be appalled to get involved in a scandal like this, so it seemed an ideal opportunity to pay him back.
‘I saw Cam Hobhouse speaking to her at one point.’ I paused as though trying to remember, ‘Yes, they were talking for quite some time over by the window, away from everyone else.’
‘Really, Cam Hobhouse,’ he repeated as he wrote at the bottom of a sheet of paper containing what looked a list of names. He looked up again and studied me carefully. ‘We will find out who is behind this Mr Flashman, I have been charged by His Royal Highness not to rest until the culprits have been ruined and disgraced. You remain near the top of my list,’ he said, tapping with his finger on the paper before him. ‘So I suggest you remain close as we might want to question you again.’
I took my leave then and walked back through the hallway thinking through my position. There was no way that Tasker could prove my involvement but I was not naive; I knew how the world worked. He refused to accept that the genuine instigator of the plot was a possibility, so when he failed to find the genuine culprit he would cast around for someone he could blame anyway. He had to have a victim to succeed in his task and he looked a very ambitious man. Some poor unfortunate would have endless interrogations, witnesses would be bribed and eventually charges would be laid. Well, it was not going to be me. As I passed the end of a corridor I saw Wellesley again and an idea occurred to me. If I was abroad I could not be questioned, and if I was back in a red coat under a regiment’s colours then clearly I had no grievance against the army and the Duke of York. Wellesley’s offer of a liaison job would also keep me well away from the actual fighting. I could spend my time loafing around Spanish palaces, surrounded by dusky court ladies. It was so obvious I was surprised it had taken me so long to think of it. Of course if I had known the horrors that awaited I would have gone straight back to Tasker and confessed everything. Instead I marched towards Wellesley calling, ‘Sir Arthur, is that offer still open?’
Editor’s Note
The Mary Clarke scandal took place much as described by Flashman. Wardle was prosecuted by th
e Attorney General, lost the case and was fined. His last recorded action in the House of Commons was in 1811 when he cast a losing vote against the reinstatement of the Duke of York as commander in chief (something which had been intended ever since his resignation.) After the war finished he left Britain to escape his creditors and died in Florence in 1833.
The vegetarian Sir Richard Phillips was also later declared bankrupt although the exact cause of his downfall is not recorded. While he wrote a fulsome epitaph for his tomb, his contemporaries were less kind, one described him as ‘a scoundrel…who would suck the knowledge out of author’s skulls and fling the carcasses on the dung hill.’
Mary Clarke was ultimately not satisfied with her settlement as in summer 1810 she published a new book on the affair in which she suggested that another royal prince was behind the accusation. The man she named was the Duke of York’s brother the Duke of Kent, the father of the future Queen Victoria. Having made enemies of two royal princes she had few friends left and eventually she was prosecuted for libel and imprisoned for nine months. On her release she went to live in France where one of her daughters married a man called du Maurier. Mary Clarke’s great-great granddaughter was the novelist Daphne du Maurier, famous for such novels as Rebecca and Jamaica Inn. Daphne du Maurier was clearly fascinated with this era and her ancestor. One of her lesser known works is a biographical novel on her great-great grandmother called Mary Anne. While a dramatisation, it is meticulously researched and includes some of the transcripts of the Parliamentary hearings.
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