by Regina Darcy
The Viscount held up his hand. “Your heart does you credit, and I do not dispute your contentions. But there are those who believe that the means to balance the injustices against the poor can only be achieved through anarchy. It is not for me to pretend that I have the ability to solve the problems. But I have been entrusted with the charge to prevent murder to be the means by which it takes place and I can affirm to my superiors without a doubt that you are not one of the conspirators.”
NINE
“But you require his complicity to prove to your superiors, as you describe them, that he is not guilty,” Phoebe surmised.
The Viscount shrugged. “It would be useful.”
“I am viewed as a threat to the British government because I have expressed views which every Christian gentleman ought to champion?” Her uncle was not angry, but his sense of outrage was clearly ignited.
“Old chap, the churches are filled with men, and women too, who attend services because it is their social duty, not because it is their moral conviction. I would be naïve to pretend otherwise. Now, will you help or must I search for another accomplice?”
“I will help, of course. I am a loyal Englishman, as you well know.”
“I know. Miss Stanford, can I count on your assistance?”
“Certainly, but I’m at a loss to understand what I can possibly do.”
“You can attend the play tomorrow. You will be charming, witty and intent on nothing but being a pleasant member of the party. At some point during the evening, you will find a way to mention Lord Harrowby.”
“Lord Harrowby? Is he one of the plotters?”
“No. The dinner at which the government officials are to be assassinated is to take place at Lord Harrowby’s home. He is unaware of the plot.”
“How should I mention him?” Phoebe asked.
“I leave it to you to devise a reason for the introduction of Lord Harrowby’s name. I also realize that you will be encumbered by the efforts of Lord Billingham to woo you, a time when political matters are rarely welcome,” he smiled. “But you will mention that your uncle has learnt that the Cabinet will be dining at Lord Harrowby’s on February 23.”
“Why is my uncle not mentioning this fact himself? Surely it would be more credible coming from him.”
“Because your uncle is going to be indisposed and unable to attend the theatre party. You will attend as the guest of the Earl and the Countess of Chessington, which should provide sufficient chaperonage.”
“Will they not think it excessively odd that I am aware of the date when a dinner of Cabinet officials is to take place?”’
“They will assume that you learned the date from your uncle, who is known to have a wide circle of contacts in and out of the government. The Earl is very skilled at recruiting men of good reputation among his comrades. He is also exceedingly adept at planning his exploits under seemingly innocent circumstances: a dinner, a night at the theatre. He will be accompanied by several of the gentlemen who were at the supper you attended, and who were also part of the conversation at the Duchess of Tenley’s ball. No attention is paid, no suspicions are raised when a member of the aristocracy surrounds himself with others from his class. But when they meet, they do not limit themselves to the names in Burke’s Peerage.”
“I do not wish my niece to be in any danger,” Lord Glastonburg said wrinkling his forehead. “She is brave and bright, but she is not to be sacrificed.”
“I have no intention of putting her in danger. Her gender is her most secure defence because His Lordship will never consider that a mere woman could possibly be a threat to his plot. That may not be flattering to the Daughters of Eve, but it is a fact. Miss Stanford, I believe you will concur with this view, however erroneous it may be?’
“I do, and I will gladly assist you. But I have one question, my lord. Why should we credit your tale? You are known to my uncle only as a friend who plays chess. You are known to me only as a man of questionable reputation who dresses with admirable tailoring and style and attends a variety of social events, but of no particular distinction otherwise.”
“Phoebe!” her uncle remonstrated.
But the Viscount appeared unperturbed by this analysis.
“She is right to question my credentials. I cannot divulge my own government superiors, but I can tell you that I’ve been working with the Bow Street Runners to solve this matter before lives are lost.”
“Why you?” she persisted.
“Why me, indeed. Precisely because I, in common with yourself, am not regarded as a man to be taken seriously. I am known to be exceedingly occupied by the cut of my suit. I enjoy baccarat and fast horses and I frequent White’s far more often than I do the family pew at church. I have been touched by scandal and that does not recede quickly.”
“You fled to Europe to escape dishonour.”
“That is what is believed, and I do nothing to discourage the tale.”
“It is untrue?”
“I was sent to Europe to learn more about the international sources of some of the radical philosophies which have become prevalent. I was incognito during my sojourn. I learned a great deal, but my lessons were nothing that I could have studied at Eton. Like you, Miss Stanford, I have learned to live two lives: the one which to which society gives credence and the one which is the truth.”
“Tell me again what I need to do,” she said. “Give me your instructions so that I am aware of the precise details that I need in order to perform credibly.”
“Thank you,” he said, sounding sincere.
Their eyes met. His green-gold irises drew her into an array of secrets which flourished. Her own eyes, so dark that they could have been onyx, revealed nothing. They were separately well aware of how much each sensed about the other’s true self, but neither exposed any more than an innate sense of privacy. But it was enough, and when the Viscount took his leave, he and Phoebe had reached an understanding which made words superfluous.
Matters were not so tacitly understood the next night. Lord Billingham, of course, required words. “You look splendid!” he whispered in her ear as they alighted from the carriage together. When learning of her uncle’s indisposition, the Earl had insisted that he would send his carriage to bring her to the home, and to return her after the play. She had dressed with deliberate attention to her appearance, more so than she had ever done before. Her dress, a white muslin edged with Van Dyke lace, was so excessively feminine that she seldom wore it, but now it seemed ideal for her purposes. Fanny styled her hair with an abundance of curls and ringlets to accentuate the daintiness of her heart-shaped face. She wore pearl earrings with a matching choker around her neck. Before she left her bedroom, she gave her reflection in the mirror a disdainful glance.
“You look just like a schoolgirl,” she said.
But that was what she wanted to look like in order for the ploy to be successful. It had worked, because Lord Billingham, as he took her arm to escort her into the theatre, seemed to think her fragile limb too delicate for the brawny grip of a man.
She smiled at Lord Billingham. “Thank you,” she replied, whispering as he had so that his parents would not overhear.
“I hope you are pleased.”
“More than pleased,” he said. “Entranced.”
The Countess was warm in her welcome, seating Phoebe between her and Lord Billingham. The Earl sat behind them, two of his friends on either side. The Countess and Phoebe engaged in cordial exchanges about fashion and as they spoke, Phoebe wondered at the selfishness of the Earl, who could, by his plotting, expose his wife to the eventual disgrace that she would suffer when he was punished for his actions. Did he plot because he genuinely cared about the circumstances of the ordinary man who was suffering from the economic privation? Or was he intent on a darker purpose, one in which the downfall of the government would signal his own rise to power? It was possible that no one would ever know. But treason was a demanding master, and once in servitude, there was no parole.
There was no purpose to be served in worrying about the Earl and his motives. She had enough to do.
TEN
“My uncle was so disappointed that he was unable to accept your invitation, my lord,” she said to the Earl. “Many times he has mentioned how much he enjoys your conversation and your astute observations on matters. My uncle, as you know, is a man of freethinking ideas and he does not often encounter others who share his unfettered views. He has been quite voluble on the subject of how welcome it is to meet others of his philosophy.”
“I was most distressed to hear of his indisposition,” said the Earl promptly. “Please tell him that I look forward to seeing him again. I believe he will be able to contribute greatly to our next engagement. I plan to invite him to a meeting of other freethinkers later next week, where he will be able to inspire further discussion.”
“I shall tell him,” Phoebe promised. “I hope that he did not startle you with his reference to the American orator, Patrick Henry, at your supper. He was very concerned that perhaps he had spoken out of turn.”
Before replying, the Earl paused to look at the man on his left. “Not at all. We very much benefitted from his knowledge. It’s a very stirring speech.”
“Yes, very. My uncle is quite fond of oratory,” she said. “I’m not familiar with it, you understand, but he assured me that it’s of great significance.”
“One would not expect a pretty young woman to fill her head with political speeches,” the Earl said indulgently.
She smiled as if grateful for the Earl’s understanding. “I will convey your message to my uncle. I know that he will accept, providing that his fever does not continue. Will he meet you at your home?”
“Not this night, no. We have a special place to meet for our philosophical discussions where we need not inconvenience the ladies. We meet in Cato Street. Please tell him to keep February 22 open on his social calendar, as we shall be meeting that night.”
“February 22?” she repeated as if the request were a challenge for her faculties. “Yes, I shall tell him. He was speaking of another event in February, the very day after. ... Now what was it? Something to do with Lord Harby, I believe.”
“Lord Harrowby?”
“Yes, that’s it. I’m so sorry but these names are not familiar to me and sometimes my uncle fails to realise that I am not paying attention. He has so many colleagues, you realise, and he meets so many gentlemen who think as he does.”
“That’s gratifying to know,” said the Earl. Phoebe thought that he bestowed a meaningful glance upon the gentleman beside him. “Do you recall why he mentioned Lord Harrowby?”
“No, not at all, but he was quite energised when he told me. He said that he was hoping a friend of his at this meeting of… the Cabinet? Yes the Cabinet, would finally passionately argue the plight of the common Englishman. I don’t remember anything else; I was leaving to go to my dressmaker’s and I confess that I was paying very little attention. But you must not give away my secrets to my uncle; he tells me that I am a ninny sometimes.”
She silently begged forgiveness from her uncle who had never said any such thing. But the Earl merely gave her another absent smile as he assured her that her attendance to her dressmaker was exactly what he expected and she had made the right decision.
When the curtain rose on the play, she turned her attention to the stage and the pressure of Lord Billingham’s hand clasping hers as he maintained his own dialogue during the acting. But it didn’t matter; she was not interested in the play and her senses were heightened with the awareness that behind her, there was an equally covert conversation going on among the Earl and his guests. Only the Countess seemed intent upon the play, probably convinced that her nephew’s romance and her husband’s interests were areas in which her intrusion was neither welcome nor needed.
The Earl and his friends left the box during the intermission. The Countess was in a discussion with a friend of hers who had stopped by. Lord Billingham, taking advantage of the privacy, said, “Miss Stanford, I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss with your uncle and I hope—that is, I dearly hope that you will countenance my suit.”
“What was that, my lord? My apologies, but someone was talking and I could not hear you. I believe you wish to speak with my uncle? He will be delighted to do so as soon as he is on the mend from his ailment. He took to his bed late this afternoon saying that his head felt as though it were encased in soggy cotton, and I do not expect he will be receiving callers for the remainder of the week. But as soon as he is well, I shall tell him that you desire to speak with him.”
“Yes,” said his lordship, not at all sure that the delightful Miss Stanford exactly understood the meaning of his request. But she smiled at him with such warmth that he decided she must have understood after all and he comforted himself with the thought that her uncle was in otherwise good health and likely to recover soon.
At the conclusion of the evening, when the carriage stopped in front of her uncle’s house, Phoebe thanked the Earl and Countess effusively for their hospitality.
“We hope to have many such opportunities to enjoy your company,” said the Countess.
Phoebe smiled but at the Countess’ words, her heart fell. She was about to reveal a plot that would bring about the ruin of the Countess’ life. If she failed to do so, a bloody retribution would be visited upon Cabinet ministers who, whatever their politics, represented their government’s rule. The role of a conspirator required a ruthless adherence to one’s duty. It was not a role she relished. But she knew, even as Tyler opened the door to admit her, that she was better suited for it than her uncle.
Her uncle and Viscount Sunderland were waiting for her in the library. She wasted no time in relaying the information that she had learned from the Earl.
“Cato Street. . . ” the Viscount said thoughtfully. “We didn’t know that. Excellent work, Miss Stanford. You have found out where they will meet. Lord Glastonburg, we will need you to take part in that meeting. Are you able to do so?”
“Certainly. I must do no less than follow the example of my niece,” her uncle smiled at her. “I’m very proud of you, my dear.”
“I’m in your debt, Miss Stanford.”
“What happens next?”
“We catch them,” the Viscount said. “They meet to finalise their plans next week and thanks to you, we know the date and the location.”
The Viscount’s confidence was not misplaced. The conspirators were apprehended before they had the opportunity to wreak their violent intentions upon the Cabinet ministers. The Viscount came immediately to inform Phoebe and her uncle of the events that had transpired, assuring them that their role would remain concealed as they wished.
Lord Billingham came to call, his mien impassive. He was leaving England, he told her. He and his aunt were moving to America. England was no longer home. She expressed her sympathy for his situation and sensed his relief that his intention to propose marriage had never formally come to pass. It was easier for both of them to pretend that theirs had been merely an acquaintance. She wished him well and expressed her appreciation for the kindness that he and the Countess had shown.
The visitor that she wanted to see did not arrive. After telling them of the events that had led to the arrest of the conspirators, Viscount Sunderland did not reappear. Phoebe, whose views on the Viscount had undergone a dramatic transformation, wondered why he had not come by, if only to play chess with her uncle, but when she voiced this thought, her uncle said that Lord Sunderland was still involved in the matter and would come when he was at liberty to do so.
Winter ended, and spring came. The London season, which typically went into full bloom in May, was marked by the execution of the conspirators, who met their death at Newgate Prison on May 1. Neither Phoebe nor her uncle attended the execution, although many others did, so many that the authorities, fearing a public response, had soldiers and artillery ready if needed. But they were not; the publi
c audience cheered the beheadings and voiced their approval when the executioner announced that the severed heads belonged to traitors.
ELEVEN
Neither Phoebe nor her uncle had closely followed the newspaper accounts of the arrests, trials, and executions of the Cato Street conspirators. Nor did they discuss the matter, both aware that they had done their duty as an Englishman and Englishwoman, but that such resolve did not extinguish the sorrow for those whose lives had been forever changed by the conspiracy. Nor was the situation faced by the teeming masses of English who laboured in the cities and in the rural areas eased by what had transpired. They would continue to starve while men of power and influence continued to live their lives as they had always done.
Phoebe experienced an unaccountable restlessness that could not be assuaged by the latest novels, or music, or the company of others. Her uncle, noticing her dispirited state, suggested that a change of scenery would do them both good, and he proposed a trip to Bath. But Phoebe knew that he disliked leaving his London home, and she declined the offer.
It was difficult, though, to find subjects on which to write when penning her weekly letter to her mother. The matters which were stirring her thoughts and her heart could not be disclosed; her mother was not interested in novels or the newspaper accounts of what was going on in the Empire; and Phoebe had not been to the dressmaker for a new wardrobe. Nor was it any use in telling her mother of the Viscount, when there was nothing specific to tell.
She was alone in the drawing room, struggling to assemble her thoughts or a facsimile of them to put to paper, when Tyler entered to tell her that the Viscount Sunderland was calling.
“The Viscount? Pray tell him to enter, and let my uncle know.”
“He said to let you know that he has come to see you, ma’am.”