The Birthright

by T. Davis Bunn

  “If truth be known, Lord Harwick, you would prefer never to speak of such things with a woman, am I not correct?”

  “Miss Nicole, please, we were discussing our courtship.”

  “Just answer my question, Lord Harwick. I beg you.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “All right, yes. I do feel there are certain matters which, if brought into a relationship, would only result in unnecessary hard feelings.”

  “With respect, sir, I must disagree.”

  “My dear, I can perfectly understand your sentiments, given your most remarkable heritage. But that hardly means we are not meant for each other.”

  “Again, with respect, I disagree.” A faint hint of desperation entered into Nicole’s voice. “Lord Harwick, I don’t mean to offend, but I fear if I say anything more, I will do just that.”

  “I came out here hoping you might consider me as a worthy prospect for marriage,” Harwick protested. “Somehow we have entered the disagreeable fields of politics and religion and war. I must ask you to return to the matter at hand.”

  “Oh, very well. I suppose I shall have to speak plainly.” Her tone was harder than Anne had ever heard Nicole use. “Lord Harwick, I would not marry you if you were the last person on Earth.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Because it’s true.” The words became a torrent, quietly spoken, yet heated nonetheless. “I don’t wish to become some man’s ornament. Nor do I intend to remain silent on issues I consider vital, merely because some men prefer women to have no opinions, or at least not to speak them. Lord Harwick, these issues are vital and must be a part of any relationship I might enter into. I desire a partner who respects me and wants to share his life with me. All his life.”

  “My dear—”

  “Please allow me to finish, sir. I have a duty to perform here. I have an obligation to my uncle Charles, to the position and wealth he intends to bestow upon me, and most especially to God. I must seek a husband with whom I might share this vision, someone who will treat me as a partner in this shared mission.”

  There was a long silence. When Lord Harwick spoke again, his voice turned bitterly cold. “I would not be the least bit surprised to learn that you die a lonely old maid.”

  “If that is God’s will, then so be it,” Nicole replied flatly.

  “Your uncle must be behind this farce. Filling your head with idealistic nonsense. I must say it matches this ridiculous stance he has taken over the colonies.”

  “I must ask you to take your leave, Lord Harwick, before you say something we both shall regret.”

  “Very well.”

  Anne barely had time to back away before the man stormed from the balcony. He marched straight over to where Charles stood talking with Captain Madden and his wife, and then gave a curt bow. “I regret, Sir Charles, that common sense requires me to take my leave.”

  Charles started to speak, but then happened to glance over toward Anne, who was watching the two of them. Something in her look caused Charles to alter his response. “We shall miss your presence, Lord Harwick, but will not insist that you remain.”

  “Before I depart,” the gentleman said gruffly, “I must once again warn you to hold off on your plans for the morrow.”

  Charles’s face turned to stone. “Warn me, sir?”

  Lord Harwick held to his course. “It’s a dangerous route you have chosen, one that will bring much harm and no good whatsoever. Those words, sir, are not my own.”

  “My mind is set.”

  “Then you will become an outcast, a pariah within your own class.”

  “I have no choice in the matter.”

  Still Harwick pushed on. “Not to mention the harm your would-be heiress is causing you. I should not be surprised if the Crown—”

  “You have said enough!” Charles snapped. “And more besides. Now common decency requires that you depart at once.”

  “I shall look forward to your coming demise, sir.” With that Harwick wheeled about and left the chamber without a backward glance.

  Immediately Charles excused himself from the captain and Mrs. Madden, then hurried over to Anne. “Might I ask what was said here?”

  Nicole came in from the balcony, her eyes glistening but her composure intact. “It was all my fault, Uncle. I humbly apologize.”

  “On the contrary,” said an unexpected voice. A stranger stepped up from his station behind Anne. He bowed deeply to Nicole and said, “Your pardon, m’lady, I could not help but overhear.” He looked at Charles. “All you need to know, m’lord, is that your niece has done you and the Harrow name great honor this night.”

  Anne saw the crimson blush rise from the collar of Nicole’s dress. Anne reached over, grasped Nicole’s white-gloved hand, and said quietly, “I agree.”

  The young man was perhaps an inch shorter than Nicole. He gazed at her with undisguised admiration, his dark eyes alight with awe. “Again, I beg your forgiveness, Miss Nicole. But I must tell you that your words have sparked my heart.”

  He bowed once more and then left them. Anne watched his passage through the room and quietly asked, “Who, pray tell, was that?”

  “Percy’s nephew and heir,” Charles replied. “Thomas Crowley.”

  Nicole then demanded, “What was it Lord Harwick asked you about, Uncle? What dangerous course are you taking?”

  The grimness returned to Charles’s features. “I am to address the House of Lords tomorrow morning.”

  Nicole gathered herself and said, “I wish to come.”

  “My dear—”

  “If this is a matter of such grave importance, I should be there.” Her tone came close to matching her uncle’s. “I wish to be coddled no longer, Uncle. I want to know. I want to help.”

  Chapter 27

  It was a somber assembly that set off for the Houses of Parliament the next morning. Twice Nicole started to ask her uncle what was about to happen, but Charles’s stern look kept her questions trapped in her throat. They halted before the members’ entrance, where Charles alighted and said, “I must bid you adieu here. One of the porters will show you to the visitors’ gallery. Take the carriage when you wish to depart. I will make my own way home.” Without another word or backward glance, Charles turned and entered the great stone edifice.

  “I wonder what’s happening,” Anne said.

  But before Nicole could respond, the young face from the previous night suddenly appeared in the carriage’s open doorway. “Good morning to you, ladies. Thomas Crowley at your service. I could not help but overhear. Perhaps you will permit me to escort you upstairs?”

  Nicole felt the flush return to her cheeks. “You seem to do a great deal of listening into others’ conversations, sir.”

  “It’s true, Miss Nicole. I cannot deny it.” He smiled admiringly as he offered his hand to help her from the carriage. “My only defense is that I listen with the highest possible motives.”

  Thomas led them through the labyrinth of passageways and up a series of winding stairs. Parliament was far from the most ornate structure Nicole had visited, but certainly one of the most formidable. There was an austere look to the place, as though the frivolity of social exchange had no place here. The visitors’ gallery was a long hall with a stone frieze that overlooked the House of Lords.

  Nicole spotted Lord Charles seated on the more crowded side of the chamber, but speaking to no one. Unlike most of the members, her uncle did not usually wear a formal wig, preferring instead to powder his hair and gather it at the back in a black velvet ribbon that matched his black robe with purple borders. It seemed to Nicole that all those around her uncle deliberately avoided engaging him.

  Anne recognized it, as well. “Why does Charles appear so alone?” she asked.

  “I cannot say with any certainty, ma’am.” Thomas Crowley’s former air of excited ardor had vanished, and he now exhibited a grave expression and spoke in a solemn whisper. “But I have hea
rd snippets of his discussions with my uncle Percy. All I can tell you is that Charles has decided to speak as his conscience dictates.”

  Nicole studied the young man for a moment, then said, “But you know what he intends?”

  “I would rather not hazard to guess, Miss Nicole. Forgive me.”

  “Tell me what you can, then.”

  Her response must have gratified Thomas, for a glimmer of his earlier zeal returned. “The House of Lords is the king’s chamber, as the saying goes. The House of Commons, the lower chamber of our Parliament, is far less predictable. Though, at the moment, the Tories control both houses. The Tories are the king’s party and so are devoted to the Crown’s cause. Of course, this is no surprise, since they’re made up mostly of the landed gentry and therefore are the king’s men.”

  “The Tories are in control of England’s government, then?”

  “Just so. But within the House of Commons, Miss Nicole, the balance is much more delicate than in the chamber you see here below. The Whigs are growing in force, especially now. The Whigs are the party of the merchants, you see, and they are being hurt mightily by the war with the American colonies.”

  Thomas pointed down beneath the frieze and continued, “The side where your uncle sits is occupied by the Tories. The other side, this one below us, is reserved for the Whigs and the independents. As you can see, the Whigs are much fewer in number.”

  Nicole took another moment to inspect the dark-haired man. Thomas Crowley was not a particularly handsome person. His head appeared too large for his frame, along with his hands and feet. But he was far from an ungainly figure, especially when he was in motion. And he was seldom still. He displayed a remarkable agility, even in the way he used his hands while speaking. His words revealed a scalpel-like mind.

  “Are you yourself a Whig?” Nicole ventured.

  “I am, as is my uncle Percy.” Even when speaking softly, he showed a unique richness of voice, and fervor. “The Whigs represent the Dissenter churches, as well. The Lutherans, the Methodists, the Congregationalists, the Protestants, the Quakers, the Anabaptists. These are the churches backing the American colonies’ struggle for independence, you see.”

  “I did not know that,” Nicole admitted.

  “Oh yes. We have become most active in—”

  His words broke off at the sound of a great booming from below and a voice intoning for Order. Nicole turned with him and Anne and watched as the Lords began the formal ceremony of session.

  It was not long before the Speaker called on Charles. There was a general muttering among the Tories, and one older gentleman went so far as to pull on Charles’s robe. Nicole noticed that Lord Harwick was sitting in the row behind Charles. Harwick leaned forward to speak, his face tight as a clenched fist, but her uncle did not give any sign of acknowledging him. Instead, Charles lifted a handful of papers and said, “My Lord Speaker, Lords and Ladies of the House, three weeks and two days ago, the Continental Congress of the American States—”

  “The American colonies!” Lord Harwick shouted loudly from behind him.

  “Order!” The Speaker sat enthroned in the center of the room, with the golden chalice of office situated on a black velvet stand before him. He wore a wig whose sides curved downward like unfurled wings, resting on his shoulders. “Order, there! Lord Charles has the floor.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Charles raised his voice and continued, “The Continental Congress has issued a Declaration, of which I now have a copy. In this Declaration of Independence, they declare their intentions to secede from the Crown.”

  Again there was agitation among those seated on Charles’s side of the chamber. Soon another call for order came bellowing from the Speaker. Charles waited for the room to quiet down, then said, “Our newspapers have been reporting on this development. It has even been mentioned in the Commons. Yet nothing has been said of this momentous event here in our august chambers—”

  Lord Harwick shouted angrily, “That is because the entire colonial proceedings are illegal!”

  “It is time a formal record be made,” Charles went on, ignoring Harwick’s comment. “My lords, you have known me for many years. My family and I have faithfully served the Crown for eight generations. I stand here upon my honor as a loyal British subject, and say…” Charles hefted the parchment in his hands and then raised his voice even more. “I say, let these former colonists have their freedom!”

  Pandemonium erupted in the chamber below. There were shouts of treachery, of cowardice, of treason, of wordless fury. There were also a few cheers, mostly from those gathered on the opposite benches, though two among the Tories clearly agreed with Charles.

  Nicole observed Thomas making hurried notes. “What are you writing?” she whispered.

  Without looking up from his work, he said, “The names of those Tories supporting Charles. Up till now, none have had the courage to speak out.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the king has expressly forbade this debate from taking place. He wants the Lords to show a united front against the colonists and the Whigs both.”

  Anne’s expression mirrored Nicole’s concern. “What will happen to Charles?”

  “With his power and name, hopefully nothing,” Thomas replied, but his face was creased with concern, too.

  Finally order was restored once more. The Speaker sounded outraged by what Charles had to say, for he exclaimed, “Lord Charles, this is not a debating society! You requested this time, claiming you wished to set forth a motion.”

  “I do indeed, my lord. I hereby propose that this Declaration of Independence be ratified by the House—”

  “Sit down, sir!”

  “I move that we vote to grant them the freedom they demand to follow their own God-given destiny!” Charles dropped the papers he held so that his hand could reach out toward the gathering. “These articles state very clearly that we have failed them. These people were once our friends and brethren. But they have now grown so outraged by the way they have been treated, by the failure of our governors to serve and protect, by the heavy-handedness of laws passed by this very body, that they demand their freedom. They have come to this decision through careful thought and prayer. They beseech God to be with them in this momentous decision. And I say, we must respect their…”

  Whatever else Charles had to say was drowned out by the Speaker’s hammering gavel and the vehement roar of those surrounding him. Charles stared around the room, trapped within a sea of black robes and angry faces. He said nothing more. Instead, he slid from his bench, marched across the aisle, accepted the handshake of one seated in the front row, and then joined himself to the Whigs. After sitting down, he bowed his head and began massaging his chest with his left hand. Heated debate and calls for Charles to be punished rose up from the chamber. The loudest voice of all belonged to Lord Harwick, who furiously declared that he spoke for the king and that the Crown demanded Charles be sternly censured. Charles neither spoke nor raised his head.

  Chapter 28

  The journey to Wales began two days later. The road from London to Bristol was as straight and broad as the River Thames. Anne spent the trip seated across from two very glum figures: Charles, who had remained morosely silent since the confrontation in the House of Lords; and Nicole, who had been strangely shaken by her having witnessed the dreadful scene. Yet Anne felt herself invigorated, although she could not say precisely why. She had a hundred questions for Charles. But she was content to wait till Charles had recovered from what had happened. Then she would seek to learn more.

  Anne surveyed the summer landscape rolling by outside the carriage and felt as though she were seeing it for the first time. Her tragic veil was gradually lifting. It was not that she had stopped missing Cyril; she would feel his absence the rest of her life. But Anne now realized she was learning to live with the wound. Here in this world, thousands of miles from her life with Cyril, she was discovering a new life beyond her beloved. But did this mean sh
e would remain in England? Anne smiled toward the vista beyond the carriage window. Not all the questions rising within her were directed toward Charles. Nor did they all require immediate answers. For the moment she was content to observe within herself this gradual awakening, this leaving behind the long slumber of grief.

  They passed through the bustling port of Bristol, ferried across the River Severn, and entered Wales. The Mann estate lay on the outskirts of Newport, not as large a town as Bristol but a burgeoning harbor nonetheless. The Mann family were prosperous flax and linen merchants. They were delighted to meet Anne and proved to be as warm and cordial in their greetings as they had been in their correspondence.

  Judith Mann, Cyril’s mother, was an ample woman dressed in black. She had lost her husband two years before Cyril’s own passage and seemed content to remain permanently in her widow’s weave. Despite her appearance of mourning, however, Judith Mann was a warm and intelligent woman. The first three nights after their arrival, Anne stayed behind long after the others had returned to the inn where Charles had taken rooms. She and Judith sat up till the wee hours, and she recounted the time of Cyril’s illness and subsequent death. Anne talked till her throat grew raw and she could speak no more.

  On the fourth morning, she slept late and came downstairs to find Nicole seated on the bench by the front garden. It was a sunny day, and already the coaching inn was comfortably warm. Newport had been erected within a series of narrow hills that fell in graceful waves down to the broad waters of the Severn. The town was built mostly of close-cut local stone, gray and harsh looking in the rain. But now, with the morning sun gleaming down, the entire village glowed yellow as fresh-churned butter. Slate-tile roofs shone like silver-black mirrors upon the slopes leading down to the port.

  Anne smiled her greeting to Nicole and asked, “May I join you?”

  Nicole made room for her on the bench, but said only, “Nanny left a few minutes ago, taking John for his morning walk. Charles is out meeting an ailing friend. We are to go together after lunch and survey more of his holdings.”