Louise enjoyed the remainder of the month – there were invitations to play at musical evenings two and three times a week and the opportunity to listen to professional performers at semi-private engagements. She was inclined to revise her earlier distaste for the capital city.
“There is culture in Washington, Sir Richard. It is not wholly a city of drunkenness and loose women, of sewage and corruption – but I suppose, in all honesty, no city could be a place of unleavened coarseness. One must say, however, that Washington tries hard to achieve the status of vulgarity!”
“I could not dwell here all my days, my dear, but it has some points in its favour. Very few, though.”
She smiled at his jest, very kindly.
“There are three Cunarders sailing at the end of April. Two from New York and one from Boston on the twenty-seventh. I am inclined to book a cabin on that last.”
“To arrive in England at the end of the first week in May – that seems an eminently suitable time, sir. I should not wish to travel much after that date.”
"We can go earlier if you wish."
"No, there is no need, sir. We still have a few engagements to fulfil, and you have business to complete with Mrs Welland, I believe."
"Yes, I have indeed. I have extracted some part of our money from her grip and will probably be able to get more yet. It will be worth the inconvenience, in purely financial terms."
Louise was quite satisfied with his response, having no idea that there was any other purpose to her husband's frequent meetings with the lady.
"I discover, Sir Richard, that there have been large purchases of the shares you have placed on the Exchange by a very few investors, and some of them were no more than shadows operating as proxies."
Mrs Welland seemed a little upset, almost as if she feared that Dick had been conniving against her.
"Have you discovered who the buyer is, Liz?"
"Fisk, the rising star of St Louis."
"Trust him! He owes me a favour and is working to keep our share price up. If he likes the dividend he will retain some of his holding but he will in any case only dribble shares back onto the Exchange. He is a dangerous man in many ways, but he is reliable as a friend. If, for example, you found yourself looking for a manufacturing site or warehouse in the West, then he would be the man to speak to - he knows every mayor and councillor, every sheriff and marshal. He will take his cut, as goes without saying, but he will deliver in return. He is a wild man, of course, and a foolish one in his love for the newspapers. Where a man like Mr Carnegie seeks to stay out of sight, he courts the reporters, and that is all very well while he is on the up, but foolish if he ever puts a foot wrong."
"That is worth knowing, but I would prefer to avoid them all."
"You are rich, and will be richer, Liz. You are a robber baroness, in fact, and that must attract attention."
"I would rather be hidden from public view."
"Easily done, Liz. Cultivate an editor or two - they come cheap, I am told, no more than a couple of thousand shares in the company will buy any one of them. They will pass the word that your name is to be kept out of their pages - you will not need to buy them all as they talk to each other."
"You are a repository of wisdom, Richard. A pity that you will not be available to educate our offspring."
"Regrettably, it is better that I shall not be, Liz. I could wish it were otherwise, but I am not, cannot be, American, I find. You, equally obviously, cannot be English. The countries are growing apart, it seems - the States can no more be seen as 'England across the water'. I do not quite fit in here, which is a pity, as you say, but has advantages as well, for me. At least I have some knowledge of what and who I am now, and I shall always be grateful to the country for making me grow up. I fear I was a nasty little chap when first I came to America. I hope I am more than that now."
She made no comment, but very quietly implied that this was a good time to make their farewells - they had not a lot more to say to each other.
"Our child be will the son or daughter of Colonel Welland, Dick. It will be better that way."
He nodded, knowing she was right, though not especially liking the fact.
"Will you go to the playhouse, Sir Richard, to Ford's? I am told that there is a very decent performance this month, something more than a roaring burlesque!"
Colonel Goring, the military attaché, was only slightly disparaging of the theatre in Washington.
"I cannot imagine that I shall do so, sir. I much prefer to read my entertainment than to listen to it - I can build a far more attractive picture in my mind than any actor can upon the stage. On that topic, sir, has anything emerged on the topic of 'the play-actor'?"
"Not a word, Sir Richard. We have not the least idea of who he might be, and I believe the American people have quite discounted him. He is either imaginary or insignificant, or so they think. I have asked our people in Canada whether anything has come to light in Montreal, but have as yet received no reply. I do not expect one - there cannot be two or three officers in the whole of the colony who are tasked with surveillance of the Copperheads there. They are far more concerned with watching the Irish and the French, the latter particularly since this foolishness with their Emperor."
Dick had not heard of any great idiocy originating in France, but, like most of the British, he had small respect for or interest in the new Napoleon. He asked for more detail.
"The Emperor is faced with discontent at home. He is growing old in himself, though he has not the tally of years against him that one might expect; the strain of office has left him prematurely aged, it would seem. He is losing control of his country and is terrified of a new revolution and so is seeking any pretext for war-mongering overseas. Mexico is souring on him so he has made noises about Canada and Quebec. I say 'he has' but strongly suspect that one of his ministers has done so with scant reference to him - he is increasingly a figurehead."
"Damned fool! Have they nothing better to do than resurrect ancient grievances?"
"He is surrounded by sycophants and corrupt money-grabbers, Sir Richard, all of whom can see the advantages to themselves of a weak regime with its eyes focussed overseas. They seek an excuse to raise taxes for a war, the money then to be diverted into their own pockets. France needs a government that will offer its ordinary people a degree of comfort in their daily lives. Instead, they have an insistence on 'La Gloire' and a refusal to acknowledge their poverty. God knows, life in England is not easy for the common man, but in France it is actively hard."
The concept of comfort for the common man was a new one for Dick. He could not remember ever so much as thinking about the living conditions of the ordinary people; he did not recall even noticing them, for that matter. The great mass of the people was just there, a faceless mob on the streets and in the shipyard and sometimes to be spotted in the fields. He had rarely had occasion to talk to them, and had certainly never discovered how they lived - they were not a part of his existence. He was minorly intrigued to find that Colonel Goring could think them of any importance at all.
"They are the mass that can be manoeuvred into revolution, Sir Richard. Used properly by their betters they can overthrow the existing regime so that a new and equally corrupt successor can be formed to abuse them. They will never improve their own condition, of course, but they can be dangerous and so must be controlled. Alcohol and bread, in equal availability, will keep most quiet, it seems. The opportunity to educate their children is also important - they truly believe that their swarming masses of guttersnipes can climb in the world, given reading and writing. A few do, of course. The middle order of people are the most dangerous, and they must be kept in a good frame of mind; allowing them to rise easily to a slightly higher place is the simplest way. The French sneer at their bourgeoisie and keep them down; the English sneer at them and bring them along. The colonies rely on the prosperous shopkeepers' sons to run them, for example, and then to return to Britain to live orderly, contented l
ives pretending to be gentlefolk. It is far the better system!"
“You seem to imply that the British way has been deliberately imposed upon the people, sir.”
“No, not at all, Sir Richard – good luck and the will of God is all. It is undoubtedly the case that all other nations are inferior to Britain – to England, more correctly – and that is because of Divine Providence. One set of people must hold the world in mastery - for its own good – and that happens to be us. Naturally, we benefit from this.”
It was an entertaining doctrine, Dick thought, but he could see potential dangers in it. Not to worry – he could probably discover some advantage from the idea.
“So, sir, all is well in our world and will quite possibly become even better! I shall leave the States in less than three weeks now, and I rather doubt that I shall return. I cannot wish to bring my children up to be other than English.”
“Quite right too, sir! If that were not possible then American is second-best, but one would be most unwise to deny one’s offspring the opportunity to grow up in Queen Victoria’s noble land!”
They did not attend the playhouse but continued on the social round they had established. When asked, Louise delicately implied that she found the theatre just the tiniest fraction vulgar – it was not quite the place for a lady to be seen.
“Those playbills one sees plastered on all of the walls, sir! Hardly the epitome of elegance.”
The bills advertising the different productions were all printed large in primary colours and bold typeface and illustrated with garish excitements; they were not appropriate to the Victorian withdrawing room.
The words of an English milady were listened to, and the upper crust of Washington society, while patronising the plays as they always had, became less willing to admit to the fact.
On Good Friday they were sat in their armchairs at a musical soiree, Louise having played and been much congratulated, and listening to a very young gentleman, a schoolboy, display a delicacy of touch and feeling that promised much for his future as a master of the pianoforte, provided he was well-taught. He was playing Mozart with great sympathy and Louise was wholly lost in his music when she became aware of a sudden disturbance; she surfaced from the piano with considerable irritation, was about to make an acerbic comment when Dick touched her arm and shook his head.
“It is important. Hush, my dear. The end of the war, perhaps?”
The player stopped abruptly.
“The President has been shot! At the playhouse. He cannot live, they say.”
There were wails from some of those present, not all female, and a concerted demand for information from the servant who had burst in with the news.
“I do not know more, sir. They was shoutin’ in the street and I didn’t get no more.”
Their host signed to the buffet and the servant brought drinks for them all, much needed.
“Send the boy to find out more, Thomas!”
The servant said that he had already done so. He had also warned the grooms and carriage drivers, in case folks thought it better to return home.
“Well done.”
The party broke up rapidly, almost all seeking the comfort and safety of their own hearth, a few taking themselves off to the White House or to newspaper offices in search of hard knowledge. Dick took Louise back to the hotel.
“What do you know, Sir Richard?”
Dick turned to his questioner, a fellow-guest who he had barely ever spoken to.
“I know nothing, I am afraid, Mr Belton. I have heard but the barest statement that the President has been shot and is in a bad way.”
They remained downstairs for two hours as the news trickled in and it became certain that Mr Lincoln could not live, might already be dead. He had been shot in the back of the head at close range by a man who had the key to his box. The man who had murdered him was a theatre employee, it was first supposed, but he was soon named as a well-known actor, one of the brightest of the rising stars of the theatre.
“A play-actor, you say, sir?”
“Yes, Sir Richard. John Wilkes Booth, by name. He has fled and I am told that the manhunt has begun. If he is to live he needs be well into the South by morning.”
Dick turned to Louise, his face harsh.
"Go to our room, my dear, and remain there. Inform Plaistow that he is to hold guard under arms until my return. Keep Merrett with you. There may be disorder. It is just possible that there is an uprising planned to coincide with the assassination, slightly more likely that there will be a riot. Whatever, you will be better off locked away. I must go to the Embassy, and they may have work for me that will keep me away for some few days. I do not know. We made no plans for this contingency."
She obeyed without question; he must perform his duty, that must always be the first concern of any gentleman.
"Do you expect to make the trip to Boston and our ship still, Sir Richard?"
"More than ever, my lady! America's sole hope for a decent future has just gone. All that will be left will be the profiteers and the revenge-takers and there will be no man respected enough to bring them to heel. There was a chance that a reunited America might rapidly become a great nation; now it will be flawed forever."
She had no doubt that he was right - leaving aside that a man must know more of such matters than any female could, she had a great respect for his intellect and learning, though she was still much puzzled by the black core of sadness that lay inside him. She made her way upstairs to obey his instructions to the letter, knowing that they were given for her own protection, her safety his first concern, as was only correct.
The embassy was fully lit, the doors unlocked and the horrible youth Fanshaw was sat bleary-eyed at his desk. He had evidently been making a night of it when he had been summoned from bar or private party to return to duty.
"Colonel Goring?"
"Is here, Sir Richard. He said for you to go through if you came, sir."
Dick nodded and made his way to the military attaché's office, finding him in conversation with a pair of Americans, both with the look of policeman, and each quietly reaching under his jacket as the door opened unexpectedly.
"Major Sir Richard Burke, gentlemen. The source of much of my information and the gentleman who first brought 'the play-actor' to my attention. A pity that we could not discover more of the man than that soubriquet."
Goring made no attempt to introduce the two, thus identifying their occupation to Dick's satisfaction.
"We are satisfied that the man Wilkes Booth must be 'the play-actor', and discover that he is known to have been in Canada before Christmas, Sir Richard!"
"It is easier far to discover information when you know who you are looking for, sir. Is he a known Copperhead?"
"On the edges, probably not a leader. He seems to be a secret Romanist, or at least one who makes no great play of his faith. It is possible that he felt that he would do better on the stage if his denomination was unknown, there being still some prejudice against the Catholics."
One of the Americans spoke up.
"He has also been courting a well-inlaid lady of Presbyterian parentage. Her inheritance might not be readily available to a Catholic!"
"That also is a possibility, Sir Richard. Be that as it may, he has some contacts in New York, their nature as yet undiscovered, but the suspicion of involvement in the Catholic-led riots arises, of course."
"Nasty if it be so, sir. Possibly better not to appear on the front pages of the newspapers. One might imagine that the authorities would want no anti-Catholic riots inspired by the actions of one murderous extremist who happened to be of the faith. The feeling is close under the surface, or so I am told, and would require little to break out."
The anonymous Americans agreed; there was hardship in all of the Eastern cities and many blamed the immigrant Irish for their poverty. It could easily lead to violence.
"You will see the notices on the doors of landladies in the poorer areas, Sir Richard.
They seek tenants for their rooms and underneath very often you will see the words: 'No Dogs; No Blacks; No Irish."
"In that order, sir?"
"The three lumped together, and the Irish at the bottom of the list. That feeling is there, sir, and could be turned into a positive explosion of disorder. That, in the very last days of the war, we do not need! It might encourage the last few hold-outs of the Confederate armies to keep fighting."
"Then the quieter the better would seem to be the rule, gentlemen."
"The authorities want to take Booth alive, they say, for a full trial and a hanging."
Colonel Goring made the statement in a wholly uninflected voice.
"Was I to join the chase, sir, then I might be able to ensure that the murderer faced his God at an earlier stage."
"Begging your pardon, gents, but we would be better back in our own offices while you talked this over. Our bosses won't want to read anything of this in our reports. He is heading south through Maryland, we think. His difficulty will be to cross the Potomac River. Any word we receive will reach you, gentlemen."
The Americans left and Dick and Colonel Goring discussed their intentions for a few minutes, Dick then returning to his rooms to change into his working uniform. As a decorated major he would be able to attach himself to any army unit taking part in the chase and ensure that the correct orders were quietly given. Most small patrols would be officered, if at all, by no more than a lieutenant or even an ensign or cornet of cavalry; he could outweigh them, possibly remaining anonymous in process.
The word came through that Secretary Seward had been attacked as well, knifed on his bed of sickness, but his assailant taken and Seward not mortally wounded.
"A pity, Sir Richard," Goring commented. "The world could have borne Seward's loss far more easily."
Seward was generally thought to be strongly anti-British.
An Uncertain Peace (The Making of a Man Series, Book 3) Page 14