by Anne Perry
Perhaps they had never been more than dreams anyway. Nothing had changed except in her knowledge.
CHAPTER
NINE
“I don’t believe it!” Jack Radley exploded, holding the newspaper up at the breakfast table, his face pale, his hands shaking.
“What is it?” Emily demanded, her first thoughts flying to the murder of Maude Lamont, now just a week ago. Had Thomas found something damning that incriminated Rose? Only now did she realize how much she had been dreading it. Guilt overwhelmed her. “What have you seen?” Her voice was sharp with fear.
“Aubrey!” Jack said, laying the paper down so he could see her. “He’s written to the editor. I suppose it’s in rebuttal of what General Kingsley said about him, but it’s very ill thought.”
“Ill thought? You mean carelessly written? That’s not like Aubrey.” She could recall his beautiful voice, not just a matter of diction but his choice of words also. “What does he say?”
Jack drew in a deep breath and bit his lip, reluctant to answer, as if reading it aloud would give it a greater reality.
“Is it so very bad?” she asked with a chill of anxiety biting deep into her. “Will it matter?”
“I think it might.”
“Well, either read it to me or pass it!” she directed. “For heaven’s sake, don’t tell me it’s bad and then keep it!”
He looked down at the page and began, his voice low and almost expressionless.
“‘I have in this newspaper recently been accused by Major General Roland Kingsley of being an idealist with little grasp upon reality, a man who would discard the glories of our nation’s past, and with it the men who fought and died to protect us and extend the rule of law and liberty to other lands. Normally I would be content to allow time to prove him mistaken. I would trust my friends to know me better, and strangers to be honest in their judgment.
“‘However, I am standing for the seat of South Lambeth in the present parliamentary election, and the date of that does not permit me the luxury of time.
“’Our past has many glorious events I cannot and would not change. But the future is ours to mold as we will. Let us by all means write great poetry about military disasters like the Charge of the Light Brigade at Sebastopol, where brave men died uselessly at the command of incompetent generals. Let us pity the survivors of such desperate actions when they hobble past us in the streets, blind or maimed, or lie in hospital beds. Let us lay flowers on their graves!
“‘But let us also act to see that their sons and grandsons do not fall the same way. This we have not only the power but the obligation to change.’ ”
“That’s not ill thought!” Emily argued. “As far as I can see, it is true, a perfectly fair and honorable assessment.”
“I’m not finished yet,” Jack said grimly.
“Well, what else does he say?”
He looked down at the page again. “‘We need an army to fight in time of war, should we be threatened by a foreign nation. We do not need adventurers who are tarred with the brush of Imperialism, and believe that as Englishmen we have the right to attack and conquer any other land we choose to, either because we believe profoundly that our way of life is superior to theirs and they would benefit from our laws and our institutions imposed upon their own, by force of arms, or because they have land, minerals, or any other natural resources that we may exploit.’ ”
“Oh, Jack!” Emily was appalled.
“There’s more of the same,” he said bitterly. “He doesn’t exactly accuse Kingsley of being a self-interested glory seeker at the expense of the ordinary man, but the implication is clear enough.”
“Why?” she said with a sinking feeling deepening in her. “I thought he had more . . . more sense of reality. Even if that were all true, it won’t win any friends he needs! Those who agree will be on his side anyway, and those who don’t will hate him for it!” She put her hands up to her face. “How could he be so naive?”
“Because Kingsley must have rattled him,” Jack replied. “I think Aubrey’s always hated opportunism, the idea that the strongest have the right to take what they want, and he sees Imperialism that way.”
“That’s a little narrow, isn’t it?” she asked, not really as a question. She did not defer to Jack, or anyone else, in her beliefs. Actual knowledge was another thing, but this was emotion and the understanding of people. “I am coming to think more and more that political fighting is only a good understanding of human nature and the sense to keep your mouth closed when speaking would not help. Tell no lies in which you will be caught, and never ever lose your temper or promise something you may be seen not to have given.”
He smiled, but there was no pleasure in it at all. “I wish you had told Aubrey that a couple of days ago.”
“Do you think it will really make a difference?” She was clinging on to hope. “That is the Times, isn’t it? Yes. How many of the voters in Lambeth South will read it, do you suppose?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll wager you anything you like that Charles Voisey will!” he responded.
She thought for a moment of making the wager and asking for a new parasol if she won, then realized how futile it was. Of course Voisey would see it—and use it.
“Aubrey talks about the military as if the generals were fools,” Jack went on with a note of despair in his voice. “Heaven knows we’ve had enough of them who were, but planning the tactics of battle is harder than you think. You can have clever enemies, inadequate arms, supply lines cut, a change in the weather! Or just plain bad luck. When Napoleon got a new marshal he didn’t ask if he was clever, he asked if he was lucky!”
“What did Wellington ask?” she returned.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, rising to his feet. “But he wouldn’t have had Aubrey. This is not dishonesty or even bad politics at heart, but it is the most appalling tactic against a man like Charles Voisey!”
Emily went with Jack to listen to Voisey speak to a large crowd in the early afternoon. It was in Kennington, and the park was full of people walking in the hot sun, eating ice creams and peppermint sticks and toffee apples, drinking lemonade, and eager for a little heckling and entertainment. To begin with, nobody cared greatly what Voisey had come to say. It was a good way to spend an hour or so, and far more interesting than the halfhearted game of cricket a score of boys were playing at the farther end. If he wanted their attention he would have to say something to amuse them, and if he did not know that now, he would soon learn.
Of course, only some of the listeners had the right to vote, but everyone’s future was affected, so they crowded around the empty bandstand Voisey climbed onto with supreme confidence and began to talk to them.
Emily stood in the sun with her hat shading her face, looking first at the crowd, then at Voisey, then sideways at Jack. She was not really listening to the words. She knew it was about patriotism and pride. It was very subtle, but he was praising them in a very general sense, making them feel part of the accomplishment of Empire, although he never gave it that name. She watched as they stood a little straighter, unconsciously smiling, shoulders squared and chins a trifle higher. He was making them feel as if they belonged, they were part of the victory, among the elite.
She looked at Jack and saw the corners of his mouth pinch. His face was tight with dislike, but there was admiration in him also, no matter how reluctant; he could not hold it back.
Voisey went on. He never mentioned Serracold’s name. Serracold might not have existed. Voisey did not put the choice before them: vote for me or for the other candidate, vote Tory or Liberal; he just spoke to them as if the decision had already been made. They were of one mind because they were of one race, one people, one shared destiny.
Of course that would not persuade everyone. She saw stubbornness in the set of many faces, disagreement, anger, indifference. But then he did not need all of them, only enough to make a majority, along with those who were natural Tory voters anyway.
“He’s winning, isn’t he?” she said quietly, searching Jack’s face and seeing the answer in his expression. He was angry, helpless, frustrated, and yet acutely aware that if he spoke to defend Aubrey Serracold as he wished to, he would achieve nothing but demonstrate the loyalty of a friend, and he would jeopardize his own seat. Nothing was as certain as he had imagined it to be only a week ago.
She watched him as Voisey went on and the crowd listened. They were with him now, but she knew what a fickle thing popularity was. Give people laughter, praise, hope of benefit, a shared belief, and they were yours. A breath of fear, a perceived insult, even boredom, and they were lost again.
What would Jack do?
Part of her wanted him to honor friendship, say what he could to right the inequity between Aubrey and this man who was manipulating the situation with such skill. Aubrey’s letter to the editor had played right into Voisey’s hands. Why had Aubrey been so foolish? She felt a sinking weight inside her as the answer came unbidden to her mind. Because he was idealistic but naive. He was a good man with an honest dream, but he was no politician yet, and circumstances would give him no time to become one. There were no rehearsals, only reality.
She looked at Jack again, and saw the indecision still in him. She said nothing. She was not yet ready for the answer, whatever it was. He was right, there were some prices that were very high to pay for power. And yet without power one could achieve little, perhaps nothing. Battles were costly; that was the nature of fighting for any principle, any victory at all. And if you retreated from the struggle because it hurt, then the prize went to someone else, someone like Voisey. And what was the price of that? If good men did not take up the sword, literal and figurative, then the victory would go to whoever would. Where did the right lie?
If it were easy to see, maybe more people would find it, and fewer be beguiled along the way.
She moved a step closer to Jack and linked her arm in his. Then he turned to her, but she did not meet his eyes.
There was a reception that evening which Emily had considered earlier would promise a certain enjoyment. It was less formal than a dinner and offered much more opportunity to speak with a greater variety of people of one’s choice, simply because one was not seated around a table. As usual at such events there would be some form of entertainment, either a small orchestra, with a soloist to sing, or possibly a string quartet, or an exceptional pianist.
However, she already knew that Rose and Aubrey Serracold would also be there, and word of this afternoon’s speech would have reached at least some of the guests, so in a matter of an hour or so all would be aware not only of Aubrey’s extraordinary breach of sense in the newspapers but of the superb response to Voisey’s speech. The evening now promised to be awkward, even embarrassing. And whatever Jack was going to do about it, time would not allow him any more latitude in which to make up his mind.
It was unfair, but she was angry with Charlotte for not being here to discuss it with. There was no one else in whom she could have confided exactly the same feelings, the doubts and the questions.
As always, she dressed carefully. Impressions mattered a great deal, and she had long known that a pretty woman can charm a man’s attention when a plainer one cannot. She had also learned more recently that careful grooming, a shade and line of gown that flattered, a direct smile with an air of confidence, could make others believe one was far more beautiful than was the bare fact. Accordingly, she wore a tight-waisted, flaring gown of natural-colored sheer printed in green, a shade which had always become her. The effect was so dramatic that even Jack, in a wretched mood over Voisey, widened his eyes and was obliged to compliment her.
“Thank you,” she said with satisfaction. She was dressed for battle, but he was still the conquest which mattered the most.
They arrived sixty minutes after the hour stated on the invitation, which was about as early as was decently acceptable. A score of other people arrived either immediately before or after them, and for a few moments the hall was a crush of guests all exchanging greetings. The ladies divested themselves of capes. Though the evening was mild, they would not be leaving until after midnight, when it would be chilly.
Emily saw several social acquaintances and political wives it was wise to befriend, and a few she actually liked. She knew that Jack had his own duties for the evening which he could not afford to ignore. This was not an occasion purely for pleasure.
She set about listening with charm and attention, passing the appropriate, well-thought compliment, exchanging a word or two of gossip which if repeated would not come back to haunt her.
It was two hours later, after the musical entertainment had begun—the soloist was one of the plainest women Emily had ever seen, but had the effortless soaring voice of a true operatic diva—that Emily saw Rose Serracold. She must only just have arrived, since she was so strikingly dressed no one could possibly have missed her. Her gown was vermilion and black stripes, richly draped over the sleeves and bust in black lace, which flattered her extreme slenderness. There was a vermilion flower on the skirt to match the ones at bosom and shoulder. She was sitting on one of the chairs at the edge of the group, her back stiff, the light gleaming on her pale hair like the sun on corn silk. Emily looked for Aubrey beside her, or beyond, and did not see him.
The singer was so very excellent she commanded the mind and the senses, her voice so lovely it would have been vandalism of the ear to speak through her performance. But as soon as it was over Emily stood up and went to Rose. There was a small group already gathered around, and before anyone stood a little to one side to allow her to join, she heard the conversation. She knew instantly with a cold sinking in her stomach exactly what they were referring to, even though no names had been mentioned.
“He is far cleverer than I thought, I admit,” a woman in gold was saying ruefully. “I fear we have underestimated him.”
“I think you overestimate his morality,” Rose said sharply. “Perhaps that was our error.”
Emily opened her mouth to intervene, but someone else spoke first.
“Of course he must have done something remarkable to have been knighted by the Queen. I suppose we should have taken that into better account. I’m so sorry, my dear.”
Perhaps it was the condescension in the voice, but it was to Rose a goad she could not ignore. “I’m sure he did something very special indeed!” she retorted. “Probably to the tune of several thousand pounds—and contrived to do it while there was still a Tory Prime Minister to recommend him.”
Emily froze. Her throat was tight and the room glittered and swam around her, the lights in the chandeliers multiplying in her vision as if she were going to faint. Everyone knew that wealthy men had donated massively to both political parties and been given knighthoods or even peerages for it. It was one of the ugliest scandals, and yet it was the way both parties funded themselves. But to say specifically that anyone had been rewarded in such a way was inexcusable, and wildly dangerous, unless one was both able and willing to prove it. Emily knew Rose was lashing out in every direction she could because she was afraid Aubrey was not going to win after all. She wished it for all the good she knew he could do, and believed in passionately, but also for him because she loved him and it was what he had set his heart on.
Perhaps also she was afraid of the guilt that would consume her for her own part in the loss, if it should happen. Whether the newspapers ever heard of her connection with Maude Lamont or not, or whether they used it, she would always know that she had cared more for her own necessity than for Aubrey’s career.
But the urgency now was to stop her before she made it any worse.
“Really, my dear, that is a very extreme thing to say!” the woman in gold warned with a frown.
Rose’s fair eyebrows shot up. “If the battle to win a place in the government of our country is not extreme, then what prize is it we are waiting for before we really say what we mean?”
Emily’s mind raced for
something, anything to rescue the situation. Nothing came to her. “Rose! What a marvelous gown!” It sounded inane, forced, even to her own ears. How idiotic it must sound to the others.
“Good evening, Emily,” Rose replied coolly.
Emily had not forgotten a word of their previous clash. All the warmth of friendship was gone. And perhaps she was already realizing that Jack was not going to defend Aubrey if it looked like doing so would jeopardize his own seat. And even if it did not cost that price, it might well mean any offer of position that Gladstone was considering making him would be reconsidered in the light of his unwise friendship. Aubrey would be marked as an unreliable man, like a cannon loose on the deck of a pitching ship. If she could not save his seat for this election, at least she could save his honor and reputation for the next, which by all accounts would not be too far away.
Emily forced a smile to her face which she feared might look as ghastly as it felt. “How discreet of you not to say what it was he did!” She heard her voice high and a trifle shrill, but certainly drawing the complete attention of the others in the circle. “But I fear that in so doing you have created the misimpression that it was a donation of money, rather than a service of great worth to equal such an amount . . . conservatively.” She tried to scrape together in her mind the pieces of information Charlotte, or Gracie, had let slip of the Whitechapel affair and Voisey’s part in it. They had, for once, been remarkably discreet. Damnation! She widened her smile and stared around at the other women, all startled and fascinated to know what else she was going to say.
Rose breathed in sharply.
Emily must be quick before Rose spoke and ruined it. “Of course, I don’t know it all myself,” she hurried on. “I know something, but please don’t ask me! It was most certainly an act of great physical courage, and violence . . . I cannot say what, I should not like to misrepresent anyone, perhaps malign them . . .” She left that suggestion lingering in the air. “But it was of great worth to Her Majesty, and to the Tory government. It is very natural that he should be rewarded for it . . . and quite right.” She shot a jaggedly warning glance at Rose. “I am sure that is what you meant!”