John’s eyes flicked over his colleagues. Portland looked nervous. Grenville had his hand over his mouth and peered at John in concern. William’s steely gaze was desperate. John could see his own undoing in it, if he chose to rise to Dundas’s bait. Yet his pride would not permit Dundas to have the last word. He placed his palm deliberately on the table-top and raised his voice.
‘What do you wish me to say? That you are an upstart turncoat Scotsman with all the grasp of military affairs to be expected from a pettifogging attorney?’
Dundas’s eyes snapped open. He stood, but William was faster. He threw out a hand and caught Dundas around the wrist. The Scotsman sat back down and glared across the short distance that separated him from John.
William’s lips were thin, his shoulders pulled back so sharply his neck seemed to lengthen. ‘The Cabinet is over,’ he said tightly. ‘Gentlemen, good night.’
****
The letter came next morning while John was at an Admiralty Board meeting. He had just given orders for the Circe to sail to Helvoetsluys to fetch the Duke of York when a footman laid a despatch box at the top of the table.
John opened the box while Sir Charles Middleton detailed the latest reports from Vice Admiral Cotton at Plymouth. The moment he saw his brother’s neat handwriting and the words “Most Private” a shiver ran through him.
After the Board broke up John carried the box to his study in Admiralty House, locked the door and broke the seal with shaking hands.
‘My dear Brother, he read. I do not write to you till after a very painful struggle in my mind. After what passed between us last year I flattered myself there was an end of the embarrassment we had experienced, but I cannot disguise from you that from various circumstances, and especially from what occurred at Cabinet yesterday, I foresee too evidently the utter impossibility that business can permanently go on between you and those with whom in your present department you must have continual intercourse.
I trust you will think I consult my affection to you as much as what I owe to public considerations in telling you fairly, though reluctantly, my conviction that the time is come when it will be best if you will exchange your present situation for one of a different description.
I have no doubt the King will agree to bestow the position of Lord Privy Seal upon you, should you choose to take it.
I have preferred telling this to you by letter to a conversation, which must be unnecessarily distressing to us both.’
John raised his eyes from the letter and focused them on a point a few inches in front of his face. The letter-filled compartments of his desk, the standish and pens, the map of the principal ports and dockyards of England affixed to the wall above, all became blurred and indistinct. In contrast, the noises around him seemed much sharper. He could hear the clicking of a maid’s pattens on the marble floor downstairs, the distant clang of the bells at Horse Guards, the grinding of gravel on the Parade under the boots of a passer-by. His wife’s clear, musical laugh echoed from another room.
“A painful struggle … absolutely required … unnecessarily distressing to us both.”
John laid the letter down on the leather surface of his desk. He rose, unlocked the door and strode out.
His wife came out of the library at almost the same moment with her sister Georgiana. They were still laughing together at some joke. John wished they would not; he felt as though he would never laugh at anything ever again. Mary caught his eye and the humour drained from her face. ‘John, what is the matter? What is wrong?’
What was wrong? Did she not know? Surely he did not have to tell his own wife he was demoted, disgraced, destroyed? The bleakness in his heart swelled and nearly choked him. ‘I need to go outside. I must walk.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said promptly, but he whipped his arm out of hers.
‘Alone!’
To his relief, she did not follow him.
The skies were leaden and heavy with snow. Horse Guards Parade, a grey gravel expanse surrounded by stuccoed buildings, looked washed out against a stone-coloured sky. The entrance to Downing Street was blocked off by a troop of horse fencibles, volunteers raised to defend the country against invasion and French principles. They had been here for a few weeks now, expecting reprisals following the end of the treason trials, but they parted to let John through unchallenged. They were used to seeing the Minister’s brother, who was, after all, a member of the Cabinet. John ground his teeth at the thought.
Downing Street’s spacious anterooms were generally filled with liveried messengers, travel-weary military men with despatches wrapped in oilskin, secretaries carrying reports from parliamentary committees, even the occasional French émigré in threadbare brocade. John could tell immediately from the lack of bustle that his brother was not in. He had not expected him to be, but his disappointment when Joe Smith confirmed it was still acute.
‘Where has he gone?’ John asked. The secretary shrugged.
‘His country house, I suppose. He often goes for the weekend when Parliament is up.’
‘But it’s Monday.’ Smith shrugged again, awkwardly. John looked keenly at him. ‘Is he alone?’
‘He will be back soon,’ Smith said, but John shook his head.
‘I asked you a question. Did my brother go alone?’
The secretary’s expression was full of a pity that suggested he knew why John was asking. ‘No.’
John did not need to ask who was with him. In any case, it hardly mattered. William was not in; but he was the Minister. He could not stay away indefinitely.
****
William returned to London the next day. John waited as long as he dared for his brother to send an explanation. When none came, he deluded himself for a while that William was too busy to write, but he soon realised the silence was much too complete.
After the Admiralty Board meeting he retired to his study and dipped his pen in ink.
‘My dear Brother, I am impatient to see you, as I cannot but feel great anxiety on an occasion which involves in it every consideration that ought to be most dear to me. If you let me know when is convenient, I will either call upon you or shall be glad to see you here, as you please.’
The reply arrived promptly, borne to the Admiralty by one of William’s junior footmen, his shoes white with dust from the gravel surface of Horse Guards Parade. John tore open the wrapper.
‘I really can see no possibility that explanation or discussion can be of any advantage. I hoped I had said enough to show you that my opinion was formed on grounds which will not admit of its being changed, and in times like these I must act on that opinion, even with the sacrifice of the personal considerations which are nearest my heart.’
John winced. Either William was made of stone or he truly did not understand the difficulty, the uncertainty of his brother’s position. John pulled another sheet of paper towards him and wrote again.
‘I will not attempt to describe the pain which your letter has given me. I should be very sorry to urge anything that could be unpleasant to you, but I hope I am not unreasonable in earnestly desiring to see you, when you recollect that I must continue to meet my colleagues in office and attend the King. Without something further passing between us I stand in a very perplexing situation.’
The response was just as prompt as the last.
‘I will call upon you soon after 12 tomorrow. I trust your decision will have been such as to relieve me from the most anxious of all situations. My own opinion remains and must remain the same, and I can hardly bear to think to how painful an extremity I am necessarily driven if you cannot bring yourself to agree to what has been proposed.’
John screwed the letter into a ball and hurled it at the wall. “12 o’clock!” Did William not know the Admiralty Board met every day at 11? But of course William knew, just as John knew William would manage to be mysteriously unavailable at any other hour he should propose. And “painful extremity” – what did that mean? If John refused to step down f
rom the Admiralty, would William dismiss him from the Cabinet altogether? Ask the King to order him out in disgrace? Abandon him to parliamentary censure? John was certain the threat was an empty one, and he resented it the more because he knew William was trying to frighten him.
Still, the talk of “painful extremities” gave him an idea. The thought of carrying out his plan made the bile rise in John’s throat, but William, it seemed, left him no choice.
****
The last of the light had long fled, and Mary ordered a branch of candles to be lit so she could continue her work. Idleness made her thoughts whir round her head, and for the last few days John’s mood had been so poor she could think of nothing good. She bit through a thread, picked out another colour in her workbox and squinted at the eye of her needle. Even though John had not confided in her about what was agitating him, she had a very good idea what it might be.
Even Georgiana had noticed John’s short temper. ‘What has happened to your husband, Mary? He is normally so calm. Has bad news arrived from the continent?’
Mary pulled the silk embroidery thread through the tautened fabric in her lap. She did not answer Georgiana’s question directly. ‘I confess I worry for him, George. He has not been himself for some time.’
‘Not for months, I agree.’ Georgiana sewed a little in silence. ‘Ever since the news of Lord Howe’s victory came in, I would say. Odd, is it not? The Admiralty received so much praise.’
‘He’s been ill,’ Mary said noncommittally.
‘But he is safe in office now. I should not suppose Mr Pitt could remove him from the Admiralty even if he wanted to. A year ago, perhaps, it would have made sense. But now … Now, both Mr Pitt and Lord Chatham would look like fools.’
Mary hid her discomfort by pretending to hunt in her workbox for another skein of thread. Georgiana was right: John’s losing his post now, six months after a tremendous victory, before the start of a parliamentary session, would not reflect well upon him at all. For any man, to lose their post under such circumstances would be crushing. For John, whose status and position meant so much to him, Mary could think of nothing worse.
At that moment John came in. He wore a pea-green velvet suit lined with pink silk, his wigless hair frizzed, powdered and drawn back into a queue. At the sight of him Mary felt her heart beat more quickly, and not just because he looked handsome. The determination in his eyes sent a chill through her.
He kissed her in a cloud of bergamot pomade. She reached up and placed a hand on his smoothly shaven cheek. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To the Cabinet dinner.’
‘Lord Mansfield’s dinner? But you said you had no intention of going.’
‘I changed my mind,’ he said. She twisted round to face him. The candlelight flickered across the tightness of his jaw. ‘I need to speak with my brother.’
Mary could not decide whether to feel relief or concern at that, but she sensed John wanted nothing more than her support. ‘I wish you luck.’
She watched him leave, then laid her embroidery down and pressed trembling hands to her cheeks. On balance, she decided she was more concerned than relieved. She had been married to John for 11 years now, more than long enough to recognise his need for constants in a life where everything was subject to comparison. She did not want to guess at what might happen if John were forced to choose between his brother and his reputation.
****
Lord Mansfield lived in the newest and most fashionable sector of town, Portland Place. His house was only a few doors away from the open fields that marked the end of urban development.
There were no guarantees John’s plan would work, but the omens were good. William’s carriage had already arrived; his footman was about to jump back onto the footplate. John called him over and gave him an order. John and William’s servants were accustomed to taking orders from either brother; whenever they needed more staff, for a large dinner or a ball, the brothers often borrowed each other’s best men. The footman passed on the message to the coachman, who whipped up the horses and drove off. The first part of John’s plan was underway. Now he had to get through the ordeal of the dinner.
It was the first time he had appeared before his colleagues since his quarrel with Dundas. William mastered his surprise at John’s unexpected appearance well enough, but John fancied there was anxiety in his brother’s eyes, as though William were worried John might tackle him over the dinner table. John nearly bit his tongue at the thought. Windham and Spencer would have been agog, and John had no intention of gratifying Dundas with any sign of distress.
John was moving around the table to his seat when Windham cried out: ‘My Lord Chatham! I wish to congratulate you on your new office.’
The hum of conversation around the table quietened. John curled his hand around his chair. He had wondered whether his colleagues knew of William’s plans for him. Now he knew the answer.
‘I wished you joy as Privy Seal,’ Windham said, amiably enough, his large, dark eyes shining with something unfathomable. ‘I understand you are to have it when you leave the Admiralty.’
John’s eyes flicked to Lord Spencer, the current Privy Seal. Spencer’s freckled skin flushed to the roots of his powdered red hair. ‘I have not yet made up my mind to take it.’
‘That is your choice, my lord.’
It was perfectly clear that Windham believed it was not his choice. John’s mouth tightened grimly but he slipped into his seat without another word. A few minutes later the conversations around the table resumed.
John passed most of the evening watching William, waiting for the signal, and at length it came. He had not expected his brother to remain long in company that was not entirely congenial to him, and before the tablecloth was removed for dessert William threw down his napkin and made his excuses. John waited until his brother had left the room before rising in turn. He turned to Lord Mansfield. ‘I must apologise, my lord, but I have business.’
‘Need sleep, more like,’ came a mutter from the other end of the table and a choked-off laugh in response. Mansfield’s gimlet-like eyes sought for the offender, but if Windham had spoken he was engrossed in mopping up the sauce on his plate with a mouthful of bread. Mansfield turned back to John.
‘As you wish, Lord Chatham.’
John caught up with William in the entrance hall. His brother had his greatcoat on and remonstrated with the porter. ‘What do you mean, it is not here? It must be here.’
‘Sir, I have not seen your carriage all evening.’
‘I gave orders to my man to wait at the door at half past nine. What am I to do? Take a hackney carriage?’
John took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. ‘That is unnecessary, brother. Travel with me.’
William’s freckled cheeks had been flushed with frustration, but the moment he laid eyes on John they drained of colour. ‘You are not staying for the third service?’
‘I thought you might need assistance getting home.’
John gave William a direct look. William looked confused, but then John’s words registered and anger chased across his face. ‘I would not put you to the inconvenience.’
‘It will take my coachman all of 20 minutes to take you to Downing Street. It will be no inconvenience whatever. Unless, of course, you had rather walk?’
For a moment, John thought he might actually do it, but although William had drunk deeply of Mansfield’s excellent wine he had not completely lost his good sense. For the Prime Minister to walk unattended around London at a time when popular hatred of him was high would be positively foolhardy. William said nothing, but gathered his greatcoat about him defensively and stood aside to allow John access to the threshold.
John’s coachman had been walking the horses back and forth all evening. On John’s appearance, the footman jumped down, opened the door and pulled down the steps. William stared at the compartment as though it were a cart taking him to Tyburn, then grabbed the strap and pulled himself in. John
took the opposite bench and the coachman whipped up the horses.
It was raining, a thick, sleety mix hurled against the glass panes of the carriage by bursts of wind. The braziers were full of embers and John could feel their heat at his heels, but from the knees up he was frozen. Now that he had William in the carriage John became aware his head was aching. The words he had been rehearsing all evening abandoned him.
The glass-fronted lamp swinging in the compartment threw strange shadows across William’s tense face. Anger quivered behind every word. ‘What, pray, have you done with my carriage?’
‘I told your coachman you were coming home with me.’
‘How prescient of you,’ William said. ‘You said yourself it will take 20 minutes to drive to Downing Street. Is that enough time for you to say your piece?’
‘I am no fool, Will. I’ve given my man instructions to drive us up and down until we are finished.’
William gave John a disbelieving glare and looked out of the window. The fury and alarm on his face when he saw they were indeed travelling away from Downing Street gave John pause, but it was too late. William forced out between clenched teeth, ‘Well then, I have been well and truly kidnapped by my own brother.’
For a short while nothing but the rattle of carriage wheels and the clip of horses’ hooves disturbed the silence. John’s headache was growing worse. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. William said, more softly, ‘I hope you are not about to experience a return of your complaint.’
John took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘I admit I have felt materially worse in myself since receiving your letter dismissing me from the Admiralty.’
A frostiness fell instantly, as though John had pulled down the glass and brought the weather inside. ‘A discussion of my decision can only distress us both, and change nothing.’
‘Do you not see I need more from you than that? What you have decided may well lead to my complete public disgrace.’
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