The Pinchbeck Peer: Book 4, page 15
She did not know and was pleased to be ignorant on that particular topic.
The nurses brought the infants in for their afternoon play and serious discussion ended for the hour. Fabius spent much of the time in conversation with his son, fascinated by the boy’s ability to ask questions about everything.
“Do you like your books, James?”
“I like them, Papa. I shall read them myself. Soon. I shall do it!”
Fabius had no doubt he would; a most strong-willed young gentleman, his son. There would be confrontations there in future years, he did not doubt. A combination of his mother’s sharp intellect and his own willingness to walk into trouble seemed to prophesy a turbulent life ahead of him.
“I envy you, James. Whatever else your life may be, it will not be dull, my son! Work on your reading, my young lordling. You will need every ounce of that brain of yours, I do not doubt.”
“Papa? Am I to be a lord, Papa? Nurse said I was.”
“You will be, in the fulness of time, James. I am Lord Oakham and you will be Lord when I die. I hope that will be some few years yet!”
“So do I, Papa. Nurse says that lords must be gentlemen, Papa.”
“Every man should be a gentleman, James. To be honest and true and fair to every man and woman, that is most of what it means to be a gentleman. We should all try for those virtues.”
“Watch your Papa and behave like him, James. Then you will be a gentleman.”
“Yes, Mama.”
It was a burden sometimes, Fabius reflected, to live up to the beliefs Euphemia had in him.
“We have done well there, my love. A fine pair of children.”
“James is tall and blond in your image, Fabius. I am so pleased in that.”
“As clever as you, my love, which is more important.”
She was almost inclined to agree.
“When does the Prince leave Town, Fabius?”
“As soon as Hanger can drag him away from his current pleasures, I would imagine. I do not know what he is up to at the moment, for which I am relieved. Something vile and expensive, I do not doubt. I have not heard from Cuthbert of anything out of the ordinary, I will admit.”
“Will you take up the sponsors of this Society, Fabius?”
“When I have evidence, I must, my love. At the moment, there is no guarantee that I could put a case before the High Court. I cannot put Blossom up as a witness. Think of the scandal!”
“He is a killer, known as a master of his trade this past decade. He is currently in government service, applying his considerable talents to their direction… It would not go down well in court, Fabius.”
“Anything but!”
“I can think of no way of collecting evidence against them, my dear. Can you?”
“None. I could instruct Cuthbert to fabricate a case. That has been done too often over the years. More than one known Jacobite hanged on the basis of false depositions that he had called for the death of the King. You may say it was only to get rid of a sworn traitor, renowned as such and known to be plotting, to be seeking aid from France and Spain. I still do not like perjury.”
It was a commonplace under government, she suspected. It was still not necessarily desirable as a habit.
“Better that you should not be associated with such, Fabius. It does leave a stigma. One can accept that the ends can justify the means on occasion. Not on every occasion, however. One becomes a mere politician if one stoops to such a level, Fabius. That will not do for us, I believe. As for this plot – take up those you know of the committee and force them to spend their money. There are some entirely honest and aboveboard charitable institutions in London, are there not?”
Fabius admitted that he had heard of one or two.
“The Society to be wound up and its funds disbursed to existing and honourable enterprises and they will be unable to pay for their assassins. The plot will thus be rendered null for lack of the wherewithal. The money collected for charitable purposes will be used for such. All will be well and only the hangman cheated of his fee.”
Fabius made haste to Mr Cuthbert, gave him his instructions.
“We cannot make a case against these men, not in all honesty. This must be the simplest way of saving the Prince and them.”
“I regret to say that you are right, my lord. The plot must be stopped, more’s the shame!”
“We cannot do otherwise, Mr Cuthbert, though one might wish…”
“So one might my lord. It is a sad thing that honest men must preserve the life of a villain, knowing that he will continue in a career of vice and licentiousness.”
“Well expressed, Mr Cuthbert. We cannot risk revolution in this country. We must preserve the peace and allow good government to reign. To venture into mere speculation, perhaps better left unexpressed, Mr Cuthbert, it might be that Mr Pitt is looking to the future. A mad King, who cannot exercise his prerogative; an heir who is mistrusted by all… The result, sir?”
Cuthbert thought for a few seconds, suddenly showed satisfied.
“That’s it, my lord! That is why. The King cannot hold power. The Prince must not be given power. Thus Mr Pitt, and his successors attain that right to rule which was once that of the Crown. It is a revolution, my lord, by the back door, one might say. Was we in an access of righteousness to get rid of the Prince, he must be succeeded by a man chosen as moral and of upright character, one who would naturally exercise the prerogative powers that now fall to Mr Pitt. The monarchy is deposed while still sitting the throne, my lord. A paradox indeed, my lord, we must protect the Prince in order to destroy him!”
“Not quite, Mr Cuthbert. We permit him to destroy himself. Just now, the Prime Minister leads a government that has power, more than any in Europe, except perhaps Switzerland, which I know nothing of except that it has no king. A strong king could still take back much that has accrued to Mr Pitt and his immediate predecessors. Given fifty years of weak kings, of prime ministers passing laws and using their authority, and they will have little power and no means of changing the situation.”
“God bless the Prince of Wales, my lord. This office shall do its best to protect him from those foolish fellows who would shoot him down like the dog he is.”
“Well said, Mr Cuthbert. A dog indeed, and not of the finest breed – yet he is valuable to us and must be looked after. Throw him a bone when next you see him, Mr Cuthbert!”
“Oh, I shall indeed, my lord. I will, with your permission, explain to Mr Blossom just why we are to protect the Prince. We do not know whether a bravo has been hired to do away with the Prince, my lord. I shall set Mr Blossom to the task of watching near Carlton House to discover whether any faces known to him appear in the passers-by. He will deal with them, if need arises.”
“Discreetly, please, Mr Cuthbert.”
“Generally, yes, my lord. It might be seen as wise to shoot one or two down in the street, to make it clear to others that Carlton House is watched and guarded.”
“A Musical Evening, Fabius, hosted by Lady Glencorn. I believe I am able to return to Society now. Three months since the birth! I really should be. I am not to be an invalid.”
“If you say so, my love. You know your own constitution, none better. I would much like to attend such an event, as you know, and will enjoy taking you on my arm.”
“I shall write our acceptance, Fabius. Three nights hence, there being an opportunity to hear a new pianist lately come unexpectedly from France. He will play Mozart and Haydn and Vanhal. Three of the great moderns. It promises to be an event! Lady Glencorn has a fine instrument, I know, a Viennese fortepiano, and habitually keeps it up. She is an amateur of the keyboard herself. I have heard her play with some pleasure.”
The evening was one of unalloyed pleasure, the company few and select and the young man at the piano of marked ability, little short of genius, Fabius thought. The roistering drunkards were not to be seen at such evening, the company select and distinguished more by placidity than fashionable frenzy. The pair were welcomed and made much of, Lady Euphemia’s return to Society welcomed by all, publicly.
“Not seen much of the Duke lately, Oakham,” the Duke of Rutland remarked in an interval, a smile twitching at his lips.
Rumour had evidently spread.
“He has found an occupation, a hobby to entertain him in his twilight years, Duke. I am pleased to discover that the old gentleman can still fill his days with amusement.”
The Duke choked with laughter.
“Well put, Oakham! And well done the old gentleman!”
Fabius had no doubt his words would spread through the ranks of the genteel and Mayfair generally. It would have its funny side, he did not doubt.
Much of the Mozart was wholly new to him. He found himself admiring the genius, the pleasure in the construction of the pieces; it was a little too ornate for his true liking, the purity of the line sometimes obscured by the decoration. Some of the new Germans were breaking away from that form, he had heard; he hoped to listen to them, one day.
Euphemia was tired from a late evening but well able to walk and be pleased with the venture into company after nearly six months confined to her own house.
“There will be more soon, Fabius. Some of the playhouses are opening and the Opera will stage its early productions next month.”
“Then we must attend all we can, my love. Such a pleasure to see you enjoying yourself. Were there enquiries of your father’s health amongst the ladies?”
She laughed.
“Many! I said merely that he was quite well, enjoying a resurgence of youth perhaps, but keeping his house the while.”
“I told Rutland that he had discovered a hobby to amuse him in his elder years.”
“Those words will spread, Fabius! I do not doubt that I shall be quizzed on them within the week.”
The weather grew unkind, another hard winter upon them, the eleventh in a row, some said.
“The same in France, we are told. They will be at desperation point. No hope of reason and moderation there, my love.”
“I hear rumours of mass executions, Fabius. The aristocracy being brought to this guillotine for no reason better than being of noble birth. We are told of ‘enemies of the people’ – a meaningless label, if ever one was.”
“The wise are crossing the Channel in greater numbers, I know, Euphemia. Of course, the wisest left last year while they could still bring out much of their wealth. Those fleeing now often have no more than the clothes they stand up in.”
My lady shook her head in reproach at their foolishness.
“How do they propose to live, Fabius?”
“For most of them their intent is to beg off their more far-sighted compatriots while they wait for England and Austria to raise armies to set them back in their places in France. They seem to think that we must be outraged at their plight and determined to return them to privilege and power.”
“Why?”
“They have rights, my love. The aristocracy are of finer birth and breeding and have the right to lord it over the scum. God-given, you know?”
Fabius carefully did not notice her reactions, knowing that she more than half-believed the same.
“When the Americans rose against their natural masters, the French supported them. Where were those rights then?”
“They have rights, it would seem, while none others do. Not acceptable, Fabius. I must say, I do not like this concept of ‘rights’. It seems philosophically flawed. It is certainly mathematically intolerable – an equation that does not balance.”
He could just follow her logic, particularly when she explained further.
“If I have a right to liberty, say, then your liberty is lessened because mine impinges on yours. You have no right to do anything that curtails my liberty. Therefore, by granting me a right you take way the rights of all others. Such being the case, and taken to its logical extreme, there can be no such thing as a right. One might consider the concept of duty, as well, Fabius. At a first glance, if I have a duty to you, then you must have a duty to me. That is possible but has interesting implications for the military.”
He was not sure that he could handle argument at that particular level.
“My memory of the militia says that duty there was simple – ‘do as you are told or I shall have you flogged’. Such being the case, there were no philosophical problems at all. Indeed, the sole problem the colonel had was whether to order one hundred or two. I suspect the French aristocracy might respond well to that same discipline – they might go so far as to consider working for their bread rather than scrounging for it.”
“Out of character, that latter, Fabius. I think we are agreed that their Revolution was caused by their improvident and idle habits of life and government. One cannot expect them to change merely because they have been driven out of their country, their chateaux burned about their ears.”
“Add to that, my love, they are Frogs! Inferior beings, as all must agree.”
“All Englishmen, certainly, Fabius.”
Mr Pitt sent a messenger begging Fabius’ early attendance at Number Ten.
“We are undone, Oakham!”
“Woe and alas, sir, if that be so! On a more rational note, what has happened?”
“A Frenchman naming himself the Chevalier de Rouaix has landed at Dover with a small boy in his train.”
“Oh no!”
“Yes, indeed, Oakham. He has the one, true Dauphin in his hands, so he says. He rescued him from the Temple dungeons in an act of mighty derring-do – which he is happy to detail at vast length – and has brought him to England, seeking his rightly earned reward.”
“What a goddamned pain in the arse, sir!”
“Well put, Oakham. I have sent instructions that he is to be held in the Castle, under military guard, pending our decision. He is to be kept strictly confined, no contacts, no letters, no messages.”
“Have you a French speaker among your secretaries, sir? Best to keep all confidential.”
“I have an interpreter, Oakham.”
“Good. May I beg his services for the next few days, sir? I could also wish for the use of an obscure mansion, deep in the Kentish countryside and for the posting of a battalion of infantry, if such be available, to act as guards.”
Mr Pitt decided he wished to know no more.
“There will be a message to you before you eat your dinner, Oakham.”
“Then I shall order a chaise and four for dawn, sir. I shall discover the truth of this business and will come back to you at soonest. For the while, sir, I think it best that this Chevalier de Rouaix shall never have landed in England.”
“I shall speak to Dundas.”
“Good. I must be off to make arrangements, sir.”
Fabius headed straight to his office.
“Mr Cuthbert, Mr Blossom is to accompany me into Kent tomorrow. I may need employment for a French boy, aged ten or eleven. Do you know any East India captain who might take a ship’s boy to sea, possibly to keep him in India on the shipping there? Country ships, I believe they call them, running goods over much of the East but never, ever, returning to England.”
Mr Cuthbert thought it could be done. He was sure he could prevail on some one of his acquaintances to take a boy to sea and keep him there.
“Better than knocking the poor little fellow over the head, Mr Cuthbert. He seems likely to be a false Dauphin and best out of harm’s way. At his age, the fault cannot lay with him and he must not be punished.”
“What if he is the true Dauphin, my lord?”
“All the more reason to get him out of the way, Mr Cuthbert! He would be nothing but a nuisance. If we ever want a Dauphin, we can produce one of our own, well trained and amenable. We do not want some spoiled French brat in the role.”
“Mr Blossom will be at your door for dawn, my lord. In his own post chaise, my lord?”
“No, he can sit bodkin with Dunham – we will at least have somebody to talk to and Blossom is a good conversationalist.”
The messenger arrived and gave Fabius the direction of a manor deep in Kent, in the forested lands not so far from Bassingham village. A note said there had been some interest in Dover – the Chevalier having talked on his voyage across the Channel – and so he and the boy had been transported to the manor that afternoon. A battalion of the West Kents had been sent on a march from Maidstone and would arrive next day. For the while, there was a company of Royal Marines sent up from Dover as escort, to remain until the soldiers made camp.
“All highly efficient, my dear. Mr Pitt does not want a Dauphin cramping his style, it would seem. Do you know of any French house by the name of Rouaix?”
She did not. She thought it was a very aristocratic sort of name, though.
“Exactly. It might even be legitimate. It sounds authentic. If it is true, I trust the Chevalier has an heir, because the name is at risk of dying out.”
“That must be very unfortunate, if it is so, Fabius. Is he to die if his Dauphin is false?”
“Not necessarily. Far more likely if he be true!”
She pondered that and was inclined to object, restrained herself as it became clear to her that a Dauphin would restrict the policies available to Mr Pitt.
“We would be far less able to talk to a French Republic if we first recognised an exiled heir to the French throne… He might publicly complain of our delay in returning him to his proper place, and would be supported by many of Mr Pitt’s friends, they all being of the Tory sort, in the nature of things. He could become a focus of discontent in the House. What if he demanded to be transported to Austria, Britain having failed him? He would be a nuisance for years, Fabius. The boy himself can be tucked away, out of sight, given a manor in the Irish bogs and forced to stay there, perhaps, provided his rescuer is not to hand to be an adult mouthpiece for him. You are, as so remarkably often, quite right, my lord.”
