The Spider's Touch (23 page)

“Yes, it’s a shame about Prior and, poor Thomas Harley, too. They were both good men.” He sighed. “Walpole seems to have obtained a great deal of information.”

“How much of it is true?”

Ormonde looked surprised. “I suppose it is all true one way or the other, but that doesn’t mean that what we did was wrong. The country had been at war too long. How many more battles did we have to fight to bring it to an end?”

Gideon knew that the Whigs believed that Marlborough had defeated Louis’s troops in so many battles that there was no need to negotiate at all. And, there was the matter of their allies, who had not been informed of the peace negotiations until they were done.

But he had not come to ask Ormonde to defend his actions as captain-general of the British army.

Unwilling to give offence, he merely nodded. “I came as soon as I heard, for it seemed to me that this attack will force you to hasten your plans. I wanted to know what message to carry to James.”

“Why should it hasten our plans?”

Gideon tried to hide his astonishment, but the truth was that Ormonde seemed obtuse.

“Forgive me,” he said, “but have you no fear that Parliament will bring charges against you? I hear that issues have been raised, concerning your orders in the field.”

“I do not see why I should fear arrest. I merely followed the orders of my minister. If they have Bolingbroke’s letters, which they say they have, then they will see that is correct.”

“You think the letters will absolve you of everything?”

“Whether they do or not, Mr. Walpole wouldn’t dare to come after me. You spoke of the pamphlets you read, but did you see the one by Mr. Defoe? Even he said that nothing I have done is illegal. They wouldn’t dare to charge me, or the public would burn down every Quakers’ meeting house between here and Scotland.

“No,” Ormonde said, with a confidence that worried Gideon. “He’ll never get a vote against me. I’ve got too many friends on both sides of the House. Why, even the Whig generals count me among their friends.”

“But what about those who have been charged? Can you afford to lose more men?”

“They’ve only detained two. They might have convinced themselves to impeach Oxford, but he has no real role in the rising. The man’s too sick. And we must not be frightened into doing something rash. We’ve got to have everything in place. This will not be a simple as a government action, you know.  Nothing will be obvious, and the arms and support must be there.”

“So none of your plans have changed?”

“No, nothing. Except that we can anticipate a great many more to join our cause when they see how mad these persecutions are. The Tory government was popular. The country wanted the war ended, and we ended it for them. They will not thank Walpole for trying to hang us for it.

“Mark my words,” the Duke said. “If Walpole tries to go after me, he will find himself at the end of his own rope. There will be such an uproar that he will wish he never came down from Norfolk, and in a very short time, the name Walpole will be long forgotten.

“You should remember this, St. Mars, when you take your place in James’s army. The public never forgets its military men. But gentlemen who spend their lives playing at politics will never capture the people’s interest.”

And except for more assurances like these, that was all that Gideon got out of him that evening.

Chapter Ten

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate,

All but the page prescribed, their present state:

From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:

Or could suffer Being here below?

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today,

Had he thy Reason, would he skip and play?

Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,

And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.

I. iii.

The next evening was the opera. After sleeping till noon, the members of the Vauxhall party were sufficiently recovered to face the prospect of another night out.

For Hester, who had no talent for music but enjoyed it, merely visiting the Italian Opera House was an immeasurable privilege. Designed as the Queen’s Theatre by Sir John Vanbrugh, the famous architect, still at work on the Duke of Marlborough’s mansion, the magnificent playhouse had caused quite a hubbub when first built. Rakes in the Kit-Kat Club had pooled their money for its construction, and the pious had complained that its columns and pilasters, gilt entablatures and particularly the dome—the like of which had never been seen in England before—should more properly have been devoted to God than made a temple to vice. A silver plate laid over the foundation stone with Kit-Kat engraved on one side and Little Whig on the other permanently honoured the gentlemen for whose pleasure it had been built. But, by now, the public had embraced its beauty. Renamed the King’s Theatre on George’s accession, and modified a few years past when the building was discovered to mangle sound, it still had the power to overwhelm anyone new to its interior.

   Sir Humphrey seemed no worse for wear as he welcomed them to his box on the stage. He assured his guests, as he had several times before and, indeed, as they had read in the advertisements, that there was no reason to fear the spectacle would be interrupted by other members of the audience.

“For no one will be permitted to enter the stage,” he said, handing Isabella to a chair. “The gallants are certain to be displeased, but according to the management, there’s a considerable danger posed by the intricate machinery and the changes of scenery, which was why all the tickets, even in the pit, were only by subscription. Not even the most daring young spark is likely to halt the performance to embrace the dancers, which ought to serve our wishes if not theirs.” Sir Humphrey’s hands fluttered often in the direction of the stage as he issued this promise. He was clearly delighted to present his friends with such a treat.

He had purchased a large number of tickets, enough for Harrowby’s entire family—even Dudley, since the invitation had been issued before the unfortunate card party—as well as Colonel  and Mr. Blackwell, the Frenchified gentleman they had met at Lady Oglethorpe’s drawing-room. Harrowby had not yet encountered Mr. Blackwell, but he was too impressed by the fashionable style of Mr. Blackwell’s dress and his elegant peruke, to question the wisdom of a connection made through that particular lady. Though to be fair, Hester reflected, there was nothing at all certain about Mr. Blackwell’s politics, for Isabella and she might not have been the only guests at Lady Oglethorpe’s house who were not Jacobites.

Colonel ‘s presence made her and at least one other member of their party very uncomfortable. Hester had told James Henry that the Colonel had been dismissed from the Guards. She did not want to be the cause of his or anyone’s disappointment, but, with St. Mars’s warning fresh in mind, she believed she had done right to protect his house in the current suspicious climate. She could do little to separate her cousin and her husband from the friends they chose, but she could help James Henry see that no one under suspicion of treasonous sentiments became a part of the Hawkhurst household.

Judging by the glower on Colonel ‘s face, he had been informed of Harrowby’s—or, rather, James Henry’s rejection. Harrowby had been told of it, however, and he had forgotten that the colonel might be a member of their party this evening. He started to greet him with a nervous laugh, before remembering his privilege as an earl and snubbing him instead.

Colonel  turned away, gnawing angrily on the inside of his mouth. As he took a chair on the other side of the box, he glared resentfully at their host, and Hester was reminded that a slip of Sir Humphrey’s tongue had betrayed the loss of his commission. No doubt he blamed Sir Humphrey—and her— for costing him the position.

With this matter fresh, as well as Dudley’s attack, a certain embarrassment attended the seating arrangements. Contrary to Harrowby’s wish, Dudley had come. His mother had insisted that he must be seen to be on good terms with Sir Humphrey again. It would be necessary to squelch any rumour of his being a lunatic, she said.

For once, Hester had agreed with her and had helped persuade Harrowby, with much more tact, and in a far less strident tone, than his mother-in-law had used. In the end Harrowby had given his permission, either because he had seen the sense in her reflections on the need to uphold the reputation of his family or else because he could not stomach another minute of Mrs. Mayfield’s voice.

He managed not to wince too visibly as she broached the awkward subject even before the first greetings had subsided. Urging her burly son forward, with more bustle than grace, she pushed him to shake hands with their host.

“My dear Sir Humphrey, you must allow Mayfield to sit beside you. He’s been so distressed over that little misunderstanding between you and he the other night. I’ve vowed and assured him that you are as eager to make it up as him. But the silly boy must have the words from your own two lips, or he’ll never believe me. The two of you have so much in common. Lud! but you would be astonished to hear how fondly he speaks of you—several times a day, I vow! I’m sure you would not want a little tiff to spoil such a merry
amitié
.”

Confronted by one of his guests, and a determined one, as only Mrs. Mayfield could be, Sir Humphrey had no choice but to acquiesce. A momentary look of unease showed that he still harboured a fear that the young fellow might take it into his head very suddenly to buffet him with a chair. But Dudley had not been permitted any wine at dinner today—only the quart of beer he always took with his breakfast—and Mrs. Mayfield would be sitting close enough to supervise her son.

Having accepted Dudley’s apology, Sir Humphrey soon resumed his cheerful humour, saying more than once what an auspicious evening it was, and promising that his guests would not go away disappointed. When he said this, he rubbed his hands together, as if he he were a conjurer about to produce a guinea from behind someone’s ear.

As the only servant in the party, Hester held back, waiting to be assigned a chair. In spite of her better judgement, she couldn’t help feeling gratified when Lord Lovett beckoned her to the front row. As he held her chair for her, his gaze skimmed her approvingly, and a conspiratorial smile curved his lips. He left her immediately, however, to take his usual spot behind Isabella’s chair.

Last night, Hester head had been so filled with St. Mars that she had not bothered to wonder about the outcome of her cousin’s tête-à-tête, but Lord Lovett’s attention to
her
must raise the question now. Certainly, this evening, Isabella’s did not behave like a woman scorned. Indeed, whenever she turned to Lord Lovett, which was often, a sultry smile always accompanied her gaze. Whether it was a
satisfied
smile, Hester did not have the experience to say, but it seemed that something, at least, had passed between them. With a feeling of uneasiness, she wondered again what Lord Lovett’s intentions could be.

Last night, St. Mars had told her that not every gentleman held her sex in contempt. But to Hester’s untutored eye, most of them did. Women were denied most rights enjoyed by men, one result being that the streets were filled with prostitutes both day and night. From the bits and pieces she had heard, it seemed that some of these women were clever and talented in ways beyond the requirements of their profession. If they had been blessed with a different means to earn their fortune, the aim behind most marriages, perhaps they could have taken a respectable place in society.

Gentlemen avoided marriage as long as they could, until their family required them to produce an heir, or their fortunes became so poor that they could not support their manner of living. If Lord Lovett had no need to wed, he would naturally seek diversion among ladies for whom marriage was not a reasonable goal—other men’s wives or dependent females, perhaps, who could not expect a gentleman’s attentions to be accompanied by a promise of matrimony.

Not for the first time, Hester cautioned herself against opening herself up to attentions of that kind, no matter how flattering they might seem.

For now, she was determined to put it all out of her mind, so she could enjoy the opera.  It had been composed and was to be conducted by Mr. Handel, a German gentleman who had been appointed Kapellmeister at King George’s court in Hanover before arriving in London a few years ago. The story went that he had obtained leave to travel to England, but after achieving a spectacular success here in the Haymarket with his Italian opera,
Rinaldo,
he had failed to return to his royal patron.

This had resulted in some awkwardness later when George acceded to the English throne. King George was not particularly known for his willingness to forgive, having punished his wife for one transgression by locking her away for life and refusing to let her see her children ever again. For months, Mr. Handel had not dared to appear at Court. But Baron Kielmansegge, who had always been the composer’s advocate, had at last managed to obtain the royal pardon.

Tonight’s performance was by command, but a glance across the stage at the royal box found it empty. The normal tumult floated up from the pit, vulgar shouts and laughter, with which the people in the boxes had to compete to be heard. A movement near the stage, followed by the arrival of the orchestra, seemed to indicate that the performance was about to start, when a flurry in one of the royal boxes caught everyone’s eye. A relative hush fell upon the house, and the audience came to its feet to pay respect to the Prince and Princess of Wales.

The royal couple acknowledged the applause. Her royal Highness smiled and the Prince waved genially. It was said that he had expressed a great love for the English, but he seemed more in love with the flattery heaped on him than with the people who delivered it.

They had been accompanied by the lords and ladies in waiting this week. Mrs. Howard took a chair beside the Prince, instead of by her mistress, as might have been expected, but the Duchess of St. Albans, Lady Dorset, and Lady Essex Robartes surrounded the Princess’s chair. Hester was glad to note that this last lady had survived her visit of obligation to Cornwall, for every time her ladyship faced the necessity of journeying to that wild place, she dreaded for her life.