A Stranger in Mayfair

Chapter Twenty-Seven

She was a roundish, placid, unbeautiful woman; in her youth she had been not pretty but slim and eye-catching. Now she contained all the majesty of England in her rather waddling gait and intelligent, indifferent face. She had survived half a dozen assassination attempts, given birth to children, and seen empires fall. Whether because of her position or her person, she was captivating to behold.

The speech addressed a number of issues for the Houses to take up. To Lenox’s annoyance Edmund kept whispering questions about the case. These received at best a nod by way of reply, but still Lenox found himself missing chunks of the speech. It was nearly the end when he could concentrate.

“My Lords and Members of the House of Commons, I pray that the blessing of Almighty God may rest upon your counsels.”

With that the speech ended, in the same words it did every year. For the rest of the day there were a thousand things they did, each of which half confused and half delighted Charles. They elected the Speaker (a reelection, and a matter of no drama) and then, per tradition, several Members “dragged him unwillingly” to the Speaker’s bench.

“Ages ago it was dangerous to be Speaker-you could be killed if you said something to displease the monarch-and that’s why we do it. Daft, of course, but good fun when the Speaker is such a magisterial figure for the rest of the session.”

They debated the speech and passed a bill-again per tradition-declaring their autonomy from the Queen’s rule. Several people stopped and clapped Lenox on the back forcefully, saying welcome, Members from both sides of the aisle. He found it tremendously collegial of them.

On it went for hours and hours, all of it fascinating. What it reminded him most of was being new at school, when he was twelve. There was the same overwhelmed, excitable feeling, as if a new adventure had been embarked upon and now there was nothing to do but figure out its multitude of small necessities, rules, traditions. At Harrow-his school-there had been the same sort of insular world, with its own terminology: Teachers were beaks; a bath was called a tosh. It had taken weeks before he felt at home with all the slang.

Finally, a little after three that afternoon, Edmund led him out through the Members’ Entrance again.

“Well?” he said when they were a few streets clear of the din of Parliament.

Lenox simply grinned and told him what he had been thinking about Harrrow, where Edmund had been, too.

“It makes a strange impression, doesn’t it? Don’t worry. You’ll soon feel at home there. Look-a pub. Let’s duck in for a celebratory drink.”

They spent an hour then drinking to each other’s health, the Queen’s health, and the House. It was a pub called the Westminster Arms, with honey-colored walls and low raftered ceilings and the gleam of brass and glass everywhere.

“What’s all this about cholera?” Edmund asked finally, after they had sat down with their drinks.

“What did you hear?”

“Hilary spoke a word to me in Bellamy’s. Said he was rather taken aback by your insistence that it be addressed.”

“Insistence? Of course I was insistent.”

“Things move slowly in politics, Charles.”

“They ought to move a sight faster.”

Edmund smiled indulgently. “No doubt you’ll change it all?”

“You think me foolish?”

“No! The farthest thing from it-I’m full of admiration for you-but this is a matter I know about. Perhaps you may be a bit innocent. It will be difficult.”

“Graham has a plan.”

“Does he? Then things will be well. I was surprised about that, by the way. Not that you deemed him worthy for the position, but that you considered it wise. There was a rumble among the secretaries. They fell in line after Percy Field, however.”

“I wondered if it were taking a toll on Graham.”

“Be careful. You compared the House to Harrow-well, it’s just as rigid and orderly. They don’t like people jumping the queue.”

“Graham’s thought was to find a group of Members who felt the same way about the issue of cholera. With strength in numbers we could approach a frontbencher-Brick, Hilary, you.”

“I’m not a frontbencher.”

“In all but name, Edmund.”

“At any rate, you needn’t gather a group to speak to me.”

“What did Hilary tell you?”

“Pretend he told me nothing.”

Lenox recounted the same story he had for Hilary, dwelling on the potential risk to the people in East London of a cholera outbreak.

“It’s unquestionably a valid concern,” Edmund finally answered, sipping at his pint of mild ale. “You must keep me apprised. Wait, though-about Ludo-isn’t-”

“Just a moment, before you go and change the subject please.”

“Me?” said the baronet innocently.

“I know you too well for that, Ed. What’s wrong with it? I hate you being tactful. It irritates me.”

Edmund sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Charles. It’s only that there’s so much against it. A major public works has just finished, at tremendous expense and after tremendous difficulty. No public body backtracks this quickly. ‘We just finished with all that bother’ will be what people say. I promise you.”

“They won’t! Did you hear a word I said? The imminent danger of it all?”

“I know, I know. It’s only a feeling. I hope I’m wrong.”

At home Lady Jane was full of a dozen questions, and Graham-whom Lenox studied closely for signs of anxiety-was full of good cheer and shook his hand solemnly, before going straight back to work into the night with Frabbs. There was an ominous pile of blue books on Lenox’s desk.

“Now, how was it?” asked Lady Jane when at last they had settled on the sofa, her hands clasping his.

They spent an hour in close conversation, absorbed in each other as they had been that morning but so rarely in the past week. He fell ravenously upon a shoulder of lamb and fresh peas, having been unconscious before it appeared on a silver salver how hungry he had been. He felt cared for again.

“It’s almost cool enough to have a fire tonight,” Lady Jane said. “I’d like to stay in and be lumps here on the couch, and read. What do you say to that?”

“I say yes, of course. I wish it could be Cranford, but it must be blue books, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll call the footman to light it.”

As she left he wandered into the dim dining room, restless. His eyes alighted on a watercolor of the London skyline. It had replaced that Paris painting, which was in a guest room now-it had made him feel uneasy, despite how he had liked it in France. In the skyline was St. Paul’s, and Westminster Abbey, and there, just above a middling of roofs, the Palace of Westminster: Parliament.

He had been pulled in so many directions during the fortnight since his honeymoon ended. There were Toto and Thomas McConnell, there was Jane’s distance, there was the case, there was first his disenchantment with Parliament and then the galvanizing realization of the public danger cholera presented, and beyond all that the hundred meetings to attend and duties to discharge. It had been impossibly fraught. Now his life clarified before him. Parliament was where he belonged. Everything would be all right with Jane, and he would do his work there. Seeing the Queen, hearing her order them to execute the business of the people, standing among lords, bishops, cabinet ministers, in the mix of power and possibility…here he was. It was time to work.

This new resolve lasted until the next morning. The pledge lingered with him-he meant it-but when Dallington came to see if he wanted to visit Freddie Clarke’s boxing club, he couldn’t decline the offer.