The Iberian Flame

Chapter 54

Gunter’s Tea Shop, London

‘Disgraceful! I’d never have believed it – even of a Dalrymple, my dear!’ Lady Leveson-Gower sniffed in mortification, other patrons of the fashionable establishment pausing in their conversations at the words so strongly expressed by the formidably attired woman. ‘A convention, no less, with Bonaparte’s horrid functionaries, and so demeaning it makes my blood run cold.

‘Here we have the French, in defeat for the first time at our arms, and before the gaze of the world, they are allowed to keep their colours, their honours of war – even their arms. But what is worse in my eyes, which will stir even the most lost to honour in this land, is that fully at the expense of England the whole French Army is to be conveyed back to their homeland, with all their baggage and foul plunder, ready to take up arms against us once more!’

‘Yes, Harriet,’ Millicent Nugent replied patiently, for with her friend’s husband high in the Foreign Office she could be trusted to know more of the suddenly notorious convention than most.

Lady Leveson-Gower glared at her, as though it were all her doing. ‘Spencer is quite beside himself with vexation, the poor dear. The military principals forgot themselves even to the omitting of sending word of their negotiating until after it was signed and all too late to change.

‘Dishonourable is not too strong a term for such behaviour!’ she went on. ‘If this is how we are to conduct our wars on the land in future, I despair of our ever succeeding to laurels.’

A delicately built gentleman in fashionable frock coat made his way through the noisy throng to them. ‘M’ lady.’ He acknowledged Millicent with a civil bow, then turned distracted to his wife.

‘I do apologise for the tardiness, my dear. It’s all in a moil at the office, I can tell you. The newspapers got hold of the terms before we did and we’re sadly at a loss as to how we should counter the dissatisfaction, even less the outrage.’

‘Then you shall disavow this ridiculous convention, Spencer, do you hear me?’ Lady Leveson-Gower pronounced imperiously. ‘For the sake of common honour and decency!’

‘That will be hardly possible, madam. The signatories are victorious on the field of battle and thus entitled to demand any terms of the defeated as they think proper.’

‘Oh, do sit down, Spencer.’

‘Unhappily, Harriet, I have now to make visit to Number Ten. I rather fear I shall be late home tonight, the matter being so pressing. Send the servants to bed, my dear. I will have no need of them.’

He bowed again and left.

The streets seemed even noisier and more rancorous than before and Leveson-Gower hurried on, noticing the print-shops filling with vulgar cartoons capitalising on the topical interest – one, of the entire Convention of Cintra wearing white feathers, another of them all swinging at the gibbet.

Turning into Whitehall, he hesitated at the crowds gathering but persevered, passing close enough to learn they were forcefully demanding that His Majesty be advised without delay how it could be that such a shameful convention had been allowed to come into existence.