His Lordship was afraid to be compromised? Her opinion of him fell. His attraction withered. “All right. We’ll have him up.” His Lordship relaxed. Colonel Wardle was then shown into the bedroom.
Instead of the smirk that might have been expected, the dig in the ribs, the remark, “You’ve beaten me to it,” with other sly allusions to bedside company, the member for Okehampton looked uneasy. He murmured a word or two, then sat in silence. Something was wrong. She sensed the change of atmosphere. She said, “Lord Folkestone’s told me about today. I gathered things went well, but nothing was settled.”
“Yes. The mood of the House was good, and in our favor. That’s partly why I’ve come to see you tonight. I think it would be best if you seized advantage of the fact that you’re rather unwell, and let it excuse you from any further attendance in the House.”
“I couldn’t be more pleased or more relieved.”
Lord Folkestone stared at Wardle in disbelief. “You must be mad! Why, Mrs. Clarke’s our ace. Her presence alone is enough to win the House.”
“I disagree.”
“You mean to say that the evidence she has given has been harmful rather than valuable to our cause? The suggestion’s monstrous. Without her we hadn’t a chance.”
“Don’t mistake me, Folkestone. Of course Mrs. Clarke has been helpful. My point is that she has said all she has to say. If she comes to the House again she’ll be cross-examined on all sorts of other subjects that might be damaging.”
So Wardle had heard that rumors were circulating about the Duke of Kent’s part in the affair. That’s why he’d called with Dodd. She shrugged her shoulders. They must fight it out together, she didn’t care.
“Look here,” said Folkestone, “what’s at the back of this? Is something going on that you haven’t explained? Is there any truth in this rumor about Kent?”
“I assure you, no.”
“Then what’s it all about?”
“My apprehension lest Mrs. Clarke should be worried.”
“They can’t do worse to her than they have done already, you know that well, and she handled them with ease. What further subjects are there that could be damaging?”
Colonel Wardle looked for help to his Number One witness. She took no notice, closed her eyes and yawned. He turned once more to Lord Folkestone in desperation.
“Very well, I’ll be frank. This is a personal matter, something to do with myself and Mrs. Clarke. I’d be most obliged if you’d leave us for five minutes.”
Lord Folkestone rose stiffly to his feet. “Of course, if you put it that way I have no alternative.”
He went from the bedroom, leaving them together. Colonel Wardle began at once in agitation, “You’ve said nothing to Folkestone about the Duke of Kent?”
“Of course not.”
“He’s suspicious. That’s why he called to see you, naturally.”
“Nonsense, he brought me flowers.”
“Just an excuse. I warn you, we must be careful. Rumors abound. If the Government smells a rat, our cause is lost and the whole of the charges will fall into disrepute.”
“Folkestone isn’t a member of the Government.”
“That makes no odds. He’d throw in his hand if he knew.”
“You’re ashamed, then, of the plot behind the charges?”
“It’s not a question of shame, nor is it a plot. It’s all a matter of policy, very involved.”
“Involved’s the word. And you’ve landed me in the muddle. Not only must I be wary of the Government, but of Folkestone too, the man who’s done most to help me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s very unfortunate. But in politics, our dearest friends are sometimes those who betray us inadvertently.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Reassure Folkestone that Kent is not behind us. Say, if you like, that you and I are intimes, and that I’m alarmed the scandal may be discovered.”
“Thanks very much!”
“The suggestion may keep him at bay and put him off from further questioning.”
“Why should I keep him at bay? I find him pleasant.”
“Then tell any lie you please, but don’t tell the truth.”
She sat up in bed and pummeled the pillows behind her, took another peep in the glass and arranged her shawl.
“For a patriot, Colonel Wardle, you’re very impressive. What a shame the Attorney-General can’t hear you now.”
“Dear lady, political measures…”
“Political balderdash. Don’t talk to me of politics, they stink. All right, I’ll fool his Lordship, you needn’t worry; and if I’m called to the House I shall appear. I’m not going to blow the gaff, so keep your head… Now, hadn’t you better go and find his Lordship and tell him our tête-à-tête is over and done with?”
Anxiety dropped from Wardle’s shoulders. The haggard expression, the frown, all disappeared. He went, and she could hear them talking in the drawing room. She pictured the scene: Folkestone inquisitive, Dodd and Wardle cagey, and heaven knew what gossip smeared at herself. Presently there was a slamming of doors and steps in the street. They’d gone, and she could relax and go to sleep. She was about to throw off her shawl and turn out the lamp when she heard another knock at the bedroom door.
“Come in!” What did Martha want now? But it wasn’t Martha—it was his Lordship again, with a feverish, furtive air.
“They’ve gone. I’ve got rid of them both,” he said, and tiptoed towards the bed and took her hand.
Oh, Lord… Her heart sank within her. Must she face this? Her mood of half an hour back had entirely changed. The moment had passed, all she wanted to do was to sleep. She stifled a yawn and tried to summon a smile.
“I thought you’d gone too?”
“I came to wish you goodnight.”
She knew what that meant—she’d been through it dozens of times. Not with his Radical Lordship, but with others. All aboveboard for five minutes, a stroking of hands, murmurs and whispers; and then a hurried request. Best get it over and done with, then pack him off home. Pretend an ecstatic fatigue—it generally worked. He’d slip off to bed believing he’d conquered the world.
“Shall I turn down the light?” he whispered.
“If you prefer it.”
She glanced at the clock. A quarter to eleven. If he went at a quarter past, which was optimistic, she’d have eight hours before her tea at seven… But if, as instinct warned her was highly probable, his francophilian Lordship lacked instruction—all promise and no performance—then time was pressing, a case of faites vos jeux and allons-y.
6
Wednesday the twenty-second of February was the final day on which evidence was to be taken, and Colonel Wardle, having declared he had no wish to bring forward further witnesses in support of his charges—the letters found in Captain Sandon’s possession being proof enough of the Duke of York’s complicity in promotion traffic—then gave place to the Leader of the House.
Mr. Perceval began by stating that he desired to allay any misapprehension there might be on the part of the House regarding the delay in bringing forward the evidence of Captain Sandon and producing the note about Major Tonyn. There had been rumors on the opposite side of the House that Captain Sandon had been told to destroy the note by persons who were friendly to the Duke of York. This was entirely untrue.
The Opposition received his statement in silence. They noticed, and so did members of the Government, that no more was said about the note being a forgery, and no further handwriting experts were summoned to the bar.
In a last attempt to discredit Mrs. Clarke, the Leader of the House called upon Mrs. Favoury, housekeeper, to give evidence, trusting that she would bring contempt upon her mistress; and Martha, round-eyed with wonder and surprise, was delivered over to the Attorney-General.
“Were you housekeeper to Mrs. Clarke at Gloucester Place?”
“I was.”
“Was the establishment kept up at great expense???
?
“It certainly was. There were sometimes three men cooks at dinner, and if there was anything found fault with by His Royal Highness she would send for another cook.”
“Was Mrs. Clarke in the habit of receiving visits from other gentlemen?”
“Yes, gentlemen came backwards and forwards.”
“Before Samuel Carter came to live with Mrs. Clarke as footman did he come in company with a Captain Sutton?”
“Captain Sutton brought him along certainly, but he didn’t take Sam into the parlor.”
“Do you know if Mrs. Clarke ever lived with a gentleman called Ogilvie?”
“I’ve seen Mr. Ogilvie, but she didn’t live with him. He used to come to Tavistock Place, a lusty gentleman.”
“Do you know a man called Walmsley?”
“Why do you want to bring that up?”
Martha, flushed and indignant, stared resentfully at the Attorney-General. Sir Vicary Gibbs leaned forward. So… another lover to add to the list of Mrs. Clarke’s conquests?
The name Walmsley buzzed across the benches. A Shropshire Walmsley shook his head and turned scarlet. The Attorney-General held up his hand for silence. “If,” he said to Martha, “you have anything to bring forward about a Mr. Walmsley I shall be very glad to hear it.”
Martha fumbled for a handkerchief. Supposing she did not tell the truth, the Attorney-General might put her in prison.
“Mrs. Clarke knows about it,” she answered. “I was married to the man, and he was a married man all the time. He deceived me but I didn’t know it—I wouldn’t live with him when I got to hear of it, and I didn’t cohabit with him again. I was married to him at Woolwich church. He was a coal merchant and Mrs. Clarke told me not to have him, but I wouldn’t listen.”
A shout of laughter rang through the House, and the Attorney-General, with a glance at Mr. Perceval, allowed his bewildered witness to depart, and called Mrs. Mary Anne Clarke for her final examination.
“Did you know about Walmsley?”
“Yes. I heard of the man a dozen times. I heard he was a thief, and I was missing some soup plates, and my servants thought he had stolen them. He was a man of very bad character, and the Duke thought it was best for her to leave my service.”
“How long was it before you took her into your service again?”
“I did not take her until I wanted her very much. Mrs. Favoury is necessary to me, and knows all my affairs, and I believe she keeps my secrets, and I have never found her dishonest.”
“You abide by your former evidence that you once received a long list of names for promotion that you showed His Royal Highness?”
“Yes, I do. He put the list away in his pocketbook, and later I saw the list with some of the names scratched through. I only mention this because I have heard a gentleman on my right hand here just say that I might have picked his pocket.”
She glanced in accusation at the offending Tory member, and there were mocking calls of “Shame” from the Opposition benches.
The Attorney-General consulted a note in his hand.
“You said in former evidence you knew Major Dodd. When did you last see him?”
“I don’t remember. I’m not ashamed of Major Dodd, nor, I dare say, is Major Dodd ashamed of me. Except perhaps at this moment.”
“Do you know a Mr. Ogilvie?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you known him?”
“I don’t recollect. Some years.”
“Four years?”
“Perhaps.”
“Six years?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How long did you know Mr. Ogilvie before you lived with the Duke of York?”
“A few months. He was just failing in his business and his books were being made up when I knew him.”
“Did you ever live with him?”
“I have lived with no man but the Duke of York.”
Cheers and whistles sounded through the House. The witness listened to them with composure. The Attorney-General shrugged his shoulders. Lord Folkestone stared at his feet. Colonel Wardle mopped his brow. And then, to the disappointment of the whole House, the Attorney-General intimated that he had no further questions to put to the witness.
There was little more to come. The proceedings were terminated by the evidence of two military spokesmen for the Government—the Secretary for War and the Right Hon. Sir Arthur Wellesley.
“In respect of the state of the Army,” said Sir Arthur Wellesley, “I can say from my own knowledge of it, which is intimate, that it has materially improved in every way. The discipline of the soldiers is improved, the officers are improved in knowledge, the Staff is better than it was and much more complete, the officers of the Cavalry are better than they were, the whole system of the management of the clothing of the Army, the interior economy of the regiments, and everything that relates to the military discipline of the soldiers and the military efficiency of the Army have been greatly improved since His Royal Highness the Duke of York was appointed Commander-in-Chief.”
The evidence having been finally concluded, Mr. Perceval suggested that, as the whole of the Minutes would be printed by the following Monday, the report should be taken into consideration on Tuesday next. Colonel Wardle agreed.
The Investigation into the conduct of the Duke of York was over. The debate, which was to last from Thursday, February the 23rd, until Friday, March the 17th, was yet to come.
7
She sat in the drawing room of Westbourne Place with a sense of anticlimax, of depression. The Investigation, hateful though it had been, had served as a challenge. Now there was nothing to do but wait for the verdict. Which way it went did not seem to matter.
She had no resentment now, no sort of anger. Even the court martial had been forgotten. Adam was to blame for it all—Adam and Greenwood.
She picked up the morning paper and read the letter the Duke of York had sent to the House of Commons:
“Sir,
“I have waited with the greatest anxiety until the Committee appointed by the House of Commons to enquire into my conduct as Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty’s Army had closed its examinations, and I now hope that it will not be deemed improper to address this letter through you to the House of Commons.
“I observe with the deepest concern that in the course of the enquiry my name has been coupled with transactions the most criminal and disgraceful, and I must ever regret and lament that a connection should ever have existed which has thus exposed my character and honor to public animadversion.”
All right, she thought, lament it. You didn’t once. You didn’t lament it when you swore you loved me. You didn’t lament it when you promised to provide for the children. You only lamented it when your jaded eye fell upon Mrs. Carey and I was a nuisance. And then, had you kept your promise, I would have spared you. She picked up the paper and read the letter through to the end.
“With respect to my alleged offence, connected with the discharge of my official duties, I do, in the most solemn manner, upon my honor as a Prince, distinctly assert my innocence, not only by denying all corrupt participation in any of the infamous transactions which have appeared in evidence at the bar of the House of Commons, or any connivance at their existence, but also the slightest knowledge or suspicion that they existed at all.”
Oh, God forgive you. What about those earrings, the ones I got from Parker’s, and the horses, and the carriages, and my gowns, and the coat of arms stamped on all the silver? Do you think I paid for them with the eighty pounds a month that you allowed me?
“My consciousness of innocence leads me confidently to hope that the House of Commons will not, upon such evidence as they have heard, adopt any proceedings prejudicial to my honor and character; but if, upon such testimony as has been adduced against me, the House of Commons can think my innocence questionable, I claim of their justice that I shall not be condemned without trial, or be deprived of the benefit and protection which is afforded
to every British subject by those sanctions, under which alone evidence is received in the ordinary administration of the law.
“I am, Sir, yours, Frederick.”
Written by himself? In all probability. Or drafted by his private secretary Herbert Taylor, with Adam, possibly, hovering in the background.
It had not made much impression, according to Folkestone. There had been talk of the privileges of the House having been attacked—she did not understand it and cared even less.
“Well, what’s going to happen now?”
She put this to the conspirators when they called, the conspirators being Wardle, Dodd and Glennie, the bunch who had set the business going. “We can’t plan ahead,” said Wardle, turned suddenly pompous; “your future, and ours as well, depends on the House. The next few weeks I shall be exceedingly busy. The whole weight of the debate will fall on my shoulders.”
“Won’t you get support from the rest of the Opposition?”
“Of course. But as instigator of the charges I am the man responsible. I’m in the forefront, everyone waits on me.”
“Which is just what you like, my smooth and immaculate patriot.”
“Dear lady, the acid tongue does not become you.”
“You admired it in the House.”
“That was rather different. You employed it against the Government; we are your friends.”
“And speaking of the Government…” chipped in Dodd, and she saw the two men exchange glances of understanding. “We were talking of you last night to Sir Richard Phillips.”
“The publisher in Bridge Street?”
“That’s the man. A great admirer of yours, or so he told us.”
“Oh? What does he want?”
“Why ‘want’? He praised your charm.”
“Experience, Major Dodd, has long informed me that no man ever expresses admiration unless he wants something out of the person admired.”
“That’s a very cynical view.”
“I’m a cynical woman.”
Colonel Wardle interrupted. “The point at issue was really connected with Phillips’ particular business. You’re so much in the public eye—all of London’s talking—that he’s hoping you’re going to sit down and write your memoirs. The demand would be enormous, according to him.”