Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4) Page 20

  The House then turned to consideration of the treaty with the United States. Sandon rose, and in the fluid voice that had earned him so much success as a public speaker, he introduced the measure to which the earlier speaker had referred. “Mr. Speaker, sir, it gives me great pleasure to inform this House that the American Congress has ratified the treaty proposed by this kingdom to enforce the abolishment of the slave trade on the open seas.”

  Shouts of “Hear! Hear!” interrupted the speaker.

  “And that country has taken independent measures to ensure that the slave trade will be dealt with as piracy according to the laws of both countries. Further, there is in the treaty a stipulation by which the United States and Great Britain pledge themselves to invite other powers to accede to the same measure. Gentlemen, I urge our ratification of this treaty.”

  “Hear, hear!” Again the chamber rang. The bill was read a third time and passed. It had been a great day of victory for the forces of abolition in the “two British nations on both sides of the Atlantic.”

  It, as well, was a major personal victory for William Wilberforce who for fifty years had led the antislavery movement without faltering. There remained but one last step—abolition. And I will be here to work for it, Granville vowed.

  Leaving Westminster, Granville turned his steps toward Travellers, the Ryder family’s club, thinking that perhaps Sandon would be there to discuss politics with him. But as soon as he got to St. James Street, he was hailed by a familiar voice. “Ryder! Fancy finding you running tame around town.”

  “Perkins, I didn’t know you were coming to London.” He offered his hand to his friend.

  “Lot you don’t know. Remember Fifi at Newmarket?”

  Granville’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed I do.”

  “Rum thing. Saw your watch in a pawnshop window—least, thought it was. Went in to check. That man was there, the one that hung around them. Wouldn’t have recognized him, but he had on that awful check suit. He and his tailor should be arrested for bad taste. At any rate, told him what I thought of his piece of work. Couldn’t prove it against him, of course, but I put a flea in his ear. Told him he was a rum cove to use females to run his rigs. Told me he wouldn’t use Fifi anymore. She’s in St. Bart’s Hospital with consumption.”

  “What? Is it possible?”

  “’S fact,” Freddie declared. Then, apparently exhausted from the effort of making such a lengthy speech, he walked quietly for several moments.

  “Oh, almost forgot.” He put his hand in his pocket. “Here’s your watch.”

  “Thank you, Perk!” Granville was highly pleased to have his watch returned—before his father noticed its absence. “What did you pay to redeem it? I’ll give you a draft.”

  “Not me. Made that bawd do the pretty.” Freddie looked pleased with himself.

  They entered Travellers’ exclusive portals, and Granville paused in the cloakroom to draw out his pocketbook. He scribbled a note and folded several large bills inside it. “Do you have a wafer, Hansard?” he asked the porter.

  “Certainly, sir.” The servant produced the requested bit of wax.

  Granville affixed it and dashed an address on the outside. “Can you have this taken around?”

  The servant produced a silver tray to receive the note. “Certainly, sir. Very good.” He pocketed his tip. “Thank you, sir.”

  Granville and Freddie went on into the coffee room. “What you about, Gran?”

  “A note and subscription to one of my mother’s charities, The Forlorn Female’s Fund of Mercy.”

  Freddie laughed. “You’re bamming me. You sending a fistful of flimsies to Fifi?”

  “To the society. For her care—and Clarissa’s too if they can find her.”

  Freddie was speechless for a moment. Then he said, “Better to call out Bow Street than some Friday-faced almsworker. Not to say that Fifi ain’t plenty forlorn, of course.”

  Granville smiled at his friend’s sentiments, but spoke seriously. “I’ll admit my first impulse was to call out the runners, but a recent experience of mine made me think mercy is more appropriate than judgment.”

  Freddie’s eyes got large. “You been messing around with that lightskirt Grace again?”

  Granville was too thunderstruck at Freddie’s misapprehension even to laugh. “Yes, Perkins, grace is the word, but you’ve got it all wrong—I’ll explain sometime.”

  A waiter arrived to take their orders. The refreshment brought a new topic to Freddie’s mind. “Merry’s coming to town Wednesday. Want to make up a party to the theater?”

  Granville started to agree, then stopped. “Sorry, I shall be required at a family gathering that night—in honor of my uncle. He’s finally been translated.”

  Freddie stared. “Translated? Don’t mean to say he’s become French, do you?”

  Granville threw back his head in an open, carefree laugh, something rare in his recent months of struggle.

  Freddie regarded him thoughtfully. “I say, Ryder, thought religion would ruin you. I was wrong. Like you better this way.”

  Granville wiped his eyes with his napkin. “I like me better too, Freddie. That’s the whole thing.”

  The following evening the crush of elegant carriages outside Lady York’s house in Berkeley Square was only a prelude to the multitude thronging her Georgian mansion.

  Granville presented his card and was announced by the powdered and liveried butler. Then he strolled through the flower-banked reception rooms filled with people and music. It seemed that he saw everyone he knew in London—except the one person he sought. And when he did encounter a daughter of the Duke of Beaufort in the long gallery, it was Lady Charlotte Somerset who came to him smiling with outstretched hand to be bowed over.

  Charlotte was radiant in an evening dress of figured ivory silk with gauze insets. The jewels entwined in her hair sparkled under the chandelier as she danced the Boulanger with Granville. When the music ended, Granville offered to get a glass of ratafia for her. Instead of answering his question, she looked across the room and cried, “My, doesn’t George look splendid tonight!”

  It wasn’t the flamboyant Mr. Agar-Ellis in his high-cut waistcoat of French silk enriched with silver thread and embroidered in silver purl and spangles that captured Granville’s attention, however. It was his partner—Georgiana in a pink satin dance dress cut low on her white shoulders, its bell-shaped skirt adorned with appliqued trimming and padded rosettes. A fillet of pink French roses nestled in her blond curls.

  “Shall we join them?” Charlotte asked.

  Granville was about to suggest an alternative when the couple spotted them and moved forward. Before Georgiana and George could cross the room to them, however, their hostess hurried in.

  “Granville, I am so pleased I have found you. You haven’t heard, have you?”

  Granville’s reply was lost when a woman nearby gave a muffled scream. Servants rushed to fold the shutters across the windows. All dancing stopped as a buzz of gossip flew around the room.

  Lady York grasped Granville’s arm. “I don’t know how accurate the report is, but we’ve just received word that there has been an attempt to assassinate the cabinet. Is it true that they were dining at your father’s house tonight?”

  Granville stiffened to attention as if his captain had just brought word of an enemy attack. “It is true. Tell me what you heard, madam.”

  Charlotte seized Georgiana’s hand and pulled her into the circle to hear Lady York.

  “Indeed, I am not confident what I have heard; the reports are so garbled—twenty to thirty conspirators, the foot guards ordered out to support the police, shots fired—oh, my dear, I hardly know what to tell you. Indeed, it could be nothing, but it does sound very bad.”

  “Very bad, indeed. I know you will excuse me, milady.” Granville bowed and turned toward the door, his mind filled with gory visions of his parents’ blood staining the pale blue walls of their dining room.

  Seventeen


  “Wait, I’m going with you, Gran.” Georgiana grabbed his arm.

  “Certainly not. I have no idea what the situation is, but if one-tenth of the report is true, it is not a circumstance I wish to take you into.” He hurried on toward the entrance hall barely ahead of numerous other guests preparing a hurried exit. But Georgiana matched her step to his.

  Granville had to wait for his carriage to be pulled forward. “Georgiana, we have no idea if the conspirators have been apprehended. They may be lurking about anywhere, lying in wait outside our house. Or the scene may be—” He spoke the word through clenched teeth, “—grisly.”

  “Precisely why I am going. You may need me.”

  Further argument died with the simultaneous arrival of Granville’s phaeton and a breathless servant running from the house with Georgiana’s evening cloak. Granville sprang into the carriage, leaving the servant to hand Georgiana in.

  The short drive from Berkeley Square to Grosvenor Square provided evidence of the incredible alarm that had spread through London—troops from the Hyde Park Barracks struggled to keep order in streets choked with traffic as dinner parties, assemblies, and balls quickly dispersed. Passersby called to one another for news. Each report grew more alarming as snatches from passing open carriages reached them.

  “How many killed?”

  “Nine, I heard.”

  “Yes, and Liverpool.”

  “Liverpool? They’ve killed the prime minister?”

  “The king? An attempt on the king?”

  Granville set his features and looked straight ahead, driving his most skillfully in impossible circumstances. Beside him Georgiana sat very still, her hand tucked gently under his arm.

  “It will be all right, Gran. I know it will.”

  One of the officers stationed outside Harrowby House recognized Granville and sprang forward to hold his horses as Granville leapt from the carriage. Another officer handed Georgiana down. At the doorway they were joined by Sandon, who threw the door open and rushed ahead, calling over his shoulder, “Glad you’re here, Gran. I heard the news at Almacks. Got here as soon as I could.” He threw the door to the dining room open and stood frozen, blocking Granville’s view.

  Certain that he was to be faced with the reality of his blood-spattered visions, Granville attempted to shield Georgiana.

  Sandon exclaimed, “What the deuce!” and moved on into the room. “It’s all over London that the whole Square has been blown sky high and the government with it—a real Guy Fawkes… officers filling the street. Could hardly make my way through the cordon outside—and here you sit sipping coffee!”

  The enormous flood of relief at the placid domestic scene—the earl and countess dining quietly alone—brought them near to hysterical laughter.

  “I told you of the warning I’d received,” the earl said calmly. “Most of the ministers treated the matter lightly, but Wellington and Bathurst had heard previous rumors and insisted we formulate a plan.

  “The duke brought forth a noble scheme worthy of the hero of Waterloo with two hundred men from Portman Street on alert. The moment they saw the gang assemble for action, they were to approach double-quick. The Life Guards were to gallop across the park and occupy the surrounding streets.

  “Since that scheme entailed the cabinet members actually dining here, however, we decided that the members’ carriages should pull up at their doors and drive here as if all were going forward. The carriages actually arrived empty while Bow Street constables and a piquet of foot guards went to Cato Street to apprehend the conspirators on their home territory.” The Earl concluded with a satisfied smile.

  Granville, still unable to rid his mind of the horrors it had conjured up, shook his head. “And absolutely nothing happened here?”

  The earl shrugged. “I observed men watching the house front and rear all day, but I ordered dinner to be served as usual.”

  The countess gave a small gurgle of laughter. “Well, there was one casualty. Jean-Luc threw his hat on the floor and trampled it in a rage when he heard his dinner was to be canceled.”

  Sandon laughed. “There’ll be delicacies in the schoolroom for weeks. I envy my smaller brothers and sisters.”

  Granville, however, did not appreciate the humor of the situation. “But, Father, did it not occur to you to remove to another place? It’s all very well for the other ministers to stay at home, but here you sit at the center of the bull’s eye. If the conspirators had escaped arrest, they might well have come on here and blown you to eternity. After all, the arrival of all those empty carriages gave the impression that they could accomplish their ends. And what of Mother’s safety?”

  “He did think of that, dear. I don’t think he took a single thought for himself, but he did urge me to order dinner served in the upper sitting room. I thought that quite nonsensical—which, as you can see, it would have been. Would you care for some coffee?”

  Granville shook his head. “Pluck to the backbone, both of you.”

  “Anyone?” Lady Harrowby touched the coffee urn. “It may yet be a long night.”

  Before she had finished pouring a cup for Georgiana, the butler opened the double doors and stood aside. “Sir Richard Birnie,” he announced as the police magistrate entered. “And, er, Mr. Lavender.” Although service in a house that was the focal point of the most audacious assassination plot in British history had not ruffled this worthy servant, the necessity of announcing the most felonious-appearing of the Bow Street Runners very nearly overset him.

  “Thought you’d want to know as soon as possible, my Lord, so I came around with the news myself,” Sir Richard said. “We got the ruffians in the Cato Street stable, just like your informant said. My first man in was shot in the head, but it’s only a wound. The one who followed, though, was stabbed and killed. The conspirators put out the light and attempted to escape, but by that time the soldiers had arrived. We took nine prisoners. Thistlewood and the rest escaped, but we’ll soon get ’em, don’t you worry. Have ’em strung up for treason quicker ’n you can say, ‘Jack Spratt.’”

  “But what was their object? What can they possibly have hoped to gain by such an act?” The earl’s overriding reaction seemed to be perplexity.

  “Near as we can make out, yer Lordship,” Lavender replied twirling the hat he had refused to surrender to the footman, “the ideer was to fire a rocket from the ’ouse soon’s they’d completed their work of destruction. That was to be the signal for the risin’ of their friends. There was some notion of settin’ an oil shop on fire to increase the confusion and then throw open the bank and Newgate.

  “The ’eads of the ministers, beggin’ your pardon, me Lord,” he nodded to Lord Harrowby. “Was to ’ave been cut off and put in a sack, but we got the sack all right and tight.” He finished with considerable satisfaction as if securing the sack had been the coup de grace to the conspiracy.

  “Those poor, misguided creatures.” The earl shook his head. “Did they actually believe they could pull off such a thing?”

  “The plan does seem remarkably disorganized,” Birnie said. “The mob might have created confusion and made havoc, but it would have been quite inefficient for a regular operation. It would never have worked.”

  “All that for some vague notions of revenge, liberty, and instant prosperity by a band of desperate destitutes.” Lady Harrowby leaned her forehead against her hand. “And now I suppose they will be executed. Do they have families?”

  “Don’t be wastin’ no sympathy on them, ma’am. Their notion was to stick the ’ead of your murdered ’usband and ’is compatriots on staves and carry ’em through the streets of London to rouse the mob. Beggin’ your pardon, ladies.” Lavender nodded to the countess and Georgiana. “But you’d best know the truth.”

  “And to think that was all prevented by the pure chance of a member of the conspiracy knowing and liking you, Father—our milkman, no less.”

  “No, Granville. I don’t believe it was chance,” the earl replied.


  “The Honorable Mr. Frederick Calthorpe and Lady Charlotte Somerset.” The butler might have been announcing late arrivals at a formal ball.

  “Where is my brother? They said he’d been murdered!” Fred looked quite distracted.

  “Georgie!” Charlotte flew to her sister. “Are you all right? You can’t imagine the stories flying everywhere. The whole town is in an uproar. Lady York’s guests were barricading her house with arms when we left.”

  After the essence of the matter was reported to the newcomers, the men from Bow Street left to escort the Somerset sisters to their father’s house. Lord Sandon suddenly remembered his wife whom he had left in the care of their party at Almacks.

  “I know you’ll do better for our parents’ comfort than I, at any rate.” Sandon clapped a hand on Granville’s shoulder and then hurried off.

  “The town will be abuzz till long past daybreak, but there is no need for me to be. If you will excuse me, my dears.” Granville and his father stood and saw the countess out of the room.

  While all London surged outside, father and son faced each other across the tranquil room. “Father, I—” Granville could find no words to express his relief at finding his father unharmed. He suddenly realized how much this man meant to him.

  “Sit down and have a drink, Granville.” The earl handed his son a glass and resumed his seat at the table. “We have needed to talk for some time. I apologize for allowing my parliamentary duties to get in the way of my duties as a father.”

  “No, sir, it is I who must apologize. But I won’t embarrass you by speaking of what should never have risen between us.”

  “I appreciate that, Granville. Allow me to say only that I now realize I was far too impatient in pressing you to develop the abilities I knew you possessed. I received a very fine letter from Charles Simeon. He had some superior things to say to your character.”

  Granville grinned. “Doesn’t know me well, huh?”

  “On the contrary, I should say he knows you better than your own father. But I think we might remedy that in future.” The earl extended his hand, and Granville clasped it warmly.