Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4) Read online

  “The prodigal has returned, Father.” Granville exchanged the handshake for an embrace.

  “Shall we kill the fatted calf?”

  Granville chuckled. “I fancy that won’t be necessary with all Jean-Luc has prepared.”

  The earl gave him a final slap on the back. “Now to bed with you, you young scapegrace. Have you no compassion for a tired old man with an abominable headache?”

  But in his room the image that filled Granville’s mind was not his newly sympathetic vision of his father. He now saw pictures of Georgiana that his mind had captured all through the harrowing evening, but had found no time to focus on: Georgiana insisting on going with him to face possible murderers or rioters because “you might need me.” Georgiana, all delicate pink, white, and golden as the street lamps lighted her, enveloped in a long rose cloak with a shoulder cape, the whole garment edged with the softest fur. Georgiana sitting beside him with her calm support while panic ruled in the streets.

  He picked up his pen. The letter he wrote, however, was not addressed to Georgiana, but to God:

  O Lord God, the great and merciful God, You have caused in Your good providence that I be companion with one whom You have richly endowed with charm of person, mind, and disposition, and above all, with a heart desirous of loving and serving You.

  O Lord, it seems to me that she is particularly suited to me as a helpmeet above all others—that her character, by its strength and decision, by its gentleness, purity, truth, and conscientiousness is one calculated to be most useful to mine.

  Therefore, O my Lord, I pray that I may love her more faithfully and truly and, above all, unselfishly, so as to desire her happiness in preference to my own…

  He held his pen poised above the paper. His next thought brought an agony he could hardly bear, but it must be faced. What if his great desire for her was not compatible with her happiness—with God’s best plan? He dipped his pen in the inkwell and resolutely continued:

  …even if that be inseparable from that which be most painful to me.

  But, O Lord God Almighty, if it be possible, consistent with her best interests here and hereafter, turn her heart to me, to love me above all others…

  He was suddenly struck with the audacity of what he was asking, what an incredibly precious prize he sought—next to the gift of salvation—the greatest life could offer.

  Eighteen

  Many weeks later, however, at Troy House in the lush green Welsh mountains, it was not Granville’s letter that Georgiana was reading with her brow knit in thoughtful furrows, but one from George Agar-Ellis:

  My dear Georgiana,

  My very, very dear Georgiana, my heart’s desire—but more of that anon. I am torn with regret over my misfortune which prevented me from speaking with you and unveiling what is in my heart before you left London. But for that dreadful Cato Street affair—but enough of that.

  What I wish to communicate to you most particularly is that affairs require that I should journey into Yorkshire and stay a few days with Lord Carlisle at Castle Howard. From there I propose to journey to your side in Wales where I shall have something most particular to say to you which—I take great leave to flatter myself—I do not believe you shall find unpleasant.

  Yr. most humble and devoted servant,

  G.A.-E.

  “Well, that is rather pot-sure of him.” Georgiana smiled and placed the letter on her writing desk. And yet, as she so often reminded herself, George was not an unpleasant companion. In spite of his puffery, he was never vicious or profligate, and he was entirely free from anything like severity or austerity. But if she were to accept his offer—and she had no doubt that was his allusion—there would never be a less romantic or more businesslike attachment. In spite of his protestations, she did not flatter herself that his heart was seriously engaged. She felt, however, that she might contrive to rub along quite well with a man so active and ambitious in his pursuits and magnificent in his tastes. He is devoted to literature, politics, society, she coached herself, and since the one of whom you think tenderly considers you only as a cousin… Yes, George Agar-Ellis might do. If only her heart were not already engaged.

  She sat long thinking of Granville, of their last dramatic night together in London and of the other times they had spent together in town. All through the dismal months of January and February, she had hoped that when she saw Granville again, he might give her some indication that he reciprocated her feelings. But no such declaration had come.

  She sighed as she tossed George Agar-Ellis’s missive onto her desk and thought how far different her reaction would be if the letter bore a different signature.

  She had also hoped that Granville would join them at Troy House for Easter. But that day was long past, and still there was no word. Had all she thought Granville felt for her been only wishful thinking? Had her judgments been colored by the strength of her desire? What should she do if Granville had no more to communicate to her and George sincerely sought her hand? Did Granville think of her at all?

  In London Granville was, indeed, thinking of his fair cousin. His thoughts took the form of wondering if he would ever be able to leave town and seek his cousin’s companionship. The demands on his time following the uncovering of the conspiracy left him no leisure even for writing to Georgiana. He had barely managed to scribble a hasty note to Peacock in Cambridge and inform his crammie that events in London would delay his return to Trinity for Lent term. With the earl and Sandon busy in Parliament from morning till night, family responsibility for assisting the officers and responding to the public fell on Granville.

  Although nine of the conspirators had been apprehended in the Cato Street stable, several others, including Thistlewood and Edwards, the ringleaders, were still at large. Two days after the alarm, Lavender called at Grosvenor Square and asked Granville to accompany him to view the evidence Bow Street was collecting for the trial.

  The sight there was alarming. Granville contemplated what might have been the result had this arsenal been put into use by an unruly mob. There were piles of muskets, carbines, broad swords, pistols, blunderbusses, ball-cartridges, and gunpowder—then in another room, a bundle of singularly constructed stilettos, pikes, pike handles, and hand grenades.

  Granville shuddered as he viewed the pikes, recalling the reported plan of the gang to put the heads of the cabinet on pikes. He turned to Lavender. “It makes one extremely thankful to Providence.”

  Lavender wiped his forehead with an ample handkerchief. “Aye, that it does, sir. And now if you would be so good as to accompany me to the ’Orse and Groom. Beggin’ your pardon, but it seems only fittin’…”

  “Yes, of course.” Granville went out the door Lavender held for him. “I should be most glad to pay my respects to the officer killed while saving our country from this terrible affair.”

  Pending the inquest, the body of Officer Smithers was laid in a first-floor room of the public house across the street from the stable. The slain man was still in the clothes in which he had been killed, his chest and neck covered with blood. Granville took a brief look. As so often in the last two days, he breathed a prayer of thanks that it was not his father’s body he viewed.

  “What of this man’s family?” he asked Lavender. “Has anything been done to see to their needs?”

  The runner wasn’t aware that any action had been taken, so Granville set about to initiate a public subscription for the support of Smithers’s widow and children and also a fund to reward the officers who had apprehended the conspirators. He also endorsed Sir Birnie’s plan to offer a thousand-pound reward for information leading to the arrest of Thistlewood.

  Meanwhile, each day’s post brought another stack of letters to Harrowby House—congratulations on the narrow escape, anonymous threatening letters, unwelcome offers of help. Granville sat at the desk in Lord Harrowby’s study shaking his head over yet another public-spirited proposal:

  My Lord:

  If you will enclose in
a letter the sum of two or three pounds to enable me to act with certainty, I will write you by Friday next with information of the utmost importance. If you do not comply with my mode of information, no other will be noticed, and I shall seal my lips forever.

  Your Lordship’s humble servant,

  John West

  Granville tossed the note aside and turned as the butler opened the door.

  “Sir Richard Birnie.”

  “Sir Richard, it is a pleasure to see you. Please sit down.” Granville pointed to a chair across from his desk.

  Birnie sat on the edge of the wing chair. “I don’t know what to expect next, sir. We’ve uncovered another plot—”

  “What! More conspirators?” Granville jerked to attention.

  “In a manner of speaking, that is. A couple of ‘public-spirited’ radicals have formed a committee for conducting the prisoners’ defense.”

  “Surely that isn’t out of order. They are entitled to a fair trial.”

  “Right you are. But it seems they aren’t willing to take their chances with justice. They meet every other evening at the Crown and Anchor in Shoe Lane—where we are careful to see that two spies meet with them.” He said the last with a note of conspicuous pride.

  “Well, what have you learned?” The strain of the last days showed in the impatience in Granville’s voice.

  “We have secured a paper from one of our spies containing a list of the men eligible for jury duty who have been canvassed in the interest of the prisoners. The names of those found to be favorable to them are marked with an X, very favorable XX. Those they are afraid of are indicated with an O, very fearful OO. They feel if they can secure jury seats for only two of their men, they can prevent a verdict of guilty.”

  “But surely you can prevent such tampering with justice now that you are alerted.”

  “Indeed we shall. You may rely on it, sir.”

  The next day brought still more dramatic events as Edwards, the chief conspirator, gave information on the whereabouts of his friend Arthur Thistlewood for the promised thousand pounds. Edwards collected the reward and then disappeared. But Thistlewood was captured and, after a visit to Bow Street for the usual formalities, was taken off to be examined by the Privy Council.

  Since Thistlewood was the son of one of Lord Harrowby’s Lincolnshire tenants, Granville accompanied his father to the Home Office for the hearing. The room was filled with those from the highest ranks of society and government.

  Thistlewood, led in by strong guards, wore shabby clothes apparently unchanged for days. His features looked emaciated, and he sat with his eyes gazing only at the floor.

  A Bow Street Runner by the name of Westcott identified Thistlewood as a conspirator. “Yes, my Lord, that’s the man. He put a pistol to my head. I raised my arms to defend myself.” The witness folded his arms over his face to demonstrate. “He fired at me. The gun made three holes in my hat. I tried to run and received a blow on the right side of my head. I fell with it. He was out of sight before I could get at him.”

  “I won’t miss next time, guv’nor,” the prisoner muttered.

  Under questioning, Thistlewood admitted to being influenced by the ideals of the French Revolution. Then he told how the plan took form. “’Bout ’leven or twelve of us was gathered to talk over what we could do to stir up the people when Edwards bursts in with the newspaper. ‘There’s to be a cabinet dinner tomorrow at the Earl of ’Arrowby’s!’ ’e said. Then I declared, ‘Now I’ll be dashed if I don’t believe there is a God. I’ve prayed that those thieves be collected all together in order to give us a good opportunity to destroy ’em. God has answered my prayer!’ President of the Provisional Government I was to be.” Being in the dock didn’t prevent his puffing out his chest.

  The questions continued, but Granville had heard enough. “Send the chaplain to them,” he ordered Birnie as he exited the courtroom.

  Back in Grosvenor Square Sandon met him in the entrance hall. “What’s the news of the interrogation?”

  Granville tossed his hat and gloves to the butler and led the way into the sitting room. “Poor devils. Such ignorance, such discontent, such desperate idealism. They have no notion of what they’ve done. Or by the grace of God were prevented from doing.” He paced the floor. “And I can’t get away from the feeling that in some horrible way they’re a symbol of what any of us might be capable of if we were bereft of money, friends, education, family, God.”

  “It sounds as if you’ve been listening to revolutionaries yourself.”

  Granville gave a tight laugh. “Maybe I have. No, don’t worry, I’m not about to lead a revolution. But when I get into Parliament, I do mean to work for reform. There has to be a way of alleviating the desperation of such poor creatures. What Wilberforce has done for the blacks in the colonies is all very well, but there are those on our own doorstep whose situations are equally desperate.”

  While the brothers were still talking, the earl entered rubbing his forehead. With a hint of amusement in his eyes, he said, “Well, it seems that at least one person has profited from this sorry business. Some fellow quite unauthorized has taken possession of the Cato Street stable and demands a shilling from each person who desires admission. They tell me thousands surge through Cato Street to see the site of the drama.”

  A few days later the trial began. The Earl of Harrowby was one of the first called to give evidence regarding the council’s prior knowledge of the conspiracy and the warning delivered to him by Hinden, the milkman.

  Hinden was called next. He told of meeting one Wilson at a shoemakers’ club. “Wilson asked me if I would be one of a party to come forward to destroy ’is Majesty’s ministers. ’E said they ’ad some such things as I never saw, which ’e called by the name of ’and grenades. ’E said they was to be lighted with fuses and put under the table. All that escaped the explosion was to die by the edge of the sword or some other weapon.” An audible gasp in the courtroom followed his words.

  “On Wednesday the twenty-third, did you see Wilson again?” the attorney general asked.

  “I did.”

  “You were going with some milk?”

  “No, sir,” Hinden corrected. “I was going ’ome with one of my little girls in my ’and.”

  “And what did Wilson say?”

  “’E called me by name and said I was the very man ’e wanted to see. ’E said there was going to be a cabinet dinner at Lord ’Arrowby’s and that I was to go up to Cato Street and meet the others by the stable.”

  “But instead you took word to Lord Harrowby?”

  “Yes, Guv’nor, I did.”

  Granville was certain his wasn’t the only prayer of thanks breathed at that declaration.

  Then Arthur Thistlewood took the stand. He was defiantly proud of his plan as he told it in detail to the court. “I proposed going to the door with a note to present to ’is Lordship. When the door was open, we would rush in directly, seize the servants what were in the way, and threaten them with death if they resisted.

  “This done, a party would rush forward to take command of the stairs. The man ’aving firearms would be protected by ’olding the ’and grenade. When the ’ouse was secure, those to do the assassination were to rush in directly after.”

  His tale was continued by Ings, another conspirator, in a likewise defiant and excited tone. “I was to enter the room first with a brace of pistols, a cutlass, and a knife in my pocket. After the swordsmen ’ad dispatched those ’igh and mighty rascals, I would cut every ’ead off and bring it away in a bag.”

  A shiver of horror went through the courtroom as the plan unfolded—one conspirator to throw a fireball into the straw at the King Street Barracks to stifle man and beast, others to capture the cannon. The Royal Exchange to be set on fire. Next the Bank of England to be attacked and plundered of all they could get, but the books preserved to provide evidence against others to be assassinated throughout the country.

  Day after day more bloody detail
s emerged. Granville’s gratitude for God’s protection increased, as did his desire to have the appalling affair ended. It was clear that the conspirators would be hung, but Granville determined to be out of London when it happened.

  Nineteen

  Far from London as she was, Georgiana heard little of the stirring events gripping the city, and the verdant beauty of the Welsh countryside offered few distractions to aid her in her determination not to think of one who had obviously forgotten her. She was in her room studiously not thinking about Granville when suddenly Charlotte flew into the room in a welter of sprig muslin skirts and beribboned curls. “Georgie! Hold my hand. I’m in such a flutter I can’t contain myself.”

  “Char! Whatever is wrong?” She flew to her sister’s side and grasped her trembling hands.

  “Wrong? Nothing could be more right! Frederick Calthorpe has just made me an offer—and, and I have accepted. He has gone now into the Oak Room to Papa. Oh, Georgie, Papa won’t refuse, will he? He’s normally the most amiable of men, but the gout sometimes makes him crotchety and—” She squeezed her sister’s hands. “Oh, Georgie, I can’t bear it. My whole happiness depends on it.”

  “Charlotte! I had no notion you had a tendre for Frederick. Indeed, I had thought—”

  “Oh, yes! For some time I have considered him the most amiable of men and the handsomest, of such superior manners and breeding. And then that dreadful night when those ruffians tried to blow up London and Fred was so distracted, not knowing what had befallen his brother… Georgie, he turned to me for support—to me! Then I knew that there was no other way I could spend my life but in supporting him in everything.”

  Georgiana’s smile was wistful. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean, I had a similar experience…” Then a more practical consideration struck her. “But, Char, you say you have been with him just now? When did he arrive? I thought him in London with Henry and Lord Lauderdale.”