A Woman's Estate (38 page)

Equally important, it was soon apparent that her fears about
being an inadequate—or rather, embarrassing—hostess for her husband were
unnecessary. After Daphne and Victor returned to school and Violet to Bath,
Abigail and Arthur moved to the St. Eyre mansion in London, taking Griselda
with them. It was too early for the purely social events of the Season, but
anyone concerned with politics was in Town, and every evening there were
dinners, large and small, either to host or to attend. It was clear that the
final convulsions of the war in Europe were about to take place, and the two
topics of conversation at every dinner were the terms of peace and the rather
unsavory trades and bargains being suggested by the various nations that hoped
to fatten on the corpse of the French empire.

In these discussions Abigail had no difficulty at all in
holding her own and making her husband proud of her. As long as no one
mentioned the American war—and events in Europe were far too fascinating to be
put aside for talk of minor skirmishes thirty-five hundred miles away—Abigail’s
opinions were orthodox. Moreover, since her emotions were not at all involved
in such matters as who would absorb Saxony or rule in Spain or Italy, her
opinions were always stated in a calm, pleasant manner, and she was always
ready to listen with genuine interest to contrary arguments.

Thus Abigail was a great success with both Arthur’s friends
and opponents. Seeing the way her husband looked at her and talked to her,
Arthur’s opponents actually courted her subtly, hoping that if they could
convince her of the validity of their ideas, she would influence Arthur. And
sometimes she did—although they would have been horrified if they knew her
method. The techniques of business served Abigail very well in her new life.
She recognized easily enough the attempts to make her a wedge to “open”
Arthur’s mind, and simply told him frankly who was doing it and why. If she
agreed with the arguments presented though, she would support them.

These direct methods sometimes caused shouting matches that
drove Griselda and Bertram from the room with their hands over their ears, but
Arthur and Abigail found their “free exchange of ideas” very refreshing. Any
real difference of opinion was swiftly smoothed out in the marital bed, which
they continued to share all night, every night, in a most unfashionable manner.
As the days slid into weeks and the weeks into months, Abigail forgot she had
ever had any doubts, and Arthur recalled his only on a few occasions when some
chance remark indicated that Abigail had not been where she had said she would
be. She always had a good reason and never looked either startled or guilty, so
Arthur told himself he was being a fool and buried his uneasiness in the
darkest part of his mind.

There was one subject on which Abigail was not being
perfectly honest. Although little attention was paid to the American war over
the first few months of 1814, she did not forget that the end of Bonaparte
would mean trouble for the United States, and she set about winning her husband
over to the American cause. When she wished, Abigail could be subtle, and
before 6 April, when Bonaparte abdicated and renounced the throne of France for
himself and his heirs, Arthur began to see a great deal of sense in Baring’s
position—that peace and strong trade balances with America were worth more than
petty revenge.

Not all the credit for this change in Arthur’s views was
owing to Abigail’s influence. Part at least, was simply his sense of mischief
and fondness for being the devil’s advocate. Most of his fellow M.P.’s, he had
discovered, were rabid against America largely because they still thought of
the United States as a collection of rebel colonies and resented
any
independent action they took. Arthur now realized he had also suffered from
that disease, but Abigail, and to a certain extent Alexander Baring, with whom
he was now very friendly, had cured him.

The general public and many members of Parliament believed
that America had declared war only to assist Bonaparte. Arthur had never agreed
with that, but in the past he had regarded as petty American complaints against
impressments and other British naval practices. He had felt strongly that
during the life-and-death struggle with Bonaparte, the practices were
necessary, however, now that the war had ended, he was willing to consider that
some allowances might be made for a new nation’s pride. In fact, once the heady
events of Bonaparte’s fall were over, Arthur found the desires and opinions of
Americans—as related by Abigail—more and more interesting. Quite often Arthur
transmitted the information she gave him to Roger, who also found it very
interesting and passed it along to Lord Liverpool, although, naturally, Roger
did not mention Abigail was the source and implied that the information came
from Arthur himself.

At the time, Lord Liverpool was in no mood to make
concessions to the United States. President Madison had very quickly accepted
Lord Castlereagh’s offer of direct negotiations, and notes concerning the place
in which the meetings might be held were being exchanged, but the British were
in no hurry to begin the talks. Orders for a tight blockade to lock Americans
into their own country and bring economic ruin had gone out early in the year
and were being implemented by April. In addition, arrangements were already
under way to transfer hardened veteran troops from the European campaign to
Canada and to ships detailed to raid American coasts. It was the intention of
the British government to give the nasty rebellious little upstart that had
challenged them a sound beating and then dictate their own terms of peace.
Still, Lord Liverpool made a note of the fact that Roger’s nephew had
considerable expertise in American affairs, a commodity sadly lacking in his
own party.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The concern Abigail felt over the end of the war in Europe
was to some extent mitigated by a letter she received on 12 April. It was much
delayed, having been sent to Rutupiae, where Mr. Jameson held it for a few days
longer while he finished work on some documents that needed Arthur’s approval.
The letter was not marked urgent, and it seemed most economical to send all the
papers in one packet. The packet was set next to Arthur’s place at the
breakfast table with other letters that had come in the morning’s post. When he
got to it, Arthur took one look inside, saw Jameson’s heavy, square
handwriting, and pushed the whole thing across to Abigail, who, though it was
most unfashionable, always joined her husband for breakfast.

“I’ve no time for it, love,” he said, “and you know more
about Rutupiae anyway. Read it through for me and tell me what you want done.”

Abigail felt like saying she didn’t have time for it either,
and then was shocked at her desire to shuffle the responsibility for her son’s
property off to Arthur. It served her right, she thought, as she drew out the
thickest and dullest looking document. If
she
had not demanded
independence, Arthur would never have thought for a moment of asking her to
mind Victor’s affairs. Sighing, she left unopened a pile of social notes and
began to read. Two leases later she was interrupted by Arthur, who kissed the
top of her bent head and said he was off to see Lord Howick, that he did not
know whether he would be home for luncheon, but he would certainly be home for
dinner unless he were summoned to the House, which he did not expect.

“No, don’t come home for luncheon, Arthur,” Abigail said,
looking up at him. “I have a Venetian breakfast at Lady Sarah’s, and that means
I won’t be home until three o’clock or so. And you had better be home for
dinner since we have guests coming. Oh, I wish Griselda hadn’t insisted on
going back to Rutupiae. She could have done the menus and seen Butler and Cook
and all the rest for me. I thought she was having such a good time. Her ball
card was always filled and—”

“Damn it all, I wish she hadn’t gone too,” Arthur
interrupted tartly. “Bertram was
not
pleased at being asked to escort
her home, and he’s been like a bear with a sore head since he got back. I wish—
No, I’m not going to say it again, and I’ll be late if I don’t go now.”

He tipped her face up and kissed her lips, but he was still
frowning as he went out of the room. Abigail heaved a brief sigh and thought
irritably that Francis’ family was as infuriating as he himself had been. She
was very annoyed with Bertram and blamed him for Griselda’s departure. Abigail
was almost certain that Bertram had had a bitter quarrel with her, for she had
heard him shouting at someone and later had found Griselda in tears. At the
time Abigail had not associated Bertram’s fury and Griselda’s tears, but when
he had been so very ungracious about escorting Griselda home—which had really
surprised Abigail because usually Bertram was protective of her—it had occurred
to Abigail that the two incidents might be connected. She had not mentioned her
suspicion to Arthur because she knew he was already disturbed about Bertram,
and it seemed senseless to add to his worries.

But perhaps it was as much her own fault, Abigail thought,
because she had unwittingly provided a refuge. In the interests of making peace
so that she and Griselda would not be driven mad by Hilda, Abigail had invited
her mother-in-law and Eustace to use Lydden House in London for the Season.
Since Hilda’s other choices were to stay in the country (unthinkable!) or to
rent a suitable house (equally unthinkable, owing to the expense), she had
rather grudgingly accepted Abigail’s olive branch.

This was a mixed blessing to begin with, since it meant that
Hilda and Eustace had to be included in the guest list of any large ball
Abigail gave and also invited to some family dinners. Naturally, Hilda had used
these opportunities to complain that Abigail and Arthur, rich as they were,
forced her, a helpless and impoverished widow, to pay her own expenses. This was
irritating but not important. Far more irritating was the fact that if Hilda
and Eustace had been at Rutupiae, Griselda might have thought it the lesser of
the evils to stay in London—but perhaps not. Griselda was far too sensitive.
Still, she could not help that, poor thing, and Bertram who knew her well,
should not have scolded her so harshly, no matter what the reason. Abigail
sighed again. What was done was done, and there was no sense worrying about it
now.

Returning to the lease, Abigail turned the page and
exclaimed with irritation. Surely she had told Jameson that the question of
repairs must be more clearly defined. All this lease said was that the landlord
agreed to “keep the property in good repair”. That was far too vague and not at
all what Abigail meant. She was willing to supply materials—that was a
landlord’s responsibility since the pens and buildings would remain on the
property even if the tenant left—but the tenant must supply the labor.

She took the packet with her and went to her writing desk to
get her letter book, wishing to be sure she had already written to Jameson and
made her intentions clear to him before she blamed him for ignoring her
instructions. But the letter book was not there. Abigail said several words
that would have shocked anyone who heard them. Now she remembered that the
drawer had been too full and she had sent back to Rutupiae with Griselda all
the letter books except the one holding the copies of her replies to
invitations and social notes here in London.

Thoroughly exasperated but hoping that Jameson had perhaps
included some explanation for the phrasing he had used, Abigail shook
everything out of the packet. The letter he had included, smaller and more
compact than the other papers, skittered across the table and into her lap. She
lifted it and uttered a brief cry of pleasure at the sight of Albert Gallatin’s
familiar handwriting. Albert had written to her from Russia describing his
frustrations at the lack of movement in arranging peace negotiations, and she
had replied, warning him that the end of the war with France would make Britain
more intractable. She had written again after the New Year to tell Albert about
her marriage to Arthur, but had not had an answer. Eagerly she broke the seal,
then felt a little disappointed when she saw only a brief note, however, the
contents made up for everything else. Albert obviously had not received her
last letter. He had written from Amsterdam on 22 March to say that he had
received permission from the British government through Baring to visit
England, was leaving for London immediately, and expected to arrive about 9
April.

Abigail jumped up and hurried to the bell pull to ring for a
footman. When he arrived, she told him the note she was writing must be
delivered to Alexander Baring, and he was to try the Baring home first and then
the bank. She wanted Albert’s address in London. Lady Sarah would have to do
without her company at the breakfast. She had to see Albert as soon as
possible. Yet after the note had been dispatched, Abigail sat staring blankly
into space. However deeply her sympathies were engaged with the United States,
she
was
an Englishwoman. To urge her own husband and everyone else she
could influence to make peace was legitimate, because peace would be to Britain’s
advantage as well as to America’s. But to pass military information to
Britain’s enemy was entirely different. Would it not be
treason
to tell
Albert what she had heard?

Only two days earlier, at a tea attended mostly by political
wives, Abigail had learned that Admiral Cochrane intended to capture
Washington. The tidbit had not been meant for her ears. In fact, it was her own
name in the phrase “for goodness sake, don’t tell Abigail or Anne” that had
attracted her attention. Since her name and Anne Baring’s coupled that way
almost certainly meant the news referred to America, Abigail had strained to
listen while remaining unseen. Unfortunately, because of the cacophony of
voices around her, she was unable to determine who was speaking. This made her
uncertain of the value of the information she had obtained. It might be only a
rumor.

Abigail had told herself that the speaker was just trying to
make herself important. Everyone knew that the admiral intended to raid the
coast, so to name Washington was believable and would make her seem
particularly in the confidence of someone high in the government. Still,
Abigail felt frightened because the information might be true and she did not
understand what the capture of the capital of the United States would mean. If
Washington were taken, would that mean the end of the war? Would that mean that
England would rule America again? No, not that, she assured herself, because
she had heard many discussions about who should rule France after Bonaparte was
deposed, and despite differing opinions, it was clear that France would remain
independent. Still, France was rich and important, and the United States was
poor and insignificant.

Yes, and would it do anyone any good to defeat and ruin
America? Abigail wondered angrily. This was different entirely from defeating
Bonaparte. He wished to conquer and rule all Europe. The United States did not
wish to conquer or rule anyone and was fighting only to protect its own rights
and citizens. That thought was so partisan that it made Abigail a trifle
uneasy. She had heard a good deal of talk before she left New York about
driving the British out of Canada and uniting that territory with America.
Still, there was no question of that happening now, because the army in Canada
had been reinforced by veteran soldiers, and in any case attacking Washington
had nothing to do with Canada.

Resentment rose in Abigail when she thought of the
experienced British troops fighting against the untrained American volunteers.
Most of them were only plowboys with romantic ideas about being soldiers—Albert
had told her that. It was unfair, like a bully beating a child who had picked
up a stick because he was frightened. And what good would it do Britain to
conquer America? The people would never accept British rule.

There were some fanatics among the Federalists who were
talking and writing about separating from the United States and becoming
colonies again. Abigail had seen reprints of their speeches and articles in
newspapers in London. Those sentiments might deceive the British because they
wanted to believe them, but Abigail knew the people in general would violently
oppose submitting to the king. And even the most passionate Federalist would
find that his enthusiasm for the colonial state would not last a week after the
first imposition of British taxes.

Suddenly Abigail remembered an argument Arthur had had about
the punishment of France by depriving her of territory and demanding
reparations. He had taken the position that no reparations be asked and that no
French territory should be ceded to other nations, only conquered lands be
freed and allowed to choose their own governments. This had astonished the man
to whom he was speaking because Arthur had always been so adamant about
depriving Bonaparte of his throne.

But the two were entirely unrelated, Arthur had pointed out.
It was necessary to remove Bonaparte from leadership in self-defense. His
thirst for conquest was not likely to be extinguished by losing a war, and if
he were left to rule France, he would lead her to war again very quickly. On
the other hand, if France were not bled and not humiliated, the new ruler and
the people would be only too happy to live in peace. Trade would be quickly
renewed, and all would benefit.

The merchant’s heart in Abigail stirred, and her lips
thinned with determination.
That
was what was important—peace and
renewed trade. Well, the capture of Washington and the humiliation of America
would not produce those results. In fact, it would surely infuriate the people
and arouse resistance. Then the revolution would begin again, and the hatred
would be burned deeper into American souls—and that was wrong.

Memory of the proud and independent congressmen and senators
who were her clients and some also her friends wrenched Abigail’s heart. She
bit her lip and then sighed. Even if it were technically treason, it was
right
to save America from defeat because that would benefit Britain in the end.
Besides, she thought with wry humor, now ready to acknowledge a personal motive
that she could no longer ignore, there was no way she could face Albert while
knowing something that might help America and yet not tell him.

Abigail drew out another sheet of paper and wrote to Albert,
saying how delighted she was that he was in London and asking him to call on
her as soon as he could or to set a convenient time for her to call on him.
Then she looked up at the clock, wondering when the footman would return. She
did not have long to wait, however, it was not the footman who relieved her impatience
but Alex Baring himself. Her note had caught him just as he was about to leave
for the bank, and he had decided to come in person to answer her.

“How kind of you,” Abigail said, smiling but very surprised.
“But really, it was not necessary to come. I only need Albert’s address. His
note saying he was coming to England was directed to Rutupiae and took so long
to get to me that I had no chance to write back and invite him to come here
directly. It is silly and expensive for him to stay in lodgings. He would be
much more comfortable with us while he is in England, and I am sure that he and
Arthur will enjoy each other’s company very much.”

“Yes, I suspected that was what you had in mind,” Alex said,
“but it would be a grave mistake for Albert to accept your offer. For him to
associate himself closely with the opposition party will not endear him to the
government.”