Authors: Roberta Gellis
Arthur shook his head disgustedly. “You have no tact,
Roger.”
“
I
have no tact?” Roger countered. “You are a fine
one to talk.” Then he turned back to Abigail. “My dear, you have friends in the
United States and are concerned for them, but you must recognize the fact that
American affairs are very minor compared with those taking place in Europe. Our
best people are, of course, being reserved for the conference in Vienna.”
“Oh, yes,” Abigail retorted, “not to mention that the
government is not at all eager to make peace. They want to use the ships and
troops no longer needed to fight Bonaparte to crush the United States.”
Roger shrugged and then patted her hand. “I wish I could say
no to that, but I cannot. On the other hand, you must be reasonable, Abigail.
Lord Liverpool is responsible to his country and his party. Naturally he wishes
to make the most advantageous peace possible.”
“But it will not
remain
advantageous,” Abigail
pointed out, sighing. “You do not know Americans. I do. If Britain forces an
unsatisfactory peace on them, they will fight again. In fact, no matter what
the government agrees to, the citizens are likely to go right on fighting if
the British try to occupy what they think of as their territory—not openly, of
course, but like…what were they called in Spain?”
“
Guerrillas
,” Roger said, his voice bleak.
He was aware of the damage done to the French army by the
roving bands of Spanish and Portuguese peasants. They had killed hundreds—not
many, perhaps, compared with the thousands lost in full-scale battles. But, by
picking off messengers and small groups and not only killing but mutilating
them horribly and leaving the corpses exposed, the
guerrillas
had almost
destroyed communications and morale among the French.
“Would they really?” Arthur asked.
“Not in New York or Philadelphia,” Abigail replied, “but in
the territories—along the Canadian border, which Britain might like to change,
for example—they would. I honestly don’t think Britain would gain anything by a
peace that was unsatisfactory to the United States.”
“That is a point to be remembered and considered,” Roger
said seriously. “But to go back to the men who have been appointed, I want to
assure you again that they were
not
chosen as a deliberate insult. They
are not men of weight and moment, true, but that is because Liverpool,
Castlereagh, and Bathurst want to retain the real power of negotiation in their
own hands. Truthfully, there is so much prejudice against the United States
that, quite aside from the need for skilled diplomats in Vienna, there are no
men of any consequence willing to negotiate. They would be willing to state the
British terms, but not in a manner that permitted discussion.”
“What about you?” Abigail asked aggressively.
“I am going to Vienna,” Roger said with a wry smile. “Liverpool
wants an independent view of what is being done and said there.” He hesitated
and then went on. “I have not forgotten you, Abigail. I mentioned to the prime
minister that the commission was very weak—and I suggested he add Arthur to
it.”
“Arthur?” Abigail cried, looking hopeful, but Arthur
exclaimed, “Damn you, Roger, do you want me to have a stroke?”
Roger laughed. “It almost gave Liverpool a stroke when I
first suggested it, but he began to think it over and smile to himself. I think
he realized what torture it would be for you. He does not love you, Arthur.”
“But Arthur,” Abigail gasped, “I thought you agreed with me
that a good peace with America would benefit all.”
“I do,” Arthur replied, “but desiring peace is one thing.
Making it, engaging in weeks or months of niggling arguments over minute points
of law and equally minute parcels of land and having to say one thing one day
and something exactly opposite, perhaps, the next, according to the
fluctuations of someone else’s thoughts and temper, would drive me mad.”
“In any case,” Roger put in, as he saw argument in Abigail’s
eyes, “Liverpool decided he could not do it. It would be bad enough if you had
been an
ordinary
member of the opposition, Arthur, but you are such a
persistent gadfly and have done so much damage by upsetting votes at the last
minute that he felt the outcry from his party would be too violent.”
“I see.” Abigail sighed. “But what about Gambier, Adams, and
Goulburn? Are they likely to be less prejudiced than the others toward America?”
“No,” Roger admitted, “but they have no real power. Had men
of consequence been appointed, some authority would have had to be placed in
their hands, and that might have resulted in a very abrupt end to the
negotiations—which is
not
what the government wants. Gambier, Adams, and
Goulburn will be told what to say, and their instructions are to refer all
replies back to Castlereagh or Liverpool.”
“But it is likely to take forever to come to an agreement
that way,” Abigail said. “Is this not just another way to put off making a
treaty?”
“No, I think not,” Roger answered thoughtfully. “At least
not the main purpose. Had they merely wished to delay discussions, our
government would not have suggested London as a place for negotiation. For
dragging one’s heels, Gothenburg, which was the American suggestion, would have
been far better because replies would have taken over a week rather than a few
days. No, the important reason, I believe, is to give the government the
greatest flexibility in reacting, according to what happens both in America and
in Vienna.”
Abigail was not very satisfied with this argument, but three
weeks later she found herself supporting it to Albert Gallatin. She had met him
at Lackington’s shop in response to a note delivered by a clerk and, having
quietly beckoned him into one of the small side rooms, which was empty, greeted
him fondly. He returned her hug and found a smile for her, but Abigail realized
he was deeply depressed.
Although Gallatin had been less shocked than she at the men appointed
to negotiate for the British, since he was not at first aware what nonentities
they were, he had been greatly disappointed that no minister—not even the
colonial minister, Bathurst—would take part in the discussions. Gallatin had
not, however, allowed himself to become discouraged. He had pinned his hopes
for a more serious and favorable attitude toward the peace commission on
intercession by Tsar Alexander, who was coming to England.
Gallatin had hoped that the tsar, who was known to be
sympathetic to the American cause, would grant him an interview and, after he
had explained the situation, be willing to apply pressure to the British. The
first hope was fulfilled; Alexander had come to London on 10 June, and Gallatin
had obtained a private interview with him. Unfortunately, Alexander had said
with regret, he could do nothing. He had already made several unsuccessful
attempts to soften the British attitude, he told Gallatin, and further
interference would, he felt, do more harm than good.
“If we are only going to Ghent to be humiliated,” Albert
said quietly, although his eyes were angry, “perhaps it would be better not to
meet at all.”
“No,” Abigail replied, trying to sound reassuring as she
expounded Roger’s views about why Gambier, Adams, and Goulburn had been
appointed. “But I must warn you,” she ended, “that I think there was a reason
Roger did not wish to mention to me for choosing Adams and Gambier. It will be
useless even to broach the subject of impressment. The admiral will, I think,
refuse to discuss it at all, and Adams is a
specialist
in marine law.”
“
British
marine law,” Gallatin said, frowning. “I do
not know, Abigail, but I greatly fear this conference is a waste. The single
issue the President stressed was an end to impressment. If the British will not
even discuss it—”
“But does it matter anymore?” Abigail asked in a troubled
voice. “Now that the war with France is over, the navy will be discharging men,
not looking for more. Is it not possible just to…to avoid the issue?”
“Abigail,” Gallatin protested, “it is a matter of
principle.”
“But is a principle that has no practical value worth
fighting over when America cannot win?” she asked stubbornly. Then she lowered
her voice to add, “Remember what I told you when we first met. I believe veteran
troops have already been dispatched.”
Gallatin made a despairing gesture. “We have some powers of
discretion, but not, I think, on that subject. Never mind, my dear. I did not
really ask you to come here to talk about this, and I should not have done so,
for I see I have made you unhappy. What I wished to tell you is that I have
word that the British commissioners will depart for Ghent about July first, so
James and I are leaving London in a few days. We will go first to Paris, where
I will see General de Lafayette, who has been most kind and helpful. Perhaps he
can arrange meetings for me with others who can be of help.”
Abigail expressed her regret that she had not been able to
see more of her friend while he was in London, and then the hope that when the
treaty was signed he would come back and visit her. Gallatin shook his head and
sighed. “I will go home as fast as I can. I miss Hannah—I cannot tell you how
much—and the children. It has been good to have James with me, but I long for
home.”
In a certain way, Abigail understood what Gallatin felt—not
that she wished to return to America, but she was tired out by the intense
social and political activities in which she had been engaged for months. She
was looking forward with great anticipation to seeing her children and being
principally a mother again. School ended for Daphne on 5 July, and Victor would
be finished on the tenth. Abigail made sure there would be no guests and no
other social obligations for two weeks so that she could concentrate her full
attention on her children. She wanted to be sure that they were both happy in
their schools and that they were not being subtly changed in any way of which
she did not approve.
After that there would be visitors—some family, but mostly
political colleagues with whom Arthur wanted to discuss issues in a relaxed
atmosphere, but the schedule would be easier, and being in the country would
give her more freedom. Abigail had felt foolish with a burly footman dogging
her every step and had compromised by going out very seldom on private
expeditions after her accident.
She had also looked forward to periods of total idleness
once she was back in Stonar Magna, for she had accumulated a number of books
during her repeated visits to the bookshops and had had little time to read
while in London. Although her expectations of pleasure in being reunited with
Victor and Daphne were fulfilled and she found, despite a spate of complaints
from both, that neither had any real problems, her hopes of much time to herself
were not realized. The very day after she and Arthur arrived, she received a
note from Griselda with a request from Empson and Howing for her ladyship to
call at Rutupiae Hall when she could spare them the time.
Abigail gritted her teeth with exasperation. She had
received letters from Griselda regularly all through April and May, and there
had been no hint of dissatisfaction among the staff. After Hilda had returned
to Rutupiae at the end of May, Griselda had written less frequently, and the
tone of the letters was strained. Abigail had assumed that Hilda was making her
daughter’s life miserable. She had been sorry, but there was nothing she could
do, and she had put the matter out of her mind. Now, however, she realized that
Hilda may have been making more lives than Griselda’s miserable.
Hoping that her guess was wrong, Abigail walked across the
woods to Rutupiae at a time when she was almost certain that Hilda would be out
visiting. She was right about that and also about the fact that the breach
between mother and daughter had not been healed. Griselda was at home, Hilda
“punishing” her by refusing to take her along on the visits.
Unfortunately, Abigail had also been right about the fact
that Hilda had been making trouble. Griselda was plainly embarrassed, but she
explained that her mother seemed to believe that now that Abigail had married
and left Rutupiae, she would no longer be concerned with the servants she had
left behind. Hilda had decided to be avenged on those she felt “sided with”
Abigail and been “unfaithful” to her. She had given orders to dismiss several
servants, and when Empson and Howing had said they had no power to do so
without Abigail’s permission, she had called them liars and had tried to make
Mr. Jameson dismiss
them
. Jameson, of course, had said the household
staff was outside of his responsibility, but by then the butler and housekeeper
were so offended that they wished to give notice. Griselda had begged them to
reconsider, at least until Abigail could speak to them.
This Abigail did at once, summoning them to the library,
assuring them of her support and confidence and pointing out that though Hilda
might be made uncomfortable by a less efficient staff if they left, it would be
Victor and Rutupiae Hall that would suffer in the long run. Since both had
worked at Rutupiae all their lives and did not wish to leave, they were easily
mollified. They admitted they were accustomed to Hilda’s behavior but this time
had been alarmed, thinking that Abigail, indeed, might have lost interest in
Rutupiae and they might be dismissed and refused references.
By the time Abigail had pacified Empson and Howing, news of
her arrival had spread and Mr. Jameson came to her before she could leave the
room. He wanted to know whether estate problems were now to be referred to her
or to Sir Arthur. Abigail promptly said “to me”, and Jameson as promptly told
her that he had a number of subjects that needed discussion and approval as
soon as she could give him some time. He had not been at all pleased when Abigail
originally indicated that she intended to take an active part in managing the
Lydden estate, but he had changed his mind over the months he had worked for
her.