Authors: Roberta Gellis
Although Abigail did not believe Arthur had really resented
traveling with his parents—his deep affection for his mother and the fondness
with which he spoke of his father were clear—she recognized that his advice was
valid. And three breathless days later when they arrived at Westminster, the
technique worked perfectly. Victor expressed his sympathy for his mother and
stepfather for having to go to Ghent and did not exhibit the slightest regret
at missing the opportunity to go with them. Of course, Abigail had described
Ghent as a small, dull town in Flanders—which Victor associated with weaving
and wool from his geography lessons. Then too, the excitements of the new term,
the first in which Victor was not a “new boy”, had not yet had a chance to
pall.
“We will be back before vacation,” Abigail assured him, “and
we will stop to visit on our way back. If you need anything or have any
questions, write to Bertram.”
Then she leaned forward to kiss him goodbye, and Victor
started to rear back, caught Arthur’s eye, sighed, and suffered the embrace.
Arthur shook hands gravely, knowing that Victor’s “grown up” dignity would be
much damaged by a hug from his stepfather. Later, however, he had his chance
with Daphne, who bounced into his arms and squeezed him tight when he promised
to bring her a large parcel of the lace made in Ghent. She had been less put
off than Victor by her mother’s description of their goal and purpose, but
Arthur’s offer did much to assuage her disappointment at being left behind.
The visits to the children’s schools, both near London, were
fitted around several meetings Arthur had with Lord Bathurst, the colonial secretary,
who showed him the latest draft being prepared for submission to the American
delegation. Although Indian affairs were no longer a
sine qua non
of the
treaty, to Arthur’s dismay they still took up a good part of the note. When he
went to Walmer Castle, however, to discuss with Lord Liverpool just what he was
expected to do—having extracted from Abigail, who wanted to stay at Stonar to
pack, a promise that she would not leave the house at all in his absence—Arthur
learned that Bathurst had spent a great deal of verbiage on a condition that
Liverpool himself seemed willing to abandon.
In fact, although the visit started out as a coldly formal
meeting between men who disliked each other heartily, it soon became more
cordial. Both Arthur and Lord Liverpool wisely kept to the subject of making
peace with America, and here they were in essential agreement. Moreover,
Liverpool respected Arthur’s opinion on this subject because the predictions
Arthur had made had all been confirmed. The Americans had rejected a second,
softened proposal on the Indian question as firmly as the first.
In addition, Castlereagh had written to warn Liverpool that
the continental powers were displeased with the blockade of the American coast
and had expressed disgust with what they felt was a desire in the British for
acquisition of American territory. The continued war with America, Castlereagh
had written, particularly over what seemed to be territorial demands, was
stiffening the resistance of Austria, Russia and Prussia against far more
important proposals the British needed to put forward in Vienna. Thus, above
all, Liverpool did not want the negotiations broken off in such a way that the
British government would be blamed for making unreasonable demands.
Although his own party was likely to profit from such a
situation, Arthur freely pledged to do everything in his power to prevent a
termination of the negotiations. But when he and Abigail first arrived at
Ghent, he wondered whether he had bitten off more than he could chew. It became
clear immediately that Goulburn was conducting the negotiations despite the
seniority of both of the other members of the delegation, and Goulburn did not
agree with Liverpool’s objectives. The third note, which Arthur had seen in
draft form when he spoke to Bathurst, had been edited, mostly by Goulburn, to
be more insulting to the Americans. The proposals had not been changed, only
the tone heightened—and it was too late for Arthur to do anything because the
note had already been delivered.
Abigail had been so pleased and excited by what Arthur told
her of Liverpool’s intentions that she had almost forgotten that Arthur had
agreed to come to Ghent because of the threats to her life. Now she was
furious. At lunch, after Arthur told her the result of his morning conference,
she proposed that they meet privately with “her dear Albert” and explain the
problem to him. Albert would know what to do, she assured Arthur, and she was
equally sure that although Gallatin’s name appeared last on the list of commissioners,
he really dominated the delegation.
Arthur stared at her lovely face as she spoke. He had never
seen her look more alive, more beautiful, her eyes brilliant, her cheeks
slightly flushed with anger…or was it anger? Perhaps it was desire that made
her glow from within, and was that desire for peace or for Albert Gallatin?
Suddenly a monstrous suspicion came into his mind. Was everything Abigail had
said and done since he told her about Liverpool’s offer only a clever device to
get him here to Ghent? She had told him not to go, but only when she believed
he would not take her. After that, she had changed her mind. Although she had
not openly urged him to go to Ghent, wasn’t that because she guessed that open
urging would stiffen his resistance?
Had
there been a rope involved in
her fall? Was it possible that GoGo had simply stumbled, and Abigail—she was so
clever—had remembered his distress about the accident in London and used a real
accident to panic him into leaving England?
At this point, Arthur realized his suspicion was monstrous,
the result of a ridiculous jealousy. He knew that Abigail and Gallatin would
never have any physical relationship—but that, a nasty voice inside sneered,
was because
Gallatin
would recoil from such a relationship in horror.
Would Abigail? And even if she had not allowed herself to think in those terms,
her seemingly abject respect for Gallatin enraged Arthur. She did not think her
husband was wonderful, she would quarrel with him and pick over every word he
said. But Gallatin—Arthur could just hear her simpering to her idol, “Yes,
Albert. Of course, dear Albert.” And she wanted to run to him with a tale that
would make the British delegation seem dishonest and unreliable.
“Absolutely not!” Arthur thundered. “One word, just one word
to the Americans of what is said privately among us, and I will drag you away
from here, by the hair if necessary, and lock you up to keep you safe when I
have you in England. Have you no sense of loyalty? Have you no trust in my
ability to deal with Goulburn?”
Abigail recoiled, shocked by his violence. “But how can it
be disloyal to make clear that it was not the intention of the British
government to insult—”
That was the wrong answer. Had Abigail said “Of course I
trust you” and made no further reference to Gallatin, Arthur might have
submerged ideas he knew were unworthy and given Abigail some rational reasons
to avoid the American delegation. As it was, he made a number of disparaging
remarks about the United States and the delegation as a whole and left the
room, slamming the door.
It was unfortunate that Arthur retained just enough
self-control and was actually enough ashamed of what he felt to refrain from
mentioning Gallatin. Had he done so, he would no doubt have precipitated a
battle royal, but as soon as Abigail’s head cleared she would have figured out
what was causing Arthur’s peculiar behavior. She already understood that her
husband was jealous. A senseless personal attack on Gallatin—a man with whom
Arthur was not even acquainted, as far as Abigail knew, but one she spoke of
often in terms of admiration—would have made his suspicions clear to her. But
on her own it would never occur to Abigail that her husband could be jealous of
Gallatin, because she thought of jealousy only in terms of physical love.
Left without a clue, Abigail could only associate Arthur’s
violent reaction to her desire to inform Gallatin of the true state of
Liverpool’s intentions with her husband’s earlier expressed fear that she was
too committed to the American cause. She considered this seriously and decided
that her original conviction that the best thing for both nations was to make
peace was not only still valid but was exactly what the British government
desired. The two questions Arthur had flung at her had nothing to do with the
case, she told herself. No doubt he could handle Goulburn, but the insulting
note had already been sent. And her loyalty was irrelevant if Britain’s good
was best served by a seeming disloyalty.
On the other hand, Abigail was sure the rest of the British
delegation would see the situation just as Arthur did, and she was equally sure
that Arthur would fulfill his threat and take her away from Ghent if he found
she was in private communication with the Americans. Nonetheless, Abigail was
determined to do what she felt was right. Arthur would be busy for several
hours each day. If she prepared carefully, Abigail thought, she should have no
trouble arranging a time and place of meeting. Albert loved to walk. She could
pick a different spot for each day of the week and set a time when she would be
there if she could. Albert could walk by at that time if he were free, or he
could send James.
Arranging the first meeting would be the difficult part, and
Abigail knew she would have only a few days while the American commissioners
conferred over the British note and prepared a reply. A spark of fury ran
through her. That Goulburn! Even his wife was totally unsatisfactory. Because
she was so nearsighted that she could hardly tell one British delegate from
another, she was most reluctant to meet the Americans. To reinforce that
reluctance she complained of being ill and that the care of her baby exhausted
her completely—despite the presence of one or more trained nursemaids. Thus,
social relations between the American and British delegates were on a men-only
basis, and there was no chance that Abigail would see Gallatin at a dinner or
tea.
“Oh, what a fool I am!” Abigail muttered. Instead of
proposing to Arthur a clandestine meeting with one of the American
commissioners, which
did
smack of disloyalty, why had she not suggested
inviting both delegations to tea? But even as the idea formed, it was rejected
with a shudder of horror. Abigail realized she did not dare meet some of the
Americans in public. Albert knew and understood her situation. The Swiss
nobility from which he sprang were not nearly as disdainful of connections with
“trade” as the British, but had foibles and prejudices of their own.
Unfortunately, the other Americans might not be as sympathetic to her desire to
hide her past, and Mr. Russell and Mr. Adams both knew her as a New York
bookseller.
Even if there were no malicious intent to reveal the fact
that she had been in business in America, the expressions of surprise at seeing
her and the explanations necessary to explain why she was now Lady St. Eyre
instead of Mrs. Lydden would betray her background. Nor could she invite the
Americans alone unless Arthur discussed such an invitation with the British
delegation and obtained their approval. To irritate Goulburn, Adams, and
Gambier by ignoring them would only lessen Arthur’s influence. Besides, once
Russell and John Adams knew she was Arthur’s wife, it was possible, although
not likely, that one of them would mention her and her bookshop during one of
their all-male dinners. All around it would be best if she met only Albert and
James.
How? Well, the first step was to explore the city. Abigail
rang for a servant and bade him arrange for a carriage to drive her around and
for an English-speaking guide who could show her the notable sights and point
out the best shops. She returned late for tea, but in an excellent mood, for
everything was done, and she had several parcels—and the servants as witnesses
that she had only shopped and looked at places of interest. They had passed the
Hotel d’Alcantara, where the American commissioners were living, because
Abigail’s guide was sure she would be curious, but she had not asked to see the
place nor seemed to pay more than cursory attention.
What Abigail had noted, however, were shops, parks, and
ancient churches all suitable for the meetings she envisioned, and not far from
the Hotel d’Alcantara she had seen a shop that sold lace. There she had chosen
several yards of the delicate material, which she requested the shopkeeper
deliver for her. With the parcel went two notes, one to Hannah Gallatin, for
whom the gift of lace was intended, and one to Albert, explaining the gift and
asking him to meet her the following day at the ancient cathedral of St. Bavon.
It was a doubly effective place to meet. For one thing,
Abigail could ask her maid to accompany her because she knew the girl would be
reluctant to enter a Catholic church. For another, Arthur would find nothing
suspicious about the time she spent there because it was filled with famous
works of art, including a notable altarpiece by the van Eycks. Her only
difficulty would be in preventing her husband from accompanying her—and that,
Abigail decided, would be best accomplished by pretending that her visit to the
cathedral had been unplanned.
Abigail was so content with her accomplishments that the
reason for her activity had faded into the background. She was therefore truly
surprised when Arthur greeted her by jumping to his feet and snarling at her,
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
“But I am only a few minutes late for tea,” Abigail
exclaimed. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
There was a moment of silence, and then Arthur seized her
arm. “What the devil are you up to, Abigail?” he asked grimly. “Don’t try to
pretend you don’t remember what happened at lunch.”