A roar of excitement and horror. Derby suddenly wanted to laugh. Were they all mad today, had the House turned inside out? Here was Fox, the hero of Parliament, trumpeting about the divine right of princes, and Pitt, the tyrant's mouthpiece, the royal eunuch, posing as the people's champion!
'I venture to make two predictions, Mr Speaker,' Pitt added, 'that the manager of Drury Lane Theatre will never be manager of the House of Commons—' He paused to allow a plume of laughter to go up.
Gad,
thought Derby,
that's the first joke I've ever heard him make.
The bony finger moved from Sheridan to Fox. '...and that none of us here will live to see the reign of
Charles III.'
'S
O MY
life mask was another false start?' asked Eliza.
'No! Not at all,' cried Anne, laughing. She wasn't usually like this; she prided herself on a clarity of vision about her work. 'The life mask is wonderful; I mean to hang it up on the wall, to keep me company in my long labours. But I've decided I can't use it as a basis for your bust, it's too distractingly lifelike. For instance, it captures this tiny mole here—' Anne walked over and touched her fingertip to the small brown dot above the actress's lip.
'Oh, yes,' said Eliza, 'I usually paint that out.'
'It's lovely. But too private. I wouldn't include that in a bust for all the Exhibition visitors to gawk at. No, I've begun again from scratch; what I want my sculpture to be is you, but also the very type of mysterious womanhood, with a beauty that the Greeks would have recognised.'
'Then you'll have to keep bringing me back to this freezing workshop for sittings all winter,' said Eliza, amused.
'Perhaps so,' Anne admitted, grinning as she pulled a damp sheet off the half-roughed-out clay head, 'like Scheherazade in the Arabian Nights. This way I have the pleasure of your company at least once a week, no matter how hard Sheridan drives you at Drury Lane!' She worked in silence on the delicate right ear. 'Have you heard the latest? The King tried to run a race against a horse.'
'I seem to remember Derby telling me that he attempted the same thing as a boy. Out of high spirits, presumably, not insanity,' Eliza added.
'Oh, these are strange times,' Anne murmured. She felt oddly constrained when talking about Old George; indecently excited at the prospect of a new Whig regime and ashamed.
'I can barely read the papers,' Eliza complained, 'they're so full of the most disgusting medical details—
heavy sweats
,
tube feedings
and
profuse stools.'
Mrs Moll, the housekeeper, came in to announce the Earl of Derby, to Anne's surprise.
'Your mother said I'd find you at our mutual friend's,' he told Eliza, kissing her hand, 'but I'd no idea I'd be privileged enough to witness a sitting. How long has this been going on, Mrs D.?' he scolded.
'Didn't I mention it?' That was odd. Perhaps she'd felt shy because of the peculiarities of this case; she hadn't wanted the Earl to think she was asking his permission. He came close, now, and stared at the contours. 'I'm still roughing it out,' she told him.
'A marvellous start, though. Will you leave the eyes unincised?'
'Yes; the effect's more antique.'
Derby was very animated today, there was an odd shine in his little eyes, but tired lines round them. He made one of his rare bad jokes, when they got to talking about Drury Lane: 'I only wish our King would retire as fast as your
King
did! Has Miss Farren been singing the praises of her new manager?' he asked Anne.
He often did that, she noticed with a hint of amusement—demonstrated that he knew all about his inamorata's life.
'Yes, Kemble's surprised us all with his energy,' Eliza told them; 'he's somehow found the funds to pension off ancient players and to give the poor old theatre a new face with gold and white paint.' As she spoke she leaned forward a little; Anne always found it hard to get a model to sit still when there was a visitor in the workshop. 'He's all for equality, keeps calling us
professionals
—says we leading lights should be willing to take small roles on occasion and come to every rehearsal to be drilled as if we were beginners. He tells of going behind the scenes at the Comédie Française and seeing an actor earnestly try out ten different tones and attitudes. Kemble asked him what famous role he was preparing—Hyppolytus, or perhaps Tartuffe?—and the actor said no, he had only one line: "
Madame, votre voiture est prête."'
Anne and Derby laughed in chorus.
'Well,' Derby jested, 'Reform is the spirit of the age. Perhaps Kemble's new regime should be called Thespian Whiggery.'
'Speaking of which—what news of the Regency Bill?' Eliza asked and Anne realised they'd been avoiding the inevitable subject.
Derby let out a long sigh. 'Pitt keeps blocking us, insisting that the King's illness is temporary. When, you know, the truth is if I had a dog half so mad I'd drown it in the river.'
'That's high treason,' Anne pointed out.
'No, just kindness to animals.'
The three of them laughed again, a little wildly.
How cruel this long wait is making us,
Anne thought. 'If the Bill goes through—' she hesitated.
'When, not if.' Derby grinned at her. 'Georgiana will whip our votes in, Pitt will topple like an obelisk and we'll toboggan into power on Prinny's spangled coat-tails.'
Of course, it wasn't quite that simple; as Anne worked on the slim eyebrows of the bust, Derby started describing the squabbles the Foxites were having about the place each would hold in their new government. When Eliza had to rush off to a rehearsal he stayed on, watching Anne's fingers shape the clay throat. 'What we really need are allies, great lords who can bring a swathe of votes with them; someone like Richmond, for instance.'
Anne stiffened.
'He's never been a real Tory, you know, just a lapsed Whig. I wonder,' Derby murmured, 'once Prinny is Regent, would there be any chance of your brother-in-law ... crossing the floor?'
Anne decided to pretend the question was rhetorical.
Derby laughed a little, as if at his own cheek. 'I can tell you in confidence that Lord Chancellor Thurlow knows which way the wind's blowing, he might well come over to our side. But only on condition of keeping his office—which is causing fury in our own ranks. It's always been this way among the Whigs, I'm afraid; like that terrible summer at Coxheath.'
'When was that?'
'Oh, didn't you come down? This was in '78, when it looked like the French would invade England in support of the Americans,' he said. 'There was a huge military camp, it was all very jolly at first; lots of us went to Kent to drill our battalions. That was the summer Coleraine sold Lady Melbourne to Egremont, and Lady Clermont took up with a local apothecary. And, of course, there was my own wife and Dorset,' he added grimly.
Anne's head was whirling. It was very rare for him to refer to Lady Derby, but that was not the detail that had shaken her. 'What can you mean,
sold?
I'm aware, of course, that Baron Coleraine was ... linked with Lady Melbourne at the time.'
'I'm terribly sorry, didn't you know?' asked Derby sheepishly. 'I oughtn't to be raising these matters with a lady at all, of course.'
'Oh, Derby, don't
lady
me.'
'Well, since you insist. Coleraine and your friend were ... a little tired of each other, but there'd been no breach. Then Egremont comes along that summer, mad for her, rich as Croesus, that sort of thing. A deal is struck and Egremont agrees to pay a certain sum.'
'How much?' Anne couldn't stop herself.
After a second's hesitation Derby said, 'Thirteen thousand.'
'Pounds?'
'Oh, guineas, of course.'
Yes, she thought,
gentlemen always pay each other in guineas, an extra shilling on the pound.
'Did Lady Melbourne have any idea?' she asked huskily.
Derby blinked at her.
'Or did these dreadful machinations take place behind her back?'
'Mrs D.,' said Derby fondly, 'you're too unworldly. Why, your friend brokered the deal; she and her husband were full parties to the contract and they split the fee.'
Anne put her hand over her mouth.
'I do truly apologise for shocking you,' he told her, nibbling his thumb. 'The point I was trying to make,' he went on after a minute, 'is that Fox has to rule a team of flamboyant, mettlesome characters—whereas Pitt has only a set of dull clerks to manage. But, of course, just as our Party's been damaged by quarrels over women, it's been strengthened by the efforts of your sex, too, and I don't just mean Georgiana,' he went on more cheerfully. 'For creatures without a vote, you have an immense power; I've always thought my fellow politicians underestimate it. Do you go to Goodwood this Christmas as usual?' he asked, as if changing the subject.
'Probably.'
Derby's eyes were fiery little marbles. 'Perhaps you might ... sound out the Duke?'
'Oh, Derby,' she wailed.
'You're practically Richmond's sister. He has an enormous respect for you. I'm only asking you to probe him gently,' Derby pushed on. 'You might hint that we'd let him stay on as Master-General of the Ordnance, since he finds sandbags so absorbing and it's the one job none of our lot want. Just dip a toe in the waters.'
'They're full of pike,' she snapped. 'You put me in a very delicate position.'
His grin had something unbalanced about it. 'And aren't we all in a very delicate position? Isn't the whole country adrift in dangerous waters?'
'Very well, very well, but only for your friendship's sake, and Fox's,' she said, scrubbing her hands on her apron.
F
OX'S ILLNESS
was pure pleasure to the Tories. They kept him on his feet as much as possible, entangled in legal complexities; several times he had to excuse himself and rush out of the Chamber, clutching his belly. The government-funded papers quipped that the lining of Fox's stomach had been eaten away by the regular necessity of eating his own words.
When he was too weak to leave his dear Liz's country house at St Anne's Hill, his followers drove down there. Georgiana wasn't with them, of course; the Duchess could hardly call on a former courtesan. Derby remembered his last visit to St Anne's Hill in September, before this regency crisis had ever been dreamed of. He and Fox had played battledore and composed epitaphs for Dick Fitzpatrick's terrier in six languages. (Derby was only able to help in English, Latin and French.)
Today was gunmetal grey and the avenue was hard with packed snow. In Mrs Armistead's neat parlour the Foxites talked in low voices, as if at a funeral. Sheridan was in the process of extracting a bank draft for £500 from Derby to buy up the whole print run of an obscene pamphlet about the Prince's secret marriage, when the door opened and Fox staggered in on Mrs Armistead's arm. She was still marvellously voluptuous, Derby thought, and her face showed no sign of being nearly forty. Her lover was black with bristles and his shaggy, matted chest showed through the limp opening of his shirt. 'Huzza,' cried Derby and the others joined in.
Fox dropped into a chair and begged for a cup of tea.
'Now, Charlie, I think some wine'd fortify you better,' said Mrs Armistead, pouring him a glass; her voice still had a strong Cockney slant to it.
'Good of you all to come. Sherry, how's our royal friend?'
'Very steady,' Sheridan said. 'He's quietly promising offices, pensions and peerages all over the place, and our support is growing.'
'I want numbers. I've promised Liz we'll be in power by New Year, haven't I, dearest?' He patted her plump knuckles. 'Who's false, who's staunch, who may be deceiving us about their plans to vote? Oh, and any fresh word of the King?'
Loughborough shrugged. 'He's said to be
in a comfortable state,
meaning, not quite violent in his lunacy.'
'Apparently he's now convinced that London lies underwater,' said Charles Grey.
'Solid ice, more like it,' said Fox with a shuddering glance out of the window.
'The only, ah, complication,' said Portland, 'is a new physician. Named Willis, I believe; a certain Doctor Willis. He hails from, ah, from Lincolnshire.'
Sometimes Derby couldn't stand the Duke's tentative delivery. 'His methods are rough, but they call him a miracle worker,' he said. 'Lord Harcourt says Willis cured his wife's mother, the way you might break a horse; whenever she threw her food at the wall, or spoke obscenely, Willis brought out the straitjacket and it calmed her down at once.'
They all considered the revolting image.
'Can we settle this matter of places, once and for all?' Grey broke in. 'I won't take a Lordship of the Treasury, it's beneath my capacities. If you won't give me the Exchequer, I'll accept Secretary at War.'
Fox frowned sadly at him. 'My young friend—'
'I'll surrender the Exchequer to you, sir, or Lord John Cavendish, if I must, but not to lesser Pelhams or Norfolks or Windhams.'
'Lesser, you cocksure puppy?' barked Sheridan.
'Windham is a, ah, most brilliant Greek scholar and mathematician,' Portland pointed out.
'So?' asked Grey.
Fox spoke hoarsely. 'The good of the Party, of the country—'
'Oh, so other men may have their eyes on the prize they fight for, but not me?' asked Grey. 'We know Sherry will be Treasurer of the Navy and Head of the Board of Trade, with £4000 a year!'
Derby caught Liz Armistead's eye and wished they were outside, walking along the frozen terrace. Oh, the wearisome ambition of landless men.
'For my own part,' said Loughborough, 'I demand an assurance that the Chancellorship will go to me, not to Thurlow or any other rat from Pitt's sinking ship.'
Fox clapped his hands with surprising vigour. 'Listen to yourselves, you squabbling vultures! Do you consider yourselves fit to take up the reins of power? After fretting in opposition for fifteen of the past eighteen years we Whigs are going to have our day at last! Don't you see a new England on the horizon?' He pointed out of the window like a mystic.