Past Caring (17 page)

“It won’t wash, L.G. Votes for a few propertied women would be
worse than votes for none. As for a federal Ireland you might convince Balfour of that, but he could never carry his party with him.

And if you did oust Asquith, you would break our own party in the
process.”

He leant forward, eyes twinkling beneath hooded brows.

“Would that matter?”

The engaging iconoclast had at last gone too far. “I happen to
think so,” I said. “I care about the Liberal Party and have no wish
to see it founder on the rocks of a pointless coalition.”

“Not so pointless, Edwin.”

“The only point, so far as I can see, is to further your career.”

“And yours.”

“Perhaps. But neither is worth so much double-dealing.”

Lloyd George snorted with derision and strode to the window.

“You’ll achieve nothing without getting your hands dirty.”

“Then nothing may be preferable.”

He turned. “You disappoint me, you really do.”

I rose from my seat. There was only one thing to say.

“As a matter of fact, L.G., so do you.” Whether or not I disappointed him, he had certainly misjudged me, and his annoyance
was as much with giving himself away to somebody who might now
oppose him as with the failure of his argument.

I made to leave but Lloyd George intercepted me at the door.

“Stay a moment, Edwin ,” he said with a silken smile. “We should
not fall out over a little idle theorizing.”

“Not so idle, if I’m any judge.”

His tone changed to one of menace. “If you are not with us, you
are against us.”

“All you have to do is not to involve me.”

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With that, I left. But Lloyd George’s use of the collective pronoun had not been lost on me and we both knew that he had already
involved me more than was wise. I walked away along Downing
Street sadder than I was angry that we responsible men of government were now falling to exploit for our own profit that crisis of the
constitution about which we claimed to feel so deeply. There was,
for all that, a personal strand to my sadness—the realization that,
in seeking to behave in a way that would enable me to continue with
my career, I had put at risk that which I cherished above everything: my love for Elizabeth. It was time, I felt, to accord that the
priority it deserved.

What would, what did, my darling Elizabeth have to say on the
matter? I drove openly to Putney the following afternoon and found
her and Mercy taking tea in the garden. Mercy soon found some
roses to prune and left us to talk. I shall ever recall Elizabeth’s
serene and loving company that sultry afternoon on the Longest
Day of 1910. She reclined in her chair beneath a parasol, a golden
gaze above a cream dress, and sought to lead me to the right answer.

She had a gift of calmness before adversity that was part of her
beauty.

“I am poorly placed to advise you, Edwin ,” she said. “But is it
not your duty to inform Mr. Asquith of his Chancellor’s intentions?”

“So I think, my dear. But I have no wish to sow discord. Besides,
there was something to commend what Lloyd George said.”

“For him only. I feel sure you are right there.”

“Others may benefit. Perhaps even your very own WSPU.”

“Not by this latest private members’ bill. There’s nothing democratic about enfranchising a few middle-aged, property-owning
women who vote Conservative.”

“With the possible exception of Aunt Mercy?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Granted.”

“You are right, though. It’s what I said to L.G. But for him it’s
become a bargaining counter in his deal with Balfour. That’s what
appals me—that none of these issues seems to matter to him except
as a means to an end, that end being Lloyd George for Prime
Minister.”

“Edwin , I rejoice that it appals you. I fear, however, that others

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may not see things the same way—others in the WSPU, for instance.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Remember Julia Lambourne? You met her here once.”

“I think I do.”

“Well, she told me recently that Christabel Pankhurst secretly
supports this bill—that’s why the truce she called for the election’s
been extended. I put more faith now in what Sylvia Pankhurst
thinks, but Christabel still determines policy. And what you’ve now
said fits what I’ve recently heard.”

“Which is?”

“According to Julia, Christabel has received intimations from
an unnamed minister that, if we accept this bill as a stopgap measure and cause no further trouble, we will receive all we ask at some
suitable future date. What if . . .”

“That minister were Lloyd George?”

“I think it must be.”

“But L.G. can’t make promises like that.”

“He can if he doesn’t mean them to be kept. From what you say,
he’s quite capable of deceiving Christabel in order to appear as the
pacifier of the Suffragettes.”

“That’s true, Elizabeth, I’ve decided what to do. I shall see the
Prime Minister and tell him what’s happening to his precious conference. In return for my honesty, let him honour his promise to
sanction our marriage.”

“I pray you succeed.”

“If not, we will marry anyway and damn the consequences—if
you will still have me.”

Elizabeth rose lightly from her chair and moved across to kiss
me. “Of course I will still have you, Edwin. And you me, I hope.”

“Oh yes, my darling, you may be sure of that.”

Suddenly, her expression became grave as she knelt beside me.

“There may be one other thing to worry about.”

“What might that be?”

“I fear that, for all our discretion , some people in the movement
know about us, or think they know—perhaps even Christabel
herself.”

“What makes you think so?”

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“Well, Julia is a darling, but she talks too freely. I’m sure she
must have let slip seeing you here, because I’ve been asked lots of
awkward questions recently.”

“Fear not. One way or the other, we will soon have nothing to
hide.” And certain it seemed that it would be so, as Elizabeth knelt
before me on the lawn beneath the cherry blossoms and lent me her
strength and love. But little I knew that the worst we feared was better than what was, in truth, to come.

The following morning, I telephoned Asquith’s secretary from
my office and arranged to see the Prime Minister in his room at the
House of Commons, at five o’clock that afternoon. I was there in
time to sit in on a low-key debate in the Chamber before walking
smartly up to Asquith’s room even as Big Ben began to strike the
hour.

The Prime Minister looked up wearily from his desk as I entered, his blank expression unmoving. “What can I do for you,
Edwin?” His tone would have seemed tart had it not been so tired.

“It concerns the Conference, Prime Minister.”

“Please sit down.” I did so. “I daresay it is not going as well—

or as quickly—as you had hoped. Alas, it cannot be helped.”

“You will know from what I said in Cabinet that I have no faith
in the Conference as a solution to our problems.”

“I also know why it is a blow to your particular ambitions,
Edwin. But they can form no part of what the government judges to
be best.”

“I accept that, of course, though you have more than once implied the reverse.” I had not intended to sound a carping note and
instantly regretted it, but Asquith scarcely seemed to notice, his eyes
fixed on some indeterminate point in the middle distance.

“If that is why you have come,” he said at last amid his languor, “there is nothing that I can offer you.”

“It is not why I have come, so let us say no more of it. What has
brought me here this afternoon is the state of the Conference about
which I had such doubts but which I am doing my best to make a
go of.”

“As are we all.”

“I think not. I have recently become aware that a member of

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our own delegation may be pursuing schismatic objectives under
the cover of negotiations with the Conservatives.”

Again , there was no visible reaction from Asquith. “Be so good
as to explain.”

“Secret negotiations have commenced geared towards replacing
this government with a coalition in which those party to the negotiations would have their reward and from which others—including
yourself—would be excluded.”

“And you accuse one of our delegation of this clandestine negotiation?”

“I do.”

“And who might that be?”

“The Chancellor of the Exchequer.”

“I see.” There followed only silence.

“After Monday’s session , L.G. asked me if I would be interested
in such a proposal, if I would cooperate with him in agreeing terms
with Balfour and support them against you when the time came.”

“And how did you reply?”

“I refused. That is why I am telling you now, as I felt to be my
duty.”

“Then I’m obliged to you.”

“I thought you might wish to . . .”

“Please don’t trouble yourself to continue. I think you have said
enough.”

“But what will you do?”

“Nothing.” His inertness of pose confirmed his reply.

“Prime Minister, I don’t think I understand.”

“Very well, I will specify that which I had hoped to spare you.”

There was a visible summoning of effort. “What you say may or
may not be true. I find it entirely credible that Lloyd George should
engage in such activities—I have long known him to be utterly un-scrupulous. But I must weigh against that possibility the known fact
that you oppose the Conference. I included you in our delegation
against my better judgement, because I thought that, as Home
Secretary, you had a right to take part in discussions concerning
parliamentary reform. Yet I know that, for personal reasons, you
feel frustrated by this method of proceedings and might therefore
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have an interest in undermining my faith in the Conference and
panicking me into an election to forestall the backstairs intriguing
of which you now carry tales. No doubt you suppose that, following
an election , you could marry in the knowledge that any scandal associated with it would have dissipated by the time you had to face
your constituents again.”

My avuncular premier had gone too far. “You may think what
you like, Prime Minister. As I see it, there is no scandal associated
with my proposed marriage to Miss Latimer. You originally cited
your own embarrassment as the objection. It is true that I consider the Conference to be a waste of time, but it is now acquiring sinister connotations and, if you wish to ignore the threat it may pose to
your own position , that is your privilege. I would advise you to take
it more seriously. As for myself, you are mistaken if you impute dishonourable motives to me. I have always sought to deal properly in
this matter, whilst others have delayed and dissembled. You confess
to doubts about the probity of some of your colleagues. I believe those
doubts are now handicapping the execution of the government’s duties. I will therefore have to review my part in that government.”

I rose to leave, but Asquith held up his hand in a gesture that
was more conciliatory than his words had so far been. “Stay a moment, Edwin. I may have spoken hastily and have no wish to im-pugn your honour. I confess that there has been so much duplicitous
dealing since the election that I sometimes distrust even the trust-worthy. I hope you will see why I cannot afford to act on what you
have said. As for your own position , I urge you to remain. Your talents are much needed, your candour hardly less so. There is, I fear,
no inducement that I can or will offer in the present circumstances.