Breaths of Suspicion (6 page)

Sir John Jervis set down his glass. He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his waistcoat, twiddled his thumbs reflectively and stared at me with a hawkish expression. ‘I have heard good things of you at the Bar, James. You are well on the way to making a great success of your career. You are developing a reputation as a man of courage, conviction and doggedness. The attorneys speak of the quickness of your intellect and sharpness of action. Your name is also spoken of in various social circles. Indeed, Viscount Palmerston himself has been asking me about you: we had a discussion the other evening, when your name came up.’

My breath was tight in my chest. Attorney General Sir John Jervis, and the Secretary for Foreign Affairs, the financial support of the Liberal Party.…

‘So you have drawn favourable attention to yourself. And as a member of this club, you have shown yourself interested in Reform. So I have a proposal to put to you, which will be, as I have already observed, in both our interests.’

I waited, hardly able to control the excitement in my chest.

‘The seat at Horsham.…’

I straightened, sat up expectantly, my fingers gripping tightly on the arm of the chair. Sir John was about to speak, when we were suddenly interrupted. Sir John’s eyes strayed past me and he smiled warmly, rose to his feet. I looked over my shoulder and saw the tall, slightly stooping figure of Viscount Palmerston coming towards us.

‘Ha! Jervis. Dining at the club tonight, hey?’ Old Pam’s baby face was wreathed in a welcoming smile. The Attorney General rose to his feet and the two men shook hands affably. I rose also.

‘You’ve met Mr James, of course,’ Sir John said.

‘Indeed, indeed.’ Palmerston’s almost unwrinkled features were shining below his balding pate and there was a conspiratorial glint
in his eyes. ‘We met at Lord Yarborough’s Friday to Monday, a little while ago.’ He raised his bushy eyebrows in query, his glance slipping back to Jervis. ‘You’ll be talking about Horsham, then?’

The Attorney General smiled and nodded, and I realized that Old Pam had been as fully involved as Sir John in the decision that was being taken that evening. It was confirmed: it was not only the Attorney General who would be supporting me, but also the Secretary for Foreign Affairs.

‘So you’re on board, hey, James?’ Palmerston said affably. His grip was cordial and his eyes held mine. There was a certain mischievous twinkle in them. His next words made me realize why I had his support.

‘The party will always welcome young men of ability … and
discretion
.’

And as I recalled his last words to me, in the dark, two-o’
clock-corridor
of the home of Lord Yarborough, I knew that my silence on what had occurred that night had been noted, and approved of, and was now being repaid.

Palmerston waved to us both to be seated, but remained standing himself. He put one hand on his hip and wrinkled his nose: there was a hint of sadness in his voice when he next spoke. ‘Horsham, ha, yes. I stood there, you know, first election I attempted. It was in 1806 … long time ago. In those days, you know, there were only seventy-three electors. The borough was in Lady Irving’s pocket and she’d previously put up a retired major general, a former Governor General of India, and a West Indian planter fellow. They all stumped up in their turn. Yes, she used to demand a payment of £5,000 each for the two seats in her gift. That year, Lord Edward Fitzherbert and I managed to knock her down: we each put up £1,500 on the understanding that a further £3,500 would be forthcoming if we won, and retained the seats. As it was, we lost, and then, in 1809 the selling of seats was prohibited.’

His eyes lost their faraway look, and he fixed his glance on mine.
‘Not that you should misunderstand the situation, James. Damned expensive business, running for Parliament, and Horsham electors have throats of wood. Takes a lot of slaking, that thirst of theirs. So anyone standing for that seat can expect to dig deep into his pockets. Bentinck—’

‘Has declared for Fitzgerald and will back him financially,’ Sir John asserted.

Palmerston was silent for a few moments, nodding thoughtfully. Then he smiled, held Jervis’s glance conspiratorially, and nodded. ‘Well, we’ll have to see what can be done about things on our side,’ he murmured.

He took a deep breath, straightened and nodded affably to us both. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Lady Palmerston is expecting me at Stanhope Street, and I’m already late. But that’s the life of a politician, hey?’

He was well known for driving himself hard in office: his clerks hated him for the manner in which he drove them too. After all, as young men of good connections they had entered the Civil Service in expectation of sinecures, but life was not like that under Old Pam.

The Attorney General and I sat down again after he had left us. I was now almost quivering with excitement. I would have the support of two senior members of the party, and the weight of the Whigs behind me. I had every confidence: it would be impossible for me to lose, even with Bentinck’s malign influence directed against me.

Next moment, my house of cards fell in.

‘Ah, where were we?’ Sir John asked blandly. ‘Ah, yes, the seat at Horsham.’ He looked at me, and smiled. ‘We have decided upon a person to oppose Mr Fitzgerald.’ His eyes held mine steadily. There was a short, pregnant pause. ‘I intend that my son John should put himself forward at Horsham as a candidate in the Liberal interest.’

I was unable to prevent the gasp of crushing disappointment
which escaped from me. The Attorney General hardly seemed to notice it. His gaze was now fixed on the ceiling, as though he was considering matters of import. ‘There will be many who will say John is too young, of course, and inexperienced … and there is some truth in that, as we have seen from his behaviour in that night house. So he will need strong support, a steadying hand, a man who can guide him through stormy waters, avoid the dangerous rocks that might sink his candidature. At the night house you recognized the dangers facing him and your quick thinking rescued him there from the consequences of his folly. I have discussed the matter at length with Lord Palmerston and we are both agreed. I now ask in confidence if you would be prepared to support my son once more, this time in the political arena. For the good of the Liberal Party, and of my family.’

My mouth was dry with the sand of my disappointment. I hesitated, mumbling, ‘I’m not sure what—’

‘I would like you to become John’s political agent for the Horsham by-election.’

I stared blankly at the Attorney General. The proposal, after the sabre-cut of disappointment I had suffered, came out of the blue. And for a few moments all I could think of was the effect such a situation would have upon my avowed enemy, Lord George Bentinck.

Sir John observed me serenely. ‘You have been active on the election committees often enough to know what is required of a good Parliamentary Agent, not merely to persuade the voters but also to steer the candidate well away from the rocks of folly. You have seen many successful candidates unseated on appeal; indeed, you have made your own contribution in that matter. So your experience will be invaluable to young John. We would provide you with the necessary supporting finance, of course. We would use your residence at Rusper as campaign headquarters, for an appropriate fee, naturally. You would take upon yourself
the duties incumbent on an agent, undertake the masterminding of the campaign, and in so doing you would be in receipt of my considerable gratitude once more. My gratitude, and that of the Party.’

But not the seat itself. I fought down the feeling of disappointment, almost unable to speak. But, slowly, I rallied, keeping my head down so he could not see what my eyes might betray. Not a seat in Parliament … but a parliamentary agent for the son of the Attorney General. There would still be something I could obtain out of this opportunity. I raised my head.

In the pause that grew about us, Sir John Jervis eyed me carefully as though I was a witness before him in court. After a little while, he said, ‘That gratitude can thereafter be shown in several ways, of course. There is first the matter of Treasury briefs. Your name has already been noted as that of a rising talent in the courts, and the Treasury solicitors are already aware of your abilities. It requires only a word from certain quarters to ensure that such briefs in future become more numerous, as far as you are concerned.’

I ran my tongue over dry lips, but was still unable to speak. A mixture of disappointment and elation still swept over me and my thoughts were confused.

‘And then there is the matter of legal and political advancement,’ the Attorney General continued. ‘Once my son is safely installed at Horsham we will have opportunity to look at your own personal interests in such matters. There’s first the matter of extending your experience: I think there’s the possibility of considering you for a Recordership in due course …’ He paused. ‘In fact, the Recordership of Brighton will become vacant in a little while.’

My earlier disappointment was rapidly fading as his words, and their implications, sank into my brain. I was still a junior barrister and had not taken silk, but if I was to be considered for a Recordership that additional honour, Queen’s Counsel, would
have first to be conferred upon me. And as a Recorder I would have taken the first step towards a seat as one of Her Majesty’s judges. The prospect was dazzling: Queen’s Counsel, a Recordership and then.…

‘And then, a General Election cannot be too far away. Seats will become available, important metropolitan seats, even. Lord Palmerston and I will be able, and willing, to place our influence behind you, and I suspect there are others in the party who would not be averse to giving you additional support.’

Such as Alexander Cockburn, I surmised. As a sitting Member for Southampton, a rising political star and a member of our Cock and Hen Club, he would put in a good word for me, I was certain. And, it was rumoured, he was already being touted for a seat on the bench in the near future. If he was so elevated, his seat at Southampton would fall vacant. It could fall to me. Or one of the metropolitan seats, as Sir John had suggested. There were so many possibilities.… I took a deep breath, deciding to seize chances wherever they might arise. In spite of my disappointment over the candidature for Horsham, the prospects suddenly dangled before me were heart-stopping and the support of the Attorney General and the Foreign Secretary were powerful incentives to agree to the proposition.

I held up my head, jutted out my pugilist chin confidently. ‘I shall be honoured and delighted to take on the task you offer me,’ I said firmly. ‘Your son is a fine young man, and I am certain he will prove to be an ornament of the party when he is once in Parliament. As his agent, I will do the utmost in my power to bring about his success.’

There was a short silence, then Sir John Jervis smiled broadly. He rose, extended his hand and took mine in a firm handclasp. ‘Then that’s settled, James. You must come around to a private meeting at my house, to discuss matters with my son John and certain of our friends. I am certain he, and they, will be as pleased
as I that you accede to this request. And now, perhaps we should go in to dinner.’

To be honest, I have no great recollection of our conversation over dinner, though oddly enough the repast itself has remained in my memory: turtle soup, turbot, three meat dishes, lobster
vol au vent
. I remember also the raspberry cream and orange water ices. Otherwise, the occasion passed as a blur and I was barely able to hold up my end of the conversation. I thought Sir John was aware of my confusion, and took no offence at my apparent
woolly-mindedness
. But the fact was his comments had opened up to me glittering professional vistas. A seat in the House of Commons would not only further and promote my career but it would enable me to deal with my creditors in a more effective manner: they would not be able to dun me as a sitting Member of Parliament. More, with the support of the Government a commission from the Crown as Queen’s Counsel would be swift, and if Sir John kept his word and arranged for my appointment as Recorder I was confident that my ability would soon lead to a seat on the bench, where I would join my friend Alexander Cockburn. I could see the future flashing before my inner eye: Queen’s Counsel, a Recordership, then in due course a judicial appointment, or, once I had attained a seat in the House, the post of Solicitor General in a future administration, then Attorney General and finally even Lord Chief Justice, or Lord Chancellor!

It was all there before me, there for the taking.

The curious thing that struck me later was that in a way this had all come about as a result of the intervention of that villain, Lewis Goodman … whom, one day in the future,
Deo volente
, I might have the opportunity of sending to a damp, noisome cell where he would spend the rest of his days in a place he deserved so richly.

L
isten. I don’t wish you to be misled about what happened
thereafter
at Horsham. Much was later written about it, but nothing occurred during that by-election that had not happened before, in other constituencies. Though perhaps not to the same degree, I admit. I had seen more than enough evidence of the results of election fever, on the election committees in which I had gained a reputation, where took place the unseating of successful candidates on the ground of bribery and corruption of the voters. But that was the way things were ordered in those days. And it was a minion of Lord George Bentinck, inevitably, who began the campaign later, when all the Horsham shouting was over, a campaign of
denigration
, the use of half-truths and downright lies, even a resort to the courts, in his fury that I had been so successful. He made a bad enemy, his Lordship. And there were always hangers-on, political nonentities prepared to do his bidding.

As to the manner in which I ordered things during the campaign, well, Bentinck’s fury was made so much the greater because I showed myself to be a better organizer than his men, more efficient in my arrangements and a more ruthless opponent than he could have imagined. A knowledge of the rough and tumble world of the prize ring and the racecourse was useful; an ability to indulge in the dirty tricks of the Old Bailey courtroom
was essential. And the wit and sagacity to act before your opponent was the clinching ability.

I was early out of the blocks in the three weeks before the by-election. Mr W.R.S. Fitzgerald, the Tory candidate with the foxy, side-whiskered features and aggrieved air, issued a nebulous kind of address to the constituents where he claimed to be a Whig to the Whigs, a Tory to the Tories and a Protectionist to the Protectionists but I immediately persuaded Sir John Jervis himself to come down to Horsham to speak in support of his son. I wrote the speech he delivered. It was well received. Sir John had been MP for the city of Chester since 1832 and was an old electioneering campaigner and it proved to be a shrewd move on my part. The Attorney General presented himself with confidence and determination, announced the candidature of his son and gave out the words I had written: ‘I have never yet lost an election and I intend not to lose this one!’

It was a slogan that appealed to the cheering crowd before they repaired to the Anchor Inn for the usual refreshments.

The next thing to do was to appoint a small committee on whom I could rely. Sir Alexander Cockburn was the first to figure on my list: I also brought on board a local solicitor with an extensive range of social contacts, a Mr Medwin, who had a spreading belly and an air of sagacity, which he backed with a sharp, calculating mind. It was on his recommendation that I added to the group a local man, Mr Lintott, who was in close touch with other landowners of consequence as the largest and richest tradesman in the town, flattered to be brought in to work with such elevated company. But we also needed an enforcer. It was for that reason I turned to my old acquaintance, Ben Gully.

He came down for a private conference with me at the Black Horse Hotel. He had dressed for the occasion, out of town. He wore a dark, well-cut greatcoat and dark corduroy breeches, while his black kid gloves demonstrated he was a man of business. He could not disguise the rearranged features, of course, the result
of various violent encounters in dark corners of the city, but there were many gentlemen of quality who sported broken noses and fractured jaws: after all, it was a matter of honour in those days that young gentlemen should familiarize themselves with the pugilistic arts. In Ben’s case, however, his battering had not taken place under the rules of the Marquis of Queensbury.

He eyed me carefully, one eye wandering as usual as he scanned the room, while I explained the position.

‘It’s like this, Ben. The organization of the campaign will be masterminded by me, and I have formed a small committee that will be able to determine on tactics and indeed, counteract the actions of our opponents. But inevitably there will come occasions when plans can go awry, when tactics fail, and when—to put it plainly—a certain degree of action will be demanded. And for that, we shall need a determined fellow who will be able to act swiftly and decisively.’

Ben Gully took a swallow of his porter and grunted doubtfully. ‘Thing is, Mr James, politics ain’t really my field.’

‘The back streets of any town or city are not much different from others. Cudgels come out, drunkards get waylaid, pockets get picked and … electors can get
persuaded
. I need someone who can keep an eye on that sort of thing, advise me, and if necessary take action himself, and quickly.’

‘He’ll need something about him, other than his fists,’ Gully said thoughtfully. ‘If he’s going to mingle successfully with gentlemen.’

‘A well-known member of the swell mob won’t do, Ben.’

‘I see that, Mr James. On the other hand … you ever have dealings with a Captain Thomas?’

I grimaced, shook my head.

Gully grunted. ‘I transacted a certain business lately, which brought me into contact with Captain William Lanham Thomas, late of the Indian Army.’ His glance rose, fixed upon mine. ‘On half-pay now. Possibly left India under a cloud. Rumour speaks of
mess funds not properly accounted for.’

So probably needing money. I frowned. A gentleman, an ex-officer, not well known in London society.… ‘A hard man?’

‘I seen some evidence of it,’ Ben Gully remarked almost casually.

‘You can recommend him?’

I had a deal of confidence in Ben Gully. No one knew the London scene as he did. No one knew the back alleys and the rookeries of St Giles, the tricks of the magsmen and the sharps, the bullies and the pimps. But he also knew those who lived on the edges of the underworld, gentlemen who had fallen on hard times, men of quality who now dealt in doubtful activities to make a living; others who sought to climb the social ladder from the villas in St John’s Wood that they had acquired with fortunes won at the edge of legality. I trusted Ben’s judgment because it was based on solid knowledge.

After a short silence, Ben murmured, ‘I think he would serve your purpose, Mr James.’

I met Captain William Lanham Thomas on the Friday of that same week.

I got to know him quite well in the weeks that followed our agreement to work together in support of young John Jervis’s campaign. The gallant captain had indeed returned from India some months previously and was still settling into a gentlemanly routine. The captain was not experienced in election campaigns, of course, but I soon learned that he was shrewd, decisive and showed on occasion a fierce determination to get what he wanted. Nor was he averse to the odd scuffle. He was some six feet in height, of a lean muscular stature, had fine whiskers that denoted the gentleman but he knew his common man, and he had an air of cold-eyed efficiency that proved more than useful in the campaign.

That day of our first acquaintance, I had the feeling that he was weighing me up as much as I was him.

‘So Mr Jervis has considerable political backing,’ he observed coolly.

‘Certainly.’

‘And that will mean access to sources of considerable funds.’

‘The campaign will be more than adequately funded,’ I admitted.

‘So there will be no problem of payment. You will note, Mr James, I am a practical man.’

If not a complete gentleman. But I knew what it was like to be dunned by creditors. We quickly agreed upon matters of recompense for the captain’s involvement.

‘And what exactly will be my duties?’ he inquired, his glacial blue eyes fixed carelessly upon mine.

‘You will be a member of the campaign committee but will not advise on tactical matters. Rather, you will be our ear to the ground, the supplier of information regarding the activities of the other side, our adviser on methods to prevent the accomplishment of Mr Fitzgerald’s designs, whatever they might be, and the man who will see to it that what is necessary to be done, will be done.’

He smiled coldly, and stroked his luxurious moustache gently with a loving forefinger. ‘I gain the impression, sir, that this work would not greatly interfere with my predilection towards the frequenting of racecourses, public houses and gambling dens, convivial gatherings of
ouvriérs
in public houses and the occasional bout of fisticuffs.’ As he spoke he twirled in his hand the cane he carried: the knob was of solid brass, and I suspected it was a sword cane. His meaning was quite clear to me.

‘You are a man after my own heart, Captain Thomas.’

Ben Gully had chosen and recommended well.

And indeed, Captain Thomas soon proved himself to be an efficient tool in our hands, in most cases acting discreetly so no blame could attach, and after the Horsham campaign I came across him from time to time, though I never had occasion to employ
him further. I had the honour of representing him in court on a few occasions, in affairs both of the heart and honour, in which a degree of violence on his part had proved inevitable, and you could say we had become close acquaintances at a certain level. I knew he would be a useful addition to the team should the expected difficulties arise during the campaign. I gave him no hand in the preparation of the candidate’s election address for that was not his
forte
, but I knew full well his strong arm would come in useful. But I’ll come to that later.

Sir John Jervis had assured me that money was not a problem, so once he had called in favours from a few local friends we began our first canvass of the local electorate. This necessitated approaching every public house and beer shop in the parish, flying flags and Blue favours and agreeing that the publicans should keep their cellars open to all: if a voter required a drink it should be supplied and the bill sent on to me.

We began with the attractively meaningless slogan
Independence
for the Borough
and slandered Fitzgerald politically and personally with strong drink. I set up our first champagne dinner at the Anchor Hotel, served wine, brandy, punch and laid down the basis for numerous headaches next morning. At the Black Horse I called an Amalgamation Dinner to celebrate the fact that we had already managed to bring over to our side a number of Pink electors who had previously supported Fitzgerald. The dinner—which included salmon, duck, chicken, ham and tongue—was held with Mr Medwin in the chair: there was an elegant spread, numerous healths were drunk to, toasts were given and plans were laid for attracting as many voters as possible to the Jervis and Liberal cause. My account book showed payment for one hundred and twenty-four bottles of wine, thirty-eight bowls of punch and a considerable quantity of ale and stout as I laid down the basis for what a sour Lord George Bentinck was already castigating as ‘sinister and daring activities’.

While my committee worked from The Nunnery at Rusper, we fixed our campaign headquarters, for obvious reasons in view of the anticipated thirst of the voters, at the Crown Hotel. I then established agents, sub-agents and friends at as many beer shops as we were able in the parish: the Crown, the Star, the Shelley Arms, the Horse and Groom, the White Horse and the Red Lion among others and all were thrown open to voters, the cellars were filled to capacity and the Brewers and Spirit Merchants were warned that during the ensuing weeks there would be an uncommon run on their commodities. They duly brought in new stock.

Our Tory opponent, Fitzgerald, was not idle, of course, in that respect: the Pinks claimed the Black Horse, the Swan, the Green Dragon and the Dog and Bacon among other hostelries, so never let it be said, as Bentinck’s lapdog politicians later averred, that the treating and drunkenness in the Horsham election was all one-sided. During the run-up to the election it soon became established that a voter of either persuasion or none could go to any public house and obtain any kind of refreshment he desired without offering payment, for the landlords knew where they would obtain financial satisfaction. It was inevitable, of course, that lovers of small beer now discovered more aristocratic beverages; friends were encouraged to join in parties of five or more and it quickly became apparent to me that lemonade-and-brandy was becoming the most popular beverage, the new fashionable drink in Horsham. So it was soon a common sight during those weeks to see these
lemonade-and
-brandy politicians staggering along the pavements en route to yet another public house of refreshment. Wives brought out jugs and visited the houses, or sent their children to collect refreshment in the name of our candidate. Fitzgerald soon cottoned on to the practice and began to urge a similar pattern on his prospective supporters.

A number of side bets were laid down at the time, which Captain Thomas closely monitored by personally attending the
taverns and hostelries and when the swell of opinion was reported to me I knew we had to canvass more widely. As a consequence I instituted a series of public meetings. The first was at the Crown; the third, a really big ‘do’, was at the Anchor Hotel.

We arrived in a four-horse coach: pale-featured young John Jervis, gallantly moustached Captain Thomas and the portly Mr Medwin, together with ‘Bulldog’ Cockburn and ‘Big-Headed’ Jimmy as we two lawyers were now nicknamed by frequenters of the taverns. The main room of the Anchor was packed with all conditions of men. I had previously ordered one hundred bowls of punch and John Jervis was proposed, seconded, adopted, toasted and all were thereafter given wine, brandy, punch and cigars, to everyone’s satisfaction. Songs were roared out and speeches given and although formalities were concluded by 10 p.m., the carousing continued well into the early hours of the morning.

The locals soon roared out a ditty, sung to the tune of
Buffalo Girls
. I remember it well: