Caxton (26 page)

Hugh favored metaphysical speculation, at the expense of epistemology. Indeed, there was no term yet for the latter field of philosophical
inquiry, though this did not prevent men from inquiring into the question
of how men perceived what they were certain existed. Hugh had written,
with some uncertainty, three pages of observations on Jones’s remark.

“The picture is broader, or grander, than most men can see. I have with
some modest success sketched that vista for others, to convey it and the
importance of seeing it, as others have done for me. But most men must
begin with small things and progress to the larger, and have their natural
relevance demonstrated, often tediously. And I suppose that Mr. Frake and
I and a few others see it in the beginning, and do not relinquish it, and so
see it daily, much as we see our own faces in a looking glass. Perhaps all
men see it in the beginning of their lives, but, fearing its demands, or caring
more for a mess of banal vices, or settling for a slothful torpor, cannot or
will not retain it. The picture is rooted in some appraisal of oneself, and
projects outward to create a realm of one’s actions, actual and contemplated. We think in that direction, from the minutiae to the grand, and
become sovereign of it all. We attempt to persuade other men to see it, to
think in that manner, men who are habituated to seeing but a small frame
of things. They are more numerous, who care not to bother with the task.
Who, then, when power and liberty are in contest, is at the disadvantage:
We, or they?”

Hugh sighed in frustration, for he was exploring a subject unfamiliar
to him, and was not certain that he had made observations on Jones’s
remark, or had gone beyond it. But the thought of Jones caused him to
remember the satchel. He grimaced, closed the notebook, and put it aside.
He leaned over, opened the bureau drawer, and took out the mysterious
bundle. He untied the string that bound the rough leather satchel, and
removed a small pile of papers. On top was a short letter from Jones, dated
the day before the
Busy
left the Pool of London:

“My dear sir:
Appended to this missive are copies of drafted documents procured by me a few days ago from a pair of compliant gentleman
clerks in the Treasury and the Board of Trade — procured, I might
add, for a fee, for a sumptuous repast at the Bear Inn, for the cost
of a trifling amusement or two — for a bribe. They are not the
authors of these documents, but merely the copyists of the secretaries of those trusting worthies. The documents are in my own
hand, as I could not trust the task of copying to another person
without risking the same betrayal. The ministry seem to be
preparing a proclamation to appear over His Majesty’s seal and
signature, and they have not yet settled on its wording.

You see, most first ministers have only a vague idea or notion
of what policies they should adopt. Lords Grenville and Hillsborough (Halifax vacated the Board presidency this summer, you may
have read) and their coterie are like their predecessors, disposed to
whatever policy will cause them the least grief in the Commons
and in audience at St. James’s Palace. The task of dressing those
policies with the particulars of means and ends is assigned to
lesser men. In this instance, the task fell to Mr. Pownall, secretary
to the Board, and Mr. Morgann, Lord Shelburne’s private secretary
(Shelburne was offered the Board presidency, but declined). Mr.
Morgann, author of one of these documents, is a gentleman of
advanced tastes, worthy of Dr. Johnson’s company. I have heard
that he is an authority on Mr. Shakespeare, and writes profusely
on his dramas. Given the tone and thrust of his own proposals
here, I should put it out that he would canonize Iago as an icon of
politick virtue, except then I would betray my venal clerk friends
in the Treasury and the Board, and so close the door to future
acquisitions of this nature….”

Hugh finished the letter, then picked up the first document. He read it,
and then the second.
From somewhere on the deck above came the rhythmic clopping of
sailors dancing to the tune of a hornpipe. Across the passageway, in another
cabin, two men, Captain Rowland’s bursar and first mate, were engaged in
a friendly argument over a game of chess. A sudden, stiff breeze filled the
Busy
’s sails, and the vessel lurched forward with a muted groan.
Hugh heard none of these things. He was rereading the documents for
athird time. His face was ashen in sustained shock, his eyes narrowed in
an alliance of rage, contempt, and self-control.
After a while, as the ship’s bells marked the night watch, he tossed the
documents down and leaned forward on his elbows, his face in his hands,
two fingers pressing shut his eyes. He realized now that a great picture, accurate to the smallest detail and encompassing a wide purpose, was not inherently benign. He knew that this redefined the conflict, from one over the
minutiae and particulars of mutually inimical vistas, to one of philosophy.

A
t about the time that Hugh was reading the purloined documents,
Alden Curle was being interrogated by Basil Kenrick, the Earl of
Danvers, concerning a missing Italian vase, which the Earl had

purchased in a shop on the Strand and had sent Curle to collect. The vase
was to have been placed on the fireplace mantel of one of the rooms formerly occupied by the Earl’s brother, who no longer resided at Windridge
Court. The Earl had instructed his staff to close many of those rooms, and
to turn some into guest rooms. He had recently inspected the rearranged
and refurnished guests rooms, and noted the absence of the vase.

Curle now stood before his master’s desk in the study, trying to suppress trembling panic, his mind racing to screw up the courage to concoct a
credible web of lies that would explain the missing vase, whose value was
nearly half his annual wages. He had thrown the parcel with the broken
pieces into the Thames after his encounter with Hugh Kenrick.

“I met your nephew, milord, on my way back with the vase. I did not
think you wanted to hear of my encounter.”
Basil Kenrick knew that his nephew was in town, that he had stayed
with his brother’s family in Chelsea, and that he had returned to Virginia
some weeks ago. “And…?” prompted the Earl.
“He is a frightening creature, milord, if you will forgive me for saying
so,” said Curle. “More than ever before! He is a…man. He…he beat me
with his cane, and knocked the vase from my hands! Were it not for
passersby, I believe he would have drawn his sword and run me through!”
The Earl squinted, and shrugged vaguely. “Did he accost you with
words, Curle? His tongue, as I remember, is every bit as wounding as a
point of steel.”
Curle tried to disguise a gulp. “No, milord. He did not. But, he did ask
after your health.”
The Earl grunted in surprise. “What did you tell him?”
“That you were in fine health, milord,” said the
major domo
, confident
now that he had covered the truth and found a thread of deception to
follow. “But, I could not help but think he would have been overjoyed to
hear a report that you were ill, milord, or in a bad state.”
Basil Kenrick studied his servant for a moment. His dagger-like
scrutiny caused the man to avert his glance and bow his head.
The Earl chuckled. “Now you are lying, Curle,” he said. “A dollop of
truth mixed with falsehood is always a poor shield. I know my nephew. He
was being civil, and I do not believe he beat you with his cane or broke the
vase.” He paused. “Why did you not inform me of this meeting, as it was
your duty to?”
Curle could only gulp again, and this time did not try to disguise the
action. He ventured, “I…I was afraid that the well-known displeasure of
his lordship with his nephew would be…turned on his humble servant,
milord. I beg forgiveness for the presumption.”
“That’s better, Curle,” said Basil Kenrick. “You know as well as I do
that he can be civil to a fault. And further, that he would not expend the
effort to accost a worm. That energy he conserves for dueling with dukes,
and marquesses, and mobs.” He sighed and shook his head. Secretly, he was
pleased with the man’s attempt at deception. “You were wrong to fear my
wrath, Curle. You offend me with the presumption. For that, and for having
lied to me, the price of the vase must be deducted from your honorarium —
unless you can produce that sum today.”
The base, exquisitely decorated with painted scenes of the ruins of the
Roman Forum, and inset with gold filigree, had cost six guineas. Curle
mumbled, “No, milord, I cannot.”
The Earl shrugged again. “Very well. You may go.”
With a bow of relief and gratitude, Alden Curle left the study. The
deducted wages would cause him some inconvenience, but no hardship.
There were valuable objects of art and the Earl’s cast-off clothing stored in
the cellar, items missing from the house inventory, and which Curle was
certain the Earl had forgotten about and which he could easily dispose of
in London’s street markets to cover the penalty.
The rebuke worried him more than did the difference the penalty would
make in his purse. He was consoled, however, by the knowledge that the
Earl would never dismiss him. Just as he knew that he could never last in
the employ of an honest, just man, he knew that the Earl had no use for an
honest servant. His master needed an obsequious, discreet servant who
could repeat, without having to be instructed to, his own lies and falsehoods
and shams with nary a blink of an eye or a twitch of the cheek. He knew
that, in the Earl’s eyes, this was his chief asset in the household. Curle’s only
regret was that his art disintegrated in the presence of the Earl himself.

* * *

The evening of that same day, the Earl entertained supper guests at
Windridge Court, among them Bevil Grainger, Viscount of Wooten and
Clarence, retired Master of the Rolls, King’s Bench; Sir Henoch Pannell,
member for Canovan, a “pocket borough” tucked within the confines of
London and the county of Middlesex, themselves boroughs; Crispin Hillier,
member for Onyxcombe, Dorset; Sir Fulke Treverlyn, an attorney and
member for Old Boothby, Cheshire; and Captain James Holets, member for
Oakhead Abbas, Essex company commander in the Foot Guards. There
were others, for a total of fourteen male guests, all members of the Commons, too, except for the Earl and the viscount, who sat in Lords.

It was unusual for the Earl to entertain guests; and more so the number
of them this evening. But Crispin Hillier had suggested to him that it would
be a practical gesture that would serve to cement the bloc of votes the party
represented in the Commons, or rather that the Earl controlled there. Also,
the occasion would give the Earl the opportunity to meet the members of
his bloc and to appraise their interests and loyalties. The supper was
treated by the guests as a kind of celebration for the formation of a strong
and vocal force in the Commons, and by the Earl, as an exercise in
annoying but necessary drollery.

Basil Kenrick, at the head of the table, flanked by Viscount Wooten and
Crispin Hillier, set the tone of the supper party. He announced, as the
guests sat at the long, resplendently set table, waiting for the first course, a
development in the ministry. He rose and said, “I have it on good authority
that the Treasury is near to completing a memorial to the Privy Council. It
will state its recommendations concerning the matter of a more stringent
collection of duties and levies from the colonies. Further, I have it on good
authority from a person on the Council that the Council will refine the
memorial to include other North American colonies for an Order in
Council to be enacted with His Majesty’s approval. Both the memorial and
Order are undoubtedly overtures to a royal proclamation by His Majesty
himself, whose own and rightful purpose is to contain and regulate the
colonies in a more masterful manner than heretofore exerted. His
Majesty’s proclamation will be published in a few weeks, before the next
session of Parliament convenes.”

All the guests, except for Hillier and Pannell, stared at their host,
amazed, speechless, and delighted. It was not news to either Pannell or
Hillier; the Earl had informed them earlier, before the other guests had
arrived. Pannell looked smug and all-knowing; Hillier was taciturn. The
Earl glanced up at the portrait of his father, Guy Kenrick, the fourteenth
Earl of Danvers. For the first time ever, the dour, haughty visage seemed to
regard him with approval. He smiled at the stupid faces down the length of
the table, and added, “Your task, sirs, is to persuade your House to complement His Majesty’s wishes with actions commensurate with his patriotic spirit, actions that will ensure the political and material solvency and
security of the Crown, of this nation, and of the empire.”

“Hear, hear!” said Crispin Hillier quietly. Other guests seconded him.
Henoch Pannell grinned broadly, and addressed the table at large. He
had invested a great deal of time and energy putting the bloc together,
working with Hillier. He felt he had a right to second the Earl’s motion in
his own way. “In a word, milord and my many sirs,” he ventured, “His
Majesty intends to lock the colonies in their stables, and lunge them at the
Crown’s pleasure. A more proper and just patriotism than that, I cannot
imagine!”

By the third course, Viscount Wooten cleared his throat and said, “Lord
Danvers, Sir Henoch there tells me that your brother has secured a seat in
the House. For Swansditch, I believe. Now, I knew the man who will sit for
him. He defended some libelers in a trial of mine some years ago, and
nearly libeled me in the bargain! He is a violent, rash, outspoken man,
much like this Mr. Wilkes. A most troubling and troublesome chap. What
could your brother be thinking by endorsing such a fellow?”

Basil Kenrick grimaced and shook his head in dismissal of the subject.
“He is opposing me out of spite, Lord Wooten. That is all there is to it. I
have not worried myself much about it.” He turned to Crispin Hillier and
nodded.

Hillier smiled. “Troublesome, Lord Wooten? I doubt that. He is but one
man. He may be ignored at no risk. Sir Henoch and I have made his
acquaintance, and judge him to be in unmovable opposition to our party.
He may ally himself on particular matters, such as Mr. Wilkes, or against
the land and cider taxes, but he is essentially hostile to the Crown. That
stance will not only govern the character of his seat and career in the
House, but alienate the affections of his natural friends there.”

Sir Henoch laughed and added, “His greatest enemies, Lord Wooten,
will not be our worthy people, but the cowards who would like to agree
with him but haven’t the bottom. Mr. Hillier is correct in his assessment of
Sir Dogmael Jones. He will find himself alone. Upon my word, Lord
Wooten, you needn’t trouble yourself about him. Against him, or anyone
else who questions the wisdom of the Crown, I have taken great pains to
ensure that there are no see-sawing whifflers in
our
party!”