His One Woman (6 page)

‘As much as any other man whom you allow to help you at a charity bazaar.' He smiled at old Mrs Nuttall who had come up to the stall, her busy, curious eyes on Miss Marietta Hope, who was dallying with that handsome young stranger in a manner quite unlike her usual dignified restraint.

‘Ah, madam,' he asked her cheerfully, ‘what may I sell you this afternoon? I regret that Miss Hope has been so successful that there is little left for you to choose from.'

‘Not Miss Hope,' cackled Mrs Nuttall. ‘She's not been selling much this fine afternoon. You've been far too busy chaffering with each other for her to find time to sell anything to outsiders. Not that I blame you for showing an interest in her, young man—she's worth ten of that cousin of hers. She'd always have your dinner on the table when you came home after a hard day's work, which is more than I
could say for Miss Flighty Hope if you were silly enough to settle for her—but then, you young men always go for show rather than quality!'

Marietta's face was one vast blush, but Jack, as befitted the true son of his father, was quite unruffled.

‘Dear lady, I can see that, were I considering marriage, you would have much useful advice to offer me. But since, this afternoon, my life is dedicated to selling each last bibelot on Miss Hope's stall before the day is over, then I must beg you to turn your undoubted talents to inspecting what is left—and choosing the best.'

Mrs Nuttall's answering cackle was so loud it had every head in the room turning and staring at them, including those of Alan, Sophie and Miss Percival, who had just finished their tea and were returning.

‘Land sakes, young man, with that silver tongue you should be a preacher, like Mrs Beecher Stowe's rascally brother. Why should I want any of this trumpery rubbish?'

Jack's smile was a masterpiece. ‘The poor children, madam: it is for their sake that you should buy something and offer up a tribute to charity.'

‘Don't madam me, young man. I'm Ida Nuttall, Mrs Ida Nuttall, and rather than take home something I don't want, I'll gladly give you a few dollars for the young 'uns.'

She pulled out a battered leather purse and extracted several dollars from it before pouring them into Jack's extended hand.

‘Thank you, Mrs Nuttall,' he told her gravely. ‘Great will be your reward in heaven.'

‘Oh, pish,' she threw at him. ‘I'd rather have my reward on earth by seeing Miss Marietta here married to a good man. Are you a good man, sir? By the look of you, I beg leave to doubt it.'

She gave another murderous cackle and strolled away.

Jack's answering laugh was rueful. He looked at Marietta and shook his head at her. Alan, who had arrived in time to hear Mrs Nuttall's last remark, said, with a grin, ‘And that's you pinned down, little brother. How did she come to that conclusion so rapidly?'

‘His silver tongue,' said Marietta, before Jack could speak. ‘She compared it to that of Mrs Beecher Stowe's brother, whom she thinks to be a rogue.'

‘Since I know nothing of the gentleman,' said Jack, as grave as a judge, or someone trying to solve a problem in logic, ‘you might tell me something of him so that I may know how apt the comparison is.'

‘That,' Marietta told him, ‘is easy. He's a reverend gentleman who has made a name for himself as a great preacher, full of morality and pious advice. But, and I hate to report this, there have been suggestions that the good reverend is one of those who preach Do as I say, not do as I do.'

‘Exactly like Jack, then,' offered Alan, at which the whole party burst out laughing, not least Jack himself.

‘It's a good thing I'm not a conceited fellow,' he
volunteered at last, ‘or else I should be thoroughly downcast after all this criticism, but since I'm not—'

He was not allowed to finish. Even Sophie, who had found all this banter difficult to follow and was furious that Marietta was once again the subject of interest and not herself, joined in the laughter.

Marietta had not enjoyed herself so much in years—for that matter, neither had Jack. The States—or rather their lively women—were providing him with more entertainment than he could have expected.

So he told his brother and Charles on the way back to their various lodgings. Alan took this somewhat unexpected news gravely.

‘In which of the two Hope cousins are you more interested, Jack?' he asked. ‘Either, both or neither? I should like to think that you were aware that although Miss Sophie Hope does not possess a heart to break, her cousin is quite another case. She could most easily be hurt by someone who ignored how vulnerable she is behind her collected exterior.'

‘Now, Alan,' said Jack, his easy smile moderating the sting of his reply. ‘You are only my big brother, not my father confessor. I'm only trying to bring a little gaiety into what seems to me to be Miss Marietta's rather arduous life—and I am well aware of the different nature of the two cousins.'

‘Excellent,' said Alan. ‘I am glad to hear it—big brothers are traditionally allowed to act as advisers to little brothers, you know.'

‘Agreed,' said Jack, ‘so long as they don't overdo it. Now, let us tell Charles that he has a busy day ahead of him tomorrow. In the morning you are compelling us both to accompany you to the gymnasium you have discovered not too far from your lodgings, and in the afternoon we have all been invited to attend a Congressional committee which is meeting in the Capitol itself. That should make for an interesting day, should it not? Physical work in the morning and mental in the afternoon. It will be our duty to see that Her Majesty's unofficial envoy to the United States government doesn't arrive at the Capitol too heavily marked after his morning's exertions.'

Charles laughed. One of the pleasures of meeting his patron's brother had been to discover that what Lord Knaresborough, who was Alan's mentor, had once said was true: that, judging by what Alan had told him, all the Dilhorne family were as remarkable as he was. Charles could not help wondering what the other members of it were like, particularly Thomas, who had become Fred. Was it because the Patriarch had been transported, and had spent his life away from England and its formal society, that they had turned out so strikingly original?

Like Alan, Charles was beginning to wonder which of the Hope cousins was engaging Jack's attention. He had thought at first that it was Sophie, which would have left the field open for him to pay court to Marietta, to whom he was becoming increasingly drawn. Lately, however, it seemed to be Mar
ietta on whom Jack was fixed and that, sadly for his own wishes, she was attracted to Jack—indeed, had eyes for no one else.

Marietta herself, once the Dilhorne party had left, was confessing the same thing to herself. Her feelings for Jack had become such that in his presence every other man he was with seemed extinguished by him. Jealous Sophie, watching them, seethed inwardly.

It wasn't fair! She had met Jack first and she could have sworn that he had instantly been powerfully attracted to her; and then he had met Marietta on the afternoon she had been wasting her time on silly duty calls, and everything had changed.

How in the world could such a plain elderly stick as Marietta charm someone so lively and amusing as Jack? Was it his nasty brother—for Sophie had begun to suspect that Alan was not as charmed by her as he appeared to be—who had turned him against her? Yes, that was it—and Charles Stanton was no better: he had eyes only for Marietta and treated her, Sophie, as though she were his troublesome little sister.

Well, just let her get an opportunity to dish Plain Jane's hopes with them all, and she wouldn't waste a minute before she took her revenge. She hadn't come to Washington to be outshone by her own elderly duenna—by no means.

‘I
don't understand why you were so determined that Charles and I should accompany you,' Jack grumbled to Alan on the following morning when they entered Clanton's gymnasium. ‘You know that I don't share your enthusiasm for the noble art, and nor, I gather, does Charles.'

‘A good experience for you both,' Alan told him lightly. ‘Wouldn't do for you to enjoy yourself all the time. Bad for you. To my certain knowledge Charles has never visited such a place before. No need for either of you to feel that you have to take any pleasure in visiting a gym. Just savour a new experience.'

‘So noted,' said Charles sardonically, looking around the big room and making for some chairs which were strategically placed to have the best view of the ring set up in its centre.

Jack joined him, amused to see Alan stroll up and begin to try to charm a burly Yankee who had im
mediately made it plain that he hated all the English, and English aristocrats most of all. He gave a great guffaw when Alan informed him that he had come for a light workout in the ring.

‘Nothing punishing,' Alan said. ‘I'm too old for that, and I don't want my face marked. Wouldn't do. I'm merely trying to keep my weight down.'

Jack and Charles, amused, watched the way in which Clanton's face and manner changed when Alan stripped off and performed in the ring. Despite his size and his age there was little spare fat on him and, although he knew that time had robbed him of much of his speed and power, he was still as light on his feet and as tricky as ever.

Clanton had warned his bruiser not to damage the gentleman but, watching them, he had to admit, if grudgingly, that a few years ago the large Englishman must have been a formidable opponent.

After the session was over Alan sat on the stool in the corner of the ring, panting heavily as he towelled off: the sweat was running down his body.

‘Enjoyed yourself?' queried Clanton with a grin.

Alan dropped the towel from his face and gasped an answer.

‘Yes, but good God, I'm winded. I'm an old man these days.'

His trunk was scarlet where the boy who had been his opponent had caught him. He flexed his hand and sucked at his knuckles, aching though he had been using gloves in practice.

‘I can't do this too often now, nor do it properly. I can't afford to spoil my gentlemanly looks.'

He offered Clanton his wolfish grin, having grasped that he had dispelled the man's original antagonism after he had revealed how remarkable a performer he had once been.

‘Ruthless devil, aren't you?' said Clanton, who had known his man the moment he had seen him in action and, being a hard man himself, recognised another when he saw one.

‘Yes,' said Alan. ‘It runs in the family.' He jerked his thumb at the watching Jack who sat, a picture of easy amiability, beside the silent Charles.

‘Does
he
want a go, a real go?' asked Clanton eagerly.

‘Not I,' said Jack. ‘I stick at riding and the foils. Soaking up that sort of punishment isn't my idea of fun.'

‘And poking about with long-bladed table-knives isn't mine,' said Alan. He used one of his repertoire of comic faces after rising and saying, ‘I shall be stiff for the rest of the day.'

‘Come again,' invited Clanton before Alan strode off to dress. ‘You were good once. Pity to go to seed too much.'

Alan shook his head. ‘Thank you, but no. I'm too old and too busy—but you've a nice set-up here.'

Improbably that afternoon, since Jack had never expected to end up in such grand company, Alan took them both to the Hill. They walked through the
Capitol for the first time, admiring the murals, even if they did represent the surrender of British troops under Burgoyne during the American Revolution.

Later Alan presented them to Gideon Welles, President Lincoln's Secretary to the Navy, whom Alan had already met, and a group of his associates who gazed suspiciously at the three Britishers—as they supposed them all to be.

Watching his brother, cold and inscrutable beneath his false veneer of an idle English gentleman who was drawling his incomprehension of the strange new world in which he found himself, Jack found it difficult to associate him with the grinning bruiser of the morning. He had not known Alan very well before he had settled in England, and now he found himself wondering which of the many masks his brother wore was that of the true man.

Senator Hope arrived in the middle of the discussion, his handsome old face alight with pleasure at the sight of the brothers and Charles. Like the others, though, he was putting pressure on Alan, trying to influence him in favour of the North. There was no doubt that Lincoln's government was suspicious of the British whom they thought, with some justification, favoured the South. They were trying to impress on Alan during these semi-formal conversations that they were worried that English ship-builders might give an advantage to the Southern rebels. The names of Lairds and Liverpool popped in and out of the conversation.

Alan's deceitful manner enabled him to give little
away. He had introduced Jack as his brother who was knowledgeable about shipping and was by way of being a marine engineer and architect, too. He had been involved in the building of Sydney's first dry-dock at Balmain while still young, Alan said, and like Charles he was interested in the development of iron-clad ships, both for civilian use and for war.

‘Thank you, Mr Dilhorne,' Welles said. ‘We would now like to question your associate, Mr Charles Stanton—more properly Viscount Stanton, we understand—and your brother also.'

Someone had been doing their homework, thought Jack, preparing to be quizzed.

‘Mr Stanton, please,' said Charles in reply to a question about his experience. ‘I have been working with Cowper Coles, the British naval officer and designer, and one of my recent tasks was to assist him to design and build the first semi-iron-clad warship for the British Navy. Fortunately, or unfortunately,' he added, ‘we have not had the opportunity to use it in action.'

This brought a few laughs, but one fierce-looking frontier type, who obviously held all Britishers in contempt, and was a little annoyed to find them let loose on the Hill, said contemptuously, ‘We have as yet no iron-clads in these United States. I consider their possibilities in war to be greatly overrated.'

After that discussion grew brisk. A little clerk took notes and Jack was at pains to suggest that he was an amateur in such matters compared with Charles. He spoke of his wish to meet John Ericsson, the
Swedish designer and ship-builder who lived in New York, and it was evident that many present had heard of him.

A naval officer, covered in gold braid, came in and joined in the discussion which grew rapidly into an argument. He, too, was contemptuous of Charles's quiet assertion that iron-clads would alter naval battle tactics. The talk grew so lively that Jack could not help thinking how much Marietta would have enjoyed it. The traditionalist naval officer grew verbally violent in pressing his belief that iron-clads would never be capable of fighting effective battles on the high seas.

‘But it will come,' said Charles firmly, Jack nodding at his side, ‘and soon. For if war breaks out here I am prepared to wager that iron ships will fight it out, somewhere, somehow.'

‘So you say,' said the naval officer, tempting Jack to put his oar in to support Charles, but Charles did not need his support: beneath his quiet exterior he was a most determined young man. Hammer and tongs they went at it, and the frock-coated politicians stroked their chins and listened. Charles had the advantage of knowing at first hand what the European navies were doing and Jack listened carefully to him.

In the middle of all this a tall, dry-looking man came in and took Welles to one side, to speak to him at length. After his departure, Welles returned to the table, put up a hand for silence and said, ‘Our discussion comes apropos, gentlemen. I have further news from Fort Sumter. The would-be rebels expect
us to evacuate it—nay, they have demanded that we do so—but we are standing firm. It cannot hold for ever, and if they fire on us, the fort will fall—and the Union with it.'

The little group fell silent, and for the first time Jack felt the hand of war heavy on them all. Sumter had dominated conversations for days, and it was a matter of agreement that, if it were attacked, war was inevitable.

Welles turned to Alan, who had been listening to the discussion with great attention.

‘You see our concern plain, suh.' He had a turn of speech common to many American politicians, orotund and formal. ‘And when you return and report back to your masters, why, you will do so from the horse's mouth.'

‘Always remembering that my role is an unofficial one,' said Alan. ‘But I have heard what you have to say and will so note when I reach home.'

Jack saw Charles give a subtle smile when his brother said this. Shortly afterwards the meeting broke up, but it was agreed that all present would dine at Willard's that night. Jack knew that Alan would come under fire again, but this did not seem to trouble him.

Walking down Capitol Hill, Alan suddenly laughed out loud and said to Jack and Charles, ‘Men are the same the world over; never forget that, and you cannot go wrong. Having dealt with Chartists and Rothschilds and now with these horse-trading
Yankees, I find the same patterns hold good. They will try to get me to drink heavily tonight in the hope that I might commit myself—and they will try to ply the two of you with drink as well. I shall drink bumper for bumper, smile and smile, and give nothing away until it pays me to—and you must do the same. We shall all have thick heads in the morning.'

He stopped, and stretched himself, his arms held high, so that passers-by smiled indulgently at the big man. For his part, Jack grew ever more convinced that he shared with Alan and Thomas and their dead father a zest for life and conflict which added spice to their days and gave form and meaning to that which without it would be empty and void…

Jack called on the Hopes on his way home. He had much to tell them and, besides, he wanted to see Marietta again. Instead, he found Sophie installed in the parlour, drinking tea with Aunt Percival. They both welcomed him warmly.

Sophie said, ‘What a pity, Marietta has just gone upstairs to copy some notes for the Senator. Never mind, I'm sure that we can entertain you. Will you be going to the Van Horns' Ball tomorrow evening? I shall be sure to look after you if you are.'

‘Yes, we are all invited. It seems that we have become one of the curiosities of Washington—or perhaps it might be more truthful to say that Charles and Alan have. They are the ones who are the old English gentlemen, not me.'

‘Oh, no,' said Sophie vigorously. ‘I'm sure that
you're wrong there. You are so much more like we Americans than Charles and Alan and are therefore more welcome.'

Jack made a suitably modest reply. Aunt Percival excused herself for a moment, and Sophie took the opportunity to lean forward and say, ‘Now we may speak at ease. I never seem to say anything of which Aunt Percival approves when we are together. Of course, she thinks Marietta is the pink of perfection, but we cannot all be serious all the time, can we?'

‘No, indeed,' said Jack, although he was thinking that one of Sophie's problems might be that she could never be serious at any time. One could forgive her, though. She was such a sweet young thing in her pretty pink-and-white toilette with a small posy of artificial rosebuds at her throat and a pale blue sash around her tiny waist. Age would perhaps mature her: after all, she was not yet twenty.

They were not to be left alone long, though. Aunt Percival reappeared with Marietta in her train. The look Sophie threw her would have slain a tiger at six paces. It was really too bad of the silly old woman to drag Marietta downstairs when she had had Jack to herself for once.

Inevitably the nature of the tea party took quite a different turn with Plain Jane there. Marietta wanted to know how Jack and the rest had fared on Capitol Hill, and insisted on hearing all the details. She tried to bring Sophie into the conversation, but to no avail.

‘I am sick of hearing about the war,' she complained. ‘It's all anyone wishes to talk about these
days. Why can't they wait until it starts? If it does, that is. Nothing could be more horrid.'

What could her hearers say to her that would not distress her the more?

Jack said, ‘Not everything takes second place to the coming war, Sophie, although it is not surprising that everyone is obsessed by it. You must allow me to escort you, Miss Marietta and Miss Percival to the theatre before we leave, and we can forget war and its pains while we are there. I hear that Edwin Booth's acting is so remarkable that he would put his London rivals to shame were he to visit England.'

He could see at once that this was not at all what Sophie wanted to hear. An evening at the theatre which included Marietta would be no fun at all. Why did he wish to drag her along?

‘It is too bad,' she complained. ‘Just when I came to Washington, too. None of my cousins had to compete with a war.'

‘On the other hand,' Jack said with a smile, ‘it's most likely that if it were not for the coming war then Alan, Charles and I would never have visited the States.'

‘There is that,' she admitted. ‘But you will not be staying in Washington long, I understand. Do you have to leave so soon?'

‘Not so soon as Alan and Charles, but soon enough, I fear. All the more reason, then, for us to enjoy ourselves now.'

‘You could come with us to the Wades' soirée this
evening, perhaps,' she said eagerly. ‘They would be sure to welcome you.'

‘Alas, we are all invited tonight to a great official jamboree in my brother's honour at Willard's. It would be tactless if I were not to attend, seeing that they made such a point of inviting us all, so I fear that I must decline your kind offer.'