HMS Diamond (3 page)

      
"Yes, I guess it was."

      
"How is she doing by the way?"

      
"She’s doing very well, I suppose. I haven’t heard from her in a while."

      
"Do you miss her?"

      
Walker didn’t reply. Eventually Boult sighed and said, "I don’t know what to tell you my friend."

      
Several hours later Lucas Walker returned home. He walked down the narrow entrance hallway, passed the parlor and was about to enter his study when he noticed the day’s mail piled neatly on a hallway table. He idly picked up the letters and was shuffling through them when one packet in particular caught his attention. It was addressed from St. James Palace and bore an official government seal. He broke the seal, unfolded the letter and read:

His Royal Highness

George the Third

By the Grace of God, King of the United Kingdom

of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith.

Requests your presence at...

      
"Oh my God," Walker muttered to an empty room.

***

      
Buell Hall was one of Susan Whitney’s favorite places. Built in 1545, the red brick mansion was set on 150 beautifully manicured acres; but, gorgeous as the outside was, it was nothing compared to the inside. Shortly after entering the building you were confronted by the Golden Hall, a spectacular two-storey room filled with some of the finest works of art and antiques to be found anywhere in England. Kings and queens had visited Buell Hall, but Susan’s interest was in the mansion’s owner, John Stanhope.

      
If Buell was one of Susan’s favorite places, John Wesley Stanhope was one of her favorite people. He was an elderly man, well over 60, with a lucid intellect and a devilish twinkle in his eye that never seemed to go out. He was noted for his small, intimate dinner parties where some of the best minds in England were known to gather. On this particular evening, however, Susan was not there for the quality of his cuisine. She was a woman on a mission; for Stanhope had another characteristic that endeared him to her. He was a member of Parliament.

      
Susan’s carriage pulled up the long circular drive to the entrance and she emerged wearing the latest in
avant guarde
dress. No more corsets, dresses with hoops, high frizzled hair, and oversized hats for her. She wore a simple white chemise dress, with a narrow red sash tied just under her breasts. Providing the crowning touch was her "indispensable," a beaded handbag that was all the rage in Paris but had yet to become popular in England. It would have been controversial attire anywhere else, but not at a Stanhope dinner party.

      
Susan heard the footman ring a small bell notifying the guests that dinner would soon be served and equally notifying the kitchen that the food was to be sent up. Dinner this evening was to be served
à la russe
, a style introduced to England by the Russian Prince Kourakin. The table was laid out with all the necessary glasses and dinnerware, and beautifully decorated with fresh flowers; but dessert would be the only dish that would be laid directly on the table. All the other dishes were in steaming bowls and platters on a sideboard. From there a butler would place a portion of each dish on a plate and then serve the guest.

      
Susan sat down and noticed that there was a menu card propped up between her and a gentleman seated next to her. She was grateful for that as it allowed her to pace her eating accordingly. She recalled with embarrassment how unaware she was of this necessity when she first entered society as "Lady Whitney."

      
The dinner proceeded through three courses, after which everything was removed from the table, including the tablecloth, until only a fine linen sheet and the wine glasses remained. Three decanters filled with claret, port and sherry were placed on a little silver wagon in front of the host, who slid it to the person on his left. That person poured the beverage of her choice and slid the cart to the gentleman on her left, and so on around the table. Dessert was then served and all servants left the room to return only if summoned by a bell.

      
At this point the Stanhope dinner party departed from the norm. The usual etiquette was for the women to spend another 15 minutes with the gentlemen and then retire to the drawing room where tea and chocolates awaited them. Not so here. John Stanhope was a "free-thinker" who was as interested in female opinions as male. This was the moment for which Susan was waiting.

      
The discussion turned initially to what the dastardly Whigs were up to in Parliament, and then gravitated to various predictions as to whether the current turmoil in France might lead to another war. This is where Susan decided to jump in.

      
"Mr. Stanhope, do you think we can win another war with France with our educational system in the shape it’s in?"

      
It was a provocative statement as few could see any connection between the two. It was also just the kind of statement Stanhope loved.

      
"I am not sure I understand what you mean by your question," he said with a slight smile.

      
"Right now our government plays no role whatsoever in the education of our future citizens. I am just wondering if England can be competitive, not just in war but in anything, if we continue to fail at educating our people properly."

      
A gentleman from across the table spoke up. "I am afraid I am at as much of a loss as our host. What do you mean that we fail to educate our people properly? There are schools all over the country—hundreds of them."

      
"There are, but there aren’t. Yes, we have schools, but who goes to them? There are expensive boarding schools, for boys only, where they learn Greek, Latin, grammar, composition..."

      
"I seem to recall that all I learned was drinking, gambling and tormenting underclassmen," someone quipped, and everyone laughed, including Susan.

      
"I mean to say, these are elite places, and can cost upwards of £50 a year. Middle class families, if they can’t afford boarding schools, can always find private tutors. A good general tutor can be had for about £20 to £30 a year. But both of those options are out of the question for 90% of our population. You can’t hire a tutor for £20 or £30 a year if you’re only making £50 or less."

      
"Lady Whitney, you’re making it sound like the poor have no options at all," the man across the table opined. "That’s not true. We have both village charity schools and Sunday schools all over England. Some of our workhouses and foundling hospitals have schools. We even have a school on an old ship moored in the Thames River to teach poor boys to be sailors."

      
"That’s true, sir; but let’s look at each of those. Charity schools are all privately run. They quickly form then just as quickly close because of financial mismanagement, or a theological dispute occurs, or the teacher simply up and leaves. They’ve even been known to close simply because too many children were taking advantage of them.

      
"The Sunday schools are more broadly based, but the children only go to school for part of one day a week—Sunday—so as not to interfere with the labor they have to perform during the week. You mentioned ‘some workhouses and foundling hospitals.’ I would emphasize the word ‘some,’ because there are probably less than a dozen of those in the country."

      
She turned toward Stanhope again. "In a few years we’ll be entering the 19th Century and God knows what demands will be placed on our nation. How can a country ultimately be strong if 90% of its children are subject to such a hit or miss system?"

      
Stanhope still had an amused smile on his face, but Susan could tell he was taking her seriously.

      
"So what then would you do?"

      
"I believe every child in England should have access to a free, comprehensive, publicly-funded, education."

      
This brought a chorus of exclamations from the group focused either on the word "free," or the word "publicly-funded," or the word "every." When the commentary died down, Stanhope continued.

      
"And what would be the vehicle for this universal schooling of yours?"

      
"If I were in Parliament," she began, looking meaningfully at Stanhope, "I would pass a law dividing the country into districts with a school board elected in each. They would be responsible for providing the school buildings, teachers, books and whatever else. All children between the ages of 5 and 12 would be allowed to attend, and each school would receive governmental inspection."

      
"Who would pay for all this?"

      
"The government, supplemented by the parents."

      
This caused another stir, but Stanhope continued, "What happens if the parent could not afford to pay anything?"

      
"The children would go to school anyway. The board would have to pay it."

      
Another stir, but Stanhope waved them down. "And what would you teach these children?"

      
"As I said, it would be a comprehensive school. They would learn reading, writing, mathematics, the arts, the sciences, foreign languages, the whole gamut. Nothing would be off limits."

      
The man across the table interrupted again. "A moment ago you said they would be ‘allowed’ to go to school. Did you mean allowed, or did you mean ‘required’?

      
"I am sorry; I should have been more clear. I meant required."

      
This really set the table off because the social implications of that statement were enormous. After a while Stanhope restored order merely by looking around. The man continued.

      
"What happens if the parents do not want their child in school?"

      
"Why would they not?

      
"I can think of several reasons. To begin with, many families depend on the income their children bring in by working all week. In some cases they would starve without it. Is that what you want—for them to starve?

      
"And secondly, look at what you’re proposing be taught: reading, writing, the arts, the sciences."

      
"What’s wrong with that?"

      
"Because it will give these children ideas beyond their station, that’s what," he said with unexpected vehemence, "and ultimately that will cause nothing but unhappiness."

      
"What would you have them learn," Susan shot back. "Or would you rather they remain ignorant?"

      
"If I taught them anything at all—and that is a big if—it would be: obedience, discipline, personal hygiene, maybe a little mathematics for the boys and sewing for the girls. And I would certainly teach them to be deferential to authority and not steal things from their employers— ‘It is a sin to steal a pin’ —that sort of thing." Then softening, somewhat, he went on.

      
"Lady Whitney, I understand what you’re saying and I applaud you for your idealism. I yield to no one in my sympathy for the poor. But, surely, you can see that this is not the way to go about helping them."

      
Susan was getting madder the more she listened to the man. "I see no such thing," she sniffed.

      
Hoping to defuse what was shaping into a tense dialog, the soft voice of an elderly lady at the end of the table interjected.

      
"My dear, I have a question. When you say ‘all’ children, do you mean girls as well as boys would learn these things?"

      
"Yes, girls as well as boys."

      
That brought another round of comment from everyone. Stanhope finally got control by directing a question at a lady who had heretofore remained silent.

      
"Mrs. Fletcher, I believe you ran a girl’s school for a number of years, did you not?"

      
Mary Fletcher shifted in her chair, cleared her throat and spoke. "I did indeed. I founded it and taught there for over 20 years."

      
"Then what do you think of Lady Whitney’s ideas?"

      
"At last, some support" Susan thought.

      
"With all due deference to Lady Whitney, I think her ideas are preposterous.

      
"I certainly think education should be more widely available to girls, and I know our school certainly could have used some additional monies from time to time; but
what
you teach is more important than who pays for it.

      
"At my school we taught the poorer class of girls things they could actually use. We made them fit to be good servants. We got them used to getting up early, working hard and staying clean. They had no access to the frivolities that many children these days seem to spend half their time with.