Traitors Gate (10 page)

“I do, Mrs. Chancellor,” he agreed. “But unfortunately that does not give me any power to affect it. It will happen regardless of anything I can do.”

“What will happen?” she persisted.

“Cecil Rhodes and his wagons of settlers will press further up from the Cape into Zambezia,” he answered, looking at her with intensity. “And one by one the native princes will make treaties they don’t understand and don’t intend to keep. We will settle the land, kill those who rebel, and there will be slaughter and subjection of God knows
how many people. Unless, of course, the Germans beat us to it, driving westward from Zanzibar, in which case they will do the same, only worse—if past history is anything to judge from.”

“Rubbish!” Chancellor said with good humor. “If we settle Mashonaland and Matabeleland we can develop the natural resources there for everyone’s good, African and white alike. We can bring them proper medicine, education, trade, civilized laws and a code of society which protects the weak as well as the strong. Far from being Africa’s tragedy, it would be the making of it.”

Kreisler’s eyes were hard and bright, but he looked only momentarily at Chancellor, then turned to Susannah. She had been listening to him with rapt attention, not with agreement, but rather with growing anxiety.

“That’s not what you used to say.” She looked at Chancellor with a crease between her brows.

His smile had only the barest shadow behind the obvious affection. “Perceptions change, my dear. One becomes wiser.” He shrugged very slightly. “I now know a great deal that I did not two or three years ago. The rest of Europe is going to colonize Africa, whether we do or not. France, Belgium, Germany at least. And the Sultan of Turkey is nominally overlord of the Khedive of Egypt, with all that means to the Nile, and thus to the Sudan and Equatoria.”

“It means nothing at all,” Kreisler said abruptly. “The Nile flows northward. I’d be surprised if anyone in Equatoria had even heard of Egypt.”

“I am thinking of the future, Mr. Kreisler, not the past.” Chancellor was not in the least perturbed. “When the great rivers of Africa are among the world’s highways of trade. The time will come when we will ship the gold and diamonds, exotic woods, ivory and skins of Africa along those great waterways as easily as we now ship coal and grain along the Manchester ship canal.”

“Or the Rhine,” Susannah said thoughtfully.

“If you like,” Chancellor agreed. “Or the Danube, or any other great river you can think of.”

“But Europe is so often at war,” Susannah went on. “Over land, or religion, or any of a dozen other things.”

He looked at her, smiling. “My dear, so is Africa. The tribal chieftains are always fighting one another. That is one of the reasons why all our attempts to wipe out slavery kept on failing. Really, the benefits are immense, and the costs relatively minor.”

“To us, possibly,” Kreisler said sourly. “What about to the Africans?”

“To the Africans as well,” Chancellor answered him. “We shall bring them out of the pages of history and into the nineteenth century.”

“That is exactly what I was thinking.” Susannah was not convinced. “Transitions as sudden as that are not made without a terrible wrench. Maybe they don’t want our ways? We are forcing them upon a whole nation without taking their opinions into account at all.”

A spark of intense interest, even excitement, lit for a moment in Kreisler’s eyes, and then as quickly was masked, as if deliberately.

“Since they cannot conceive what we are talking about,” Chancellor said wryly, “they can hardly have an opinion!”

“Then we are deciding for them,” she pointed out.

“Naturally.”

“I am not certain we have the right to do that.”

Chancellor looked surprised, and somewhat derisive, but he held his tongue tactfully. Apparently no matter how eccentric his wife’s opinions, he did not wish to embarrass her publicly.

Beneath the surface argument he seemed to feel a confidence in her that overrode such things.

Nobby Gunne was looking at Kreisler. Christabel Thorne was watching everyone, each in turn.

“I was listening to Sir Arthur Desmond the other day,” Susannah continued with a slight shake of her head.

Charlotte grasped her empty champagne glass so tightly it nearly shot out of her fingers.

“Desmond?” Chancellor frowned.

“From the Foreign Office,” Susannah elaborated. “At least he used to be. I am not sure if he is there anymore. But he was most concerned about the subject of exploitation of Africa. He did not believe we would do it honorably at all….”

Chancellor put his hand over hers very gently.

“My dear, I am grieved to have to tell you, but Sir Arthur Desmond died about two days ago, apparently by his own hand. He is not a source to be quoted with any authority.” He looked suitably sad.

“No he didn’t kill himself!” Charlotte burst out before thinking whether it was in the least wise, or would serve her purposes. All she could think of was Matthew’s weary face and his distress, and Pitt’s love for a man who had befriended him. “It was an accident!” she added in defense.

“I apologize,” Chancellor said quickly. “I meant that he brought about the situation himself, whether by carelessness or design. Unfortunately it seems he was losing the clarity of mind he used to have.” He turned back to his wife. “Thinking of Africans as noble savages, and wishing that they should remain so, is a sentimentality history does not allow. Sir Arthur was a fine man, but naive. Africa is going to be opened up by us or by others. Best for Britain and for Africa that it should be us.”

“Would it not be better for Africa if we made treaties to protect them and keep Africa as it is?” Kreisler asked with apparent innocence which was belied by both his expression and the hard, thin edge to his voice.

“For adventurers and hunters like yourself?” Chancellor asked with raised eyebrows. “A sort of endless playground for explorers, with no civilized law to dictate anything at all.”

“I am not a hunter, Mr. Chancellor, nor am I a scout for others,” Kreisler rejoined. “An explorer, I accept. And I
leave both the land and the people as I found them. Mrs. Chancellor has an excellent moral point. Have we the right to make decisions for other people?”

“Not only the right, Mr. Kreisler,” Chancellor replied with absolute conviction. “Also the obligation when the others concerned have neither the knowledge nor the power to do it for themselves.”

Kreisler said nothing. He had already registered his feelings. He looked instead at Susannah, his face thoughtful.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I am ready for supper,” Christabel said in the momentary silence which followed. She turned to Kreisler. “Mr. Kreisler, since we outnumber you two to one, I am obliged to ask you to offer us an arm each to conduct us down the stairs. Miss Gunne, do you mind sharing Mr. Kreisler with me?”

There was only one possible answer, and Nobby gave it with a charming smile.

“Of course not. I shall be only too pleased. Mr. Kreisler?”

Kreisler offered his arms, and escorted Christabel and Nobby to supper.

Linus Chancellor did the same for Charlotte and Susannah, and together they swept down the great staircase, where at the bottom Charlotte recognized Pitt, who had been speaking to a very quiet, self-possessed man, quite bald, whom she judged to be nearer fifty than forty. He had round, pale blue eyes, a rather long nose, and a sense of calm about him, as if he knew some inner secret which was infinitely satisfying.

Pitt introduced him as Ian Hathaway, also of the Colonial Office, and when he spoke, Hathaway had the kind of voice, and perfect diction, that she felt she must have known him before, or at least met him.

She thanked Linus Chancellor and Susannah, and then found herself accompanied by two men as she approached the supper table, which held every kind of cold delicacy: pies, cold meats, fish, game, preserves in aspic, pastries of
all sorts, and a multitude of ices, sherberts, jellies and creams amid crystal, flowers, candles and silver. The conversation at once became more sporadic, and largely meaningless.

    Vespasia woke late the following morning, but with a considerable feeling of pleasure. She had enjoyed the reception more than usual. It had been a very grand affair and its splendor had brought back pleasant memories of her prime when she had commanded the admiration of every man who saw her, when she had danced the nights away and still risen early to ride in Rotten Row and return home with the blood pounding in her veins and ready to face a day of involvement in a dozen causes and intrigues.

She was still sitting in bed lazily eating her breakfast, smiling to herself, when her ladies’ maid came to say that Mr. Eustace March had called to see her.

“Good gracious! What time is it?” she asked.

“Quarter past ten, m’lady.”

“Whatever brings Eustace here at this time of the morning? Has he lost his pocket watch?”

Eustace March was her son-in-law, the widower of her late daughter, Olivia, who had borne him a large number of children and died comparatively young. Her marriage had been her own choice, but one Vespasia had never understood; nor had she found it easy to like Eustace. He was in every way her opposite. But it was Olivia who had married him, and as far as it was possible to judge from exteriors, he had made her happy.

“Shall I tell him to wait, m’lady? Or should I say you are unavailable today and he should come back another time?”

“Oh no. If he can wait, tell him I shall be down in half an hour.”

“Yes m’lady.” She withdrew obediently to deliver the message to the parlormaid to give to Eustace.

Vespasia finished her tea and set the tray aside. It would
take her half an hour at least to prepare for the day satisfactorily. Her maid had returned and was waiting to assist her, and she rose and began with a wash in hot water and scented soap.

    She entered the cool, classically spacious withdrawing room and saw Eustace standing by the window looking into the garden. He was a very solid man, very robust. He believed intensely in good health as a fundamental Christian virtue, to be coupled with sanity of mind, and thus a proper balance in all things. He approved of plenty of long walks in fresh air, open windows regardless of the weather, a fine appetite, cold baths and good sportsmanship as an ideal of manhood.

He turned around with a smile as he heard Vespasia come in. His rather grizzled hair was grayer than last time she had seen him, and definitely receding a little at the front, but as always he had a good color and a clear eye.

“Good morning, Mama-in-law, how are you? Well, I hope?” He seemed in particularly fine spirits, and obviously had something he wished to say to her. His enthusiasm was bursting from him and she was afraid he was going to grip her hand and wring it.

“Good morning, Eustace. Yes, I am very well, thank you.”

“You are quite sure? You are up a little late. Early is best, you know. Good for the circulation. A good walk would make you feel fit for anything.”

“For my bed again,” she said dryly. “I did not get home until three in the morning. I attended the reception at the Duchess of Marlborough’s. It was most enjoyable.” She sat down in her favorite chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Eustace? You have not come simply to enquire after my health. You could have done that with a letter. Please do sit down. You look so restless standing there, bristling with energy; as if you were about to leave even as you tell me what is on your mind.”

Eustace obeyed, but perched on the edge of his chair, as if relaxing would put a strain on him more than he could bear.

“I have not been to call on you for some time, Mama-in-law. I came principally to rectify that omission and to see how you are. I am delighted to find you so well.”

“Rubbish,” she said with a smile. “You have something to tell me. It is on the tip of your tongue. What is it?”

“Nothing specific, I assure you,” he reiterated. “Are you still engaged in fighting for social reforms?” He leaned back in the chair at last and crossed his hands over his stomach.

She found his manner irritating, but perhaps that was more due to memory than anything in the present. It had been his intolerable bullying and insensitivity which had at least in part precipitated the tragedy which had overtaken the whole family in Cardington Crescent. Only afterwards had he been even touched with the slightest perception of his own part in it. For a brief period he had been bewildered and ashamed. It had passed rapidly, and now he was fully back to his original ebullience and the total conviction that he was right in all his major beliefs and opinions. Like many people of intense physical energy and good health, he had an ability to forget the past and proceed with the present.

Nevertheless, she found his attitude patronizing, like that of a benevolent schoolmaster.

“Now and then,” she replied coolly. “I have also entertained myself with renewing some old acquaintances.” She did not tell him that the principal among these was Thelonius Quade, a high court judge some twenty years her junior, who had in the past been an ardent admirer, deeply in love with her. The friendship, reawoken, was increasingly precious to her. That was something she did not wish to share with Eustace. “And also there are Thomas Pitt’s cases,” she added truthfully, although she knew Eustace would not like it. Apart from its being socially unacceptable
to involve oneself with the police, it would far more piquantly bring back his own memories, griefs, and probably even guilt.

“I think that is rather unsuitable, Mama-in-law,” he said with a frown. “Especially when there is so much that is worthy to be done. I have never minded your eccentricities now and then, but …” He stopped. Vespasia’s eyes froze him and the rest of his sentence died on his lips.

“How generous of you,” she said icily.

“What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean, Eustace. This whole conversation is unnecessary. I know what you wish to say, and you know what my reply will be. You do not approve of my friendship with Thomas and Charlotte, still less of my assisting them now and again. I have every intention of continuing, and do not consider it to be any of your concern.” She smiled at him very slightly. “Shall we proceed from there? Do you have some particular worthy cause in mind in which you think I should be involved?”