Филиппа Карр: The Black Swan

I would sit listening to them as they talked over dinner-my father, Sir John and Joel. Lady Greenham would try to engage me and Celeste in conversation, and I would make a great effort not to be drawn in, so that I could hear the men talk. My father was always fiercely authoritative, Sir John amused and a little half hearted. Joel would take up the points made by my father and when he did not agree with them he would put forth his views in what I considered to be a concise and clever way. I could see that my father thought so, too. I enjoyed listening to them; and I loved them both dearly.

It had been a century-old tradition with the Greenhams that there must be one politician in the family. Sir John had held the seat at Marchlands for many years and gave it up when Joel was ready to step into his shoes. Since taking it Joel had increased the already sizeable majority.

There was an ancestral home at Marchlands in Essex, close to Epping Forest, so not very far from London, which was convenient, but they had the house in Westminster. Although Sir John was no longer an active member of the House, his life had been politics and he spent a great deal of time in London. He said he liked to be under the shadow of Big Ben. There was another son-Gerald-who was in the army. I saw him from time to time; he was amusing and charming, but it was Joel whom I loved. Lady Greenham was one of those women who manage their families with skill and are inclined to hold anything outside family affairs as of no real importance. I fancied she thought that masculine pursuits which aroused such fierce interest in her men folk were some game, such as they had played in their childhoods, and she would watch them with pursed lips and a mildly contemptuous indulgence that implied she was perfectly agreeable that they should play their little games, as long as they remembered that she was the custodian of the family laws laid down for them. I looked forward to a little conversation with Joel. Celeste always put me beside him at table and my father clearly thought that was a good idea. In fact, I think there was between him and Celeste-and perhaps Sir John and Lady Greenham shared in this-a belief that it might be a good idea, if in due course Joel and I married and united the two families.

As the daughter of Benedict Lansdon I would be acceptable to the Greenhams and Joel would be so to my family. It was a cozy implication, and in the meantime I continued to enjoy my friendship with Joel.

I think the two families looked forward to being together. Celeste was happy in the company of Lady Greenham. They would talk of matters of which Celeste was very knowledgeable; and she seemed to find confidence in Lady Greenham’s approval. Joel was talking of the possibilities of our spending a week or so at Marchlands when Parliament was in recess. I looked forward to that. The Greenhams sometimes stayed with us at Manorleigh so we saw a good deal of each other both in London and in the country.

My father was saying something about an African project and even Lady Greenham paused in her conversation with Celeste to listen.

“It’s coming up for discussion,” my father said. “It seems a good idea to send out a few members. They’ll be chosen with care from both parties. The government will want an unbiased view. Well, it is not really a matter of party politics.”

“What part of Africa is this?” asked Sir John.

“Buganda. There has been some trouble since Mwanga took over. When Mtesa was kabaka things ran more smoothly. With Mwanga it’s quite a different case. There were the martyrs, you remember. And now, of course, we are extending our sphere of influence.”

“Were the Germans in on this?” asked Sir John.

“There was the Anglo-German agreement, of course, but this was revoked recently, and that area embracing Buganda is to be under our influence. Hence the interest.”

“Are they going to send some Members of Parliament out there then?” I asked.

“It’s the usual procedure. To spy out the land and see how they are received ... what impression they get. It’s a rich country. We want to make sure that the best is made of it.”

“Who are the martyrs of Buganda?” I wanted to know.

“They were African Roman Catholics,” Joel explained. “There were twenty-three of them. It happened a few years back... round about ‘87 ... and a little before that, too. The first mission was accepted by Mtesa. It was when Mwanga came to power that the trouble started. He organized a massacre of missionaries. An English bishop, James Hannington, with his band of missionaries was murdered. So you see, we have to step in because it looks as though before long Buganda will become a British Protectorate.”

“And when is the jaunt going to take place?” Sir John asked my father. “Fairly soon, I should think,” he replied. “It is very important that the right people should go. The situation will require a certain tact.” He was looking at Joel. “I think it would be very good for one’s reputation to be a member of the party.”

“Are you going?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, most definitely not. It’s a job for younger men. I’ve got too many irons in the fire here. So have others. It’s for a strong and healthy young man. The climate needs a bit of withstanding. It needs a man with a little prestige... he’ll have something to show his party and the people that he is capable of action.”

“You are looking at me,” said Joel.

“Well ... it might be an idea.”

“It sounds exciting,” I said.

“Yes,” replied Joel slowly.

“Well, who knows?” went on my father. “No one has been chosen yet, but I should say you have a very good chance, Joel... with a nod in the right direction.”

“It would be a great experience.”

“As long as you don’t get eaten by the cannibals,” put in Lady Greenham. “I believe they have them in those outlandish places. And there are fevers and all sorts of unpleasant animals.”

Everyone laughed.

“It’s true,” added Lady Greenham. “And I think it’s about time to let these natives get on with their killing. Let them kill each other and that will be an end of them.”

“It was an English bishop whom they killed, Lady Greenham,” I said.

“Well, he should have stayed at home in England.”

“My dear,” said Sir John mildly, “where should we be today if everyone had followed your advice?”

“We should be sitting at this table!” she retorted. “And those who went would be massacred or eaten or die of fever.”

It was always Lady Greenham who had the last word. But I could see that Joel was rather excited by the prospect of going with the mission to Africa. Then the talk turned to the burning question of the next election and speculation as to when it could be expected to take place. There seemed to be no doubt that Gladstone would be returned to power. The important point was with how big a majority.

Joel and I walked along by the Serpentine. We sometimes rode in Rotten Row while we were in London, but not very often. It was when we were at Marchlands or Manorleigh that we indulged our passion for horses. But we did enjoy walking in the parks-Green Park, St. James’s, Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. One could walk through one to the other and almost feel that one was in the country, only occasionally coming out into the traffic which was considerably muted when one was under the trees or strolling along the sylvan paths.

We sat by the Serpentine and watched the ducks.

I said to him, “Do you really think that you will go to Africa?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “If I were chosen I suppose I would.”

“My father thinks it would be good for your career.”

“He’s right. He always is.”