Филиппа Карр - The Black Swan

“Well, we shall have to wait and see,” said Lady Greenham. “Some people might want a change but I cannot believe our tenants and the people here would be so foolish.” Nor could any of us visualize Joel’s not holding his seat. There came the thrill of Election Day. We were all gathered in the town hall at Manorleigh to hear the result. It was as we had expected-a decisive victory for my father. That night a messenger came over from Manorleigh with the news that Joel had sailed safely through, his majority intact.

Alas, the party did not fare so well. Gladstone had his majority but it was a small one and that meant that the future did not look so promising.

He went down to Osborne in the Isle of Wight to kiss the Queen’s hand, at which she showed no great pleasure. So there was the Grand Old Man ready to take office once more, and if his health was feeble, his convictions were as strong as ever. So the Liberals were in power in spite of an election victory with such a slender majority which meant that the reforms they wanted to get through would stand a good chance of being thrown out by the Opposition. It boded ill for the length of the Parliament. It was a Pyrrhic victory.

The government staggered along and, perhaps because of its difficulties, almost a year elapsed before the question of the mission to Buganda was raised. It was late August which was a year since Mr. Gladstone had gone to Osborne to kiss the Queen’s hand when the mission was ready to depart, and Joel was one of the chosen six.

Two days before his departure, my father gave a dinner party so that all friends and well-wishers could say good-bye to Joel.

It was a wonderful evening, although there was some depression among members of the government, for they were wondering how long they could totter on; but it was a triumph for Joel, as one of the younger members of the House, to have been selected for this important mission.

After the men had left their port and joined the ladies in the drawing room, Joel and I sat together.

“Everything is going well,” he said. “I don’t know how long I shall be away. Not more than two months, I imagine, and then ...”

“I don’t think they will be very surprised,” I said.

“Isn’t it comforting that we shall be doing what they all want?”

“Oh yes. It is nice to please people.”

“Though,” added Joel, “I want you to know, Lucie, that if we had had to face opposition... even from your father ... it would have made no difference.”

“I’m glad of that,” I replied. “Yes ... I am so glad.”

My father came over to us.

“You sound very vehement,” he said. “May I ask what you are so glad about?”

I hesitated.

“Secrets?” he asked.

I looked at Joel and I knew he understood what I was asking. Tacit agreement passed between us.

I said, “When Joel comes back from Buganda we ... we thought about becoming engaged.”

My father’s pleasure was apparent.

“That,” he said, “seems to me an excellent idea.”

“We had already fixed it and were saying how pleased we were because we knew it was what you all wanted.”

“So that is what you were so firmly glad about. How right you are. It was what we have always had in mind for you both.”

“It’s a secret at the moment,” I said. “Among just the three of us. We want to wait until Joel comes back from Buganda.”

“Wonderful timing!” He was beaming at us. I had rarely seen him so pleased.

I was glad afterward that we had told him that night.

My father, Celeste and I went to Southampton to see Joel off on the P & O liner. There was quite a celebration. The press was present to report the departure of the Members of Parliament and to give their views on the Buganda project with some enthusiasm. My father said a few words to them and we went on board and drank champagne before the vessel sailed.

“This will be the making of Joel,” he said as we traveled back to London. “He is very young and to be chosen for such a mission is an honor. I do wish our hold on the government was a bit more firm. Salisbury is determined to get us out and with our tiny majority how can we stop him? We’re powerless to do so.” It was very shortly afterward when Mr. Gladstone introduced his Home Rule Bill for Ireland. My father was very preoccupied. He told me during one of our sessions that he was convinced the Irish question would destroy Gladstone and put the party out of office.

He was becoming increasingly aware that he was in something of a dilemma, which was unusual for him. Generally he was so certain that he was right. He at length admitted to me that he was not at all sure that Gladstone’s solution was the right one. He was torn with doubts. He felt the government was going in the wrong direction and could not last much longer. His own hopes of Cabinet rank were slipping farther and farther away from him. He was a man who, once he had determined to achieve something, could not lightly give up.

I began to realize that during that time he was trying to come to a decision. He admitted to me on one occasion that he shared the view of the Opposition on the Bill. What if he went against his leader? What would his hopes for further advancement in the party be then? Did he owe his loyalty to his leader or to his conscience? Could he give his support to something he did not believe in? On the other hand, could he be disloyal to the party?

We talked about it endlessly. His opinion swayed. He was, after all, a very ambitious man; and he was no longer young. He could not change sides now. There was something suspect about a man who changed sides. People usually said it was done to gain advantages. But he did feel strongly about the Irish question.

“You see,” he said to me, “the PM is growing old ... many say too old. He had great flair in his heyday. I’d say he was one of the greatest politicians this country has ever known; but he gets obsessions. After all, there were those years when he embarked on his crusade to save the women of the streets.” I knew of this. I had heard it discussed how Mr. Gladstone would go out late at night and stroll about round Piccadilly and Soho, those areas which were the stamping grounds of the prostitute population. When he was accosted-as any man who showed an inclination to loiter would be-he would question the young woman, making sure not to adopt a moral tone, offer sympathy and invite her to his house. The women who went with him must have been amazed to find a genteel Mrs. Gladstone waiting to offer supper and good advice, joining with her husband in the attempt to set them on the road to a more virtuous way of life.

This he had done over forty years-whenever possible dedicating one night a week to his self-appointed task.

“Of course, he has always been different from other men,” said my father. “He is way above most. He has an idea and he clings to it. It never occurs to him that he may be doing harm to himself. He must follow what he believes to be right. And just as he had his crusade to rescue women of the streets, now he is determined to give Ireland Home Rule. Trafficking with fallen women might easily have ruined his career. In fact certain rumors regarding his intentions were inevitable, but he shrugged all that aside. He had a mission and he was determined to carry it out. You see, in some ways, he is far from being a normal man.”

“He believes firmly in Home Rule for Ireland,” I said, “just as you are beginning to feel it is not the answer. His obsession with it could bring him down. Yet he will not hesitate.”

“I fear there may be civil war. He forgets that there are many in Northern Ireland particularly who did not want Home Rule. He will destroy himself if he continues.” I said, “He is something of a saint. He must do what he feels right, whatever the consequences to himself.”