Earl of Shadows Read online

  Even now Rutland’s heavy-lidded brown eyes rested on him shrewdly, and John suspected his friend knew more about what was passing through his mind than he was letting on. ‘You have been away for nearly a year. Do you not think your family will be pleased to see you?’

  ‘Of course Mama will be happy,’ John protested. Rutland blew out his plump cheeks.

  ‘That goes without saying. But what of William? I think you are not so sure of him.’ John said nothing. Rutland’s lips twitched. ‘So it stands thus. You have been on active service in Gibraltar; William has hardly stirred from his Cambridge college. You fear you will have nothing to say to each other.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ John said quietly. ‘I fear we will have too much.’

  ‘Then worry not. William has begun studies to become a barrister, but he has not relinquished his ambitions to sit in Parliament. He is thoroughly qualified to talk the hind legs off a donkey whilst not listening to a word you say.’ Rutland leaned forwards, suddenly serious. ‘In all honesty, do not fret. William has been talking about your return to England since February. Had you heard him you would have no doubt of the warmth of his regard.’

  Rutland’s carriage drew up in Harley Street. Just over a year ago John had hurried from here to meet William the day Papa collapsed. The memory of that day seized John like a superstition. He gazed up at the house’s tall, blank sash windows with dread. ‘Will you not come in?’

  Rutland gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Do you think it’s me your family wishes to see? Get out, Chatham, before I tell my coachman to use his whip on you.’

  John got out and the carriage clattered off across the muddy thoroughfare. John turned to the large, polished front door. He took a deep breath and pulled the bell.

  A moment later the door was pulled open by his brother-in-law Mahon, an excited look on his long, scholarly face. He stepped across the threshold and clasped John into a tight embrace. ‘Lord Chatham! We have been expecting you since yesterday! Welcome home!’

  John stiffened instinctively, mindful of the audience of curious passers-by who had already been attracted by Rutland’s handsome coach and four, but his brother-in-law had never heeded convention. Mahon called up the stairs and John’s embarrassment transformed into a thick, choking emotion that took him entirely by surprise; for there was Mama running down the staircase shedding tears of relief, his sisters close behind her.

  John found himself the centre of a whirlwind of arms, faces and questions, barely aware of anything except the ball of unacknowledged homesickness lodged in his throat. He had looked forward to this moment so much, but now he could think of nothing but how much he had missed the scent of lavender in Mama’s hair, or Hetty’s musical laugh, or Harriot’s habit of wrinkling her nose when pleased. Then he raised his eyes and saw William at the stair-head.

  William stood in silence with one hand braced against the bannister. John disengaged himself from Hetty’s arms. ‘Well, William, are you not pleased to see me?’

  For a heartbeat William did not react. Then he broke out of his stillness, hammered down the stairs and threw himself at John. ‘John! Good God, John, of course I am pleased to see you!’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ John joked. Even to his own ears his voice held more sincerity than the jest ought to permit, but nobody seemed to notice. He clung to his mother, brother and sisters as though to let them go would be to sail away once more and lose them forever.

  ****

  A few days later the new Earl of Chatham appeared in the House of Lords for the first time. Like his return to Harley Street, John’s appearance in the chamber where his father had suffered his spectacular collapse brought back so many memories he had to fight the swell of emotion threatening to overcome him as he stepped over the threshold.

  ‘I, John, Earl of Chatham, do truly and sincerely acknowledge, profess, testify and declare …’ John took a deep breath and peered at the dog-eared card held out for him by the Clerk. He was going hoarse, for he had already read out the Oaths of Supremacy and Allegiance before the Lord Steward. ‘… in my conscience, before God and the world, that our Sovereign Lord King George is lawful and rightful King of this realm …’

  It took him a good few minutes to get to ‘I do make this recognition, acknowledgment, abjuration, renunciation, and promise, heartily, willingly, and truly, upon the true faith of a Christian’, by which time he felt he had learned more ways of expressing the verb ‘to swear’ than he had ever known existed.

  He could feel curious eyes on him as he bent to inscribe his name in the register. He had seen the journalists staring at him and scribbling notes when he entered the room. John knew they were thinking more about his father than about him, but it only made him more aware of the duty he owed to the name of Chatham. It was part of the reason he had chosen to appear today in his regimentals. The dense scarlet wool of his coat lay as heavily on his shoulders as the title he bore.

  The formalities over, John clambered up to take his seat beside Rutland. His friend was still mourning his grandfather the third Duke, although characteristically the black velvet straining across his paunch was cut to the height of fashion. ‘So you’ve joined us old hands at last.’

  ‘You’ve been a member of the House of Lords ten minutes longer than me. I’d hardly call you an “old hand”.’

  ‘Ten minutes is an age in politics, believe me. Will you look at that?’ Rutland pointed at the two pedigree rolls on the clerk’s table, neatly tied in red silk ribbon and deposited by Garter King of Arms in accordance with the procedure of admitting new members to the House. ‘My pedigree’s bigger than yours.’

  ‘They probably use more calligraphic flourishes for Dukes. Be serious, Rutland, as befits the august chamber of which we are now both members.’

  ‘Be serious? Who do you take me for?’ Rutland said, with a mischievous twinkle. ‘Very well, if I must. But unless debates have changed since I was in the habit of watching behind the Throne, you will soon regret forbidding my jokes.’

  While the Lord Chancellor laid out the preliminary business for the day a number of the opposition front bench turned to extend a welcome to John and Rutland. Lord Shelburne gave them both a long, appraising stare from beneath his large, mobile brows. The Marquis of Rockingham, head of the Whig opposition, took John’s hand and shook it. He was a small, thin man who looked older than his 49 years. ‘I am pleased beyond measure to see the sons of the Marquis of Granby and the Earl of Chatham join us today.’

  John’s uncle Lord Temple leaned across. There were genuine tears of pleasure in his eyes as he pumped John’s hand. ‘My dear boy. I am glad to see you have returned safe and well from Gibraltar. I was afraid you would not be able to leave before Spain declared war.’

  ‘I was lucky,’ John said, touched. Temple smiled.

  ‘It is good you are returned. We have much need of an Earl of Chatham here, now we are at war with half of Europe.’ John began to feel a little uncomfortable, hoping Temple did not expect him to take his father’s place. ‘England needs you.’

  ‘I will do my best,’ John stammered, but to his relief Temple did not seem to notice his discomfort. The old man laid his hand on John’s shoulder in a paternal manner, his fingers lingering on the gold braid of John’s epaulettes.

  ‘Hester tells me you will not be returning to Gibraltar when your leave ends, but to the West Indies?’

  ‘Indeed, uncle. His Grace of Rutland has raised a new regiment, and I have obtained a captaincy in it. We leave for the Leeward Islands in the new year.’

  ‘You were lucky not to be sent to America,’ Lord Shelburne cut in. ‘Most newly-raised bodies are being sent there. I hope Lord Chatham’s son will never find himself obliged to wage war on our colonial kin.’

  ‘I had the foresight to request that my regiment not be sent to the Colonies,’ Rutland said. ‘Lord Chatham is as dear to me as a brother. I cannot prevent him being sent abroad, but I would not wish him to draw his sword against his politi
cal inclinations.’ John did not know what to say, surprised and moved at Rutland’s words. Rutland himself looked abashed and said, after everyone had returned to their seats, ‘Listen to me. I must sound like your mother.’

  ‘Believe me, Rutland, you are nothing like my mother.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  The debate was about to begin; the Lord Chancellor, Lord Thurlow, had taken his seat on the Woolsack, adjusting his robes and glaring at the assembled lords from beneath his bushy black eyebrows. John looked across at Rutland. ‘Shall we take in a debate, Your Grace?’

  Rutland returned his expression with a lopsided grin. ‘Why of course, my Lord Chatham. By all means, since we are now both Peers of the Realm.’

  The Realm so many people here hoped the Earl of Chatham would save. John smiled nervously. Rockingham’s welcome had unsettled him, for it demonstrated how much both he and Charles stood in their fathers’ shadow already. John had told Temple the truth: he would do his best. Only time would tell whether his best would be enough.

  He settled down on the bench beside his friend and tried to concentrate on the debate.

  January 1781

  Parson Alford stood with his fingers curled around the edge of the pulpit. There were no pews, only family stalls arranged against the whitewashed walls; the poorer parishioners stood in the middle of the church with bent heads and clasped hands. Every now and then a few of them glanced up at the Pitt stall, their eyes lingering on the lozenge-shaped hatchment above it, and the dark mourning worn by its occupants. Then their eyes dropped again.

  ‘Our minds must turn to the trials of the season,’ Parson Alford said, his words echoing off the coarse barrel-vaulting above. ‘We must turn our thoughts to those less fortunate, who have little to keep them warm when the snow lies thick on the ground. We must remember those in our parish whose sons have fallen in the war and will not now come home; those who have lost parents, to old age or disease; those who have lost children.’ Alford’s deep-set eyes, too, were drawn to the Pitt stall for a moment. ‘These are wounds that will not easily be healed.’

  John risked a glance at his mother. Lady Chatham sat with her hands clasped before her, elbows resting on the worn oak stall. Her face was hidden behind the black lace of her veil. John could not tell whether she had heard Alford, but she was certainly taking his invitation to pray to heart. The words she muttered carried to him on a whisper of air: ‘ … for the Lord will not cast off for ever … but though he cause grief, yet he will have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies … for he doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men …’

  William and Harriot flanked her, straight-backed in their close mourning. They gazed out at Alford with set, pale faces, their solemn expressions so similar they might have been twins. John suspected that, like him, they were too accustomed to tragedy to find prayer of any comfort. Even Mama, for all her references to God’s compassion, sounded more desperate than devout; and well she might, for of a family of seven they were now the only four that remained.

  ****

  ‘Don’t go back, John,’ Lady Chatham blurted out halfway through a listless Sunday dinner. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as though to brace herself and repeated, ‘Don’t go back to the Leeward Islands. Please. For my sake.’

  John had been expecting this ever since he, William and Harriot had arrived at Burton Pynsent with news of James’s death. It was only six months since Hetty had died of a consumption following the birth of her third daughter. John knew his mother was only wondering when the next blow would fall, and on whom. ‘I must go back. My regiment is there, and I am under orders.’

  ‘I do not think I can bear it.’ To John’s alarm his proud, unshakeable mother was on the verge of tears. ‘I lost James to fever. I cannot lose you as well. Do not go back. I beg of you.’

  ‘I know it is hard for you,’ John said, gently, ‘but I must return.’

  He did not say that he would gladly have stayed, given the opportunity, for the West Indies was a difficult billet. He dreaded the long journey back he would have to make when his leave ran out at the end of February. The voyage would take six weeks and pass through dangerous waters, beset by the weather and stalked by Spanish and French ships. Once there, he would be threatened by the constant, horrifying spectre of the disease that had killed his brother.

  John had seen too many cases of yellow fever to have any illusions about how much James must have suffered in his last hours; he had already determined never to tell his mother about it. The Leeward Islands were beautiful with their white sands fringed with lush green foliage, but it was a dark, hard beauty, for a large proportion of those who saw it died there.

  ‘Please, John,’ Lady Chatham insisted, as though she had read John’s thoughts. A pair of tears coursed down her cheeks and she shook her head as though to deny their presence. John looked across at William and Harriot, bent over their plates with every sign of not wanting to be involved, and felt a pulse of irrational anger. He understood his mother’s reasoning, and he had not forgotten his argument with William after Papa’s death over the disastrous decision to leave for Gibraltar. He was determined not to make the same mistake again, but he still felt the unfairness of being the one who always had to make sacrifices for the good of the family.

  He swallowed his frustration with difficulty. ‘Very well. I promise I will seek the first opportunity I can for an exchange.’ He did not know how easy it would be to find an officer desperate enough for promotion to take the place of a man serving in the West Indies. He could not help adding, although he knew it would do no good to point it out, ‘It will be expensive.’

  ‘Your life is more valuable than money,’ Lady Chatham said. She looked relieved and John knew he had made the right decision for his family, if not for himself. He turned back to his plate and wondered, bitterly, if he could ever reconcile them both.

  ****

  ‘This is not the way I had planned my election to Parliament,’ William said. He flicked a mote of dust off the ivory tip of his cue, then leaned over the table to line up his next shot. ‘I imagined myself bringing the good news to Burton. I imagined Mama’s joy. I thought James would be with us.’ His voice started to tremble. He hit the ball awkwardly; it bounced off the cushion of the billiard table without striking any of John’s.

  ‘Forfeit,’ John said, sadly. William flashed him an uncertain smile and laid his cue down.

  ‘Let’s take a pause. My hand is none too steady tonight.’

  John poured two glasses of port and carried them to where William stood by the window. Darkness had fallen, the shadows drawing their way across the expanse of Sedgemoor beyond the trees bounding the house’s estate. John wondered whether William was remembering when the Pitt children had played on this very terrace, pretending to be Indians, or American frontiersmen, or Frederick of Prussia’s army; remembering when there had been five of them. He set down his empty glass. ‘William, you are too hard on yourself. I know James’s death was not the news you had meant to bring; but your election was just what we needed to take our minds off the tragedy.’

  ‘I just thought Mama would be so pleased for me,’ William said. His voice sounded muffled. ‘I know the borough of Appleby isn’t a grand prospect, but it is a good sound seat, and Rutland tells me Sir James Lowther does not intend to control me.’

  ‘Lowther is a character,’ John observed. ‘He is notorious for placing pressure on the men who sit for his boroughs. Now that you are one of those men, can the two of you rub along together?’

  ‘Long enough for me to establish myself,’ William said with a faint grin. ‘Besides, it was Rutland found me the seat. I am obliged to him, not to Lowther, and you know well how closely Rutland and I are likely to agree.’

  William cradled his empty glass and stared out of the window. His white face contrasted strongly with the black of his clothes. The family had hardly packed the mourning wear away from Hetty’s deat
h before the news of James’s demise had brought it out again. As though he knew what John was thinking William said, ‘I wish James could have known of my election.’

  John knew it was impossible; at least six weeks were required to carry news to and from the West Indies, and although James had died in mid-November he guessed he had been ill and delirious for some time prior to that. To make William feel better, however, he said, ‘Perhaps he did.’

  He had a feeling William knew he had not spoken the truth, but to his relief his brother changed the subject. ‘Another game?

  ‘What stakes?’

  ‘John, I’m a barrister. Unless you expect me to pawn my lawyer’s gown, we’d better not play for money.’

  They set to, but William’s mind was still not on the game and he helpfully potted several of his own balls to save John the effort. John waited for him to explain what was on his mind. A year ago he would have doubted whether William would talk, but after three months of leave in William’s company he was certain that he would. He was willing to be patient, for he knew now how precious a thing brotherly ties could be.

  At length William said, ‘That was good of you, promising Mama you would leave your regiment.’

  John did not answer for a moment, gauging his next shot. ‘I did not promise her I would leave. I promised her I would consider procuring an exchange. I meant what I said: it will be expensive; not many men want to serve in the West Indies.’