Earl of Shadows Page 7

  John fell back, stunned. He frowned, and saw the same frown come on the faces of the others as they each tried to work out which part of the sentence they might have misheard.

  Finally, Eliot said, ‘What, Secretary to the Treasury? Under Fox and North?’

  ‘No.’ William shook his head. ‘The Treasury.’ He stared into his empty wine glass. ‘Shelburne’s old place.’

  ‘He asked you to head a government?’ John asked. William nodded. A throb of excitement pierced John’s disbelief as the full import of what William had been offered struck him.

  The others, however, could not get over their bafflement. ‘Offer you the Treasury?’ Eliot burst out. ‘Has His Majesty gone mad? I do not mean to impugn your ability, Pitt, and God knows I have always fully expected to see you head a government one day. But not now! My God, Pitt, you’re twenty-three!’

  ‘Did you accept?’ John asked eagerly. His brother’s eyebrows twitched at John’s tone, but William’s voice remained level.

  ‘I asked for some time to consider the offer.’

  ‘Some time?’ John repeated, incredulous. William was acting in a manner John found inexplicable. Yes, the offer was unexpected; yes, William was uncommonly young. But he was already a Cabinet minister, and John knew his brother well enough to know he was more capable than most men twice his age. ‘What does Shelburne say? Have you seen him?’

  ‘Yes,’ William said reluctantly. ‘He was with me at the audience. It seems he suggested me in the first place.’

  ‘Then why should you not accept? With His Majesty’s confidence and Shelburne’s support, how can you go wrong?’ William said nothing. ‘God, Will, you cannot possibly turn the King down!’

  William’s voice was taut. ‘Part of me wants to accept, I cannot deny it.’

  ‘But?’ John could hear the word hanging in the air even though William had not yet spoken it.

  ‘But there is something about the whole business I do not like.’

  ‘Christ, Will! How many men of three and twenty are offered the Treasury on a plate? Do you not realise what an opportunity this is? Is this not precisely what Papa trained you for?’

  He had supposed this was what William wanted to hear, and was completely unprepared for the violence of William’s reaction. ‘Do not dare bring Papa into this! This has nothing to do with Papa!’

  ‘Oh yes,’ John snapped, cut to the quick by William’s tone, ‘because the King obviously made you Chief Minister in recognition of your transcendent administrative abilities.’ The words had hardly left his lips before he regretted them: William had no need to be told the premiership had not been offered to him on the merits of his talents alone. ‘Will, trust me. In the army, it is far preferable to hold a position of strength under disadvantageous circumstances than hesitate and lose the moment. Show those who wish to use you as a puppet that the son of Chatham is not so easily to be played.’

  ‘If you want me to trust you, for God’s sake do not make use of military metaphors. Your limited experience of garrison duty hardly fits you for it.’ John was too horrified to formulate a suitable response. William’s ears belatedly caught up with his tongue. An expression of dismay crossed his face. ‘Dear God, John, I’m sorry. I did not mean—’

  ‘No,’ John interrupted, thinly. ‘I daresay you did not.’

  ‘John—’

  ‘I see precisely what you think of my opinion.’

  William bristled. ‘I did not even ask for it!’

  ‘Because clearly my position as head of the family counts for nothing?’

  Harriot, who had so far sat helpless next to Eliot while her brothers fought, snapped out of her trance. ‘Enough! Enough, enough! You’re like children.’ John’s chest heaved. William wiped his brow with a shaking hand. Harriot waited until she was sure the argument had subsided then continued. ‘William, what you have told us tonight is incredible, to say the least, but do not blame John for what is not his fault.’ William bowed his head. John looked down on him triumphantly, then flinched when Harriot brandished her finger at him. ‘As for you, John, this is not your battle. Do not fly at William for choosing not to take your advice.’

  John should have known Harriot would take William’s side. ‘Well and good,’ he snapped, ‘but I reserve the right to tell William he is a fool when he acts like one.’

  ‘I am the fool!’ William’s face rose from his hands, suffused with colour. Harriot raised her eyes to the moulded plaster ceiling.

  ‘Unbelievable! Simply unbelievable! Can you two not be civil to each other for one moment?’

  ‘Be civil yourself,’ John said. ‘I have had enough of this.’ He turned his back on William, left the room and slammed the door behind him.

  ****

  The journey back to Berkeley Square was a silent one. Harriot was in a sulk; John had no intention of opening a conversation with her. He finally got to bed at about half past four, but was too agitated to sleep. Staring up into the darkness the realisation gradually crystallised in his mind that leaving without talking with his brother had very much been the wrong thing to do.

  By the time he gave up the fruitless battle for slumber it was about half past six. The sky was still dark and he had to break a film of ice on the water in his washbasin. He decided a pre-breakfast ride in Green Park might clear his thoughts.

  The Park was empty at such an early hour. The leafless trees sparkled with icicles in the faint morning light. Without quite knowing why, John left the green expanse and rode down the Mall. On the right loomed the crenellated Tudor brick entrance to St James’s Palace, flanked by scarlet-coated grenadiers. This was where William had received his startling offer the previous night. The Royal Standard had been run down the flagpole; the King must have gone back to Windsor, secure in the supposition that his offer would be accepted. John took in the empty flagpole and knew what he had to do. He morosely turned his horse back towards Downing Street.

  William was busy, so John had to wait. He entered the drawing room so quickly he did not at first notice he was not alone. Only when he moved towards the bell-pull did he see his mother sitting by the fire.

  ‘Mama! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Waiting for you, my son.’ The pale grey of Lady Chatham’s fur-lined tippet and muff, the impenetrable look in her blue eyes and the straightness of her back, all put John in mind of a fairy-tale ice queen. ‘I knew you would come back eventually.’

  ‘I thought you were at Hayes.’

  ‘Indeed I was,’ Lady Chatham said with a gentle inclination of her head. ‘I was roused by a message from William early this morning. He told me of the extraordinary offer he has received, and expressed a strong desire to see me—’

  ‘And so you came,’ John finished for her, unable to suppress a treacherous doubt that she would have done so had he issued the same plea. ‘If William summoned you, should you not go to him?’

  ‘I have already been with him. Now I want to speak with you.’

  ‘Why?’ Even to John’s ears the syllable sounded defensive. His mother looked at him.

  ‘Because you, too, are my son; and, as I trust you will recollect, William’s brother, and bound to support his decision in this matter.’

  Guilt vied with indignation in John’s breast. ‘I am also the head of the family.’

  ‘Head of the family you may be, but you are half Grenville, and a Grenville always holds family paramount to all other considerations – even pride.’ Lady Chatham waved her hand. ‘I know of your argument with William. The details of what happened are immaterial. What I want is for you to forget your dignity and give your brother the support he needs.’

  John experienced a stab of wounded disappointment. It seemed to him that he had done nothing else all his life but sacrifice his best interests for the family good. ‘Would you say the same to William, were I in his position?’

  His mother’s expression sharpened with anxiety and suspicion. ‘Do you think you ought to be in his position?’r />
  ‘Of course not!’ John felt his cheeks go hot and cold by turns at the prospect of facing the kind of decision William did now. ‘You know full well I have no intention of standing in my brother’s way. Of course I want to do my duty to him, but I also owe a duty to myself.’

  John’s response was prompt enough to dispel the clouds from Lady Chatham’s brow. ‘In that case you may find fulfilment in giving your brother the support he requires. There are some hard decisions to make, and when he makes them he will need you by his side. I know you will never let harm come to him – even should you not agree with him.’

  She rose and took John’s hand. He bent down to receive her kiss on his cheek, as he had done so often as a child. ‘William may be the one the world is watching, but your actions, John, your choices, are just as important. He will always need you, even if he cannot bring himself to tell you so.’

  ****

  William had a succession of visitors all day, so John did not get a chance to say his piece till evening. He found his brother alone in the study, straining to read some papers by the light of a branch of candles. Outside the frost-laced window the weather was cold. The chill was reflected in William’s face as he looked up at John. ‘I thought you had gone back to Berkeley Square.’

  John flinched at William’s tone but he could see the strain in the grooves round William’s mouth. ‘I had. I came back.’

  ‘You came back,’ William repeated.

  ‘Yes, I did. Although had I known I would spend this long waiting, I’d have made an appointment to speak with you next Thursday.’

  The joke fell rather flat. William stared at John for a moment then crossed to the large mahogany desk and locked his papers away. He carried a candlestick round the sconces and lit the candles. Part of the vast room was bathed in a warm, rich glow.

  ‘I came to your house this morning to speak with you,’ William said at last. ‘You were not in.’

  So William had come to see him after all. ‘You did not know I was here?’

  ‘My secretary probably told me, but I may have been deafened by the noise from the carpenters,’ William admitted, and indicated the direction of the works in the south-west corner of the house with a grimace. There was a short silence.

  ‘I suppose you will be glad to leave then,’ John murmured.

  Relief chased across William’s face. ‘I might still stay, John. Believe me, this is one decision I will not make in haste.’ William fell into one of the high-backed chairs by the fire. John took a seat opposite and waited for more, hands resting on his knees. A flush of colour came over William’s cheeks. ‘I am sorry for last night. I was taken by surprise by His Majesty’s offer. I took my confusion out on you and I apologise for it.’ His blush deepened. ‘I am particularly sorry for what I said about your military experience.’

  ‘You had received a shock.’ John forced the words out with difficulty. ‘You spoke without thinking. I can understand that. But when you seemed to hold my advice so cheap … I admit, Will, it hurt.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It matters little. I too owe you an apology. I was so pleased for you I could not comprehend why you yourself were not.’

  The excuses were over. John felt as though a weight had been lifted from his soul, but a sense of oppression remained. The furrows returned to William’s face only moments after John had stopped speaking. John glanced at his brother and sat forwards. ‘What did Mama tell you?’

  ‘She thinks I should consider the offer well.’

  ‘I think she is right, until you are sure you know what you have been offered.’ John gazed at his linked fingers then looked up. ‘But I still think you should accept.’

  William’s eyes met his and John felt he could see right into his brother’s soul. ‘It is not so simple, John. You may think it is a clear-cut decision – yes or no – but you will not be the one to fight both Fox and North in the House of Commons.’

  ‘That is true,’ John said, ‘but you owe a duty to your former colleagues. I know you received a message from Lord Sydney today: I recognised the livery. I would wager he did not write to dissuade you.’

  ‘You are right. Lord Sydney wrote to offer me his support. And yet …’ William passed his hands through his hair. He spoke bitterly. ‘… I have spent this whole day in conference with the King’s messengers. Richard Rigby. John Robinson. Henry Dundas.’

  ‘Followers of Lord North all of them.’

  ‘Former followers of North, as they were at pains to impress upon me. Robinson brought me estimates of the way he thought Parliament might vote if I were minister. I was looking at them when you came in.’

  ‘What did they say?’ John asked, although from the haunted look on William’s face he thought he knew the answer.

  William nibbled his lip for a moment in doubt. He did not reply, but said instead, ‘Tell me. Why do you think I should take the premiership?’

  John was half-staggered by the question; he could not remember William ever asking him for his opinion before. ‘Because such opportunities hardly ever come twice. If you refuse the King now, he may never forgive you.’

  ‘Do you not think His Majesty’s turning to a man of my limited experience will doom my ministry from the start?’

  ‘No, I do not,’ John said without hesitation. ‘You are young, Will, but you have talent. You are a great orator.’ The expression on William’s face made John blush. ‘Not only that, but you have the support of many of your former colleagues – and of Lord Shelburne.’

  ‘That does not worry you?’ William said wryly.

  ‘Why should it? Besides, if you join with Fox you need not have Shelburne at all. With the King standing behind you, how long do you think Fox’s marriage of convenience with Lord North will last? Act now, before they find something in common to stand on.’ William nodded, but his frown deepened. John’s words had not convinced his brother to accept; on the contrary they seemed to have had the opposite effect. John felt a pulse of disappointment, but at least he now knew William would explain his reasoning. He took William’s hand and squeezed it. ‘And yet you will refuse.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have been candid with you. Now I want you to return the favour. Why, Will? Why decline the King’s offer?’

  William spoke softly. ‘Because were I to accept, it would not be my ministry, but Shelburne’s.’

  ‘I never imagined you would head any other combination of men than the ones who have served with you over the last few months,’ John said.

  ‘You misunderstand. As soon as His Majesty made me the offer last night I began to wonder why Lord Shelburne suggested me in the first place.’

  ‘Because you are Papa’s son,’ John urged. ‘You are William Pitt.’

  ‘I thought so too for a while, but I am convinced it is not so.’ William looked bitter. ‘Shelburne has lost the confidence of Parliament, and God knows he has only been a hair’s breadth from losing that of his Cabinet. What if he has found, in me, a way to retain power while appearing to relinquish it? All by playing the benevolent patron and sponsoring my rise to prominence?’

  John thought he was at last beginning to grasp the point William was trying to make. He swallowed hard and fought to sound nonchalant. ‘Shelburne knows you will not ally with North; he suspects Fox will not have you, and he may be right. In which case …’

  ‘I will have no-one to turn to but Lord Shelburne himself.’ William turned hollow eyes to John. ‘You see now why I must decline. So long as Fox, North or Shelburne call the tune, I refuse to dance.’

  John nodded. ‘I think you are right,’ he said, and William smiled in relief.

  The two brothers sat in companionable silence. John glanced around at the green wallpaper, the gold-edged plasterwork, the imposing marble fireplace which, on closer inspection, turned out to have a pronounced lean towards the centre of the room. Downing Street was a grand house in appearance but, like the King’s offer, it looked better on the outside than on
the inside. John cast another eye around the gilded room in which his brother, in his shabby blue coat and worn leather breeches, looked so out of place. ‘Will you miss this house?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ William laid a proprietorial hand on the edge of the writing desk. There was a spark of contumacy in his expression, a challenge launched at the rest of the world that John had seen more than once in the eyes of their father, before the bitter disappointment of political reality had worn him down. ‘But I will return.’

  Chapter Six

  July 1783

  ‘My Lord Chatham, if you will repeat after me …’

  Mary’s heart beat hard in her chest as Dr Courtenay, the parish rector, took the ring off the Bible and slipped it onto her finger. Opposite her John wore a cream silk suit trimmed with silver to match her gown, his hair immaculately curled and powdered, and his eyes held hers with an intensity that made her throat constrict. He echoed Courtenay’s words, precisely and with great concentration.

  ‘With this ring I thee wed. With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.’

  ‘Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder,’ Courtenay said. John put his hand over Mary’s; the sensation of his warm flesh pressing the cold band of the ring into her finger sent a shiver of excitement through her. ‘I pronounce that they be man and wife together.’

  The wedding guests applauded as John leaned down to bestow a chaste, self-conscious kiss on his wife’s lips. Mary saw his eyes dart towards her parents, who sat beaming a few feet away. Arrayed beside them in the Sydneys’ drawing room were Mary’s six siblings, from Georgiana to three-year-old Horatio, sucking his thumb on his eldest sister’s lap. Behind were William and Harriot, both grinning broadly.

  Mary wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and murmured into his ear. ‘Does Mary, Countess of Chatham not return your kisses so sweetly as Miss Mary Townshend?’