A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [73]
“Which part?”
“About—”
Lady Jane cut in then. “Charles, the Chancellor of the Exchequer is here. It’s just what I hoped for. I invited Mary to have lunch with me next week, and mentioned specially to her that I was having a Tuesday that would be very political in character, and that she should come—and bring her husband.”
The Conservative party was in at the moment—Lenox hoped not for long—and that meant that the chancellor standing in his doorway was Benjamin Disraeli. He was a tall, severe, intelligent-looking gentleman, with deep-set eyes that seemed almost predatory. He had risen to become the first or second man in his party (the Earl of Derby, though Prime Minister, was considered less brilliant in political circles) despite the considerable disadvantage of having been born Jewish. Some considered him an opportunist—his wife, Mary, was the widow of Wyndham Lewis and a very rich woman—but Lenox suspected the attribution of avarice was due perhaps in part to his ancestors’ religion.
More importantly to Lenox, he was the only man in Parliament who had balanced politics with a second career. Throughout the past decades, if less so of late, he had published a series of celebrated novels. This dual purpose made Lenox feel an affinity for the man despite their different parties; both of them had to balance two lives, two worlds.
Beyond all that, it was a tremendous thing to have him in the house. It meant that Lenox was a serious participant in the grand game of London politics, someone on the move. Disraeli wasn’t any longer a very sociable fellow; his visit here would be on people’s lips the next morning.
“That’s a thing to celebrate,” Lenox said. “With your skills of persuasion you should be in Parliament yourself, Jane.”
She smiled and walked back toward the chancellor’s wife.
Lenox made to follow her but stopped and said, “Quickly, Dallington—before I go—in a few words, say what you meant to say about the boxing club.”
“Only that I remembered something else. Do you recall that North said Clarke was always hinting that he had a rich father? ‘Drinks on father,’ or something like that? It fits with your theory.”
“I’d forgotten—you’re quite right. We’ll piece the rest together in a moment, but I must go speak to Disraeli.”
“Wait—the butcher—Paul—where do they fit into any of this?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Lenox, turning away.
As he crossed the room he crossed, too, between his professions and tried to shed the details of the case from his whirling mind. It was hard. Ludo Starling had a great deal to hide, evidently. What besides a natural son?
In Charles’s absence Edmund had greeted the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the man who might be reasonably called the second man in government and the man who ultimately would control the funds for any project Lenox ever hoped to pursue to completion.
That wasn’t the subject this evening, though, nor even politics. “How do you do, Mr. Disraeli?” said Lenox.
“Fairly; fairly. I could do with fresh air. London feels stifling.”
“You ought to come hunting at Lenox House,” said Sir Edmund. “We can find you a pony, and as for fresh air—well, we won’t bill you for it.”
“You’ll see my brother’s truer self there,” added Lenox, smiling. “His talents are wasted in the House, I realize when we hunt together.”
“His talents are not wasted in the House—he has been a positive inconvenience—but I see it was meant to be humorous. Edmund, thank you kindly. I might well accept your offer if my secretary deems it possible. As for you, Mr. Lenox, may I say welcome to the House?”
“Have you any advice? What mistakes did you make upon your arrival?”
He let out a barking, humorless laugh. “Mistakes? In that day it wasn’t within a young Member’s purview to make mistakes. He voted with his party unfailingly, never agitated on behalf of a particular issue, and waited to mature into his position.”
Lenox felt like a chided schoolboy. “I see.”
“Still, you’ll do well if you’re at all like your