London - Edward Rutherfurd [512]
But the real boost to his morale came with the election he fought with his new ally Bocton, that summer. It was a matter of convention that when a monarch died and a new king succeeded, an election should be held. So Wellington called one. It was not even a very significant affair since most of the seats were unopposed. But for Carpenter and Bocton the case was different. The St Pancras seat was contested. A well-spoken lawyer, supported by the gentlemen of the vestry, was standing and had assumed he would carry the day. The surprise candidacy of that gloomy Tory Bocton, standing on a Whig platform of reform, seemed an incongruous intrusion.
The tactic Bocton and Carpenter worked out was extremely simple. Whenever the candidate spoke at a public meeting, Bocton would do so too. First, he would agree with every word the Tory candidate had said. Then declare: “But unfortunately, it won’t work.” And then – he did this so well because it was what he truly believed – he would paint them a harrowing picture. Revolution in France, unions forming in the north, huge gangs of starving labourers sweeping over London Bridge at any moment; and finally he would cry: “Is that what we want? I have represented the aristocratic interest all my life, but I tell you it can’t go on. Revolution or reform. The choice is yours.”
Carpenter’s speeches to the reformers and radicals who were his own constituency boiled down to an even simpler formula. “Bocton’s a Tory but he’s seen the light. He’s our best bet. Vote for him.”
Carpenter had seen less of the sporting earl in the last few years, but when they had met he had noticed, regretfully, that St James, now in his mid-eighties, did not quite look his old self. His clothes seemed loose. His hands looked reddish-blue and were swollen. In his eyes, there was a certain irritability.
It was in the middle of one of Bocton’s speeches that Carpenter saw the earl. He was standing with his grandson George, a little removed from the crowd, watching intently. Bocton’s voice carried clearly to where they were standing. He was speaking rather well. With a cheerful smile, therefore, Carpenter went over to greet the old man and casually remarked: “So my lord, have you come to support your son?”
For a moment, he thought the earl had not heard him, and was about to repeat the question when St James suddenly burst out: “Support Bocton? That traitor? I’m damned if I will!”
Young George, Carpenter noticed, said nothing.
“Damn you all,” said the earl, presumably to Carpenter, and stumped off with George following.
When the St Pancras election was held Lord Bocton was returned with a large majority. In almost every one of the contested seats reformers had been easily returned. “I do believe,” Zachary declared, “the tide is turning.” Many of the Tories were wavering now.
The state of the country, however, remained volatile. The Swing Riots continued, breaking out in one locality after another, without warning, so that the government was unable to control them. The Whig opposition derided the government daily and told them the middle classes wouldn’t stand for this much more. And as for the waverers: “They are starting,” Bocton reported from Westminster, “to get jumpy.”
The Duke of Wellington, however, held the line. The sole concession his government made to the people that year was to allow formerly unlicensed small producers to make cheap beer. This would compensate, he reasoned, for the higher cost of bread. But to the less battle-hardened waverers in the Commons, the riots in the countryside still seemed terrifying. Bocton was amused when, one day, a flustered