Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [548]
Frances murmured something that no one heard. Porteus’s silence deepened.
Ralph’s attention now turned to his plate, where a trout lay.
“’Tis a rather small fish,” he said plaintively.
“It is what is provided,” Porteus said coldly.
“Excellent fish,” Barnikel said with warmth, and saw that Frances looked at him gratefully.
“Perhaps,” said Agnes, “Dr Barnikel has seen the latest cartoon by Mr Gillray.” How could he not have – Gillray’s brilliant satirical drawings were sold all over the land. Barnikel took up the theme at once and related a cruel one he had seen mocking the Whigs.
This line of conversation worked very well and even allowed Canon Porteus to soften a little. He and Agnes promptly set to work. They discussed the poems of Walter Scott and his excellent magazine, the Quarterly Review, the lyrical ballads of Wordsworth and Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner; Porteus was pleased to commend some fine prints by Ackerman of various churches, and the new and remarkable dictionary of furniture produced by the great cabinet maker Sheraton. Barnikel smiled to see how adept Agnes showed herself at keeping the conversation in these pleasant channels, and even Frances seemed to come to life.
The fire got under way slowly, and despite Ralph’s irritating manners, it was not he but Porteus who started it. It was Frances who inadvertently gave him the excuse by remarking pleasantly that she had received a letter from her late brother’s family in America.
Porteus inclined his head and smiled.
“I trust they do well.”
Although he disapproved of their connections with the Mason family, Canon Porteus made a special distinction for the Shockleys in America. This was for two reasons. In the first place, they were his wife’s own family and therefore, much as he regretted the disloyal secession of the American colonies, it was his duty to treat the Shockleys of Pennsylvania with courtesy. In the second place, they were so far away that they were never likely to trouble him. And so he always referred to them with a charitable kindness that even extended, sometimes, to remembering their names.
“Their eldest boy is away at school.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” Porteus said politely.
Now he had his opening.
With a meaningful glance at Barnikel he coolly observed:
“My young brother-in-law thinks the Americans are more fortunate than Englishmen here.”
At once, Barnikel saw Frances and Agnes look anxious; but Ralph only smiled easily.
“I can’t say I’m sure of that,” he replied, “though of course, they have not suppressed the writ of Habeus Corpus.” He eyed Porteus calmly. “But then they have no prime minister like William Pitt,” he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Barnikel could not help smiling. It was a fair retort. For the previous decade, when the fear of sedition in England reached its height after the French Revolution, the great William Pitt the younger had suspended the ancient writ of Habeas Corpus, and a number of editors, authors and preachers had been held in prison without trial. There had been other measures too: correspondence with France was declared treason; meetings of more than fifty persons without a licence were made illegal; and in 1799, the Combination Acts forbade workers to form any union or association to bargain over their wages or conditions.
Despite the fact that it was he who had invited the response, Barnikel noticed that the canon’s fingers were white where they gripped the table. Any criticism of the great patriot Pitt had this effect on him.
The doctor decided to defuse the situation.
“What you say is true. But you will agree surely that those were temporary measures, caused by fear of the French, and probably necessary.”
Ralph smiled.
“I’ll agree that some of them were, certainly. Though I do not say that to suspend liberties even then is right.”
“Perhaps not.” The doctor looked round encouragingly.