Southampton Row - Anne Perry [96]
“I have begun to appreciate lately what a complex study it is to govern wisely,” the Bishop went on, his face set as if determined to follow his train of thought to the end. “It is not a job for the amateur gentleman, no matter how noble his intent. We simply cannot afford the cost of error. One unfortunate experiment with the forces of trade and finance, the abandonment of laws we have obeyed for centuries, and thousands will suffer before we can reverse the moment and regain the balance we have lost.” He shook his head sagely. “This is a far deeper issue than ever before in our history. For the sake of those we lead and serve, we cannot afford to be self-indulgent or sentimental.” His eyes flickered, and he glanced at Aubrey and away again. “That is our duty above all, or else we have nothing.”
Aubrey Serracold looked pale, his eyes glittering. He didn’t bother to argue. He realized the folly of it and remained silent, his hands clenched on his knife and fork.
For a moment no one answered, then half a dozen people spoke at once, apologized, and then started again. But looking at them one by one, Isadora could see that what Reginald had said had made a mark on them. Suddenly charm and ideals were less bright, less effective.
“A very unselfish vision, my lord,” Voisey said, turning to look at the Bishop. “If all spiritual leaders had your courage we should know where to turn for our moral leadership.”
The Bishop glanced at him, his face white, his chest rising and falling as if he found breathing unaccountably difficult.
He has indigestion again, Isadora thought. He has taken too much of the celery soup. He should have left it; he knows it does not agree with him. One would think from his speech it had been laced with wine!
The evening dragged on, promises were made, others abandoned. Shortly after midnight the first guests left. The Bishop and Isadora were among them.
Outside, as they stepped up into their carriage and drew away, she turned to him. “What on earth possessed you to speak against Mr. Serracold like that? And in front of the poor man! If his ideas are extreme, no one will accept them into law.”
“Are you suggesting I should wait until they are presented in Parliament before I speak against them?” he asked with a touch of asperity. “Perhaps you would like me to wait until the Commons have passed them and they are before the Lords, where I can debate the issue? I have no doubt the Lords Temporal will override most of them, but I have no such faith in my brother Lords Spiritual. They confuse the ideal with the practical.” He coughed. “Time is short, Isadora. No one can afford to put off the day of his actions. Tomorrow may not be given him in which to make amends.”
She was taken aback. It was a completely uncharacteristic remark. She had never known him so driven to leap to words, to committing himself to anything at all without leaving a way to extricate himself if circumstances should change.
“Are you feeling quite well, Reginald?” she asked, then instantly wished she had not. She did not want to hear a catalog of what was wrong with the dinner, the service, other people’s opinions or expressions of them. She wished she had bitten her tongue and simply made some unemotional murmur of agreement. Now it was too late.
“No,” he said rather loudly, his voice rising to a note of distress. “I do not feel well at all. They must have put me in a draft. My rheumatism is most powerful, and I have severe pain in my chest.”
“I think the celery soup was not a wise choice,” she said, trying to sound sympathetic and knowing she was failing. She heard the indifference in her own voice.
“I fear it is more serious than that.” Now there was definite panic in him, barely concealed. If she could have seen him in the darkness inside the carriage she was certain his face would have betrayed a real fear