Chapter Five #2
Finally, he stumbled outside and sat heavily upon the steps leading to the hall.
There, he permitted his head to rest in his hands.
He wept for a man with whom Benjamin often did not agree.
He wept for the man who had stood by awaiting his punishment after shooting Perceval.
He wept for his father and his uncle who should be standing in his place and for his mother who appeared lost without her dear husband.
He wept for Miss Whitchurch and for what might have been.
“Are you well, sir?” one of the pages asked. “Were you injured inside? Should I send for assistance?”
Benjamin realized he could no longer ignore the blood on his clothes nor the desire to know whether any of his family had known harm.
“I am well. Just attempting to find hope in the chaos,” he said as he rose while wiping his cheeks.
“It is truly a dark day, sir. Everyone is leaving. Should I hail you a hackney?”
“My coach is not far. Thank you for your consideration.”
The following day, Benjamin attended the inquest for John Bellingham, Perceval’s shooter.
Try as he may, Benjamin could not shake the need to learn what had motivated the man.
Assuredly, Prime Minister Perceval had his enemies.
More than once, Beaufort had commented on the number of Catholics in Ireland who wished Perceval dead for the man’s stance on Irish emancipation, but Bellingham appeared to hold no grand political plan.
Eventually, Benjamin found himself dining with several of his brothers, along with Duncan, Ladies Theodora and Emma, and Lady Emma’s father, Lord Donoghue.
The man was the British ambassador to the Northern Netherlands, but Benjamin could not find much about his lordship to like.
Donoghue had permitted his wife to send their daughter back to England with only a governess to assist her.
Nothing more. Benjamin would gladly abandon the earldom just to spend one more day with his father.
Once they were all settled and the soup course had been set before them, Duncan asked, “What surprised you most today with the grand jury, Benjamin?’
He quickly wiped his mouth before responding.
“From what I observed, the murder of the Prime Minister had little to do with politics or unrest.” He turned to Lady Emma’s father.
“When you return to the Continent, Lord Donoghue, you must tell our allies what you observed today.” Benjamin added, “Hard to believe so much misery will be inflicted upon the nation simply because Bellingham was an unstable business owner who thought he might better succeed in Russia than in England.”
“I do not understand,” Marksman dared to admit.
Benjamin knew he frowned, but he had earlier taken note of Marksman’s absence from today’s hearing.
“It appears,” he told their youngest brother, “Bellingham ended up in a Russian prison, for some offense no one explained. He applied to the British ambassador in St Petersburg, but was, for all intents and purposes, ignored.”
“I am often called upon,” Lord Donoghue explained, “to argue this or that in diplomatic circles, though I imagine a Russian court is more difficult to satisfy than the ones in the Netherlands.”
Benjamin waited for the remove and another dish set before each of them before he continued. “Evidently, the Consul-General was equally unsympathetic with Bellingham’s request. Bellingham was released and returned to England. Where was it, sir,” he asked Duncan, “that he took rooms?”
Duncan supplied, “New Millman Street. Let rooms there and began, according to Hartley, a letter-writing campaign demanding redress. The problem was, even if Bellingham had a legitimate complaint, Britain must not speak too loudly against Russia’s decisions, for Wellesley requires the Russians’ assistance in this business with Napoleon. ”
“So, they will hang John Bellingham?” Beaufort asked.
Benjamin found himself sighing in acceptance.
In his opinion, there was too much death of late.
He said into the room’s silence, “Naturally, the trial is not until tomorrow, but it appears inevitable. They brought a true Bill against the man for Perceval’s murder.
The government will wish to make an example of Bellingham, while the populace will likely see him as a martyr. ”
“Then the riots of those starving and the machine-wrecking Luddites and whatever plots others have envisioned had nothing to do with Perceval’s assassination?” Marksman asked.
“So it would seem,” Beaufort confirmed before Benjamin could respond.
Orson changed the subject. “I learned something of the mysterious count that Aaran mentioned on Monday.” They had all been put on alert by the Home Office of an unknown French man traveling to England, who had been considered a suspect in several misdeeds on the Continent.
“The man turns out to be a French marquis, not a count, after all.”
“From whom did you learn this information?” Duncan inquired.
Orson grinned widely, and Benjamin suspected his oldest brother had an engaging tale to tell.
“From Lord Godfrey,” Orson explained. “His lordship and I both returned to Madame Emmeline’s modiste to retrieve our ladies within a minute or so of each other.
However, Madame Emmeline explained there was a slight delay.
After congratulating me on my upcoming marriage to Emma, Godfrey began to claim his own personal triumph.
It seems the Marquis of Honfleur will arrive in London in time to attend Lady Godfrey’s masque. ”
“Has this marquis let a home?” Duncan asked, something Benjamin, too, wanted to know.
“Yes, the one belonging to Lord Amgen,” Orson declared with a smile. “Amgen lets the house regularly while he takes rooms in London for the Season.”
“Not the most fashionable address, but still respectable,” Beaufort remarked.
“Who else travels with the marquis?” Duncan asked as if he was already strategizing, which Benjamin suspected was true for his lordship: The man’s brain never took a rest.
“His daughter and his niece,” Orson confirmed, “but in accepting Lady Godfrey’s invitation, it will only be Honfleur and his daughter.”
“Why not the niece?” Theodora asked before Benjamin could do so.
“None of us know,” Orson explained. “Perhaps the niece is a poor relation serving somehow in the man’s household as a companion or something along those lines.”
“Richard, would you send what you learned to Hartley, so he might discover what he may from our contacts on the Continent? Where is the area known as Honfleur? Is it a stable area of France? How long has this man been the Marquis of Honfleur? Those sorts of inquiries.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I should do the same at the embassy,” Donoghue said, though few, especially Benjamin and possibly Duncan, thought the British embassy’s staff would be of much use.
Although none of them initially had planned to attend the Godfreys’ ball, within a matter of minutes, Duncan had presented his daughter orders to respond to the Godfreys’ invitation.
They all knew, in hopes of learning something important, that one of them must attempt to woo the marquis’s daughter and perhaps another would approach the niece.
Benjamin did not permit his eyes to meet Duncan’s, for such was not his forte when it came to investigations, but Orson, who often performed such duties, was engaged to marry Lady Emma.
Moreover, Aaran Graham was deep in the Luddites’ investigations.
That left Beaufort, Marksman, and him. Would Duncan permit Marksman to take part, and what would Theodora say about Marksman pretending to woo another woman?
Evidently, Theodora had figured out the same details as had he. She quickly begged her father not to expend all his energy at the ball, but she should have known when Duncan had made a decision, few could change his course.
“I promise to sit as much as possible,” Duncan assured. “I know my limits.” Theodora’s attempts had been cut short.
To distract them all from an argument, Benjamin said, “Speaking of limits, Duncan, did you notice your former nurse was in attendance at the trial today? She was with Sir Thurmond, who was in one of those wheeling-style chairs.”
“Mrs. Braylon? I did not,” Duncan responded.
“Thurmond was one of those on the committee with Sir Hunter,” Orson explained, “but he was not present on the day of the shooting. His horse threw him a week or so back, and he broke his leg, quite significantly.”
“Sorry for Thurmond on two levels,” Duncan remarked. “I do not wish to knock the woman out of a position, for she was an efficient nurse, but perhaps a warning to Thurmond is in order.”
“I could drop a word in Hunt’s ear,” Orson volunteered. “Sir Hunter knows my opinion of the woman.”
Though Duncan did not openly agree to Orson’s suggestion, it was understood among them that Duncan’s silence on the matter was the same as his agreement.
While the ladies were still part of the gathering, they all moved to the music room. Orson had agreed to play duets with both Theodora and Emma, and Lady Emma had supposedly been practicing a piece on the harp, planning a special performance for her betrothed.
Benjamin had stayed beside Duncan until the man was seated on his favorite settee and then sat beside him.
“I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for all you did for me after the shooting,” Duncan said softly.
“You would have acted with the same urgency if it had been any of us,” Benjamin said with equal quietness.
“I would,” Duncan admitted reluctantly. “Yet, I must say it was extremely comforting to find you at my side every time I opened my eyes, even for a few seconds.”
Their conversation took a backseat until Theodora and Orson played the song they all associated with Duncan and Lady Elsbeth.
“I miss her every day of my life,” Duncan whispered.
“Such is love’s plan,” Benjamin assured. “Everyone should know a deep affection.”
They sat in silence until Theodora and Orson finished their piece, then, Orson left Theodora at the pianoforte and nudged Alexander to take his place at Dora’s side and turn the pages for her. Meanwhile, Orson joined Emma and claimed the lady’s hand.
Duncan must have also taken note, for he said, “Hartley tells me you have taken the acquaintance of a young lady.”
“I have only been in her company twice,” Benjamin protested. For more than a month, he had been expecting this conversation. “We initially, literally, ran into each other in one of London’s spring rainstorms. I insisted on seeing her to her place of employment, for she had no umbrella, and I did.”
“And that place?” Duncan asked.
“Sustar’s draperies,” Benjamin shared.
“A respectable establishment.”
Benjamin waited until the end of Theodora’s second piece before saying softly, “I was with Orson, Beaufort, and Hartley when I next encountered the lady. I believe she, like us, had called upon the Lyon’s Den, but my instincts say she was not seeking employment there.
” He shrugged his discomfort, but it remained bunched between his shoulder blades.
“She said she had business in the area, but there are few businesses catering to a lady in that area of London.”
Duncan said softly, “Could she be thinking of permitting Mrs. Dove-Lyon to arrange a marriage for her? Hartley says her father is a vicar, meaning she is a lady,” Duncan surmised. “But is she a fallen lady?”
“I hold no means of knowing,” Benjamin admitted.
“Did the lady not say her father attended Oxford with Hartley’s father?” Duncan asked.
“Yes, but…”
“You know the lady’s family name. You know where her father attended school and the approximate dates of his attendance.
It might require a close look at school files and perhaps even DeBrett’s, for many younger sons take positions in the clergy, just as did your own father.
You are accustomed to having your nose in a book, are you not, Boy? ”
Benjamin smiled at being called “boy” again. “Yes, sir.”
“Of course, all that is not necessary if you are not truly interested in the lady,” Duncan hinted.
“Do you not despise always being wise?” Benjamin teased.
“Wisdom derives more from mistakes and failures than from success. One must fall upon his knees to rise up. Simple as that, Boy.”