Chapter 6 #2
Nabby nodded. “I should think so. We were to leave Auteuil with one, but we had to leave it behind, and then we were bequeathed two on the trip across the Channel by that poor, indisposed lad.”
“Such good travelers, those birds,” Abigail commented fondly. “We brought them to England safely, and they repay us by their melodious notes.”
“A fine thing for songbirds to offer,” her daughter replied with more than a touch of her father’s dry wit.
Abigail could only shake her head.
For all her worries, she knew that John would need to project a persona of refinement when at the Court of St. James’s, and they were prepared to see him physically and socially arrayed to their utmost. He would arrange a meeting with Lord Carmarthen, the British foreign secretary, and ensure that all preparation and diligence was done accordingly before being presented to the king.
Abigail had no doubt that she would be talking her dearest friend through several renditions of speeches for the occasion before it occurred.
John emerged onto the deck and announced that they would be docking shortly, which meant the hunt for their lodgings would commence.
Something temporary at first, of course, to allow for a more thorough search for permanent lodgings; there was no telling where they would end up, as America had never had a representative or minister to the British Crown before.
Abigail had hopes of returning to their old quiet lodgings at the Adelphi, where they had stayed after their Atlantic crossing and before venturing to France, but she was sensible enough to know that it might not be possible.
The ferry was unloaded with remarkable efficiency, and Abigail was impressed with the work. At her compliment, one of the porters smiled at her, his teeth crooked and stained but his smile free and easy.
“Lord bless ee, ma’am, but ’tis only an hour’s work. And ee’ve picked a right time to arrive in London.”
“How so?”
He seemed surprised. “Why, ’tis the king’s birthday, ma’am. The celebrations, I mean. Lord knows when the day actually is. And Parliament is in session, so the city be crawlin’ with folk.”
“And thar’s that music celebration goin’ on at the big Abbey, too,” another dockworker nearby called out. “German bloke, wrote about the Lord, didn’t he?”
“Handel?” Abigail asked in surprise.
The nods were fervent and quick. “Aye, that’s the one!”
“There is a celebration of Handel at Westminster Abbey?” she repeated, both for clarification and her own disbelief.
Again came the nods.
“Oh, Mama,” Nabby breathed. “How marvelous! Can we go?”
John tsked softly. “Perhaps we might find lodgings before we decide on outings, no matter how delightful their prospect?”
Abigail held her tongue while their trunks were loaded into the waiting carriage, while they were loaded in themselves, while they rambled along to the Adelphi, and while they waited for their driver to investigate openings therein.
Then—and only then—did she speak.
“I don’t believe it will matter overly much where we are lodged, John, as it relates to venturing to Westminster Abbey for a celebration of Handel. I shall attend regardless, and Nabby shall accompany me if she wishes.”
John heaved a sigh, rubbing at his brow. “Very well. Far be it from me to keep either of you from making good use of the time we are here to further your interests and pursuits. I shall not be able to permit myself anything enjoyable until we are settled and I have faced the king.”
The tension in his voice was only matched by that of his frame, and the strain of the task before him was written in every facet of his being.
“Do you know what you will say, Papa?” Nabby asked in a tentative tone.
John shook his head, his shoulders drooping further.
“No, only that I come at the will of my country and that I wish to cultivate friendly and liberal intercourse. I dread the occasion and only hear the calls of vanity from my fellow delegates at the congress in my head. I cannot be vain before the king, but I must be proud of our new nation. Our home. Our heritage. I have not one drop of blood in my being but what is American, yet I—”
Abigail sat forward and took John’s hand firmly in her own.
“No, John. There is no ‘yet.’ You are the representative chosen to face King George for our nation. The very first for England. No matter how vain anyone might think you, they would not have chosen you if you were not up to the task. You will find a way to make peace with the king and establish goodwill and a blossoming alliance. I will not allow for any other consideration in your mind or in actuality. Do you hear me?”
Her husband’s mouth curved slightly, his eyes softening. “Well, there you have it, Nabby. Your mother has given Fate and me our marching orders, and we would be fools to go against her. I’ve not done it before, and I’ll not do it now.”
“Mama will have her way, Papa,” Nabby agreed.
“And I’d move heaven and earth to see it done,” he murmured, gratitude filling his eyes as he looked at Abigail, the tension vanishing from his voice.
He pressed her hand once, and Abigail returned the pressure before glancing out the window at the returning driver.
“The Adelphi has no vacancies,” he told them in an apologetic tone. “And from what I am told, neither do most of the hotels in this region. They did suggest the Bath Hotel, if you’ve no objections.”
“I do not think we are in a position to make objections,” John muttered as Abigail nodded her agreement. “Drive on.”
Several minutes later, they arrived in Piccadilly at the Bath Hotel, which was noisier and dirtier than the Adelphi, she noted. The driver reported the cost of the four required rooms, which cost one third more than staying in the entire estate in Auteuil.
Living in England would prove trying, indeed, by these omens.