Shecould afford to engage in such frivolities.
“Yes, indeed.” The elder MP sighed and picked up his newspaper to fan himself again.
“Now, as we were speaking of the Smoke Regulation Act, I would very much like to bring it to the floor again. I’ve some support in unlikely quarters; the Duke of Marbury, if you would believe—”
“My dear boy.” Towle always addressed him thus when he was working his way up to a set-down. “I don’t doubt your passion, but I worry you’re spreading yourself far too thin. Is the poisonous nature of factory smoke your chosen crusade, or is it this issue of illegitimacy and bastardy?” He made a gesture to a thick stack of papers sitting atop the end table alongside him.
The treatise Marcus had been up all night penning. He’d handed it to Towle the moment his mentor had crossed his threshold. Marcus stared at it, wondering if he’d spent enough ink excoriating the menace of baby farmers, or condemning the paltry, discriminatory efforts of charities.
When he didn’t respond, Towle sighed and continued.
“You must see that it’s unseemly for a young man to be so…investedin the plight of unwed mothers and… unsavory women. Perhaps smoke nuisance is—”
“And why should it be?” Marcus interrupted. Bollocks, it was terribly muggy in here, wasn’t it? Perhaps he ought to speakwith his housekeeper. “Plenty of men direct their charity efforts toward prostitutes, foundling homes—”
“Marriedmen, Hartley. Family men.”
“Ah, you’ve been speaking with my mother.” Marcus forced an amused tone. “Ready to wed me to whatever woman she can hook at any given moment. Her daily catch, if you will.”
Frustratingly, Towle did not bite. “You’ve an uphill battle in Parliament on this one, and with nothing to recommend yourself aside from the usual accusations of radicalism that you’ll be met with. There are rumors—”
Anger and frustration rose in Marcus’s chest, not wanting to hear someone he admired give voice to the horrible things that had been said about him.
“And they’re more concerned with censuring them than aiding them! Why, they call the residents of the London Foundling Hospital ‘inmates,’ as if it were some sort of… disciplinary institution! And don’t speak of the Infant Life Protection Act, as if that were a solution. You know as well as I that the Metropolitan Board of Works has done absolutelynothingto implement it.” Marcus halted, placing his fist before his mouth to keep any further grievances at bay.
Across the sweltering sitting room, the Honorable Philip Towle of Birmingham looked on him kindly, but with decades of experience tempering his bearing. He was a lean, compact man with wiry white side whiskers, which were the only hair left on his head save for his equally wild eyebrows. His borough was traditionally a fiercely contested one, though he’d managed to hold on to his seat for decades, often by the skin of his teeth. Marcus had always admired the man’s tenacity in that regard, but begrudged it when it manifested as the shrewd sort of patience he was displaying now.
Finally, after a long moment of silence, Towle cleared his throat and leaned forward to pick up his tea. He took a long sip,then leisurely set the cup and saucer back down before speaking once more.
“The government is not popular, the income tax even less so, and that’s before we even get to the Education Act! Then there’s this Post Office funds mess—”
“There’s always something. And Gladstone needn’t call an election for a year and a half.”
Towle sighed again, shaking his head this time.
Marcus continued. “A year and a half, that’s—”
“Nothing in the grand scheme of things.”
Marcus stood up, impatient. “It’s quite enough time!”
“Sit down, sit down.” Towle waved his hand in the same exasperated manner Marcus’s professors had at Cambridge. “I know you came to the House of Commons with stars in your eyes and a fire in your belly. Do not forget, my boy, that my principles are very much in line with yours.”
Marcus wanted to scoff, to remind Towle of the women and children dying for lack of clean water and safe refuge every day in this very city. Of the women forced into prostitution when no one would extend a hand to help them. Of the children suffering needlessly because their birth was not legitimate, through no fault of their own. But he had too much respect for his mentor. So he bit back his rejoinder and took his seat, fists clenched atop his knees.
By chance, Marcus had been born to comfort and uselessness, a fact he’d never allowed himself to forget. One’s station was all due to the lottery of birth. Nothing more.
“It’s abhorrent,” he finally spat out.
“It’s politics,” Towle said with a shrug. “You ought to batten down the hatches. There’s no guarantee the next election will be another victory for us. The country is restless, and the conservatives have been gaining strength through by-election victories. I take that as a warning.”
Now it was Marcus’s turn to sigh, and he buried his face in his hands. “And what do you propose?”
“Knockton is rural. Truth, you benefit from its proximity to Manchester, but at its heart it is a rural borough, and its politics will always naturally lean thus. How long have you resided there?”
“Six years, or thereabouts.”
“Well, it’s past time you ingratiated yourself with the locals. Forget these immovable mountains of policy for the moment—you cannot have an impact in government if you are notinthe government, and we as a party can accomplish little if our members cannot hold on to their seats. Leave London for a while, and go tend to your own garden.”
