“Haven’t you ever been tempted to reach out and pick up that pup and set it at its mother’s side to suckle? Even though you know the kindest thing would be to kill it. Something inside you stirs…”
He glanced up and found Lady Frances staring at him in much the same way his uncle looked at Beckford.
She gave a laugh. “Oh, cut these waterworks, I beg you! If you want my help to win your stupid wager, I’ll give it. Though you know it’s impossible. You’re going to make us both look absurd in the process.”
“Never!” He flashed her a smile. “Our standing is good enough to weather any storm. And this wager will prove it.”
And there, really, was the rub.
His uncle wanted him to fail.
Sebastian refused.
Four
“Both Richard and MariaEdgeworth, of course, have written well of the science behind reforming the education of children,” said Mr Wilberforce. “We long sought to get medical men involved in our chimney sweep work—the diseases and ill-health caused by exposure to all that soot are well recognised. But as I’ve learned from my abolitionist fight, nothing can be done without a change in public sentiment.”
Sitting on the sofa in her aunt’s sitting room, Madelaine nodded. Beside her, her aunt nodded rapidly too.
“I’ve been writing to several promising doctors,” Madelaine said. “Science and factual evidence will be of great help in supporting our cause, especially when we’re accused of nothing but overly sentimental softness. But you’re right that it’s public sentiment we need to shift—we do need to play to people’s emotions but without being accused of being overly emotional ourselves. Mr Hunt…” She looked at the younger gentleman seated to Mr Wilberforce’s left. “Your article inThe Examinerlast year on the brutality of army floggings—”
“Nearly landed me in gaol,” he said, with a crooked smile. “And both my brother and I will be there again soon enough if Brougham can’t perform his usual magic.”
“How can they prosecute for mere opinions!” cried her aunt. “And for opinions that are the most just! The kindest! The most decent!”
Mr Hunt wrinkled his nose, laughing slightly. “Oh, my opinion on the Regent wasjust, all right, though I can’t pretend it was kind. But opinions that aren’t his own are just what that fat prince can’t stand.”
On Mr Hunt’s other side, the priest shifted unhappily in his seat. A slender, brown-haired man of around five-and-twenty, Reverend Robert Moore presided over the church her aunt attended and had recently been recruited to their cause. Being of both a pure and puritanical bent, he was, however, distinctly unhappy with the radicals and reformers that made up the bulk of their supporters.
Still. It was good to have clergymen among their number. Every argument was stronger if you could claim God was on your side.
Madelaine smiled at him, and Reverend Moore gave her a small, tight smile back.
“You are still publishing, though?” she asked Mr Hunt.
“Oh yes! Until they pry my pen from my hands.”
“And…would you write of this, do you think, the way you exposed the senseless barbarity of army floggings? Can I persuade you to help us persuade others?”
“I’m sure you could persuade me to do a great many things, Mrs Ardingly. But I know my brother John will want some substance to the article, and I agree. We need some bones to build around. Get us a few of these scientific, medical men to quote from, and I’m sure we can work something up.”
“Of course,” she said with a grateful smile—and the dismal knowledge she hadn’t yet received a reply to any of her letters.
Her eyes slipped to the dusty ormolu clock on the mantlepiece. “Almost noon. I’m afraid your ten minutes are up, Mr Wilberforce. But we’re so incredibly grateful you spared them to us.”
“Of course, of course,” said the grey-haired man, standing up. “It’s a worthy cause, though I fear an intractable one.” He went to the sideboard and picked up his hat and cane. “I’ll do what I can, though. There are a few MPs I know who might be sympathetic. I do still suggest you consider tightening your focus—banning the use of some one thing in particular, whips at public schools, for example, will be a far easier bill to write up and try to pass.”
Madelaine nodded, standing too as Mr Wilberforce moved towards the door. Mr Hunt was also getting ready to go, though the reverend remained, tapping a finger on his lips in thoughtful abstraction and somehow managing to look insectoidal. It was the long thin fingers, perhaps.
Going to open the door for the gentlemen, Madelaine stepped back in surprise when it opened from the other side before she reached it. The footman, Godfrey, and his yellowed wig appeared in the gap, bowing low in deference to their assembled company. And, perhaps due to that same company, he announced in even more portentous tones than usual, “The Viscount Cotereigh for Lady Pemberthy, Mrs Ardingly.”
If Madelaine had been surprised at his arrival the first time, she was almost more astonished by this second visit. In her mind, the viscount had departed in haste, dropped her pamphlet in the nearest puddle, and gone home to cleanse himself in a steaming hot bath until no trace of their interview remained.
And yet, here he was. Subjecting himself to thesqualorof her aunt’s shambolic house and her own ridiculous opinions onceagain. Perhaps he’d remembered another argument to make against her. Perhaps he wished to explain the frailty of the female brain.
The yellowed wig tottered away, and Lord Cotereigh stepped through the door, very tall, his black coat so smart and sleek and gleaming it somehow looked brighter than all the jumbled colours in the room.
He paused, taking in the assembled company with no discernible expression other than polite interest. Under his arm was a large, cloth-bound book. Perhaps it contained detailed diagrams of how best to beat small children to death.
