"I don't believe it," breathed Lady Winter.
"You must be mistaken, Elizabeth," said Lord Edward patronisingly.
"Oh, it's quite true, my dears," put in Sir Anthony, as Beth's colour rose. "I heard the man say so myself. And the Anglican chapel is very tastefully appointed, quite devoid of the icons and other paraphernalia of which Catholics are so fond."
Attention now transferred to the baronet.
"Are you sure this is not just a rumour put about by the supporters of the Pretender?" asked Thomas, who had just managed with difficulty to swallow a particularly large piece of gristle.
"No, not at all. I saw it myself. Attended a service, in fact. It was most refreshing."
"Why didn't you tell us this before, Anthony?" asked Edwin.
"It quite slipped my mind. The conversation at your house recently has been somewhat dominated by your son and heir. And quite rightly so. A divine child!" he replied serenely, seemingly unaware that he and his wife had just demolished one of the main objections to the replacement of the House of Hanover by that of Stuart. If it was true.
"You and your husband will make Jacobites of us all, Lady Elizabeth," said the earl in a low voice which was nevertheless heard by the whole table, which was still in a state of shock.
"God forbid!" declared Thomas. "If what you say is true, then I believe it to be no more than a publicity exercise by James."
"Possibly. Although you would think, if that is the case, that James would make it more widely known that he employs Anglican servants and ministers," the earl said thoughtfully.
"Clearly he has decided to do so, by inviting gullible tourists to visit the Palazzo Muti, hoping they will spread his insidious lies unwittingly," Lord Edward said tactlessly, forgetting that he was supposed to be ingratiating himself with the baronet.
"The dispute over the Stuart restoration is about more than religious tolerance, though, isn't it?" said Caroline. "It is about the divine right of kings to rule as they wish without interference, which is what James wants."
"He might want it, but do you think he would get it, if he was restored?" Sir Anthony asked.
"I doubt it, but he would certainly fight for it, and so would his supporters. We have had enough of civil war in this country, I think."
"Better the devil you know," said the earl, smiling.
"Yes. Exactly. Caroline is right. At least we know George's virtues and failings," Thomas said. His daughter sighed. She had enough of political conversation at home, and had hoped this dinner would provide a respite. But everyone else seemed fascinated, except for Isabella and her sisters, who looked confused, and worried. "But these repressive measures enacted by the king play into the Pretender's hands. George is not greatly liked, even by his supporters."
"Come, sir!" said Lord Winter, shocked. "How can you say this, when only a few days ago the merchants of London led a huge procession to St. James's and offered the king six million pounds? You speak treasonably!"
"They offered him a loan of six million pounds," Thomas said dryly. "No my lord, I speak honestly. It is no secret that the king is not popular with his subjects. He knows it himself. There are many who long for a more exciting court. I do not see you, my lord, or any of the aristocracy for that matter, flocking to George's entertainments. Indeed he rarely provides any. It is what he represents that we support. The king has not the kind of personality which endears men to him. Unlike the Pretender's son, who, if rumour is true, does. Many still think George favours Hanover over Britain. And his public estrangement from the Prince of Wales does not enhance his standing in the eyes of the public."
"So what you are saying," said Sir Anthony, "is that if George allowed people to worship as they wished, and allowed Tories to enjoy the fruits of their offices, perhaps they would not be so inclined to favour the Stuarts, in spite of Charles's charisma?"
"That is exactly what I am saying," said Thomas. "Contented men are rarely willing to risk their lives for a mere principle. It is only when life becomes intolerable that they are roused to rebellion. Scotland is where the main danger lies, I think, as it always has done."
"Ah, because the Scots see James Stuart as one of their own?" Sir Anthony asked.
"Partly. The Stuarts are of Scottish origin. But also because overall the Scots didn't want the Act of union , and feel that they have not benefited from it. Many of them might feel they have nothing to lose by rising for the Pretender. And the king's hostile attitude towards his northern subjects does nothing for his popularity there. I feel that we would do better to address some of their grievances, so they feel they are prospering under George. Then they would be less likely to rebel."
Beth had by now decided that Thomas Fortesque was a man to be admired. And a man who could be very dangerous to the chances of a Stuart restoration, were his ideas to be heeded.
"Speaking of rebellions, it seems that we left France just in time," said Lord Winter, eyeing with some trepidation the pasty suet pudding sparsely dotted with raisins which had just been presented to the company by way of dessert.
"We did. The French are impounding British boats, including the mail packet. It would be difficult now to obtain a passage home," said Sir Anthony absently. He was looking at a footman, who was heading in his direction. The man bent and whispered something to him. The baronet nodded, and the man left the room. "Although I doubt Louis is going so far as to arrest innocent tourists, as yet," he continued. "He has not, after all, formally declared war on us."
"I am sure that, no matter what the situation between France and England, Sir Anthony, you would have been unharmed," said Lady Winter acidly, still piqued by his comment in the salon. "Your lady wife enjoying such … ah … cordial relations with King Louis." She smiled sweetly at Beth, who smiled back, and prepared for war.
She was prevented from deploying her weapons by the surprise entrance of Duncan in full livery, who approached Sir Anthony with the deference befitting a servant, and handed him a paper, which that man scanned with a neutral expression, before nodding and dismissing his employee.
"Is it bad news, Sir Anthony?" asked Isabella. It was unusual for a servant to interrupt a dinner party, unless it was important.
"No. Well, yes, a little. It concerns a friend of mine from my university days, who is ill. I have been awaiting news of his health, and told my man to bring any message from him to me immediately."
"And is his health then deteriorating?" asked Clarissa.
"It seems so, although not as rapidly as I had feared," replied the baronet, folding the missive and putting it in his pocket. "But if you have no objections, Elizabeth and I will leave directly the meal is over. I would like to get an early start in the morning, and go to visit him. I could not possibly contemplate a long journey and a possibly traumatic visit, without a good night's sleep. My nerves are already shattered from my experiences in Paris. You will understand, of course." He smiled around the table.
Of course they all understood, except Beth, who knew what the message was about and was expecting Sir Anthony's friend to have deteriorated dramatically, not merely a little, and thought to make a two mile journey to Blackwall, not a long one. She made her farewells casually with no sense of urgency, as did her husband, who paused to exchange a few quiet words with the earl, before, to Beth's utter frustration, offering Thomas and Lydia a lift home, as it was on the way. He chatted merrily with Thomas, while Beth seemed to give her full attention to praising Lydia's hairstyle, which was one of Sarah's confections, while her mind raced through the possible implications of the letter.
They had barely entered the house before she pounced.
"What's happened?" she said, beside herself. "Are the French at Blackwall?"
"No," said Alex, throwing his coat to Duncan, and his wig on the chair in the hall. The others had all been listening for the coach, and were waiting to hear the news. "I dinna ken what's happened, but it's no' the invasion. Something's wrong, but it doesna seem urgent. Foley's in Tilbury."
"D'ye want me to go, and find out what's happening?" Angus asked, his eyes alight.
"I'll come with you," Duncan said without waiting for Alex's reply.
"No," countermanded Alex. "That is, ye can both come, but I'm going, too." He looked at Beth's disappointed face. "Wear something plain and practical," he said to her. "And cover your hair. It's your most distinctive feature."
They rode through the night, arriving in Tilbury the following morning, and were shown into the dimly lit cellar from which Gabriel Foley was temporarily conducting his business. The bull-like man was dishevelled, and had obviously slept in his clothes, but his eyes were alert as he surveyed the visitors, two of whom were unknown to him.