Daniel had seen the only woman he’d ever loved chewed up and vomited out by smallpox, and urgently desired a change of subject. “I begin to understand. The Whigs are seen as the party of the Bank, and of War. The Bank is said to be foundering and the War has ground to a halt.”
“Mind you,” put in Roger with one more admonitory shake of the drumstick, “the Bank shall succeed immensely, and we shall prevail over the French, all in good time; but it would help us if we could avoid losing the next election to Harley and Bolingbroke and his lot.” Meaning the Tories.
“And so you would make some peace-offering to the French. Eliza is seen as a sort of bridge between France and England. You would please her and her husband by returning Météore. And you would like me to go along—?”
“Somewhat as you went to the Hague in the days before the Revolution,” said Roger, “as the least likely imaginable diplomat.”
“The more often I am sent on such missions the more likely I must seem,” said Daniel, “but I shall go and deliver this boat to Eliza if that is what you want. From there it is on to Hanover.”
“It is extraordinary you should mention Hanover,” said Roger. “I have a message, too sensitive to commit to paper, that I should like you to deliver to our next Queen.”
“Are you referring to Sophie of Hanover? You confuse me, for our next Queen is named Anne, and lives in England.”
“Syphilitic like her sister and her dad,” Roger mumbled, as if Princess Anne were only the most fleeting of distractions, “unlikely to have viable children—whereas Sophie was an unstoppable baby-maker in her day. Mark my words, if we can only suffer through to the end of these poxy, Popish Stuarts, we’ll see Hanovers on the throne—and Hanovers are natural Whigs.”
“How does that follow?”
“Hanovers are natural Whigs,” Roger re-iterated. “Keep saying it to yourself, Daniel, an hundred times a day, until you believe it; and then say it to Sophie of Hanover as if you mean it.”
“Well, do not look up, Roger, but I phant’sy that some natural Tories are spying on us from the Tower.” Daniel cocked his head at a side-window of the cabin, which offered a prospect over the Wharf and the fortifications above and beyond it.
“Really!?”
“Oh yes indeed.”
“The curtain-wall or—”
“Farther in, I should say. Do keep in mind that the Tower’s a bit crowded with Tories today.”
“I suppose it would be,” said Roger. “Well done, Daniel! Perhaps you do have some future, after all, as a scheming political hack.”
“You forget I used to make my living as one. Excuse me, Roger, but the gastro-colic reflex is having its way with me, and I must to the head.”
“In truth or—”
“No, for I am stopped up in the bowels these three days; it is a diversionary ruse. Is there a prospective-glass to be found in this place?”
“Indeed, a lovely one, in that drawer—no, to the left—now down—and down again. There you have it.”
“To perfect the illusion, I’ll need something in lieu of a turd.”
“Spotted Dick!” said Roger instantly, eyeing a brown log on a platter.
“I was thinking bangers,” Daniel said, “but in English cuisine there are so many items of about the right size, shape, color and composition that it is easy to be overwhelmed by choices.”
“In France, you’ll find, there is greater variety in foods.”