Do we bore you, sir? Is the Confederacy but a tedious, disagreeable chore, best done as quickly as possible, thence forgotten? Lee closed his eyes and saw again the dead of Sharpsburg. He forced his eyes open before worse memories came. You've no idea what our Cause has cost me, or what sums I'll pay for it still.
On reaching the mouth of Downing Street, the cab turned right on Whitehall instead of left toward Trafalgar Square and Moreley's-hardly a mistake even a tourist would make in a fog. The man quickly smiled at Lee's puzzled look. "Quite correct, General," he nodded. "We've turned the wrong way. I thought a prolonged chat might be agreeable to you."
"A meeting in your office, sir-one several hours if not days earlier-would have been far more 'agreeable. Far more convenient, too."
Still smiling, the man shook his head. "Ah, but not for me, I'm afraid. Those weren't my offices; I have none, you see."
A corner of Lee's mouth turned up. "I suppose this is the part in your little drama where I ask who you are."
"Will you?"
Lee shook his head. He'd played these games during the War. "No, sir. I see no point to it." The man underestimated Lee, but then he was used that; being underestimated had served him well in the past. "I suspect your answer would be… suspect at best."
The man nodded with obvious satisfaction. "Quite so. In fact, had you asked, I should have been very much disappointed in you."
The man slumped forward. He rested his ample chins on the gold handle of his cane as he seemed to think over his next words. "But in as much as you have not asked my identity, I believe that I shall answer your unasked question as fully as it is in my power to do so."
He pursed his lips. "I am not connected in any way to Her Majesty's Government, you understand. I do not represent the Crown, I hold no office, no portfolio. In short, sir, I do not exist."
"I hardly think so, sir. After spending a few days in your charming city as a man who doesn't exist, you can be sure I know the difference."
"Well played." The man smiled. "Your president was quite right, you know, in sending you. I cannot think of another of your countrymen with whom I'd even bother. Most diplomats, frankly, are hardly worth the effort. Crashing bores." The man's face brightened. "But you, sir? 'The Napoleon of our age, the soldier who won his county's independence through sheer force of will? No, you interest me, dear General."
"My interest, sir, is in the successful discharge of my duties."
"Something you find difficult to do speaking to a man without a name, I imagine." The man leaned back. "I cannot give you my surname, of course. Nor my Christian name-too singular by half. And, 'Michael, a more common form for my poor name, strikes me too much of Milton's fallen orator. 'Which way I flie is Hell; my self am Hell. " He smiled. "No, while the snake may have the best lines, I do not think, given what we must talk about this evening, that using that particular name would prove the best course."
He thought for a moment. "Ah. Perhaps a more agreeable compromise might be 'Croft. " He smiled. "Yes. What a pleasant solution. Yes, you may call me Croft." Somehow he actually found the energy to chuckle. " 'A small portable filing cabinet' is just the name for me."
Lee gave a sour smile. "My mission nears completion, then. I hoped, sir, for a cabinet meeting-and it appears that I have one now."
"Oh, I assure you this is much better. My younger brother is somewhat rashly prone to say I am the Government." Croft shrugged. "Rather, I have become a shortcut, a convenience in difficult situations."
And our Confederacy is one such, thought Lee. His arm began to ache again. He rubbed it absent-mindedly. "Let us begin down that shortcut then, shall we? Tell me, Mister… Croft. Why is it your government no longer recognizes our Confederacy?"
Croft smiled blandly. "Whatever do you mean? The British government has recognized you. Lord Palmerston did so shortly after your brilliant victory in Pennsylvania. Made a lovely little speech about it, too, about how England had its Runnymede, but the South had their General Meade."
"Your government has since done everything in its power to disavow that recognition!"
Croft fingered the black velvet curtains as he stared out the window. "Hmmm. The fog seems to be lifting somewhat. Strange how fog lifts and falls for no discernible cause." He turned to Lee. "And what reason have you been given for this supposed… intransigence by Her Majesty's government?"
"Officially? None." The British government wasn't even talking to the Confederacy enough to admit it wasn't talking. Nor enough to deny it.
"That then implies you've an 'unofficial' reply, would it not?"
As if this charade tonight wasn't. "What was passed on to us through a neutral third party-unofficially, of course-"
"Of course."
"— was the recent rapid turnovers of your government."
Croft nodded slowly. "Much truth in that, I'd dare say. Palmerston, Russell, Derby, Disraeli, and now Gladstone. We've gone through five governments in as many years. Five since your Gettysburg. Things have been rather muddled of late." He sighed. "I've found it most… tedious."
Lee snorted. "Too 'muddled' to even spend the few minutes it would to take to accept my ambassadorial credentials? Unlikely, sir. Unlikely."
Croft only smiled. "You've not met Disraeli, then. The sobriquet 'Dizzy' is no mere onomatopoeia."
"I tire of your games, sir. One would think that in staging this elaborate rendezvous, you would at last be intent on providing answers. Well, sir! Provide them!"
A moment passed as Croft looked Lee up and down, measuring him against some secret scale. "Very well," he said at last. "You wish to know why the British government is so reluctant to continue to treat with yours." He shook his head. "Hardly any cognoscitive effort is required, my dear General. One need merely speak that one singularly ugly little word."
Lee knew full well which word Croft meant. That hateful, shameful word Lee could no longer bring himself to speak.
Croft spoke it for him, all but hissing it:
"Slavery."
For the first time, the lethargic Croft showed fire, a fire in his eyes Lee was all too familiar with: He had seen it in the eyes of the Northern abolitionists before the war.
Nothing would extinguish that blaze. Nor did Lee, down in the recesses of his soul, truly wish to try. Duty, however, impelled him to. How many times would he be called on to defend the indefensible?
"May I remind you, sir," Lee said, choosing his every word carefully, "that the internal affairs of a sovereign nation, particularly one on the other side of a vast ocean, are of no concern to Britain, either to her government or to her subjects."
Yes, Lee thought. Self-determination's a principle I can defend-just as long as I do not think through that principle's ultimate personal ramifications. "And," he continued "may I also remind you that your government recognized the Confederacy despite our peculiar institution. If it was not a concern then, it should not be a concern now. Nothing has changed."
"Perhaps that lack of change is the problem," Croft shot back. "General Lee, I've read your view on the 'servile question' as your political parties refer to it in senatorial debates-"
"The South, sir, has no political parties," Lee spoke with pride. The evils Republicanism and Whiggerydom had brought were one taint, at least, from which the South had freed itself.
"My apologies." Croft smiled wider. A crocodile smile. "The factions, then, of your government's undivided whole." He fingered the curtain for a moment. "You favor a gradual emancipation-but an emancipation nonetheless. Rather more in line with your President Longstreet's views than that of the Yancy-Rhett faction controlling your senate." He let go the curtain. "Of course, not even the Charleston Mercury dares term you a 'black Republican. Not yet."