He laughed at her dismay for although she had believed she was hiding it, she had for a second betrayed it.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘if I were female you might with reason call me a slut.’
‘Sir!’
He laughed at her and putting his hands on her shoulders studied her face.
‘Do you know, Mrs Armistead, at one time I, my friend Richard Fitzpatrick and my cousin the Earl of Carlisle were regarded as the three best dressed men in London? Times change and we change with them, eh. Look at me now. You could not, in reason, call me the best dressed man in London.’
‘I would not call you dressed at all, sir.’
‘Stop calling me sir,’ he said. ‘And I refuse to call you Mrs Armistead.’
‘My name was Elizabeth Bridget Cane before I married Mr Armistead.’
‘Well Lizzie, now you have formally introduced yourself and I am very pleased that we have become good friends.’
‘I came to tell you that Mrs Robinson is going to give up the stage.’
He grimaced. ‘Sheridan won’t like that. He’s playing to excellent business. Everyone wants to see Mrs Robinson. It’s rumoured, but the audience is not certain, that she is the mistress of the Prince of Wales.’
‘When the Prince has his establishment he is going to set her up in a house.’
Fox nodded.
‘Their little affair goes according to plan. There are other matters.’
He was looking at her intently. She had known it must come to this; and when it did of course this would not be the end. There was more between them than a passing desire for a handsome lady’s maid on his side and the need not to offend an important man on hers.
As he came nearer she did not draw back. He took her hand and she let it rest in his.
Sheridan sat in his office at the theatre surrounded by playbills, plays which had been sent in for reading, and bills which he chose to ignore because he knew he could not settle them.
He was surprised when Mr Charles James Fox was announced. They were acquainted and had an admiration for each other; but as yet their interests had been divergent. Sheridan followed political affairs with a mild interest; Fox was an occasional visitor to the theatre; but Sheridan, himself a Whig, had been impressed by Fox’s adroit manoeuvres and Fox by The School for Scandal and The Rivals.
But why, wondered Sheridan, had the important gentleman seen fit to call upon him?
‘Mr Fox, sir, at your service,’ he said.
‘At yours, sir. I trust this is not an inconvenient hour to call?’
‘Any hour would be convenient to receive a visit from Mr Fox.’
Fox laughed to imply they could dispense with trite formalities.
‘Business is booming, I see,’ said Mr Fox. He was well aware that although business boomed so did Sheridan’s debts. Sheridan was a gambler and a gay liver; moreover, he was of an intellectual calibre to match Fox’s. Such kindred spirits were rare.
Sheridan, knowing that Fox would be well aware of his financial difficulties, shrugged his shoulders and nodded in the direction of the pile of bills. No need to excuse himself to a man who had been – was constantly – in a similar position.
‘So tiresome,’ said Mr Fox, ‘to have to pay for one’s pleasures!’
‘But if one did not make a pretence of doing so we should have every Tom, Dick and Harry scrambling for them. Would there be enough to go round?’
‘I do not think it would be beyond the powers of our invention to create new ones, Mr Sheridan.’
Sheridan opened a cupboard and brought out two glasses.
Without speaking he filled them and handed one to Fox.
‘Your very good health, sir, and good fortune to the project you have come here to discuss with me this day.’
Fox laughed. ‘Mr Sheridan, your talents are considerable. Words are your forte. The same thing applies to me. To be brief I have come to suggest that you stand for Parliament.’
‘Did I hear you aright, sir?’
‘As a Whig. You are a Whig, sir. No doubt of that.’
Sheridan lifted his glass. ‘To wine, women and Whigs, sir.’
Mr Fox drank and said: ‘So, Mr Sheridan?’
‘Mr Fox, sir. I am sitting here among my accounts, doing my theatre business with no thought of taking on the office of Lord of the Treasury.’
‘You will not be hurried into that position quite yet, Mr Sheridan.’
‘But no one enters politics surely without dreaming of the Great Seal. It is the Field Marshal’s baton … it is the Admiral’s … Forgive me, sir, but what is the insignia of our sea lords? Is it the holy grail?’
‘Dream of it then, Mr Sheridan! Dream of it! You are too clever a man to concentrate all your efforts into one undertaking. Your plays … your theatre … yes, excellent for an ordinary man. But you are not an ordinary man, Mr Sheridan. You have a touch of genius. Give it to your country.’
‘Are there not too many at this moment offering their genius to the country? See what such genius has done. Lost us the American Colonies, for one thing.’
‘Alas, politicians are legion; genius is rare. North is the biggest blundering idiot that ever held the Great Seal. And HM clings to him. Why? Because he sees himself as a Supreme Ruler. In that addled head of his he’s thinking of Divine Rights. North and the King. By God, what a pair. I have to put the King and his Tories out of office, Mr Sheridan; and I can only do that by putting the Whigs in.’
‘Surely the people are behind the Government.’
‘Mr Sheridan, you will have to learn your politics. The people will be Tory one day and Whig the next and it is our task to see that they are Whig the day after and the week after and the year after. How do we do it? By teaching them, educating them, by making them realize what a holy mess we’re in, what the loss of the colonies mean to us.’
‘We?’
‘Those of us who have the power to do so. Men who are on familiar and caressing terms with the English language.’
‘Like Mr Fox for instance.’
‘Mr Fox, sir, and Mr Sheridan.’
‘A place in politics … a Member of Parliament,’ mused Sheridan.
Fox leaned forward. ‘If the right party were in power it could be a high place in the Government. It would be a different life from this …’ Fox waved his hand with a faintly disparaging gesture. ‘You would be the friend of anyone you chose to meet. I personally would see that you were a member of Brooks’ … or any club you fancied. You would be welcome in the most noble houses. Oh, I know these are the outward trappings of power … of no importance in themselves. But they are a measure of success.’
‘You speak as though Power is the ultimate goal of all men.’
‘Men such as you and myself, Mr Sheridan. We were sent in the world with our talents. Is it not incumbent upon us to use them?’
‘I am using mine. I think I have written plays which will be performed a hundred years hence. If the playmaker Sheridan is not forgotten after he’s dead is that not enough?’
‘It depends on what talents you arrived with, Mr Sheridan. A brilliant playwright … yes. And the theatre will rejoice in that talent for years. Generations will rise up and call you blessed. But this country is rushing ahead to disaster. Pitt saw it, but he was defeated by the gout and changing his title from The Great Commoner to Chatham. Politicians can’t afford to make mistakes. By God, Mr Sheridan, it’s the most exciting game on earth. Loo, Faro, Macao, Hazard! You haven’t gambled until you’ve played politics.’