“Wonderfully. Her Majesty agreed that we should make all preparations to increase the pressure on the Americans — even before they have had a chance to respond to our ultimatum. Prince Albert is doing very poorly, I regret to report. The physicians now are sure that his lung congestion is far more serious than they had previously determined. They believe that he has all the symptoms of the typhoid fever.”
“I say! But he has not been in the south, has not left London.”
“He doesn’t need to. You’ve smelled the drains in Windsor Castle. Mephitic! Anything could lurk in their bowels. Nothing has ever been done to improve the various closets and sinks there. Noxious effluvia escape from the old drain — the stench of the cesspools make parts of the Castle almost uninhabitable. I am surprised that more are not felled by the miasma.”
“Poor Albert, poor man.”
“If there is any good to come of his illness it is the Queen’s anger. She feels that, in his weakened condition, he should not have attempted to work on our dispatch. She is positive that he gave his strength for his country, and she fears he may perhaps, terrible thought, even give his life. She blames the Americans for everything, everything. No action we take will be too severe.”
“Such a fine woman — and a veritable dragon in defense of St. George. So what shall we do first?”
“First we demonstrate to the Yankees the firmness of our will.”
“Which is indeed of the firmest.”
“We reconsider our neutrality in supplying military supplies to both antagonists in this conflict. We can order an embargo on all shipments of saltpeter to the North — the vital ingredient of gunpowder.”
“A fine beginning. And if we do that we must also forbid shipment of munitions and all other warlike instruments. We shall hit them where it hurts.”
“And we must prepare ourselves to show our warlike mettle as well. Two troop vessels have sailed for Canada this very day. Quite a spirited departure I am told with the bands playing ‘The British Grenadiers’ followed by ‘Dixie.’ But there has been another slight hold up. You will recall that we have another regiment and an artillery battery that were to be transferred to Canada.”
“I do,” Palmerston said, frowning. “But I assumed they were seaborne or in the province by now.”
“They are still in barracks. The Canadians say they have no quarters or tents for them…”
“Nonsense! These are hardened troops capable of living and fighting in any extremity. Have the orders issued for their transferral at once. And I suggest that we don’t wait for the navy and their transports. I can hear their delaying arguments already. Hire a Cunard steamer. What is the strength of our forces in Canada?”
“I am afraid that we have only five thousand regulars stationed there at the present time.”
“That must change. By God we should have finished the colonials off in 1814. We had the strength to do it. Burnt their cities of Buffalo and Washington as well, didn’t we? Would have won if it hadn’t been for the French. Well, spilt milk and all that. How about our situation now at sea? What is the condition of our fleet at the North American station?”
“Quite adequate, well over thirty vessels. There are three battleships, as well as frigates and corvettes.”
“Good, but not good enough. They must be reinforced with more capital ships. The Americans must see that we are very serious in this matter. The two Southern representatives must be returned, an apology must be made. On this we are adamant. With the country united behind us we can not be seen to be weak or pusillanimous. What is today’s date?”
“The twenty-first of December.”
“The very day that Lord Lyons is to present our dispatch to the Americans. I am sure that it was a singularly momentous occasion. Now, some more port, if you please.”
Lord Lyons hated the Washington weather. Tropically hot and humid in summer, arctic in winter. His carriage had bumped and slithered over the ice and slush, shaking him about like a pea in a pod. Finally back at his home he descended from the carriage and tramped through the wet snow, slammed the front door behind him. His manservant took his snow-whitened coat and opened the door to the study where a fire crackled on the hearth.
“William,” Lyons called out as he warmed his hands before the flames. His secretary slipped in silently. “Bring pen, ink and paper for yourself. I have met with the Americans and must write a report at once to Lord Palmerston. It has been a dreadful morning. That Seward is a cold fish indeed. He read our dispatch without moving a muscle at the demands and commands it contained. Even managed to look bored when I told him we must have an answer within a week. If our demands are not met, I assured him that I would remove my passports and return to Britain. He smiled at that — as though he enjoyed the idea!”
His secretary nodded understandingly, knowing that he was but a witness not a participant in the conversation.
Lyons walked back and forth before the fireplace, composing his words carefully. He was a small and plump man, with a smoothness of manner that hid the subtlety of his nature. William sat in silence, quill pen poised over paper.
“Usual honorifics, you know. Then — I have this day handed over to Secretary of State Seward your demands for the release of the Confederate commissioners Messrs Mason and Slidell. I am convinced that unless we give our friends here a good lesson this time, we shall have the same trouble with them again very soon. They will soon see the folly of their ways when they read this ultimatum. Surrender or war will have a very salutary effect upon them. Though I must say that our demands were met with a very cool reception.”
The fire crackled; the only other sound the scratch of the pen on paper. Lyons warmed his hands, aware of a sudden chill. Would there be war? Would it come to that in the end?
It was an exhilarating albeit a most depressing thought. War against aborigines was one thing. Against an armed and dangerous foe was another. But this was a country divided and the Union was already battling for its life. While Britain, at peace with the rest of the world, could draw upon the mighty strength of her Empire if it came to battle. The richest Empire the world had ever seen. America had managed to slip from the British grasp — but that could be rectified. There was a continent brimming with wealth here that would only add greater luster to the Empire.
Perhaps a war would not be such a bad idea after all.
ON THE BRINK
Dr. Jenner closed the door to Prince Albert’s bedroom as quietly as he could, turning the handle as he shut it so there would not be the slightest click of metal on metal. Queen Victoria watched him, eyes wide with fright and apprehension; the flame on the candlestick in her trembling hand wavered and smoked.
“Tell me…” she said, almost breathlessly.
“Sleeping,” the doctor said. “A very good sign.”
“It is, of course!” Victoria felt the slightest lift of spirits. “It has been, I don’t know how long, days, nights since he has slept a little, or not at all.”
“Nor you either, for that matter.”
She dismissed this with a disdainful wave of her small and chubby hand. “I am not ill, he is the one whom you and Sir James must be concerned about. I have been sleeping on that makeshift bed in his dressing room. But he walks about, does not lie down — and he is so thin. Some nights I do not believe he sleeps at all. Nor does he eat! It tears at my heart to see him like this.”
“His gastric fever must run its course so we must be patient. You can be of immense help by doing what no one else can do. You must see that he eats something every day. Even if only gruel, his body must need all the help to fight this disease.” Jenner took the candle from her trembling hand and placed it on the table next to the couch. “You had best sit, ma’am.”