War Zone

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lord Sheringham could imagine the various minis ters' reactions to his latest whimsicality-resentment, astonishment, shocked indignation, and perhaps in the case of one or two of them a touch of envy.

There was no mistaking the twinkle in Lord Sheringham's eyes as he looked at his father.

"I admit, Sir, that it was a mistake to include the Prussian Ambassador among my guests, but it was a last-minute impulse. He had been making himself peculiarly objectionable and I merely invited him to a dinner worthy of his reputation."

"Without explaining the circumstances in which it was given?" Lord Morden asked.

The twinkle in Lord Sheringham's eyes deepened. "I am afraid that small detail must have been over looked, Sir."

The eyes of father and son met, and for a moment it seemed as if Lord Morden would smile too. Then as if impatient at his own weakness he turned away and resumed his pacing up and down the floor.

"It is no use, Armand," he said, "This time you have gone too far. I warned you before that you were over stepping the bounds of all decency and propriety. God knows I've tried to be patient with you, but this time you have really excelled yourself. Canning is annoyed, seriously annoyed, and who can blame him?" Lord Sheringham shrugged his shoulders, then he said quietly:

"If Canning were a strong man, he would tell the Prussian Ambassador to go to hell." "Canning isn't strong and never has been," Lord Morden replied, almost as if he spoke to himself rather than to his son. "If only Pitt were alive!" He stood still with his back to the room and repeated the words softly:

"Yes, if only Pitt were alive!"

"But he isn't!" Lord Sheringham said. "And Canning isn't the only weak person in the Cabinet. Father!" "I know that," Lord Morden replied. "I know if only too well, yet who else is there? Who else, I ask you?"

His voice rose for a moment almost on a note of despair, then he turned back towards his son, an ex pression of resolution on his face. "Don't try to side-track me, Armand; I know your methods only too well. I brought you here not only to reproach you for what you did last night, but to tell you of the decision I have made regarding your future."

Lord Sheringham raised his eyebrows.

"That will be interesting hearing, Father. May I sit down? I find it vastly fatiguing to stand for a long time."

Lord Morden brought his fist down suddenly on the Cabinet table with a violence which rattled the pens and papers.

"Blister it, Armand," he said. "Why will you always behave in this spineless, affected fashion? I loathe your dandified airs and graces, the way you yawn your way through life and behave as if nothing is worth doing or saying. I speak to you of your future, and you tell me you are too tired to listen to it standing up.

Have you no feelings, no emotions?" Lord Sheringham sank languidly down in a chair and thrust out his long legs in front of him.

"The last time you sent for me, Father, it was to accuse me of having too many feelings and emotions,"

"On that occasion we were talking about women," Lord Morden replied. "Where they are concerned your reputation has sank to the lowest depths of degradation. Lady Coldsworth has threatened to complain to the Queen of the way you have treated her daughter, and your parties at Morden House are the talk of the town."

"People have to talk about something," Lord Sheringham remarked mildly.

"Well, they won't talk about you much longer, my boy," Lord Morden said grimly. "Now listen to me!" "I would remind you, Father, that I have been doing that for some considerable time," Lord Shering ham said affably.

Lord Morden's expression hardened and he seated himself in the arm-chair at the head of the Cabinet table. From there he stared across the room at his son. They were not much alike, in fact there was little similarity other than a certain squareness of their jaws and in the breadth of their shoulders.

Beneath Lord Sheringham's exquisitely fitting clothes it was possible to guess at the strength of his arms and the wiry fitness of his figure which made him appear to be lighter than he was.

Lord Morden, heavier and bigger boned than his son, had nevertheless been a great athlete in his youth. He was proud of his strength, proud of referring to the days when he rode in steeplechases, fought with Gentleman Jackson and was acknowledged one of the best swordsmen in the country.

He had never cared for London and it was an in creasing irritation to him that his son should spend so much time in the raffish world of fashion which circulated round the Prince.

"At our meeting this afternoon," Lord Morden began, his voice raised a little as if he were addressing a number of people rather than one elegant young man sprawled in the only comfortable chair in the room, "we discussed two things at some length. One was letter from the Prussian Ambassador concerning your party last night, and the other our information from France." "Both obviously depressing subjects," Lord Sheringham ejaculated.

"I agree with you," Lord Morden replied. "They were depressing subjects, but both unfortunately have to be considered." "As regards the one which concerns myself," Lord Sheringham said, "would a personal apology be of any avail?"

"It will be required, of course," Lord Morden re plied, "both to the Ambassador and to Canning who has to deal with the matter. But as it happens, the other subject concerns you also."

"Me?" Lord Sheringham's voice was surprised.

"Yes, you," Lord Morden said. "I need not reiterate to you, Armand, the position that we find ourselves in at the moment. Since Fox's death last year our infor mation from France is growing less month by month and becoming also increasingly unreliable. Fox, as we all knew, had his own methods of learning of matters which were of great import to this country." He paused as if expecting a reply but his son said nothing.

"With his death those communications ceased or be came comparatively useless and Napoleon started a blockade of Britain last November. We laughed in 1806 when he declared that the British Isles were to be placed in a state of blockade. We didn't believe it possible, but in 1807 we no longer laugh. The blockade is proving itself more effective than we anticipated.

"Every country in Europe is gradually being made submissive to France's commands, and today we have heard that Napoleon is seeking to provide for the closing of the ports of Spain and Portugal.