However the Great Unwashed have already shown an enormous interest in this case – there were apparently huge and very unruly crowds outside the courtroom – and that interest will increase an hundredfold if Lord Arthur’s name appears in any way, and my contact tells me it is very unlikely that we can prevent this. If I have this information about Arthur, it is likely that many others will already have it too and whatever happens we – the bishops – feel that it is imperative that nothing at all, however innocent, is published – ah – that is with regard to yourself, or this Parliament. You know very well how foolhardy Arthur is. What is to stop him standing in the witness box and—’
Mr William Gladstone Junior suddenly turned and said hurriedly to the occupant of the desk in the corner, ‘Thank you, William, that will be all for the moment.’
Billy stood quickly, leaving the room and the pile of letters that were not completed. As he left, he saw Mr Gladstone and his clerical visitor going into the private office, speech on Ireland or not.
He walked slowly back to the clerks’ office downstairs: the pens and the inkwells and the never-ending parliamentary papers.
He wrote neatly and quickly, as usual. But his mind went over and over the conversation he had heard, the officious words of the bishop and the pale face of the Prime Minister. Billy did not know that his own face was slightly pale also. If Mr Gladstone had been so affected by the mention of Lord Arthur’s name, would that affect the fortunes of 13 Wakefield-street – the address already recorded in the newspaper? Could it affect Billy’s own work here?
I cannot – I must not – lose this position ,thought Billy Stacey.
Billy had been intrigued, since that very first meeting, by Mr William Ewart Gladstone. He knew now quite a lot about him. He knew that his father had owned sugar plantations and slaves in the West Indies. Billy studied articles and pamphlets and even looked at a book called The State in Relation to the Church written by Mr Gladstone many years ago, but was unable to agree with it, or finish it. But most of all Billy studied the great man himself. He knew that Mr Gladstone was a most courteous man, to everybody. But he had a temper, which he restrained by sheer will; from his quiet corner Billy had several times seen the Prime Minister when he was displeased, breathing deeply, his face redder, but controlling himself. Mr Gladstone often addressed people, even in his own office, in a manner that was pompous, loud, and sometimes long-winded. Billy understood that Mr Gladstone was very clever. He understood that he was deeply, and strictly, religious with high moral principles.
Therefore Billy had stopped stock-still in the street in utter amazement the first night he had seen Mr Gladstone, now Prime Minister, walking with one of the street-girls along the Strand. The girl was talking and Mr Gladstone leaned down, listening, as they walked. The second time this had occurred, Billy had discussed it with his friend, the Head Doorkeeper, Elijah Fortune.
Elijah Fortune had laughed.
‘He’s mad of course. Terrible risks he takes, most people consider. He is often lately seen in the company of a most notorious lady who has social aspirations – notorious, but she has recently found religion – and that to Mr Gladstone must be a combination that makes her irresistible.’ Elijah shook his head. ‘But he is basically a good, very sincere man, I believe. Tormented, I would say, but – good essentially.’
‘Tormented by what?’
Elijah had looked at Billy speculatively for a moment, knowing that perhaps he, Elijah, was the nearest thing to a father Billy Stacey now had. Perhaps Billy was also the nearest thing to a son that Elijah Fortune had. Billy was a very serious lad, and sometimes Elijah worried about him.
‘Since you ask me specifically, not that it is our business—’ He stopped, trying to find the most suitable
Mr William Gladstone Junior suddenly turned and said hurriedly to the occupant of the desk in the corner, ‘Thank you, William, that will be all for the moment.’
Billy stood quickly, leaving the room and the pile of letters that were not completed. As he left, he saw Mr Gladstone and his clerical visitor going into the private office, speech on Ireland or not.
He walked slowly back to the clerks’ office downstairs: the pens and the inkwells and the never-ending parliamentary papers.
He wrote neatly and quickly, as usual. But his mind went over and over the conversation he had heard, the officious words of the bishop and the pale face of the Prime Minister. Billy did not know that his own face was slightly pale also. If Mr Gladstone had been so affected by the mention of Lord Arthur’s name, would that affect the fortunes of 13 Wakefield-street – the address already recorded in the newspaper? Could it affect Billy’s own work here?
I cannot – I must not – lose this position ,thought Billy Stacey.
Billy had been intrigued, since that very first meeting, by Mr William Ewart Gladstone. He knew now quite a lot about him. He knew that his father had owned sugar plantations and slaves in the West Indies. Billy studied articles and pamphlets and even looked at a book called The State in Relation to the Church written by Mr Gladstone many years ago, but was unable to agree with it, or finish it. But most of all Billy studied the great man himself. He knew that Mr Gladstone was a most courteous man, to everybody. But he had a temper, which he restrained by sheer will; from his quiet corner Billy had several times seen the Prime Minister when he was displeased, breathing deeply, his face redder, but controlling himself. Mr Gladstone often addressed people, even in his own office, in a manner that was pompous, loud, and sometimes long-winded. Billy understood that Mr Gladstone was very clever. He understood that he was deeply, and strictly, religious with high moral principles.
Therefore Billy had stopped stock-still in the street in utter amazement the first night he had seen Mr Gladstone, now Prime Minister, walking with one of the street-girls along the Strand. The girl was talking and Mr Gladstone leaned down, listening, as they walked. The second time this had occurred, Billy had discussed it with his friend, the Head Doorkeeper, Elijah Fortune.
Elijah Fortune had laughed.
‘He’s mad of course. Terrible risks he takes, most people consider. He is often lately seen in the company of a most notorious lady who has social aspirations – notorious, but she has recently found religion – and that to Mr Gladstone must be a combination that makes her irresistible.’ Elijah shook his head. ‘But he is basically a good, very sincere man, I believe. Tormented, I would say, but – good essentially.’
‘Tormented by what?’
Elijah had looked at Billy speculatively for a moment, knowing that perhaps he, Elijah, was the nearest thing to a father Billy Stacey now had. Perhaps Billy was also the nearest thing to a son that Elijah Fortune had. Billy was a very serious lad, and sometimes Elijah worried about him.
‘Since you ask me specifically, not that it is our business—’ He stopped, trying to find the most suitable
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