“Ah, yes — but that was Dublin.” Mill sounded distressed, and there was a fine beading of perspiration on his brow. “In Ireland I was telling them what they had spent their lifetimes waiting to hear. I showed them just how they could finally rule in their own land. They could not but be attentive.” Now Mill frowned unhappily at more recent memories. “However, my countrymen have taken great umbrage at my presence in Dublin. The Times went so far as to call me a traitor to my country and to my class. The other newspapers were — how shall I say it? — more than indignant, actually calling down curses upon my head…”
“My dear Mr. Mill,” Sherman said calmly. “Newspapers exist to sell copies, not to dispense the truth — or to see both sides of an argument. Some years ago, before I resumed my interrupted military career, I was, for a short while, a banker in California. When my bank fell upon hard times, there were calls to tar and feather me — or, preferably, burn me at the stake. Pay the papers no heed, sir. Their miasmic vaporings rise from the pit and will be dispersed by the clear winds of truth.”
“You are something of a poet, General,” Mill said, smiling weakly.
“Please don’t let anyone else know; let it be our secret.”
Colonel Summers knocked discreetly, then let himself in. “Finished with these, General?” he asked, pointing to the folder.
“All signed. Take care of them, Andy.”
“The two English gentlemen are here to see you, sir,” he said, picking up the papers.
“Show them in, by all means.”
When the door opened again John Stuart Mill was on his feet; General Sherman slowly joined him.
“Lord John Russell, Mr. Disraeli,” the colonel said, then quietly closed the door and left.
The two politicians crossed the room, as different in appearance as they could possibly be. The aristocratic Russell amply filling his old-fashioned broadcloth suit. Disraeli, the successful novelist, the veteran politician, the man about town, spare and thin and dressed in the most outstanding way. He stroked his small, pointed beard and nodded politely toward Sherman.
“Do you gentleman know Mr. John Stuart Mill?” Sherman asked.
“Only by reputation,” Disraeli said, bowing slightly toward Mill, his politician’s face empty of any expression.
“I have met Mr. Mill and have followed his public activities. I have no desire to be in his company,” Russell said in a cold voice, averting his eyes from the other man. Mill’s face was suddenly drawn and white.
“Mr. Russell — I would suggest that you be more courteous. We are here on a matter of some importance to both you and your country; therefore, your ill temper does you no favors, sir.” Sherman snapped the words out like a military command.
Russell flushed at the harshness of the words, the common form of address. He clamped his mouth shut and stared out of the window, resentful at being put down by this Yankee upstart. Sherman sat and waved the others to their chairs.
“Please be seated, gentlemen, and this meeting will begin.” He waited a moment, then went on. “I have asked you to come here in your official positions. As Prime Minister of the government and leader of the opposition. In those capacities I would like you to assemble a meeting of the House of Commons in Parliament.”
With an effort Lord Russell controlled his temper, and when he spoke his words were as cold and emotionless as he could manage. “Might I remind you, General, that the Houses of Parliament have been locked tight — upon your orders, sir.”
“They have indeed.” Sherman’s voice was as flat as the other man’s. “When the time comes the doors will be unlocked.”
“To both chambers?” Disraeli asked, his voice betraying no evidence of the singular importance of his question.
“No.” Sherman’s words now had the imperious force of command. “The House of Lords has been abolished and will not reconvene. There is no place for hereditary titles in a democracy.”
“By God, sir — you cannot!” Russell said vehemently.
“By God, sir — I can. You have lost your war and now you will pay the price.”
Disraeli coughed lightly in the ensuing silence, then spoke. “Might I ask — have all the arrangements been made for the Queen to open Parliament?” Again his voice held no hint of the immense purport of his question.
“She will not. The private citizen Victoria Saxe-Coburg will remain in her residence on the Isle of Wight for the time being. This is a new Britain, a freer Britain, and you gentlemen must learn to accommodate yourself to it.”
“This is still a constitutional Britain,” Russell broke in. “It is the Queen’s parliament and she must be there to open it. That is the law of the land.”
“Was,” General Sherman said. “I repeat. Your war has been lost and your country occupied. The Queen will not open Parliament.”
Disraeli nodded slowly. “I presume that there is a reason for calling this session of Parliament to sit.”
Sherman nodded. “There is indeed. Mr. Mill will be happy to enlighten you when he speaks to your assembly. Are there any further questions? No? Good. The Parliament will assemble in two days.”
“Impossible!” Lord Russell fought to control his voice without succeeding. “The members of Parliament are spread across this land, dispersed…”
“I envisage no problems. All of the telegraph lines are now open and the trains running as scheduled. There should be no difficulty in assembling these gentlemen.” Sherman rose to his feet. “I bid you good day.”
Russell stamped from the room, but Disraeli held back. “What do you hope to accomplish, General?”
“I? Why nothing at all, Mr. Disraeli. My work is complete. The war is over. It is Mr. Mill who will be speaking to you about the future.”
Disraeli turned to the philosopher and smiled. “In that case, sir, I ask you if you would be so kind as to join me? My carriage is outside, my London chambers close by. Any intelligence of what you plan to speak of would be gratefully received.”
“Most kind, sir.” Mill was unsure of himself. “You must know that people in these isles do not take kindly to my presence.”
“Why then, we shall ignore them, Mr. Mill. I have taken great pleasure, even inspiration, from your works, and would deem it a singular honor if you would accept my invitation.”
Sherman started to speak — then held his counsel. Mill would have to decide for himself in this matter.
“Most willingly, sir,” Mill said, drawing himself up. “It will be my great pleasure.”
Only after Mill and Disraeli had left did Colonel Summers bring General Sherman the message.
“This arrived a few minutes ago,” he said, handing over the envelope. “The messenger is still here awaiting an answer. He was worried about being seen speaking with us, so we put him in a room down the hall.”
“That’s very secretive.”
“With good reason — as you will see when you read the communication.”
Sherman nodded as he read the brief message. “This concerns the emissaries that just arrived from Scotland?”
“It does indeed. A General McGregor and a Mr. MacLaren of the Highland Council. A third man also traveled with them, but he did not reveal his name.”
“Getting more mysterious all the time. They want me to attend a meeting after dark at the home of a Scots nobleman. Do we know anything about him?”
“Just his name, the Earl of Eglinton, and the fact that he was a member of the House of Lords.”
“Isn’t this kind of thing more in Gus Fox’s line of work?”
“The messenger was insistent that he must talk to you first on an unofficial basis. I asked him what authority he had. It was then that, ever so reluctantly, he revealed the fact that he was Earl of Eglinton himself.”
“More and more interesting. Let’s have him in here.”
The Earl of Eglinton was tall and gray-haired, with a military bearing that was not reflected in his plain black suit. He did not speak until the soldier who had ushered him in had left.