seated half-bow.
“You are not the kind of man one readily forgets.”
It was a propitious start to the evening, Hal realized.
Childs waved him easily and informally to the chair at his side.
“Sit here, so we can talk. Take off your coat and wig, man.
Let’s be comfortable.” He glanced at Hal’s thick dark hair, only lightly laced with silver.
“Of course, you don’t wear a wig, damned sensible. We are all slaves to fashion, we unfortunates who live in the city.” The other two had close-cropped heads, and were in their shirtsleeves, their collars loosened. Childs had a f napkin tied round his neck, and they had not waited for Hal before beginning to eat.
judging by the pile of empty oyster shells, Childs had already accounted for several dozen. Hal shrugged out of his coat, passed it to a footman, then took the proffered chair.
“What do you fancy, Courtney, the hock or the Madeira?” Childs beckoned to one of the servants to fill Hal’s glass. Hal selected the hock. He knew from past experience that it was to be a long evening, and that the Madeira was deceptively sweet but powerful. Once his glass was charged and a platter of huge Colchester oysters in front of him, Childs dismissed the servants with a wave so that they could talk freely. Almost immediately they were away on the vexing question of the Irish war. The deposed King James had sailed to Ireland from France to raise an army among his Catholic supporters there, and was attacking the forces loyal to King William. Oswald Hyde bemoaned the cost of the campaign, but Childs rejoiced at the successful defence of Londonderry and Enniskillen by His Majesty’s arms.
“You can be certain that, as soon as the King has taken care of the Irish, he will turn his full attention back to France.” Oswald Hyde sucked another oyster from its shell and looked unhappy, an expression that seemed to come to him naturally.
“I shall have to go back to Parliament for another appropriation.” Even though he lived in the country, Hal kept himself well informed on the events of the day, for he had many good friends in London and corresponded with them regularly. He was able to follow the weighty twists and turns of the discussion and even to make his own noteworthy contributions.
“We have little choice in the matter,” he said.
“Once Louis invaded the Palatinate, we were forced to act against him in accordance with the terms of the Alliance of Vienna.” He had expressed an opinion with which the others concurred, and he sensed their approval, although Hyde continued to bewail the expense of a Continental war.
“I agree there must be war with France but, in God’s name, we have not yet paid off the costs of the Dutch war and the Fire. The Black Boy and Jamie left us with debts owing to every bank in Europe.” The Black Boy was the nickname of Charles II, the Merry Monarch. Jamie was James II, who had succeeded him and ruled for three scant years before his overt Roman Catholicism forced him to flee to France. William, the Stadholder of the United Provinces of the Netherlands and fourth in line of succession, had been invited, with Mary his wife, to take the throne of England. Mary was the daughter of James, which made their claim to the throne all the more valid, and, of course, they were staunch Protestants.
Once the oysters had been dealt with, Childs called back the footmen to serve the other courses. He fell upon a Dover sole as though it were an enemy, and then they went on to the lamb and the beef, with three different flavours of soup from the silver gilt tureens to wash them down. A good red claret replaced the rather insipid hock.
Hal sipped sparingly at his glass, for the conversation was fascinating and opened insights into the interwoven structure of power and world politics which he was seldom vouchsafed. He would not let even the finest wines cloud his mind. Their talk ranged widely from the coronation of Peter as the Tsar of Russia to
“You are not the kind of man one readily forgets.”
It was a propitious start to the evening, Hal realized.
Childs waved him easily and informally to the chair at his side.
“Sit here, so we can talk. Take off your coat and wig, man.
Let’s be comfortable.” He glanced at Hal’s thick dark hair, only lightly laced with silver.
“Of course, you don’t wear a wig, damned sensible. We are all slaves to fashion, we unfortunates who live in the city.” The other two had close-cropped heads, and were in their shirtsleeves, their collars loosened. Childs had a f napkin tied round his neck, and they had not waited for Hal before beginning to eat.
judging by the pile of empty oyster shells, Childs had already accounted for several dozen. Hal shrugged out of his coat, passed it to a footman, then took the proffered chair.
“What do you fancy, Courtney, the hock or the Madeira?” Childs beckoned to one of the servants to fill Hal’s glass. Hal selected the hock. He knew from past experience that it was to be a long evening, and that the Madeira was deceptively sweet but powerful. Once his glass was charged and a platter of huge Colchester oysters in front of him, Childs dismissed the servants with a wave so that they could talk freely. Almost immediately they were away on the vexing question of the Irish war. The deposed King James had sailed to Ireland from France to raise an army among his Catholic supporters there, and was attacking the forces loyal to King William. Oswald Hyde bemoaned the cost of the campaign, but Childs rejoiced at the successful defence of Londonderry and Enniskillen by His Majesty’s arms.
“You can be certain that, as soon as the King has taken care of the Irish, he will turn his full attention back to France.” Oswald Hyde sucked another oyster from its shell and looked unhappy, an expression that seemed to come to him naturally.
“I shall have to go back to Parliament for another appropriation.” Even though he lived in the country, Hal kept himself well informed on the events of the day, for he had many good friends in London and corresponded with them regularly. He was able to follow the weighty twists and turns of the discussion and even to make his own noteworthy contributions.
“We have little choice in the matter,” he said.
“Once Louis invaded the Palatinate, we were forced to act against him in accordance with the terms of the Alliance of Vienna.” He had expressed an opinion with which the others concurred, and he sensed their approval, although Hyde continued to bewail the expense of a Continental war.
“I agree there must be war with France but, in God’s name, we have not yet paid off the costs of the Dutch war and the Fire. The Black Boy and Jamie left us with debts owing to every bank in Europe.” The Black Boy was the nickname of Charles II, the Merry Monarch. Jamie was James II, who had succeeded him and ruled for three scant years before his overt Roman Catholicism forced him to flee to France. William, the Stadholder of the United Provinces of the Netherlands and fourth in line of succession, had been invited, with Mary his wife, to take the throne of England. Mary was the daughter of James, which made their claim to the throne all the more valid, and, of course, they were staunch Protestants.
Once the oysters had been dealt with, Childs called back the footmen to serve the other courses. He fell upon a Dover sole as though it were an enemy, and then they went on to the lamb and the beef, with three different flavours of soup from the silver gilt tureens to wash them down. A good red claret replaced the rather insipid hock.
Hal sipped sparingly at his glass, for the conversation was fascinating and opened insights into the interwoven structure of power and world politics which he was seldom vouchsafed. He would not let even the finest wines cloud his mind. Their talk ranged widely from the coronation of Peter as the Tsar of Russia to
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