Page 17 of Infernal Vices

“I’ve always dreamed of travelling that far…to the Orient,” I said wistfully, “or even to the Americas. What route did he take?”

“His party travelled through Europe, primarily by train, and then took a ship from Spain which skirted the coast of Africa and finally reached Peking.”

“What was his impression of China?” I asked.

“Well, from all he brought back I’d say he was rather enamoured by the place!”

It was then that Birdie chipped in. “I find it remarkable to think that the Chinese civilization endured and thrived for some two thousand years without western interference. I rather think we should have left them alone.”

It was a most unexpected comment in company. Ashe placed his glass down sharply and I feared for a moment that the stem would crack. There was ice to his voice as he said, “That’s a rather outrageous observation. Are you an anti-imperialist, Mr. Robins?”

“Hmmm,” Birdie tapped his chin as if deep in thought. “I cannot say I agree with colonialism. I grew up in India, you see, so I witnessed it firsthand, for good and ill. To me it appears to be theft on the grandest scale in the name of Queen Victoria, all to profit a mere handful of British elites.” He sat straighter in his chair and recited, “No nation ever voluntarily gave up the dominion of any province, how troublesome so ever it might be to govern it, and how small so ever the revenue which it afforded might be in proportion to the expense which it occasioned.”

“That’s an Adam Smith quotation. From the book ‘The Wealth of Nations’, yes?” I noted.

“Correct!”

Ashe’s jaw tightened and he seemed angered by Birdie’s opinion. “We have spread our Christian values to the indigenous populations and given them stable governance. So you would what? Dismantle the Empire? Bring our entire military home? Remove Victoria from the throne?” Ashe argued pedantically. I was rather alarmed by his tone.

“Well, where do you stand? What are you, sir?” he challenged.

Birdie did not rise to Charles’s baiting. In a calm, flamboyant voice he said, “You appear to be rather vexed that I don’t believe as you do, that one ruler should decide the greater good for many nations. It is a happenstance of birth and a fallacy that Victoria has the God given right to take the land and riches of other nations by force, for the crown. The world is changing, Charles. It is 1898; we stand on the cusp of a new century that will be filled with technological advancement. Queen Victoria is seventy-nine and nearing the end of her reign. We all have a choice, to be changed or left behind. I am changing with the new world, embracing it, and what was once the status quo must be challenged. I have seen the atrocities men will carry out for wealth and power. If I truly must give myself a label, I would say I’m non-conformist, humanist even, most certainly anti-greed.”

The passion with which Sebastian orated his speech made heat rise as pride burned my cheeks. His comments were unconventional and not in the character of Birdie, but from Sebastian’s heart. I adored how forthright he was in making his charitable beliefs clear. I was attracted to the fact Cavell was mercurial of character and retained friends of all classes. I felt great respect for our dear Queen Victoria, but my feelings on how the Crown had destroyed so many lives in the march for power and wealth did not sit well with my Christian conscience. It never had, but I was too afraid of censure from my peers to make my feelings clear. Cavell was outspoken and appeared fearless and, I must admit, I found this to be rather an aphrodisiac!

“Poppycock!” Charles spat “Idealistic nonsense,” but then before his steam could rise, the dining room door opened and Mr. Wilkins entered carrying a platter with a huge steak pudding displayed upon it. In an instant Charles’ ire evaporated and his eyes moved to follow the procession of the steak pudding!

“I say. That smells scrumptious,” he marvelled.

And soon all was well. Wilkins served slices of the pudding that contained large lumps of braised steak, onions, and mushrooms with a thick unctuous gravy. The maids carried the dishes of root vegetables and stood by each diner as we served ourselves. The way to a man’s heart is most certainly through his stomach because Mrs. Twigg had triumphed, not only with ending a heated argument, but also in filling my guests with pleasing warmth and satisfaction. The desert of brandy and pear trifle was the veritable cherry on top and left me replete, and Ashe slightly dopey with contentment.

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