In High Places

Lexington had paced the long garnet-coloured rug before answering the Prime Minister’s question. Now he stopped and said, ‘Like you, I don’t care to get violated.’

‘But there’ll be plenty who’ll say we have been.’

‘Some will say that whichever line we take. There’ll be sincere people among them too – not just the rabble-rousers.’

‘Yes, I’ve thought of that,’ Howden said. ‘The Act of Union will cost us some of our own party, I’m afraid. But I’m still convinced there’s no other choice.’

The External Affairs Minister sank into a facing chair. He hooked a footstool close and stretched out, resting both feet.

‘I wish I were as sure as you. Prime Minister.’ As Howden eyed him sharply Lexington shook his head. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me; I’m with you the whole way. But the speed of it all disturbs me. The trouble is, we’re living in a time of compressed history, yet so few realize it. Changes which used to take fifty years take five or less, and we can’t help it because communications have made it that way. The one thing I hope is that we can keep a sense of national unity, but it won’t be easy.’

‘It was never easy,’ Howden said. He glanced at his watch. They would have to leave Blair House in thirty minutes, to allow for a session with the White House press corps before the official talks began. But he supposed there was time to discuss with Lexington a subject which had been on his own mind for some time. This seemed a good moment to bring it up.

‘On the subject of identity,’ he announced thoughtfully, ‘there’s something the Queen mentioned not long ago – the last time I was in London.’

‘Yes?’

‘The lady has suggested – in fact I may say urged – that we reinstate titles. She made what I thought was an interesting point/

James Howden half-closed his eyes, recalling the scene as it had been, four and a half months earlier: a mellow September afternoon in London; himself at Buckingham Palace for a courtesy call. He had been received with appropriate respect and escorted promptly to the royal presence…

‘… Do please have some more tea,’ the Queen had said, and he had passed the fragile gold-rimmed cup and saucer, unable to resist the thought – though knowing it naive – that the British monarch was pouring tea in her palace for the orphan boy from Medicine Hat.

‘And bread and butter. Prime Minister!’ He took some. There was brown and white, cut paper-thin. He declined the jam – three kinds in a gold server. As it was, you needed a juggler’s skill to balance everything at English teatime.

They were alone in the drawing room of the Private Apartments – a large airy place, overlooking the palace gardens, formal by North American standards but less overpowering with gilt and crystal than most of the other state rooms. The Queen was dressed simply in a silk cornflower-blue dress, her neat ankles crossed casually above matching kid leather pumps. No women, Howden thought with admiration, have quite so much poise as upper-class Englishwomen not consciously trying.

The Queen spread strawberry jam thickly for herself, then observed in her precise, high-pitched voice, ‘My husband and I have frequently considered that for Canada’s own sake there should be more to distinguish it.’

James Howden had been tempted to reply that there was a good deal to distinguish Canada, compared with current British achievements, but decided that perhaps he had misinterpreted the meaning. A moment later showed he had.

The Queen added: ‘To distinguish it in the sense of difference, that is, from the United States.’

‘The trouble is, ma’am,’ Howden responded carefully, ‘it’s hard to maintain a separate appearance when two countries live so close and similarly. From time to time we try to emphasize our separateness, though not always succeeding.’

‘Scotland has succeeded quite well in keeping its identity,’ the Queen remarked. She stirred her tea, her expression guileless. ‘Perhaps you should take a lesson or two from them.’

‘Well…’ Howden smiled. It was true, he thought. Scotland, which had lost its independence two and a half centuries earlier, still possessed more nationhood and character than Canada ever had or would.

The Queen continued thoughtfully: ‘One reason, perhaps, is that Scotland has never yielded its traditions. Canada, if you will forgive me for saying so, has seemed in rather a hurry to shed them. I remember my father saying much the same thing.’ The Queen smiled disarmingly, her manner robbing the words of any offence. ‘Will you have tea?’

‘Thank you, no.’ Howden surrendered his cup and saucer to a uniformed manservant who had come in quietly with more hot water for the teapot. He had a sense of relief at having balanced everything without mishap.

‘I do hope you haven’t minded my saying that. Prime Minister.’ The Queen replenished her own cup as the servant disappeared.

‘Not in the least,’ Howden replied. It was his own turn to smile. ‘It does us good to be told our failings sometimes, even if one isn’t sure what to do about them.’

‘There is, perhaps, a thing which might be done,’ the Queen said deliberately. ‘My husband and I have often regretted the absence of a Canadian honours list. It would give me considerable pleasure if New Year’s and Birthday honours were to be established again.’

James Howden pursed his Ups. ‘Titles of nobility are delicate ground in North America, ma’am.’

‘A part of North America, possibly, but are we not speaking of our Dominion of Canada?’ Though spoken gently, it was a rebuke and despite himself Howden flushed. ‘Actually,’ the Queen observed with the faintest of smiles, ‘I had gained the impression that in the United States, the British with tides are somewhat sought after.’

Touche! Howden thought. How true it was! – Americans loved a lord.

‘Our award of honours has worked remarkably well in Australia, I am informed,’ the Queen went on calmly, ‘and here in Britain, of course, it continues to do so. Perhaps in Canada it might help you towards separateness from the United States.’

James Howden wondered: how were you supposed to handle this kind of thing? As Prime Minister of an independent Commonwealth country his own power was a thousand times greater than the Queen’s, yet custom obliged him to assume a fictional role of dutiful deference. Titles, nowadays -‘Sirs’ and ‘Lords’ and ‘Ladies’ – were nonsense, of course. Canada had had no part of them since the 1930s, and the few residual tides remaining among elderly Canadians were usually referred to with discreet smiles.

With a sense of annoyance the Prime Minister wished the monarchy would content itself with being ornamental, the way it was generally assumed to be, instead of spinning royal spider webs. Behind the Queen’s suggestion, he suspected, was the fear one always sensed in London – that Canada was slipping away as other Commonwealth nations had done and that anything, anything – even a silken skein – should be tried in an attempt to delay the drifting.

‘I shall inform the Cabinet of your feelings, ma’am,’ James Howden said. It was a polite lie, he had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

‘As you see fit.’ The Queen inclined her head graciously, then added, ‘On a related subject, one of our happier prerogatives in awarding honours is to confer an earldom upon Prime Ministers at their retirement from office. It is a custom we should be most happy to extend to Canada.’ Her innocent eyes met Howden’s directly.

An earldom. Despite his own conviction, imagination stirred. If was almost the loftiest rank in British nobility; only marquesses and dukes ranked higher. Of course, he could never accept, but if he did, what title would he take? The Earl of Medicine Hat? No – too outlandish; people would laugh. The Earl of Ottawa? Oh yes! It had a rolling sound, and with deep meaning.

The Queen took a linen napkin, wiped a trace of jam delicately from a manicured finger tip, then rose, James Howden following suit. The intimate tea party was at an end and considerately, as she often did on informal occasions, the Queen – strolled with him.

They were halfway across the room when the Queen’s husband entered breezily. The Prince came in through a narrow private doorway camouflaged by a long gilt-framed mirror. ‘Is there any tea left?’ he asked cheerfully. Then seeing Howden, ‘What! – leaving us already?’

‘Good afternoon. Your Royal Highness.’ Howden bowed. He knew better than to reciprocate the informality. The Prince had been responsible for clearing away a good deal of stuffiness around the throne, but he still demanded deference and his eyes could flash and his tone become icy if he sensed it lacking.

‘If you really must go, I’ll walk with you,’ the Prince announced. Howden leaned over the Queen’s hand which she offered, then with momentary formality retreated the rest of the way out. ‘Careful!’ the Prince warned. ‘Chair astern to port!’ He made a half-hearted attempt at backing out himself.

The Queen’s face was stony as they left. Howden surmised that sometimes she felt her husband’s breeziness went a little far.

Outside, in an ornate anteroom, the two men shook hands as a liveried footman waited to escort the Prime Minister to his car. ‘Cheerio then,’ the Prince said, unabashed. ‘Before you go back to Canada try to pop in again.’

Ten minutes later, driving down the Mall, away from Buckingham Palace and toward Canada House, James Howden had smiled, remembering. He admired the Prince’s determination to be informal, though when you had a permanent rank like the Queen’s husband you could turn informality on and off as you pleased. It was permanence of that sort which made a difference to a man, inside as well as out, and politicians like himself always knew that someday soon their tenure of rank would end. Of course, in England most retired cabinet ministers were given titles as a reminder that they had served their country well. But nowadays the system was out of date… an absurd charade. It would be even more ridiculous in Canada… the Earl of Ottawa, no less. How amused his colleagues would be!

And yet, in fairness, he supposed he ought to examine the Queen’s proposal carefully before dismissing it. The lady had a point when she spoke of the need for distinction between Canada and the United States. Perhaps, after all, he should sound out the Cabinet as he had promised. If it was for the country’s good…

The Earl of Ottawa…

But he had not sounded out the Cabinet, nor mentioned the subject to anyone until this moment in Washington with Arthur Lexington. Now, though omitting the Queen’s reference to himself, he explained, with touches of humour, the conversation as it had taken place.

At the end, glancing at his watch, he saw that only fifteen minutes remained before they must cross Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House. Rising, he strolled once more to the open library window. Over his shoulder he asked, ‘Well, what do you think?’

The External Affairs Minister swung down his legs from the footstool and stood upright, stretching. His expression was amused. ‘It would make us different from the US all right, but I’m not so sure it would be in the right direction.’

‘I thought much the same thing,’ Howden said, ‘but I must say it has since occurred to me that Her Majesty’s point about separateness may be well taken. In the future, you know, anything which can help make Canada distinctive and an entity is going to be important.’ He felt Lexington glance at him curiously, and added, ‘If you feel strongly we’ll forget the whole thing, but in view of the lady’s request I felt all of us should discuss it.’

‘Discussion won’t do any harm, I suppose,’ Lexington conceded. He began to pace the rug again.

‘The thing is,’ Howden said, ‘I wonder if you’d be the one to bring the matter up in Cabinet. I believe it might come better from you, and, that way, I could reserve my judgement until we got some other opinions.’