politely asked his Canadian guests, “More port, gentlemen? Monsieur Cartier? No. Mr Galt, a soupcon? Yes. And of course, Mr. Macdonald. Your glass is empty.”
“The port is exquisite, Your Lordship.” John A. Macdonald smiled as he held out the silver goblet to be refilled by their host, thirty-five-year-old Henry Howard Molyneux Herbert, fourth earl of Carnarvon and the Colonial Secretary in the unstable government of the day.
The Colonial Secretary, recently in office in succession to Edward Cardwell, was most anxious to grasp what was going on with the Canadians and the Maritimers at their private proceedings in the Westminster Palace Hotel. It was inappropriate for Carnarvon to intrude directly on the meetings. He was already dedicated to the proposition of Confederation of the British colonies in North America. That past summer, during the transitional period of assuming the Colonial Secretary’s post, the young earl had concluded that his most important objective would be to strengthen, as far as practicable, the central government of British America against the excessive power or the encroachment of the local administrations.
What better way to have news of the proceedings than to invite the three Canadian leaders — all of whom he now knew through meetings and correspondences — to travel down to Newbury by mid-afternoon train and have dinner and spend the night at his family’s hereditary estate, Highclere Castle?
This magnificent stone edifice stood majestically encircled by gently rolling parkland broken by stands and copses of trees. The first viewing of the castle had made a deep impression on the awestruck colonial trio as their two-horsed coach approached Highclere through massive iron gates and proceeded down a red cobblestone lane lined with towering oaks. Their awe had continued even after the warm greeting by the youthful minister and his lovely and even much younger chatelaine. After being shown by servants to their respective rooms, the Canadians had been taken by their host on a tour of the vast mansion with its many wood-panelled rooms, most of them enriched with splendid paintings of Carnarvon’s numerous ancestors as well as past and present members of the Royal Family.
“Dinner is at seven for eight,” Carnarvon had advised his guests as he guided them at long last back to their bedrooms. Knowing that formal dress was required, the colonials had come prepared.
“About this ‘Your Lordship’ business,” Carnarvon said as he put the port flask on the spindly, lacquered table that stood between the deep, soft, dark-leather chairs clustered around the roaring fire in the library. “I think it would not be untoward, gentlemen, if in private circumstances such as these you might be good enough to call me Harry. After all, we’ll see a great deal of one another in the next weeks as we work toward the legislation you need for the creation of a unified British North America. So I would be obliged if, in view of my comparative youth and” — he grinned — “inexperience, you called me by that name.”
Macdonald, Cartier, and Galt, each looking nearly old enough to be Carnarvon’s father, shifted uncomfortably in their chairs as they considered how to respond to this gracious, totally unexpected request. It would be up to John A., the chairman and leader of their London Conference, to respond.
As he listened to Carnarvon, Macdonald sipped his heavy, sweet port. He was already relaxed after several before-dinner scotch whiskeys and the superb Loire Valley white wine served flowingly with the pheasant. The lanky minister had his response at the tip of his eloquent Scottish Canadian tongue. He looked at his host, a man of fine-cut English aristocratic features, his wavy brown hair and full black Victorian beard carefully groomed, his dark brown eyes soft and sincere, his frame slight in build and much shorter than his tall, gangly self.
“That is a most gracious offer to us unworthy colonials, sir.” Macdonald’s Scottish brogue was soft. “On behalf of my respectful colleagues and myself, even though we are not necessarily in comfort about the matter, we accept, Harry. But only on the condition that you call us George, Alex, and John A.”
“Agreed!” Carnarvon laughed. “Now tell me, how is your conference going?”
The pugnacious, square-jawed Alexander Galt, his large nose and high forehead flushed pink from the food, wine and fire, said, “If it please Your Lordship —”
“Harry.”
“Harry … before we discuss how the conference is going, what’s all this about what the bloody Americans are up to?”
“Well, we are all much aware that their anti-British animosity cup is running over.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it, considering that the bloody Irish American Fenians want to kill us all,” Macdonald muttered as Cartier nodded his head in agreement.
Carnarvon pulled a handkerchief out of his left sleeve, staunched his slightly dripping nose, then continued. “I’ve received word of a Washington rumour that may be significant. Or, it may not. I’ll let you people be the judges. But first things first. The conference. Is it going well?”
Macdonald looked toward the leader of the government in Lower Canada, the white-maned, excitable George Cartier. A slight nod invited Cartier to open the response.
“We have had much success, thanks to the strong way in which John A. had held the chair.” Cartier paid the compliment easily in his high-pitched voice, the English words spoken with a heavy layer of the unique French Canadian accent.
“Now, now, George, enough of that,” Macdonald protested with a grin, his wide-set eyes squinting with pleasure.
Cartier waved, signalling to his colleague to shut up.
“John has taken us through a review, a confirmation review, of the seventy-two resolutions we agreed upon at the Quebec Conference and there have been — how shall I put it — there have been no combats!”
“Jolly good!” Carnarvon was surprised. “No fights, no amendments?”
“That’s right,” Macdonald affirmed. “No fights. One amendment to the educational clause was put forward by Alex. The clause allows religious minorities in both Upper and Lower Canada the right to appeal to the central government against any law of a provincial legislature that prejudicially affects their educational interests. Right, Alex?”
“Right. My amendment gives all provinces, including the Maritimes, the right to appeal. In that way we hope at least partly to mollify the Roman Catholic bishops who want equality for their religion in educational matters even in the Maritimes.”
“So you left that problem to be settled by each province in its own way after Confederation.”
“With a right to appeal,” Galt explained, “that I expect will never be used.”
“Also the Maritimers are insisting on a guarantee by the central government that their beloved intercolonial railway will be built,” Cartier said.
“There’s been much noise and wing about that, but nothing’s settled,” Macdonald observed.
Galt added, “And in my bailiwick, the Finance Minister’s world, several resolutions that relate to property and finance have been referred to a committee of three financial wizards …”
“Of which you are the principal wizard.” Macdonald laughed with the others.
“No bloody doubt about that, dear boy!” Galt agreed, slapping his knee in emphasis.
Carnarvon asked, “So I gather that the principles laid out in the Quebec Resolutions will stand? There’s no serious challenge to them, particularly those dealings with the specific powers of the provinces and the overriding residual powers going to the central government?”
“Exactly right, Harry,” Macdonald confirmed.
“Good. You see, gentlemen, I’m most anxious to get a proper draft of the legislation under way. It’s a laborious process, as we all know. So, if you tell me the Quebec Resolutions are going to survive relatively unscathed, I can get the drafting gnomes started immediately. We are pressed for time, are we not, John A.?”
“We most certainly are. The Nova Scotia