A curious incident is connected with this page episode. The story is told in the Greville memoirs (p. 74, vol. i., ist ed.), but not exactly as it was handed down to the next generation, and without mentioning Lady Conyngham's name. I believe the real facts to be as follows. Lady Conyngham gave some orders about furniture or the redecorating of her apartments in Kensington Palace to Sir Benjamin Stephenson, at that time the head of the Board of Works. He refused to act upon her orders without some further confirmation, which so infuriated the King that he wanted to turn him out of his office. This Greville thinks was done, and that Sir Benjamin was " reinstated after many excuses and apologies for only doing what was his duty." However that may be, the King was determined to show his displeasure, and did so by striking the boy's name oif the list of pages (he is said to have done so with his own hand), thus depriving him not only of the actual post of page, but of his claim to a commission in the Guards later on — a privilege attached to that post. The military career proposed for him was in consequence given up.
He stayed on at Dr. Morris's school till he was about fourteen, and soon after that was sent to live in a Swiss pasteur's family in Lausanne. There he learnt French and carried on other studies, and before he came away was introduced into the society of Lausanne, and took his place there as a young man; being, he always told us, grown to his full height, 5 ft. 11 in., and with whiskers, albeit his years were so few. Soon after his fifteenth birthday he was given a nomination to the Treasury, and became a junior clerk in that office, where, according to his own account, he did nothing but spoil pens for the next twelve months. He must, however, have done something more than that as time went on, for he soon made his mark and rose steadily in the office.
In 1 84 1 Sir Robert Peel made him his private secretary, a post he held for six years. When announcing this appointment to his mother he writes: —
" I have just been with Sir R. Peel, who in the kindest manner has made me his Private Secretary — the summit of my ambition at present. If anything could add to the gratification of the appointment, certainly the kind manner in which the appointment was conferred has increased its value in my eyes. I am now installed in Downing Street."
SIR ROBERT PEEL'S DEATH 9
The way in which the words at present are under- Hned is significant of the intention and expectation of future success.
It must always be a matter of regret that there are no letters or papers of any general interest preserved from that most stirring period. William Stephenson was a singularly discreet man in the matter of expressing any opinion or making any statement in writing, and when his children were old enough to take an intelligent interest in politics the matters of their own time were not unnaturally more often the subject of talk; but looking back one realises what a pity it was that he was not more frequently drawn into talk of those early days, and persuaded to give more details of his intimacy with Sir Robert Peel, in whose confidence he was, and whom he so greatly reverenced. The following letter shows how great was the sense of personal loss on Sir Robert Peel's death: —
"Treasury, July 13. " My dear Mother, — He is gone. A sudden change came on after five, at which hour he was thought to be doing well. About six o'clock he became unconscious, and from that time sank rapidly till half-past eleven o'clock, when he expired, and I shall see him no more! But what a loss for this country, and how little does anyone at this moment know what they have lost I... The newspapers will give you many particulars that I cannot. Indeed, I have heard little and read nothing. The feeling seems universal. Whitehall Gardens, generally so tranquil, has been a scene of incessant traffic since Sunday, the greater part of the crowds, consisting of the middle and lower classes, all eagerly asking questions of anyone coming out of the house, and showing a touching anxiety about his fate. But he is gone, and I must not encourage the feelings my mind is too ready at this moment to give way to. I am inclined to think that Westminster Abbey will receive all that remains of that truly great man."