Merivel A Man of His Time (38 page)

It seemed to me that this Anxiety had been massing in my breast, like a spreading Cancer, for an untold number of days and months, and that now a great (yet painless) Cutting had been performed on me to take the growth away, leaving my heart free from Agony. Indeed, all my agitation that the King would seduce Margaret and ruin her life – put into my head by Violet Bathurst – now appeared to me as a pitiful and deluded thing. I felt as certain as I could be that no such seduction had ever taken place.

I sat back in my chair and looked at Julius Royston. He was no Paper Groom. He was a young man ardently in love. I exhaled a long, contented breath.

‘I hope,’ I said, ‘that both His Majesty and I shall live to see them, these Babes of yours.’

*

It was late when I eventually retired to the room the Duchess had assigned to me, but I knew that one more task awaited me: I had to write again to Will.

Dear Will
, I wrote,

I am lately arrived at Whitehall, for that the King, finding Himself a little Unwell, requested my return from Switzerland. I shall see His Majesty tomorrow and pray his Discomfort is but a passing thing, and will quickly vanish
.

As soon as he is well again I shall return to Bidnold. I am somewhat worried that I have no word from you, Will. Pray write to me here, to reassure me that all continues calmly and without accident or Catastrophe in Norfolk
.

I find Miss Margaret well and liking her Position with the Duchess of Portsmouth very much. There is some News attending Her Future, which I shall be happy to relate to you when next we meet at Bidnold
.

Meanwhile, I remain
,

Your Affectionate Employer and Friend
,

Sir R. Merivel
.

31

THE NEXT MORNING
dawned cold, yet lit with a bright sun.

At Fubbsy’s urging, I made my way to the King’s apartments as soon as I had breakfasted and found him standing by a window, looking down upon the glittering day. When he turned and saw me he cried out: ‘Merivel! Oh, I dreamed that you were buried in some Swiss Glacier. Your most dear face was all squashed and packed with ice. I tried to talk to you through the ice, but you could not hear me.’

‘Well, happily, Your Majesty, I am not Frozen at all, but standing here before you and I can hear you most plainly.’

The King, who looked very pale, limped towards me, put his arms round me and smacked a kiss on my cheek. In the Chamber with us was Thomas, Lord Bruce, one of the King’s Lords-in-Waiting, who had always been courteous towards me and he said: ‘Now that you are here, to amuse His Majesty, Sir Robert, I’m sure that he will return to Good Health.’

‘Bruce and I were about to go for a drive,’ said the King, ‘to see the new Flamingos in the Park, but Bruce will not mind, will you, Thomas, if Merivel comes with me instead?’

‘No, Sir,’ said Bruce. ‘Not at all. But I advise that you do not stay out too long and keep a fur over your knees.’

To ride alone with the King in one of his many coaches was a thing I have seldom done and I could not but suddenly marvel at finding myself there, wrapped in furs, with four grey horses pulling us along through the cold, bright morning.

Knowing what extreme anxiety the King’s earlier Convulsion had
stirred
in Fubbsy’s heart, and seeing him looking so pale and tired, I could not refrain from asking him about his condition. I expected him to dismiss my questions airily, but he did not. He looked out at the People taking the air in the Park and said: ‘I do not want to leave them, Merivel, all these who walk up and down and go their ways, and who make up this precious Gathering that is England. But I have begun to believe that the time is coming. And there is so much that I have left undone.’

I could not think what to say to this sad utterance. The King has never in his life been one to court idle Sympathy, so I knew that what he said he truly believed. And if he believed that he was dying, why then, I knew that I had to believe it too. And this left me momentarily speechless.

‘When my Mother was alive,’ the King went on, ‘she said to me that I should, before I left this world, pledge myself to her Religion, to the Roman Catholic Church. My Brother has converted, but I have not done it, Merivel. I have not done it because it has never been Politic to do it. Yet suddenly my soul thirsts after it. What am I to do?’

‘If your soul thirsts after it, Sir, why then I think you should summon a Priest and make your Vows.’

‘Indeed. But it is not as easy as that. There would be an Outcry from every one of the Privy Council and beyond in the Realm. The King of England cannot go over to Rome without causing a terrible Ecclesiastical and Political Stink. The only way is that it be done in private, so that the Matter rests between me and God and the spirit of my Mother, and no one else except the Priest. But I know not how, since I am now surrounded by Doctors day and night, I am to smuggle any Catholic Priest into my rooms. Will you turn your thoughts to finding me a way?’

‘I will, Sir.’

‘Would
you
were a Priest, Merivel, and we could do it here and now, in this coach, with no Witnesses by.’

‘Ah,’ said I, ‘what a Priest I would have made! I would have had no time for my Flock, being so taken up with the Confession of my sins and doing Penance for them.’

The King laughed and tweaked my nose; then seeing how we were
come
close to where the Flamingos clustered, ordered the coach to be stopped.

‘Look at them,’ he said. ‘Was there ever a more startling bird?’

We gazed out at the pink legs, the curvaceous necks, at the fragile membrane of Coral colour their reflections laid upon the water. I noted the delicacy and grace with which they moved.

‘There is,’ I said, ‘a great quantity of Wonder in the world, which I have never seen and now I never will see it.’

‘Indeed. I am King of England, but I will not see it either. That is why I have brought Crocodiles and Cassowaries here to St James’s. Is your Madame de Flamanville also fascinated by birds and animals?’

‘Oh …’ said I, discomforted by the unheralded Injection of Louise into the conversation, ‘I do believe she is. She was most upset by the fate of Clarendon.’

I kept looking out at the Flamingos, but felt the King’s gaze very intent upon me. At length he said: ‘And what of her, Merivel? Have you returned her to her Swiss Guard?’

‘No. Colonel de Flamanville is dead. He was killed in a duel.’

‘A duel? We thought they had quite gone out of fashion. Yet how convenient. So now you are free to marry her, if that is your wish. Is it your wish?’

At this moment something startled the Flamingos, and they took off as one and flew, like a fluttering cloud of rosy Magnolia petals, round the lake, to land again on the opposite side of it. I turned to the King and said: ‘Another betrothal preoccupies me since my return and that is the betrothal of my daughter to Julius Royston.’

‘Ah, yes indeed,’ said the King. ‘What say you to that? Fubbs is all a-craze for it. She dotes upon your daughter and upon Julius. Will you give your consent?’

‘What know you of Royston, Sir?’

‘Well …’ and here the King leaned over and began whispering in my ear.

‘Say this to no one, Merivel, not even to Margaret, for I have the greatest respect for Lord Delavigne and would not wish to cause him or his family any Embarrassment or Grief. But I have always believed that Julius Royston is my son.’

‘Your son?’

‘Hortensia Delavigne and I … well, it was a matter of one night, as it was with Lady Bathurst … but nine months later comes the birth of Julius, and he does not resemble Delavigne, who is all russety and freckled; he resembles me.’

I stared at the King. The idea that my daughter would be married to a child of the King’s – even if neither of them ever knew it – I found to be a most Colossal thing.

‘Naturally,’ said the King, ‘I feel a fatherly affection for Julius. And Margaret completes him, or so it seems to me. Their natures are similarly kind and tender, and she will encourage him in his endeavours in Landscape. I will give him a little Commission for a new lake and Shrubbery at Newmarket, if I live until the summer.’

I knew that I had to write to Louise and not put this off, as I had done once before, thus causing her deep pain.

Thinking about her and her unembarrassed cravings for
Jouissance
gave me a feeling of slight Sexual Excitation and I bethought me how, in the afternoon, I might make my way to London Bridge and visit my dear Drab, Rosie Pierpoint, and how I would be most consoled by this and behave like a Spoiled Child in her arms, with no Conscience and no Responsibility.

Meanwhile, I wrote thus to Louise:

My dear Louise
,

I am safely arrived at Whitehall, where I have just returned from a Short Drive Out with His Majesty to see the Flamingos in St James’s Park. From this, you will see that his Health does not appear to be in any immediate danger, and yet some Anxieties persist. The Sore on his leg gives him much pain, and he is very pale. I shall see him again after Suppertime, when he will come to the Duchess’s apartments
.

I think of you very much and pray that you are well, and the Baron also, and Constanza, and that the Winter treats you kindly. It is cold here, but with a bright sun
.

Now, Louise, I must arrive at my Main Tidings, and these are they: Margaret, with my Consent, is engaged to be married to the Honourable Julius Royston, the youngest son of Lord Delavigne. We all here, including the King, rejoice at this union, for the boy is very fine and the Pair most
excellently
contented. But they, being young and ardent, do not wish to delay their marriage beyond the Spring and the month now set for it is May
.

I shall host the Marriage at Bidnold Manor, and there being much to arrange, and oversee, will not be able to return to Switzerland before June. Thus, our own Celebrations, must, alas, be postponed
.

I know that you will be vexed by this, as I am. But rest assured that I will return as soon as Margaret is made a Bride, and we shall then turn our minds to our own Futures
.

I send with this letter some Purple Sage leaves, survivors of all the Winter winds and driving Snow, as a token of my respect for all your Scientific Endeavours and of my enduring affection
.

Your humble Chevalier
,

R. Merivel

Reading this letter through several times I could not but be struck by its coldness and formality. I had not intended that it should be cold and formal, yet I could perceive that it was, and I felt somewhat ashamed of it, as though it might have been Schoolwork, badly done. But I had not the Patience to rewrite it.

Then another thing began to torture me. As Margaret’s future Stepmother, Louise de Flamanville should, by rights, be invited to Bidnold for the May wedding. She would perhaps be well aware of this and look, in the letter, for such an invitation and, finding none, be made sorrowful by the lack of it.

Yet for all that I had tried many times, I could not imagine Louise de Flamanville playing the role of Mistress of Bidnold. Deep in my heart lay the memory of her saying that my gift of a decorated Almanac to Will Gates was ‘too beautiful’ to be given to a Servant. And I took from this the feeling that she would not
understand
my house and how it was arranged, and how my loyalties were dispersed within it – even unto Cattlebury, all awash with his sweating Insanity – and how none of my long-serving Servants could be cast away.

I sealed my letter and gave it up to be posted, so that I would not compel myself to add some Postscript, inviting Louise to England.

Finding myself in the street, I began to walk in the direction of London Bridge, my yearning to visit Rosie being now very strong.
But
no sooner had I stepped out than Fubbsy’s Chaise drew up alongside me, and she hauled me inside and began to question me about the King’s condition, and so I was borne back to her apartments on a tide of Interrogation, and all my wilful desires fled from me.

Supper that evening, with Fubbs, Margaret and Julius, was most lively and happy. We were joined afterwards by Lord and Lady Delavigne, who were courteous and kind to me, and showed me with great pride a sumptuous Diamond Ring, which was then placed by Julius upon Margaret’s finger.

At this the russety Lord Delavigne began to blub with joy (thus endearing himself to me as a Weeper who, like me, may have worn out many expensive handkerchiefs over the passing years). Wiping his eyes, he put his arm round Margaret’s shoulders and round the shoulders of his youngest son, and made a short impromptu speech about the elusive nature of Human Happiness and how it should be caught with what he termed ‘a bold advance’, as a Butterfly may be caught in a net.

‘Oh, and
pinned down
, Delavigne, I suppose you will say next?’ teased Lady Delavigne.

‘No, Hortensia, not at all. If by “pinned down” you infer that I am talking about some kind of Containment or Slavery, which indeed I hope you do not mean, you are utterly mistaken. For when, in thirty years, have you ever been “pinned down” by me – except at your own desiring in the marriage bed?’

‘
Really
, Delavigne! What shocking Discourse is that, in front of Sir Robert?’

‘I do not say anything to shock. I am merely saying that the commodity of happiness is rare and should be taken when it offers itself.’

‘It is indeed,’ said Hortensia. ‘We pray for it most ardently.’

The moment had brought the Delavigne family very close, but I could not refrain from looking at Hortensia Delavigne, who still had some Beauty attendant on her, and wondered under what circumstances the Opportunity of making love with the King had ‘offered itself’ and how quickly or hesitantly she had taken it, and what she had felt about it since.

I knew that she, too, must know – or at least surmise – that Julius was the King’s son, but had never, in twenty-three years, breathed a word about it, not even to get some Advantage from His Majesty, and I thought how this spoke well of her character and of her love for Delavigne.