Winsor, Kathleen (110 page)

Barbara
gave the Doctor a suspicious glance but sat down again and continued:
"There's my new footman, but he's of no quality, so don't mark him down;
and Lady Southesk's page, but he's likely too young—"

At
this there was a loud explosive laugh, as of mirth which would no longer be
denied. And before Heydon could get out of his chair Barbara had sprung to her
feet and rushed to the closed door from behind which the sound had come, flung
it open and given the Duke a solid blow in the stomach with her doubled fist.

Buckingham,
who had been bent over and almost helpless in his unrestrained laughter, now
recovered himself and put out one hand to grab her about the throat, the while
he jumped this way and that to avoid her clawing nails and flying feet. And
then, as they struggled, they got hold of each other's disguising wigs and
pulled off both at once. Barbara stepped back with a horrified gasp, holding
the Duke's black wig in her hands, while he dangled hers at his side like some
grisly battle trophy.

"Buckingham!"

"Your
servant, madame."

He
made her a mock bow and tossed her wig onto the table —beside which Heydon was
still standing in stupefied horror at these goings-on, which would surely ruin
him—and Barbara snatched it up and clapped it on to her head again, this time
somewhat askew.

"You
lousy bastard!" she cried furiously, finding her tongue at last.
"What d'you mean, spying on me?"

"I
was not spying, my dear cousin," replied Buckingham coolly. "I was
here when you came and I merely stepped into the bedroom to wait for you to
leave so that I might continue my business with the Doctor."

"What
business!"

"Why,
I was trying if I could discover what woman I should next get with child,"
replied the Duke, frank amusement on his mouth. "I'm only sorry I laughed
so soon. That was a mighty interesting tale you were telling the Doctor. But
pray satisfy my curiosity on a point or two: have you lain with your blackamoor
of late, or the Chancellor?"

"Filthy
wretch! You know I hate that old man!"

"We
agree on one thing."

Barbara
began to gather her belongings, mask, fan, cloak and muff, tying the hood once
more over her hair. "Well, I'll go along now and leave you to finish your
business, my lord."

"Oh,
but you must let me wait upon you to your lodgings," protested his Grace
quickly, for he suspected her of intending to go immediately to the King and
hoped to head her off by some device or other. "It's dangerous riding
through the ruins. Only yesterday I heard of a lady of quality dragged from her
coach and beaten and robbed and finally left for dead." What he said was
true enough, for the ruined City swarmed with
cutthroats and thieves after
dark and it was not always possible to get a hackney to make the trip.
"How did you come?"

"In
a hell-cart."

"Well,
fortunately I have not only my coach but a dozen footmen waiting below. You're
foolish to go about thus unprotected, my dear—and it's mighty lucky I'm here to
see you get back safe."

Buckingham
took up his wig and set it on his head again, put his feather-loaded hat on top
of it, and turning to wink broadly behind her back at the worried Doctor he
flung his cloak up over his left shoulder and offered her his arm. He and
Barbara started down the black stair-well, where Heydon had finally recovered
himself sufficiently to bring a candle to light them.

"And
mind you," called Barbara as she got halfway down, "not a word of
this to anyone, or I'll have you kicked!"

"Yes,
my lady. You may trust me, madame."

Outside
it was cold and the wind swept down the narrow, dark little street, carrying
pieces of wet paper with it and driving hard needles of rain against their
faces. The moon was completely obscured so that the night was black. Buckingham
put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. An instant later half-a-dozen men
appeared from some nearby hiding-place, emerging like goblins, and after two or
three minutes a great rocking coach drawn by eight horses came lumbering
noisily down the steep hill toward them and stopped, six more footmen leaping
off the back where they had been riding. Buckingham gave the driver his
directions, handed her in, and they started out with those who could hanging
onto the coach and the others running behind it; a footman on either side held
a blazing flambeau.

They
rode down Great Tower Hill and turned into Tower Street, which was still lined
with ruins, though the ways had now been cleared of debris and were passable.
It was a slow ride of some two and a quarter miles over East Cheap and Wat-ling
Street, past the twisted iron and the great heaps of boulders that marked the
site of old St. Paul's, along Fleet Street and the Strand to Whitehall.

Barbara
was shivering again, huddled in her cloak with her teeth chattering. Buckingham
gallantly spread a fur-lined velvet robe over them both. "You'll soon be
warm," he said consolingly. "If we pass a tavern I'll send in for a
couple of mugs of lamb's wool."

But
Barbara was not to be diverted by such gallantries. "What's his Majesty
going to think to hear you've been paying visits to an astrologer?"

"Are
you going to tell him?"

"Perhaps
I will and perhaps I won't."

"I
wouldn't, if I were you."

"Why
not? You've been mighty strange with me of late, George Villiers. And I know
more than you may think."

Buckingham
scowled, wishing that he could see her face. "You're mistaken, my dear,
for there's nothing to know."

Barbara
laughed, a smug-sounding impudent laugh in the darkness beside him. "Oh,
isn't there? Well, suppose I tell you something then: I know that you're having
a certain horoscope cast—and it isn't your own, either."

"Who
told you that!" Buckingham reached out suddenly and grabbed her arm, his
fingers clenching it so that she winced and tried to jerk away; but he held
her, bending his face close to her own. "Answer me! Who told you
that!"

"Let
go of me, you sot! I won't tell you! Let me go, I say!" she cried, and all
at once she gave him a resounding slap on the face with her free hand.

With
a curse he released her, one hand held to his stinging face, mumbling beneath
his breath. Pox on the jade! he thought furiously. If she were anyone else I'd
give her a kicking for this! But instead he held his temper and began to
wheedle.

"Come,
Barbara, my dear. We know too much about each other to be enemies. It's
dangerous for both of us. Surely even you are convinced by now that if ever I
take a notion to tell his Majesty what's become of his letters he'd send you
hence like a rat with a straw in its arse."

Barbara
flung back her head and laughed. "Poor fool! He doesn't even guess, does
he? Sometimes I think he's stupid as a woodcock! He won't even look for
'em!"

"That's
where you're mistaken, madame. He's had the Palace searched from top to bottom.
But there are only two people in the world who could tell him where they are:
you, Barbara—and I."

"You're
the fly in my ointment, George Villiers. Sometimes I've a mind to have you
poisoned—if you were out of the way I'd never have anything to worry
about."

"Don't
forget, pray—I know a thing or two about mixing an Italian salad myself. Now,
let's be serious for a moment. Tell me where you got that information, and tell
me truly. I've an uncommonly keen nose for smelling out lies. They stink like
blue-incle to me."

"And
if I do tell you what I know will you tell me something?"

"What?"

"Tell
me whose it is?"

"Tell
you whose what is?"

"The
horoscope, dolt!"

"Then
you don't really know anything at all."

"Try
me and find out—I know enough to have you hanged."

"Well,
then," said the Duke smoothly, as though he heard that news every morning
before breakfast, "I'll tell you. The truth of it is, my dear, I have an
incurable aversion to hemp-rope and slip-knots."

"It's
a bargain. The horoscope you're having cast is that of a person of such
consequence that if it became known your life wouldn't be worth a farthing. No,
don't ask me how I
found that out," she added quickly, shaking a finger at him. "For I
won't tell you."

"God's
blood!" muttered Buckingham, "How the devil have you got hold of
this? What more do you know?"

"Isn't
that enough? Now—tell me: Whose horoscope is it?"

The
Duke relaxed, slumping with relief as he sat beside her. "You've got me on
the hip, I'll have to tell you. But if one word of this gets out to
anyone—believe me, I'll tell the King about his letters."

"Yes,
yes. What is it? Quick!"

"At
his Majesty's bidding I was having York's horoscope cast to determine whether
or no he will ever be King. Now there are just three of us who know it—his
Majesty, you, and me—"

Barbara
believed the lie, for it sounded plausible, and though she promised him that
she would never speak a word of it to anyone she soon discovered that it was
burning a hole in her tongue. It was such an exciting thing to know, such a
fatal secret, so loaded with potential trouble that she was sure it must be of
great value to her. Certainly the worth of such knowledge was almost
incalculable in pounds sterling and she saw it as the source of great sums to
herself over the years to come—no matter what new and younger woman might
supplant her in the King's slippery affections.

She
asked Charles for twelve thousand pounds one night, just as he was getting out
of her bed.

"If
I had twelve thousand pound," said the King, standing up and reaching for
his periwig, then glancing into a mirror to see that it was on straight,
"I'd spend part of it to buy myself a new shirt. The footmen have been
looting my wardrobe lately to get their back wages. Poor devils—I can't blame
'em. Some haven't been paid a shilling since I got back."

Barbara
gave him a pettish glare as she slipped into her dressing-gown. "God's my
life, Sire, but I'm sure you've grown miserly as a Jewish pawnbroker."

"I
wish I were as rich as one," said the King, then put his hat on his head
and started for the door. Barbara thrust herself in front of him.

"I
tell you, I've got to have that money!"

"Mr.
Jermyn demands it?" asked Charles sarcastically, referring to current tales
that she was now paying some of her lovers. He adjusted his lace cravat and
walked on by her; but she reached the door first and covered the knob with her
own hand.

"I
think your Majesty had best reconsider." She paused significantly, lifted
her brows and added, "Or I may tell his Highness a few things."

He
gave her a puzzled scowl, but his mouth was half amused. "Now what the
devil are you about?"

"Such
a superior air! Well, no doubt you'll be surprised to
hear that I
know what it is you've been trying to discover?" There! It was out! She
had not actually expected to say it, but her tongue—as it often did—had spoken
anyway.

He
shook his head, uninterested. "I haven't the vaguest idea what you're
talking about." He turned the knob, opened the door a few inches, and then
stopped abruptly as she said:

"Did
you know that Buckingham and I are friends again?"

He
shut the door. "What has Buckingham to do with this?"

"Oh,
what's the use of pretending! I know all about it! You've had York's horoscope
cast to find out if he'll ever be king." Look at him! she thought. Poor
fool, trying to seem unconcerned. Twelve thousand! What devil put that paltry
sum into my head! I should have asked for twenty thousand—or thirty—

"Did
Villiers tell you this?"

"Who
else?"

"Pox
on him! I told him to keep it a strict secret. Well— you'd better not let him
know you've told me or he'll be in a fury."

"Oh,
he hasn't told anyone else. And I wouldn't let him know I'd told you for
anything. Now—what about my twelve thousand pound?"