Winsor, Kathleen (124 page)

He
came instantly to life, straightening in his chair, leaning forward. "A
fortune, did you say?"

She
looked at him with mild surprise. "Why, yes, of course. Didn't you know
that? Lord, she's got a hundred suitors, all of 'em mad to marry her. She's
considering which one she'll have —and I thought she had a peculiar fancy to
you."

"A
fortune! I didn't know she had a shilling! Everyone told me— Well, your
Ladyship, to tell you truly, this is a mighty great surprise!" He seemed
stunned, unable to believe the good luck which had apparently blown his way by
accident. "How much—a—that is—"

Amber
came to his rescue. "Oh, I should say about five thousand pound."

"Five
thousand! A year!" Five thousand a year was in fact, a fortune of immense
size.

"No,"
said Amber. "Five thousand in all. Oh, of course she has some property
too." That was obviously a disappointment to him and as she saw the look
on his face she added, "I think she was about to accept young
What-d'ye-call—I don't remember his name just now. The one who always wears the
green-
satin suit. But if you speak to her quick enough perhaps you can persuade her
to give you a hearing."

It
was not two weeks later that Sir Frederick married the Dowager Baroness.

Aware
that most pretty young women with money had either sharp-eyed parents or
guardians who would never consider him a good match, he began to pay his court
to her almost immediately upon quitting Amber's apartments—and when he proposed
she accepted him. Amber gave her five thousand pounds in return for a witnessed
statement that she would never again ask or expect money from her.

At
first the Baroness was highly indignant, refused absolutely, and said that she
would have all the money since it was her son's by right. Amber soon persuaded
her that in such a case the King would take her side and in the end Lucilla was
glad to get the five thousand pounds, which would not now do a great deal more
than clear her debts. But she was not giving very much thought to money. All
her emotions were centered in the exciting prospect of being a wife again, this
time to a handsome and young man who did not seem aware that she was old enough
to be his mother. The ceremony took place at night and though Gerald was
wretchedly embarrassed by his mother's behaviour Amber was at once amused,
relieved and contemptuous.

There's
no more ridiculous creature on earth, she decided, than your virtuous woman who
makes herself miserable for years to preserve what the captious world will
never credit her with having.

Now
that Amber was rid of her mother-in-law she decided to make a similar
arrangement with her husband. She knew that he had begun an affair with Mrs.
Polly Stark, a pretty fifteen-year-old who had recently taken a small shop in
the 'Change, where she sold ribbons and other trinkets. And so one evening in
late November when he strolled into her Majesty's Drawing-Room she left her
card-table and went to join him.

As
always when he found himself face-to-face with her he had a look of dread
expectancy. Now he supposed that she was going to harangue him about Mrs.
Stark. "Gad!" he exclaimed. "But it's damned hot in here. Frightful,
let me perish!"

"Why,
I don't find it so," said Amber sweetly. "Lord, what a handsome suit
that is you're wearing. I vow your tailor's quite beyond compare."

"Why—thank
you, madame." Bewildered, he looked down at himself, then quickly returned
the compliment. "And that's a mighty fine gown, madame."

"Thank
you, sir. I bought the ribbons of a young woman newly set up in the 'Change.
Her name's Mrs. Stark, I think— She knows everything in the world about
garniture."

He
turned red and swallowed. So it was Mrs. Stark. He wished he had never come to
the Palace. He had not wanted
to but had been persuaded by some friends who had
an intrigue in the fire with a couple of her Majesty's Maids. "Mrs.
Stark?" he repeated. "Mort Dieu, the name's familiar!"

"Think
hard and I believe you'll recall her. She remembers you very well."

"You
talked to her!"

"Oh,
yes. Half an hour or more. We're great friends."

"Well."

She
laughed outright now tapping him on the arm with her fan. "Lord, Gerald,
don't look so sheepish. How could you be in the fashion if you didn't keep a
wench? I swear I wouldn't have a faithful husband—it'd ruin me among all my
acquaintances."

He
looked at her with astonishment and then stared down at his shoes, frowning
unhappily. He was not quite sure whether she was serious or was making fun of
him; whichever it was he felt like a fool. He could think of nothing to say in
reply.

"And
what d'you think?" continued Amber. "She complains you're
stingy."

"What?
Stingy—I? Well, gad, madame— She wants to keep a coach and occupy lodgings in
Drury Lane and will wear nothing but silk stockings and I can't think what all.
She's a damned expensive jade. It would cost me less to keep London Bridge in
repair than to support her."

"Still,"
said Amber reasonably, "you can't set up for a beau if you don't keep a
whore, can you?"

He
gave her another quick glance of amazement. "Why— I— Well, it's all the
mode, of course, but then—"

"And
if you're going to keep a wench she must be pretty and the pretty ones come at
a high figure." Suddenly she sobered. "Look, sir: Suppose we two
strike up a bargain. I'll give Mrs. Stark two hundred pound a year—while she
keeps your good graces—and I'll give you four hundred. You can sign a paper
agreeing to meet your own expenses from that amount and trouble me no further.
If you run into debt I'll not be held responsible. How does that sound to
you?"

"Why—of
course that's very generous of you, madame. Only I thought—that is—Mother
said—"

"Pox
on your mother! I don't care what she said! Now, does that satisfy you or no?
For if it doesn't I'll ask his Majesty to speak to the Archbishop about an
annulment."

"An
annulment! But, madame—how can you? The marriage has been consummated!"

"Who's
to say whether it has or not? And I think I have more means of bribing a jury
than you! Now, what about it, Gerald? I have the paper drawn and it's in my
chamber. Good Lord, I don't know what more you can want! It seems to me a
mighty generous offer—I don't have to give you anything at all, you know."

"Well—very
well, then—only—"

"Only
what?"

"Don't
tell Mother, will you?"

James
was leaning on the window-sill watching some women who strolled in the sunny
garden below; he gave a soft whistle and as they glanced up he waved. The women
were first surprised and then they burst into giggles, beckoning him to come
down and join them. He began to pantomime, shaking his head, shrugging his
shoulders, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. And then, as a door opened
behind him, he straightened instantly, composed his face, and swinging the
window shut turned around.

Anne
Hyde came out of her brother-in-law's closet, her ugly mouth working with
emotion, snuffing her nose and holding a wadded handkerchief against her face.
The years since the Restoration had not improved her appearance. She was now
thirty years old; her stomach bulged with her sixth pregnancy and she had a
gross accumulation of fat, for over-eating was her comfort; red angry pustules
spotted her face, and covering each was a small black patch. Anne had caught
syphilis from his Royal Highness. And yet she had about her still a sort of
awe-inspiring grandeur, a majesty more defiant and more proud, perhaps, than if
she had been of the blood royal. She was not very much liked, but she was respected,
and somewhat feared.

Everyone
knew that she ruled the Duke, kept him hopelessly in debt with her
extravagance, told him what to do and say in council, and that he obeyed her.
Only in his amours did he preserve his independence and those went on no matter
how she complained. Frequently he had the women brought to a room adjoining
their chamber and left Anne's bed to go out to them. But, for the most part,
they understood and respected each other.

Slowly
she shut the door. He stood and stared at her, his face questioning, while she
tried to gain control of herself. Finally he spoke.

"What
did he tell you?"

"What
did he tell me!" she repeated bitterly, twisting at her ringed hands.
"I don't know what he told me! He listened— oh, he listened most politely.
But he wouldn't promise anything. Oh, Your Highness—what can I
do!"

York
shrugged, but his face was morose. "I don't know."

She
looked up swiftly and her eyes began to glitter. "You don't know. That's
just like you! You never know what to do no matter what happens—you won't know
what to do when you're king! God help you if I'm not here to tell you! Listen
to me—" She came across the few feet that had separated them and took hold
of his coat. As she talked her fist pounded
against his chest. "You're not going
to stand by like a simple fool and watch my father put out by a pack of
scheming, lying jackals, d'ye hear me? You've got to go in there and talk to
him—make him understand what they're trying to do! After all the years my
father's given to serve the Stuarts, after his loyalty and devotion, he
can't
do this! He
can't
turn him out! Go in there now and talk to
him—" She gave him a push.

"I'll
try," said York without much conviction. He went through that door and
knocked at another, opening it when the King's voice bade him enter. "I
hope I'm not intruding, Sire."

Charles
looked around over his shoulder with a grin. If he knew what his brother had
come for he gave no indication of it. "Not at all, James. Come in. You're
just in time to send a message to Minette. What shall I tell her for you?"

The
Duke was frowning, occupied with his own thoughts, and he hesitated a moment
before answering. "Why—tell her that I hope she'll be able to pay us a
visit soon."

"That's
what I'm writing about. She hopes to come next year. Well, James—what is it?
You've got something on your mind."

James
sat down and leaned forward in his chair, thoughtfully rubbing the flat palms
of his hands together. "Yes, Sire, I have." He paused for several
moments while his brother waited. "Anne is afraid that you don't intend to
deal kindly with the Chancellor."

Charles
smiled. "Then she's very much mistaken. I shall deal with him as kindly as
I can. But you know as well as I do, James, that this isn't my doing. I have a
Parliament to answer to, and they're in a mighty critical humour."

"But
your Majesty wouldn't sacrifice a man who has served you so long and well
merely to satisfy Parliament?" James had no very good opinion of the
country's governing body, nor of his brother's patience and compromises with
it. Things will be different, he often told himself, when I come to the throne.

"No
one is more appreciative than I of the Chancellor's service. But the truth of
the matter is this: He's outworn his usefulness, to me and to England. I know
he's blamed for much that hasn't been his fault, but the fact remains they hate
him. They want to be rid of him for good and all. What use can a man be to me
once he allows himself to come to that condition?"

"It
can be only a temporary condition—if your Majesty will take the trouble to help
him out of it."

"It's
more than that, James. I know he's loyal and I know he's able—but nevertheless
he's stuck in a morass of old-fashioned ideas. He won't realize that the
Rebellion changed things here in England. He doesn't feel with his finger-tips
that there are new ways now. What's worse, he doesn't want to feel it. No,
James, I'm afraid the Chancellor's day is done."

"Done?
Do
you mean, Sire, that you intend putting him aside?"

"I
don't think I have an alternative. He has few enough friends to help him out
now—he never took the trouble to buy himself a party of loyal supporters. He
was always above such practicalities."

"Well,
then, Sire, since we're being frank, why don't you tell me the real reason you
intend dismissing him?"

"I
have."

"A
different opinion runs through the galleries. There are rumours that your
Majesty can forgive him everything but influencing Mrs. Stewart in favour of
Richmond."

Charles's
black eyes snapped. "Rumour is often impertinent, James—and so are you! If
you think I'm any such fool as to dismiss a man who could be useful to me
because of a woman, you do my intelligence little justice! You must own I've
been as kind to you as any king has ever been to a brother, and you live as
much like a monarch as I do! But in this matter I'm determined. You can't
change my mind, so pray trouble me about it no more."

James
bowed courteously and left the room. Kings, he had always believed, were meant
to be obeyed—but the courtiers nevertheless noticed and commented upon a
certain coolness between the two brothers.