Winsor, Kathleen (132 page)

He
grabbed her hand. "Oh, but you're not, Frances! This won't last, I promise
you it won't! Why, you should have seen me after I'd had it. I was enough to
frighten the devil himself." But now—look—you can't see a mark." He
looked up eagerly into her face, smiling, holding both her hands against his
heavy beating heart. He felt a passionate longing to help her, to make her
believe again in the future, though he did not believe in it himself. And as he
talked her eyes began to lighten, something like hope came back into her face.
"Why, in no time at all it won't be possible to tell you've ever had the
smallpox. You'll come to the balls and they'll all say that you're more
beautiful than ever. You'll be more beautiful than you were that first night I
saw you. Remember, darling, that black-and-white lace gown you were wearing,
with the diamonds in your hair—"

Frances
watched him, fascinated, listening intently. His words had the sound of some
old and half-intentionally forgotten melody. "Yes," she whispered.
"Yes, I remember—and you asked me to dance with you—"

"I
couldn't take my eyes off you—I'd never seen such a beautiful woman—"

She
smiled at him, passionately grateful for his kindness, but the game was a sorry
one and she knew as well as he did that they were only pretending. With all the
effort of will she could summon she held back the tears while he sat with her
and talked, trying desperately to take her mind off herself. But all her
thoughts were wholly of her own tragedy; and Charles, too, could think of
nothing else.

Oh,
why did it happen to
her?
he thought, furious with resentment. Why
should it have happened to Frances, who had been gay and sweet and friendly,
when there were other women who better deserved a fate like that—

But
Charles was a stubborn man.

Once,
he had said that he hoped someday to find her ugly and willing. He had
forgotten the thoughtless words, but he had not forgotten the years of waiting
and pleading and promising, the ache of desire, the longing for possession and
fulfillment. And now, all at once, it was she who had become the supplicant.

Late
one afternoon they were in the garden that ran down to the river behind Somerset
House, strolling arm in arm between a tall row of clipped limes. Frances was
dressed in a lovely blue-satin gown with flounces of black lace on the skirt; a
veil of black lace was flung over her hair and fell across her face to her
chin. With her feeling for beauty, she had instinctively begun to try to
compensate for what the disease had done to her. She used her fan for
concealment, veils to shield her skin, and now when she paused beside the river
it was in the shadow of a great elm.

Silently
they stood looking out over the water, and then her hand in the bend of his arm
tightened slowly and he turned to find her staring up at him. For a moment
Charles made no move but stood watching her, and he saw that she was asking him
to kiss her. His arms went about her and this time there was no holding him off
with her finger-tips, no giggle of protest as his body pressed close. Instead
she clung to him, her arms drawing him to her, and he could feel in her mouth
not real passion but eagerness to please—a frightened premonition that he would
no longer find her desirable.

Charles,
his pity for her over-riding his inevitable reaction to a woman's body and
lips, released her gently. But she did not want to let him go. Her hands caught
at his upper arms.

"Oh,
you were right all along! I was a fool!— You should never have been so patient
with me!"

Surprised
at her frankness, he said softly, "My dear, I hope that I shall never be
any such bungler as to take a woman against her will."

"But
I—" she began, and then stopped suddenly, blushing. All
at once she
turned and went running up the path, and he knew that she was crying.

The
next night, however, as he was getting alone into a scull at the Palace stairs
to take a short evening ride on the river he made a sudden decision, turned the
boat around, and started toward Somerset House. The little craft went skimming
over the water's surface; he beached it and jumped out. The water-gate was
locked but in a moment he had vaulted the wall and was off on a run through the
gardens toward the house.

I've
waited five years and a half for this, he thought. I hope
to God it
hasn't been too long!

Charles
and the Duke of Buckingham sat across the table from each other examining a
small but perfect model for a new man-of-war, both of them absorbed and eagerly
excited in the discussion. Charles had always loved ships and the sea. He knew
so much about both, in fact, that many considered such a command of technical
knowledge to be quite beneath a king's dignity. Nevertheless, the navy was his
pride and he still smarted from the humiliation of having the Dutch sail into
his rivers, plunder his countryside, burn and sink his finest ships. He
intended one day to repay that insult—meanwhile he was building a stronger and bigger
navy. It was the plan and hope of his life that England should someday sail the
seas, supreme unchallenged mistress of all the waters on earth—for that way and
that alone, he knew, lay greatness for his little kingdom.

At
last Charles got to his feet. "Well—I can't stay admiring this any longer.
I'm engaged to play tennis with Rupert at two." He picked his wig from
where it was perched on the back of a chair, set it on his head and glancing
into a mirror clapped his wide hat down over it.

Buckingham
stood up, his own hat under his arm. "On a day hot as this? I marvel at
your Majesty's industry."

Charles
smiled. "It's my daily physic. I need my health so that I may keep up with
my amusements."

The
two men went out the door, Charles closed and locked it behind him and dropped
the key into his coat-pocket. They crossed through several more rooms, mounted
a narrow flight of stairs, and came at last into the great Stone Gallery.
There, coming toward them with her woman beside her and a little blackamoor to carry
her train, was Frances Stewart. She waved to attract their attention and as
they paused to wait for her, she hastened her steps.

Buckingham
bowed, Charles smiled, and as she reached them he gave her a light careless
friendly salute on the lips. But as Frances looked up at him her eyes were
pathetic and anxious; she could never for an instant forget the terrible fact
that her beauty
was gone. All her manner had. changed, as if to compensate for the thing she
had lost. Now she was eager, nervously vivacious, wistful.

"Oh,
your Majesty! I'm so glad we chanced to meet! It's been a week and more since
I've seen you—"

"I'm
sorry. I've had a great deal to do—council-meetings and ambassadors—"

She
had heard him make similar excuses, many times before, to other women. Then she
had teased him for lying and laughed about it, because in those days she had
laughed joyously at everything.

"I
wish you'd come to supper. Can't you come tonight? I've invited ever so many
others—" she added quickly.

"Thank
you very much, Frances, but I'm engaged for tonight, and have been for so long
I dare not break it." Her disappointment was painful to see, and because
it made him uncomfortable he added: "But I'll be free tomorrow night. I
can come then if you like."

"Oh,
can you, sir!" Instantly her face brightened. "I'll order everything
you like best to eat—and I'll bespeak Moll Davis to give us a
performance!" She turned to Buckingham. "I'd like to have you come
too, your Grace—with my Lady Shrewsbury, of course."

"Thank
you, madame. If I can, I'll be there."

Frances
curtsied, the men bowed, and then continued on their way down the corridor. For
several moments Charles was silent. "Poor Frances," he said at last.
"It makes my heart sick to see her."

"She's
considerably impaired," admitted the Duke. "But at least it stopped
her infernal giggling. I haven't heard her giggle once these two months
past." Then, very casually, he said: "Oh, yes—Lauderdale was telling
me about her Majesty's escapade last night."

Charles
laughed. "I think everyone has heard of it by now. I didn't guess she had
so much mettle."

Catherine
had put on a disguise and left the Palace with Mrs. Boynton to attend a
betrothal party in the City—to which, of course, neither had been invited.
Masked and wigged they had gone in boldly, mingled with the other guests, but
had become separated in the crowd so that the Queen had been forced to return
home alone in a hackney. It was the kind of prank the ladies and gentlemen were
always playing—but Catherine had never dared go on such an adventure before and
the Palace buzzed with shock and amusement to learn their mousey little Queen
had finally braved the great forbidding world outside her castle-walls.

"They
said she was trembling all over when she first came in," continued Charles.
"But after a few minutes she began to laugh and told it all as a good
frolic. The chair-men who carried her there were devilish rude fellows, she
said, and the hackney-driver so drunk she expected he would tumble her into
the
streets!" He seemed highly amused. "All the citizens were grumbling
I'd led the country straight to hell! She makes a good intelligence-agent,
don't you agree? I've a notion to send her out often."

Buckingham's
face had a look of sour reproval. "It was mighty indecorous. And worse
yet—mighty dangerous."

Now
they emerged into the hot July sunshine and had to squint their eyes till they
had accustomed themselves to the glare. They started off across the Privy
Gardens toward the Tennis Court, passing several men and women who were strolling
there or standing talking, and the King greeted many of them with a smile or a
wave of the hand. Sometimes he paused to talk for a moment or called out a
friendly greeting. Buckingham did not like these interruptions.

"Oh,
I don't imagine she was in any great danger," said Charles. "Anyway,
she's safely back now."

"But
another time, Sire, she might
not
return safely."

Charles
gave a burst of laughter. "Sure, now, George—you don't think anyone
considers me rich enough to make it worth their while to kidnap my wife?"

"It
wasn't ransom I had in mind. Has it never occurred to you, Sire, that her
Majesty might be kidnapped and sent to a desert island and never heard from
again?"

"I
must confess, I haven't worried a great deal at the prospect." Charles waved
his arm at a couple of pretty women sitting several yards away on the lawn, and
they laughed and nudged each other, fluttering their fans at him in return.

"There
are many such islands," continued Buckingham, ignoring the interruption,
"located in the West Indies. There is no reason why one of them could not
be supplied with every possible comfort. A woman might live out the rest of her
days at ease in such a place."

A
quick scowl crossed Charles's face and he looked sharply at the Duke. "Do
I misunderstand you, Villiers, or are you suggesting that I get rid of my wife
by having her kidnapped?"

"The
idea is by no means impracticable, your Majesty. I had given it considerable
thought, in fact—even to the point of locating a suitable island on the
map—long before her Majesty took to this indiscreet new pastime of
masquerading."

Charles
made a sound of disgust. "You're a scoundrel, George Villiers! I don't
deny that I desperately need an heir— but I'll never get one by any such means
as that! And let me tell you one thing more: If her Majesty is ever harmed or
molested—if she ever disappears—I'll know where to lay the blame. And you won't
wear a head so long as an hour! Good-day!"

He
gave Buckingham a brief dark look of anger and then walked swiftly away from him
into the building which housed the tennis-courts. The Duke turned on his heel
and went off in the other direction, muttering beneath his breath.

But
that had by no means been the first, nor was it to be the
last, of the
schemes presented to Charles for getting Catherine out of the way so that he
could marry again and produce a legitimate heir. Half the men at Court were
busy plotting schemes, giving them to the King, then starting out to plot
another as each in turn was rejected. The only persons of any influence who did
not want Catherine to be replaced were York, Anne Hyde, their few adherents—and
the King's mistresses.