Winsor, Kathleen (26 page)

It
had happened before. But it won't happen to me, she told herself. To all the others,
perhaps, but not to me.

Gambling-tables
were set up in a third room and there they were soon congregated. Charles sat
down to play for a short time, but in less than half an hour he had lost a
couple of hundred pounds. He glanced up at Lauderdale who hung over his
shoulder.

"Take
my place, will you, John. I always lose and I'm a bad loser— What's worse, I
can't afford it."

Lauderdale
guffawed appreciatively, splattering the King as he did so for his tongue was
too big for his mouth, but he took his seat and Charles strolled into the next
room to listen to the music. Barbara promptly left her own table and met him
just as he was going out the door. Her arm linked with his and he bent to kiss
her lightly on the temple, while behind them significant glances were exchanged
and some wagers laid.

"It's
my opinion Mrs. Palmer is mad enough to think she might be Queen," said
Dr. Fraser. He was a personal favourite of the King and, since he could with
equal dexterity perform an abortion, cure a clap, or administer a physic, his
services were much in demand at Whitehall.

"The
lady has a husband, you know," murmured Elizabeth Hamilton, not glancing
away from her cards.

"A
husband is no obstacle where a king has set his heart."

"He'll
never marry her," said Cooper positively. "His Majesty is no such
fool as that." Cooper had acquired a considerable reputation for sagacity
by guessing far ahead of anyone else that York was married to Anne Hyde.

Barbara's
old chum, Anne, gave him a malicious smile. "Why, whatever do you mean by
that, sir? Sure, now, you don't think she'd be an unlucky choice?"

"I
do not, madame," he assured her coldly. "But I think that the King
will marry where political expediency dictates—as kings have always done."

By
the time they had left, Barbara was thoroughly relieved. She was tired. The
muscles in her legs ached and trembled. But she was happier than she had ever
been and perfectly convinced that her hopes and expectation—wild as they might
have seemed—would soon be fulfilled.

As
she and Charles entered the bedroom together Wharton, asleep in a chair by the
fire, jumped to her feet and curtsied, looking at her mistress with frightened
apprehension. But Barbara smiled and spoke to her kindly.

"You
may go, Wharton. I won't need you again tonight." Then, just as the girl
was leaving, she called after her, "Wake me by half-after-eight. There's a
'Change woman coming to show me some lace and if I don't get it first, Carnegie
will." Barbara smiled at Charles as though she were a naughty little girl.
"Isn't that selfish of me?"

He
answered the smile but not the question, and took a
chair.
"That was good food, Barbara. Haven't you a new head-cook?"

She
had gone to the dressing-table and was beginning to unfasten her hair.
"Isn't he a marvel? Guess where I got him. I took him away from Mrs.
Hyde—she brought him from France with her. D'you know, Charles, that woman
hasn't
once
paid me a call?" She shook out her hair and it tumbled
in long ripples like dark-fire running down her back; over her shoulder she
threw him a quick, petulant glance. "I don't think the Chancellor likes
me—or his wife would have called long since."

"Well,"
said Charles easily, "suppose he doesn't."

"Well!
Why shouldn't he! What harm have I done him, pray?" Barbara thought that
her new position should command not only the deference but the liking of every
man and woman at Court, and she intended to get it, one way or another.

"The
Chancellor belongs to the old school of statesmen, my dear. He'll neither pimp
nor bribe, but thinks it's possible to get along in this world by honest hard
work. I'm afraid there's a new model politician likely to prove too hard for
him."

"I
don't care what his morals are! He was good friends with my father and I think
it's damned bad manners his wife doesn't make me a call! Why, I've heard he
even tells you you shouldn't waste your time on a jade like me!"

Charles
smiled, one arm over the back of the chair and his legs crossed, his eyes
lazily admiring as he sat watching her undress. "The Chancellor has been
telling me what I may and may not do for so many years I believe he half thinks
I pay him some attention. But he's a very good old man and very loyal, and his
intentions are the best even if his understanding is sometimes faulty. However,
I wouldn't trouble myself with whether or not his wife calls, if I were you. I
assure you she's a dull old lady and no very entertaining company."

"I
don't care whether she's dull or not! Don't you understand? It's just that she
should
call on me!"

He
laughed. "I understand. Let's forget it—"

He
got up and went toward her and Barbara turned, just slipping her smock down
over her breasts, to look at him. Her eyes lighted with a bright passion that
was perfectly genuine, and as his hands reached out a shudder of expectation shook
her, driving everything else from her mind. But not for long.

As
they lay in the bed, her head resting on his shoulder so that she could feel
beneath her cheek the pulsing of his blood, Barbara said softly, "I heard
the most ridiculous rumour today."

Charles
was uninterested and merely murmured, "Did you?"

"Yes—someone
told me that you're already married to a niece of the Prince de Ligne—and have
two sons by her."

The
Prince doesn't even have a niece, so far as I know. None I've married,
anyway." His eyes were closed and he lay flat on his back, a faint smile
on his mouth. But he was not thinking of what they were saying.

"Someone
else told me that you're contracted to the Duke of Parma's daughter."

He
did not answer and now, raising herself on one elbow, she said anxiously:
"You're not, are you?"

"Not
what? Oh, no. No, I'm not married."

"But
they want you to marry, don't they? The people, I mean."

"Yes,
I suppose they do. Some fat squint-eyed straight-haired antidote, no
doubt," he said lazily. "Odsfish, I don't know how I'll ever get an
ugly woman with child."

"But
why should you marry an ugly woman?" With one pointed forefinger she was
tracing a pattern in the matted black hair on his chest.

He
opened his eyes and looked up at her, and then his face broke into a grin and
he reached out his hand to stroke her head. "Princesses are always ugly.
It's a tradition they have."

Barbara
felt the excitement begin to mount within her, and her heart was pounding at a
furious rate. Unable to look him full in the face, she dropped her eyes before
she spoke. "But —Well, why marry a princess if there's none you like? Why
not—" She took a deep quick breath and her throat felt dry; a sharp pain
stabbed at the base of her skull. "Why not marry me?" Then she raised
her eyes quickly and looked at him, searching.

Instantly
Charles's face grew wary, the smile faded, and it settled once more into the
old lines of moody cynicism. She could feel him draw away from her, though
actually he had not moved at all. Barbara was shocked and she looked at him
with horrified disbelief on her face. She had been so sure, so perfectly
confident that he loved her madly, even enough to make her his wife.

"Sire,"
she said softly, "hasn't that ever occurred to you?"

He
sat up and then left the bed to begin dressing. "Now come, Barbara. You
know as well as I do that it's impossible."

"Why?"
she cried, growing desperate. "Why is it impossible? I've heard it was you
who made the Duke marry Anne Hyde! Then why
can't
you marry me—if you
want to. If you love me." She felt her temper getting away from her and
caught at it frantically, telling herself that this was too important to throw
away because she couldn't hold her tongue. She still thought that she could
wheedle him into anything.

Someway
I'll make him marry me. I know I will. He's got to. He's got to!

With
his breeches on he pulled the thin white linen shirt
over his head
and fastened the full sleeves at the wrist. He was eager to get away from her,
bored and impatient at the prospect of a useless quarrel. He was, and he knew
it, thoroughly infatuated with her, for he had never found a woman more
exciting to lie with. But if she had been Queen of Naples he would not have
cared to marry her—he knew her too well for that, already.

"The
two cases aren't exactly comparable, my dear," he said now, his warm voice
low and soothing, hoping to lull her into quiet and then get away. "My
children will succeed to the throne. James's, most likely, never will."

Certainly
that seemed perfectly reasonable for Charles had already recognized at least
five illegitimate children, while Barbara herself was convinced that the child
she carried was his and not her husband's—or Chesterfield's.

"Oh,
but what's to become of
me
if you marry another woman? What will
I
do?" She was close to tears.

"I
think you'll do very well, Barbara. I see no reason why you shouldn't. You're
not exactly a helpless person, you know."

"But
that isn't what I mean! Oh, you see how they all run after me now—Buckingham
and Cooper and the rest of that crew— But if you marry someone else and fob me
off— Oh, I'd die! You can't think how they'd use me! And the women would be
even worse than the men! Oh, Charles, you can't, you
can't
do that to
me!"

He
paused now and looked at her sharply; then all at once his face softened and he
sat down beside her again, taking her hands into his. Her face was wet with
tears that welled out of her eyes and slid over her cheeks in great drops,
splashing off onto the satin-covered blankets beneath her.

"Don't
cry, darling. What the devil do you take me for—an ogre? I won't desert you,
Barbara, you can be sure of that. You've given me a great deal of happiness,
and I'm grateful. I can't marry you, but I'll see that you're taken care
of—very well."

She
was sniffling and her chin quivered but she was again conscious of her
appearance and trying to weep attractively. "How? With money? Money won't
help—not in the case I'll be in."

"What
would help?"

"Oh,
Sire, I don't know! I don't see how I can—"

He
interrupted her quickly, to stem another flood. "If I make you a Lady of
my wife's Bedchamber—would that help?"

He
spoke to her like an indulgent uncle holding out a sweetmeat to a small girl
who had fallen and skinned her knee.

"I
suppose it would. If you really do it. You won't change your mind and
just—just— Oh—"

Now,
suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge of her defeat, she burst into shaking
sobs and flung herself toward him. He held her against his chest for a moment,
patting her shoulder while she cried, and then very gently he disengaged
himself and got up.

While
she lay on the bed and sobbed he swiftly slid into his doublet, knotted his
cravat, buckled on his sword, and taking up his hat came to stand above her.
Charles, who could not do without women though he could very easily do without
any one woman, was often inclined to wish that it was never necessary to see
any of them out of bed.

"Barbara—I
swear I've got to go now. Please don't cry any more, darling. Believe me, I'll
keep my promise—"

He
bent and kissed the top of her head and then turned and went to the door. He
glanced back just in time to see her look around at him, red-faced and
swollen-eyed; he gave her a hasty wave and went out.

She
sat up slowly, her face wrenched into a scowl, one hand to her aching head. And
then all at once she opened her mouth and gave a high uncanny scream that made
the veins in her neck stand out like purple cords, and picking up a vase from
the bedside table she hurled it with all her strength at the mirror across the
room.

To
get to the Tap-Room, which was a floor and a half below the Lady Debtors' Ward,
Amber had to follow the candleman down a black narrow flight of stairs. But
when they had gone only part way he turned suddenly and blocked the passage and
she stopped three steps above him, angry and frightened at the look she saw on
his face, for her advanced pregnancy gave her a sense of clumsy helplessness.