God and the King

by Marjorie Bowen

  CHAPTER III

  THE BEST OF LIFE

  It was early May; the King was walking in his park at Kensington, withhis friend, William Bentinck, Earl of Portland.

  It was the eve of his departure for Ireland; he had yesterday proroguedParliament, and laughed a little as he related the discomfiture of theWhigs at his speech.

  "I shall be glad to be under canvas again," he added. "For myself itwill be a holiday, but I pity the poor Queen." He repeated with greattenderness--"the poor Queen!"

  "How doth she take your going?" asked the Earl.

  "Ah, heavily--what have I brought her but affliction?--sometimes I thinkof that----"

  He spoke sadly, and pressed Bentinck's hand.

  "Be good to the Queen," he said wistfully. "As you love me, William,help the Queen when I am not here.... I think women have the harderpart."

  "I have great faith in her courage and wisdom, sir," said the Earl.

  "There is no woman like her," answered the King, under his breath. Headded aloud, with a flashing smile, "As there is no friend in the worldlike you!"

  "Ah, sir," cried Portland, much moved, "you ever flattered me."

  He was not so reserved as the King nor yet so demonstrative. Williamcould express by word and letter, strong passion, but this was notpossible to William Bentinck. Devotion to his master was the motivepower of his life, but he could not say so.

  The King again pressed his hand affectionately. They were walking underlimes, and hawthorns white with blossom. The sky shone cloudy blue, andthe pale English sunshine was over the young grass.

  William looked round him with the sick eyes of exile; thoughts ofHolland tugged so sharply at his heart that he gave a little suppressedsound of pain.

  "What of this Crone and Fuller plot?" asked Portland suddenly.

  "I am sorry to leave that on the Queen her hands," said William quietly;"but I do not think it serious."

  "Some great men are implicated?"

  "I do not doubt it."

  Portland hesitated a moment, then said--

  "Nottingham's spies intercepted letters to St. Germains, he saith--whowere they from?"

  "People of no station," answered the King. "Nottingham is overzealous."

  "And you, sir, are over easy."

  William smiled at him, and seated himself on a wooden bench under one ofthe limes.

  "That is an old complaint between us, is it not?" he said kindly. "Dearlord, let it be----"

  Portland smiled also; he was not satisfied; he stirred his cane amongthe scattered hawthorn flowers and his fair face hardened. After alittle he asked his dismissal, and turned towards Kensington House.

  The King remained alone in the park, sitting a little droopingly; hehardly ever held himself erect now; he had shifted his sword-belt sothat the weapon was across his knees, and he held pommel and point ofthe scabbard with his bare, delicate hands; his clothes were dark andplain; he wore high riding-boots and a beaver with a great plume ofwhite feathers. So still he sat, and so shaded was his figure in thedeep glowing shadow cast by the lime boughs of budding foliage, that ayoung man coming moodily along the path was upon him before he noticedthat any sat there.

  "Ah, sire!" he exclaimed, in confusion, and pulled off his hat.

  William looked up at him; it was the Duke of Shrewsbury.

  "I am glad to see you, my lord. I wished to speak to you."

  "I was about to seek an audience of Your Majesty."

  Shrewsbury was in a painful agitation, further increased by this suddenmeeting with the King, utterly unlooked for. It was rare to findWilliam at leisure or on foot.

  The King's deep eyes regarded him sadly and kindly.

  "Was it to a second time offer your resignation?" he asked.

  Shrewsbury went crimson under his powder; he seemed to find it difficultto maintain even a show of composure.

  "Yes, Your Majesty," he answered.

  "Very well," said William quietly. "I am sorry that you will not serveme till my return from Ireland."

  "Sire, my health," murmured the Duke faintly--"I have had a fall from myhorse--I am not fit."

  Still holding his sword in both hands, the King rose.

  "My lord--is that your sole reason?" he asked gently.

  The blood ebbed from the young man's soft face; he answered with aneffort.

  "My sole reason, Your Majesty."

  William continued to fix his eyes on him.

  "My lord, when did you last see Roger Fuller?"

  Shrewsbury shivered; he stammered painfully.

  "I--I--do not know--the fellow----"

  "I take your word, my lord," said William gravely.

  He dropped his sword, and laid his hand with a gentle dignity on theyoung man's heaving shoulder.

  "Remember I trust you," he added quietly.

  "Sir," cried Shrewsbury, through pale lips--"what is your meaning--doyou think----"

  "I think that you are a man of honour," said William. "You have given meyour word, and I trust you. Remember it."

  "Your Majesty," began the Duke wildly, "I never meant----"

  "Hush," interrupted the King. "I know nothing. Take care of yourhealth, my lord."

  He touched his hat and moved on. The young Duke looked after him witheyes of agony, then stumbled wretchedly away through the trees.

  William proceeded slowly to the privy garden, which was full of stocks,pinks, wallflowers, aloes, and early roses.

  He found the Queen and Lady Nottingham seated in front of a great bushof box clipped into the shape of a peacock. Between them was a length ofyellow silk that they were sewing with blue beads in little crosses andstars.

  At the King's approach Lady Nottingham rose and retired with a courtsey.Mary looked after her kindly.

  "She is a sweet lady--I like her vastly," she said.

  "You find most ladies sweet, do you not?" answered the King; he seatedhimself beside her on the bench, and took up the end of silk LadyNottingham had laid down.

  "I have spoilt your work. But I wished to tell you something, Marie."

  Mary glanced at him anxiously; she was slightly pale, and wore a blackscarf wrapped round her head and shoulders; her petticoat was stripedred and frilled at the foot, her over-gown dark blue and spread roundher in circling folds of glittering silk. For all the sombre heavinessof this stately dressing she looked very young--sad, also, for all thedesperate gaiety to which she was continually nerved.

  The King looked about him to see that they were not overheard, thensaid, in a low voice--

  "I have accepted my Lord Shrewsbury his resignation."

  Mary waited, catching her breath.

  "He," continued William, "hath tampered with His late Majesty."

  The Queen gave a little sound of distress, and dropped her sewing.

  "Shrewsbury!" she whispered.

  "I have sure proof of it," said the King. "I am sorry for him," headded simply; "and for myself, it something moved me, for I ever likedmy lord."

  Mary flushed and clenched her hands on her lap.

  "How base every one is," she cried, and the angry tears glittered in hereyes.

  "There is not much honour in England, Marie. Have a care of all ofthem--particularly of that knave"--he spoke with strong force--"thatvillain, my Lord Marlborough----"

  "Need he be of the Council?" she asked eagerly.

  "Child, he is the best soldier in England, and if I was to leave you aCouncil of honest men they could not be of this nation--trust none ofthem."

  "God help me," said the Queen. "I know not how I shall support myselfwhen you are not here--but how weak I am to talk thus--my part is littlecompared to yours."

  She smiled with a pitiful brightness, and the King, looking at her,flushed as if he had been hurt and suppressed the pain.

  "Talk no more of this," he said quickly--"in this little time we havetogether----"

  Mary laid her hand on his.


  "How pale the sunshine is--not thick and golden like The Hague--theflowers seem so different too; is not that a silly fancy?" She smiledagain, and her voice quivered.

  "You are not happy here, Marie."

  She answered hastily.

  "Happy wherever I have your dear company--but I confess I am a cowardwithout you--but God is greater than our hopes, our fears, our desires;He knoweth best."

  When her soft voice ceased the only sounds were those of water runningin the lead basin of a fountain hidden somewhere behind the alleys ofwych-elm, and the occasional distant blows of a hammer from the workmanengaged on the scaffolding of Kensington House.

  She spoke again at last, her white fingers tightening over his.

  "I wonder if you will ever rest--if achievement will ever come--at last,if you will ever think your work done----"

  "How can I?" he answered. "That is my sole excuse to live--that thereis something for me to do--and I am so used to work I think I could notrest----"

  "It hath been hard--hard and long," said Mary. "You must be so weary ofit all--the lying, the treachery, the weakness, the opposition, thedelays, the disappointments----"

  The King smiled faintly.

  "Yet I have done something----"

  "So much!" exclaimed Mary proudly. "But I do long for you to have someleisure now ... for both of us ... to be alone, at last----"

  "When the war is over----"

  She interrupted gently.

  "When the war is over! Alas!" She shook her head. "So long still towait." She smiled. "I would that you had not been a great man,dear--but just a simple citizen." She laughed charmingly. "And wewould live at The Hague always and have a great garden where you shouldgrow 'La Solitaire' for the thousand gulden prize--and I would polishall the furniture myself--and I could call you 'Willem' then before allthe world, and we should have long days together ... and you would readof great events in the _Gazette_ and never want to mix in them, and Ishould laugh at those unhappy kings and queens----"

  Her husband looked at her in silence.

  "So you see I am a good housewife, no more!" she continued, in a kind ofwild gaiety. "Alas, I have no brains for business!"

  "I have thought, too," said William, "that I would like to be a meregentleman watching events, not guiding them; but these thoughts arebeneath us--and idle visions."

  "Idle visions!" repeated the Queen. "And you must go to the waragain--Death's target--and I must stay behind and keep my countenance!I am such a poor weak fool!" she added, in bitter self-reproach.

  The King raised her head and pressed it against his heart.

  "That kind of fool I could never have done without," he saidimpetuously. "If I have ever achieved anything, the credit is to you,my dearest, my dearest----"

  He dropped her hand, and abruptly broke his speech.

  "What more can I want than to hear you say that?" answered Mary. "Onlylove me and I can bear anything----"

  The King's brilliant eyes rested on her pale but smiling face; he spokeslowly, and his tired voice was hoarse and unequal.

  "When I was a boy--a youth--I was so proud, so self-confident.... Iremember I thought I was capable of anything--I took my inexperience, myhandful of soldiers, into the field against France--against Conde! Ihad been very much alone, and so learnt reserve that I had almost lostthe power of expression--I was also very unhappy--I think I had nosupport in the world but my pride--I thought God had elected me to behis Captain----"

  He paused, but Mary did not speak. Only the little gurgle of the unseenfountain broke perfect stillness.

  "I remember," continued William, "the first time I went to Middleburgand heard the people shout for me--and saw the Town Council bowing....I never had felt so lonely. Twenty years ago--and I have greatlychanged, but in a fashion I have kept the vows I made then to God--Ihave not turned back from defending His Faith--but that was before Hepleased to humble me by constant defeat. I was so confident, Marie!Ah, could I recapture that exaltation of the morning it would all be soeasy--I felt so glad of what I had to do--but now!"

  He raised his hand lightly and lightly let it fall; his profile wastowards the Queen now, and his gaze directed towards the Englishhawthorns that showed above the box hedge of the privy garden.

  "But though," he added, "it hath all darkened since then, I think Godmeant me to go on--for He sent you, my wife ... and you are the onething that hath never failed me."

  She hid her face in her hands, and sat trembling; the little tray ofblue beads fell from her lap, and they were scattered over the gravelpath.

  "If I am not good at gratitude," said the King haltingly--"yet believeme--while you are there I can endure anything. After all, there isnothing in the world for me but you and Holland, and while I have bothwhy should I complain of any difficulties?"

  Mary raised her face.

  "If I could think I made that difference to you!" she said.

  "You have given me the best of life," he answered gravely.