Lady on the Coin

by Margaret Campbell Barnes

  Catherine threw up her hands in amused protest.

  “Me, I shall never fathom these English titles and the new names which suddenly appear. How is it, then, that he is now Duke of Lennox — and yes, Richmond?”

  “He is quite an important person,” Frances said reflectively. “I remember my mother said so. And there was one of those genealogical trees amongst my father’s papers. I am interested in such things.”

  “You must be, to have carried it in your mind all this long while. What an odd girl you are — or odd occasionally. In Portugal I was naturally instructed in my ancestry, but I cannot say that I took much interest in my remote connections.”

  “It is different with Scots,” Frances explained. “We have the name for being clannish beyond the ordinary. Not that this Lennox lives in Scotland, nor ever has so far as I know, though he owns much land there. He lives at Cobham Hall in Kent. Long ago I saw a picture of it…oh, a most beautiful place…”

  “But how is it, then, that he is now Lennox and Richmond when he was at first Aubigny and then Lichfield?” The Queen painstakingly pronounced the unfamiliar names.

  ‘“He hasn’t been for very long. It is rather strange, Your Majesty — romantic and sad too — but I dare say romantic things often are sad. It does seem as though Lennox’s fortunes followed the King’s fortunes, for it was in the year of the Restoration that his cousin Esmé, who was then the Duke, died suddenly, and Lichfield — he must have been twenty or twenty-one — succeeded to the title and estates and all the possessions.”

  “So he is now only twenty-three or four,” said the Queen, whose interest was caught. “He looks older. But I remember the King spoke of a bereavement and also that he…but it is possible that has been exaggerated.”

  Frances wondered what the Queen had heard about this distant kinsman which she had been about to repeat but had been decided against. She said: “He is married, I believe.”

  “Twice, so the King told me, but both his wives died. The second wife only a few weeks ago. You had not heard of this?”

  Frances shook her head. “I have heard nothing about him, since I was told how as next-of-kin he had succeeded to all that had been his cousin’s. What I chiefly remembered was the picture of Cobham Hall. I wondered if I should ever see it.”

  “This young man has spent much of the last two years there, I understand. The King told me he was no lover of Court life, and that he had not the address for a courtier.”

  The Queen spoke with reserve, as though, while ready to satisfy Frances’ curiosity, she were putting a curb upon her tongue.

  “Does the King dislike him?” Frances asked impulsively.

  “How should I know, child? He spoke of him only in a passing way. It seems as though this young Duke has had already in his life much to happen to him.”

  “Two marriages! Could he have ill-treated his wives? But he has not the look of a cruel man. Not, of course, that one can tell by appearances, though Anne Boleyn should have guessed.”

  “Anne Boleyn? Why should you think of her? You do jump so, Frances.”

  “I know — I know, Madame. As long as I can remember, I have been accused of it,” Frances said, though the ill-fated Boleyn had been often in her thoughts of late, and more than once she had wondered how she could have entrusted herself to that horrible Henry with his close-set, mean eyes and small, pursed-up mouth. His character had shown in his face. She felt a surge of affection for the little, dark Queen Catherine. Thank heaven, Charles was not another Henry. He could never behave so wickedly.

  But when she was in her own room, with her maid sent away and her door safely barred, Frances gave herself up to thoughts of the young Duke of Lennox and Richmond, and more especially to his ancestral home in Kent. Nobody, not even Mistress Stuart, had suspected that her envy was directed towards those fortunate people who possessed one or more of the great houses of England. And so many of the owners neglected them — were known as absentee landlords. This Lennox, it seemed, was different, though, as he had possessed Cobham Hall for only three years, it might be no more than the novelty of ownership which kept him there.

  Frances had a clear and vivid memory, and she recalled almost as minutely as she recalled the picture of her own ruined home in Scotland, the old engraving her mother had shown her of Cobham Hall. A noble building with four towers, set in spreading grounds.

  What it must have meant to have inherited it unexpectedly! What elation, what a sense of triumph, even though, for all Frances knew, the new Duke might have been fond of his cousin Esmé, and deeply grieved at his death.

  “I must find out all about him, or as much as anyone can tell me, and if possible before he is presented to me,” Frances decided before she slept that night.

  Twelve

  It was fortunate that Frances had not built up a romantic picture in her mind around the personality of Charles Stuart Lennox, for she would have suffered a disappointment.

  Buckingham and Barbara Castlemaine both had slighting things to say about him. Barbara’s biography was tinged with such personal spite that Frances guessed Lennox was not one of her admirers. According to her he was a gambler and a spendthrift, and yet he was disgustingly avaricious.

  “You should hear Elizabeth Hamilton on him,” said Barbara acidly. “He professed to be in love with her before this second marriage of his, but he had the gall to say he would not marry her without a portion. The King thought that if Elizabeth was in love with him it would be too bad she should be unhappy for lack of money, and he would have given her a dowry — though how can he be expected to portion all the poverty-stricken young women whose fathers were loyal to the Royalist cause? Elizabeth wouldn’t have Lennox though. She refused to marry a brute and a debauchee even for the sake of becoming a duchess.”

  Frances scarcely realized the sinking of her heart. This or something similar must have been what the Queen had been about to tell her, and had been refrained from telling her.

  “Is he really that?” she asked, and the question was put to Buckingham. Possibly a man would give a fairer version of another man’s character.

  “The fellow is a fool and a sot,” Buckingham said, demolishing her hopes. “He has the manners of an oaf, and there’s a Puritanical streak in him which accords ill with the way in which he squanders an enormous revenue and chiefly through betting and racing. Married twice and a suitor for Elizabeth Hamilton, and yet he says he is no lover of women!”

  “I asked him to take part in a summer pageant to be given while the Court is at Tunbridge,” Barbara said, “but he made his second wife’s death an excuse, though that will be well forgotten before the time of the pageant. Everyone knows they lived a cat-and-dog life.”

  “Don’t blame him too much for that,” Buckingham said. “The woman was a shrew and enough to send any man to the bottle for consolation. She was Margaret Lewis, a widow,” Buckingham added for Frances’ benefit. “And how any man could have been fool enough to marry her… Lennox must have been thankful when death put an end to it.”

  “Did he ill-treat her?” Frances asked.

  “Not that I know of. You seem to be vastly interested in him.”

  “He is a kinsman,” Frances explained.

  “No favourite with Charles,” Buckingham declared. “The fellow hasn’t an ounce of wit in his entire being. Such a temperament is only suited to an obscure country squire.”

  “If Charles tolerates him it is only because Lennox shares his passion for racing,” Barbara opined. “He is a judge of horses, so one hears.”

  “There’s little that is interesting or profitable to say about him,” Buckingham summed up. “He’s certainly no acquisition to Court circles.”

  “There are better things to discuss,” Barbara said. “Young Jemmie’s wedding for one. The final details were only settled while you were away. The Queen put up an opposition to it because the bride is still a child.”

  “The Braganza goes out of her way to spoil sport,” Buckingh
am commented. “The King wants to see Jemmie’s future settled, though little Anne Scott is still playing with her dolls.”

  “Not for the last year or so,” Frances contradicted. “She likes to help with the Queen’s toilet and is quite deft-handed.”

  “Charles has planned the programme to suit the Buccleuch family,” Buckingham said. “The ceremony and the ball will be fine affairs, but the bedding will be a farce. At the crucial moment the bride will be whisked away, and the next day she will return to the schoolroom.”

  “The ball is the thing,” Barbara declared. “These paltry dances the Queen favours are all we have had since Christmas. My dressmaker is at work on my gown — azure blue tissue, Frances. What will you wear?”

  “I haven’t had time to think,” Frances answered. Her wardrobe was always a problem to her. The yearly sum supplied to her by the Privy Purse was barely sufficient for a seemly Court appearance. She supposed she would wear the gown made up by the Queen Dowager’s sewing-maid from the material Henrietta-Anne had sent from France, though this gown had been already seen at the ball given on New Year’s Eve.

  Barbara, guessing as much, smiled with satisfaction. Nothing would have induced her to wear the same gown for two important occasions.

  A few evenings later the King himself presented the Duke of Lennox and Richmond to Frances, and she who was by now prepared to be disappointed in him was agreeably surprised. He danced only passably, but she found his conversation agreeable, too much so for the King’s pleasure, as, hemmed in by Barbara, the Queen, and several courtiers, he watched them from afar. The Marquis of Ruvigny, who had recently come over from France on a special mission, was the guest of honour, and it was impossible for the King to detach himself. He must perforce listen with every appearance of pleasure to a concert, at which, as a compliment to Ruvigny, various French singers were appearing.

  Lennox and Frances had little difficulty in stealing away, though whether it was by her contriving or his, Frances was doubtful. They took refuge in an anteroom, and adroitly Frances turned the conversation to Cobham Hall, remarking that her father had had an old engraving of the place amongst his papers. Lennox said at once that he would be interested to see it, and Frances, who knew that Mistress Stuart treasured all the few items that were connected with her husband, promised that she would do her best to find it

  ‘‘The estate was in a bad condition when I inherited,” Lennox said. “The Parliamentarians seemed to take pleasure in neglecting those that they appropriated, even though they must have believed they were to be theirs for ever.”

  “I wonder if they did,” Frances said thoughtfully. “Perhaps they suspected it was too good to last. They had presentiments.”

  Lennox was amused. “I should be surprised if a stolid Roundhead had so much imagination. Are you really interested in Cobham Hall?”

  “Why yes, because of the picture I remember.”

  “At the moment you wouldn’t see much resemblance to any picture. There is great confusion, with builder’s men all over the place. I shall soon have to call them off, for I constantly find myself without money to pay their endless bills, and then I have to amass fresh funds…” He broke off, looked confused and added apologetically: “But this is dull, boorish talk for a fair lady.”

  “I don’t find it so. Tell me more,” requested Frances eagerly.

  “But how can it interest La Belle Stuart, named for her beauty and gaiety?”

  Was there a note of mockery in the last words? Frances half-suspected it, but she said: “I find it a very sensible conversation. If my father’s home in Scotland had not been burnt to the ground I should want to be there most of the time, and when I wasn’t there I should want to talk about it.”

  “Either you are an extraordinary girl or I am not hearing aright, being addled by taking too much wine at the banquet this evening.”

  Frances measured him with her clear glance. “It would have worn off by now,” she stated, “and it’s a marvel how much gentlemen can drink without getting addled. Me, I am in a daze after a glass or two, but Your Grace, I have heard, has a strong head for liquor.”

  “In other words, I’m a drunkard. Well, it’s near enough to the truth. Last year, when on a mission to Scotland with my step-father, I created a scandal, and the King took me to task for it. Likely enough he told you…”

  “He did not. I have not heard a word about you from the King, but I noticed you a few evenings since, and I was interested and asked questions of all and sundry, getting a mixed bag of information.” And then as Lennox was silent, Frances added coaxingly: “Wasn’t it natural I should be interested? You were a stranger and you looked at me so long and fixedly, and then I discovered you were a kinsman…”

  “Natural enough,” he agreed, “and why should any here speak well of me? I’m a stranger to their ways. Drinking is a solace when life goes awry. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? About fate giving with one hand and taking away with the other?”

  “I might,” Frances said cautiously.

  She was subjected to a long, penetrating gaze before Lennox observed: “Our Royal Kinsman won’t approve of your dalliance here with me. Those seemingly lazy eyes of his miss little. He watched us when we slipped away. I’d better take you back, I suppose. More often than not I’m out of favour with him, which sits lightly upon me. But for you…”

  To Frances, Lennox no longer looked older than his years. He was frowning crossly as a boy frowns.

  “The King has no reason to object. I am not in official attendance this evening,” she said lightly. “Tell me exactly what you are doing to Cobham Hall?”

  “Pulling it to pieces with no very clear idea as to how to put it together again,” and Lennox laughed. “Inigo Jones prepared some rough drawings in his old age, but then he died and now John Webb and I — Webb was his pupil — are working out a design. We were making some headway when my wife fell ill, and the noise of the workmen disturbed her. All was held up until a few weeks ago, when she died. Did you know that I had been twice a widower?”

  This was asked with an entire lack of emotion. But once again he looked older than his years — bleak and remote.

  “I knew,” Frances said.

  “Some might say that I am under a curse. Anyone might well say that a woman is unlucky who shares her life with me.”

  “I don’t suppose it would have made any difference to the length of their lives even if they hadn’t married you.”

  “My first wife died in childbed,” he said starkly. “The baby — a girl — died too.”

  “Oh!” For a moment the glib-tongued Frances was silent. Then she put her hand on his arm and said gently: “I am sorry.”

  He uttered a sound too harsh for laughter.

  “It’s a comedy. To be condoling with a man for the death of his first wife when he has recently lost his second. But I was very fond of Betty. She had had an unhappy first marriage. We were comfortable together — understood one another — and then she died through my fault, through the child we both wanted.”

  Few men in Frances’ experience took the blame for such all too common misfortunes. She wanted to say something comforting, but Lennox rushed on.

  “I was so accursedly lonely, that’s why I married again, and quickly, though nothing could have turned out worse.” He made an abrupt movement as though shaking off a weight and demanded: “Why in God’s name am I boring you with this? In truth I’m an oaf, as I’ve been told more than once.”

  “You don’t bore me,” Frances said sincerely.

  “Well, at least I’m not maudlin with drink and pouring it all out to you while under the influence, as they say in Ireland. I’m making a fool of myself with my eyes unglazed.”

  “Sometimes I too pour out everything that’s in my heart,” Frances said. “His Grace of Buckingham accuses me of saying the first thing that comes into my head.”

  “That black-hearted, treacherous devil!” The words were uttered explosivel
y. “How on earth can you tolerate him?”

  “He is very amusing. Nobody else is half so amusing, though I dare say he could be…”

  “Could be what? An exciting lover?”

  “No. That didn’t occur to me. I agree with what you said. He could be treacherous.”

  “He is,” said Lennox positively. “I scarcely know you — not well enough to warn you, but…”

  “Since the first day I arrived at Court everyone seems to have been warning me of somebody,” Frances told him. “I’m now so confused that it is easier to trust everyone, but not to care very much for any particular individual. It seems to be quite successful, for no harm has come to me.”

  “None?” he asked.

  Frances understood well enough. “None,” she answered.

  They exchanged a long glance and then Lennox said: “Well, I believe you, though few men would. Now, my fair cousin, I have given you the right to turn on me and say I am the uncouth boor you were told I should prove to be.”

  Frances sighed. He was difficult, though, oddly enough, she was not surprised by the flash of hostility in his eyes. It must be true that fate had given him much with one hand and taken it away with the other. She said patiently: “You are an unusual person, cousin, if only because…”

  “Because of what?”

  “Oh, there are several reasons.” She was thinking that, although they had now absented themselves for the best part of an hour, he had no so much as touched her hand, far less attempted to caress her, which was phenomenal. “Will you be here at Court for long?” she asked.

  “Not for long, but from time to time. Would you care to see some sketches of Cobham Hall? I have made a few and could show them to you tomorrow.”

  “Please do. If it is fine there will be a riding-party in the morning, for the first time since the Queen was taken ill. She is now well again and can ride. Will you be there?”