Even as it was she shared something of the Queen’s pride and anxiety as he rode out on a white horse towards the burning City, followed by the Duke of York and others ready to risk their lives in their determination to save the rest of London from destruction.
Great resistance had been put up by the property-owners in the threatened districts to the only means by which the fire could be arrested. But at last, regardless of their protests, the King gave orders that buildings which the flames had not yet reached should be blown up by gunpowder, thus creating a stretch of waste land over which the flames could not leap. Success was not immediate and St. Paul’s was attacked with a fury that the ancient building could not withstand.
Impervious to the danger from burning and falling houses, Charles took control. Grimy and almost unrecognizable in his shirt-sleeves, he held his place in the chain of men bringing water from the Thames, brushed off sparks which threatened to set his clothes alight, had a comforting word for all. At last, after days and nights of toil, after fear and anxiety, the flames died down, though most of the City was reduced to smouldering rubble. Even then the King had little thought for himself, only for his homeless people, and he was out at Moorfields giving directions that tents should be put up for temporary homes, arranging for food to be provided, promising that the first charge upon the revenue should be the building of new and better houses. In London he ordered that churches, and warehouses belonging to the Crown should be left open for those who had no other refuge.
The Queen broke down and wept. “The people will love him now as they never did before,” she said through her tears. “So many heard him say that the burning of St. Paul’s was as nothing compared to their poor homes, which were all some of them had, and that the rebuilding of these with many improvements to them would take precedence.”
“After all,” spoke up Frances, “St. Paul’s, as everyone knows, was in constant need of repair and an endless expense. So perhaps it is not such a bad thing that there will be an entirely new building.”
The Queen laughed weakly. She said: “Oh, Frances, how singularly, oddly practical you can be at times, and how the very thought of building seems to fascinate you. Such a light came into your eyes when you spoke of it.”
In her rooms that evening Frances received a begrimed, exhausted but exultant Lennox, who told her that on hearing of the ravages the fire was causing he had come up to London on horseback and had joined the King’s party.
“Charles saw me, of course,” Lennox said, “but he had no time to spare for lashing out at me because I was there. He was glad of me and of anyone who was prepared to help. God’s truth, one could not but glory in him, for the dangers he braved and the cheer he gave! I tell you, Frances, I saw him with his arms round an old, weeping woman, a widow she said she was, who had lost her chandler’s shop and her furniture and every stitch of clothing, save that which she was wearing. He consoled her as he might have consoled his own mother, and gave her his word to set her up again in business. And she wasn’t the only one, though she was so old and more helpless than most. He sent her off with one of the Palace footmen to be lodged here at Whitehall, until he could make other arrangements for her.”
Certain that now she was the last thought in the King’s mind, Frances ordered a meal for her exhausted lover and insisted on his snatching a few hours’ sleep on her own bed before setting off once more for Cobham. She watched beside him as he slept, with her hand clasped in his.
Nineteen
Soon Barbara Castlemaine heard that Frances was receiving Lennox in her apartments and never less often than once a week. It had not occurred to the lovers that they would be spied upon by Barbara, who ordered one of her servants to watch for Lennox and to report to her.
The two favourites were on sufficiently friendly terms, and Frances supposed that Barbara, if anything, was pleased by her betrothal, since to her it must seem the end of their rivalry. And pleased Barbara would have been had the King resigned himself to the loss of Frances. Instead, as it was useless to expect sympathy from the Queen, Charles, obsessed by his grievance and grateful for Barbara’s commiseration, poured out his resentment and chagrin to her.
“I have cared for that girl as I might have cared for a cherished ward,” Charles complained, “only to be rewarded by the most shameless ingratitude.”
“Of a truth you have been wonderfully good to her,” Barbara agreed, “but I could have told you long ago that Frances Stuart was incapable of gratitude. At one time I did much for her, but I met with a distressing lack of appreciation.”
Neither of them deceived each other in the slightest degree and both were aware of it, but all Charles needed was an assenting listener, and all Barbara wanted was to recover her lost supremacy.
“With my consent she will never marry that fellow,” Charles said. “Mam and Minette will both uphold me. It would mean misery for Frances. God knows what she sees in him, dissolute wastrel that he is.”
“And such a dullard,” Barbara murmured.
“Well — er — in some ways he has initiative,” Charles, thinking of Lennox’s privateering enterprise, was forced to admit.
“No wit, no repartee. His sole interest is in that Kent place of his and all he is doing to it.”
“Nothing pleases me better than that he should stay there, and I have told him that the less I see of him the better until he has put his affairs in order, and has made such retrenchments as will enable him to secure a settlement on Frances.”
“Such solicitude for her!” Barbara, who had for some time been listening to Charles on the same subject, suppressed a yawn. He who was so rarely boring was certainly a bore on the subject of Frances Stuart.
“She stands in need of protection, Barbie.”
“Lennox was in London while the fire raged,” Barbara said. “But you knew of that, did you not?”
“Certainly. In a time of such emergency disregard of my orders was forgivable, and so I told him. But any further trespass on my good nature will be punished as it deserves. How understanding you are, ma mie.”
Barbara felt comfortably that this long talk re-established her in the royal favour. She pondered, wondering how she might best turn to her own advantage her knowledge of the secret meetings.
“Why did you allow this betrothal in the first place?” she asked, but did not receive a candid answer since Charles was chagrined when he reflected on the way in which Frances had taken him by surprise.
“The Queen was pleased,” he said lamely, “and I did not then know the full extent of Lennox’s debts. I had thought for some time it might be well to arrange a marriage for Frances…”
“But not with such as Lennox,” Barbara supplied as he paused.
“No. The fellow has always been difficult. With someone older whom I could trust and advance for her sake.”
“I see.” Their eyes met. They understood one another perfectly. Although unspoken, it was a moment of truth.
“My dear Barbara, you have never been a jealous woman,” Charles said clumsily.
“And I am not jealous now, but Frances Stuart is a problem. A strange girl in some ways. How can this marriage be prevented?”
“If it hangs fire for too long they will tire of each other. I set little value on his constancy, and it will not be an easy thing for him to raise the sum I insisted upon as a settlement.”
Barbara, on hearing the sum that Charles had proposed, found it hard to conceal her astonishment and he said with a covert smile: “If Lennox wants her he must be prepared to make sacrifices, even to the extent of selling half or more than half that he has. As well, there are his debts. Until all is satisfactorily cleared up I have forbidden him to see Frances. Prize she may be, but within weeks I warrant he will conclude that her price is too high. His two former wives brought him money, but with Frances it will be the reverse.”
“What a fool the girl is,” Barbara said involuntarily. “Suppose there is disobedience — what will you do about it?�
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“Banish him,” Charles said promptly, “and to the other end of the world if needs be. I shall see that Frances is well taken care of by her mother, who already knows that this match is not to my liking. She could take Frances to Scotland for a while. Ornament though she is to our Court and much though she would be missed, that would be a better thing than that she should marry disastrously.”
“Oh, Charles, I am sure it would!” Barbara now saw her way clearly and she was elated. “How really arduous for you this guardianship is, for I fear…I greatly fear… Have you seen Frances this evening?”
“She is not well and abed. The Queen told me she was suffering from fatigue and headaches and that she had thought it best she should rest. It is true she has looked overcast of late.”
Barbara sighed and gave a convincing play of indecision. “I hardly know if I should tell you,” she murmured.
“Tell me what?” And then, as she was silent, biting her lip: “Zounds, Barbara! Have I not shown how deeply this goes with me? If you know anything that is kept secret, why have you concealed it?”
“Because I did not know until now that the Duke had been forbidden to see Frances.”
“And you think he has? But no…he’s not been near his lodgings since I sent him off to Cobham. I assured myself of that.”
“He could stay elsewhere,” Barbara suggested. “He could even stay with Frances over-night. I put little faith in her fatigue and her headaches, and I fear that were you to call upon her now…”
Charles frowned and stared. “Bold as the rascal is, he’d not venture! God’s truth, were I such as my Tudor ancestors he’d be lodged in the Tower by now. Think you that Henry or even Elizabeth would have had such clemency?”
“They would not,” Barbara said truthfully.
“But what makes you suppose?”
“I have heard rumours. It is said that these pretences made to the Queen are but to give Frances the opportunity for receiving him.” Barbara was maliciously amused as Charles, with unusual energy sprang to his feet. “It might be as well for you to discover for yourself,” she suggested.
Without the formality of leave-taking he had gone, and Barbara reflected that this might well mean the end of the favour shown to Frances Stuart. Earlier in the evening Lennox had been seen to enter her rooms, and Barbara assumed that he would spend the night with her. What happened to Lennox was of no importance to her, but the long visit to Scotland planned for a disobedient Frances was eminently desirable. Charles might suppose that after a few months a chastened La Belle Stuart would return to London, ready after such dullness and covert disgrace to submit herself. Barbara thought it more likely she would marry some admiring Scot and make her home in the Highlands.
In the anteroom to Frances’ apartments her maid was on duty. She assured the King that her mistress had retired for the night. To this Charles paid no attention. Sure now that he was being duped, he put the girl aside, and without further ado opened the door which led into Frances’ salon.
She had not retired. She was there as he had expected, but alone, and not in her nightgear. As Charles entered, she rose swiftly from the cushioned window-seat and gazed at him with astonishment.
“Where is he?” Charles demanded. “Don’t lie to me, Frances. I know Lennox is hidden here.” His glance roamed around the room and fell upon tell-tale evidence.
Frances, recovering from momentary shock, faced him with valour. She said calmly: “Your Majesty is mistaken.”
“Well, we shall see!”
He pushed aside the heavy velvet window curtains which might have offered concealment, and Frances watched him with scorn. She crossed the salon and opened the door which led to her bedroom. With swift movements she threw back the lids of chests and cupboard doors. She flung aside the silken coverlet of the bed.
“You see!” she challenged, “and there’s no secret panelling as my Lady Castlemaine’s. My maid’s closet has but little in it, but should you wish to search it…”
Whatever Charles might wish, that small chamber was now presented to his gaze. It certainly offered no concealment.
“Only Alice sleeps in the Palace,” Frances said. “My other maid Harriet returns before dark to her family who lodge nearby. Alice’s coffer, as you see, is not large enough to give refuge to a child, but should you wish her to unlock it, I will summon her.”
The King, though made to feel a fool, was still furious.
“He has been here,” he said.
On the table in the salon there were the remains of a meal, which had been set with glass and china and silver for two. There were covered dishes and an empty wine bottle.
“Am I not permitted to entertain a friend if I so desire?” Frances asked.
“You were said to be ill,” Charles retorted. “On this pretext, the Queen has excused you from your duties.”
“I was tired, not so ill that I could not eat my supper in company.”
“Don’t fence with me, Frances. ’Twould be less enraging if you lied outright. Would you have me question your maid, who would not dare but to tell the truth?”
“Poor Alice, she would be terrified, though she adores you. She is terrified already, though that is not your usual effect on women. As it seems that evidence has been lodged against me it would be fruitless to lie. Lennox was here, but, as you see, he is here no longer.”
“Because you were warned of my approach and he escaped in time.”
“I was not warned. Had that been so, he would not have left me to brave your anger. He stayed but a short while. He saw I was tired, and in any case he has a care for my reputation, not thinking as others do that because of Your Majesty’s attentions it is already lost.”
“How dare you, Frances!”
“But is it not true, Sire? Have you ever cared what was thought of me? Has it ever concerned you that I am young and defenceless? Did I ever show any desire to become your mistress? You, with your experience of women, knew well enough that that was what I least desired, though as Your Majesty’s subject I strove not to offend you.”
“You promised me,” Charles said with bitter reproach.
“Because you pressed me. Because I was weak and foolish. You knew my mind, but that was of no importance to you. Have I not heard you say a dozen times that ‘maids’ nays are nothing; they are shy but to desire what they deny. So you persuaded yourself. My religion, my duty to the Queen, my disinclination were all set at nought.”
Imperceptibly the King was softening. As she moved away from him, he followed her.
“You know full well that it is no light thing with me — that I love you,” he protested. “I have told you so often enough.”
“And as often I have told you I want nothing of such love; only a love with honour which Lennox can give me.”
“He can also give you much sorrow, bring you to ruin by his excesses, disgust you with his sottish habits.”
“He will not. I know him better. He has my heart.”
“You are a fool, Frances. You are a child living in a fairy-tale and hanging on pretty words. If it is a husband and his name that you want, I have told you I will procure such for you.”
“I choose for myself, Sire, and not a husband who will deliver me up to you on demand. Have I no right to an honourable love?” Anger gave way to the feminine weakness against which Charles could never harden his heart. Tears welled in Frances’ eyes and her voice shook.
Moved and chastened, the King said: “You know that, were I free, the crown would not be too much to give you.”
“I wonder if you would dare!” Foolishly, Frances failed to take advantage of Charles’ softened manner. “You have my Lady Castlemaine to consider; others as well who have more claim on you. I dare swear that it is she — Barbara — who has betrayed me. Alice told me that one of her maids had been making a great show of friendship, and that she had found it hard to rid herself of the girl. Lest there is to be fresh trouble from Barbara, would it not be politic for Your
Majesty to leave? Doubtless she is impatiently awaiting your return.”
The King’s rage flared up anew.
“Is it for you to give me orders?” he demanded.
“No — though I dare say Barbara has given you plenty in the past, and may still do so in the future.”
This was matchless effrontery, even for Frances. The King said: “For that I could…but it is Lennox who shall answer to me.”
At this Frances burst into tears and the King turned on his heel and left her, though not to return to Barbara. He had had enough of women for one night and did not go near the Queen, preferring his own quarters and the rapturous greeting of his spaniels.
Frances spent a sleepless night, miserably reflecting that she had but made matters worse. She should have done her utmost to conciliate the King with gentleness and entreaty. Instead she had further incensed him.
The next day she heard through a messenger sent privately by Lennox that he had been threatened with perpetual exile from England if he dared to be seen again at Whitehall. Such exile, as Frances realized, could mean the confiscation of his estates on some fabricated charge of treason, and a wandering life as poverty-stricken as Charles, own life had been for many years. Although she could scarcely believe that the King would go to such lengths, the fear was there, and she was in a distraught state when she sought the Queen and, throwing herself at her feet, besought her aid.
Catherine listened with a consternation which gave way to pity. Her own pain, as she realized that this affair was much more serious than she had supposed, was set aside as she strove to comfort the distracted girl.
“I swear to Your Majesty that I thought of you as much as of myself,” Frances cried. “It was long before I realized that my foolish flirting could have such an effect on the King. I never meant it to go so far. I knew Your Majesty was indulgent to me and understood, and it was better, I thought, that the King should divert himself with me who asked nothing of him, rather than affront you with Barbara Castlemaine. But then I found that I — I could no longer play at love with him, and when Lennox asked me, and I knew I could care for him enough to marry him, it seemed so much the best for all of us.”
Lady on the Coin Page 23