Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of Frances Stuart

by Jefferson, Marci

  The queen had ordered all the other ladies to be ready to leave, but called me to attend her while she waited for the king in his antechamber.

  After an agonizing wait, he arrived, smeared in soot, drenched with water and sweat. He held his arms open and the queen rushed to embrace him, weeping. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her, then opened one arm and gestured to me. I stepped into them, the weeping queen and the filthy king, and we held one another as if it were all a dream.

  “It is mostly out now,” he whispered to us. “All will be well.”

  Late in the night the king sent a page to fetch me up the back stairs of his chamber. When I arrived, he was sitting on the edge of his great gilt bed, dressed in his nightdress. He had bathed and didn’t have his periwig. A lone candle made the silver in his short black hair sparkle like salt. His dogs were curled asleep on the red velvet coverlets.

  I knelt before him, kissed his knees over and over. “I’m so thankful you’re alive.” I pressed my face against him.

  “Did you think I’d let the fire get me?”

  “I—I felt so guilty for indulging in sin as we have and—I didn’t know what would happen.”

  “It was just a fire.”

  “Just? Much of the city is gone. They say ten million pounds in damage.”

  He lifted my head and forced me to look at him. “Frances,” he said with complete calm. “It is merely an opportunity to rebuild.” He smiled the way only he could. For all his exhaustion, he still glowed with confidence. “Now,” he said. “I woke up lonely. Will you sleep the night here with me?”

  I nodded, not at all reassured. “I shall do anything you want.”

  He pulled me into the bed beside him. I breathed him deep and curled into his embrace, legs twined with his in a familiar tangle.

  “You needn’t do anything,” he whispered. “Just stay with me. Always.”

  And it seemed such a small request.

  CHAPTER 48

  October 1666

  Diverse Strangers, Dutch and French were during the fire, apprehended upon suspicion that they contributed mischievously to it, who are all imprisoned.

  —The London Gazette

  “Everyone knows it was Catholics what started that fire!” Prudence said.

  “Leave me be,” replied Mary. “It was a day of rest. You know I had nothing to do with it. Who’s to say it wasn’t one of your own kind?”

  “Everyone knows the Catholics want ta take over England. Yer popish and ye can’t be trusted!”

  My antechamber was empty this day, courtiers having gone to prepare for Queen Catherine’s birthday ball. “Hush!” I commanded. Both women bowed their heads.

  I leaned into my looking glass and affixed a small heart-shaped black patch by my eye: la passionée. Testing its stick, I smiled at my reflection. When I’d carefully pinned diamond pendants into my hair, I turned. “If people on the streets of London heard you, they’d attack you or lock you both in the Tower. The whole town is raving with accusations against the Catholics—I don’t need you joining the clamor.”

  Prudence couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “I say it was the Cath—”

  “I’m cutting both your wages.”

  Both maids gaped at me.

  “Henceforth you shall tolerate each other’s religions and neither of you will lord your own views over the other. If you have a strong opinion, you shall keep it to yourself.”

  They sneaked glances at each other, then nodded like errant children.

  “I say, Frances, you’re beginning to sound just like your monarch!” I turned to see King Charles. He wore a new style: a long vest and coat over knee-length breeches. The look accentuated his height and somehow enhanced his majesty. I embraced him with a sheepish grin. “Don’t you mean I’m like your Parliament? They’re the ones forcing the laws against Dissenters and Catholics.”

  “But you’re asking for tolerance.” He twirled me around. “I’ll warn you,” he said. “You’ll not likely get it.” He backed away to study me. “I wanted to see you before I escort the queen to her ball. Lovely!”

  I curtsied, elated. The mourning restrictions were relaxed for Queen Catherine’s birthday, and I had applied silver-white lace to the low shoulders of my black velvet bodice. My matching petticoat had a long train that my maids bustled up in the back so I could dance without tripping on it.

  “I have something for you.” He turned me toward the looking glass and lowered a strand of diamonds. I watched our reflection as he fastened it behind my neck, allowing his fingers to graze my shoulders. He put his face beside mine, whispering, “And my love for all eternity.”

  “They are too much for me to accept!”

  “You must accept them or risk my displeasure.” He winked.

  * * *

  It didn’t matter that the king escorted his wife and queen to the Banqueting House that evening. I was the highest in royal favor. I did nothing to quiet the whispers in my wake. I let them look their fill at my diamonds, my lace, my joy, and took no notice. I did nothing to keep my king out of my heart. I danced nearly every dance with him and pretended not to hear what people said.

  CHAPTER 49

  Whitehall Palace

  Christmas

  The king did never intend to marry Frances Stuart to any but himself.

  —SAMUEL PEPYS’S DIARY

  Queen Catherine and I reclined in the king’s presence chamber, tying bunches of holly and ivy into boughs to decorate the hall for Christmas. Company at Whitehall was select this night. The Duke and Duchess of York played with their adorably wide-eyed children, the daughters who might yet become queens. Several members of the Privy Council who kept their families in London had brought them to witness Christmas at court. Most, though, had gone to their homes in the country. To their estates, their children, their comfortable lives.

  The presence chamber doors swung open and two Life Guards appeared, crouched behind a great log. They rolled it into the chamber, and King Charles entered behind them. He held out his arms like an actor on a stage and cried, “Let us light the Yule log!”

  Courtiers began laughing and dragging furniture aside as the log rumbled past. We jumped up, following them to the fireplace. Greenery spilled to the floor, and the scent of trampled evergreen wafted on the air. The king’s pages distributed goblets of spiced wine, and the king’s violinists struck up “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” At least half of the group commenced singing. A handful of people added spices to the Yule log; others insisted on burning rosemary branches with it.

  “No! You’re supposed to pour wine on it for good luck!”

  “Seems a frightful waste of good spirits!”

  A few lords wanted to lay wagers on how many tries it would take to get the log lit, and soon a flurry of coins and the sounds of gambling mixed with our songs.

  “My Queen,” Charles called. “Come see this.”

  When Queen Catherine left my side to see a present someone had given him, I went back to our boughs. As I gathered some scattered branches, I noticed Buckingham in the queen’s chair. How I wished he hadn’t come! “You caused a lot of trouble in the House of Lords,” I said, “obstructing their progress and coming to blows with the peers.”

  Buckingham made a mocking face. “So that’s why the House had me locked up in the Tower for three days.” The humor fell from his expression. He waved a hand that said he didn’t care for the king, for his own wrongs or customary precedence. “Do you know what business is under way at Parliament?”

  I snatched up prickly branches. “I make it my particular business to ignore business.”

  “It’s the petition of a broken family. Right now it’s just a matter of keeping the Roos title away from illegitimate children. But soon it will be a divorce.”

  I glared at him. “Why should I care?”

  “Don’t be dense. If I can push this into a divorce and see it through, it will be a perfect opportunity for the king to press his case of divorce against
the queen … so he can marry you.”

  I determined to keep control of myself. I would not let this man see my emotions. “He would never disgrace Queen Catherine with a divorce. I wouldn’t let him.”

  “She’s a barren queen.”

  “She’s conceived more than once and may yet produce a full-term child.”

  “You were ready enough to snatch the crown when Queen Catherine was dying.”

  “You misjudge my sense of honor if you think I’d glory in my queen’s downfall.”

  “Honor.” The word came out on a snort. “Not so much honor that you could keep your legs closed, eh? You wear the pleasure of a worldly woman well. I knew you’d enjoy it once you finally gave up.”

  I searched the noisy chamber to make sure no one had overheard. My gaze landed on Arlington. He was observant and calculating. In the fleeting second before he looked away, I had seen a coolness in his eyes: much more than my reputation was being pondered.

  Holly bit into my fingers and I glanced down, releasing my grip on the bough in my hand. “You shouldn’t be at court, Buckingham, much less be scheming to control the life of a king who is far out of your reach. When did you last banquet with him or even speak to him? Stop this foolishness—he won’t listen to you.”

  “He will consider a divorce once he sees it done.” Contempt and confidence oozed from him.

  I glanced toward Arlington, who was carefully looking at a spot over my head while whispering to Cornbury. I had to change the subject. “Apologize to the king for your misbehavior. Get your favor in the customary ways.”

  Buckingham jumped up. “You owe me—”

  “Nothing.” I sliced the air with my hand. “I owe you nothing.”

  “You disloyal daughter of a bastard.”

  I turned to walk away, but King Charles stood in my path. Buckingham paused, then quickly presented his leg and bowed deeply over it, sweeping his arm full to the side. “Good tidings, my King! I’ve come to tell you about a gift I’m fashioning for you.”

  “Which you’ve no right to present to me under the circumstances.” He quietly offered his arm to me without taking his eyes off Buckingham. “Leave court.”

  I put my hand on the king’s arm and watched Buckingham flush with resentment. King Charles led me to the antechamber where a table of mince pies and plum puddings sat steaming. “It was presumptuous of him to come here,” he said. He embraced me and kissed me full on the lips. “I have a gift for you.” He produced a velvet pouch.

  Reluctantly, I broke our embrace to take it from him. I tugged on the silk cords and pulled out a curious piece of jewelry.

  “It is a watch,” he said with obvious excitement. He took it from my fingers and held it toward the sconce’s glow. “Look at the enameled picture on the face.”

  Beneath a tree in a flowery meadow, a naked woman reclined on a couch while a man in cavalier dress approached. A winged cupid hovered above the woman. “How beautiful! Is it you and I?”

  King Charles pointed to the tiny cupid. “See the arrow?”

  I brought it closer and saw that the cupid’s arrow was wayward. It would miss her and hit the man. “When he arrives, he’ll find cupid struck him instead of her. So it is us!”

  “Was,” he whispered. “I shall visit you tonight. But I’d best get back to the queen. I left her with my brother. She’ll be bored to death by now.”

  Courtiers, who had been dutifully overlooking us, though noting everything with surreptitious glances, now parted to make way for him. He held my eyes until he passed through the doorway. I glanced at my watch, the whimsical portrait of our story, and my heart felt lighter.

  “There you are, Frances.”

  I looked up to see Cornbury approaching with outstretched hands. “I’ve been trying to catch you alone all night.”

  Arlington’s voice sounded from behind him. “Lovely gift.” He spoke coolly. “I know what he’s trying to do.”

  I dropped Cornbury’s hands. “You are a man of government. You shouldn’t concern yourself with the king’s personal affairs—”

  Cornbury spoke. “He means Buckingham.”

  Arlington leaned in. “He can get the Roos divorce through the House of Lords. Buckingham has a way with the king. He could, eventually, convince him to divorce Queen Catherine.” I pressed a hand to my temple as Arlington hurried on. “He’d use you as the prize for King Charles in the end.” He glanced at Cornbury. “We need to know where you stand on this.”

  “You don’t think … surely you don’t think this is my idea?” I whispered.

  Cornbury relaxed. “I told you she wouldn’t like it.”

  But Arlington wasn’t convinced. “He would make you queen. Surely you want a crown for yourself?”

  All I could think about was Queen Catherine, who trusted me, promoted me. A divorce would disgrace her, barren and unloved, in front of all Europe. “No,” I said firmly. “I told that fool Buckingham I wouldn’t go along with his scheme, and I’ll tell you the same. I would never betray Queen Catherine. I would be no more use to Buckingham as the king’s wife than I am now as his—” I stopped myself. “No.”

  Cornbury, looking shocked, finally addressed Arlington. “What can we do?”

  Arlington studied the floor. “There is no way to stop him if the Roos case is in the House of Lords—”

  “You must discredit him before the case goes to the Lords,” I hissed. “Slander him if you must!” Arlington was a clever man. If anyone could pull Buckingham down, it was he.

  Cornbury squinted at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. Arlington slowly looked up, nodding. He gave me a half bow. “If you wish, I shall begin tonight.”

  * * *

  I told myself all would be well as I climbed into my bed and Mary stuffed a warming pan under the covers at my feet. I told myself, too, the deepest, most hidden part of myself, to forget the idea. No matter how much I loved him.

  CHAPTER 50

  Westminster Abbey

  January 1667

  My cousin, the Duke of Richmond and Lennox, endured his second wife’s funeral with a look of forced composure on his face. When the last of the attendants approached to pay their respects and then filtered out of Henry VII’s section of Westminster Abbey, Richmond’s stiff posture relaxed. I approached him with outstretched hands. “I’m so sorry, cousin. So sorry.”

  He nodded to his first wife’s tomb behind me. “I knew I’d never find a love like her again. She married me before I was a duke, before I had—” He dropped my hand to wave his around the abbey. “Titles, responsibility.” He finally let his hand fall. “Before all this scramble for position and money began.” His face crumpled. “Our daughter is buried here, too.”

  I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. “This added loss has made you mourn them anew.”

  “When Elizabeth died, I couldn’t fall apart because I had our daughter. Our baby—” He broke off, regained his voice. “Not even a year old! Thought my life ended with hers. But I have this title, this massive honor that befell me at the Restoration…”

  I spoke softly by his ear and stroked his back. “Even great men mourn. It is natural.”

  He quietly accepted my embrace. We both understood loneliness. “What will you do?”

  “Get to Richmond House at Whitehall for a good Scottish whisky. And then, I suppose I shall have to be getting myself my next wife.”

  Relieved at his lightening mood, I hooked my arm around his. “If it’s a wife you want, Whitehall is the place to stay. Tomorrow is Twelfth Night. There are sure to be many eligible maidens dressed in their finest and on display.”

  “You must help me, then. My last choice was rather poor, God rest her. I’ll be glad to have your advice.”

  CHAPTER 51

  Whitehall Palace

  February

  Straight-faced and serious, Arlington presented his leg and bowed low in my bedchamber. “I’ve come to apprise you of our mission. I arrested an astrologer under the
Duke of Buckingham’s employ. We, uh, examined his papers and … talked with him.”

  “Did he confess anything incriminating?”

  “He spoke of plots to take over the Royal Navy. The duke also ordered the king’s nativity, a horoscope, to be drawn up. It is an act of treason to predict the death of a king, for the acts of men who believe in such things could be deadly.”

  I gasped. “I know he left when Parliament ended without taking formal leave of the king. It was rude and insulting. But treason?”

  “I’ll soon present this evidence to the king—”

  The Earl of St. Albans cleared his throat in my doorway. Arlington bowed to both of us, eyed me, and took his leave.

  “Dear girl,” St. Albans said as he bowed. “I’ve come to say farewell.”

  Once I would have been perplexed by a visit to my chambers from this unapproachable man. My mother’s reverence for him made him too mysterious. The things I longed to ask him were too weighty and made me worry anew about a problem of my own. My monthly flux is late.

  I smiled from the chair at my toilette table. “Such a short visit this time.”

  “Back to France to the Queen Mother’s service and to do a particular task for King Charles. He holds you in much esteem, you know. I believe you are part of the reason he is sending me to treat with King Louis.”

  “Please give my family my love.”

  He cleared his throat. “I thank you for your good word to the king for me. My project, St. James’s Square, is well under way.” The old earl kissed each of my cheeks and parted, leaving me dismayed that a man could be so warm but wouldn’t acknowledge his own child. What will I do if my flux doesn’t start?

  * * *

  I had not yet bled a month later, when Arlington returned to my bedchamber. “I dispatched men to the Duke of Buckingham’s estate to arrest him, but he fled. We’ll soon find him and bring him to the Tower.”

  “Then you are certain … his divorce scheme will never come to pass?”