by Jean Plaidy
So the dearest wish of Barbara’s heart was to see Mrs Stuart exposed in the eyes of the King as a wanton. She knew that he was growing more and more tender towards the girl, that he believed in all that innocence, and that it was having a devastating effect which might prove disastrous to Barbara. Dearly as she wished to see the fall of Clarendon she wished even more to see the fall of Mrs Stuart.
It was in the Cockpit that she conferred with her friends.
‘It should not be difficult now,’ she said, ‘for you gentlemen to assure the King of how this man works against him.’
‘The King is too easy-going,’ growled Bennet.
‘Yet,’ said Buckingham, ‘his opposition to the Declaration of Liberty for Tender Consciences has, I am certain, incensed the King.’
‘I have assured him,’ said Barbara, ‘that Clarendon opposed the Declaration, not because he believed it to be wrong, but because of his hatred towards those who promoted it.’
‘And what said he to that?’
Barbara shrugged her shoulders. ‘He said that Clarendon was a man of deep conscience. He had reason to know it, for he knew the man well.’
‘Still he was displeased with Clarendon.’
‘Indeed he was,’ said Bristol, ‘and it was solely because of his need for money that he agreed to those laws which deal harshly with all who differ from the Act of Uniformity.’
‘And now,’ said Buckingham, ‘he has been forced to proclaim that Papists and Jesuits will be banished from the kingdom, although I have good reason to believe that he will do everything in his power to oppose the banishing. You know his great wish for tolerance, and it is solely because he needs money so badly that he is forced to fall in with the Parliament’s wishes.’
‘But he loves them all a little less for forcing him to agree,’ said Barbara. ‘And he knows that it is Clarendon who has led those against him.’
‘So,’ cried Bristol, ‘now is the time to impeach the fellow. If the King fails to support him as he failed to support the King, all those who feign friendship towards him will drop away like leaves in an autumn gale.’
‘Yes,’ said Barbara, ‘now is the time.’
‘There is another matter,’ said Bristol. ‘I am a Catholic and I know how friendly the King has been to Catholics. There are rumours – and always have been – that one who can be so lenient towards Papists must surely be of their Faith.’
‘It is nonsense,’ said Barbara. ‘He is often more lenient when he does not agree. It is due to some notion he has of respecting all points of view.’
‘Clarendon deplores his tolerance,’ said Buckingham. ‘I have it! Someone has been spreading reports of the King’s devotion to the Catholic cause. It might well be Clarendon.’
‘It shall be Clarendon!’ said Barbara.
‘Moreover,’ said Bristol, ‘I have heard that a correspondence has taken place between the Queen and the Pope. His Majesty is weary of the Queen; that much is certain. There is no sign of a child. Doubtless the woman is unfruitful; princesses often are. And the King has proved his ability – nay his great good fortune – in getting children elsewhere. It may be that he would wish to rid himself of the Queen.’
Barbara’s eyes were narrowed. Could it be that these friends of hers were concocting some plot of which she was not acquainted? Had Bristol betrayed it; and could it by any chance concern Frances Stuart?
‘Nay,’ she said quickly, ‘I warn you. If you should try to turn the King against the Queen you would be greatly mistaken.’
Better, thought Barbara, a plain little Portuguese Catherine as Queen than beautiful Frances Stuart.
‘Barbara is right in that,’ said Buckingham. ‘Let us not take the plot too far as yet. Let us settle this one matter first; and we will deal with others afterwards. Let us rid ourselves of the Chancellor; let us set up a new Chancellor in his place . . .’ Buckingham looked at Bristol, and Bristol looked at the ceiling. Why not Buckingham? thought Buckingham. Why not Bristol? thought Bristol. Bennet was smugly content as Secretary of State.
They parted soon afterwards. Barbara was hoping the King would call upon her.
*
A few days later she had an opportunity of speaking to Buckingham alone.
She immediately began to discuss Frances.
‘Do you believe she is as virtuous as she feigns to be?’
‘There is no proof that she is otherwise.’
‘Mayhap no one has tried hard enough.’
‘The King is a skilful player. Would you not say he is trying very hard indeed?’
‘George, you may not be the King, but you are the handsomest man at Court.’
Buckingham laughed.
‘Dear cousin,’ he said, ‘I know full well how mightily it would please you should I take the Stuart for my mistress. It is galling for one of your high temper to see His Majesty growing more deeply enamoured every day. It would be pleasant for me to bask in your approbation, Barbara, but think what goes with it: the fury of the King.’
‘Nay, he’d not be furious. It is her seeming virtue that plagues him. He only half believes in it. Prove it to be a myth and he’ll love you better than he loves the silly Stuart.’
‘And you too, Barbara?’
But Buckingham went away thinking of this matter. He was a handsome man; he was irresistible to many. Might it not be that for all his royalty, Charles as a man had failed to appeal to Frances? Might it not be that she realized that Charles in pursuit might be more amusing – and profitable – than Charles satisfied?
He decided to cultivate the fair Stuart.
*
Barbara whispered to Sir Henry Bennet: ‘She is beautiful, is she not – Frances Stuart?’
‘She is indeed. Apart from yourself, I would say there is not a more handsome woman at the Court.’
‘I know that you admire her.’
‘’Tis a pity she is determined not to take a lover.’
‘So far!’ said Barbara.
‘What mean you by that?’
‘Mayhap the man she would wish for has not yet claimed her!’
‘The King, it is said, has had ill fortune in his pursuit of her.’
‘The King may not always be victorious. I have heard it said that Lucy Water, who knew you both well, had a more tender heart for Henry than for Charles.’
Bennet was a vain man. He postured and laughed aloud at the memory of Lucy Water.
And when he left Barbara, he was thoughtful.
*
The plot to discredit Clarendon failed completely, largely through Charles’s interference. Charles fully realized that the charge had been brought against him, not because those who brought it believed that Clarendon was working against him and the country, but because the plotters were working against Clarendon.
The Chancellor’s judges decided that a charge of high treason could not be brought by one peer against another in the House of Lords; and that even if those charges against Clarendon were true, there was no treason in them. The House of Lords therefore dismissed the charges.
Bristol, who had been the prime mover against Clarendon in this case, seeking to justify himself with the King and believing that Charles wished to rid himself of Catherine, added a further charge against Clarendon, declaring that he had brought the King and Queen together without any settled agreement about marriage rites, and that either the succession would be uncertain, in case of Catherine’s being with child, for want of the due rites of matrimony, or His Majesty would be exposed to suspicion of being married in his own country by a Romanish priest.
When the King heard of this he was indignant.
‘How dare you suggest that there would be an inquiry into the secret nuptials between myself and the Queen?’ he demanded.
‘Your Majesty, I thought that in raising this point I should be acting as you wished.’
‘You carry your zeal too far.’
‘Then I crave Your Majesty’s pardon.’
‘It would
be easier to grant it if I did not have to see you for a little time. I would have you know – and all those who are with you – that I will not have slights cast on the Queen.’
‘There was no desire to slight the Queen, Your Majesty.’
‘Then let us hear no more of the matter. It is astonishing to me that you, a Catholic yourself, should have added this article to the impeachment of Clarendon. What caused your conversion to Catholicism?’
‘May it pleasure Your Majesty, it happened whilst I was writing a book for the Reformation.’
The King turning away, said with a half smile: ‘Pray, my lord, write a book for Popery.’
It was necessary after that for the Earl of Bristol to absent himself from Court for a while.
The people in the streets and about the Court had said that Bristol and his friend had cast the Chancellor on his back past ever getting up, but Clarendon retained his post, although the rift between the King and his Chancellor had widened.
*
The Queen had become very happy. She was certain now that she was to have a child.
This made the King very tender towards her; he longed for a legitimate heir. He had not proclaimed Monmouth legitimate and he had denied the rumours that he had married Lucy Water. He was seen often in company with the Queen; but he was deeply in love with Frances Stuart.
He still continued to visit Barbara, who retained her hold over him, and she kept her title as his first mistress.
She made no attempt to control her temper, and she was pregnant again.
‘It would seem,’ she said, ‘that I have no sooner borne a child than the next is conceived. Charles, I hope our next will be a boy.’
‘Our next?’ said Charles.
‘Indeed it is our next!’ shouted Barbara.
The King looked about him. Barbara was not the only one who had her apartments in the Cockpit, for the building was large and had been built by Henry the Eighth to lodge those whom he wished to keep near him. Clarendon had a suite of rooms there; so had Buckingham.
Charles knew that these people were quite aware of the stormy nature of his relationship with Barbara, but he did like to keep their quarrels private.
‘I doubt it,’ said Charles. ‘I very much doubt this one to be mine.’
‘Whose else could it be?’
‘There you set a problem which you might answer more readily than I, though I confess you yourself might be hard put to it to solve it.’
Barbara looked about for something that she might throw at him; there was nothing to hand but a cushion; she would not throw that; it would seem almost coy.
‘Oh, Barbara,’ said the King, ‘let another man father this one.’
‘So you would shift your responsibilities!’
‘I tell you I do not accept this responsibility.’
‘You had better change your mind before the child is born . . . unless you would like me to strangle it at birth and set it up in the streets with a crown upon its head proclaiming it the King’s son.’
‘You’re fantastic,’ said the King, beginning to laugh.
She laughed with him and leaping towards him threw her arms about his neck. In the old days such a gesture would have been a prelude to passion, but today the King was pensive and did not respond.
*
In Frances Stuart’s apartment the light of wax candles shone on all the most favoured of the gallant gentlemen and beautiful ladies of the Court.
The King sat beside Frances who looked more beautiful than even she had ever looked; she was dressed in black and white, which suited her fair skin, and there were diamonds in her hair and about her throat.
From her seat at another table Barbara watched the King and Frances.
Frances seemed unaware of everything except the house of cards she was building. She was like a baby! thought Barbara. Her greatest delight was in building card-houses; and everyone who sought to please her must compete with her in the ridiculous game. There was only one who could build as she did; that was Buckingham.
They built their card-houses side by side. The King was handing Frances her cards; Lady Chesterfield was handing Buckingham his; all the other builders of card-houses had given up the game to watch these two rivals. Frances was breathless with excitement; Buckingham was coolly cynical; but his hand was so steady that it seemed that his calmness would score over Frances’s excitement.
Imbecile! thought Barbara. Is she really so infantile that a card-house can give her that much joy? Or is she acting the very young girl in the hope that the King is weary of such as I? We shall see who wins in the end, Mrs Frances.
Lady Chesterfield caught Barbara’s attention momentarily; she had changed much since those days when she had first married Chesterfield and had been another simpleton such as Frances would have them believe she was. Simplicity had not brought Lady Chesterfield all she desired. Now George Hamilton sought to be her lover – and he had been Barbara’s lover too – and the Duke of York was paying her that attention with which he was wont to honour ladies; it consisted of standing near them and gazing longingly at them in a manner which made all secretly laugh, or writing notes to them which he pushed into their pockets or muffs; and as the ladies concerned were not always willing to accede to his advances, there had been much amusement when the notes had been allowed to fall, as though unnoticed, from muff or pocket and left lying about for any to read.
Barbara thought of Chesterfield, her first lover, her first experience in those adventures which were more important to her comfort than anything else. Chesterfield had been a good lover.
She realized with some dismay that it was a long time since he had been to see her. She verily believed that he was more interested in another woman than he was in herself; and it was rather comic that that woman should be his wife.
Ah, but he had turned too late to Lady Chesterfield, who would not forget the humiliation she had suffered at his hands. It delighted her now to be cold to him, to accept the admiration of George Hamilton and to return the yearning gazes of the Duke of York, to set new fashions in the Court such as this one of green stockings which had begun with her appearing in them.
The King’s attention was all for the fair Stuart; Chesterfield’s for his wife; and Buckingham – for naturally Barbara and Buckingham had slipped into amorous relationship now and then – was also paying attention to the Stuart, although, Barbara reminded herself, it was at her suggestion he did this.
Three of her lovers looking at other women! It was disconcerting.
George Hamilton too, she remembered, was paying attention to Lady Chesterfield and hoping to persuade her to break her marriage vows.
Could it be that Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, was finding herself deserted?
Not deserted, never deserted. There would always be lovers, even if she chose one of her grooms – although she would not do that unless he was a very appealing fellow. Yet it was disconcerting to find so many of those who had once sought her favours eagerly looking elsewhere. It was certainly time Frances Stuart was exposed to the King as a hypocrite and humbug. He would find it harder to forgive her infidelity than he ever had Barbara’s, for Barbara’s he took for granted. He knew Barbara; she was like himself. They could not curb their desires; he understood that of her as she did of him. They were not the sort to wrangle if the other took an odd lover or two.
The building of card-houses was over; Buckingham had allowed Frances to win, and now was singing one of his songs set to his own music. He was a good performer and he sang in French and Italian as well as English. His poor, plain Duchess looked on with wistful tenderness as he performed. They were rarely together, but Frances liked husbands and wives to come to her gatherings; she was so very respectable, thought Barbara cynically.
Now there was dancing; and it was left to Monmouth to partner Barbara.
A spritely young fellow, thought Barbara, but she had not allowed him to become her lover; she was not sure how the King would feel about that.
Monmouth, as his son, would be in a different category from other men; and she was not going to offend Charles more than she could help at this point.
When they were tired of dancing, Frances called on Buckingham to do some of his imitations, and that night the Duke excelled himself. He did his favourite – Clarendon, carrying a shovel in place of the mace, so full of self-importance, slow and ponderous; and this made the company roll and bend double with merriment; then he did the King, the King sauntering, the King being very gallant to a lady – who, of course, it was implied, was Frances herself. Charles led the laughter at this. And finally the versatile Duke approached Frances and began to make what he called a dishonourable proposal. It was Bennet to the life. The phrases were Bennet’s, slow, flowery and wordy, spiced with those quotations with which Bennet liked to adorn his parliamentary addresses.
Frances shrieked with laughter and clutched the King in a very paroxysm of merriment – all of which delighted the King mightily; and made of that evening a very merry one.
The French ambassador who was present was, after the merriment subsided a little, so delighted with the company that he whispered to the King that he had heard Mrs Stuart was possessed of the most exquisite legs in the world, and he wondered whether he dared ask the lady to show him these – up to the knee; he would dare ask for no more.
The King whispered the request to Frances; who opened her blue eyes very wide and said but of course she would be delighted to show the ambassador her legs. Whereupon, still in the manner of a very young girl, she stood on a stool and lifted her skirt as high as her knees that all might gaze on the legs which had been proclaimed the most beautiful in the world.
The King was quite clearly enchanted with Frances’s manners, with her ingenuity and with the grace she displayed.
The French ambassador knelt and said that he knew of no way in which to pay homage to the most beautiful legs in the world except to kneel to them.
Then was the whole assembly made aware of how deep was the passion of the Duke of York for Lady Chesterfield, for he said in his somewhat ungracious way that he did not consider Mrs Stuart’s legs the most beautiful in the world.