Reunited at the King's Court

by Helen Dickson

  * * *

  Arlette was about to return to the celebrations when a man emerged from the parlour. Her heart sank when she saw Sir Ralph Crompton.

  With the death of King Charles I, back in forty-nine, Sir Ralph had hoped the Stuarts would have been swept away into oblivion. But now his son was here, bringing with him the evil seeds of lechery and decadence that had flourished at his Court in France and Bruges. Suddenly there was too much laughter, too many people feverishly intent on enjoying themselves—no matter what the cost to their immortal souls. Mistress Dryden troubled him. He had seen her converse with Lord William Latham and he had noticed something in her attitude, something coy, almost flirtatious and frivolous. It had caused him deep displeasure.

  Arlette found her crawling dislike of Sir Ralph difficult to conceal. Bobbing a small curtsy, she faced him, having made up her mind to be calm and reasonable on meeting him. He knew her to be a high-spirited girl—better if she had been more docile. Looking at her with a critical eye, he bowed stiffly, as though his joints needed oiling.

  ‘Ah, Mistress Dryden. You are not leaving, I hope,’ he said in clipped tones.

  Stern and unsmiling, he studied her so intently that she felt embarrassed under his gaze. How ugly he is, she thought. How old. Slight of build and thin, with narrow shoulders and thin legs, she hated the thought of being his wife. He was wearing his usual severe black, but he had loosened his white stock. His luxurious periwig made his face look small—it reminded her of a weasel—and his eyes were grey and as cold and hard as steel. She looked at his tightly compressed lips and those eyes of his, which had always seemed to her to be able to see right through her. Could he read her mind now? she wondered.

  ‘No, Sir Ralph,’ she replied. ‘We are staying with Anne and her family for the night.’

  ‘I know. That is why I am here. Richard invited me to the celebrations. It is you I have come to see. I thought it opportune for us to become better acquainted.’

  Arlette was tempted to comment that after spending the past two decades opposing first King Charles I and then his son when the likes of him had executed the first, she found it odd that he would wish to partake in the celebrations of the return of the monarchy, but thought it best not to. In Sir Ralph’s opinion a woman should be servile, modest and obedient, and only speak to those superior to her when invited to do so. She thought it prudent to keep her comment to herself.

  His pale eyes surveyed her, narrowing as they took in her gown and her bright uncovered head before settling on her cleavage between her creamy breasts. A vein began to throb in his temple.

  ‘You should practice more decorum,’ he said harshly. ‘Your appearance is unseemly, your behaviour with Lord Latham wanton.’

  Bright, angry colour stained Arlette’s cheeks. ‘My dress is no more indecent than any other woman’s present, Sir Ralph, and you read too much into my encounter with Lord Latham.’

  ‘William Latham and his like will rue the day they returned to England,’ Sir Ralph sneered.

  ‘His like? What do you mean by that, Sir Ralph?’

  ‘He’s a King’s man—do not forget that Charles Stuart’s father was executed for the tyrant he was.’

  ‘None the less, his son is the King who it is hoped will turn England back into a place of happiness and contentment, a place of peace.’

  The look Sir Ralph gave her was hard. ‘You are far too outspoken, Mistress Dryden. I hope the obedience of your attitude is not a guise to deceive me.’

  ‘I am not sinful. I have done no harm.’

  ‘I see so little of you. I might think that you deliberately avoid me. Have I offended you in some way?’

  ‘No,’ she lied, anxious to be gone, hating the way his eyes devoured her, lingering too long on the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her dress, seeming to take salacious pleasure in what he saw despite his earlier rebuke. ‘Hester keeps me busy for most of the time.’

  ‘Not all the time, surely. You have the time to spend with James Sefton by all accounts.’

  The reproach in his voice was evident. ‘James is a friend. He makes me laugh. We are neighbours and of an age and he is fun to be with.’

  ‘And I am not.’

  ‘I did not say that, although I know you to be more than twice his age.’

  ‘True, but let me give you a bit of wisdom. There is more to a man than a handsome face or pair of broad shoulders. Think about it. You know that I have always been fond of you. I find it such a delight to talk to you.’

  ‘You are easily content, Sir Ralph.’

  ‘Richard always speaks highly of you—of your intelligence, Mistress Dryden. You are aware of my intentions and that Richard has given permission for a betrothal between us.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Then you might sound more enthusiastic about it. It is my wish that we be married before the autumn, so our betrothal will be soon? When you are my wife I shall be favoured twice.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘A beautiful and a clever wife. I would be the happiest of men. What more could any man ask?’

  ‘What more indeed?’ Arlette murmured quietly.

  ‘I was drawn to you the first time I saw you and blind to all other women,’ he said, his voice low, as if unable to conceal the passion Arlette never failed to rouse in him. ‘I will visit Richard at his house to discuss the details of the betrothal.’ His eyes narrowed as he noted the flash of defiance that flared in Arlette’s eyes, which vanished almost as soon as it was there. ‘You do want to marry me, don’t you, Arlette?’

  ‘I thank you for your offer—it is most generous, Sir Ralph,’ she replied, preferring to prevaricate than tell him what she really felt. ‘Please excuse me.’

  She stepped away from him. Her heart was pounding. She was not afraid of this man, but she did wonder if she should be. He was a friend of Richard’s and one of whom he thought highly, yet she experienced a revulsion whenever she was in his presence. She turned to go, but he caught her arm, his thin fingers closing around it like a vice.

  ‘A moment, Mistress Dryden. I am curious as to what you are thinking? Is it of young Sefton, perhaps?’

  Turning to face him once more, she could see a darkness in his eyes. His thin lips were clamped tightly together and he had two red spots high up on his cheekbones. She knew this was anger and it was all being directed at her. His eyes were cold, like wet stones. She wasn’t scared of him, but she was scared of what he would do to Richard and Hester if she refused his offer of marriage.

  She withdrew her arm and said calmly, ‘No, of course not. I told you. James is a friend—nothing more than that. I believe his heart belongs elsewhere. You must forgive me, but I am reluctant for the betrothal to take place just yet. Richard has only recently made me aware of your interest and I would be grateful for a little time to become accustomed to the idea. When I feel the time is right, I will give you my answer.’ Her eyes unrepentant, she did not drop her gaze when he moved closer to her and his mouth curled up in a cruel parody of a smile. It was an odd sensation, Arlette thought, to feel intimidation by a slight person, but it had nothing to do with his physicality and everything to do with the waves of malice emanating from every pore of his skin. ‘Now please excuse me. I promised Anne I would assist with serving some of the food.’

  Without another word and with her head held high, she walked away from him. She was shaken by her encounter with Sir Ralph. Having asked for a delay in the betrothal, which to her mind was like asking for a stay of execution, she sincerely hoped he would honour her wish. The more she dallied, the more chance there was that he would become tired of waiting and turn his attention to someone else, but somehow she didn’t think so.

  * * *

  Hester wasn’t long in finding her and took her aside, clearly anxious.

  ‘Sir Ralph has left. He is most displeased that you have re
quested a delay to the betrothal. You have to marry as circumstances demand, Arlette.’ Sighing despondently, she shook her head and went on, ‘Things have been difficult of late, which you must be aware of. The business has suffered very badly.’

  Arlette knew this was true and that everything to do with their future prosperity depended on her. ‘I’m sorry, Hester. I know what it means to you for me to marry Sir Ralph and I—I will. I only ask for a little time.’

  ‘Make no mistake, Arlette, Sir Ralph is determined to make you his wife. When he arrived and saw you with William, the way you were together... Already he sees him as a rival.’

  ‘That is absurd. William is a friend, someone who did my father a great service when he brought me to London at the risk to his own life. I cannot forget that.’

  With a concerned frown puckering her brow, Hester remarked quietly, ‘I know what your feelings are concerning Sir Ralph and I am not so heartless as not to consider your happiness. But do not let your head be turned by a handsome face, Arlette.’

  Arlette’s face burned. ‘It would take more than that to turn my head, Hester. But if my conversation with William made me aware of anything, it is that it might not be impossible to have Mayfield Hall returned to us—to Thomas—should he come home. I intend to do all I can to that end, which is one of the reasons I asked for Sir Ralph to delay the betrothal.’

  Hester stared at her. She had not expected this. ‘Thomas—I—I had not thought it to be possible... Mayfield Hall has been taken... How can it be got back?’

  ‘It has to be, Hester, for Thomas. Our brother. Can you not lend me your support at this time? I don’t think I can do it on my own. You can’t deny our brother his heritage.’

  ‘But—after nine years! Is there anything worth inheriting?’

  ‘How can you say that? If the Roundheads have sacked it down to the ground it is still Thomas’s home—all that he has to come back to. It is up to us to secure it for him—we have a duty, Hester. I know someone else is living there, but they will have to hand it back to its rightful owner. What if he returns and goes directly to Mayfield, as he surely will, and finds strangers living there? Have you not thought of that?’

  ‘Yes—yes, I have and, if that happens, he will come here. Leave him to deal with it, I implore you.’

  ‘I can’t, Hester. I can’t do that.’

  Hester could not bring herself to look at her, to see the anger in her young sister’s eyes. ‘Forgive me, Arlette. I did not mean to sound so negative. You are right. We have a responsibility to our brother, a duty to do what is right. There is no one else. I will speak to Richard before he leaves for the Midlands to buy cloth—and as for your betrothal, well, I can tell you now that he will not hear of a delay.’

  * * *

  Unfortunately, Richard was not of the same mind as Arlette and his wife. He had no time for the Court of Charles II, which in his opinion consisted of knaves and fools, shallow and frivolous and empty-headed. His time was taken up with his imminent journey to the Midlands and he had no time to put himself forward to petition for the Dryden estate in Oxfordshire. And regardless of Arlette’s wish to have the betrothal set aside for now, he refused to comply and was impatient for it to take place as soon as he returned.

  * * *

  Two weeks had passed since Arlette had seen William and she had heard nothing since. She became restless and impatient and found that it only intensified her situation, increasing her determination to have Mayfield Hall returned to them. But to do this she needed Richard’s cooperation, which was not forthcoming, and Hester would not go against her husband.

  The answer to her problem came in the form of James Sefton when she was walking by the river. His sudden appearance took her by surprise.

  ‘Why, James! Forgive me if I seemed startled, but you surprised me.’

  ‘Then I apologise most sincerely. But why so downcast? Are you not happy now the King is home?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am, only...’ She sighed. ‘I hear Royalists are petitioning the King to have their confiscated properties returned. As you know, my own family estate became forfeit and I want it back. The problem is how to get it back. The person I need to speak to returned to England with King Charles and he is at Whitehall Palace. I can hardly go there alone.’

  ‘Have you not discussed the matter with your brother-in-law?’

  She nodded. ‘Richard won’t entertain the idea of going to Whitehall Palace. He says that if Thomas comes home he must do his own petitioning.’

  ‘And that’s not good enough for you, I can see.’

  ‘No. I have to go to Whitehall Palace.’

  ‘Well, if I can be of help I would be happy to. I go to the Palace early tomorrow morning. I will be happy to take you. My father is staying at Whitehall for the present and I have a message to deliver to him from my mother. I don’t intend being there more than a couple of hours or so.’

  Arlette looked at him with sudden interest—already the semblance of a plan was beginning to form in her mind. This was better than she dared hope for. At the prospect of going to Whitehall Palace and seeing William, her heart began to beat fast and she felt a great sense of excitement.

  ‘Do you mean it? You will take me?’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. But what of your brother-in-law? How will you explain it to him?’

  ‘I won’t tell him. He left for the Midlands two days before so I will be back before he comes home.’

  ‘And your sister? What will you tell her?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.’

  ‘What you are intending is reckless in the extreme. You are to marry Sir Ralph Crompton. What will he say should he find out? Have you not thought of that?’

  ‘I care little for my reputation, James—’ or Sir Ralph, she was tempted to add, but considered it prudent not to ‘—and should Sir Ralph hear of it he will be angry, I know, but it is a small price to pay to get Mayfield Hall back.’

  ‘Very well. I shall escort you to Whitehall Palace. We will go by boat. I will call for you at nine o’clock.’

  ‘That suits me well, but don’t come to the house. I’ll meet you at the privy steps.’

  * * *

  The following morning Arlette rose early to prepare for her outing to Whitehall Palace. She forced herself to remain calm and prepared what she would wear carefully—although she had nothing nearly so grand as the gowns the ladies of the Court paraded in—and each of those movements, which she had done a thousand times in her life without giving them a thought, took on a whole new meaning. She had an objective and a goal. It was for William that she put on her best gown—a plain blue woollen befitting the sister-in-law of a Puritan. It was for him that she decided to leave her hair loose, for him that she fluffed out the flounces on her skirt and tightened the strings at her waist till she could hardly breathe. It was for him that she perfumed her flesh. For him that she preened in front of the mirror, wanting him to see her, wanting to see him, so that she could lose herself in his eyes.

  Seated with James in the boat being rowed by one of his father’s oarsmen, she was apprehensive yet excited as she travelled to Whitehall Palace. The Palace, which lay to the west of the walled city, the skyline peppered with innumerable church spires, was like a great adventure. Arlette always found the city both repelling and fascinating, its vitality springing from a variety of commerce and industry within its walls. It was violent, thriving and alive, colourful and noisy, and it stirred her deepest emotions. On the times when she came with Hester she never ceased to be enthralled by it all.

  The old Whitehall Palace stretched along the riverfront from Whitehall to the mouth of the Fleet. A huge sprawling mass of red-brick buildings, it was the chief residence of the Court. It was a labyrinth of streets and alleyways, of apartments inhabited by noblemen and armies of their dependants. On the whole, the
Palace was open to anyone who had been presented at Court or came with one who had, but strangers filtered in all the time and wandered about at will.

  Alighting from the boat at Whitehall steps, James and Arlette entered through the Palace Gate—inside there was great bustle, and lackeys and footmen in a multitude of coloured liveries flitted about. With a wide-eyed Arlette by his side, who was unable to believe she was in the Palace of the King of England, James strode confidently forward and up some stairs which he told her was the Stone Gallery. It was a long corridor and considered to be the main thoroughfare of the Court where splendid paintings collected by Charles I were hung on the walls. Here lords and ladies paraded in all their finery. Arlette gazed about her with enchantment, for never before had her eyes beheld anything as splendid. The scene was colourful and exciting and to Arlette’s youthful fancy it seemed that all this glittering display of King Charles’s Court could bode nothing but well for the country.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Oh, how splendid it all is,’ Arlette breathed. ‘I’m so glad I came.’ She felt happy and carefree as she had not felt in a long time, and reckless—unwisely so, for it would be so easy to give way to recklessness with a man like William, if only she could find him among all these flamboyant courtiers.

  James escorted her through the throng. Arlette was grateful for the way he tried to put her at her ease. She was eager and full of admiration for everything she saw, devouring everything, her eyes darting about so as not to miss a thing. She was like an exotic flower trying to pick her way through a weed-filled undergrowth, her eyes searching through a sea of unfamiliar faces for the one she knew. Groups of pretty ladies stood around, eager, laughing ladies with fluttering fans in satin and taffeta gowns which rustled as they arranged the folds.