X
May, 1670
During the weeks that followed Roxhythe lived almost entirely in France. At first Louis refused to countenance Charles’ demands, and it needed much skilful diplomacy and tender handling to persuade him. My Lord Arlington too proved troublesome, and cavilled at first one point and then another. At length Louis agreed that the furtherance of Catholicism in England should precede war with the Dutch, but on the subject of price he remained adamant. It almost seemed as though another deadlock had been reached, and Charles, urgently in need of money, was inclined to modify his demands. It was Roxhythe who counselled patience; Roxhythe who continued the negotiations, calmly, unhurriedly.
Christopher stayed at Bevan for nearly two months. Whenever he announced his intention of returning, as if by magic some new trouble would arise and he would be bidden to attend to it. It was not until the beginning of March of 1670 that he came back, and by that time the negotiations with France were practically at an end.
Towards the middle of the month Roxhythe had private audience with the King. Charles was in high spirits.
“My dear Davy, we have come to the end!”
Roxhythe was placid.
“I always said that the spring would see the end,” he remarked.
Charles drew him to a chair.
“You did, David. M. Colbert de Croissy has been with me. Louis gives me the sum I ask. Bealling is to draft the treaty. We win.”
“Yes, Sire, we win. I was determined that there should not be another failure.”
Charles pressed his shoulder.
“You are thinking of the Nassau intrigue? Does it rankle?”
“I believe it does,” said Roxhythe.
It was not until May, however, that the treaty was signed. There was much argument as to the manner in which it should be done, but it was at length decided that Madame d’Orléans should come over to Dover ostensibly to see her brother, and that the representatives of both parties should sign it there.
Louis and his Court were making a tour of the country round Dunkirk, so that it would be no great matter for Madame to sail to England for a short space.
On the sixteenth of the month Charles travelled in state to Dover. He was accompanied by all his court with the exception of the Duke of York, who was prevented from coming until a few days later.
The festivities at Dover were riotously extravagant. Every minute of every day was planned out for Madame’s entertainment, yet in the midst of all the gaiety Charles found time to have private speech with his sister.
The interview did not last long, but it was conclusive. That evening the King summoned his favourite.
“David, I have agreed to my sister’s wishes.”
“Ah!” said Roxhythe. “And they were?”
“That I should give the war with Holland my first attention.” He looked closely at my lord as he spoke.
“You thus make yourself dependent on Parliament, Sir.”
“Not wholly, Louis gives me three million livres yearly for as long as the war shall last.”
Roxhythe walked to the window.
“In part I applaud you, Sir. It were best to defer the declaring of yourself a Catholic.”
Charles laughed.
“I have always known that to be worse than imprudent.”
“Of course. I think His Grace of York will not care for the amendment.”
“Perhaps not. But I think I am wiser than is James.”
“So do I,” said Roxhythe.
There the matter ended.
A few days later came the Duke of York. When he heard that Charles had given way to Louis he was first furious and then despairing. He implored his brother to recall the promise; he uttered solemn warnings and urgent pleas. To all of which Charles smiled and smiled again.
Madame at once perceived James’ discontent. As soon as she could conveniently do so she taxed him with it. He came into the room one evening when she was seated with Roxhythe at the window, watching the bonfires in the distance. When the Duke entered Madame shot a commanding glance at her companion. My lord bowed and sauntered out.
James sat down heavily. After a moment Madame went to him and laid a caressing hand on his arm.
“What is it, James? There is something you do not like?”
The Duke covered her hand with his.
“I am torn this way and that, Henriette. I scarce know myself what ails me.”
She sat down beside him.
“Why are you so torn, mon ami? Is it this bond? You still have misgivings?”
“Deep misgivings. This secrecy likes me not at all. It is as though we were thieves—in the night.”
She was silent. There was nothing to say.
“I want this alliance,” he continued sombrely. “I have prayed for it. But not this way.”
“How then would you have it?”
“Openly. With the consent of Parliament.”
“They would never consent.”
“They might be compelled. There is the army.”
“It is not practicable,” she answered. “You know it.”
He brushed his hand to and fro across the table.
“Henriette, what we do is not right! It is not honourable! For Kings to traffic secretly with one another—it revolts me!”
Again she was silent.
“And now you have induced Charles to go to war with Holland before he declares himself Catholic!”
“James, believe me, it is impossible for Charles to do that now. He dare not. The time is not yet.”
“You are all the same,” said the Duke bitterly. “ ‘The time is not yet.’ Wait, wait, wait, until it is too late! I tell you I am sick unto death of the whole affair.”
“Then leave it to us, James! Charles is acting for the best, as am I. Is it only this question of Catholicism that troubles you?” Her eyes searched his face.
“No,” said James. “I fear a trap.”
“Who would be likely to lay traps for you?”
He returned her glance squarely.
“Louis.”
Madame took his hands.
“I swear to you there is no such thing.”
“You may not know.”
“If there were a trap Charles had been the first to see it,” she said.
James’s lip curled scornfully, and a little sadly.
“Charles thinks of naught save money and women. He is careless—blind.”
“You misjudge him,” she answered. “Charles is no fool.”
He shook his head wearily.
“I do not understand him. I never have understood him. Great issues weigh with him not at all; he spends his days idling—and making love.”
“You do not know,” she said quietly.
“It may be that.” An angry light came into his eyes. “He does not give me his confidence! He laughs at me, and fences when I question him. All his confidence goes to that man!” He jerked his head towards the door.
“Roxhythe?” she asked, watching him.
His hand clenched slowly.
“Ay, Roxhythe. That impudent poseur! That court-darling! Roxhythe is never from his side. He employs him always—tells him his whole mind. Oh, they are fitly matched! Both are without honour! without decency!”
“Don’t speak so loud. Remember, Charles is the King.”
“A pretty King!” he replied bitterly. “He cares for naught save his own pleasures. Do you think he enters into this treaty from any sense of patriotism? He does not! He sees a means whereby to gain money! Money that he will squander on his women and his playthings! He and his favourite! Oh, they are a fit couple! Roxhythe abets him in his extravagance! He panders to his vanity! I tell you that man is not to be trusted! He works only for himself.”
“No. He works for the King. Never forget that, James. To that one man I believe he will always be loyal. Why do you so dislike him?”
James rose jerkily to his feet, scraping his chair back across the wooden floor.
“Because I am jealous of him,” he grated; “I admit it freely! He hath the place that should be mine! He hath the King his ear. There is nothing Charles does that Roxhythe does not know. There are many things that I know not of!”
“ ’Sh! What reason have you for saying that?”
He paced up and down the room.
“I have eyes. I am not the fool Charles thinks me. I know that he plots behind my back. Oh, I’ve no proofs! But I know for all that.”
Madame led him back to his seat.
“James, you are speaking wildly. Your jealousy has carried you away. Charles has no secrets from you, I’ll swear. You should not make an enemy of Roxhythe for so foolish a reason.” So she chided him, her hand in his.
“Ay, that is it,” he nodded. “I should not make an enemy of so powerful a man. I, the King’s brother! Cordieu, things have come to a pretty pass!”
“Oh fie! You overrate Roxhythe his influence. You know that you stand first with the King.”
“I would it were so,” he answered, leaning his head in his hand.
“It is so. Why, James, to what are you descended that you stoop to be jealous of a courtier?”
He sat up.
“I am overwrought. I am not jealous of him. I do but mistrust him. This affair is preying on my nerves till I do not know what I am saying. Forget it, Henriette!”
“It is forgotten,” she assured him. “And James! Put all thoughts of traps and false dealings out of your head. I, Henrietta Stuart, swear that there is no such thing.”
He smiled up at her, his whole face softened.
“I’d not accuse you of false dealing, child.”
She patted his cheek.
“There! Now you are sensible! Another thing I’ll tell you: Charles is not so soulless as you think. Trust in him to see that no harm comes to the alliance.”
The smile faded. James turned his head away.
Someone knocked on the door. A page entered holding the door for Roxhythe.
James rose quickly.
My lord bowed first to Madame, and then to the Duke.
“I crave your pardon for this intrusion,” he said. “His Majesty sent me to request your presence in his room, sir.”
James straightened his cravat.
“I thank you, my Lord. Madame, you will excuse me?” He left the room.
Down in the streets below were many lights. A torchlight procession was passing. There was much noise of shouting and of cheering. My lord went over to the window, looking out.
“Roxhythe,” said Madame abruptly. “Why does my brother dislike you?”
My lord glanced at her over his shoulder.
“Does he?” he asked.
“You know it. Do you annoy him?”
“You see,” apologized Roxhythe. “I am of a flippant turn of mind.”
That was all he would say. Dissatisfied, Madame broached the subject to the King next morning.
“Charles, do you know that James hates Roxhythe?”
The King was lolling on a couch.
“My dear, he would hate a fly if it teased him.”
“Does Roxhythe tease him?”
“He has a certain air which distresses poor Jamie,” smiled the King.
“It is a pity,” she mused. “James thinks that you do not give him your whole confidence.”
Charles’ mournful eyes widened.
“Dear, dear!”
“He is afraid that you will walk into some trap of Louis’ making. He thinks you are a fool.”
“I know,” said the King. “And I think him one. Yet we are really very fond of each other. An amusing situation.”
“I wish that you understood one another better,” she sighed. “Or rather that James understood you.”
“So do not I,” said Charles. “We are very well as we are.” He surveyed her languidly. “Tomorrow the bond is to be signed?”
“By your Commissioners, and by de Croissy. You’ve no misgivings?”
“None,” he answered. The glance that passed between them was full of meaning.
“I have to thank you for your patience in the matter, Henriette.”
She shook her head.
“No, no! I am so glad to have been of use!”
He put his arm about her.
“You are a very charming child,” he said, and kissed her. “I would I might take you back with me to London.”
Something sparkled on the end of her lashes.
“Perhaps—I wish—so—too,” she said.
He stroked her bright curls. For a while there was silence.
“So I am to have La Kéroualle?” said the King at length.
Madame smiled again.
“You asked for her long ago,” she parried. She was finding a novel amusement in turning the hand she held this way and that so that the light caught the rings on his fingers.
“So I did. Louis must think well of her to send her to me.”
“She is very beautiful,” said Madame, still holding his hand.
“And very cunning?” The long fingers clasped hers.
“Charles, do you not want her at Whitehall?”
“I shall be delighted to have her,” he retorted.
“She comes not as a spy, but as a—”
“Secret agent. A nice distinction. But no matter.”
“I really do not wonder that James is annoyed with you,” said Madame severely.