I
January, 1669
Christopher settled down very quickly on his return from Holland and took up his abode at Bevan House, Charing Cross. His duties as secretary were not arduous, and consisted for the most part of attending to the affairs of Roxhythe’s country estate, and answering the many invitations that flocked in.
He was supremely happy. In spite of all Roderick’s gloomy prognostications his love for Roxhythe grew steadily. True, he had to some extent readjusted his ideas. He no longer held my lord up as a model of good behaviour; he knew that Roxhythe was careless, frivolous, sometimes ruthless. A year ago these facts would have been enough to damn my lord in his eyes, but now he flattered himself that he was broader-minded. He no longer condemned the immoral lives that were led by Roxhythe and his associates. Their frivolity and their rakishness were at times to be deplored, but Christopher could not see that they were without honour. Roderick had insinuated that those who frequented Whitehall were entirely lacking in morals. He had said that each one would barter away his honour for position or money. He had even hinted that there were few who would scruple to betray their country.
As far as Christopher could see there was no question of such a contingency. It might be true of some, but of others it was manifestly untrue. With regard to Roxhythe it was ridiculous. He had no interest in politics; he laughed at intrigue. His whole life was spent in waiting on the King, and amusing himself either at Whitehall or at the Louvre. He was above the petty machinations of the day; he belonged to no party; he never schemed for his own ends.
Christopher did not pretend to understand him. It almost seemed as though his was a dual personality, yet the second side of him had appeared for so short a space that Christopher half doubted whether he had not been suffering from an illusion.
In Holland Roxhythe had shown himself to be cool-headed, energetic, astute. Above all he had proved an expert plotter. He had dropped much of his lazy cynicism; his languor had mysteriously vanished. But when the intrigue was at an end back had come the old Roxhythe, just as languid, just as indifferent. No word of politics ever passed his lips; no suspicion of plotting was evident.
Christopher was nonplussed. Eventually he came to the conclusion that Roxhythe was not an intriguer from choice. It was only when commanded by His Majesty that he roused himself.
Roderick had inferred that Roxhythe worked not for England but for his own ends. The idea was beneath contempt. Roxhythe had shown clearly that he worked for the King alone. The King, of course, worked for the Country. It was all one.
Christopher understood that Roxhythe did not wish his powers as an intriguer to be known. That was natural. Once discovered, he could not act with the same freedom. At first Christopher had thought his habitual indifference a mask, but as time went on he decided that it was as real as the other half of him. He realized that he could never hope to fathom the depths of my lord’s nature; perhaps he did not wish to try. He was content to love an enigma. He knew that Roxhythe could be astute; he knew that he was mostly obtuse; he could be ruthless, or he could be kindness personified. To Christopher he had been kind. He seemed to take an amused pleasure in fathering him; he introduced him at Jeremy’s, one of the great coffeehouses; he took him to routs and to balls. In all matters of dress and fashion he advised him; his house and servants were at Christopher’s disposal.
It was a curious friendship. On the one side was boundless affection and unlimited confidence; on the other a casual liking and absolute reticence. Partly it was accounted for by the difference in age. Roxhythe was more than twenty years Christopher’s senior and it was not to be expected that he should confide in the younger man to any great extent. But Christopher knew nothing of Roxhythe’s life. The surface was free for inspection. There were countless amours, countless trivialities, but of what lay beneath the boy had been allowed only a glimpse. Never again had he seen it; all that met his eyes was a cynical roué, fascinating and repellent by turns. He loved this roué as he had never loved before. There had been no woman in his short life, there still was not. Roxhythe possessed his whole heart. Whatever Roderick might say to the contrary, Christopher knew that Roxhythe would always possess it. It was to no avail to analyse the why and wherefore of his love; there was no reason for it but that subtle attraction which my lord held for him. He was content to love, secure in the belief that his love would never be betrayed. He wanted nothing in return; he asked no confidences and was not disappointed that he received none. He gave the very best that was in him, happy that this should be so.
Before he had entered Roxhythe’s service his life had been singularly devoid of colour. His mother died when he was a child, and his father had had Roderick’s cold nature. They came of old Puritan stock; they were very godly, and also very repressed. Madam Dart, who was not of her husband’s persuasions, had bequeathed her sunny personality to Christopher. She had nothing else to give him. On account of this bequest there had been no understanding between Christopher and his father, and very little between Christopher and his brother. Both Mr. Dart and Roderick felt that he was not akin to them; they feared that he was weak and easily led astray. They deplored his early craving for excitement, and they did their uttermost to quench the craving. Then, shortly after Roderick’s departure for Holland, Mr. Dart died. At first Christopher felt lost and vaguely frightened, but the feeling had faded and given place to a glorious sensation of freedom. Then Roxhythe had blazed into his life, shocking him. Disapproval had, in its turn, given way to love. His mind had broadened; he lost the shreds of intolerance that had been instilled into him. One thing he retained: love for Country counted above all else. His father’s creed as Christopher’s also. Nothing mattered as much as England. Her honour and welfare must stand first.
Roderick had conceived that they did not stand first with either Roxhythe or the King. He was undoubtedly crazed. The King was naturally above reproach. Equally above reproach was Roxhythe. Christopher cast his brother’s warnings to the four winds.
He was interested in politics and listened closely to all the arguments that took place at Jeremy’s. There was usually some conversation concerning Home Affairs and the King’s intentions. It was well known that Charles squandered away more money than he possessed, and men wondered how he would contrive to pay off his load of debts.
Foreign Affairs were also discussed, especially the menace of France to Holland. Everyone knew that Louis would never rest until he had annexed those Provinces which he claimed, and everyone hoped that England would throw herself seriously into the conflict. Such a contingency would surely turn the scale against Louis. King Louis was universally feared; he was growing too powerful, and too belligerent. It was known, too, that he coveted the throne of Spain for one of his own children. If the ailing young Spanish King died, matters would become serious. On no account must Louis be allowed to seize Spain.
Christopher was deeply interested. He had the hatred of the average Englishman of the time for France. He wished that Roxhythe would discuss these matters with him, but Roxhythe only laughed and protested that such conversation was too deep for him.
At the present moment my lord was in Paris. He had been away a week, and on Christopher’s shoulders had fallen the strenuous task of making his excuses to the various people whose invitations to routs and dinners he had ignored.
These visits to France were always unexpected. Suddenly my lord would remark that he could bear London no longer. He would depart with perhaps a day’s warning. More suddenly would he return, with no warning at all. Christopher supposed that he went because of some Frenchwoman. Gossip said so, and he, knowing Roxhythe, believed Gossip.
He was seated in the library one morning, sorting out my lord’s correspondence, when he heard a leisurely footfall without. He lifted his head, listening, for the step was familiar.
The curtains over the doorway parted. Roxhythe came into the room.
Accustomed as he was to my lord’s ways, Christopher was still surprised. He sprang up.
“Sir! I had no idea you were in town!”
Roxhythe smiled at him.
“Nor was I until an hour ago.” He went to the table and turned over his letters. “You are well, Chris?”
“Very well. And you? You had a pleasant visit?”
“Quite amusing,” nodded Roxhythe. “Need I look at all these?” He flipped a pile of letters with his finger.
Christopher glanced through them.
“There are one or two letters from Lady Flora, sir,” he said.
“They will keep. She is becoming wearisome.” He sat down. “Have you any news, Chris?”
Christopher put the letters in the drawer.
“Nothing of great import, sir. Lord Buckhurst requests the pleasure of your company at a supper-party he is giving on Wednesday. I accepted for you. Sir Malcom Digby begs you will honour him on Friday at Shawn House. Mr. Carver gives a dance for Miss Rosiland next month. I have not answered that.”
“Carver? I do not think I have the honour. …”
“You have forgotten, sir. He is the man who gave us shelter the night we rode to Bevan in the storm.”
“That wealthy tradesman?” asked his lordship. “What impudence!”
“I am to refuse?”
“Naturally. Stay—this Rosiland—have you seen her?”
“She’s young and shy, sir.”
“Oh, refuse, refuse!” said Roxhythe impatiently. “Odds-life, what is the world coming to that that upstart should invite me to his house? Naught else?”
“Naught else, sir, unless it be my Lord Arlington’s invitation to supper and cards. I accepted.”
“Well I need not go,” remarked my lord.
“Then I think you will greatly offend Lord Arlington, sir.”
One haughty eyebrow rose the fraction of an inch.
“Oh? What maggot has Bennett in his head now?”
“He seemed anxious that you should go. And—and he has influence. He was not pleased that you refused his last invitation.”
“Oho! You think I should do well not to offend his lordship?”
“Well, sir, he would make a powerful enemy.”
“But not, I think, so powerful an enemy as Roxhythe.” My lord rose and stretched himself. “I suppose I must to Whitehall.” He lounged out.
An hour later, his dress changed, his person powdered and perfumed, he walked into the King’s presence.
Charles was in the midst of his Court, talking to Lady Castlemaine. Way was made for my lord to pass up to his couch. He went forward gracefully, bowing to right and left in answer to the many nods and smiles.
“Why, here is our good Roxhythe!” cried her ladyship, welcoming him. “See, Sir!”
“I see a base deserter,” said Charles. He held out his hand. “I believe you love his French Majesty more than me, David.”
Roxhythe bent over it.
“No,” he said, inimitably. “His French Majesty was an interlude, no more.”
Charles joined in the general laugh.
“How doth His Majesty?” he asked.
“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “Very expensively.”
“Surely that’s Roxhythe?” came a voice from behind. “I thought so! Well, my lord? So you’ve returned to us?”
Roxhythe bowed to the slim, graceful youth who came up to the group about the King.
“As your Grace sees,” he said.
Monmouth leant on the back of the couch, above Charles, smiling, debonair.
“I thought I could not be mistaken. I would swear to your presence in a room of a thousand people!”
“You are a flatterer,” Roxhythe shook his head. “You had best visit Versailles.”
Monmouth sighed. He put back his curls with one delicate, white hand.
“I have a mind to. I have a great desire to visit the French Court.”
“Ah, no!” said Charles, quickly, raising his hand. He laid it affectionately on his son’s arm. “I cannot spare you, James.”
“You spared Roxhythe,” shrugged Monmouth. There was a suspicion of triumph in the glance he shot at my lord.
“Needs must,” quoth Charles, ruefully. “Roxhythe stays for no man.”
“Not even for Your Majesty?” asked Lady Castlemaine.
Charles smiled.
“I wonder?” he said. “Can one catch a star?”
“I take it ’tis a question of holding a star,” remarked Killigrew, coming up to them. “ ’Twould be interesting to test Lord Roxhythe his devotion.” He spoke lightly, jestingly, but there was too much of the sneer in his voice for Charles’ liking. The look he gave him was cold.
“See the wretch now!” exclaimed Lady Castlemaine. She was in great good humour today. “I’ll swear he is searching for his ladylove! Are you not, Roxhythe?”
Roxhythe turned his head.
“Which one, Lady Castlemaine?”
She spread out her hands in mock protest.
“The latest; the dearest!” smiled Monmouth.
“Alas! There is no dearest.”
“What! Dead, my lord?”
“No.” Roxhythe sat down. “Faded, sir.”
“Already? I thought the little Crosby woman—”
“But I tire so easily,” complained his lordship.
“You are a scoundrel, Roxhythe.” It was the King who spoke. “I vow I do not know why I keep you near me!”
“Oh, I can give Your Majesty the answer to that!” replied Roxhythe, placidly.
“Give it then!” Charles turned, ready to be amused.
Roxhythe’s eyes travelled slowly round the room.
“Amongst so much virtue. …” he began, and got no further. Protesting, laughing voices chided him.
Charles rose.
“Ye all appear horrified at the idea of any virtue being found amongst you,” he sighed, his eyes alight with laughter. “Well, I’ll set your minds at rest. Without doubt ye are the most outrageous subjects in Christendom. David, I want you! I have it in mind to give a ball which shall excel all others ever held between these walls. I must have your sage counsel.” He linked his arm through Roxhythe’s, and shook a reproving finger at his small court. “I’ll leave you to your various wickednesses,” he said. “God wot, ye are not fit company for me!”
A slight stir by the door announced the entrance of the Queen. She came slowly across the room on her way to her apartments, a short, insignificant figure, primly garbed in riding-dress.
Charles withdrew his arm and went to meet her.
Her dark eyes with their vague unhappiness scanned him a thought anxiously as he bent over her hand.
“Well, madam? You have been riding?” The King spoke kindly, as one speaks to a child.
Katherine inclined her head.
“Yes, Sir.” Some of the apathy went out of her voice. “The daffodils are already blooming in the Park.”
“Are they so? It was a pleasant ride, sweet?”
“Not very, Sir. I wished you had been with me.” She looked up at him sadly. “The people would have cheered.”
“Why, madam, they cheer for you!” said Charles, patting her hand.
“No,” said the Queen. “No.” She looked round the room. Lady Castlemaine curtseyed as the lacklustre eyes passed her. Katherine made no sign. Then she saw Roxhythe, and smiled. The smile changed her whole face. It held appeal, shy coquetry; it dispersed some of her stiffness.
“I did not know you were in London, my lord,” she said.
Roxhythe came forward at once, and kissed her hand.
“I hope Your Majesty is better than when I left you?” His tone held something near warmth.
“I am very well,” answered Katherine. “We have missed you, my lord.”
“Your Majesty is too kind,” he said gravely.
“You should have been with us today,” she continued. “The spring has come so early this year! The flowers are all opening in the Park. It was very pretty.” Her eyes went back to the King, wistfully. Charles had no interest in flowers; he was not attending. Roxhythe it was who answered.
“I shall beg you to let me come in your train again one day, madam,” he said. “You have not asked me of late.”
“Because I thought you would not care to,” she replied. “I do wish, though, that you might accompany me.”
“I should be very greatly honoured, madam,” he bowed. “I shall await your commands.”
“One would almost imagine that he wanted to ride with her!” murmured Killigrew in Buckingham’s ear. “Is it possible that the fastidious Roxhythe is épris in that direction?”
Buckingham shook his head.
“No. He has always been the same with her. I suppose he seeks to curry favour!” He sneered.
Roxhythe followed Charles to his closet. There the King flung himself down on the luxuriously cushioned window-seat.
“I doubt the Queen is not happy,” he remarked, frowning. “She takes no interest in our pleasures and she hath always the air of one moped to death.”
“The Queen hath a great regard for Your Majesty,” said Roxhythe deliberately.
Charles jerked an impatient shoulder.
“Oh, ay! Ye think I do not notice her enough. She should be more cheerful. She wearies me—poor woman,” he added. “Ye heard today; the people do not like her nor cheer when she passes. Well, ’tis not my fault.”
“If Your Majesty went with the Queen, the people would cheer,” answered my lord.
“Roxhythe, I will not be taken to task like this!” said Charles pettishly. “You had best accompany her! The people do always cheer when you ride out. Mayhap she will think ’tis for her.”
“You make a mistake, Sir, when you dub Her Majesty a fool.”
Charles stared at him.
“Are you an admirer?” he asked.
“I admire, and have always admired Her Majesty’s brave spirit,” said Roxhythe.
Charles was silent. Presently he changed the subject, speaking coldly.
“Well, did you ascertain Louis his attitude?”
Roxhythe shrugged.
“He realizes that he must come to the movement of your finger, Sir.”
Charles’ brow cleared as if by magic.
“I always thought he would! He may rest assured that I shall move that finger to some purpose. I tell you, Roxhythe, I must have money, or I fall. What is Louis his figure?”
“I do not know, Sir.”
“Arundell said two million.”
“I am sorry to have to disagree with my Lord Arundell, but it is too much.”
“Are you sure, David?”
“As sure as I am over anything, Sir.”
“A pity.” Charles rested his chin in his hand. “Ye think Arundell a fool?”
“No. I do not think he understands the French mind.”
“Nor I. ’Tis for that reason that I want you to help me. Colbert has proposals to put before me.”
M. Colbert de Croissy was the French ambassador, brother to the great Colbert, Minister of Finance in France.
Roxhythe was amused.
“It should be interesting to hear what he says,” he remarked.
“So I think. Roxhythe, I have seen that Clifford may be won over.”
“Our incorruptible Chancellor!” said Roxhythe. “Well, well!”
“Not at all. He hath great faith in mine integrity. From what he said I gather that Colbert means to put the matter very plausibly. Arlington is, of course, my man; Arundell also. I propose to summon Clifford to my chamber next week when I shall also receive M. Colbert. Then we shall see how the matter strikes Clifford.”
Roxhythe nodded.
“And what of His Grace of York, Sir?”
“James is mad for the promotion of the Catholic faith in the country. All else will fade before that.”
“It seems very well,” said Roxhythe. He sighed.
Charles heard the sigh.
“You do not like it, Roxhythe?”
There was a pause.
“No, Sir, I do not.”
“You do not like that I should make an alliance with France?”
“I would it might have been otherwise.”
“But it cannot be otherwise,” fretted the King.
“No, Sir?”
“You know it cannot! I tried to avoid it by an alliance with Nassau, but he’d have none of it. What else can I do? I must have means or I shall be entirely dependent on Parliament. I am sore beset! And now if you turn against me—”
“I shall never do that, Sir.” The answer came quietly, but very emphatically. “If you want a compact with France you must have it. It matters nothing to me. Only one thing do I consider and that is your pleasure.”
Charles put out his hand.
“Ah, David! And yet you dislike it?”
“I dislike it—yes.”
“Because you think I am planning to sell England to Louis?”
His smile crept into Roxhythe’s eyes.
“Now you are ridiculous, Sir.”
Charles’ hand gripped his.
“You believe in me?”
“I believe that you will contrive to outwit Louis.”
“That is evasive. You think I am not acting for England?”
“I know you are not.”
Charles laughed.
“I suppose you are right. But I do not think I shall harm her.”
“Nor I, Sir. And I do not think you will do her any good.”
Charles looked at him curiously.
“Roxhythe—you care for England?”
“I used to, Sir.”
“And now?”
“Nothing counts save your pleasure. I stand or fall with you.”
Brown eyes met brown.
“And naught else counts … not even the Country?” said Charles slowly.
Roxhythe carried the hand that lay in his to his lips.
“Since your ways diverge, Sir, no.”