I
Whitehall
“Never was there a man so beset!”
Roxhythe looked amusedly across at his master.
“Was there not, Sir?”
“Never.” Charles spoke gloomily. “I swear I do not know why ever I came back to such an importunate, ungrateful people.”
They were in the King’s private closet. It was late autumn and chilly. A fire burned in the wide grate and the room was stuffy. One was aware of the presence of dogs.
Charles crossed his legs and went on speaking.
“They would not have my Declaration of Indulgence; they insisted on an act which should prevent Catholics from holding office under the Crown. So I let them have their Test Act, thus enraging my brother. I thought to have some peace. But no. Clifford resigns his office because he cannot subscribe to the Test. And now they clamour and debate over James his second marriage. Mordieu, what a thing it is to be King!” He sighed.
“The Duke would do well to consider,” said Roxhythe. “A marriage with the Catholic Mary of Este will only serve to gain him more unpopularity.”
“So I think. Next the Commons will demand his exclusion from the succession. I see it coming very plainly. He is so unwise. … And he was a damned good admiral,” he added with another sigh. “Odso! It meant so little. He might have been as Catholic as he pleased to himself if only he would have conformed outwardly to the Test. However, he’d none of it, and gave up his post. And now he is so chafed and irritable that he plagues all and sundry and affects them against him. He won’t listen to my sage counsel; he goes his own foolish way. I know the Commons will demand his exclusion sooner or later. And then what’s to do?”
Roxhythe knew that on this one point his master was likely to remain adamant. He had some affection for his brother.
“I really don’t know, Sir. I doubt you’ll manage to confound the Commons when that time comes—if it comes.”
“Oh, it will come, sure enough, unless he mends his ways, which he will not.”
“Then you will skilfully circumvent the Commons,” smiled Roxhythe.
“But what unpleasantness! What fatigue!” said Charles. “I was not born for this strenuous life.” He shut his eyes wearily. Then he opened them again. “David, I am satiated with Ashley.”
Ashley now led the Cabinet.
Roxhythe laughed softly.
“You were like to be that, Sir. ’Tis a dull dog.”
“My dear David, ’tis the wickedest dog in Christendom—all on a sudden. He must go.” He said this quite calmly.
“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “Though I mislike the idea of Ashley’s hand against us.”
“I cannot help it. He must go. He opposes me at every turn while pretending to aid me.”
“And so?”
“And so I have another man in mind.” Charles looked at him quizzically.
“I might guess his name, Sir,” drawled the favourite.
“You might, Davy, but I think none other would.”
“Perhaps not. Doth he hail from Yorkshire?”
Charles nodded.
“If you ever go over to the opposition, Davy, I shall be undone. You would foresee all my intentions. Do you like my choice?”
“Osborne,” pondered Roxhythe. “A tool. Therefore untrustworthy.”
“I had thought of that. He must be bribed.”
“So others may think.”
“Davy, why will you always play the pessimist? You try your best to dishearten me!”
My lord rose, and walked over to the window.
“My heart’s not in it, Sir.”
Charles stirred uneasily.
“In what, Roxhythe?”
“In all this bribing and duping and double-dealing.”
“Why, David, do you then yearn to tread the straight and narrow path?”
Roxhythe stood silent, gazing out of the window. There was a hint of bitterness in the cool eyes; even a little sadness.
Charles studied his profile concernedly.
“What is it, Davy?” he asked gently.
Roxhythe smiled.
“I was just thinking, Sir. Perhaps we were happier in the old days, across the water.”
“We plotted then and bribed,” said Charles quickly.
“It was rather different. Then we were a few against the world. We had only ourselves to think of. Now we have the whole of Britain depending on us, and we plot and trick, and lower her honour.”
“Davy, I do her no harm! Surely you have seen that? You did not like the Treaty of Dover, but what ill has come of it?”
Roxhythe shrugged.
“Naught save the lowering of the King his honour.”
Charles bit his thick underlip.
Roxhythe continued, in that same level, passionless voice.
“I believe I have a desire to run straight once more, Sir. Sometimes I think I would give much to be with my regiment again—no intriguer, but just a soldier.”
“David!” The King’s eyes were full of pain. “You think that?”
The smile crossed Roxhythe’s lips again.
“Until I remember you, Sir.”
The King flung out his hand.
“Ah!—and then?”
“And then I know that had I to choose again I would follow you.” He came back to the King’s chair, and knelt. “Don’t let this distress you, Sir. These are but idle regrets, that are not even regrets. I am your man until I die, or until I fall.”
Charles’ hand was on his shoulder.
“Roxhythe, what is this talk of falling?”
“I hardly know, Sir, save that no man trusts my word. They suspect my every movement. Because of the Dover treaty, which they guess at.”
“Can you think that I would ever desert you?”
“Not I, Sir. I am turned pessimist today. I do crave your pardon.”
Charles pressed his shoulder. He was troubled.
“Regrets—regrets. I did not think you had any, Roxhythe.”
My lord rose, shaking back the heavy curls of his peruke.
“Nor have I, Sir. ’Tis the autumn dampness has entered my bones. Forget it! I chose long ago which path I should tread, and I’ve no regrets. I would not lose your friendship for all the world.”
Charles was still troubled.
“Which path you would tread. … What mean you, David?”
“Once I thought them one and the same path. Then they diverged, and I followed you. The choice lay between King and Country.”
“It was a struggle then?”
Roxhythe hesitated.
“A little, Sir. But I decided to kiss my hands to Country, and here am I!”
“And you are happy, Roxhythe?”
“Despite these moments of gloom, Sir, yes. I have all a man wants; money, power, the King his favour.”
“And friends?”
“Say rather popularity, Sir.”
“No; friends.”
Roxhythe was silent for a moment.
“Then, Sir, not counting yourself, one. Perhaps two.”
“Who are they?”
“My fair cousin Frances, and my secretary.”
“A strange couple. They are all you can name?”
“They are all.”
Charles nodded slowly.
“You sacrificed much for me, eh, David?”
Roxhythe’s egotism leapt to the fore.
“No. I gained all. I have everything. Friends? Bah! A name, no more. Not a doubt on it but those sycophants below,” he waved a contemptuous hand, “would not hesitate to call me that.”
“Yet you said you had but one?”
“Two. The rest hate me covertly. I am too powerful.”
Again Charles nodded.
“You do not seek to make them like you. I think you are foolish, Roxhythe.”
“Maybe. They do not understand me, and for that reason distrust me.”
Charles smiled irrepressibly.
“Why, I do not think that many men trust me,” he said. “But all men love me.”
Roxhythe swept a bow.
“Sire, I am no Stuart.”
“No, you are Roxhythe, which is perhaps even better. Mordieu! The great Roxhythe! Apropos, David, what’s this I hear took place at Jeremy’s?”
Roxhythe sat down. He drew out his comfit-box.
“Yes, it was diverting,” he admitted.
“Tell me your version. I heard it from Sedley yesterday, but I’d sooner have it from your own lips.”
“What did Sedley say? I hardly know what happened at the beginning.”
The King chuckled.
“Oh, Sedley was full of the tale! He tells me that that young secretary of yours was at Jeremy’s on Thursday, and fell to gaming with Fortescue. Sedley draws a picture of them both in their cups. Then Fortescue speaks sneeringly of the great Roxhythe, and the next thing they knew was that his face was all dripping wine, and young Dart was half across the table in a black fury. Sedley falls a-laughing at this point, but I gather that the two young cockerels were held apart by main force, and Dart was spluttering out challenges. It seems the rest of the party enjoyed the situation vastly, and there was great uproar. Fortescue—Sedley tells me he was most unsteady on his legs—hiccuped out his challenge, and called on Digby to second him. Then the pother was that no one liked to be embroiled in a quarrel against my Lord Roxhythe. So more uproar. Dart called on Fletcher to serve him. Fletcher thinks himself best out of that boys’ quarrel. Others were of his opinion. So then we have young Dart offering to fight the whole room, and Fortescue drinking more Burgundy to steady himself. Sedley says by now the whole room was in a roar, and the most of them arguing what was to be done. Then—Sedley is very fine at this point—the door opened. In strolled the unwitting cause of all the turmoil: Lord Roxhythe. He was becomingly languid; he desired to know the reason of all the noise. Six people explain it to him. My lord looks round with interest. Fletcher tells him that no one will second the children. My lord is pained. He looks at Fortescue. ‘You must apologize,’ says he. ‘No,’—hiccup—‘Be—damned an I will!’ ‘Then you must apologize,’ says my lord, turning to his secretary. Dart was not so far gone in his cups. ‘Never!’ says he. ‘Then I will apologize,’ says my lord. ‘Your pardon, gentlemen, for being the cause of so much trouble.’ Then Sedley grows incoherent. Tell me the rest, Roxhythe.”
Roxhythe touched his lips with his handkerchief.
“My young Chris was mighty valiant. He sneered. ‘If a glass of wine in the face is not enough,’ says he, and left an elegant pause. Fortescue caught him up. ‘No—damme—,’ says he. ‘I’ll fight you!’ Chris bowed. I have a fleeting suspicion that he emulates my style. ‘I am relieved,’ says he. ‘Mr. Fletcher, again I ask: will you serve me?’ Fletcher nodded. ‘Who’s to serve Fortescue?’ asks that rogue Sedley. Then they all looked uncomfortable, and shuffled. I conceived that it was time to introduce a light note. I made my best leg to Fortescue, who was hanging on to the table. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I shall be honoured to second you.’ He had arrived at the polite stage. He returned my bow, and managed not quite to fall over. ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘I thank you. Y—You’re a—g—gentleman!’
“My Chris was in such a rage that he was fit to slay me there and then. He turned on his heel and slammed out of the room. I went away.
“And there the matter really ended. I was hoping for an amusing duel, but evidently Fortescue was talked to very seriously. At all events he visited me next day, all the pot-valiance knocked out of him. Odso, but he was ashamed! He had come to offer me his apologies! He had not known what he was saying; he begged I would excuse him. Then he grew very red, and told me that he could not have me as a second in the circumstances. So I sent for Chris. Fortescue was all for fighting, but I made them shake hands. That is all. My name is now safe.” He smiled a little.
“No wonder it is the talk of town!” cried Charles. “Oddsblood, I would I had been there!” Then he became grave. After a moment he said: “Roxhythe, this Dutch war is becoming vastly distasteful to my people.”
Roxhythe was amused.
“Now what ails you?” demanded Charles. “Is it a laughing matter?”
“Certainly not. I laughed at the sudden change of topic. And have you but just discovered that the people do not like it?”
“No. They grow hot. What is more to the point is that the Commons also grow hot. I think I must have a respite.”
“How?”
“I have had enough of Parliament,” said Charles, looking at him. “For the present.”
“Prorogation!” smiled Roxhythe. “I admire your consummate daring, Sir.”