Dark Angels (31 page)

“You’d have to tax the winners, trust them to ’fess up to winning. I, for one, would lie,” said Prince Rupert.

“The flaw in the plan. I shall have to continue to depend upon my obstreperous House of Commons for my coins.”

Sir Thomas was often one of the more obstreperous members, but he ignored the barb.

“Lead me up the stairs, Sir Thomas. Let me see what Buckingham has lost,” the king said.

They toured the floors above, peering into bedchambers that were scattered down the long, wide landing, and then went down into the cellars, Renée remaining on the king’s arm. Finally, back in the big chamber that looked upon the river, King Charles said, “Do you play, mademoiselle?”

“Play?” asked Renée.

“Cards,” said Alice.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Excellent. You and Mistress Verney shall play me a round or two of what? Basset, I think. I’ll leave the others to themselves. That way I won’t lose Hampton Court to Sir Thomas.”

“It’s how I kept my daughter fed in the old days,” Sir Thomas said, holding out a chair for the king. “Have you no memory of needing a new suit to call on La Grande Mademoiselle, and none of us, including yourself, had a pence between us, and it seems we’d used up our goodwill with the tailor because he demanded coins before he’d thread a needle? I went to Paris and gambled all night, and won three gold louis d’or to buy a new suit so you could go-a’courting.”

King Charles threw back his head to laugh, a booming, surprising laugh as big as he was. “Was that you?”

“It was indeed. And I don’t believe you ever repaid me.”

“Doubtless I didn’t. Take it up with my lord treasurer.”

“Which means you’ll never be paid,” said Prince Rupert. “We haven’t an extra feather to fly with.”

“Ships of the line,” said York. “We place all our funds into building ships of the line.”

“There are other ways I can be repaid,” said Sir Thomas.

But talk of the royal navy and treasury funds and repayment was left for the other table of players. King Charles kept up the lightest of banter with Renée, asking her questions about her family, about the journey, about what songs she liked to sing, about what instruments she played. Alice could see her friend slowly regaining her poise. And one thing about Renée, she played cards well. A strain of common sense and ruthlessness showed itself.

“Shall we make it interesting?” King Charles’s eyes glinted. He put coins upon the table, dividing them among Alice, Renée, and himself. And then he proceeded to lose every hand, except when Alice might win. Slowly her coins, as well as the king’s, piled up before Renée, who laughed and raked the coins toward herself with an open, charming greed.

“Worth every pence,” said King Charles at the sound of her laughter, and Renée smiled, at her ease at last and very lovely.

Alice moved restlessly. It was near the time they’d promised to meet Richard. She’d had no idea the king would stay this long.

“Do I bore you?”

She looked up to see King Charles’s dark and wickedly alive eyes upon her.

“No. I just hate losing, sir.”

“We had some plans to walk in the park,” Renée said.

“ I can easily send round a note—” began Alice, but King Charles cut her short.

“No.” He gathered the cards in his large hands. “I would never think of interfering in your plans. And a walk would be a good thing. Put the roses back into the cheeks of Mademoiselle de Keroualle. Her cheeks are paler than I remember. Where do you go?”

“St. James’s. Then to New Spring Garden.”

“Delightful.” The king rose from his chair. “You must tell me what you think of my gardens, mademoiselle. They can’t match what your king is creating at Versailles, but they are handsome enough for us.”

“It’s Alice’s fault if she’s pale,” said Sir Thomas from his table. “She kept her up all the night.”

Again, Alice found dark eyes regarding her. “We were dancing in the garden,” she said hastily.

“Was that you? I heard the music.”

“It was Her Majesty’s idea,” said Alice.

“Was it? Perhaps she’ll be persuaded to do it again, and I’ll come and watch. Do you like to dance, Mademoiselle de Keroualle?”

“Very much, sir.” She looked at Alice, and it was clear she was ready to depart.

“If you’ll excuse us, sir,” said Alice. She glanced at Balmoral and then away. She had no idea what he was thinking, no idea if she had offended or not.

“Of course. You two run along and have your walk. Tell the cook at New Spring Garden that I’ll pay for your supper.”

King Charles followed the pair with his eyes, strolling out into the entrance hall to watch them run up the stairs. Back in the great chamber, he walked around the foursome playing cards, stood a moment behind his brother’s chair before tapping him on the shoulder. York surrendered his chair. The others stared at King Charles.

He smiled. “Jemmy has the best hand.”

“Dash it, that’s cheating,” said Rupert. “I’m too old to duel with you and too strapped for coin to lose.”

“Oh, very well. She’ll be at court tomorrow?”

“Before noon,” answered Sir Thomas.

“Excellent. Who is winning?”

“I am,” he answered again.

“He’s unbeatable when fortune smiles on him,” said Buckingham. “She doesn’t always smile, though, does she? Remember that run you had last year?”

“Sweet Jesus, yes. I very nearly went bankrupt, sold properties to recoup that I regret to this day. Sold them to you, if I remember correctly. I’ve been buying in the hell the fire left, from people too discouraged to rebuild, glad to rid themselves of the bit of land.” Four years ago, a huge fire in the city of London destroyed much of it. Sir Thomas glanced at the king, proud to share that he knew court gossip, too. “They do say Christopher Wren has given you a grand plan for the rebuilding.”

“But I haven’t the funds in the treasury to buy the land,” said His Majesty. “Already shacks and hovels breed like rabbits. Why don’t you donate your London land to the crown, Sir Thomas. It would be much appreciated.” The king was sardonic, and Sir Thomas stared at him, uncomfortable, not certain how in jest he was.

“Your daughter was buying up properties in Paris,” said Buckingham.

“Looking only.”

“The talk at Madame Rouge’s in Paris was that you were moving to France.”

“Not likely.”

“Were the whores pretty?” King Charles asked Buckingham.

“All the whores, male and female. And clean. I don’t know where Madame Rouge finds them.”

“They say if you want someone dead, begin at Madame Rouge’s,” said Balmoral.

“If the whores are pretty, when we declare war, we’ll have to make certain we leave it standing and divide the whores among us. Spoils of war,” said Sir Thomas jovially.

None of the others responded to his jest. He looked from one face to another and felt suddenly, coldly, how much he was the odd man out, no matter the old days. In the silence he felt knowledge here that he wasn’t privy to, and that in spite of his latest favor to Buckingham, he would never be privy to it, unless Buckingham needed him to know. I’m his dog, he thought, no more, no less. And to the others, I’m less than that.

“Does Your Majesty ever fret?” asked Balmoral, as if Sir Thomas had not spoken.

“Over?”

“The fact that some factions do indeed want you dead.”

“Religious fanatics, you mean? No. It’s been ten years. I think the worst of them have tired or fear the tyrant my brother would be.”

For a moment all eyes went to York, whose ruddy face flushed. The king spoke what people feared, but with a humorous tone in his voice.

“They do say it’s become quite the thing in Paris to poison one’s wife or husband or mother or father, whoever is in the way,” said Balmoral.

“Like my sister?” The words were so unexpected, King Charles’s voice so quiet, his expression suddenly so forbidding, that every man except Balmoral cleared his throat in discomfort.

“Precisely like the princess,” Balmoral said in clipped tones. “I think you should have a taster. You and Her Majesty and Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of York.”

“Oh hell and damnation, Balmoral, I won’t believe there’s a plot to poison me.”

“Did you probe into the poisoning rumor while you were in Paris?” Balmoral asked Buckingham.

“Why would I?” he answered indifferently.

“What if she was afraid?” said Prince Rupert. “It’s something I can’t forgive, that I never asked her that.”

King Charles slammed his hand on the table, and the cards jumped. “I don’t want her mentioned. I don’t want her name said.” He looked around into each pair of eyes. “Am I clear?”

“Very clear,” answered Balmoral, calmly. “May one ask why?”

“If I think too long on all that’s happened, all who’ve been lost, particularly this last, if I think on the betrayals upon which this kingdom rests, I’ll gladly take poison, and if it doesn’t kill me fast enough, I’ll hang myself. When the black mood comes to visit in her long ebony gown and her hollow fiery eyes, I’ll hang myself and thank God this bloody business is over. And you’ll all have to deal with Jemmy here as your liege lord. Lord, Buck, look at your face.”

No one spoke. No one moved. Anger of this sort was so unlike the king that all of them were shocked. And some of them, the one or two who loved him, were saddened.

York put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Listen to Balmoral. Hire a taster for a time.”

“How long a time, Jemmy? A day? A year? Two years? If I start fearing some madman will kill me, I’ll go mad myself.”

“Just for a while,” said Prince Rupert, gruffly.

“A precaution, nothing more,” said Balmoral.

“It might be a blessing if she were poisoned.”

Aghast, every man there turned to look at Buckingham.

“She’s useless.”

“She is the queen of England, married under the eyes of God! What God has joined together!” York thundered. “Are you an assassin now, George? Is that your latest fancy?”

Buckingham shrugged.

“I’m fatigued,” said Balmoral. “Might we return, Majesty, if you can forgive an old man’s weakness?”

The way he said the words, the quietness in them, as if an older age looked down on this one and shook its head at its contemptuous folly, affected every one of them. King Charles stood so abruptly that the chair behind him fell over. “Hire a taster,” he said to Balmoral. And to Buckingham, “Make your presence scarce for a time, my dear George.”

When the king was on the barge again, everyone with him but Buckingham, Sir Thomas came back inside. Buckingham still sat at the table, playing solitaire. Sir Thomas sat down near him. The king was furious, and he would remember that he’d been made furious in the house of Sir Thomas Verney. This afternoon he had so looked forward to was smashed to pieces like a dish.

“Are you mad? I don’t understand you,” he said to Buckingham.

“I only say what he’s thought himself. There’s much you don’t know.”

As if he didn’t know that! As if he hadn’t worn himself to the bone trying to break into the inner circle. As if he hadn’t whored and gambled and served one man or another to get there. He’d been there in the old days; and he’d stuck it out, unlike pretty-faced Buck here, who had turned tail to England and married a Roundhead’s spawn. King Charles had forgiven it; he forgave too damn much, that was his problem. “Tell me, then. But I tell you now, I won’t be a part of harm to the queen,” he said.

“No one is going to hurt her. We’re not barbarians.”

“I thought you were hot for war with France?”

“That was last month, my dear.”

Anger filled Sir Thomas and, under that, the gall of humiliation. He had obeyed this man and stirred up as many as possible for a war with the French. And now, like that, like a snap of the fingers, it was not to be. And he wasn’t going to be told why. One didn’t talk to the dog, did one. “Did your dealings in Paris prosper?”

“Dealings?”

“You went over for more than the funeral.”

“Did I?”

“I say you did. I say you ought to tell me the whole of it.”

“Do you now? Well, maybe there will be a war, after all.”

But with whom? Buckingham threw the dog a bone. Sweet Jesus, he’d lied to his only daughter for this man, used her like a minion, like the minion he was! And for what? For hope of notice from the king. Smashed to nothing today. Smashed right here at this table before his very eyes. Enough. Time to find another master. But of course, no need to announce it. Let the great duke think he still had a loyal servant; the dog had at least learned that trick, hadn’t he? Woof.

K
ING
C
HARLES, NAKED
and very drunk, held up his son, who squirmed and gurgled at him.

Just as naked, Nellie Gwynn the actress stood close, keeping an eye on both the king and their son. “He has three new teeth.”

The boy laughed and flailed out his legs, staring down at the king.