Dark Angels (37 page)

“If there is anything I can do—”

“You can leave us alone. We have important business.” The words were sharper than Alice meant, but there they were, out of her mouth, too late to call them back, and anyway, it was none of Renée’s concern.

Renée took a step back. “Yes, of course. If there is anything I can do—”

But they were rushing on, leaving her alone.

“Your prayers,” Barbara said, tossing the words over her shoulder.

There were few people in the Matted Gallery. On the top floor of the palace, it was the longest of the galleries, full of statues and paintings that King Charles had meticulously acquired, attempting to restore at least a portion of what had been his father’s collection. Prince Rupert and the Duke of York had lodgings at its farthest end. Alice stood a moment at the roaring fire, as if to gather her wits.

Barbara put her hands to her chest. “My heart is beating so, I think it will fall from my chest. Oh, Alice, who would do such a thing to the queen—” She stopped, her words dying in her throat, seeing the expression on Alice’s face.

“You knew of the bill in the Lords about divorce, of all the gossip and talk before Madame came, and yet you wrote me nothing? Nothing! Where was your mind? Where was your care for her? You promised me you’d write everything of importance! Do you not remember? We swore it to each other. I trusted you, and you failed me!”

“I didn’t know—”

“The whole court was singing it, that the king should put her aside. You didn’t know”—Alice stepped forward so that her face was inches from Barbara’s—“because you were caught in your silly romance, thinking of nothing but John Sidney! I could slap you witless, Barbara. This note is no game! Someone is trying to hurt the queen, truly hurt her, have her cast off and sent away, have her divorced and abandoned, perhaps have her killed!”

“Killed? What are you talking about?” Tears were rolling down Barbara’s face. “Please, Alice. You’re too close. Don’t stand so close.”

Alice stepped back. “Tell me everything. Everything you remember.”

“I don’t remember anything!”

“You don’t remember the queen crying? You don’t remember gossip, rumors, talk of divorce?”

Barbara wiped at her face, but her tears continued. “Yes, of course I do.”

“When did they begin?”

“I’m not certain. Perhaps after the miscarriage—”

“Tell me of that.”

“Her little fox jumped on the bed, startling her, and she cried out, and we started to laugh, only she clutched at herself and began to say, ‘Oh, no,’ over and over. She was so happy, so sure this one would…Her face, Alice, I’ve never seen such sorrow. And no one but those who truly loved her came to comfort. Even the king was cold this time—”

“He was cold? Tell me precisely what those words imply.”

“He didn’t call to see how she did. She lay in bed for three days, and there was not a note from him. Nothing. Prince Rupert came, the Duke of York, the Duke of Monmouth, all called on her, but he didn’t. She was beside herself with fret and worry. There was nothing we could say to calm her.”

“So I would imagine. Were you with her when she called upon His Majesty?”

“How do you know she called upon him?”

“She would, wouldn’t she? Go to him if he did not come to her, even if she had to crawl?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“But what did you hear?”

“It was so long ago, Alice, two years now—”

“Damn it, Ra, think! There used to be plenty of wit in you. Has John Sidney taken it all?”

“Don’t curse at me.”

“Don’t be foolish, then.”

There was silence. Barbara sat in a chair by the fire and leaned her head back, eyes closed, tears steadily seeping down. Alice didn’t move, didn’t change the steadiness of her gaze.

Finally Barbara spoke. “We were at peace—”

“Of course we were. Otherwise I could not have gone to Madame’s court.”

“Please don’t interrupt me. We were at peace with France. It seems that he received her graciously—”

“Who said so?”

“I don’t remember now, Alice. I’m told he said something to the effect that his heart was too moved by the loss to visit her. At any rate, I remember she was fretted for his sake, for his sorrow. That was her concern. Oh, yes—”

“What?”

“The Duchess of Richmond was ill then, too, and the court had just learned she had smallpox, and so the king was busy with that, with his worry for her, and everyone was talking of his bravery and his regard there. And there was the Duke of York’s conversion—” Barbara stopped, clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late to call back the words.

“Conversion?”

“I shouldn’t have told you. You must keep this a secret!”

“You wrote me nothing of this?”

“Alice, if you weren’t so angry at this moment, and I so desperate to please you, I wouldn’t even be speaking of it. It is a secret. You must promise me, you must swear not to speak of it. You know how certain members of the privy council are, how your father is, not allowing even the slightest indulgence to us.”

“How do you know of it?”

“We know one another.” It was a simple statement.

“You of the true faith?” The question was sardonic.

Barbara lifted her chin. For the first time, there was an answering hardness in her face. “I would die for my faith, Alice. Do not mock it.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Well, there was that bill in the Lords, and there began to be talk of divorce. The queen told us not to worry, that they could not undo the hand of God, and so we didn’t. The Duke of York himself defended her in the Lords. He wouldn’t do so without the king’s permission. That’s what we all felt. That’s what she felt. And then there was his infatuation with Moll Davis, and then shortly after, Nell Gwynn had his eye.”

“You should have written it all to me.”

“I wrote you of Nell Gwynn. They can’t put the queen aside. It’s the law of the land and the law of God.”

“You are a ninny, Barbara. They can do anything they please. They tore this country apart for God, your God, their God. They destroyed lands, drew and quartered men and women for God—your God, their God. They made rules that no one might dance or play cards. Then they made rules we might. Which was God’s will? Does He really care whether we dance or not? Do you think they cannot make a rule to rid themselves of a queen if they so desire?”

Barbara was crying again. “It seemed as if it had gone away. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t.” And then Alice was walking away, down the long gallery. There was only the sound of her heels clicking against the polished inlaid wood of the floor for a long time, and then there was nothing but the sound of the fire’s crackle.

Barbara put her face in her hands and wept.

After a time, someone touched her arm. Gracen knelt down so that her face was near her friend’s. Barbara’s eyes were red, her face swollen.

“Ra, my precious Ra, what is it?”

“I thought you might be Alice. Foolish me.”

“Is it the queen?”

Barbara didn’t answer.

“Is she terribly ill? Whitehall is buzzing with rumor. Some say she’s with child. Some say she has the plague.”

“She isn’t—she’s not very ill. And there is no child.”

“Why do you cry, dear friend?”

“Alice is angry with me.”

“Why?”

“I failed her.”

“I don’t like her when she’s angry.”

“She’s right to be angry. I’m not as clever as she. I don’t see things the way she does.”

“Ra, I can imagine little that you would do to make someone angry. Are you certain it isn’t just Alice being the way she can be?”

“I don’t know. Let’s not speak of it.”

Gracen sat on the edge of the chair in which Barbara sat, took her friend’s hand in hers, began to rub it. “Shall I be mean to her for you?” The question was light. The steady gray gaze was not.

Barbara shuddered. “I couldn’t bear it if there was more quarreling. She’d be even angrier.”

“She isn’t right about everything, Ra, she just thinks she is. I think she’s worse since she came back from France. More imperious. Pooh, is what I say.” Gracen snapped her fingers in dismissal of Alice.

“She says it’s because of John.”

“What?”

“She says I was too busy flirting, making a fool of myself, she implied.”

“She hates it that you love him as you do. She’ll never love anyone that way. She hasn’t enough heart.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why? Isn’t it true?”

Barbara was silent. After a time, she said, “She wants what is best for us, for her friends, that is all. John hasn’t an estate, nor have I. I can see the wisdom in her fret for that.”

“Is it best that you abandon John?”

“I couldn’t, not now.”

“Then marry and be damned to Alice.”

“I’m afraid to marry.”

“Why? Because of what happens between a man and a woman? I’m told it’s very pleasing.” Gracen smiled to herself. Any man passing at that moment would have been intrigued.

“It’s silly.”

“Tell me.”

Barbara was silent.

“Does Alice know?”

Barbara didn’t answer.

“She does. You and she and Caro were always like sisters. Sisters who had no secrets from one another. I used to hate you for it and yet want to be your sister, too.” She leaned her face against Barbara’s shoulder, wrapped slim, long arms around her. “Her going to France gave me a chance to grow in your regard. I love you, Ra. You are my sister. Don’t allow Alice so much. Is she more than your God?”

“Of course not.”

“Then ask Him what He thinks of John Sidney.”

Barbara laughed. “He loves him.”

“Then so may you.” Gracen reached up to kiss her lingeringly on the cheek. “You are the loveliest person I ever knew.” She leaned her head back against Barbara’s shoulder, and they sat for a long time in silence, arms wrapped around each other, Barbara shivering and sighing once in a while, until the logs in the fire broke apart and sent great sparks up the chimney.

C
HAPTER 21

T
hat very afternoon, they played cards in the queen’s withdrawing chamber. Queen Catherine remained in her closet, asking for no attendants. She’d sent her regrets to the king, her assurances that she had only a slight headache, that he was to come to her chambers whenever he wished, enjoy himself, which meant he could enter her chambers and flirt with Renée. He took her at her word.

He was in a high-spirited, jaunty mood this afternoon, laughing when his spaniels chased the queen’s little fox and overset a canary cage, amusing the maids of honor by telling their fortunes. At Alice’s and Renée’s turns, King Charles scooped up cards and reshuffled them. They moved like magic between his hands.

“I kept myself from going mad once by playing cards with the subjects of my kingdom. A tavern keeper had the best skill. Cromwell’s soldiers were about, searching for me, and playing cards passed many a long hour while I waited until it was safe to move on.” He talked to them as if he were a page at court, as artlessly as a boy. It was quite flattering.

“When was this?” asked Alice.

“After the battle of Worchester. I was twenty, as tall as I am now but gawky, awkward, running into things.” He spoke directly to Renée, as if he wanted her to envision the awkward lad he’d been. But he hadn’t been awkward ever, only large. “I traveled for days in disguise as a servant, wore shoes that were too small, had my cavalier’s lovelocks shorn most roughly, I do tell you, slept in priests’ hiding holes. Many people risked their lives for me, many of them Catholics, which my archbishops don’t like me to remember.” He smiled. “Once I hid in a tree while Cromwell’s soldiers searched for me. An acorn had only to drop for them to look up and see me. I was to sail to France, you see, to raise armies with which to return and help my father. But first I had to cross the countryside. We reached the coast, but it was the very devil to hire a boat—once we had it hired, the captain’s wife persuaded him not to endanger himself—and so I was some days at a tavern, hiding in the attic, soldiers all about the town, looking for me, while those with me worked to convince the captain otherwise. The tavern keeper recognized me. My height, I would imagine, my dark hair, not to mention this.” He passed a hand over his long face. “Even though there was a price on my head, my weight in gold, he said not a word, only quietly kissed my hand when it was time to depart and asked God to watch over me. It was the last true loyalty I was to see for many a year. But I digress. I was to tell fortunes, wasn’t I?” Swiftly, he dealt cards before Renée and Alice, then turned them over.