The Loves of Charles II (137 page)

There was silence throughout the hall.

Monmouth’s face was black with rage. But the King was smiling as he signed for the musicians to begin to play.

Louise, walking in the gardens of Whitehall Palace, came upon the newly created Earl of Danby and graciously detained him. She had decided that the two men who could be of most use to her were Danby and Arlington. She had been eager to bring about the disgrace of Buckingham ever since he had humiliated her at Dieppe, but her nature was a cold one and she cared more for consolidating her position at Court and amassing wealth than for revenge.

Danby, it seemed to her, must be her ally if she were to enrich herself as she intended to, for Danby was a wizard with finance and it was into his hands that the King would place the exchequer.

Much as Louise delighted in her title of Duchess, there was one thing that was more important than any English title. It was at the French Court that she had suffered her deep humiliation, and one of her most cherished dreams was that one day she would return there to receive all that respect which had been denied her in the past. She would rather have a
tabouret
at the Court of Versailles, on which she would be permitted to sit in the presence of the Queen, than any English honors. The ducal fief of Aubigny had reverted to the crown on the death of the Duke of Richmond, on whose family it had been bestowed by a King of France as far back as the early part of the fifteenth century. Louise’s acquisitive mind had already decided that she must be granted the title of Duchesse d’Aubigny—for with it went the
tabouret—
and she would need Charles’ help to plead with Louis for the title; and if the pleas of a man who was rising, as Danby surely would, were added to that of the King, it would be helpful, for Louis would be pleased to grant favors to those who held influential positions at the English Court.

Arlington was ready to turn against Buckingham. Together they had supported the Dutch war, and together they had sought to make peace. The country was saying that both these activities had been conducted with incompetence and inefficiency. Therefore a man such as Arlington, to save himself, would be ready to throw the larger share of blame on his companion in misfortune. Buckingham had already done his best to weaken Arlington’s position by trying to persuade the King not to proceed with the
proposed marriage between Arlington’s girl, Isabella, and Barbara’s son, the Duke of Grafton. He had held out a better match as bait—the Percy heiress—and Arlington was furious at Buckingham’s attempt to spoil the linking of his family with the royal one.

But Louise felt that Danby was the man who could help her most. He was quiet, a man who would be happy to work in secret, and he had come to his present place by quiet determination, working by devious ways towards his goal. If he lacked altogether the brilliance of Buckingham, he also lacked the Duke’s folly which was ready to trip him at every step. As Sir Thomas Osborne, Danby had come to London when he was made member for York. He had first come to notice when he was appointed commissioner for examining public accounts some seven years before. Since then his rise had been rapid. He had been Treasurer of the Navy, Privy Councillor, and, with the reinstatement of the Test Act and the banishment of Clifford, he had become Lord High Treasurer.

Louise believed that he would rise to even greater power. She feared him. He founded his policy, she had heard, on the Protestant interest and thus he was opposed to the French. This meant that she and he must necessarily be in opposite camps. Yet at this point their interests were similar. Buckingham was to blame for the alliance with France and the Dutch war. Buckingham was even suspected of having Catholic interests, for he had received many costly presents from Louis Quatorze, and all knew that Louis did not give his presents for nothing.

Therefore she and Danby, who it would seem must follow diametrically different courses, could meet in one desire: to see the downfall of Buckingham. And Louise, ever fearful that she would fail to mold the King of England in the manner desired by the King of France, was ready to go to great lengths to secure the friendship of men whose animosity could ruin her. Her great dread was that she should be sent back to France without her
tabouret
—back to humiliation and obscurity.

“I trust I see you well, my lord Treasurer,” said Louise.

“As I trust I see Your Grace.”

Louise took a step nearer to him and lifted her eyes to his face. “You have heard the sad news of your predecessor?”

“My lord Clifford?”

Louise nodded. “He has grieved greatly since he resigned his post in accordance with the Test Act. He died—some say by his own hand.”

Danby caught his breath. It was into Clifford’s shoes that he had stepped. Was she warning him that a man held a high position one day and was brought low the next? He was bewildered. He could not believe that
he could ally himself with the King’s Catholic mistress. Was she suggesting this?

She smiled charmingly, and said in her quaint English: “There are disagreements between us, my lord Treasurer, but as we are both near the King, should we allow these to make us the enemies?”

“I should be sad if I thought I were Your Grace’s enemy,” said Danby.

Louise laid her hand very briefly on his sleeve. It was almost a coquettish gesture. “Then from now on I shall hope that we are friends? Please to call on me when you have the wish.”

Danby bowed and Louise passed on.

Shaftesbury had been dismissed. Clifford was dead. The Commons declared that the remaining members of the Cabal—Lauderdale, Arlington, and Buckingham—were a triumvirate of iniquity.

The result of the Cabal’s administration was an unchristian war with Holland and an imprudent league with France. Protestant England had put herself on the side of Catholic France against a country which, entirely Protestant, should have been an ally. The King had been traitorously ensnared by pernicious practices.

Charles remained aloof. He could not disclose the clauses of the secret Treaty of Dover; he could not come to the rescue of his politicians by explaining that it had been necessary at one time to accept bribes from France in order to save England from bankruptcy. That clause in the treaty, referring to his conversion to Catholicism to be proclaimed at an appropriate moment, meant that it must never be disclosed while he lived.

If he attempted to defend his ministers, he could plunge his country into disaster.

He could only look on with the melancholy smile which came to his lips at times such as these, and await results. He could not regret the replacement of Clifford by Danby; Danby, juggling with figures, was beginning to balance accounts as they never had been balanced before.

So Lauderdale was indicted; Arlington followed; and Buckingham’s turn came.

He was called to defend himself, which he did in person and, as ever being unable to control his tongue, answered questions put to him in his jaunty, witty, and fearless way. He spoke long of the misfortunes which had occurred during his administration of the Cabal, but declared that he felt it his duty to remind the assembly that this was not so much due to the administration as to those in authority over it.

He could not resist adding: “I can hunt the hare with a pack of hounds, gentlemen, but not with a brace of lobsters.”

As this last epithet was flung at the King and the Duke of York, it was hardly likely that the reckless Buckingham would receive much sympathy in the only quarter from which at this time he could have hoped for it. Yet it was typical of the Duke that he would fling away years of ambition and all his bright hopes for the future for the sake of giving his tongue full play.

The result of this investigation was that Buckingham was dismissed, and the people clamored for peace with Holland. The clever young Prince of Holland asked for the hand of Mary, eldest daughter of the Duke of York, who, should the King and his brother fail to produce further offspring, would one day inherit the crown.

Louise was flung into a panic by this suggestion. She knew that she must exert all her influence with Charles to have it quashed. Louis would consider she had indeed failed in her duty if there was a marriage between Holland and England.

She talked to Charles. He was noncommittal. Easygoing as he always was, he was quick to sense the temper of the people. And the dissatisfaction with the Cabal had given rise to much murmuring among the people who knew that the King was involved, even as were his ministers. Charles wished to please those he favored, but not to the extent of angering his people against him.

Terrified that she would cease to find favor with Charles, picturing Louis’ indifference if she returned humiliated to France, Louise turned in panic to Danby. She was ready to do anything—just anything—for a strong man who would help her hold her position at this difficult time.

Buckingham’s health collapsed rapidly. He suffered, said his doctors, more from fever of the mind than of the body.

Louise, watching, knew that the Duke had too many enemies for her to worry greatly about bringing about his downfall. Moreover she had more immediate troubles of her own.

A few days after he had suffered his ordeal and while he was a very sick man, the guardians of the fifteen-year-old son of Anna Shrewsbury arranged that the boy should bring a charge against Buckingham of the murder of his father and the public debauchery of his mother.

As the death of Shrewsbury had occurred six years before, and almost every man at Court was living in open adultery, this was dearly yet another of his enemies’ moves to destroy the Duke.

He was aware that temporarily he was a defeated man, and he obtained
absolution from the House of Lords only on paying a heavy fine, and promising never to cohabit with Lady Shrewsbury again.

The greatest of his troubles then was the knowledge that, now he was a defeated man, Anna Shrewsbury was finished with him. She had been faithful to him for many years, and had even been known as the Duchess of Buckingham, while Buckingham’s wife had been called the Dowager-Duchess. Their relationship had seemed as though it would go on forever.

Now he knew that she too had deserted him—for had she not done so, nothing would have kept her away from him nor him from her—he was as low as he had ever been. Charles, no doubt finding it impossible to forgive the reckless Duke for referring to him and his brother publicly as lobsters, deprived him of the Mastership of the Horse. There was one waiting to receive it whose handsome looks would well become it: the Duke of Monmouth.

So Buckingham retired from Court. But his exuberant spirits would not let him stay long in exile. Little Lord Shaftesbury (who as Ashley had been a member of the Cabal and was now the leading light of the Opposition and secretly intriguing to legitimize Monmouth) made friendly advances; and Buckingham was already planning his return.

Louise had not betrayed by one glance how delighted she was in the Duke’s misfortune.

But Nell knew it—although she knew nothing of politics—and decided that, since Louise was the enemy of the fallen Buckingham, she would be his friend.