The Loves of Charles II (85 page)

She was remembering, as her maids dressed her, that happy time immediately following her marriage, before the King’s return to England, when the Duke had played the faithful husband, and her father had told her so often that he rejoiced in her marriage.

Mary’s husband was a strange man. He was brilliant, but it seemed that always there must be some plot forming itself within his mind. What joy when that plot had been to marry Mary Fairfax; and afterwards, when he
had planned to make Mary a good husband! They had lived quietly in the country—she, her dearest George and her father. How often had she seen them, her father and her husband, walking arm in arm while George talked of the book he was planning to write on her father’s career. Those had been the happiest days of her life and, she ventured to think, of his. But the quiet life was not for him; and with the Restoration it was only reasonable that he should become a courtier and statesman. At Court it was natural that he should become the King’s companion and the friend of those profligate gentlemen who lived wildly and consorted with women whose reputations were as bad as their own.

“Marriage,” he had said, “is the greatest solitude, for it makes two but one, and prohibits us from all others.” A different cry that from the words he had so often spoken immediately before and after their marriage. Nor did he accept this “solitude” nor did he “prohibit himself from all others.”

Life had changed, and she must accept the change; she was grateful for those occasions when she did see him, when, as on this one, he needed her help. It was rarely that he did so and it was not often that they were together.

Her father worried a great deal about the change in their relationship; he complained bitterly of the way in which George treated her. She was fortunate to be so loved by a great man like her father, but now he blamed himself because he had brought about this marriage; and again and again she soothed him and assured him that he had not wished for the marriage more than she had. All knew that Buckingham neglected her, that he had married her when his fortunes were at a low ebb and it had seemed as though the Monarchy would never be restored, but that marriage with the daughter of an old Parliamentarian was the best a man could make. She was glad that she had turned from Lord Chesterfield to Buckingham; she would never regret it, never, even though those who wished her well were sorry for her. Only recently one of the Duke’s servants had made an attempt on his life when they had spent the night at the Sun Inn at Aldgate after returning from the Newmarket races. George had quickly disarmed the man. But the affair became widely known; and it was disconcerting that the point of the story should not be that the Duke was almost done to death by a mad servant, but that he should have been about to spend the night with his own wife.

Such slights, such humiliations, she accepted. They were part of the price which a plain and homely woman paid for union with one of the greatest Dukes in the country.

Now she asked her maids: “How like you my gown?”

And they answered: “Madam, it is beautiful.”

They were sincere. They really thought so.

“Ah,” said Mary quickly, “if I could but get me a new face as easily as I get me a new gown, then I might be a beauty.”

The maids were excited because they knew that this was to be a very grand ball, and the King himself was to be present.

They did not know the purpose of the ball.

George had explained it to his wife. It was one of his plots and in this his conspirators were Lord Sandwich and Henry Bennet—who was now Lord Arlington.

“We cannot,” George had said, “allow the King to become morose. He neglects his state business and he is not so amusing as he once was. The King wants one thing to make him his merry self again; and we are going to give it to him: Frances Stuart.”

“How will you do this?” she had asked. “Is it not for Frances Stuart to make the necessary decision?”

“We shall be very, very merry,” said the Duke. “There will be dancing and games such as Frances delights in. There shall be drink … potent drink, and we must see that Frances partakes of it freely.”

Mary had turned a little pale.

“You mean that she is to be made incapable of knowing what she does!”

“Now you are shocked,” said the Duke lightly. “That is your puritan stock showing itself. My dear Mary, stop being a hopeless prude, I beg of you. Move with the times, my dear. Move with the times.”

“But this girl is so young and …”

“And wily. She has played her games long enough.”

“George, I …”

“You will do nothing but be hostess to the guests; and make sure that we have a rich apartment ready for the lovers when they need it.”

She had wanted to protest; but she could not bear his displeasure. If she
must
play such a part for the sake of her Duke, she had no alternative but to do so.

She took one last look at herself and went downstairs to be ready to greet her guests.

And when she was in that glittering assembly she knew at once that her jewels were too numerous, the bright scarlet of her gown unbecoming to one of her coloring; she realized afresh that she was the ugly Duchess of the most handsome of Dukes.

Mrs. Sarah wanted a word with her mistress, and she wanted it in private.

Barbara left her friends to hear what her servant had to say. She knew that Mrs. Sarah, while often denouncing her to her face, was loyal.

Mrs. Sarah began: “Now, if I tell you something your ladyship won’t like to hear, will you promise to hear me out without throwing a stool at me?”

“What is it?” said Barbara.

“Your promise first! It’s something you ought to know.”

“Then unless you tell me this instant I’ll have the clothes torn from your back and I’ll lay about you with a stick myself.”

“Now listen to me, Madam.”

“I am listening. Come closer, you fool. What is it?”

“There is a ball this night at my lord Buckingham’s.”

“And what of that? The fool can give a ball if he wishes to, without asking me. Let him sing his silly songs; let him do his imitations…. I’ll warrant he has a good one of me.”

“The King is to be present.”

Barbara was alert. “How know you this?”

“My husband, who is cook to my lord Sandwich …”

“I see … I see. The King is there; and is that sly slug there with him?”

“She is, Madam.”

“Playing card houses, I’ll swear. Let them. That’s all the game he’ll play with that lily-livered virgin.”

“Mayhap not this night.”

“What do you mean, woman?”

“There is a plot to bring them together this night. My lord Arlington …”

“The pompous pig!”

“And my lord Sandwich …”

“That prancing ape!”

“And my lord Buckingham …”

“That foul hog!”

“I beg of you remember, Madam, stay calm.”

“Stay calm! While that merry trio work against me? For that is what they would do, Sarah. They strike at me. They use that simpering little ninny to do so, but they strike at me. By God and all the saints, I’ll go there and I’ll let them know I understand their games. I’ll throw their silly cards in their faces and I’ll …”

“Madam, remember, so much is at stake. I beg of you do nothing rash.
She
remains calm. That is why she keeps his regard.”

“Are you telling me what to do, you …
you
…”

“Yes, I am,” said Sarah. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself! It is not I who shall get hurt. Do you think I do not know how to look after myself?”

“Yes, Madam, I do think that. I think that, had you been calmer and more loving and not so ready to fly into tantrums, His Majesty would have continued to love you even though, such being the royal nature, he hankered after Frances Stuart. Let me finish what I began to say. This night they plan to bring this affair to a conclusion. They will so bemuse Mrs. Stuart this night that it will be easy to overcome her resistance. And when that is done, there will be the apartment waiting and the royal lover to conduct her to it.”

“It shall not be. I’ll go there and drag the little fool away, if I have to pull her by her golden hair.”

“Madam, think first. Be calm. Do not demean yourself. There is one other who would not wish for the surrender of Mrs. Stuart. Why not let her do your work this night? It would be better so if you would hold His Majesty’s regard, for I verily believe that she who takes from him the pleasure he anticipates this night will not long hold his love.”

Barbara did not answer immediately; she continued to look at Mrs. Sarah.

The two women faced each other.

This is the woman, thought Catherine, who has destroyed my happiness. She it was who, as a mere name long ago in Lisbon, filled me with misgivings.

Barbara thought: I would not barter my beauty for her plain mien even though the crown went with it. Poor Charles, he is indeed gallant to feign tenderness for such a one. She could never have appealed to him during all those weeks when he played the loving husband.

Barbara said: “Your Majesty, this is not a time when two women should weigh their words. A plot is afoot this night to make an innocent young girl a harlot. That is putting it plainly, but it is nonetheless the truth. The young girl is Frances Stuart, and I beg of Your Majesty to do something to prevent this.”

Catherine felt her heart beat very fast; she said: “I do not understand your meaning, Lady Castlemaine.”

“Buckingham is giving a ball. The King is there. And so is Mrs. Stuart. It is the Duke’s plan to make her so bemused that she will be an easy victim.”

“No,” cried Catherine. “No!”

“’Tis so, Your Majesty. You know the girl. She is not very intelligent but she is virtuous. Can you stand aside and allow this to happen?”

“But no,” said Catherine.

“Then may I humbly beg of Your Majesty to prevent it?”

“How could I prevent that on which the King has set his heart?”

“You are the Queen. The girl is of your household. Your Majesty, if you attended this ball … if you brought her back with you to your apartments, because you had need of her services, none could say you nay. The King would not. You know that he would never humiliate you … on a matter of etiquette such as this would be.”

Catherine felt her cheeks burning. She gazed at the insolent woman, and she knew her motive for wishing to rescue Frances had nothing to do with the preservation of Frances’ virtue. Yet she could not allow Charles to do this. She could not allow Frances to become his unwilling mistress.

She was not sure what it was that prompted her to act as she did. It might have been jealousy. It might have been for the sake of Frances’s virtue, for the sake of Charles’ honor. She was sure that in all his numerous love affairs there could never yet have been an unwilling partner.

She turned to Barbara and said: “You are right. I will go to the ball.”

It was three o’clock when the Queen arrived.

By this time the fun was fast and the games very wild and merry. Frances, the center of attraction, had been induced to drink far more than usual; she was flushed and her eyes bright with the excitement which romping games could always arouse in her.