There was one of them in particular to whom she seemed most attracted. He was Sir Frederick Fothergill, a brash confident young fop who was seen everywhere it was fashionable to be seen and who did everything it was fashionable to do. He was tall, thin, effeminately handsome, but he was also an ardent duellist and had distinguished himself as a volunteer against the Dutch during the past two years.
Amber inquired into his circumstances and learned that he was the son of a man who had not profited by the Restoration —as most of the Royalists had not—and that he was deep in debt and constantly going deeper. He lived an expensive life, bought fine clothes and kept his coach, gambled without much luck and was often compelled to sneak out of his lodgings or to stay with friends to avoid the dunning of his creditors. Amber guessed that he would be glad to find so apparently simple a solution to his problems.
She sent for him one morning and he came to her apartments. She had dismissed the tradesmen but there were still several others in the room: Nan and half-a-dozen women servants, a dressmaker just gathering up her materials to leave, Tansy and the dog, and Susanna. Susanna stood with her plump elbows on Amber's crossed knees, her great green eyes staring up solemnly at her mother who was explaining that young ladies should not snatch off the wigs of gentlemen. She had experimented once with the King's periwig, found that it came off, and had since made a grab at every man who leaned close enough. Now, however, she nodded her head in docile agreement.
"And you won't ever do that again, will you?" said Amber. "Never again," agreed Susanna.
Sir Frederick came in then, made her an elaborate bow from the doorway and another when he stood before her. "Your Ladyship's servant," he said soberly, but his eyes swept over her with familiarity and confidence.
Susanna curtsied to him and Sir Frederick bent very low to kiss her hand. Her eyes lighted on his wig, began to sparkle with mischief, and then she gave a quick guilty glance toward her mother whom she found watching her and waiting, with pursed lips and tapping foot. Instantly she put both hands behind her. Amber laughed, gave her daughter a kiss and sent her out of the room with her nurse. She watched her go, her eyes wistful and fond as they followed the dainty little figure in ankle-length crisp white gown and tiny apron, her mass of golden waves caught at one side with a green bow. She was very proud of Susanna who was, she felt sure, the loveliest little girl in England—and England, of course, was the world. The door closed and she turned back immediately to Sir Frederick, asking him to be seated.
Amber went to her dressing-table to finish painting her face. He sat beside her, very smug and pleased with himself to have been invited to her Ladyship's levée—and in such privacy too, not another man around. He imagined that he knew quite well why she had asked him.
"Your Ladyship does me great honour," he said, his eyes on her breasts. "I've had the greatest admiration for your Ladyship ever since the first day I saw you—in the forefront of the King's box at the theatre some months ago. I vow and swear, madame, I could not keep my mind or eyes on the stage."
"That's very kind of you, sir. As it happens I've been noticing you, too—in conversation with my mother-in-law—"
"Pshaw!" He screwed up his face and gave a brush of one hand. "She's nothing to me, I assure you!"
"She speaks mighty well of you, sir. I could almost say I think she's in love with you."
"What? Ridiculous! Well, what if she is? That's nothing to me, is it?"
"You haven't taken advantage of her tenderness for you, I hope?"
She got up now and crossed the room to stand behind a screen while she dressed. And as she went she let her dressing-gown slide just a little, allowing him a glimpse of one taut full breast just before she disappeared; she still wanted the admiration of every man, however little he might be to her. But she slept with Charles—or alone.
It was a moment before Sir Frederick replied, and then he was emphatic. "Lord, no! I've never so much as asked her an indecent question. Though to tell your Ladyship truly I think that if I did I might not be disappointed."
"But you're too much the man of honour to make a try?"
"I'm afraid, madame, she's not quite to my taste."
"Oh, isn't she, Sir Frederick? And why not, pray?"
Sir Frederick was becoming baffled. When she had invited him to pay her a call he had told all his friends that the young Countess of Danforth had fallen mightily in love with him and had sent for him to lie with her. Now he began to think that she did not want him for herself after all, that perhaps she was playing bawd to procure him for her mother-in-law. A pretty fool he'd look if she intended to fob him off on that old jade!"
"Well, she's a great deal older than I am, your Ladyship. My God, she must be forty! Old women may like young men, but I'm afraid it can't be said that the reverse holds true."
Now fully dressed, Amber walked to the dressing-table, where she began sorting through a boxful of jewels. Nothing in all her new life at Court had pleased her so much as this moment when she found herself so high, so rich, so powerful, that she could arrange the lives of others to suit herself. She held up a diamond-and-emerald bracelet to the light, rolling out her lower lip as she considered it, aware of his eyes watching her and aware too of what he was thinking.
"Well, then, Sir Frederick, I'm sorry to hear that." She fastened the bracelet. "I had thought I might be able to help your case with her. She's a great fortune, you know." She pawed idly through the rest of the jewellery.
He came instantly to life, straightening in his chair, leaning forward. "A fortune, did you say?"
She looked at him with mild surprise. "Why, yes, of course. Didn't you know that? Lord, she's got a hundred suitors, all of 'em mad to marry her. She's considering which one she'll have —and I thought she had a peculiar fancy to you."
"A fortune! I didn't know she had a shilling! Everyone told me— Well, your Ladyship, to tell you truly, this is a mighty great surprise!" He seemed stunned, unable to believe the good luck which had apparently blown his way by accident. "How much—a—that is—"
Amber came to his rescue. "Oh, I should say about five thousand pound."
"Five thousand! A year!" Five thousand a year was in fact, a fortune of immense size.
"No," said Amber. "Five thousand in all. Oh, of course she has some property too." That was obviously a disappointment to him and as she saw the look on his face she added, "I think she was about to accept young What-d'ye-call—I don't remember his name just now. The one who always wears the green- satin suit. But if you speak to her quick enough perhaps you can persuade her to give you a hearing."
It was not two weeks later that Sir Frederick married the Dowager Baroness.
Aware that most pretty young women with money had either sharp-eyed parents or guardians who would never consider him a good match, he began to pay his court to her almost immediately upon quitting Amber's apartments—and when he proposed she accepted him. Amber gave her five thousand pounds in return for a witnessed statement that she would never again ask or expect money from her.
At first the Baroness was highly indignant, refused absolutely, and said that she would have all the money since it was her son's by right. Amber soon persuaded her that in such a case the King would take her side and in the end Lucilla was glad to get the five thousand pounds, which would not now do a great deal more than clear her debts. But she was not giving very much thought to money. All her emotions were centered in the exciting prospect of being a wife again, this time to a handsome and young man who did not seem aware that she was old enough to be his mother. The ceremony took place at night and though Gerald was wretchedly embarrassed by his mother's behaviour Amber was at once amused, relieved and contemptuous.
There's no more ridiculous creature on earth, she decided, than your virtuous woman who makes herself miserable for years to preserve what the captious world will never credit her with having.
Now that Amber was rid of her mother-in-law she decided to make a similar arrangem
ent with her husband. She knew that he had begun an affair with Mrs. Polly Stark, a pretty fifteen-year-old who had recently taken a small shop in the 'Change, where she sold ribbons and other trinkets. And so one evening in late November when he strolled into her Majesty's Drawing-Room she left her card-table and went to join him.
As always when he found himself face-to-face with her he had a look of dread expectancy. Now he supposed that she was going to harangue him about Mrs. Stark. "Gad!" he exclaimed. "But it's damned hot in here. Frightful, let me perish!"
"Why, I don't find it so," said Amber sweetly. "Lord, what a handsome suit that is you're wearing. I vow your tailor's quite beyond compare."
"Why—thank you, madame." Bewildered, he looked down at himself, then quickly returned the compliment. "And that's a mighty fine gown, madame."
"Thank you, sir. I bought the ribbons of a young woman newly set up in the 'Change. Her name's Mrs. Stark, I think— She knows everything in the world about garniture."
He turned red and swallowed. So it was Mrs. Stark. He wished he had never come to the Palace. He had not wanted to but had been persuaded by some friends who had an intrigue in the fire with a couple of her Majesty's Maids. "Mrs. Stark?" he repeated. "Mort Dieu, the name's familiar!"
"Think hard and I believe you'll recall her. She remembers you very well."
"You talked to her!"
"Oh, yes. Half an hour or more. We're great friends."
"Well."
She laughed outright now tapping him on the arm with her fan. "Lord, Gerald, don't look so sheepish. How could you be in the fashion if you didn't keep a wench? I swear I wouldn't have a faithful husband—it'd ruin me among all my acquaintances."
He looked at her with astonishment and then stared down at his shoes, frowning unhappily. He was not quite sure whether she was serious or was making fun of him; whichever it was he felt like a fool. He could think of nothing to say in reply.
"And what d'you think?" continued Amber. "She complains you're stingy."
"What? Stingy—I? Well, gad, madame— She wants to keep a coach and occupy lodgings in Drury Lane and will wear nothing but silk stockings and I can't think what all. She's a damned expensive jade. It would cost me less to keep London Bridge in repair than to support her."
"Still," said Amber reasonably, "you can't set up for a beau if you don't keep a whore, can you?"
He gave her another quick glance of amazement. "Why— I— Well, it's all the mode, of course, but then—"
"And if you're going to keep a wench she must be pretty and the pretty ones come at a high figure." Suddenly she sobered. "Look, sir: Suppose we two strike up a bargain. I'll give Mrs. Stark two hundred pound a year—while she keeps your good graces—and I'll give you four hundred. You can sign a paper agreeing to meet your own expenses from that amount and trouble me no further. If you run into debt I'll not be held responsible. How does that sound to you?"
"Why—of course that's very generous of you, madame. Only I thought—that is—Mother said—"
"Pox on your mother! I don't care what she said! Now, does that satisfy you or no? For if it doesn't I'll ask his Majesty to speak to the Archbishop about an annulment."
"An annulment! But, madame—how can you? The marriage has been consummated!"
"Who's to say whether it has or not? And I think I have more means of bribing a jury than you! Now, what about it, Gerald? I have the paper drawn and it's in my chamber. Good Lord, I don't know what more you can want! It seems to me a mighty generous offer—I don't have to give you anything at all, you know."
"Well—very well, then—only—"
"Only what?"
"Don't tell Mother, will you?"
Chapter Fifty-four
James was leaning on the window-sill watching some women who strolled in the sunny garden below; he gave a soft whistle and as they glanced up he waved. The women were first surprised and then they burst into giggles, beckoning him to come down and join them. He began to pantomime, shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. And then, as a door opened behind him, he straightened instantly, composed his face, and swinging the window shut turned around.
Anne Hyde came out of her brother-in-law's closet, her ugly mouth working with emotion, snuffing her nose and holding a wadded handkerchief against her face. The years since the Restoration had not improved her appearance. She was now thirty years old; her stomach bulged with her sixth pregnancy and she had a gross accumulation of fat, for over-eating was her comfort; red angry pustules spotted her face, and covering each was a small black patch. Anne had caught syphilis from his Royal Highness. And yet she had about her still a sort of awe-inspiring grandeur, a majesty more defiant and more proud, perhaps, than if she had been of the blood royal. She was not very much liked, but she was respected, and somewhat feared.
Everyone knew that she ruled the Duke, kept him hopelessly in debt with her extravagance, told him what to do and say in council, and that he obeyed her. Only in his amours did he preserve his independence and those went on no matter how she complained. Frequently he had the women brought to a room adjoining their chamber and left Anne's bed to go out to them. But, for the most part, they understood and respected each other.
Slowly she shut the door. He stood and stared at her, his face questioning, while she tried to gain control of herself. Finally he spoke.
"What did he tell you?"
"What did he tell me!" she repeated bitterly, twisting at her ringed hands. "I don't know what he told me! He listened— oh, he listened most politely. But he wouldn't promise anything. Oh, Your Highness—what can I do!"
York shrugged, but his face was morose. "I don't know."
She looked up swiftly and her eyes began to glitter. "You don't know. That's just like you! You never know what to do no matter what happens—you won't know what to do when you're king! God help you if I'm not here to tell you! Listen to me—" She came across the few feet that had separated them and took hold of his coat. As she talked her fist pounded against his chest. "You're not going to stand by like a simple fool and watch my father put out by a pack of scheming, lying jackals, d'ye hear me? You've got to go in there and talk to him—make him understand what they're trying to do! After all the years my father's given to serve the Stuarts, after his loyalty and devotion, he can't do this! He can't turn him out! Go in there now and talk to him—" She gave him a push.
"I'll try," said York without much conviction. He went through that door and knocked at another, opening it when the King's voice bade him enter. "I hope I'm not intruding, Sire."
Charles looked around over his shoulder with a grin. If he knew what his brother had come for he gave no indication of it. "Not at all, James. Come in. You're just in time to send a message to Minette. What shall I tell her for you?"
The Duke was frowning, occupied with his own thoughts, and he hesitated a moment before answering. "Why—tell her that I hope she'll be able to pay us a visit soon."
"That's what I'm writing about. She hopes to come next year. Well, James—what is it? You've got something on your mind."
James sat down and leaned forward in his chair, thoughtfully rubbing the flat palms of his hands together. "Yes, Sire, I have." He paused for several moments while his brother waited. "Anne is afraid that you don't intend to deal kindly with the Chancellor."
Charles smiled. "Then she's very much mistaken. I shall deal with him as kindly as I can. But you know as well as I do, James, that this isn't my doing. I have a Parliament to answer to, and they're in a mighty critical humour."
"But your Majesty wouldn't sacrifice a man who has served you so long and well merely to satisfy Parliament?" James had no very good opinion of the country's governing body, nor of his brother's patience and compromises with it. Things will be different, he often told himself, when I come to the throne.
"No one is more appreciative than I of the Chancellor's service. But the truth of the matter is this: He's outworn his useful
ness, to me and to England. I know he's blamed for much that hasn't been his fault, but the fact remains they hate him. They want to be rid of him for good and all. What use can a man be to me once he allows himself to come to that condition?"
"It can be only a temporary condition—if your Majesty will take the trouble to help him out of it."
"It's more than that, James. I know he's loyal and I know he's able—but nevertheless he's stuck in a morass of old-fashioned ideas. He won't realize that the Rebellion changed things here in England. He doesn't feel with his finger-tips that there are new ways now. What's worse, he doesn't want to feel it. No, James, I'm afraid the Chancellor's day is done."
"Done? Do you mean, Sire, that you intend putting him aside?"
"I don't think I have an alternative. He has few enough friends to help him out now—he never took the trouble to buy himself a party of loyal supporters. He was always above such practicalities."
"Well, then, Sire, since we're being frank, why don't you tell me the real reason you intend dismissing him?"
"I have."
"A different opinion runs through the galleries. There are rumours that your Majesty can forgive him everything but influencing Mrs. Stewart in favour of Richmond."
Charles's black eyes snapped. "Rumour is often impertinent, James—and so are you! If you think I'm any such fool as to dismiss a man who could be useful to me because of a woman, you do my intelligence little justice! You must own I've been as kind to you as any king has ever been to a brother, and you live as much like a monarch as I do! But in this matter I'm determined. You can't change my mind, so pray trouble me about it no more."
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