Virginia Henley - Unmasked

by Virginia Henley

  "Do you think that is where Charles will set up his Court?"

  "It is where he had his household when he was a child, but I believe he will set up his Court at Whitehall. Most likely he will have apartments at St. James's Palace as well."

  Christian scrutinized her own image. "I think this gown should have passementeries. I don't believe I can get away with galants at my age."

  "What are gallants?"

  "They are bunches of ribbon loops that gentlemen may steal as favors. Silver would be most fetching on that pale green silk."

  "We must have fans too. They are so pretty and feminine."

  "I think perhaps I had better employ some extra sewing women," Christian told her head seamstress. "Velvet and I will need many gowns for Court, and of course splendorous coronation dresses. I believe I'd like something in royal purple."

  "Because of my hair color, I'd like white and gold."

  "That would be exquisite, darling, and most suit­able for an unmarried young lady. A virginal facade is most alluring."

  When Velvet blushed, Christian winked. "I did say façade!"

  That evening the dowager countess opened up her jewel chest and invited Velvet to select a few pieces that struck her fancy. "You must develop a flagrant fondness for diamonds and rubies."

  "I've never worn jewels in my life. You are so gen­erous!"

  "Nonsense. I shall drop a note to my daughter-in-law and tell her to fetch the Devonshire jewels. The Devonshires will be arriving any day. They are bound to take part in the Court festivities. Your great-grand­mother Bess's jewels are in the collection. Elizabeth Cecil, the present countess, isn't a showy female, by any standard. Never puts herself forward. Well, how could she? I've always had her firmly under my thumb. I'm the matriarch of the family."

  "I suppose your grandson, Cav, will come too?"

  "You suppose correctly, darling." She lifted a brow. "Do you think you can handle the young lecher?"

  Velvet smiled a secret smile. "I'm certain of it."

  Christian reached into her jewel cabinet. "Here's something to help you. This miniature dagger is called a bodkin. It's rather old-fashioned, but most effective, I warrant!"

  In her own chamber, Velvet threw open the win­dows. Bonfires had lit up the night sky since the king's return had been announced, and Londoners were cel­ebrating in the streets by cooking huge rump roasts and chestnuts. Inside she was bubbling with happi­ness. "You're coming home at last; you're coming home. I always knew this day would come. I never lost faith. Oh, Charles, I cannot wait to see you!"

  When she drifted into sleep, once again she had a variation of the recurring dream. Greysteel Mont­gomery dominated it, and dominated her. When he made love to her, she pledged her heart to him and promised to marry him. Then she learned that he had betrayed her and betrayed the king. As always, she was forced to choose between him and Charles Stuart. And as always, Velvet chose the king.

  Resplendent in rich, dark attire, brightened only by a red plume in his hat, Charles Stuart stepped ashore at Dover on a sunlit afternoon in May. Home! And home is where I'll stay. I vow by Almighty God that I will never go roaming again!

  Charles fell to his knees on his native soil. "I thank God for this miraculous restoration!" He was acutely aware that to the masses awaiting his return, it would show humility and a submission to Providence. He wanted none to doubt he was the nation's legitimate king, sanctified by God.

  As Charles arose from his knees, the cheers were so loud, they almost drowned out the gun salute from His Majesty's Navy. "God save the king! God save the king! God save the king!" He walked a direct path to the kneeling figure of General Monck.

  "Your Majesty, I am deeply honored."

  Charles raised him. "Nay, General, the honor is mine." He kissed him on both cheeks. "I thank you with all my heart."

  Then the lord mayor, the bishops and many other dignitaries were presented to the king before he could retire to Dover Castle, where he was to spend the night.

  Greysteel Montgomery, along with many devoted Royalists who were personal friends of Charles Stuart, had gathered at Dover Castle. He felt himself lucky to have secured a small chamber at the massive fortifica­tion and found himself already acquainted with the man in the next room. They emerged from their cham­bers and descended to the great hall.

  "Well, I'll be damned. Montgomery, isn't it?" George Villiers stuck out his hand.

  "Delighted to see you, Buckingham. I'm surprised that you recognized me." Montgomery shook his hand warmly.

  "It's the eyes—they skewer a fellow through the vi­tals and pin him to the wall. A rogue such as I must be­ware."

  Greysteel grinned as it dawned on him that George had likely delivered his father-in-law, General Fairfax, into Charles's camp. "We are all rogues and vagabonds, I fear."

  "I'm here to get a close look at the great man him­self."

  Montgomery, aware of the duke's famed irrever­ence, knew he didn't mean King Charles. "Monck—I'll introduce you to him. I'm sure the general will want a close look at you also."

  "You know him?" Buckingham looked surprised.

  "He took me prisoner once," Greysteel acknowl­edged.

  Dover's great hall was crowded to the rafters. Sir George Carteret, governor of Jersey, had sailed in from the Channel Islands aboard the Proud Eagle and Montgomery knew most of the crew. The head of the Admiralty, Ed­ward Montagu, who had captained the Royal Charles on the king's voyage, was there with his secretary, Samuel Pepys, and the crews of the two vessels were quick to make friends.

  General Monck had brought a few hundred sol­diers with him to guard the king, and many of them also crowded into the great hall, mingling with the royal servitors. As well as Charles's loyal friends from London, ships had been arriving all day, bring­ing the men who had been in exile with him and at the moment all these people milled about the hall anxiously awaiting the king's arrival. To a man they were hungry and thirsty.

  When Charles entered the great hall, flanked by his royal brothers, he was immediately surrounded by well-wishers. The guards did their best to keep people back from him, but it was an impossible task to sepa­rate the gathered crowd from their restored monarch, especially when he too was eager to acknowledge their friendship and goodwill.

  Slowly, stopping every few feet to greet another ac­quaintance, the king finally made his way to the dais and took his seat at the table that had been prepared for the royal banquet. George Monck was seated be­tween King Charles and Chancellor Hyde, while Mon­tagu was seated on the king's left, between James, Duke of York, and Henry, Duke of Gloucester.

  Soon the goblets were filled and the great hall rang with royal toasts. "A health unto His Majesty," was a cry that was repeated over and over before the feast was done.

  Charles's dark eyes met those of George Monck without subterfuge. "What truly made you decide to help me, General?"

  The bulbous eyes looked directly into the king's. "I fought for your rather at the siege of Nantwich. The Royalists lost and I was taken prisoner by the Parlia­mentarians. When I was starving in the Tower of Lon­don, your father sent me a gift of a hundred pounds." He shook his head. "I never forgot."

  Without doubt, that was the best money my father ever spent.

  Finally, Charles was allowed to retire to a hastily prepared suite of rooms in the castle. And it was here that his faithful intimates were invited to join him pri­vately.

  Henry Jermyn, Earl of Saint Albans, and George Digby, Earl of Bristol, who'd been with Charles throughout his exile, filled goblets for those present.

  Charles threw an arm about Buckingham's shoul­der. "Odds fish, George, I actually missed you. Gives you an idea of how desperate I'd become."

  "I knew you couldn't bear me having England to myself, Sire."

  Charles thumped Greysteel's shoulder. "You know you have my undying gratitude. You deserve at least an earldom."

  "I have one, Sire," Greysteel said quietly.

  "My con
dolences on your father's passing," Charles said soberly. Then he looked at both men and a smile lit his saturnine features. "Eglinton and Buck­ingham—you are the best sort of friends a king could have. You already have noble titles and don't need them from me."

  "Fear not, Sire, I'll soon think of something else I need."

  "If I know you, George, you already have," Charles said laconically. He sipped his wine thoughtfully and addressed the dozen men in the room. "You know, the irony of my situation is not lost on me, gentlemen. Over the years, all my attempts to regain my Crown ended in bloodshed and defeat. Now I have been bloodlessly willed into power by the people declaring me their legitimate monarch. I've played no part in my own restoration."

  "Not so, Sire," Greysteel disagreed. "Today is a culmination of all that has gone before—for you, for us, for England."

  "The future is at hand, Sire. I suggest a spectacular entry into your capital," Buckingham advised.

  "I will leave that to Digby, Jermyn, Hyde and my brothers, who have a wealth of ideas. Though four days from now I turn thirty—it would be satisfying to enter London on my birthday."

  "That's simple enough to arrange, Sire," Greysteel declared. He counted on his fingers. "Overnight stops at Canterbury, Rochester, and Deptford will bring you to London on May twenty-ninth."

  "We'd like your presence at Court unless you would like a commission in my army, Montgomery?"

  "I have no such ambition. Sire. My fighting days are over."

  "Would you consider organizing and heading my King's Guard?"

  Greysteel was surprised. He'd expected nothing, and was not sure he wanted responsibility for the king's person, yet he didn't hesitate to accept the duty. "I am honored, Your Majesty."

  Chapter 13

  “The preparations for the king's arrival are spectacular! I saw some of the tapestries being hung in the streets yesterday."

  Velvet studied a pamphlet, which had been hastily printed, laying out the route that King Charles and his royal procession would take. "Charles will enter the city at Blackheath, and at St. George's Fields, the lord mayor and aldermen are to present him with the City Sword. It says that a hundred young girls in white with blue head scarves are to scatter flowers and herbs before his horse. I would so love to see that!"

  "We cannot see everything, darling," Christian de­clared. "The procession will be hours long and that's why I accepted Lady Salisbury's invitation to view the spectacle from her newly opened house in the Strand. Mary Anne has always been a social climber, so we might as well take full advantage today."

  Velvet looked around guiltily to make sure that Christian's daughter-in-law was not within earshot, since the Countess of Salisbury was her mother. "The Countess of Devonshire will hear you," she whis­pered.

  "Bless your heart, Velvet, Elizabeth knows ambition rules her mother. Why else would she have pushed her to marry my son, Devonshire? By the by, you look ex­tremely fetching today."

  "I chose forget-me-not blue as a symbolic gesture. I think I shall save my new white kid shoes for when we visit the palace."

  The dowager pinned on her hat with its ostrich feather dyed rose pink to match her gown. "Do shout up to Elizabeth and tell her we are ready to leave, Vel­vet."

  "I'm here, my lady." Elizabeth stepped quietly from the corner where she had been patiently waiting for an hour. Her beige satin gown had rendered her almost invisible.

  "Such a biddable female," Christian said, smiling at her. Then she spun about and rolled her eyes at Velvet.

  Poor lady. We have the same name: Elizabeth Cavendish. Thank heaven I had the audacity to change mine to Velvet!

  "Oh, he's coming at last. I can see the procession!" Velvet cried, leaning far out over the Salisbury House stone balcony. All the way from Temple Bar to the Strand ladies stood at open windows and filled the bal­conies, ready to shower the king with flowers as he rode beneath them.

  "How gallant! Charles is riding between his broth­ers. The Stuart princes have changed so much I hardly recognize them."

  Velvet fastened her eyes on Charles and saw no one else. "His coat is so dark, I cannot tell its color, but the plume in his hat is blue, matching his blue ribbon of the Garter!"

  She watched enthralled as he rode gravely. Then suddenly he would raise his eyes to the ladies in the windows and take off his hat in response to their cheers.

  Velvet held her breath as he approached Salisbury House. All at once she could hold it in no longer. "Charles! Charles! Charles!" she cried. He lifted dark sparkling eyes to hers and she was certain that he saw her when he raised his hat and swept it across his heart in a gallant gesture. "Oh, he saw me, he saw me!" She picked up her fan and wafted it quickly to catch her breath.

  "Look! There's Buckingham!" Christian cried. "My God, he's riding abreast of General George Monck! There's an odd pairing if ever I saw one! Ah, well, they say if you live long enough, you'll see everything."

  Suddenly, Velvet's fan went still- She stared down at one of the mounted men and her mouth fell open. Greysteel Montgomery I How can it be? You are a bloody traitor. What the hellfire are you doing in the king's proces­sion? She blinked her eyes and looked again. There was no mistaking the erect figure, who rode his horse like a centaur. He wore a rich, dark coat and a Cava­lier's hat with a great sweeping plume, contrasting markedly with the gaudily dressed men about him.

  "Look at the gilded coaches!" Lady Salisbury gushed. "I should love one of those."

  Many of the king's gentlemen wore doublets of sil­ver cloth. Scores of Stuart servants wore livery of pur­ple or green and twenty thousand soldiers marched in the parade. Heralds made proclamations and trumpeters blared their horns as they marched past foun­tains, red with wine.

  All was just a blur to Velvet. She could not get the vision of Greysteel Montgomery out of her thoughts. I must warn Charles about him. He cannot know that he is a traitor!

  Since he was the highest ranking peer in England, Christian's son, William, the Earl of Devonshire, along with his son, Lord Will Cavendish, was part of a noble delegation awaiting King Charles's arrival at White­hall. Together with the Earls of Bath, Arlington and Southampton, they would be called upon to help plan the coronation, and every noble present vied with one another for the chance of a lucrative post at Court.

  It was late when Devonshire and his son arrived back at the house in Bishopsgate, but Christian had in­sisted that the ladies stay up to wait for them, so they could hear every last detail.

  "One of the first things to be decided will be the Privy Council," Christian said. "Dare I hope that you have ambitions in that direction, William?"

  "Not really, Mother. I'd be far happier back at Chatsworth. Cav here is going to join the Court, how­ever."

  Velvet was annoyed. She hoped to join the Court and didn't fancy tripping over young Lord Cav every day. She gave him a contemptuous glance. "But not as a privy councillor, I warrant."

  Christian hid her amusement. "Court should be the ideal place to find a suitable wife, Cav, since you've set your sights on a duke's daughter." She turned again to her son. "Tell me, who were the men who arrived with the king?"

  "Well, his brother James and Buckingham, of course. Then there was Chancellor Hyde, Henry Jermyn, George Digby, and that uncouth Scot, Lau­derdale."

  "They'll all be on the Privy Council along with that damned upstart Monck. The Duke of Ormonde is cer­tain to be included also. Was he not there with His Majesty?"

  "No, he's on a delicate mission regarding a suitable bride. I believe old Southampton is fishing for office and his son-in-law, Anthony Ashley, is politically am­bitious in the extreme."

  Velvet had stopped listening after the word bride. "Your Grace, did you learn where the Duke of Or­monde has gone?"

  "Mmm, m'dear? Parma, Portugal... something with a P, and that reminds me—I'm off upstairs. Don't have the capacity anymore."

  "Wait When may we go to Court?" Christian de­

  manded.

  "N
ext week—reception at Whitehall."

  "Why the devil didn't you say so? Off you go, William."

  The countess accompanied her husband upstairs and Christian followed her, leaving Velvet alone with young Lord Cav. Velvet did not hurry to catch up with them because it would reveal her fear. She was ex­tremely wary but refused to panic.

  "Well, cousin, I warrant you aspire to Court life since you are desperate for a husband," he drawled.

  Her cool glance swept over him. "I am not your cousin. It is our fathers who are cousins."

  He moved toward her. "A small distinction, surely?"

  Velvet deliberately dropped her glance to his groin and smiled maliciously. "Yes, distinctly small."

  His eyes narrowed. "You little bitch. Have a care at Court. Keep glancing over your shoulder—enemies will be everywhere."

  She gave him a pitying glance of contempt. "If only you knew how impotent your threats seem to me." She swept from the room as if she were in complete control of the situation and congratulated herself on her per­formance.

  The Presence Chamber at Whitehall overflowed with visitors, courtiers and nobles, most of whom had been invited. Posted at every palace entrance were guards selected by Greysteel Montgomery. He'd cho­sen from Cavalier officers who'd been in exile with Charles and served under the Duke of York.

  Montgomery moved among the crowd, determined to become familiar with as many people as possible who had access to the king. Fortunately, he had a keen eye for connecting faces with names. He greeted Buck­ingham and his glance came to rest on the fair-haired lady who stood talking with him.

  "Eglinton, this is my kinswoman, the Countess of Suffolk."

  Montgomery bowed gallantly. "Your servant, Lady Suffolk."

  "You may introduce me too, George."

  Greysteel turned to see a voluptuous young beauty appraising him from beneath slumberously lidded eyes.

  "This is my wicked cousin, Barbara Palmer—a force to be reckoned with, as are all the Villierses. This is Eglinton."

  Greysteel raised the hand she offered to his lips. "I prefer to be called Montgomery. I've only just come into my earldom."