Whitehall--Season One Volume One

by Liz Duffy Adams

  But she was where she had to be. Her marriage had aligned English and Portuguese interests, and English ships and troops helped keep Portugal safe from a bellicose Spain. That was all she could do for her beloved homeland for now. And not add to her mother’s worries. She had certainly written nothing of what was uppermost on her mind, the presence of Charles’s natural son at court.

  She picked up her pen, dipped it in the ink, and wrote: With all my dearest love and duty, your obedient daughter, Catarina. Raising her head, she returned from thoughts of Portugal to her very pretty withdrawing room in Whitehall, mossy green taffeta curtains gleaming in the light from many candles, and a large open fire in the stone hearth taking the chill out of the air. Dona Maria sat as upright as usual in a straight-backed chair by another window, squinting over her tapestry. The Ladies Chesterfield and Bath were elsewhere tonight, perhaps with their husbands, though that was by no means something to be assumed, she had learned. Nearer the fire, the beautiful young Lady Buckingham sat reading her own letters, and Lady Suffolk and Lady Castlemaine lolled comfortably on low padded stools, their embroidery frames idle on their laps and their heads together for a gossip.

  Lady Suffolk, though dauntingly elegant in her dress, was the sort of self-possessed lady of middle years to whom Catherine was comfortably accustomed. She thought her at heart not so unlike Dona Maria, though they’d both have been startled by the comparison. Lady Castlemaine, on the other hand, she suffered as the price of peace with her husband, and because the lady was, quite simply, a fact of life at court. Continuing to oppose her would have been like opposing daybreak or nightfall. Resigning herself to Lady Castlemaine’s presence was made easier by Charles having promised, in the sweet afterglow of a night’s passion, that he would lie with Barbara no more. Catherine knew that he wished to make some amends for the distress her appointment had caused his wife, though she was beginning to understand that such promises, made in the heat of the moment, were not necessarily as binding as oaths. But as long as he came most nights to her own bed, she was content.

  Catherine tried to remember which lady’s turn it was to share her bed tonight, if the king did not. Lady Buckingham was a restless sleeper, Lady Suffolk snored, Lady Eleanor sometimes whimpered in her sleep, and Lady Castlemaine—well, Catherine had so far managed to evade finding out what she was like to sleep with, and she meant to continue to do so. She must allow the woman in her chamber, in her official position, but there was no power on earth that could compel her to address or even look at her.

  She glanced down at her letter. For all Mamãe had advised her to be politic, would she not be disappointed to see how ignominiously far Catherine had compromised? But then, Mamãe had never had to deal with a roving husband. Catherine’s dear father had been as faithful as the rising of the sun. At the Lisbon court, no pretty young men from the wrong side of the blanket had been tacitly acknowledged and presented to the queen.

  But then . . . she stared off into the air, struck by a new thought. If Charles were as faithful, as pious, as yielding to her influence as her father had been to her mother’s, would he not be another man entirely? Would he not be without that fire, that force of personality, that abundant vitality that she had loved from the moment she saw him walk through the door at Portsmouth? Would Charles be the king that England needed now, were he other than what he was?

  The door opened and Jenny came in bearing the tea tray; Catherine’s thoughts scattered. The girl’s face was flushed and tense, but she set the tray on the round olivewood table with an air of pride that made Catherine smile. She’d done well to attach the girl to her household; she was quick and ardent in her work and Catherine had come to feel a fondness for her.

  Jenny bobbed a curtsy and retreated as Catherine rose. Even a queen, she had quietly established, may be allowed to pour out the tea at her own table. Dona Maria half-stood in respect, but sank down again at once; she never drank tea so late in the day. “Will you take tea, my ladies?” Catherine said, in her carefully practiced English.

  Lady Suffolk and Lady Buckingham instantly rose and crossed to her politely. Lady Buckingham said, with deliberate courtesy, “If you please, madam, I’ll take a cup for your sake.”

  Lady Castlemaine had risen too, but stayed by the fire, and said in her silky voice, “Thank you, but no, Your Majesty—I will cry off, if you will forgive me.”

  Ignoring this sally, Catherine poured for the others, in mercy only a little. They both swallowed that little with an air of gracious martyrdom, and set the porcelain cups on the tray.

  Catherine took pity on them. “Do take wine, Lady Buckingham, Lady Suffolk. I know tea is not . . . not your taste.”

  Lady Suffolk said, “Thank you, madam. God knows I mean no offense, but tea likes me not!”

  Lady Buckingham said, “Indeed. It puts me in mind of a sickbed and an ill-tempered nurse. I cannot think it will ever come into fashion.”

  Catherine drank down her cup. She understood them perfectly, but was not yet quick enough in her English to say what she thought. Which was that she had no doubt the English people would become accustomed to tea in time, and find it most restorative.

  She gestured to a servant to pour wine as the door opened, admitting Lady Eleanor. She curtsied to Catherine, who said, “My lady. You were missed.”

  The young noblewoman looked disconcerted. Oh dear, Catherine thought. She had meant it kindly; had it sounded like a reproach? She did want to put her newest lady more at ease. She smiled at her and said, “But now you . . . you are here, will you take tea?”

  Lady Eleanor said, “Oh yes, Your Majesty.” She swallowed her hot cupful with every appearance of relief and pleasure, and said, “I thank you, madam. Most restorative.”

  Catherine felt quite absurdly grateful. “Do you say? Not most England will agree, I think.” She wasn’t quite sure of her English there, but Lady Eleanor seemed to understand.

  “No, madam, perhaps not yet. But I am sure we have much to learn from the great Portuguese nation, and much to gain in the learning.”

  Well, that was courteous, Catherine thought. If the somber young lady was making a gratifying effort to be amiable, she was succeeding. “Will you to play a hand at the cards, my lady?” she said graciously. “I wish to be make improvement, for to surprise my lord the king.”

  Lady Eleanor lowered her eyes and said hesitantly, “Alas, madam, I beg you to excuse me, I . . . I play but poorly.”

  Behind her, Catherine heard a repellently purring voice say, “I will play, if you please, madam.”

  Catherine turned to Lady Suffolk as if Lady Castlemaine had not spoken, and gestured to the little card table. “Will you to play, my lady?” The older countess bowed with a subtle smile, and the two of them sat at the table.

  Lady Castlemaine affected not to notice the snub, sitting down and picking up her embroidery once more. Feliciana, who had been sleeping under the writing table, woke, shook herself, and pattered across the polished floor to curl up on her mistress’s skirts.

  Lady Suffolk picked up the deck of cards and offered it to Catherine. “Will you deal, madam?”

  Catherine shook her head and gestured for her to do so. She was embarrassed by her clumsiness with the cards, and shuffling them out of order was the hardest part. Lady Suffolk handled them deftly, her eyes narrowing in a quite unconscious look of serious intent. She was the right one to practice with, Catherine thought, for her love of gaming would overcome any politic inclination to let the queen win.

  The older lady dealt, and then hesitated. “The stakes, Your Majesty?”

  Ah. The stakes. Catherine bit her lip. She felt Dona Maria’s look bore through the back of her head. The idleness of card playing was bad enough. But to play for money? For a lady to gamble was quite beyond the pale. “Shall we to play only for the pleasure, perhaps?”

  Lady Suffolk’s brows knit together. “Indeed, I hope so, madam. And that pleasure, I assure you, is far greater when something is at stake. I sa
y it with the most sincere eagerness for Your Majesty’s enjoyment of the game, and increased skill.”

  It was true that all the court played for stakes. If she refused, would she in fact be playing the game properly at all? And—a new thought—would it not be amusing to surprise Charles next time, by playing for money and taking his from him?

  She inclined her head to Lady Suffolk. “So. Yes. Let you to name the stakes, kindly.”

  Lady Suffolk said, “Very well, madam, let us say a half crown a hand,” and began to deal the cards.

  Lady Buckingham drifted over with her glass of wine and sat herself near the table to watch. “How lovely it was in the park today, was it not, madam? And what a marvelous surprise, young Mister . . . Crofts’s arrival.” She laid the slightest emphasis on the name, and Catherine felt her watching for a reaction.

  Catherine was adding up her cards in her head and wondering if she should bluff. She laid one down and said, “Yes. Marvelous.” She could hear she’d not gotten the pronunciation just right, but it seemed a useful word. There was much to be marveled at, after all.

  Lady Suffolk said, “Not a surprise, though, was it? He was bound to be sent for.”

  “True,” Lady Buckingham said. “Of course. Well past time for him to leave off being petted and cossetted by his grandmamma, and join his father’s court.”

  Catherine continued to look at her cards, but she was conscious of her ladies exchanging glances. Apparently Lady Buckingham had lost patience with subtlety, and decided to lay this card right on the table. She heard Lady Eleanor, who stood watching by the table, inhale sharply, and wondered if she, so new to court, had been the only one who did not know.

  Catherine laid down her card and said, “Fifteen.”

  Lady Suffolk folded her hand and slid a coin across the table, saying, “A very pretty win, madam. You will let me try for my revenge?”

  Picking up the deck, Catherine nodded with a smile, and began to shuffle carefully. She said, “It was pleasure to meet Mister Crofts. He has a look of His Majesty, I think.”

  There. That would show Lady Buckingham her queen was not so easily put out of countenance. She thought Lady Suffolk gave her an involuntarily approving glance before turning her attention to the hand Catherine painstakingly dealt out. Lady Castlemaine was apparently absorbed in her needlework, but Catherine sensed her attention was on the conversation.

  Lady Buckingham leaned back in her chair, and twirled one of her glossy brown curls around one finger. “I daresay it must be a pleasure to see one’s husband’s face unexpectedly reflected—almost as though seeing what he was like at that age. Though I cannot say my Lord Buckingham has given me such a pleasure.”

  Lady Suffolk smiled. “Do you doubt that he could?”

  Lady Castlemaine sniggered as Lady Buckingham frowned and said, “Oh, I make no doubt of it at all. He had many a long year to sport in before I was even thought of. I say merely that I haven’t had the”—she tilted her head, and gave the next word an ironical twist—“pleasure of being suddenly confronted with the evidence, as Her Majesty was today.”

  It was impossible to throw Lady Buckingham off her game, Catherine thought. Young and beautiful as she was, she seemed easily a match for the powerful Lord Buckingham. She wondered if there was love there. The lady’s face, of course, revealed nothing.

  A log settled with a little crash and spark. A maid hurried to poke the fire and add more wood. Another servant brought in a tray of covered dishes, and Catherine smelled toasted cheese and prince biscuits. Lady Buckingham said, “Of course, that was very far from the most interesting event of the day. I am sure none of you can have missed His Majesty telling Mister Crofts to put his hat on. What a thunderbolt!”

  Catherine went still inside. Yes, here indeed was something she did not understand. Perhaps if she gave no sign of it, she might have the double win of learning something while not giving herself away.

  To hide her face, she reached down and stroked her dog’s domed head. When she straightened, Lady Suffolk was eyeing Lady Buckingham severely. “Thunderbolt? Nonsense, my dear friend, it meant nothing.”

  Lady Buckingham raised an eyebrow. “Pray, excuse me, my lady. But how can it have meant nothing? Covering his head? In the royal presence? Forgive me, madam,” she said, turning back to Catherine. “It concerns you more than anyone, and if I tread upon a bruise, I beg your pardon most sincerely.”

  Catherine put a card down more or less at random, and said, “Not at all,” in a tone she hoped would encourage Lady Buckingham to continue.

  Lady Buckingham took a delicate sip of wine. “Of course, madam, I am sure you know very well what His Majesty’s plans are for the boy’s future. I only hope it did not distress you when he seemed to imply before all the world that young Mister Crofts is royal, by allowing him to remain covered in His Majesty’s presence. And therefore to seem to announce, by inescapable logic, that he is to be legitimized and made heir apparent to the throne!” She leaned forward on the arm of her chair. “I must say, I admire Your Majesty’s composure at such a moment, when the position of your own future children was being thrown into question. ”

  “Fifteen,” Lady Suffolk said coolly, laying down her hand.

  Catherine licked her lips and nodded, finding herself unable to speak, all her English flown quite out of her head. Could it be true? She felt numb, like one who knows she has been struck but cannot yet feel the pain.

  From the corner of her eye she saw a movement, and turned to see Lady Eleanor looking very pale and wavering on her feet. Catherine reached out and touched her hand; the lady stared at her with a strange blankness.

  “My lady, you are not well,” Catherine said gently. “Come, you must to sit and eat something.”

  The others stood and clustered around, helping Lady Eleanor to a chair and toasted cheese.

  Lady Suffolk said, “You’re not used to court life, my dear—it can be quite fatiguing.”

  Lady Buckingham said, “Indeed, and so you must eat, you know; you need your strength.”

  Lady Castlemaine threw in dryly, “How kind Her Majesty is, to take notice of your weakness.”

  Even Dona Maria came clucking up, taking Lady Eleanor’s hand and rubbing it briskly, remarking in Portuguese that the poor girl’s fingers were as cold as ice, and she ought to have a tisane. Lady Eleanor looked abashed by all the attention, but the color was already coming into her face.

  All this little bustle and exclaiming was a great relief to Catherine, giving her a moment to recover from Lady Buckingham’s dart, and diverting attention from her reaction. She withdrew to the window. It was quite dark now, and all she saw in the glass was the reflection of her troubled face and shadowed eyes. Feliciana ran up, standing on her hind legs to put her front paws on Catherine’s knees, as though she felt her mistress needed comfort. Catherine crouched down and lifted the spaniel against her face. The soft fur smelled to her like warm bread. She thought, But all has been so well between us. Must I pick up my sword again, and go back into battle?

  She heard the door open again, and a deep voice said, “Good evening, my ladies. I must say, what a charming scene.”

  Catherine turned to see Charles in the doorway, smiling genially as three of his dogs tumbled panting into the room. Feliciana abandoned Catherine to run to them, and the spaniels greeted each other as joyously as though they hadn’t played together that very morning. All the ladies were standing and curtsying to Charles.

  Lady Suffolk said, “You come before you are expected, Your Majesty.”

  Lady Buckingham said, “Your eagerness is a compliment to your queen, of course, and who could blame you?”

  Lady Castlemaine said nothing, occupied with carefully tucking her needle into her embroidery and laying the frame aside.

  Catherine saw the room through her husband’s eyes: candles and firelight glowing ruby in the glasses of wine, gleaming off the bright satins, velvets, and embroideries of the furnishings and ladies’ clothes
, the warmth and prettiness of it all. And that was true, even though a moment ago it had been—what, a field of combat? She felt an urgent need to ponder it, but she did not have the time. That her husband had sired children before was no news, it would be foolish to mind it. But her future son, if God should bless her with one, to be threatened with usurpation, with disinheritance? If she were not to be the mother of kings, what was she? Only a sort of concubine, who could not even command the respect of her own ladies?

  She stood and faced Charles, and saw at once that he knew something was amiss.

  He came and kissed Catherine’s hand, giving her a quizzical look. “How do you this evening, lady?”

  Speaking in English, as he had, she said, “Most well, my lord, I thank you.”

  “Hm.” He looked at her a moment longer, thoughtfully. He turned back to the others and said, “I hope I will not scandalize you all if I say I wish to be alone with Her Majesty?”

  Catherine, startled, raised her eyes, and thought, Ah, if there is to be trouble, he wants it over with.

  There was the briefest moment of general surprise—it was still quite early, and this was most unusual: a married couple spending the entire evening alone together? Lady Suffolk in particular raised her eyebrows nearly to her hairline. But of course, almost at once there were smiles and laughing demurrals and graceful courtesies and witticisms, until finally they were all withdrawing.

  The last of the English ladies to go was Lady Castlemaine. Catherine couldn’t help observing that she and Charles bowed perfectly correctly to each other. He played it off very well. One would never have guessed there had ever been anything but respectful friendship between them, though she thought Lady Castlemaine’s color heightened as she turned from them and went out, head held high.