Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord

by Виктория Холт

  The music stopped.

  “Unmask! Unmask!” cried Lauzun.

  With seeming reluctance the ladies did so first, and there was loud applause when one of these proved to be Madame de Montespan herself, the King’s flamboyant and beautiful mistress.

  Now Madame de Montespan turned to the cavalier. She removed his mask, and there were exposed the handsome features so well known throughout the country.

  All rose; men bowed and women curtsied; and the handsome young Louis stood there smiling happily and benignly on them all.

  “Our secret is out,” said Louis. “We are unmasked.”

  “I could not believe that any but Your Majesty could dance with such grace,” said Lauzun.

  Now Madame de Montespan had taken the sword from the King and carried it to the guest of honor.

  Buckingham stared down at the flashing diamonds, calculating its cost; then rising, fell on his knees before the King of France and thanked him, almost in tears, for his magnificent gift and all the honor which had been done to his master through him.

  The King and his mistress took their places at the table; and the King talked to Buckingham of his love for the King of England, of his grief in Madame’s death; nor did he forget to pay some attention to little Louise. Louise understood. He would have my lord Buckingham know that Mademoiselle de Kéroualle was to be treated with the same respect in England as in France.

  How different had been her position when Madame was alive! Then she had been Madame’s maid of honor—an insignificant post. Now she was the spy of the King of France, and that was indeed important.

  “We have prepared many entertainments for you, my lord Duke,” said the King. “There shall be masques and the ballet—we in France are devoted to the ballet.”

  “Your Majesty is the ballet’s shining light,” said Louise.

  The King smiled, well pleased. “And we must show you our operas and comedies. They shall be acted in illuminated grottoes.”

  “I am overwhelmed by all the honor Your Majesty does unto me,” said the Duke.

  The King momentarily laid his hand over that of Louise. “And when you take this little subject of mine into England, you will give her the benefit of your care?”

  “With all my heart,” said Buckingham.

  Later he made plans with Louise.

  “I would have you know, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle,” he said, “that from henceforth I serve you with all my heart.”

  Louise accepted this outward profession of service with graceful thanks but she attached little importance to it. Since she was to act as French spy in England it had been necessary to acquaint her with certain political aspects of the state of affairs between the two countries. She knew that, although the Duke held a high position in his country’s government and was a member of the famous Cabal, he was ignorant of his master’s true plans.

  He was quite unaware that the King of France was planning war with Holland in the spring of next year, and in this war the King of England would be his ally; and that as soon as it was satisfactorily concluded Charles was to declare his conversion to Catholicism.

  Therefore she had little faith in Buckingham. Herself calm and rarely losing control of her emotions, she thought the Duke a tempestuous man who, clever though he might be, could be driven into great folly by his uncontrolled passions.

  He was, he told her, although he had been so flatteringly received in France, looking forward to returning to his own country.

  He talked of Anna Shrewsbury in glowing terms; he was indeed deeply infatuated with the woman. Louise listened and said little. He began to think her a little simpleton, one who would never hold his King’s affection. He compared her with Anna, with Barbara, with Moll Davies and Nell Gwyn. Those four were possessed of beauty—outstanding beauty which would have marked them for notice anywhere. It seemed to Buckingham that Louise de Kéroualle lacked even that first essential. Why, there were indeed times when the woman positively squinted. And she was always so formal; he thought of Anna and Barbara in their rages, of Nell’s wit and high spirits. It was true Moll Davies never raged, was never witty and rarely showed any spirits, but she was an extremely lovely woman. Nay, the more he pondered the matter, the more certain he became that Louise de Kéroualle would not hold the King’s attention for long.

  He was wondering whether he was not wasting his time in ingratiating himself with her. He was longing to be back with Anna.

  He said to her: “There are certain matters to which I have to attend in Paris. My master, the King of England, is growing impatient to receive you. I think much time would be saved if you travelled to Dieppe in company which I will arrange for you and set out at once. I will conduct with all speed my business in Paris, arrange for a yacht to carry you to England, and I’ll swear I’ll be at Dieppe before you arrive there. Then I can have the great honor of conducting you to England.”

  “I consider that an excellent arrangement,” said Louise, who was longing to set out on her journey and fearful, with every passing day, that the King of England might change his mind and, realizing that a young woman who came from Louis’ Court might have been schooled in the arts of espionage, decide that he would be wise to content himself with the ladies of his own Court.

  “Then let it be so,” cried Buckingham. “I will inform His Majesty of my plans.”

  So it was arranged. Louise travelled to Dieppe; Buckingham lingered in Paris. He wanted to buy clothes, not only for himself, but for Anna.

  Paris was always a step ahead of London with the fashions, and Anna would be delighted with what he would bring her.

  When Louise arrived in Dieppe—and the journey there from St. Germain had taken two whole weeks—it was to find that Buckingham had not yet arrived.

  No one there had heard anything of the yacht which Buckingham had promised to have ready for her. Louise was weary after the journey from St. Germain and at first was not sorry to rest awhile—but not for long. She was fully aware of the importance of the task which lay before her. She had discovered all she could concerning the King of England, and she knew that, once she arrived in England, she would be well received. What terrified her was that, before she had an opportunity of being with the King, he might suggest that she did not cross the Channel.

  She knew that Lady Castlemaine would do all in her power to prevent her arrival, and Lady Castlemaine still wielded some power.

  So when the days began to pass she grew really alarmed.

  Two days—three—a whole week, and there was still no sign of the Duke.

  With the coming of the next week she grew frantic. She sent a messenger to Ralph Montague, the ambassador in Paris, and begged to know what she should do.

  She waited most anxiously for news. Each time a messenger arrived at her lodgings she would start up in a sweat of trepidation. During those two anxious weeks in Dieppe the continual threat of failure was before her; she imagined herself being sent back to her parents’ home in Finisterre, an ignoble failure, knowing that if she did not go to England there would now be no place for her at the French Court.

  She watched the sea, which was rough and choppy, for a sight of the yacht which would come to take her away. Mayhap the weather was too rough for Buckingham to reach her. She clutched at any explanation.

  And while she waited there, one of her maids came to tell her that a traveller had arrived from Calais and, hearing that she was awaiting the arrival of the Duke of Buckingham, had news for her if she would care to hear it.

  The man was brought in.

  “Mademoiselle de Kéroualle,” he began, “I have heard that you are awaiting the arrival of the English Duke. He left Calais more than a week ago.”

  “Left Calais! For where?”

  “For England.”

  “But that is impossible.”

  “’Tis true, Mademoiselle.”

  “But did he say nothing of calling at Dieppe?”

  “He said he was sailing for England. He filled the yac
ht with presents, which had been given him, and goods which he had bought. He said he hoped to arrive in England very soon as the tide was favorable.”

  Louise dismissed the man. She could bear no more. She shut herself into her room, lay on her bed, and pulled the curtains about it.

  She knew that she had been deserted. She felt certain now that the King of England had changed his mind, that he had not been serious when he had asked for her to be sent to his Court, that he recognized her coming as the coming of a spy, and had commanded Buckingham to return to England without her.

  It was all over—her wonderful dream which was to have saved her from an ignoble future. She should have known; it had been too wonderful, too easy. It was like something that happens only in a dream: To have gone to the Court in the hope that she would be chosen as the mistress of Louis Quatorze, and to have qualified for the same post at the Court of the King of England!

  How long could she stay here in this desolate little seaport? Only until her parents sent for her or came to take her home.

  There was someone to see her.

  She allowed her maid to comb back her hair from her hot face. She did not ask who the visitor was. She did not want to know. She guessed it was her father or someone from him, come to take her to her home, for they would know that the Duke of Buckingham had left without her.

  Waiting for her was Ralph Montague, Charles’ ambassador, whom she had often seen in Paris.

  He came towards her, took her hand, and kissed it with great ceremony.

  “I came with all speed on receiving your message,” he said.

  “It was good of you, my lord.”

  “Nay,” he said, “’twas my duty. My master would never have forgiven me had I not come in person to offer my assistance.”

  “My lord Buckingham did not arrive,” she said. “I have been waiting here for two weeks. I hear now that he left Calais some time ago.”

  “Buckingham!” Ralph Montague’s lips curled with disgust. “I offer humble apologies for my countryman, Mademoiselle. I trust you will not judge us all by this one. The Duke is feckless and unreliable. My master will be incensed when he returns without you.”

  Louise did not say that his master would doubtless know of his return by now and had done nothing about arranging for her journey.

  “I wondered whether he was acting on the King’s instructions.”

  “The King is eagerly awaiting your arrival, Mademoiselle.”

  “I was led to believe that was so,” said Louise. “But I doubt it now.”

  “And still is. Mademoiselle, I have already arranged for a yacht to call here in a few hours’ time. It shall be my pleasure to make these arrangements. My friend, Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington, will be waiting to receive you when you arrive in England. He and his family will look after you until you are presented to His Majesty. I trust you will give me this great pleasure in arranging your safe conduct.”

  The relief was so great that Louise, calm as she habitually was, was almost ready to break into hysterical tears.

  She managed to say: “You are very good.”

  Montague said: “I will remain here in Dieppe and see you aboard if I have your permission to do so.”

  “I shall not forget this kindness,” she replied. And she thought: Nor the churlish behavior of Buckingham. “My lord, have they offered you refreshment?”

  “I came straight to you,” said Montague. “I thought my first need was to impress upon you that all Englishmen are not so ungallant.”

  “Then will you take some refreshment with me, my lord?”

  “It would give me the greatest pleasure,” said Montague.

  Montague, as he took refreshment with Louise, was congratulating himself on the folly of Buckingham. What could have possessed the Duke to sail away from France, leaving the King’s potential mistress in the lurch?

  Surely Buckingham realized that, if ever Louise came to power, she would never forgive the insult.

  He thought he understood, on consideration. His friend Arlington, with Clifford, was inclined towards Catholicism. Buckingham was staunchly Protestant. Buckingham would assess the influence the Catholic Frenchwoman would have on Charles, and mayhap had decided to do all in his power to prevent her arrival in England; so he had left her at Dieppe, hoping that careless Charles would forget her, as indeed it seemed he had. But Arlington, whose protégé Montague was, would hope to benefit from a Catholic mistress’s influence over the King. Therefore it was Montague’s duty to see that Charles had no chance to forget his interest in Catholic Louise.

  He watched her as he took refreshment.

  He admired her, this Frenchwoman, for her poise and calm. She looked almost a child with her plump, babyish face, and yet, in spite of the days of anxiety through which she had passed, she was completely controlled.

  She was no beauty. At times it seemed as though she squinted slightly. Yet her figure was shapely, her hair and complexion lovely. Her charm was in her graceful manners; that complete air of the grande dame which the King would appreciate and would have missed in other mistresses.

  Montague felt that if Louise de Kéroualle conducted herself with care she might find great favor with the King.

  So while they waited for his yacht to arrive at Dieppe, he frequently talked to her. He told her of the King’s character, that most easygoing nature, that love of peace.

  “He has had little of that from those he loves,” said Montague. “Even his Queen, a gentle, docile lady, was far from calm when His Majesty wished her to receive Lady Castlemaine into her bedchamber. It is my belief—and that of others—that, had the Queen been tolerant of the King’s desire on this occasion, she would have won great love from him and kept it.”

  Louise nodded. This was friendly advice, and she took it to heart. It meant, Never be out of temper with the King. Give him peace, and he will be grateful.

  “His Majesty greatly loved Mrs. Stuart before her marriage to the Duke of Richmond. He would have married her if he had been free to do so. But he was not free, and she held out until he was well-nigh maddened in his desire for her and would have offered anything, I verily believe, for her surrender.”

  “So many,” said Louise, “must be ready to give the King all he asks, that it is small wonder that, when he finds one who holds back, he is astonished.”

  “And enamored … deeply enamored. If the Queen had died, many people believe, he would have married Mrs. Frances Stuart. And indeed that was the bait which was held out to him when …” He paused.

  “When?” prompted Louise gently.

  “It was my lord Buckingham with his wild schemes. He wished the King to divorce his wife and marry again.”

  “My lord Buckingham, it seems, would wish to run the affairs of his King’s country,” said Louise smoothly.

  “A foolish man!” said Montague. “But he had his reasons. He did not like the Catholic marriage; he is a Protestant. Moreover, he was eager for the King to have an heir. One of his greatest enemies is the Duke of York.”

  Louise thought: From this moment he has a greater.

  “And,” went on Montague, “if the King does not get an heir, James, Duke of York, will one day be King of England. My lord Buckingham sought to replace the Queen with a fruitful woman who would provide the King with an heir and so ruin the Duke’s chance of ascending the throne.”

  “It does not then seem that he is so foolish.”

  “He has moments of lucidity, superseded by moments of great folly. That is my lord Duke.”

  Louise was silent, looking into the future.

  It was not long after that when the yacht which had been chartered by Ralph Montague arrived at Dieppe. As the tide was favorable, Louise left France for England, and when she arrived there, was greeted so warmly by Arlington and his friends that she no longer had need to complain of neglect.

  Now she had two projects in view. The first and most important was to enslave the King; the second was revenge on the care
less Duke who had given her so many hours of anxiety.

  But, born spy that she was, cold by nature, calculating and in complete control, her eyes were now fixed on that distant goal which, she had suddenly made up her mind, should be marriage with the King of England. For if he had been prepared to marry Frances Stuart, why should he not marry Louise de Kéroualle?

  In the Palace of Whitehall Louise came face-to-face with the King.

  When she would have knelt before him he raised her in his arms and there were tears in his eyes.

  “Welcome,” he said, “doubly welcome, my dear Mademoiselle de Kéroualle. It does my heart good to see you at Whitehall. But I cannot forget the last time we met, and I am deeply affected because I remember one who was with us then.”

  Louise turned away as though to hide her own tears. There was none; of course there was none; how could she regret the death of Henriette when it had given her a chance to reach such heights of glory as even her parents had not hoped for her?

  The King was smiling at her now, his eyes alight with admiration. She was exquisitely gowned and wore fewer jewels than Castlemaine would have affected on such an occasion. Louise had the air of a queen, and Charles was reminded of Frances Stuart who had been brought up in France.

  He was excited by the French girl, and he determined to make her his mistress with as little delay as possible.

  He said: “The Queen will receive you into her bedchamber.”

  Louise murmured her thanks graciously; but she knew, of course, that Barbara Castlemaine had been a lady of his wife’s bedchamber. Louise had no intention of going the way Barbara had gone.

  She met the Queen; she met the courtiers; she met the Duke of Buckingham, and she betrayed not even by a gesture that she was in the least angered by his treatment of her; none watching her would believe that her anger rose so high that she feared that, if in that moment she attempted to speak, the effort might choke her.

  She could content herself with waiting. The first task was the capture of the King; then she could proceed to annihilate the Duke.