“By all means, aunt,” replied Dorinda. “Let us go to Rosamond’s Pond and the Birdcage Walk.”
“Agreed!” cried her ladyship. “The Birdcage Walk will lead us to the Lime Walk, and the Lime Walk will bring us to the Mulberry Gardens, where there is a concert. We can go in and hear it.”
“And while listening to the music, we can eat cheesecakes, aunt. I dote upon the cheesecakes at the Mulberry Gardens.”
“They are excellent,” cried her ladyship. “You shall eat as many as you please.”
“I hope I may be permitted to make one of the party?” said Talbot.
“I counted upon you,” replied Lady Muskerry. “Apropos, Dorinda, we must have your pretty page, Florio, with us. You have seen Florio, of course, Mr. Harland? Is he not charming?”
“Mr. Harland saw him for a moment just now, aunt,” interposed Dorinda. “But it is impossible I can bring him.”
“Why not, my love?”
“He never leaves the palace. And if he did, I don’t think Mr. Harland would care for his attendance,” she added, archly.
“Oh, you’re quite mistaken!” he cried.
But finding he was again getting on dangerous ground, he made his bow, promising to meet them in half an hour at Rosamond’s Pond.
As he passed through the ante-chamber, he looked about for Florio, but the page was not to be seen.
There were several pages in the gallery, and Florio might be among them; but how was he to distinguish him?
CHAPTER II
ST. JAMES’S PARK
Never was St. James’s Park more agreeable as a place of promenade than in Charles the Second’s time.
Properly speaking, it belonged to the palace; but the good-natured monarch liked to be surrounded by his subjects, and so threw it open to them.
During the Protectorate, the park had been much neglected; but on the Restoration, Charles laid it out according to his own taste, improving it in many ways by opening a variety of charming walks among the trees, and embellishing them with a multitude of ornamental objects.
Besides enlarging Rosamond’s Pond, he formed a long canal, which he stocked with wild-fowl. Narrow as it was, this canal boasted an island, and the island possessed a governor, who was no other than the famous St. Evremont.
Connected with the canal was a large decoy for wild ducks. A ring fence for deer added to the attractions of this part of the park.
Lady Muskerry had correctly informed her niece that the king and the Duchess of Portsmouth had walked forth to the long canal. They were attended by the Duke of Buckingham and the Count de Bellegarde.
His majesty was sauntering slowly along the banks of the canal, feeding the ducks, which swam after him by dozens. Nothing pleased the king more than to witness their contests for the bread which he threw among them. But at last his supply was exhausted, and he walked on with the duchess, who, sooth to say, was not quite so much amused as he was by the spectacle.
The day was delightful. The Green Walk and the Close Walk, which were at the head of Rosamond’s Pond, were crowded with richly-attired company — with gallants in velvet doublets of every hue, silken hose and flowing perukes, and with fair dames in exquisite morning costumes.
Though Charles, as we have said, placed no restraint upon those who chose to take exercise within the park, he was rarely intruded upon, and all who now passed him bowed respectfully, and went on.
He was followed, however, at a certain distance, by four individuals, who remained stationary when he halted, and moved on when he resumed his promenade.
These persons were well dressed, and wore long rapiers; and one of them, whose habiliments were somewhat richer, and his rapier even longer, than those of his companions, had a haughty, defiant look, which could belong to no other than Colonel Blood.
Blood it was, who, with his comrades, acted as a guard to the king. Hitherto, Charles had dispensed with such attendance, but Blood persuaded him that the precaution was necessary.
After chatting for some minutes with the Duchess of Portsmouth, Charles allowed her to walk on with Buckingham, and as soon as she was out of hearing, addressed himself to Bellegarde.
“I want some information from you, count,” he said. “What has become of Blood’s daughter? The ungrateful girl left Whitehall without even staying to thank me for the pardon which, at her solicitation, I had granted her father.”
“Perhaps she was afraid of seeing your majesty, thinking you might ask some favor in return, that she might not be disposed to grant.”
“Her flight annoyed me greatly,” said Charles. “Her image haunts me, and I must see her again. I have questioned Blood about her, but he professes to be entirely ignorant of her retreat; and, in this instance, I think he speaks the truth. Dorinda Neville, I am sure, knows whither she has fled, but I can elicit nothing from her. As a last resource, I address myself to you.”
“Your majesty could not apply to anyone less able to assist you.”
“Say Mess disposed, count, and then I may credit the assertion. I am certain you know where she is.”
“Since your majesty entertains that conviction, it seems useless for me to affirm the contrary. Nevertheless — —”
“Find her for me, and ask what you please.”
And without waiting for a reply, he quickened his pace, and rejoined the duchess.
“The Duke of Buckingham has just been relating to me a strange circumstance connected with Claude Duval, sire,” observed the duchess, as the king came up.
“With Claude Duval?” exclaimed Charles. “Has the rascal reappeared?”
“He threatens to do so,” rejoined Buckingham, laughing. “I have just received a cartel from him.”
“Oddsfish! that’s excellent!” cried the king, laughing. “How was the challenge delivered?”
“Your majesty shall hear,” replied the duke. “Pray listen to the story, count,” he added, to Bellegarde. “It will amuse you. The other night, while I was chatting with Wycherley and Sedley in the blue saloon, Lady Muskerry and a bevy of fair dames came out of the ball-room, where dancing was going on, and pressed me to sing my ballad about Claude Duval.
“Not being in the humor to oblige them, I excused myself by saying that Duval’s achievements had been completely thrown into the shade by Blood’s late exploit at the Tower, and that I believed the gallant robber had retired from his profession in disgust. At all events, until he performed some fresh action more daring and surprising than any that had gone before, I should cease to chant his praises. They tried hard to persuade me to sing a few couplets, but I continued inexorable.
“Well, I thought no more of the circumstance until this morning, when, as I was passing along the Stone Gallery, a page slipped a letter into my hand. Fancying it might be a billet-doux, though I had no idea who could send me one, I did not read it at the moment. Guess my surprise when I found that it came from Claude Duval!”
“Have you the letter with you?” inquired the king.
“Yes, my liege,” replied the duke. “And I think the rascal’s impertinence will amuse you. It is addressed, as you perceive, “his Grace the Duke of Buckingham!
““MY LORD DUKE, —
““have felt highly flattered by being made the hero of one of those inimitable ballads which your grace alone can compose, and which afford so much amusement to the wittiest monarch in Europe.
““am dying to hear the ballad sung by your grace, and I trust you will not refuse me that extraordinary gratification.
““of this ballad! Your grace was pleased to state the other night, to a party of court dames at Whitehall, that I have retired from my profession in disgust, because I have been superseded by Colonel Blood.
““grace has been misinformed. I do not recognize Colonel Blood, and I shall not retire till the list of achievements I have marked out for myself is complete.
““most important feat of all remains to be accomplished.
““catalogue, as I need scarcel
y remark to your grace, who is as well acquainted with it as myself, comprises the names of many illustrious persons — His majesty and the Duchess of Portsmouth, Lady Muskerry and the Duchess of Cleveland, Count de Bellegarde and Mr. Talbot Harland.
““it wants the great name of the Duke of Buckingham.
““trust to have the honor of an early meeting with your grace, when I will satisfy you that I have not abandoned my old pursuit, and at the same time furnish you with material for the finishing couplet of your incomparable ballad.
“A notre prochaine rencontre!
““DUVAL.’”
All his hearers laughed most heartily as the duke concluded the letter.
“What think you of it, my liege?” cried the duke.
“Think of it!” exclaimed Charles, laughing. “Oddsfish! “tis the most delicious piece of rodomontade I ever heard.”
“What puzzles me, is how Duval could have heard of the remarks made by your grace to Lady Muskerry and the other ladies,” observed the duchess, to Buckingham.
“Bah!” cried Charles. “Lady Muskerry is the greatest gossip on earth, and repeats all the tittle-tattle she hears.”
“Your grace says the letter was delivered to you by a page,” observed Bellegarde. “Did you notice him?”
“I had not time,” replied the duke. “Almost at the instant the note was slipped into my hand, the bearer disappeared.”
“Your grace’s name will figure in Monsieur Duval’s catalogue — on that you may rely,” cried the Duchess of Portsmouth, laughing. “I hope you will oblige him by singing your famous ballad,” she added, with a slightly mocking tone.
“Impossible to foretell what may happen,” rejoined the duke. “But I rather think not.”
“If you are caught, I will bet a hundred guineas that you do sing it,” cried Bellegarde.
“Done!” rejoined Buckingham. “I will go further; I will give you a hundred guineas for every couplet I sing.”
“And two hundred for the finale,” laughed Bellegarde. “The bet will come to nothing,” remarked Charles. “The whole thing is a jest, got up at your grace’s expense by the ladies whom you disappointed of the ballad. Ridiculous to suppose that the note in question came from Claude Duval. They are trying to frighten you.”
“I venture to differ in opinion from your majesty,” replied Buckingham. “I believe the note does come from Duval. But if the rascal attempts to stop me, he shall pay for his temerity with his life.”
“Come, let us go to the Mulberry Garden, and eat cheesecakes,” observed Charles, to the Duchess of Portsmouth.
And they walked on in that direction.
CHAPTER III
CHEESECAKES AND CHAMPAGNE
The Mulberry Garden has long since disappeared, and Buckingham Palace occupies its site.
Dr. King’s lines seem almost prophetic. He thus wrote about the spot in 1709:
“The fate of things lies always in the dark:
What Cavalier would know St. James’s Park?
A princely palace on that space does rise,
Where Sedley’s noble muse found mulberries.”
The place derived its name from a grove of mulberry trees planted by James I., who was anxious to naturalize the silkworm; and although the experiment failed, the trees flourished, and eventually became the chief ornament of the extensive pleasure-gardens laid out on the spot.
Arbors, in which collations and suppers could be served; smooth-shaven grass-plots, on which dancing sometimes took place; long, shady alleys, or “walks” as they were styled; and a wilderness, so thick and tangled, that those who ventured within it were not unfrequently lost; these constituted the attractions of the Mulberry Garden.
In the midst stood a tavern, renowned for its wines and its cuisine, and noted also for the extravagance of its charges. To this tavern was attached a large room, in which concerts, balls, and other entertainments were given.
No place of public amusement was more in vogue than the Mulberry Garden in the time of the Merry Monarch. It is often referred to by the dramatists and satirical writers of the period, and has given the title to one of Sedley’s best comedies. Amongst other things, the place was celebrated for its cheesecakes. Everybody resorted there to eat them.
His majesty’s appearance in the Mulberry Garden did not create any extraordinary sensation — it being understood that at such times he entirely dispensed with form and etiquette. Of course, a certain deference was paid him, and his movements and those of his attendants were watched with interest, but no one intruded upon the royal party.
Though the hour was early, there was a good deal of well-dressed company in the garden, and a peculiar character was given to the scene, since many of the ladies wore loo masks.
The pleasant game of pall-mall, which, after a long discontinuance, has been revived in our days under the appellation of croquet, was being played with great spirit by a number of fair dames and gaily attired gallants on the lawn.
A band placed in an orchestra near the tavern enlivened the company with its strains. Mirth and good humor seemed generally to prevail, for a good deal of jesting and laughter was heard among the assemblage. To make the most of the passing hour, and banish reflection, was the main object in those halcyon days.
No one went to the Mulberry Garden save for amusement; and everybody found it there, except, perhaps, those who were jealous of their spouses. But these were in the minority, since, happily, jealousy was then out of fashion.
We shall not follow the couples that sought the seclusion of the shady alleys, or lost themselves amid the groves of mulberry trees, but confine ourselves to the lively picture offered to our view in the centre of the garden. There we shall find plenty to look at.
On the lawn, as we have said, or on the broad gravel walks around it, all the best part of the company was assembled. A concert was going on in the music-hall within the tavern, but few stayed to listen to it. The day being very fine, they preferred the open air amusements.
Little parties were collected round rustic tables placed beneath the mulberry trees, devouring cheesecakes and drinking sillabub; while others, who preferred retirement, had similar refreshments served to them in the arbors.
Altogether, it was a very gay scene, and he must have been a cynic indeed who could not be amused by it.
On entering the Mulberry Garden, the first persons whom his majesty, and those with him, encountered, were Lady Muskerry and her companions.
Notwithstanding her absurdities, her ladyship was a great favorite with the Duchess of Portsmouth, and she was, consequently, permitted to join the royal party. Dorinda, who was very fond of pall-mall, and played the game to admiration, was invited to join the party on the lawn, and readily assented.
Talbot likewise excelled in the game, and took care not to be left out; and the Count de Bellegarde, who played at everything, and played everything well, followed suit.
Lady Muskerry would have followed suit, but her niece would not allow her to make herself publicly ridiculous.
While engaged in this pleasant pastime, Dorinda looked charming. Nothing could be better calculated to display the singular graces of her figure than this game; and her bloom was heightened by the exercise.
Talbot was more in love than ever; and having eyes only for her, played very badly, and got laughed at, while Bellegarde performed wonders.
The king, who, as we know, liked all sorts of pastimes, watched the game with interest, and bestowed unqualified commendation on Dorinda’s performance.
Colonel Blood felt it incumbent upon himself to follow his royal master into the garden, but he kept at a respectful distance; and, seeing that the king was likely to remain, he sat down with his comrades at a table under a mulberry-tree, whence he could discern all that was going on.
“I thought we came here to eat cheesecakes, and not to look at that tiresome game of pall-mall,” observed the duchess.
Begging her a thousand pardons, Charles addressed hims
elf to Buckingham, who undertook that all should be ready in a very few minutes; and he hurried off to be as good as his word, for he presently returned, and conducted them to an arbor, where an excellent collation had been laid out.
They were waited upon by the master of the garden, and his principal attendants. No ceremony was observed. Lady Muskerry and Buckingham sat down at the table, and, ere long, the party was reinforced by Dorinda and the two gallants, when they had finished their game at pall-mall.
The ladies greatly enjoyed the cheesecakes, and did not object to the champagne that accompanied them.
The Count de Bellegarde, as usual, made himself extremely agreeable, and was diverting the company with a very amusing story, when his cloak was slightly pulled, and a billet slipped into his hand.
Seated, as he was, at the entrance of the arbor, his position favored the delivery of the billet.
Covering it with his laced handkerchief, he went on with his story, as if nothing had happened.
Perhaps he thought the incident had escaped observation. If so, he was mistaken.
As soon as he finished, the king began to rally him unmercifully.
“What, count!” he cried; “the ladies will not let you alone! You cannot pass an hour in the Mulberry Garden without making a conquest!”
“More conquests are made in the Mulberry Garden than anywhere else,” observed Buckingham; “but the billet just received by the count came from the palace.”
“How know you that?” cried Charles.
“Because it was delivered by a page.”
“Are you certain?”
“Ask Talbot Harland, sire. He is sitting opposite Bellegarde, and must have seen the bearer of the billet.”
“He certainly appeared to be a page,” said Talbot, when appealed to by his majesty. “But he was masked.”
“that does not mend the matter,” cried Charles.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 609
