“Buckingham! Wait a minute! You know what I intend doing with them as well as I do.”
“Publishing them some day perhaps?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ve heard you’ve threatened him with that once or twice already.”
“Well, what if I have? He knows what a fool he’d look if the people were ever to read them. I can make him jump through my hoop like a tame monkey by the mere mention of ’em.” She laughed, a gleam of reflective gloating cruelty in her eyes.
“A time or two, perhaps, but not for long. Not if he really decides to put you by.”
“Why, what do you mean? Age won’t stale these! Ten years will only give ’em a higher savour!”
“Barbara, my dear, for an intriguing woman you’re sometimes uncommonly simple. Has it never occurred to you that if you really tried to publish those letters you wouldn’t be able to find ’em?”
Barbara gasped. It had not, though she kept them under lock and key and until tonight no one but herself had known where they were. “He wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t steal them! Anyway, I keep them well hidden!”
Buckingham laughed. “Oh, do you? I’m afraid you take Old Rowley for a greater fool than he is. The Palace swarms with men—and women too—who make it their business to find anything that will bring a good price. If he really decided that he wanted those they’d disappear from under your nose while you had your eye on ’em.”
Barbara was suddenly distraught. “Oh, he wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t play me such a scurvy trick! You don’t
He smiled, very much amused at her distress. “I know he would. And why not? Publishing them wouldn’t be exactly a gesture of good faith on your part, would it?”
“Oh, good faith be damned! Those letters are important to me! If he ever gets tired of me they’ll be all I have to protect myself—and my children. You’ve got to help me, George! You’re clever about these things. Tell me what I can do with them!”
Buckingham heaved himself away from the wall against which he had been leaning. “There’s only one thing to do with them.” But as she started eagerly toward him he made a gesture of one hand, and shook his head. “Oh, no, my dear. You’ll have to puzzle this out for yourself. After all, madame, you’ve not been my best friend of late—unless I’ve heard amiss.”
“
He shrugged. “Well, a man must serve his King—and pimping’s often the high-road to power and riches. However, it all came to nothing. She’s a cunning slut, if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Well,” said Barbara, beginning to pout. “If it had it might have undone me for good and all. I thought you and I were pledged to a common cause, Buckingham.” She referred to their mutual hatred of Chancellor Clarendon.
“We are, my dear. We are. It’s my fondest wish to see that old man turned away in disgrace—or better yet to see his head on a pole over London Bridge. It’s time the young men have a swing at governing the country.” He smiled at her, a friendly ingratiating smile, all malice and scorn gone from his face. “I can’t think why we’re so often at odds, Barbara. Perhaps it’s because we both have Villiers blood in our veins. But, come—let’s be friends again—And if you’ll do your part I’ll try what luck I can have to bring you back into his Majesty’s favour again.”
“Oh, Buckingham, if only you would! I swear since her Majesty’s recovery he’s done nothing but trail after that simpering sugar-sop, Frances Stewart! I’ve been half-distracted with worry!”
“Have you? I’d understood there were several gentlemen who’d undertaken to console you—Colonel Hamilton and Berkeley and Henry Jermyn and—”
“Never mind! I thought we were going to be friends again—but that doesn’t give you leave to slander my reputation to my face!”
He made her a bow. “My humblest apologies, madame. I assure you it was but an idle jest.”
They had similarly quarrelled and made friends a dozen times or more, but both of them were too fickle, too mercurial, too determinedly selfish to make good partners in any venture. Now, however, because she wanted his help she gave him a flirtatious smile and was instantly forgiving.
“Gossip will travel here at Whitehall, be a woman never so innocent,” she informed him.
“I’m sure that’s your case to a cow’s thumb.”
“Buckingham—what about the letters? You know I’m but a simple creature, and you’re so clever. Tell me what I shall do.”
“Why, when you ask so prettily of course I’ll tell you. And yet it’s so simple I’m half ashamed to say it: Burn ’em up.”
“Burn them! Oh, come now, d’you take me for a fool?”
“Not at all. What could be more logical? As long as they exist he can take them from you. But once they’re burned he can turn the Palace upside down and never find ’em—and all the while you’re laughing in your fist.”
