A murmur of surprised admiration ran through them, for it was no secret the Duke would most likely lose his head if once he were brought to trial. The boy turned and sped out of the room and Buckingham, surrounded by his cortege, strolled to a table next the window where he sat down and began to eat his dinner. An eager curious excited crowd had already begun to gather outside and they clustered in the door, peered through the windows at him. The Duke gave them a wave and a grin, and a great cheer went up.
“Gentlemen,” said Buckingham to the men about him, talking while he took his silver fork from its case and began to tear at his meat. “Gentlemen, I am willing to give myself up to my enemies—though I know well enough how they may use me—because my conscience will no longer bear my continued absence from public affairs after our most recent disgrace.” Their polite cries of approval at these words interrupted him, but only for a few moments. He held up a hand, asking to be heard further. “England has need of
This brought a loud cheer from everyone in the room, and it was taken up and echoed outside by those who had no idea what his Grace had said. For public resentment was strong against Clarendon’s great new house in Piccadilly. And during this past year no one had forgotten that Arlington had been asleep when the order had come for Rupert to return and meet the Dutch, and that his servants had not wakened him to sign it till morning. Next to criticizing the Court themselves, they loved to hear it criticized.
“Aye, your Grace,” agreed one elderly goldsmith. “The country has been too long under the mismanagement of incompetent old men.”
Another leaned forward and hammered his fist on the table. “When Parliament convenes next time he’ll be impeached! We’ll call the old rascal to task for his crimes!”
“But, gentlemen,” protested Buckingham mildly, gnawing at his mutton-joint, “the Chancellor has handled matters as honestly and as capably as his faculties would permit.”
There was a storm of protest at this. “Honest! Why, the old dotard’s bled us white! Where else did he get the money for that palace he’s building!”
“He’s been as great a tyrant as Oliver!”
“His daughter’s marriage to the Duke made him think he was a Stuart!”
“He hates the Commons!”
“He’s always been in cabal with the bishops!”
“He’s the greatest villain in England! Your Grace is too generous!”
Buckingham smiled and made a faint deprecatory gesture, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I’m no match for you, gentlemen. It seems I’m outnumbered.”
He had not yet finished his meal when the King’s officers arrived—he had sent an earlier messenger than the little boy, whom he had merely used as a dramatic device to arouse their interest and sympathies. Two of them entered the room, out of breath and excited, obviously very much surprised to find his Grace actually sitting there, eating and drinking and talking. They approached to place him under arrest, but he gave them a negligent wave of his hand.
“Give me leave to finish my dinner, sirs. I’ll be with you presently.”
Their eyes consulted one another, dubiously, but after hesitating a moment they backed off and stood meekly waiting. When he was done he wiped his mouth, washed off his fork and put the case back into his pocket, shoved aside his pewter-plate and got up. “Well, gentlemen, I go now—to surrender myself.”
“God go with your Grace!”
As he started for the door the two officers sprang forward and would have taken his arms, but he motioned them aside. “I can walk unassisted, sirs.” Crestfallen, they trailed after him.
There was an explosion of shouts and cheers as Buckingham appeared in the doorway, grinning broadly and raising one hand to them in greeting. The crowd in the street had now grown to monstrous size. It was packed from wall to wall and for a distance of several hundred yards in both directions all traffic had come to a standstill. Coaches were stalled, porters and car-men and sedan-chair carriers waited with more patience than usual; all nearby windows and balconies were full. This man, accused of treason against King and country, had become the nation’s hero: because he was out of favour at Court he was the one courtier they did not blame for all their recent and present troubles.
There was a coach waiting for him at the door and Buckingham climbed into it. It was but little over half-a-mile to the Tower and all along the way he was greeted with clamorous shouts and cries. Hands reached out to touch his coach; little boys ran in his wake; girls flung flowers before him. The King himself had not been greeted more enthusiastically when he had returned to London seven years before.
“Don’t worry yourselves, good people!” shouted Buckingham. “I’ll be out in a trice!”
