“No one is more appreciative than I of the Chancellor’s service. But the truth of the matter is this: He’s outworn his usefulness, to me and to England. I know he’s blamed for much that hasn’t been his fault, but the fact remains they hate him. They want to be rid of him for good and all. What use can a man be to me once he allows himself to come to that condition?”
“It can be only a temporary condition—if your Majesty will take the trouble to help him out of it.”
“It’s more than that, James. I know he’s loyal and I know he’s able—but nevertheless he’s stuck in a morass of old-fashioned ideas. He won’t realize that the Rebellion changed things here in England. He doesn’t feel with his finger-tips that there are new ways now. What’s worse, he doesn’t want to feel it. No, James, I’m afraid the Chancellor’s day is done.”
“I don’t think I have an alternative. He has few enough friends to help him out now—he never took the trouble to buy himself a party of loyal supporters. He was always above such practicalities.”
“Well, then, Sire, since we’re being frank, why don’t you tell me the real reason you intend dismissing him?”
“I have.”
“A different opinion runs through the galleries. There are rumours that your Majesty can forgive him everything but influencing Mrs. Stewart in favour of Richmond.”
Charles’s black eyes snapped. “Rumour is often impertinent, James—and so are you! If you think I’m any such fool as to dismiss a man who could be useful to me because of a woman, you do my intelligence little justice! You must own I’ve been as kind to you as any king has ever been to a brother, and you live as much like a monarch as I do! But in this matter I’m determined. You can’t change my mind, so pray trouble me about it no more.”
James bowed courteously and left the room. Kings, he had always believed, were meant to be obeyed—but the courtiers nevertheless noticed and commented upon a certain coolness between the two brothers.
It was not many days after that that the King summoned Clarendon to meet him at Whitehall, even though the old man had been sick in bed and was living at his house in Piccadilly where Charles and the council often met to save him the journey to the Palace. Charles and the Duke of York went to the Chancellor in his official apartments and there the three of them sat down to talk.
Charles hated this moment, and he might have put it off much longer but that he knew it was necessary. For unrest seethed through all the country and had come to a focus in Parliament; he hoped to lull it again with the promise that all things would be better once the national bogey-man was disposed of. Yet he had known him long and been served by him faithfully. And for all that Clarendon often treated him as though he were an unruly schoolboy, criticizing his friends and his mistresses, telling him that he was not fit to govern, Charles knew that he was the best minister he had had, or was likely to have. Once Clarendon was gone he would be left surrounded by crafty and hostile and selfish men against whose cleverness he must pit his own wits and win—or rule England no longer.
But there was no help for it. Charles looked him straight in the eye. “My lord, as you must be aware there is a general demand for new men in the government. I’m sorry to say this to you, but I shall not be able to hold out against them. They will want you to resign and I think you would serve your own turn best by anticipating them.”
It was a moment before Clarendon answered. “Your Majesty can’t be in earnest?”
“I am, Chancellor. I’m sorry, but I am. As you must know, I’ve not made this decision suddenly—and I’ve not made it alone.” He meant, obviously, that hundreds and thousands of Englishmen were of the same opinion.
But Clarendon chose to misinterpret. “Your Majesty refers, perhaps, to the Lady?” He had never once called Barbara by any other name.
“Truthfully, Chancellor, I do not.” Charles answered softly, refusing to take offense.
“I fear your Majesty’s unworthy companions have had more influence than you are yourself aware.”
“Ods-fish, my lord!” replied Charles with sudden impatience, his eyes flashing. “I hope I’m not wholly deficient in mental capacity!”
Clarendon was once more the school-master. “No one appreciates better than I, Sire, what your natural parts are—and it is for that reason I have long grieved to watch your Majesty losing your time and England’s in the company of such creatures as the Lady and her—”
Charles stood up. “My Lord, I’ve heard you at length on this subject before! You will excuse me if I decline to hear it again! I will send Secretary Morrice to you for the Great Seal! Good-day!” Swiftly and without once glancing back he walked from the room.
