Clarendon and York both watched him go. When the door had closed, their eyes slowly veered around to meet. For a long moment they stared at each other, but neither spoke. At last Clarendon bowed and slowly he crossed the room and went out into the sunlight. Clustered there about the doorway, sitting on the grass, lounging against the walls were a score or more of men and some women—the news had spread that the Chancellor was with the King and they had gathered to watch him come out. His eyes narrowed, swept over them, and then as heads turned and mouths smiled he walked between them and on. He heard the murmurs begin to rise.
He had almost crossed the garden when all at once a gay feminine voice cried out to him. “Goodbye, Chancellor!”
It was Lady Castlemaine on the balcony above, surrounded by cages of bright-feathered birds; on one side of her stood Lord Arlington and on the other was Bab May. Though it was almost noon she had jumped out of bed when they told her that he was coming and now she was fastening her dressing-gown as she stood there above him, grinning, her red hair streaming loose.
“Goodbye, Chancellor!” she repeated. “I trust we won’t meet again!”
The young men gathered below laughed, looking from him up to her and then back again. For a moment Clarendon’s eyes met hers in the first direct look he had ever given her. Now very slowly he straightened his shoulders; his face was tired and old, marked by pain and disillusion—something that was both contempt and pity showed there.
“Madame,” he said quietly, but with perfect distinctness. “If you live, you will grow old.” Then he walked on, passing out of sight, but Barbara leaned over the railing above, staring, dismayed.
The young men were calling up their congratulations and compliments to her, Arlington and Bab May were both talking —but she heard none of them. All of a sudden she whirled around, pushing with her hands at the two men, and then she fled back into her chamber and slammed shut the door. Swiftly she snatched up a mirror, rushed with it to the light and stood staring at what she saw, her fingers touching her cheeks, her mouth, trailing down over her breasts.
It isn’t true! she thought desperately. Damn that old bastard —of course it isn’t true! I’ll never be old—I’ll never look any different! Why, I’m only twenty-seven and that isn’t old! It’s young—a woman’s at her best at twenty-seven!
But she remembered a time, perhaps only yesterday, when twenty-seven had seemed very old, when she had dreaded and avoided the thought of it. Oh, drat him! Why did he say that! She felt sick and tired and full of resentful hatred. Somehow, after all their years of despising each other he had had the last word. But then a rebellious determination flared within her. Outside the men were waiting, excited, triumphant—what did it matter what a stupid malicious old man had said? He was gone now and she would never see him again. She flung away the mirror and went to the door, threw it open again and walked out, smiling.
Throughout the Palace there was fear and unrest. Men distrusted one another and those who had seemed friends now scarcely spoke but passed in the corridors as though neither friend nor foe existed. Whispers and murmurs leaped from mouth to mouth, rumours swept along—some like vagrant breezes which merely touched and were gone, others of such force that all seemed to bend and rock before them. No one felt safe. The Chancellor was out, but they were not so well satisfied as they had expected to be. Which one would go down next?
Many said it would be Lady Castlemaine.
Barbara heard the talk herself but shrugged nonchalantly and did not trouble herself about it. She was perfectly confident that when and if that time came she would be able to bully him as she had in the past. She had her comfortable easy life there at Court and did not intend that anyone should put her out of it. And then one morning when she was in bed with Mr. Jermyn, Wilson burst excitedly into the room.
“Your Ladyship! Oh, your Ladyship—here he comes!”
Barbara sat up and gave her hair an angry toss, while Mr. Jermyn peeped inquisitively over the top of the covers. “What the devil d’you mean coming in here? I thought I—”
“But it’s the King! He’s coming down the hall—he’ll be here in just a moment!”
“Oh, my God! Keep ’im off a minute, will you! Jermyn, for Christ’s sake—stop staring like a stupid booby and get out of here!”
