CHARLES AND THE Duke of Buckingham sat across the table from each other examining a small but perfect model for a new man-of-war, both of them absorbed and eagerly excited in the discussion. Charles had always loved ships and the sea. He knew so much about both, in fact, that many considered such a command of technical knowledge to be quite beneath a king’s dignity. Nevertheless, the navy was his pride and he still smarted from the humiliation of having the Dutch sail into his rivers, plunder his countryside, burn and sink his finest ships. He intended one day to repay that insult—meanwhile he was building a stronger and bigger navy. It was the plan and hope of his life that England should someday sail the seas, supreme unchallenged mistress of all the waters on earth—for that way and that alone, he knew, lay greatness for his little kingdom.
At last Charles got to his feet. “Well—I can’t stay admiring this any longer. I’m engaged to play tennis with Rupert at two.” He picked his wig from where it was perched on the back of a chair, set it on his head and glancing into a mirror clapped his wide hat down over it.
Buckingham stood up, his own hat under his arm. “On a day hot as this? I marvel at your Majesty’s industry.”
Charles smiled. “It’s my daily physic. I need my health so that I may keep up with my amusements.”
The two men went out the door, Charles closed and locked it behind him and dropped the key into his coat-pocket. They crossed through several more rooms, mounted a narrow flight of stairs, and came at last into the great Stone Gallery. There, coming toward them with her woman beside her and a little blackamoor to carry her train, was Frances Stewart. She waved to attract their attention and as they paused to wait for her, she hastened her steps.
Buckingham bowed, Charles smiled, and as she reached them he gave her a light careless friendly salute on the lips. But as Frances looked up at him her eyes were pathetic and anxious; she could never for an instant forget the terrible fact that her beauty was gone. All her manner had changed, as if to compensate for the thing she had lost. Now she was eager, nervously vivacious, wistful.
“Oh, your Majesty! I’m so glad we chanced to meet! It’s been a week and more since I’ve seen you—”
“I’m sorry. I’ve had a great deal to do—council-meetings and ambassadors—”
She had heard him make similar excuses, many times before, to other women. Then she had teased him for lying and laughed about it, because in those days she had laughed joyously at everything.
“I wish you’d come to supper. Can’t you come tonight? I’ve invited ever so many others—” she added quickly.
“Thank you very much, Frances, but I’m engaged for tonight, and have been for so long I dare not break it.” Her disappointment was painful to see, and because it made him uncomfortable he added: “But I’ll be free tomorrow night. I can come then if you like.”
“Oh, can you, sir!” Instantly her face brightened. “I’ll order everything you like best to eat—and I’ll bespeak Moll Davis to give us a performance!” She turned to Buckingham. “I’d like to have you come too, your Grace—with my Lady Shrewsbury, of course.”
“Thank you, madame. If I can, I’ll be there.”
Frances curtsied, the men bowed, and then continued on their way down the corridor. For several moments Charles was silent. “Poor Frances,” he said at last. “It makes my heart sick to see her.”
“She’s considerably impaired,” admitted the Duke. “But at least it stopped her infernal giggling. I haven’t heard her giggle once these two months past.” Then, very casually, he said: “Oh, yes—Lauderdale was telling me about her Majesty’s escapade last night.”
Charles laughed. “I think everyone has heard of it by now. I didn’t guess she had so much mettle.”
Catherine had put on a disguise and left the Palace with Mrs. Boynton to attend a betrothal party in the City—to which, of course, neither had been invited. Masked and wigged they had gone in boldly, mingled with the other guests, but had become separated in the crowd so that the Queen had been forced to return home alone in a hackney. It was the kind of prank the ladies and gentlemen were always playing—but Catherine had never dared go on such an adventure before and the Palace buzzed with shock and amusement to learn their mousey little Queen had finally braved the great forbidding world outside her castle-walls.
“They said she was trembling all over when she first came in,” continued Charles. “But after a few minutes she began to laugh and told it all as a good frolic. The chair-men who carried her there were devilish rude fellows, she said, and the hackney-driver so drunk she expected he would tumble her into the streets!” He seemed highly amused. “All the citizens were grumbling I’d led the country straight to hell! She makes a good intelligence-agent, don’t you agree? I’ve a notion to send her out often.”
Buckingham’s face had a look of sour reproval. “It was mighty indecorous. And worse yet—mighty dangerous.”
