An adjoining room was set with a buffet-table, in the French style which Charles preferred, and footmen swarmed everywhere. The dishes piled upon it might have done justice to a cathedral builder: pompous confections decorated with candied roses and violets; little dolls in full Court dress spinning about on cake tops; great silver porringers containing steaming ragouts of mushrooms, sweetbreads, and oysters. Bottles of the new drink, champagne, crowded the tables. No more was an Englishman to be satisfied with boiled-mutton and pease and ale. He had learnt better in France and would never be reconciled to the old fare again.
The King’s role as host created a sensation, for many of them were sure that it was a subtle way of showing his future intentions. Barbara was sure too and she moved about the room like a flame, charming, amazingly beautiful, full of the confidence of her power. Their eyes followed her and their whispers discussed her. But Barbara was not fooled, for she knew well enough that obsequious though they all were now it would take no more than a hint that the King was losing interest and out would come the sheathed claws, every honeyed word would turn to acid, and she would find herself more alone than she had ever been in the days before her dangerous glory.
It had happened before. But it won’t happen to me, she told herself. To all the others, perhaps, but not to me.
Gambling-tables were set up in a third room and there they were soon congregated. Charles sat down to play for a short time, but in less than half an hour he had lost a couple of hundred pounds. He glanced up at Lauderdale who hung over his shoulder.
“Take my place, will you, John. I always lose and I’m a bad loser—What’s worse, I can’t afford it.”
Lauderdale guffawed appreciatively, splattering the King as he did so for his tongue was too big for his mouth, but he took his seat and Charles strolled into the next room to listen to the music. Barbara promptly left her own table and met him just as he was going out the door. Her arm linked with his and he bent to kiss her lightly on the temple, while behind them significant glances were exchanged and some wagers laid.
“It’s my opinion Mrs. Palmer is mad enough to think she might be Queen,” said Dr. Fraser. He was a personal favourite of the King and, since he could with equal dexterity perform an abortion, cure a clap, or administer a physic, his services were much in demand at Whitehall.
“The lady has a husband, you know,” murmured Elizabeth Hamilton, not glancing away from her cards.
“A husband is no obstacle where a king has set his heart.”
“He’ll never marry her,” said Cooper positively. “His Majesty is no such fool as that.” Cooper had acquired a considerable reputation for sagacity by guessing far ahead of anyone else that York was married to Anne Hyde.
Barbara’s old chum, Anne, gave him a malicious smile. “Why, whatever do you mean by that, sir? Sure, now, you don’t think she’d be an unlucky choice?”
“I do not, madame,” he assured her coldly. “But I think that the King will marry where political expediency dictates—as kings have always done.”
By the time they had left, Barbara was thoroughly relieved. She was tired. The muscles in her legs ached and trembled. But she was happier than she had ever been and perfectly convinced that her hopes and expectations—wild as they might have seemed—would soon be fulfilled.
As she and Charles entered the bedroom together Wharton, asleep in a chair by the fire, jumped to her feet and curtsied, looking at her mistress with frightened apprehension. But Barbara smiled and spoke to her kindly.
“You may go, Wharton. I won’t need you again tonight.” Then, just as the girl was leaving, she called after her, “Wake me by half-after-eight. There’s a ’Change woman coming to show me some lace and if I don’t get it first, Carnegie will.” Barbara smiled at Charles as though she were a naughty little girl. “Isn’t that selfish of me?”
He answered the smile but not the question, and took a chair. “That was good food, Barbara. Haven’t you a new head-cook?”
She had gone to the dressing-table and was beginning to unfasten her hair. “Isn’t he a marvel? Guess where I got him. I took him away from Mrs. Hyde—she brought him from France with her. D’you know, Charles, that woman hasn’t
“Well,” said Charles easily, “suppose he doesn’t.”
“Well! Why shouldn’t he! What harm have I done him, pray?” Barbara thought that her new position should command not only the deference but the liking of every man and woman at Court, and she intended to get it, one way or another.
