Deliver us from Evil (29 page)

The young man smiled faintly, then bowed his head. 'Doubtless you, Madame, would know that better than myself.'

Milady's golden eyes grew wide with puzzlement. There was a silence: the young man met her stare again, and his lips curled faintly, but then, as she seemed about to speak to him, he turned round suddenly. There had been a scream. The younger of the two ladies kicked at the dogs; then she screamed again, and ran down the Gallery. The young man sighed wearily, is that not ever the way?' he asked. 'Weigh a virgin and a whore, and who shall win out?'

'Why,' asked Robert, as the lady ran past them, 'what do you mean?'

The young man smiled slyly. 'Miss Stewart, whom you just saw pass by, has been denying herself to the royal prick - and what cannot be had is ever most desired. Yet it would seem, in the final reckoning, that not even the promise of her jewel was sufficient to gain her the prize.'

Robert gazed at Lady Castlemaine, as she walked from the Gallery by the side of the King. 'What then did she possess,' he asked, 'which might rival what Miss Stewart had to offer to the King?'

'Nothing,' answered the young man, 'but merely a threat.'

'A threat?'

'Why, did you not observe how the whore is pregnant? She has been menacing, if she is not given her way, to miscarry the child.' His face grew suddenly cold, and his smile seemed a miraculous compound of pity and spite, it is said,' he whispered in Robert's ear, 'that full forty men a day are provided for my Lady Castlemaine, and yet that still, like a bitch, she wags her tail for more. What think you, sir? Could that possibly be true?' His smile broadened; yet Robert was suddenly aware of a terrible emptiness behind it, bred of weariness, and disgust, and satiation. There was scorn in it too, he realised, directed at himself; and he felt, with a strange and unexpected dizziness, how loathsome flesh was, how rotten and sweet. He flushed at the thought of his coming tryst with Lady Castlemaine; of coupling with her - a squirming dog upon a bitch.

He did not say another word until the young man and his companion had both bowed to them and left. 'Who was he?' he murmured to Milady, then shuddered, for the disgust he had felt still lingered in his thoughts, like a sickly mildew that would not be purged. 'He seemed almost to be a creature like yourself, for it suddenly struck me that
I
was sharing in his thoughts.'

'Yes,' answered Milady, 'and they appeared most bitter and exhausted, strange in one so young.' She paused, and pursed her lips. 'Yet he is certainly a mortal.' She took Robert's arm, and he saw how her features were alert with interest. '
I
wonder what his history might be.'

'You have no idea?'

She shrugged,
I
do not have the experience to say. We should perhaps discover the Marquise, and ask for her advice.'

Robert smiled coldly. '
I
was not aware you were seeing her.'

Milady shrugged noncommittally. 'It would not require us to visit her at her home. We shall soon discover her here at the Court.'

'At the Court? The Marquise?'

'She has a cousin,
I
believe, a Miss Elizabeth Malet, newly arrived here in London from the country.'

Again, Robert stared at her in disbelief. 'A cousin?' he exclaimed.

'Well, in truth,
I
believe her to be a great-great-granddaughter, but there are difficulties in acknowledging the truth of such a state.'

'The Marquise was married?'

'Many times,
I
believe. But once in London, on her last sojourn here, yes.'

Robert shook his head, half-baffled, half-surprised. 'And so what is this - "cousin" - doing at the Court?'

'Why, what do you think? Attempting to discover a husband for herself.'

Robert shrugged. '
I
had not realised the Marquise was so
..
. family inclined.'

'Why should she not be?' Milady answered sharply. She frowned as she met Robert's stare, then looked away. 'They share each other's blood, after all.'

Such an explanation struck Robert as barely convincing. But Milady appeared unwilling to say any more; and her silence, as they walked on through the endless corridors and halls, appeared to Robert strangely bruised and withdrawn. He wondered what she might be hiding from him; and he grew disturbed at the memory of secrets she had held from him before, and the manner in which they had at length been exposed. When they discovered Miss Malet at last, however, the Marquise was not with her, nor expected for a while. 'You may discover her,' said Miss Malet, 'at the Queen's masquerade - to be held on Twelfth Night, in three days' time -but of course, you will already know that for yourselves. Madame has assured me - most determinedly,
I
might add - of her intention to be there; and so she surely shall, for we are lately become the very closest of friends!' She clapped her hands together. 'Why,' she exclaimed, 'it will be my first royal ball!' Robert smiled. Miss Malet was no older, he guessed, than he was himself, young and pretty, with long golden hair. She reminded him somewhat of Emily - or rather, of Emily as he had imagined she might seem now. 'May
1
count upon your own presence at the masquerade?' Miss Malet inquired. Robert bowed and assured her, as he left, that she could.

He resumed his wanderings with Milady through the palace. Robert could almost believe they might never escape it, for the corridors seemed like a mighty labyrinth, conjured perhaps by some sorcerer, in which those who were lost would grow dizzied by the pleasures, the gaming and the drinking, which filled every hall, so that soon they would forget they had ever thought to leave. And who could blame them, he thought, as he gazed at the beauty of the ladies and the rakes, at the brushing of silk upon silk, lace on lace, lips on lips -why indeed should anyone want to leave? 'And yet
I
do,' he thought suddenly, 'and
I
do not know why.' He glanced at Milady, feeling again the sense of some secret come between them, some shadow of discontent. Yet that was not all: for there was a dullness even worse than the discontent. How feeble his sensations had begun to seem; how pallid and drained. He remembered the young man, and the strange disgust he had evoked within him. Robert rubbed his eyes. The disgust, like some drought, still seemed to linger, so that when he gazed upon the pleasures and delights of the palace he felt no joy in them, but only a parched and blasted boredom which seemed to gasp for rain from a burning, empty sky.

'Where then relief?' Robert asked himself. He could not endure to continue with Milady, for he knew of only one certain answer to such a question, and her presence was tempting him to cast his vow aside, to seek the answer out. He could tell, as they parted, that she would soon be hunting; for the sight of others' appetites always served to rouse her own, and he could see in her eyes the familiar hungry gleam. He felt, in his own stomach, the sudden tingling of gold; and the temptation to go with her grew almost too strong. With an effort, he fought it back; but the lightness persisted, even after Milady had departed, and he felt again how dull all things had grown in comparison with its touch.

Robert attempted to drown the lightness beneath drink; and when that failed, to gamble it away. He had soon lost several bags of coins, and the lightness was now starting to prickle in his stomach. He gambled more; he lost more coins; still the prickle burned and, veiled by guts, would not be scratched. Robert recalled his tryst with Lady Castlemaine; he hurried to her quarters. Once arrived, he sought to vent the pain upon her, upon the fabulous beauty of her soft and welcoming flesh, as though the ravening itch might be spewed out from his prick. At last, when his stomach seemed as empty as his ballocks had become, he imagined that the prickling might be gone; and that without the prickling, he might finally find some rest.

Robert fell asleep; he began to dream. He imagined he was walking through St James's Park. He recognised the path: it was where he had first walked with Lady Castlemaine; but the trees which lined the way along either side seemed to be bending and seeking for him, like monstrous creatures with a thousand necks, for on the end of every branch was a ravening mouth, and Robert saw how they were cunts, open wide and lined with teeth. He tried to fend their searching jaws away; he began to run, and then he saw a grove ahead of him, and in it was Lady Castlemaine, her legs open wide, waiting to be serviced by a line of hard-pricked men, and yet she was all-devouring and could not be full-gorged, although a vast meal of slime was soon flowing out from between her thighs, seeping down the path and rising in a flood. Robert struggled to escape it; but he began to choke, as the slime filled his nostrils and oozed down his throat.

He woke with a violent start. He staggered from Lady Castlemaine's side and, reaching for a wine bottle, gulped the contents down. But the taste and scent of his dream still seemed to linger, as the sense of disgust had done the day before; and Robert found himself wondering all the more who the young man had been, who seemed capable of inspiring such loathsome phantoms of ennui. He was determined now to search him out, to discover what it was which had infected him so. For it appalled Robert to think that the phantoms might return again, and that his pleasures be forever loaded with disgust; and so he decided to accept - what he had first resolved to refuse - Miss Malet's invitation to the masquerade; for he knew that he would surely find the young man there.

And so it was that, when the time came, Robert passed into

Whitehall with Milady on his arm - a guest at His Majesty's Twelfth Night ball. He prayed as he did so that his father's spirit might forgive him.

'. . . now conscience wakes despair

That slumbered, wakes the bitter memory

Of what he was, what is,

and what must be Worse . . .'

John Milton,
Paradise Lost

A

rriving in the Banqueting House, Robert despaired at first of recognising anyone. The ball was a fabulous swirl of colours - of feathers, and masks, and impossible wigs - beneath which the presence of those who wore them seemed lost, dissolved utterly into their outward display. But then suddenly Milady pointed with her fan. 'Is that not the strange man we met before?' she asked. Robert turned, and looked. The young man was seated amidst a crowd of his fellows. His mask had been torn away, and he already seemed drunk; he spoke into the ear of his companion, the tubby, jovial-faced man he had been with before, and then both men burst out laughing. Robert left Milady, and began to approach them. As he did so, he realised that all the rakes had turned and were watching him. The young man was saying something to them, and Robert thought that he caught the name of Lady Castlemaine. There was another explosion of laughter, and he blushed beneath his mask. He stood frozen for a moment; but the rakes continued to stare at him, and the young man said something else which provoked a further roar. Robert could feel his blush burning him; he clenched his fists and turned away. Once he glanced back; and again there was laughter, and toasts, and ribald shouts.

'Does he mock you on my account, poor sprig?' Robert looked round, to find Lady Castlemaine beside him. She too was unmasked, not surprisingly, Robert thought: for she was far too vain to cover her face.

He pointed to the young man. 'Who is he?' he asked. 'My Lord of Rochester,' Lady Castlemaine replied, 'and, to my shame, my cousin.' 'Your shame?'

'Oh, yes.' Lady Castlemaine sighed and raised her eyes. 'He has only been arrived from France these past two weeks, and yet already he is accounted a most notorious rake.'

I
am sure Your Ladyship's name for virtue will not be spotted by his crimes.'

Lady Castlemaine laughed prettily. 'Let us trust not.' She tossed back her head; and then suddenly froze. 'And yet even as we speak on that same topic of virtue,
I
fear the King may be in danger of falling for its show.' As though drawing a dagger, she rasped out her fan. 'You must excuse me, Lovelace.' She brushed quickly past him, and began to glide across the hall.

Robert watched her as she went; then he saw what it was which had alarmed her. The King was kneeling, his hand upon his heart -appealing, so it seemed, to a lady on a chair. The lady herself was masked; but Robert recognised the breasts and perfect figure of Miss Stewart.

'Poor prince, he is governed by his prick and must follow where it leads, for it is proud and peremptory, and shall not be gainsaid.'

Robert glanced round. Lord Rochester was standing by his side.

'What man would not follow his prick,' asked Robert coldly, 'if it led to such delights?'

'As what?' Lord Rochester laughed. 'As Lady Castlemaine perhaps?'

it is surely my sacred duty,' answered Robert, 'to go wheresoever my sovereign shall lead.'

'Then is His Majesty blessed indeed, to have the loyalty of so many members of his Court.' Lord Rochester laughed again drunkenly. His eyes, Robert could see, were glassy; yet suddenly, as he leaned forward, his face appeared to grow mobile and alert and Robert imagined that he saw, beneath the glassiness of his stare, a passionate and terrible lucidity, if
I
mocked you before,' he whispered,
I
trust you will understand, it was only to mock what is mortal in myself.'

'But
I
do not understand,' answered Robert. 'Who in all this assembly is not guilty of such a fault?'

'Who indeed?' Lord Rochester smiled. 'This is truly a much-fucking Court. Yet
I
think you do understand me when
I
say that there are creatures here with more - immortal - desires.' He shivered, and grinned, and lifted his glass; and Robert looked towards where he was raising his toast. He saw Milady: she was attendant upon a plump and very drunk young rake; her eyes, through her mask, seemed like golden fire. Lord Rochester cocked an eyebrow at Robert, and half-curled his lips. '
I
think,' he murmured, 'that your lady's conquest will soon be found dead, mysteriously murdered or floating drowned upon the Thames.'