Merivel A Man of His Time (37 page)

I fell into conversation with the Captain of
The Kentish Maid
and told him how the beautiful intricacies of his ship made me glad, and I
could
tell that this cheered him very much. He caressed the wooden rail upon which we leaned and said: ‘She is a darling vessel, Sir. She will sail to the very blade’s edge of the wind without complaint. She has been through some mighty storms and ridden them down – she and I together. But she is old, alas, and leaky now. She may not see out another season.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Poor
Kentish Maid
. And now this same Anxiety must we feel with regard to the King.’

‘What, Sir?’

‘I am travelling home to be at the King’s bedside. He is a sick man.’

The Captain gaped at me. He shook his white head, disbelieving. ‘He cannot
die
,’ he said. ‘You are not telling me that Charles Stuart is going to die?’

‘I know not, Captain. All I know is that I have been summoned. I am a physician and the King’s old friend.’

The Captain shook his head again, staring down at the shifting, shimmering water. ‘He made us Comfortable,’ he said sadly. ‘As though we were Hove-To. When he came in, we all sat down where we were and breathed a sweet Sigh.’

30

ON THE EVENING
of Saturday the 31st of January I arrived at the Duchess of Portsmouth’s apartments and found there no scene of lamentation, but only Fubbs, a little fatter and dressed in a crimson velvet gown, taking a quiet supper with Margaret. With them was a young man, who was introduced to me as the Honourable Julius Royston, youngest son of Lord Delavigne.

Both women greeted me with delight. Margaret, looking wondrously pretty in a dark-blue dress trimmed with the Swiss Lace that I had sent her, seemed most anxious that I should make the immediate acquaintance of Julius Royston and, knowing that this was the young man who had been paying court to my daughter, I turned on him my sternest gaze.

Little daunted by my look of severity (which I do think is never as severe as I might sometimes imagine it to be) this Royston folded himself into an immaculate bow and babbled that he had been ‘most impatient’ to meet me and was only sorry that the occasion of my return was the illness of the King.

‘How goes His Majesty?’ said I to Fubbs.

‘He is sleeping now,’ she said. ‘He likes to retire early. But in these last days he seems to be more himself, does he not, Margaret?’

‘Yes. And he even took a short Constitutional yesterday, just as far as the Crocodile. He will be so glad to see you, Papa. Every day he has asked me if you were yet come.’

I sat down at the supper table, and one of Fubbsy’s Servants laid a place for me and brought me almost immediately a very refreshing cold soup of potatoes and leeks. Between ardent spoonfuls, I regarded my
daughter
and Royston, and saw pass between them those looks that only enamoured Lovers send to each other, and I began to pray that this son of an Earl was an Honest man.

He was handsome in a sallow kind of way, reminding me somewhat of the King when he was young, with large brown eyes and dark curls, and a smile of some sweetness. I could not but be inclined to like him. I put his age at about twenty-two or twenty-three and, studying his features, I could not discern on them any signs of Debauch or Wickedness. His voice was mellifluous.

‘So tell me, Royston,’ said I, taking up the glass of white wine set before me, ‘what brought you to Court?’

‘My father is Secretary to the Earl of Buckingham, Sir,’ said Royston, ‘and found for me a Position in the Office of the Superintendent of the Royal Palaces. I have studied Horticulture in Paris and all my fervour is in the Design of landscapes and gardens. I hope to make my mark in this field.’

‘Gardens?’ said I. ‘I myself am very consoled by gardens, as perhaps Margaret has told you?’

‘Yes, Sir. She has described to me your recently planted Hornbeam Alley at Bidnold Manor.’

‘
C’est quoi
, “hornbeam”?’ asked Fubbs. ‘Do you mean “sunbeam”?’

‘No, Your Grace,’ said I. ‘
Hêtre blanc
in French, I think.’

‘Ah,
Hêtre blanc. Oui, je vois. Très joli
. Anyway, you see, Merivel, that our dear Julius is a man of ambition. A man who understands the direction of his life.’

‘Yes, I surmise this …’

‘You will not remember, Sir Robert,’ said Royston, ‘but I was brought once to Bidnold Manor when I was a child.’

‘You were?’

‘By Lady Bathurst. She was my Godmother.’

‘Violet Bathurst was your Godmother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is that not a coincidence, Papa?’ said Margaret.

‘Yes,’ I stammered. ‘Yes it is …’

‘I remember that I was kept with your Manservant a while, for that my Godmother had some private business in your house that I could not attend, and that your Man was very kind to me.’

‘Ah. Dear Will. I’m sure he was. Indeed, he would have been.’

But into my mind there passed a flagrant memory of Violet, arriving in haste at the house, in the company of a rather captivating small boy, whom she was returning to his parents or to his School or to someone-or-other (but to whom I paid scant attention), and rushing to me, so that she and I could hurry to some indecent Sexual Feast in my bedroom before she resumed her journey.

I could not prevent a smile from crossing my features. I gulped wine and said: ‘Dear Violet. She and I were good friends. I swear to you, Royston, that I did all I could to save her when her Cancer came. But I could not.’

‘I know that, Sir Robert. And she always spoke very tenderly of you.’

We fell silent for a moment. My soup plate was taken away and a morsel of chicken was set before me.

Turning to Fubbs I said: ‘Your Grace, do you have any word from Bidnold? I sent a letter to Will Gates from Switzerland, but have no Answer.’

‘No,’ said Fubbs. ‘We have heard nothing. Have we, Margaret?’

‘No. But no doubt all is well, Papa. Letters from Switzerland may frequently go astray.’

After supper, seemingly at some sign from Fubbs, she and Margaret bid us an abrupt Goodnight and disappeared to their chambers, leaving me alone with Julius Royston.

I, too, was tired and looked ardently towards laying my head down. But no sooner had the women left than Royston, his face all suddenly Beet-coloured, leaned impulsively towards me and said: ‘I must say this to you before my courage goes. I shall not procrastinate, for the matter is very simple. Sir, I love Margaret. I love Margaret with all my heart and all my might. I have loved her from the moment I saw her. In that very instant, was I lost … ’

‘Ah …’

‘Sir Robert, I have asked Margaret to be my Wife and she has consented. And I know we shall be the happiest pair in all of England, if you will but give your permission for our Marriage.’

He was an affecting spectacle, his face so red and his curls suddenly damp, and his hands now clenched together as if in an ardent Prayer. Something in my heart was touched by him.

‘Let us sit down,’ I said. ‘And we shall discuss this calmly. As I trust you may have discussed it with your own father. What does Lord Delavigne say to the match?’

‘Oh, he is most heartily glad! He thinks Margaret quite adorable, as she is, as she is. No more adorable young woman ever came into the world …’

‘Might he not have hoped that you would choose a bride from a more Noble family than mine?’

‘Well, as to “nobility”, His Majesty speaks far more fondly of you than of many Noble Lords at Court. But it matters not for me. I’m the Youngest of four sons. All he wishes for me is that I get a good Place in the world and that I am happy. But, Sir Robert, I shall never be happy, I shall never have one ounce of contentment in my life if I cannot make Margaret my wife. Please say you will consent! Oh, I pray you, do not torture me, but say you will bless us and give your permission!’

I poured a little wine for Royston and gave it to him, and he gulped it thirstily.

Then I took some wine myself and said: ‘A happy marriage is something ardently to be sought in the world. My own was brief and full of sorrow. It thus follows that I have always prayed that Margaret would be luckier than I. But she is very young, Royston. She is but eighteen. And knows little of the world, or of men …’

‘I will teach her all that she should ever want to know. I will care for her and pledge all my Endeavour to her. I will never forbid her Dancing Lessons or Music Lessons or Geography Lessons, or whatever her heart yearns for. I will make no prison round her, as some men make round their wives, and this I swear. She shall be my wife, but she shall be Margaret, always.’

So intense were Royston’s feelings that tears came to his eyes. He wiped them away and continued: ‘You do not know me, Sir Robert. If Lady Bathurst were alive, she might vouch for me, but she is gone. You may judge that I should have waited, before pressing my suit, but I could not wait. I could not wait because everyone is afraid that
the
King is dying, and how could I come to you with this, if His Majesty were to pass away? You would have no time for it. So it is now that I must ask you. Now, tonight. And I beg you to answer me!’

I looked tenderly at the young man. Something in me
envied him
his grand passion, his optimism, his Beet face. I knew that I had never felt as he felt, and I decided on the instant that I would be doing right to put him out of his misery at once. First Loves are often the greatest loves and should not be denied.

Nevertheless, I could not give him his answer until I had spoken privately with Margaret. I told him to wait here, by the Duchess’s fire, and that I would go to Margaret and get from her what her feelings were, and then return to him and give my answer.

He could not argue with this suggestion and did not. As I went to the door, he called out to me: ‘Margaret loves me! She has sworn it!’

She was sitting up in bed, reading a letter from her friend, Mary Prideaux.

‘From Cornwall, perhaps?’ said I.

‘Yes. Even so. She has collected forty-nine Cowrie shells.’

‘A fine feat. Has she seen any Puffins?’

‘She does not mention them. Did you talk to Julius, Father? Did he ask you—’

‘Yes. He asked me.’

Margaret laid aside her letter and threw her arms round my neck. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘you will say that this is hasty. But it does not seem so to us. We knew this Had to Be from the moment we met. Julius is the dearest, loveliest and cleverest of men, Papa. In time, you will see. And if we cannot be together, then I think I shall be one of the most miserable, wretched women on earth, and all that I could do would be to hide away in some Convent and live on bread and water.’

‘Bread and water?’ said I. ‘We cannot have that.’

At this moment Fubbsy, attired in a billowing peach-coloured Nightgown and with a lace Bonnet upon her curls, swirled, unbidden, into the room. ‘
Et alors?
’ she said. ‘I heard your voice,
Merivel.
Did Royston ask you? Is all settled? Don’t tell me you refused?’

Fubbsy sat herself down beside us on the bed. Without waiting for an answer to her question, she began upon a Paean of Praise for the Honourable Julius Royston, reminding me what a good family he came from and how all the young women at Court were ‘mad with Jealousy’ of Margaret, who had stolen his heart.

‘And they love each other so!’ continued Fubbs. ‘I have never seen two doves more sweetly enraptured. The King himself agrees with me, you must swiftly give your permission for the Marriage and we shall help you plan a sumptuous wedding in the spring. At your lovely Bidmould.’

‘Bid
nold
, Your Grace.’

‘Well, Bidnold then. Very strange word. But the King is happy there. This will rally His Majesty, to plan a May wedding in Norfolk.’

A May wedding
.

I was so far from being able to tell Margaret about my engagement to Louise that I did not even let the thought of trying to do so trouble me. I looked at the two ardent faces before me, eyes wide with hope and longing for happiness, and let myself yield to them and to the young man I had left by the fire.

‘It shall be,’ I said. ‘It shall be.’

I returned to Julius and gave him the good News, and he bowed low to me and thanked me and kissed my hand, and promised, on his life, that I would not live to regret my decision.

‘There is only one thing, Royston,’ said I. ‘If you are living in the expectation that Margaret will bring a large Dowry, you are deceived.’

‘No, no …’ he began.

‘I live mainly from the
loyer
the King pays me annually. This is generous, but I have no fortune amassed. I have just enough to support my Estates and no more. Margaret will inherit Bidnold Manor when I am gone, but I have little to give her now.’

‘’Tis of no concern to me, Sir Robert. As you know, my father is very rich and will get a house for us in London. But I aim to make my way in the world with my Landscape designs. Gardens quicken the heartbeat of the English. I have seen this everywhere.’

‘Yes. I think you are right in that. I have noted it too.’

‘Even in poor villages will Cottage gardens be kept, and not just for food and poultry, but for Michaelmas Daisies and Forget-Me-Nots and rambling roses. And men on the way to a fortune, once they have a Portrait of themselves and their wives and their dogs, why then their thoughts turn, by natural progression, to Gazebos and lakes and fountains and Follies. So I shall not lack for Commissions, I am certain of it.’

‘Good,’ said I. ‘I think it admirable that you should make your own way in the profession of your choice.’

‘And when I am Established, I hope that Margaret and I will have children. I know that her own childhood was somewhat solitary …’

‘It was.’

‘Not that this was your fault, Sir Robert … with your wife dead. Merely, it is our hope—’

‘To get a large family.’

‘Yes. And my mind runs on, imagining Margaret with our Babes.’

It was at this moment, when Julius Royston made mention of the sweet Future he planned with my daughter and their sons and daughters, and not at any moment before, that I felt come upon me a sudden, miraculous Ending of my Anxiety in relation to Margaret.