Now Face to Face (72 page)

“I wish that we could see the tiny birds,” one of the Princesses said.

Barbara moved among the gifts and uncovered a cage in which sat a raccoon.

“Will this do instead?”

“The highwayman,” said Princess Anne, the oldest, laughing. “Oh, do look at his eyes. It is as if he wore a mask.”

“Did you bring tobacco with you?” the King asked Barbara.

“Yes.”

“I will come down to the quays myself and see the hogsheads opened in the customs house,” he said.

“And here finally are swamp laurel trees—twelve, which I thought was a good number, like the Apostles. They have a flower which makes the most beautiful perfume in the world. The blossom is the size of a woman’s face.”

Barbara walked to the windows, pointed. “You could plant the laurels in a row, there, Your Majesty, and from this window you’d see their blossoms in the spring, and be able to smell them.”

“I shall name them after the Apostles: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John,” said the King, pointing to each tree, making his granddaughters laugh. “What shall I do with the one called Judas?”

“Plant it to remind yourself there are always traitors,” said Barbara.

“May Lady Devane walk with us in the garden awhile?” asked the youngest girl, Princess Caroline. “Make her, Grandfather.”

“She will not wish to walk in the garden,” said the Duchess of Kendall, sharply.

“I would be honored to do so. His Majesty’s granddaughters remind me of my sisters.”

“Please, sir,” begged Caroline, holding on to the King’s hand. Barbara saw that he had a special softness for this child.

“If you would be so kind, Lady Devane,” the King said. “As you can see, I spoil them.”

The girls left the chamber with Barbara, prattling about the tiny birds no bigger than her thumb and the old slave who understood the talk of animals.

T
HE
D
UCHESS
of Kendall, still at the mirror, turned this way and that to see herself in the waistcoat.

“Exquisite,” she said, “absolutely exquisite. Though it looks far better upon Lady Devane than it does upon me, I have no intention of giving it back.”

The King, looking down at the gardens, smiled, while the woman with him rummaged through the other gifts with the thoroughness of a street vendor, stroking the fur, touching the bear’s headdress with a frown, lifting up the knife. She picked up the scalp, and as the King explained what it was, made a face and put it down again.

“That scalp is my favorite thing. That and the Apostle trees.” Then the King said, “Roger was a good friend to me.”

“There was no one more charming. I shall have this fur made into a stole for my shoulders. I did not know Lady Devane had sisters.”

“They are dead, now. Smallpox, I believe.”

In the garden, Barbara sat upon a bench, a princess upon either side of her, while the youngest danced and fidgeted in place as she talked. It was clear Barbara was telling some long story. The King, watching them, said, “It is time the Princesses had an attendant.”

The Duchess of Kendall poked a skinny, ringed finger at the redbirds. “Aren’t they cunning? Look at the little crests on their heads. Look at the black among the crimson of their feathers.”

“They need an attendant all their own. Not these old witches of court, but someone young. Someone delightful,” the King continued.

Chapter Forty-two

T
HAT EVENING, THE MUSIC FROM
L
ADY
M
ARY
W
ORTLEY
M
ONTAGU’S
house rose into the night, mingling with the soft rush of the river, with the fragrance of summer roses. Her garden was filled to overflowing with people. All the world came, strolling under lanterns she’d had set in trees; walking to the rivers, where musicians sat in boats; playing violins and flutes. Later in the evening, the singers, from the opera company that had been formed in the last year, and about which everyone was excited—all London flocked to see performances—would add their voices to the music.

Lady Mary wore a turban upon her dark hair, gauze scarves and pearls around her neck, an embroidered vest over her gown: Turkish clothing from her travels, from when her husband had been an ambassador. Her dark eyes were shining as she went from one person to the next.

“She owns a pair of scandalous Turkish breeches,” Montrose said. He was standing near the garden hedge with Caesar White. They had been invited because they lived in the village, and also because Caesar was a poet.

“What do you know of Turkish breeches?”

“I’ve seen pictures of them. The harem women in Turkey wear them. They’re…” Montrose made a gesture with his hand.

“Yes?”

“The material,” whispered Montrose. “One can see through it.”

“And what does one see through it, Francis?”

“Never mind.”

Tommy Carlyle sauntered up, extravagant in a blond wig, demanding to know where Lady Devane was.

“She is at Hampton Court,” said Caesar.

“She stayed there, did she?” Carlyle waited for them to tell him more.

“The King
asked
her to stay,” Montrose said.

“Ah,” said Carlyle, as if everything was explained. “I am not surprised.” He strolled away.

S
LANE SAT
under a tree near the river. Gauze grazed his cheek.

“All the world is here.” Lady Mary was leaning over his shoulder, her mouth close to his ear. “You have only to listen to learn more than you will learn standing in a council chamber. Walpole is coming soon. Remember, there’s a boat just down the river should you need to leave us quickly.”

She moved away, lively and full of herself, all gauze and pearls and dark eyes, pleased that she had lured Walpole to her gathering, excited that Slane might have to make a quick escape.

Slane, on edge, alert, aware he might have to leave on a moment’s notice, ahead of soldiers or King’s messengers sent to arrest him, looked around. There was the frail, hunchbacked poet, Alexander Pope. There was the Earl of Peterborough, and Captain Churchill, Molly and John Hervey, Lord Lumley, Philip Stanhope, Lady Cowper, Mrs. Clayton, Mrs. Howard. All of them were attendants or frequent guests of the Prince and Princess. There were Lord Townshend and Lord Carteret, ministers to the King himself. Lady Mary was wonderful. He, and the other agents here, would learn much.

He saw the Duke and Duchess of Tamworth strolling arm in arm, on their faces the expression of two people happy in each other. Does Tamworth know yet that Barbara is back? thought Slane. He felt in himself curiosity to see the Duke’s response once he learned the news. And there was Charles with his wife. Slane liked Charles no better than he ever had. Of the two, he thought, watching Tony and Charles, I prefer the Duke, who is my enemy, over you, Charles, my ally.

Two men strolled to the riverbank near where Slane was sitting. One of them, a dueling scar across his face, crumbled bread and threw it into the river; swans suddenly appeared, arching their long necks greedily.

“So,” Philippe said to his companion. “You saw her.”

“Yesterday morning,” said Sir Gideon Andreas. “I had forgotten what a beautiful woman Lady Devane is. Will she be here tonight?”

“So others are asking. Divine Barbara, I thought her in Virginia forever.”

There was an edge in Philippe’s voice that made Slane sit up straighter.

“You know her, then?” asked Andreas.

Philippe smiled. “A little.”

“Slane, how do you do?” said Andreas. “I did not see you sitting there. Sir, are you acquainted with Laurence Slane? Slane, this is the Prince de Soissons.”

Slane rose and bowed to the Prince, whose eyes flicked over him and then away. He didn’t answer, or acknowledge the bow, and Slane, knowing he had been dismissed as a nobody in the French prince’s mind, sat down again in the chair.

His head was aching. In a moment, he must stand, he must walk among the crowd and hear what there was to hear. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Wharton laughing. Three parts drunk already, thought Slane. Wharton had started drinking again in May.

There was Gussy, talking with Alexander Pope. More stoop-shouldered, even quieter, Gussy had labored to keep all together; his fingers must be permanently cramped from writing letter after letter. He was, like them all, tired now, discouraged, but not quite ready to give in. He saw Slane and smiled his quiet smile.

Dear friend, thought Slane, I wanted to see you given a fine estate, a high office in the Church. You deserve that. Anger filled Slane at the people walking around him, rich in their honors from the Hanovers, when someone like Gussy had nothing. I will do anything to hurt this reign, Slane thought. A sudden, driving pain in his head made him know he must calm himself. He touched the scar on his brow, closed his eyes, sat in the chair as if sleeping.

After a time, hearing someone say that Walpole had arrived, he stood and walked among the crowd.

Was Barbara here?

He didn’t see her. Did that mean he would be arrested, that she absented herself so as not to see it? His watchfulness, his wariness were at their highest level. He wouldn’t be taken. No one was clever enough to do it.

“Is Lady Devane coming?” he heard someone ask.

Tony was standing near the speaker, and Slane saw the jerk of his body at the question.

Yes, thought Slane, she’s back. Fit that into your life now, O young duke who has been given all things. He walked by the maids of honor describing Barbara’s dress today, talking about the feathers and beads. Someone asked them where the Prince and Princess were, and they answered that the Princess had the headache.

“Yes,” said someone. “It is called Lady Devane.”

Slane saw Tony go up to Tommy Carlyle, Tony’s face somber, questioning.

Carlyle began to talk, his arms sweeping out extravagantly. Describing this day, Barbara’s meetings with the Prince and Princess, Slane surmised. He looked for Charles but did not see him; instead he found Walpole telling a story, surrounded by avid listeners, a certain sign of Walpole’s current favor and increasing power.

“Lady Devane gave the King’s granddaughters a raccoon, a little beast from the colonies with dark about its eyes, like a highwayman’s mask,” Walpole was saying. “The thing somehow got loose from its cage and attempted to climb up the skirts of Lady Doleraine.”

Lady Doleraine was the Princesses’ governess.

“I am told Lady Doleraine screamed as if she were being stabbed, then ran about the chamber like a crazed woman, then fainted at the King’s feet. Apparently, the Princesses were laughing too hard to be of any help. Lady Devane sent everyone from the room, including the King and the guards who had run in at the commotion. She managed to coax the raccoon out from under an enormous japanned cabinet by giving it biscuit dipped in French brandy. She got the thing drunk—I swear it is the truth. His Majesty told me he never laughed so hard in his life as he did when he entered the room again and saw the raccoon staggering about in ever-widening circles.”

The crowd around Walpole laughed.