The Loves of Charles II (122 page)

“Sire …” murmured Louise.

The King raised his hand. “You have no need to tell me; I know. Madame’s death is a great loss to our Court, and none in that Court suffers as I do. Madame was my own dear sister and my friend.” He paused. “There is one other who suffers … almost as deeply as I. That is Madame’s brother—the King of England.”

“Indeed yes, Your Majesty.”

“The King of England is prostrate with grief. I have heard from him. He writes harshly. He has heard evil rumors, and he is insisting that if it be true that Madame was hurried to her death those who are her murderers should be discovered and dealt with. But, as I am sure you will have heard, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, at the autopsy which I insisted should be immediately performed, no poison was found in Madame’s body. She had been in bad health for some time, and the very chicory water of which she drank was drunk by others, and these suffered not at all. We know that it was Madame’s own ill health which resulted in her death, and no one here was in the least to blame. But the King of England bitterly mourns his sister whom he loved so well, and I fear we shall find it difficult to convince him. Now, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, you are a very charming young lady.”

Louise drew a deep breath. Her heart was beating so fast that she could scarcely follow what the King was saying.

“And,” went on Louis, “I wish my brother of England to understand that my grief is as great as his own. I wish someone to convey my sympathy to him.”

“Sire,” said Louise, “you … you would entrust me with this mission?”

Louis’ large eyes were benign. He laid a white, heavily ringed hand on her shoulder. “Even so, my dear,” he said. “Madame herself has told me of a little incident which occurred while you were in England. King Charles was attracted by you; and, my dear Mademoiselle, it does not surprise me. It does not surprise me at all. You are most … most personable. I am going to send you to my brother in England to convey my sympathy and to assure him that Madame his sister has always been treated with the utmost tenderness in this land.”

“Oh … Sire!” Louise’s eyes were shining.

She fell to her knees.

“Rise, my dear Mademoiselle,” said Louis. “I see you are sensible of the honor I would do you. I want you to prepare for your journey to England. I will acquaint King Charles of your coming. Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, you are the daughter of one of our noblest houses.”

Louise drew herself up to her full height. There was pride in her eyes.
So the King himself recognized the standing of her family. It was only money that it lacked.

“And,” continued the King, “it is from our noblest families that we expect and receive the utmost loyalty. I believe, Mademoiselle, that you loved your mistress dearly. But as in all good subjects of our beloved country there is one love which is above all others. That is love of France.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“I knew it. That is why I am going to entrust you with a great mission. To the King of England you will take comfort; but you will always serve France.”

“Your Majesty means that during my stay in England I shall work for my country?”

“My ambassador across the water will be your very good friend. He will help you when you need help. Before you leave for England you will be further instructed. I have lost, in Madame, not only a very dear friend but one who, in view of her relationship to the King of England, was able to bring about great understanding between us two. Mademoiselle, I believe that such a charming and intelligent young lady as you so evidently are—and as one who has already attracted the attention of His Majesty of England—can, in some measure, give me … and your country … something of that which we have lost in Madame.”

The King paused. Louise sought for words and could find none.

“I have taken you by surprise,” said the King. “Go now and think about this.”

Louise again fell to her knees and said in clear tones: “Your Majesty, I rejoice in this opportunity to serve my King and my country.”

When she stood up, Louis placed his hands on her shoulders; then inclining his head with the utmost graciousness he kissed her lightly on both cheeks.

“I have the utmost confidence in you, my dear,” he said. “France will be proud of you.”

Louise left the apartment in a state of exaltation.

How often had she dreamed of being sent for by the King! At last it had happened.

The result was surprising, but no less promising for all that.

George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, presented himself at the French Court.

He had come to sponsor a treaty between his master and the King of France.

As several members of the Cabal were ignorant of the real Treaty of Dover, it had been necessary for Charles to devise another with which he might dupe them. This he had done, and Buckingham was selected to take it to St. Germain and at the same time to represent the King at the funeral of Madame. With Buckingham went Buckhurst and Sedley, and the Duke’s chaplain, Thomas Sprat.

Buckingham had been chosen—as a prominent Protestant—because the King and those who were in the secret feared that the news of the King’s promising to adopt the Catholic Faith might have leaked out. Since Buckingham was commissioned to sign the treaty in France, this would silence such rumors, as it would be generally believed that anything to which Buckingham would give his signature could not possibly concern the King’s becoming a Catholic.

There was another matter with which he was entrusted. He was to escort to England the late Henriette’s maid of honor who had attracted Charles when she had come to England in his sister’s train.

This was a task after the Duke’s own heart. It had been clear to him that his cousin Barbara was losing her hold over the King. Barbara’s beauty, which had once been incomparable, was fading. None could live the life Barbara lived and keep fresh. Any but Charles would have turned her away long ago, tiresome virago that she was. It was true that in the heyday of her youth no one could compare with Barbara for beauty and for sensuality; the King had found her—tantrums and all—irresistible. But Barbara was ageing, and even with an easygoing man such as Charles she could not continue to hold the title of mistress-in-chief. Sooner or later Barbara must be replaced.

The King had his women—many of them. The chief mistress at the moment was Moll Davies, and Nell Gwyn was a close runner-up. But these were play-actresses, and Moll, aping the nobility, showed her origins as clearly as Nell who made no secret of her beginnings.

The mistress-in-chief should be a lady of high degree. She should feel at home at Court; and although Barbara’s manners were atrocious, she was a noble Villiers and there could at times be no doubt of this.

But with Barbara fading from favor, someone else would soon be called upon to take her place. This Frenchwoman was surely the one to be selected for that task.

Louise de Kéroualle was a lady of noble birth. She had been educated and coached for a life at Court. She was not exactly beautiful. When Buckingham remembered what Barbara had been at her age he could call the new woman positively plain. But Louise had that which Barbara lacked—
poise, gracious manners, and a quiet charm. At this time he believed that Louise was destined to become the most important of the King’s mistresses.

It was great good fortune that he had been sent to bring her to England, for it gave him a great advantage over all those who would later seek to reach the King’s ear through his mistress. Buckingham would ingratiate himself with the woman and so establish himself as her friend.

The King of France was delighted to receive Buckingham. He had Madame’s own apartments made ready for him at St. Germain. It seemed meet and fitting that Buckingham should be in France at that time for, ten years before when Henriette had visited her brother in England at the time of the Restoration, the Duke had professed to be deeply in love with her. He had, in fact, made something of an exhibition of these feelings which had been an embarrassment not only to Henriette herself but to others; Monsieur had declared himself jealous of the Duke, with the result that it had been necessary to recall Buckingham to London. Who, therefore, was better suited to attend the funeral of Madame as her brother’s representative, than the Duke of Buckingham who had once loved her so madly?

Louis—anxious to show in what great esteem he had held Madame, and eager that the King of England should banish from his mind all thought that his sister had met her death by poison—greeted Buckingham warmly. He gave him one of the royal coaches and with it the service of eight royal footmen. All the expenses Buckingham incurred while in France were to be met from the King’s exchequer.

Louis—being French—believed firmly in the power of a man’s mistresses, and realizing Buckingham’s infatuation for Anna, Lady Shrewsbury, offered to pay that lady a pension of four hundred pounds a year, because his ambassador in England had already warned him that the lady had said that she, for such recognition, would make sure that Buckingham complied with Louis’ desires in all things. Louis also sent a bribe for Lady Castlemaine as, although the lady was no longer enjoying the favor she once had, it was clear that she would continue to wield certain influence as long as she lived.

Louis was fully aware of the power of these women. They were both deeply sensual; they had both enjoyed numerous lovers; therefore Louis believed that they were skilled in the arts of lovemaking. Each was a strong-minded woman. Barbara Castlemaine had proved this again and again. As for Anna Shrewsbury, she too had shown the world that she could be formidable—a good ally, a bad enemy.

Louis had heard of the duel which had been fought between Lord Shrewsbury and the Duke of Buckingham and which had resulted in Shrewsbury’s death; he had heard rumors of how Anna Shrewsbury had been a
witness of the duel; how, some said, she had acted as page to her lover so that she might be present; and how later, unable to forgo the immediate satisfaction of their lust, Buckingham and Anna had forthwith slept together, Buckingham still in the shirt spattered with her husband’s blood.

There was another rumor concerning this woman. Harry Killigrew had been one of her numerous lovers, and there had been a notorious scene in the Duke of York’s playhouse when Buckingham and Killigrew had fought together; as a result of that, Killigrew had been sent into exile, from which he had returned sullen and determined to be revenged on the Duke and his mistress. He had declared in many public places that Anna Shrewsbury would still be his mistress if he wished it, and that indeed she was any man’s who cared to take her. She was like a bitch in season—only Anna Shrewsbury’s season was every hour of the day or night.

Anna set out in her coach one dark night to see performed a certain deed which she had arranged. It happened near Turnham Green when Harry Killigrew was on his way to his house there. Harry Killigrew was set upon, his servant killed, and, only by a miracle it seemed, Killigrew escaped the same fate.

Yes, the King of France was certain that Anna Shrewsbury was worth a pension of four hundred pounds a year.

He was sure too that Buckingham was worth cultivating, even though the King had seen fit to keep him ignorant of the real Treaty of Dover.

So he arranged great treats for the Duke. Special banquets were prepared for him. He was presented not only with the coach, footmen, and living expenses, but with other costly gifts.

He was able to fit himself into the formal ceremony of Louis’ magnificent Court. Handsome and witty, he was in his element. Mock sea fights on the Seine were arranged for his benefit and he was introduced to the splendors of Versailles.

The Comte de Lauzun—a man of diminutive stature and a great friend of the King of France—asked him to a supper party. A splendid banquet was prepared, and next to his host, in the place of honor, sat the Duke. Beside him was Louise de Kéroualle, formal and distant; but, the Duke assured himself, he would soon win her regard. She was a cold creature, he decided; not what he would have expected from the French, nor the sort he would have thought would find favor in his master’s eyes. However, it was his task to ingratiate himself with her, and this he would do—all in good time. At the moment he was too busy being the guest of honor.

During that banquet three masked figures entered the banqueting hall. One was a man, tall and richly clad; the others were ladies. They came graciously to the table and bowed to Lauzun and Buckingham. The musicians,
who had been playing in the gallery, changed their tune to a stately ballet, and the three began to dance with such grace and charm that all at the table held their breath—or pretended to—since all had guessed the identity of the masked cavalier.

There were murmurs of “Perfection!” “But who could dance with such exquisite grace?” “I know of only one I have seen to equal that dancer—His Majesty himself.” “We must have the fellow perform before Louis. Nothing will content him but to see such perfection.”

Now the ladies were miming charmingly. They had pointed to a sword which the masked man wore. All saw that its hilt was studded with brilliant diamonds. One of the masked ladies danced to Buckingham’s side and implied, by her gestures, that the cavalier should bestow the sword upon their country’s most honored guest. The cavalier retreated, clung to his sword, his gestures indicating that the sword was his dearest possession. The ladies continued to persuade; the cavalier continued to hold back.