The Spider's Touch (7 page)

They would not leave to call on Madame Schulenberg until half past three, but Hester doubted she would have enough time to gather her wits for such an enterprise. How did one go about proposing a bribe?

In the hope that a quiet place would be more conducive to scheming, she left the hall with its marble staircase and headed to a comfortable closet on the first floor, where some of Lord Hawkhurst’s books had been shelved. She had noticed that Harrowby never bothered to enjoy them, and it was unlikely that any of her relatives ever would. She could count on this room’s being empty most days, which made it almost hers.

She still could not reconcile herself to her change in circumstances, which had been brought about by Isabella’s marriage. In every direction she turned, she saw splendour—marble columns and floors, furniture in satin and gilt, great paintings by the masters, and ceilings on which the plaster had been carved by Gibbons himself. She was surrounded by beauty, clothed in gowns she had never dreamed of—even if most of them had been Isabella’s—and introduced to some of the most powerful people in England.

It all tasted bitter, though, because it rightfully belonged to St. Mars. And she did not even know where he was.

She was on the point of entering the smallish room when James Henry surprised her, coming out of it. Nearly colliding with her, he looked almost as disconcerted as she felt.

“Mrs. Kean, I was looking for you. May I beg a moment of your time?”

“Certainly, sir.” She was taken aback to discover that he must have observed her habits, else he would never have known to look for her here.

He stood aside and let her pass, with that unconscious grace that reminded her of his brother.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she said, turning to face him. She was uncomfortably aware of being in a small space with him alone.

“Yes. I should like your opinion of a gentleman you may have met, a Captain Potter.”

Hester was puzzled by the request, but she answered, “I hardly know him at all. Merely that he is a friend of Lord Lovett’s and Sir Humphrey Cove’s.” She remembered Captain Potter from the night of Isabella’s drawing-room, a man with a frowning disposition, which, in view of the frivolous nature of his hosts, he had tried to overcome. “Lord Lovett brought him once to this house. But I have never been in conversation with him. Why do you ask?”

Disappointment laid a crease in James Henry’s brow. “Colonel Potter has asked his lordship to engage him as his secretary. Lord Lovett recommended him to my lord’s notice, but that is all I know about him. I hoped you might have formed an opinion of his character. But you have never spoken to him? Never heard anything said about him?”

Hester shook her head. “The only time I saw him, he was very intent on speaking to my lord. But I did not overhear their conversation.”

“You truly heard nothing?” he asked, searching her face. Then, realizing that he had as much as accused her of eavesdropping, he had the grace to laugh. “Pray forgive me. I did not mean that the way it sounded. I simply hoped you might have overheard something that could help.”

She smiled. “No, but if it was employment he wanted, I doubt that his conversation was very revealing. Does his interest trouble you for any particular reason?”

He began a denial, but after seeing her skeptical gaze, he sighed, and said, “Yes, it does. Did you hear of the trouble in the Foot-Guards?”

 “Yes, Sir Humphrey brought us the news. He saw them burning their shirts when he was on his way here. And I read in the news-sheets that some of the soldiers threw their flaming shirts into the garden at the Palace and over the fence at Marlborough House.”

James Henry gave her a sober look. “Unfortunately, that was not all. The news-sheets did not report the worst, but it is known in the street. While they were rioting, those soldiers were shouting Jacobite slogans. They called for the Pretender and the Duke of Ormonde and would not disperse until Ormonde appeared and promised them that the shirts would be replaced.”

Hester understood his unease. “Colonel Potter was here with us that evening. Sir Humphrey thought he would want to know about the riot, so he could help control the men. I cannot say that the Colonel showed much concern. In fact, he only left because my lord urged him to do it. Do you think he lacks good judgement, or a proper sense of responsibility?”

James Henry shook his head. “No, my fears are much greater than that. The Whigs are saying that the Foot-Guards are rife with Jacobites. They say the former ministry put adherents of the Pretender in the Guards so they would turn against King George when the Pretender comes. And there is evidence that this true. At some of the riots this past month, members of the Life-Guards have been heard cheering for James Stuart.”

He looked at Hester, and his expression was very serious. “Whether Colonel Potter is a Jacobite or not, I must protect this house from any hint of treason. Mr. Walpole is gathering evidence, some of which may be true, but some which is surely to be exaggerated. It is my duty to warn Lord Hawkhurst, for he must never be believed to harbour any Jacobite sentiments.”

Hester wondered if James Henry knew that his own father had been a Jacobite. He must have known something about the former Lord Hawkhurst’s sympathies. But St. Mars had sacrificed his own good name to preserve his father from the taint of treason. And his older son would do no less to save the Hawkhurst estates from attainder

She said, “I would not like to ruin anyone’s chance at a livelihood, unless reasonably sure that he does not deserve it. But for the sake of this house, I will promise to discover what I can about Colonel Potter and his loyalties, however little that is likely to be.”

He thanked her, and since he had no excuse to linger, he left her alone.

Hester found that her appetite for reading had vanished. She could not think of the welfare of this house without thinking of St. Mars. If he was not here to protect his estate, then she could do no better than to help James Henry preserve it for him.

She had not given up on the idea that Gideon Fitzsimmons would one day return as the Earl of Hawkhurst, as was his right.

* * * *

At the Palace that evening, they were conducted to the private sitting room where, it was said, the King supped with his mistress every night. The guard passed them through the Tudor Gate, and a servant led them through the courtyard to Madame Schulenberg’s apartments at the back of the ground floor, overlooking the garden. Since this was the first visit Isabella had paid to La Schulenberg, Hester had not known what kind of reception to expect from a lady who, many said, was the queen of England in everything but name. But neither she nor Isabella was prepared for the scene that greeted them.

Neither was the guard, who was accustomed to escorting visitors directly in, when the King’s mistress expected them, else he might have asked them to wait outside. He opened the door t without knocking and halted in his tracks.

Madame Schulenberg reclined on a sofa, surrounded by a handful of  ladies, who were trying to stem her weeping. They moved about her like anxious bees, dabbing at her face with wet handkerchiefs and holding hartshorn beneath her nose. German phrases issued from her mouth in wails. Hester did not need to understand the words to know that the King’s mistress was very upset.

The opening of the door took her ladies by surprise. They turned as one body, but their alarm soon changed to relief. They must have been working over their mistress for many minutes with no success, for they almost seemed grateful for the distraction.

Instead of shooing the visitors out, they eagerly beckoned them to come in, while urging their mistress in a cheerful mixture of German, French, and English to compose herself for their sakes.

The guard announced their names and made a hasty retreat. Hester and her cousin stood nervously in the center of the carpet, waiting to see if they would be invited to sit.

While the ladies fussed, their voices chimed in rallying tones.

“But see here,
madame,
my Lady Hawkhurst and her cousin are here to cheer you. You will not wish to miss their visit.”

“Just think what his Majesty would say! You would not like him to see these tears!”

“Do not forget that you are here to support him. You must be very brave for his Majesty’s sake!”

Reluctant to stare at their hostess, Hester stole a look around the room. This was her first visit to the Palace, and she found it ironically fitting that her introduction should involve a king’s mistress. St. James’s had not been built for a royal court, but by Henry VIII for his mistress Anne Boleyn, when his true Court lay at Whitehall. Since then, it had been occupied by various members of the royal family and was the seat of the English Court under Charles I. Cromwell’s men had looted it, leaving none of the famous treasures Charles had amassed, and the Roundheads had used it for years as a prison and barracks. Upon the Restoration, Charles II had ordered it renovated for the use of his mistress, Lady Castlemaine, and his brother, the Duke of York. It had only finally become the official court of England when the Palace of Whitehall had burned to the ground, taking with it all the valuables collected by Charles II, his brother James II, and William and Mary, who had barely escaped the fire with their lives.

The result of all this turmoil, people said, was that the English king was housed worse than any European monarch. Courtiers complained about the plainness of the ceilings and the small size of the rooms. They said it was a disgrace for the King of England to be lodged in such an old, dim edifice when Louis XIV of France lived at Versailles. Hester, who had not seen the Palace of Versailles and never expected to, had to admit that the little she had seen of St. James’s could not compare even with the splendour of Hawkhurst House. But whatever elegance was lacking in the Palace itself was more than made up by the richness of the furnishings in Madame Schulenberg’s sitting room.

It was draped in silk tapestries, filled to overflowing with damasked chairs, gilt tables, and porcelain from China, and lit with expensive candles—all provided by the royal commissaries. The gossips said that no sooner had the King’s mistresses heard of the Board of Green Cloth and the Great Wardrobe than they had raided them both, adorning not only their apartments but themselves with the glory of dead queens.

The gems that hung about Madame Schulenberg’s skinny neck were worth a considerable fortune. Hester believed she had seen the emerald and diamond necklace in a portrait of Queen Anne.

Despite the opulence of her surroundings and the jewels, however, something clearly had occurred to offend the poor lady. The appearance of strangers eventually recalled her to herself. She was persuaded to sit up and take a piece of linen to cool her swollen eyes. As soon as she could speak, she invited Isabella and Hester to sit. A servant brought them tea in exquisite China dishes. Then, as she regained a degree of composure, she dismissed her ladies, assuring them that she could be left to enjoy her visitors alone.

As La Schulenberg took a sip of tea, Hester saw that her hand still trembled. Her eyes betrayed the sort of vulnerability that put her age as sixty rather than the forty she was known to allow. After that first sip, she hardly touched a drop of her tea, which made Hester, to whom tea was still a new and much-longed-for luxury, fret at the restraint imposed by good manners.

With the opening courtesies barely observed, Madame Schulenberg reverted to the thoughts that had overset her and still occupied her mind. “I do not underschtand de Englisch,” she wailed. “I begged his Majesty not to come to dis terrible country. I told him dat de English are a wiolent race who cut deir kings’ heads auf! But he vas assuring me dat de peoples of dat persuasion vere all on
his
sides. He said he vould be perfectly safe! So vy do dese peoples shout at me so and trow deir fruits when I try to go aut? I do not underschtand!”

Isabella’s eyes were as round as platters, her nerves too frozen to let her respond. So, Hester shook her head for both of them, making suitably sympathetic noises.

Madame Schulenberg continued, “Today, ven Madame Von Kielmansegge and I vere only taking a drive in de park—his Majesty’s own park!—some of dese ruffians trew
stones
at my carriage! Vy do dey hate us so? I told dem dat I haf only come for deir goots!”

It took nearly a minute for Hester to realize that Madame Schulenberg’s last expression was an unfortunate peculiarity of her German accent. But before she understood, it had cost her an exercise of will not to cast a jaundiced eye over the draperies and jewels in the room. If Madame Schulenberg had made the same linguistic error with the crowd, they would have understood her to mean their chattels, which would have confirmed them in their worst opinions of the King and his mistresses, both.

She tried to calm the lady, adding her voice to Isabella’s, since her cousin had fortunately found hers.

“I am sure you have nothing to fear,
madame
. You must not forget how warmly you were greeted when you first arrived. And even if there is a disturbance or two, the army is near.”

Too late, Hester recalled the recent incident with the Foot-Guards and hoped that Madame Schulenberg would not think she had spoken of the army just to frighten her more. She seemed firmly convinced that the English were about to rise, and that their intention would be to relieve both the King and herself of their heads.

“Jawohl!”
Happily for Hester, Madame Schulenberg grasped at these words of comfort. “De King vill make wery sure of de army. He
knows
how to command. He iss a wery great general, and he vill never keep traitors about him. Dey vill see dat he iss not to be fooled.”

The notion of the army and his Majesty’s military expertise seemed to calm her, enough that she appeared conscious of having uttered an indiscretion. She gave them her most distant smile, and Hester sensed that the intimacy they had reached was at an end.

“I tell
you
dis,” Madame Schulenberg said coyly, “because I know dat you luff his Majesty. Lord Hawkhurst and his Countess could only vish him vell. Und perhaps dere is a tiny favour you vould like to ask off him, yes?”