Winsor, Kathleen (151 page)

"And
have you got half of what you wanted from life?"

She
glanced away from him, down at the ornate carved footboard of the bed; her
fingers stroked through Mimi's scented glossy coat. "Yes. I think I have.
I have you—and I have France: I love you both—" She looked up with a
sudden wistful little smile. "And I think that both of you love me."

"I
do love you, Minette. I love you more than anyone or anything on earth. I've
never thought that many men are worth a friendship or many women worth a man's
love. But with you it's different, Minette. You're all that matters in the
world to me—"

Her
eyes took on a mischievous sparkle.
"All
that matters to you? Come
now, you can't really mean that when you have—"

He
answered her almost roughly. "I'm not jesting. You're all I have that
matters to me— These other women—" He shrugged. "You know what
they're for."

Minette
shook her head gently. "Sometimes, my brother, I'm almost sorry for your
mistresses."

"You
needn't be. They love me as little as I love them. They get what they want, and
most of them more than they're worth. Tell me, Minette—how has Philippe treated
you since the Chevalier's banishment? Every Englishman who visits France brings
back tales about his behaviour to you that make my blood run cold. I regret the
day you married that malicious little ape." His black eyes gleamed with
cold loathing and as he set his teeth the muscles of his jaw flexed nervously.

Minette
answered him softly and there was a look of almost maternal pity on her face.
"Poor Philippe. You mustn't judge him too hard. He really loved the
Chevalier. When Louis sent him away I was afraid that Philippe would go out of
his mind —and he thought that I was responsible for his banishment. To tell you
the truth I'd be glad enough to have him back again—it would make my own life
much more peaceful. And Philippe's so jealous of me. He suffers agonies when
someone even compliments a new gown I'm wearing. He was half wild when he
learned I was to take this trip—you'll never believe it but he slept with me
every night, hoping I'd become pregnant and the trip would have to be postponed
again." She laughed a little at that, though it was a laugh without much
mirth.
"That's how desperate he was. It's strange," she continued
reflectively, "but before we were married he thought that he was is love
with me. Now he says it turns his stomach to think of getting into bed with a
woman. Oh, I'm sorry, my dear," she said swiftly, seeing how white he had
become, so white that a queer almost grey pallor showed through the bronze
tones of his skin. "I never meant to tell you these things. It doesn't
matter, really. There are so many other things in life that are
delightful—"

Suddenly
Charles's face contorted with a painful spasm and he bent his head, covering
his eyes with the heels of his two hands. Minette, alarmed, reached over to
touch him.

"Sire,"
she said softly. "Sire, please. Oh, forgive me for talking like a
fool!" She flung the little spaniel aside and hastily got out of bed to
stand beside him, her arms about his shoulders; then she knelt in front of him,
but his face was hidden from her. "My dear—look at me, please—" She
took hold of his wrists and though at first he resisted her, slowly she dragged
his hands down. "My brother!" she cried then. "Don't look like
that!"

He
gave a heavy sigh; all at once his face relaxed. "I'm sorry. But I swear I
could kill him with my bare hands! He won't treat you like that any more,
Minette. Louis will see that his brother mends his ways, or I'll tear that
damned treaty into bits!"

In
the little room, draperies of scarlet and gold embroidered with the emblem of
the house of Stuart had been hung to cover the stone walls. Candelabra with
masses of tapers were lighted, for though it was mid-afternoon it was dark
indoors because there were no windows—only one or two narrow slits placed very
high. A heavy stench of perfumes and stale sweat clogged the nostrils. Voices
were low and respectfully murmurous, fans whispered in languid hands,
half-a-dozen fiddlers played soft tender music.

Only
Charles and Minette occupied chairs—most of the others stood, though some of
the men sat on thick cushions scattered over the floor. Monmouth had taken one
just at his aunt's feet and he sat with his arms clasped about his knees,
looking up at her with a face full of frank adoration. Everyone had fallen in love
with Minette all over again, willing victims to her sweetness and charm, her
ardent wish to be liked, the quality she had in common with her oldest brother
which made people love her without knowing why.

"I
want to give you something," she was saying to Charles, "to remember
me by."

"My
dear—" His mouth had a whimsical smile. "As though I'm likely to
forget you."

"But
let me make you a little gift. Perhaps a little jewel— something you can put on
sometimes that will make you think of me—" She turned her head and spoke
to Louise de Kerouaille
who was standing just at her shoulder. Louise was never far from Minette when
the King was in the room. "My dear, will you bring me my jewel-box—it's in
the center drawer of that cabinet."

Louise
made a delicate little curtsy; all her movements were graceful and pretty. She
had a kind of well-bred diffidence, a refinement and an easy elegance which
Charles admired in women but seldom found combined in the gustier ladies of his
own Court. She was Parisian to the last fibre of her body, the last thread of
her gown. And though she had undeniably flirted with him she had never been
brazen or tactless or bold—she was a woman who must be won before she might be
possessed. Charles, quite thoroughly jaded, was piqued at the notion of being
once more the pursuer, not the pursued.

As
she stood now before Minette, holding the box in her two hands, he said:
"Here's the jewel I want— Let her stay in England, Minette."

Louise
blushed, very becomingly, and lowered her eyes. Several of the English ladies
stiffened perceptibly. The Duchess of Ravenspur and the Countess of Castlemaine
exchanged indignant glances—for all the English mistresses had been allied
against Louise from the first moment they had seen her. Amused and subtle smiles
appeared on the faces of the men. But Minette shook her head.

"I'm
responsible to her parents, Sire. They trust me to bring her back." And
then, to smooth over the awkward moment, she added: "Here—whatever you
like—whatever will make you think most often of me."

Charles
smiled sauvely, not at all offended or embarrassed, and made a selection from
the trinkets in the box. Within a moment he seemed to have completely forgotten
the episode. But he had not at all. Someday, he promised himself, I'll have
that woman—and his memory was often as long in such matters as it was short in
others.

At
that moment the Queen entered with several of her ladies, among whom the
Duchess of Richmond was always to be found these days. Since Frances's
disfigurement by smallpox she and Catherine had become ever faster friends,
until now she hung about her Majesty with a kind of trustful pathetic
dependence in which the lords and ladies of Whitehall found cause only for
contemptuous amusement.

Minette
left the next day.

Charles,
with York and Monmouth and Rupert, went on board the French ship and sailed
partway out into the Channel. From the moment he had seen her he had been
dreading this hour of parting; now he felt that he could not bring himself to
let her go. For he had a mortal fear that he would never see her again. She
looked tired; she looked disillusioned; she looked ill.

Three
times he said good-bye, but each time he returned to
embrace her
once more. "Oh, my God, Minette!" he muttered at last. "I
can't
let you go!"

Minette
had tried not to cry, but now the tears rolled down her cheeks. "Remember
what you promised me. And remember that I love you and that I've always loved
you better than anyone else on earth. If I don't see you again—"

"Don't
say
that!" Inadvertently he gave her a little shake. "Of
course I'll see you again! You're coming back next year— Promise me—promise me,
Minette!"

Minette
tipped back her head and smiled at him, her face suddenly cleared and peaceful.
Like an obedient child she repeated after him, "I'm coming back next year—
I promise—"

Amber
had been almost as annoyed as Charles that Monsieur insisted upon Minette
remaining in Dover—for she had not wanted to leave London. Until the last
moment she hesitated, but when the Queen set out she went along. All the
fortnight of Minette's visit, however, she was unhappy and ill-at-ease. She
wanted desperately to go back to London, to try some way, any way she could, to
see him again. She was passionately relieved when the French fleet set sail and
Minette was on her way home.

She
had no more than entered the Palace—where she kept and often occupied her old
suite—when she sent a footboy to discover Lord Carlton's whereabouts.
Impatience and nervousness made her irritable and she found fault with
everything as she waited, criticized the gown Madame Rouvière had just
completed, complained that she had been jolted to a jelly by that infernal
coachman who was to be discharged at once, and swore she had never seen such a
draggle-tail slut as that French cat, de Kerouaille.

"What's
keeping that little catch-fart!" she demanded furiously at last.
"He's been gone two hours and more! I'll baste his sides for this!"
And just then, hearing his quiet "Madame—" behind her, she whirled
about. "Well, sirrah!" she cried. "How now? Is this the way you
serve me?"

"I'm
sorry, your Grace. They told me at Almsbury House his Lordship was down at the
wharves." (Bruce's ship had made two round trips to and from America since
last August and he was now getting them ready to sail a third time. On the next
trip back they would put into a French port and he and Corinna would sail from
there with the furniture they intended to buy in Paris.) "But when I got
there he was nowhere to be found. They thought he had gone to dine with a City
merchant and did not know whether he would return later today or not."

Amber
glowered sullenly at the floor, her right hand clasping the back of her neck.
She was desperately worried, she
was agonizingly disappointed, and to
add to her troubles she had begun to suspect that she was pregnant again. If
she was, she was sure that the child must be Lord Carlton's, and though she
longed to tell him, she dared not. She knew also that she should see Dr. Fraser
and ask him to put her into a course of physic, but could not bring herself to
do it.

"Her
Ladyship is at home," said the footboy now, eager to be of some help.

"What
if she is!" cried Amber. "That's nothing to me! Go along now and
don't trouble me any more!"

He
bowed his way out respectfully but Amber had turned her back on him and was
absorbed in her own worries and plans. She was determined to see him again—it
made no difference how, and she cared not at all that he only too obviously did
not wish to see her. Unexpectedly the words of the little footboy came back to
her. "Her Ladyship is at home." He had not been gone a minute when
she snapped her fingers and whirled around.

"Nan!
Send to have the coach got ready again! I'm going to call on my Lady
Carlton!" Nan started at her for an instant, dumfounded, and Amber gave an
angry clap of her hands. "Don't stand there with your mouth half-cocked!
Do as I say and be quick about it!"

"But,
madame," protested Nan. "I just sent to have the coachman
discharged!"

"Well,
send again to catch him before he leaves. I must use him for today at
least."

She
was hurrying about to gather her muff and gloves, mask and fan and cloak, and
she left the room close on Nan's heels. Susanna came running up from the
nursery at that moment, having just been told that her mother was back, and
Amber knelt to give her a hasty squeeze and a kiss, and then told her that she
must be off. Susanna wanted to go along and when Amber refused she began to cry
and finally stamped her foot, very imperious.

"I
will too go!"

"No,
you won't, you saucy minx! Be still now, or I'll slap you!"