CHAPTER III
IT IS HARD TO BE GOOD
There is an infernal charm about sin which should have been given tovirtue, but unluckily got shifted in very early human days. And so it wasthat George Hamilton had troubles of his own in this respect. When heleft Frances Jennings at Sundridge, he was aglow with good resolutions,all of which were to be put into immediate practice, and many of which hecarried out in part by strong though spasmodic effort when he returnedto court.
His attempts to be decent at first filled his friends with surprise, thendisgust, then raillery. The untoward thing had never been tried atCharles II's Whitehall, and it furnished a deal of talk between routinescandals. In fact, it was looked upon as a scandal in itself.
This new phase in one of the king's own subdevils soon fell under thenotice of his Majesty, who asked George one day if he would like to havean easy benefice in the church where he could meditate on his past andbuild for the future.
"And pray for Lady Castlemain's unbaptized children, your Majesty?" askedGeorge, whereupon the king shrugged his shoulders and turned away. LadyCastlemain and Charles were--well, there had been talk about them, to saythe least.
The court ladies laughed when George declined to drink himself drunk orrefused to help his former companions fleece a stranger. Nell Gwynn toldhim that even his language had grown too polite for polite society, and,lacking emphasis, was flat as stale wine. In truth, it may well be saidthat George had set out to mend his ways under adverse conditions. But he_had_ set out to do it, and that in itself was a great deal, for there isa likable sort of virtue in every good intent. He had reached the firstof the three great R's in the act of repentance, Recognition; Regret andRecession being the second and third--all necessary to regeneration. Ihad faith in his good intentions, but doubted his ability.
Hamilton and I had become fast friends, and by his help my suit of hissister Mary had prospered to the extent of a partial engagement ofmarriage. That is to say, Mary's mother, an old worldling of the hardesttype, had thought it well to secure me and to keep me dangling, to belanded in case no better fish took the hook. I was aware of the mother'sselfish purposes, but did not believe that Mary shared them, though Iknew her to be an obedient child. This peculiar condition of affairssomewhat nettled me, though I do not remember that I was at all unhappybecause of it.
But to come back to George. One day, a fortnight before Frances's arrivalin London, while he and I were watching the royal brothers, King Charlesand the Duke of York, playing pall-mall, I expressed my doubts and fearsof his ultimate success in reformation so long as he remained in any wayassociated with Crofts, Berkeley, Wentworth, and others of the viciousclique.
"Yes, I know it is an uphill journey," returned George, laughing with atouch of bitterness, "but think of my reward if I succeed!"
"Do you mean my cousin?" I asked.
"Yes, but I have little hope," he replied, though perhaps he had morehope than he expressed.
I had told him of her intention to come to London, hoping that he wouldleave before her arrival, as he did, though neither he nor I knew whenshe was coming. So I asked:--
"Don't you know that she will be carried off by some rich lord before youare half good enough for her?"
"I suppose so," he answered, with a sigh.
"You must know that she is coming for that purpose," I returned, wishingto take all hope out of him.
He winced perceptibly and answered after a long pause, nodding his headin the direction of the king: "There is the only man I fear--the king.But rather than see her the victim of any man, by God, I'll kill him,though it cost me my life the next moment!"
I was touched by the new light in which I saw him and took his arm infriendliness as I said, "I judged you wrongfully at Sundridge."
"You were right," he answered impatiently. "You awakened in me not only asense of my duty to Frances, but a knowledge of my obligation to myself."
"But are you so sure of my cousin, even barring other men?" I asked,hoping to sow the seeds of doubt.
"Yes," he answered, with emphasis. "As sure as a man may be in such acase."
"Well, George," said I, "it warms my heart to say that I hope you willgain wealth, station, and mode of life worthy of her, and that in the endyou may win her. My candid opinion is, however, that you will have to doit quickly. She will accept none of these creatures at court, of that youmay be sure, but there are many worthy gentlemen in England who are richand of great name, who have business at court and will see her and wanther. There is Dick Talbot, Duke of Tyrconnel. He is a fine fellow,enormously rich, and--"
"A mere lump of meat," interrupted Hamilton, angrily. "She could not lovehim."
"No," I answered. "Nor do I think she will try. But it is better inthe long run that a woman respect a man, not loving him, than to love,despising him. Respect is likely to last; all sorts of love may die. Butin any case it is Frances's intention to marry a fortune for her father'ssake, even though she has to close her eyes in doing it."
"I'll try to prevent that misfortune," he answered gloomily. "But ifshe learns to love a man worthy of her, I shall take myself out of herway forever. Let us stand together, Baron Ned, and help this girl tohappiness for life, without respect to myself. You see I'm not all bad.In truth, I am becoming self-righteous. I have left the ranks of thepublicans and sinners and have become a Pharisee. I tell you, Baron Ned,nothing so swells a man in the chest as the belief that he is not asother men are."
His righteousness, at least, was not devoid of bitterness, and it ispossible that a part of his aversion to his former friends and to theking grew out of his jealousy of them for Frances's sake.
"There is no good reason why you should allow your righteousness tobecome offensive, as that of the ranter, who hates rather than pitiesiniquity because, in his opinion, God is a God of vengeance," I suggestedironically. "But rather let your virtues grow as the rose unfolds and--"
"Oh, be damned to your raillery! I'm not going to be too decent!" heretorted, finding nothing to amuse him in my remark. Nor did he becometoo decent, as will appear all too soon.
If, for a time, Hamilton's life did not conform to our desires, we mustnot condemn him too harshly, for the evil which we try to throw offclings like a bur, while the good we would keep must be tied on. Thusmuch I say in anticipation. In the end he gained the battle with himself,though his victory won him the king's hatred, put his life in jeopardy,and brought him misfortune such as he had never before known.
Soon after the foregoing conversation, George went to Paris and remaineda few days with King Louis, whom he had known since early youth. His evilstar brought him back to London the day before Frances left Sundridge,though, he knew nothing of her departure. I did not know of his return,nor did I know of his remote connection with the terrible eventsattending her arrival till long after they happened.
* * * * *
While Frances, Roger, and the fat horses were struggling through the mud,the darkness, and the rain, a band of congenial spirits were gatheredabout the huge fireplace in the taproom of the Leg Tavern in King Street,Westminster, a stone's throw from Whitehall Palace. There was my LordBerkeley, the king's especial crony, who possessed all his royal master'svices without any of his Majesty's meagre virtues. He imitated the kingin dress, manner, cut of beard, and even in the use of Charles's favoriteoath, "Odds fish!" an expletive too inane even to be wicked, being adistortion of the words "God's flesh." There was young Crofts, theking's acknowledged son, Duke of Monmouth by grace of his mother'sfrailties. He was a living example of the doctrine of total depravityin what purported to be a man. There was John Churchill, a very decentfellow in a politic way, though in bad company. He afterward marriedmy laconic cousin Sarah, whose shrewdness made him the first Duke ofMarlborough, and last, I regret to chronicle, was George Hamilton,resting from his labors at self-reform. Soon after dark another congenialspirit, the most pusillanimous of them all, young William Wentworth, SirWilliam's son and
Roger's nephew, entered the taproom dripping with rain.Before going to the fire, he called Crofts and Berkeley to one side.Placing his arms about their necks, he drew their faces close to his andmade the following remarkable communication in a low whisper:--
"At the supper table, to-night, my worthy sire let slip the informationthat my good uncle of Sundridge had been expected this afternoon. He hadnot arrived when I left home fifteen minutes ago, but probably is stuckin the mud a mile or two outside of London on the St. Albans road."
"Let him stick! What is it to us?" asked Crofts.
"Thus much it is to me," answered Wentworth. "He has with him a thousandpounds in gold, while I, his gentleman nephew, have not a jacobus to myname. Now the question becomes one of mere humanity. Shall we allow mygood uncle to stick in the mud, or shall we sally forth like goodSamaritans, relieve him of a part of his load, and make travelling easierfor the dear old man?"
"As men and Christians, we must hasten to his help," declared Crofts.
"But how about Hamilton and Churchill?" asked Berkeley, whose courage wasnot of the quality to make a good highwayman. "Crofts has invited themhere for a feast with us. How shall we get rid of them? Hamilton hasbecome a mere milksop, and Churchill always was too cautious and politicfor this sort of a game. Not only will they refuse to go with us if wetell them of our purpose, but they will try to keep us from going."
"Let us take them with us," suggested Crofts. "They won't go if we tellthem our purpose, but they will not peach if we take them with us uponsome other excuse. We'll walk ahead of them, and--but come with me to thefire. I have a plan. All I ask you to do, Wentworth, is to shake out yourcloak, hang it before the fire, and speak of the rain and the bad nightoutside. I'll do the rest! I'll fetch them! Come!"
Laughing boisterously, the three swaggered over to Hamilton andChurchill, who were sitting by the fireside. Wentworth took off hiscoat, held it before the blaze to dry, and said, with a terrible oath:--
"Bad night without! Never saw it rain so hard! Raw and cold for this timeof the year!"
Crofts ordered a fresh bowl of Rack punch; then, turning to Wentworth,asked:--
"Raining? Who cares for a little rain? I like to be out in it. By theway, I have a wager to offer! Ten pounds to the man to the table; winnerto take the lump!"
"Hear! Hear!" cried everybody.
"Let us all walk out on the St. Albans road without our cloaks, the lastman to turn homeward wins the entire stake."
"Good!" shouted Wentworth. "I must owe my ten pounds to the pot untilto-morrow."
"And I'll take the wager! Here's my money!" said Berkeley, throwing tenpounds to the table.
"Will you go?" asked Crofts, addressing Hamilton.
That evening George was in a mood for any adventure having action in it,for he was nearly out of money. He did not suspect the real purpose ofthe absurd wager, and after a moment's consideration of the forty poundsto be won, declared:--
"I'll win the pot if I have to go to Edinburgh!"
"And you, Churchill?" asked Crofts.
"You're a pack of fools, but I'll go," replied Churchill, knocking theashes from his pipe.
They drank their bowl of punch and immediately set off for the St. Albansroad.
"The Oxford road is nearer than the St. Albans. Why not take it?" askedGeorge.
"You said you were going to Edinburgh," returned Wentworth, "and,besides, the St. Albans road is our wager, and that is the one we'lltake, unless you want to turn back and forfeit your stake."
To the St. Albans road they started, Crofts, Berkeley, and Wentworthwalking perhaps two hundred yards in advance of Churchill and Hamilton.The rain was pouring down in torrents, and the night was so dark thatHamilton and Churchill could not see the advance guard, though they hearda deal of talking, laughing, and cursing ahead of them. This order ofmarch was what Crofts and his friends desired, for of course the wagerwas not on their minds. They were hoping for something greater, andwould have been glad to release Churchill and Hamilton had they offeredto turn back. But lacking that good fortune, the valiant three evidentlyhoped to meet the coach and rob it before the others came up, in whichcase Crofts and his friends would deny the robbery, if accused, and woulddivide the gold into three parts instead of five.
When nearly two miles from the city, Crofts, Berkeley, and Wentworth metRoger's coach and delivered the attack as silently as possible. Just themanner in which it was done I have never learned, since Hamilton himselfdid not know the particulars of it, and Frances told me it happened soquickly that it was over almost before she knew it had begun. She saidthe horses had stopped, which was not a matter of surprise to her, asthey had been resting every few minutes, and that a man wearing a maskentered the coach, rummaged the cushions, and was backing out with thebag of gold in his hand when Roger seized him.
The robber was almost out of the coach, but Roger clung to him with onehand while he drew his pistol with the other and fired. Then the mantossed the bag of gold to one of his friends on the road, drew his sword,thrust it in Roger's breast, and the poor old man fell back on the coachfloor at my cousin's feet. She heard some one call to Noah: "Drive on ifyou value a whole skin!" and Noah, awaiting no second command, lashed thehorses with his whip until they plunged forward at a clumsy gallop.
Hamilton and Churchill, being perhaps two hundred yards down the road,knew nothing of the trouble ahead till they heard the pistol shot, whenthey ran forward, supposing their drunken friends were fighting amongthemselves. They had not taken many steps when a coach passed them,moving rapidly. As it passed, George heard a woman scream faintly, butimmediately the coach dashed out of sight. The light from Noah's lanthornhad fallen on Hamilton's face, and Frances had recognized the man of whomshe had been thinking and dreaming all day.
I did not know, however, till long afterwards that she had seen him, nordid he suspect that she was in the coach.
When Hamilton and Churchill came up to the robbers, Hamilton asked:--
"What was the trouble?"
"The damned old fool in the coach shot at me," answered Crofts.
"How came he to do it?" asked Churchill, suspecting the truth.
"I do not know," returned Wentworth. "He must have taken us forhighwaymen, for he thrust his head out of the door and fired a pistol atCrofts, who was nearest the coach."
"Yes," said Crofts. "And he was about to fire again, point blank at myhead, when I drew my sword and quieted him. Matters have come to a prettypass when gentlemen can't walk out on the public road without becoming atarget for every frightened fool that travels in a coach. I'll learn whothis fellow is, and will see that he becomes acquainted with the interiorof Newgate or dangles to a rope on Tyburn."
"Shall we declare the wager off?" asked Wentworth, turning to Churchilland Hamilton.
"By all means," answered Churchill.
All being willing to return, they started back to London, Wentworth,Berkeley, and Crofts falling behind. The story they had told was notconvincing, but when Hamilton expressed his doubts to Churchill andintimated his belief that a robbery, if not a murder, had been committed,Churchill answered cautiously:--
"Perhaps you are right, but the less we know or think or say about thisaffair, the better it will be for you and me. As for myself, I shallleave London for a while to avoid being called as a witness in case thematter is investigated. If we try to bring these fellows to justice, theymay turn upon us and swear that we did the deed, in which case we mighthang, for they are three to two; a good preponderance of testimony. Butin any case the king would see that no evil befell his son and hisfriends. Therefore if we are wise, we shall remain silent and takeourselves out of the way for the time being."
The next day, as I afterwards learned, George made the mistake ofreturning to France, not that he feared punishment for himself, butbecause he did not want to speak the unavailing truth and thereby bringupon himself the king's wrath, nor did he want to bear false witness toprotect the criminals.
Near the hour of ten o
'clock that night, Noah drew up the fat pantinghorses before Sir William's house. The porter, who had been watching allday, opened the gate, the coach entered the courtyard, Noah uttered ahoarse "Whoa!" and almost fell off the box to the ground. As soon as hecould get on his feet again, he went to the coach door, spoke to Frances,ran to Sir William, who was waiting at the top of the house steps, candlein hand, to welcome Roger, and spoke but one word: "Dead!"
Frances hurriedly came from the coach, and Sir William went to meet her.Holding out her hands to him, she cried:--
"Oh, Sir William, they have killed your brother! Robbed him and killedhim!"
Frances was incoherently explaining to Sir William when Lady Wentworthcame down the steps and led her into the house. Then the doors wereopened wide, and poor old Roger's body was carried reverently to the bestparlor.
The following morning, when I was notified that Frances was at SirWilliam's house, I went to see her and learned the particulars of thetragedy, though she said nothing at that time about having recognized anyof the highwaymen, and seemed strangely reluctant to talk about theaffair.
On the fourth day after Roger's death he was buried inSaint-Martin's-in-the-Fields churchyard, good Sir William taking the onlymeans in his power to express his love for his brother by an elaboratefuneral. Never were there more beautiful hatchments seen in London. Theybore Roger's humble coat-of-arms, half in white and half in black, todenote that the deceased had left a widow. Never were there more norfiner white mourning scarfs distributed among the mourners, and never inthe memory of man had so much burnt sherry been served at a funeral.
These extraordinary arrangements attracted a great deal of attentionthroughout London and caused Roger's murder to be talked about far andnear. The result of this publicity was that the city authorities set onfoot an investigation which soon brought Wentworth, Crofts, and Berkeleyunder suspicion. The sheriffs, however, kept their suspicions tothemselves, and I heard only faint whispers of what was going on.
After the funeral Lady Wentworth invited Frances to be her guest for aweek or two, and upon my advice the invitation was accepted.
Two or three days after the funeral, while Frances and I were walking outtogether, she complained of young Wentworth's attentions.
"To-day he put his arm about me," she said, laughing, though indignant.
"And what did you say and do?" I asked.
"I simply remarked that I disliked the touch of half-witted persons,whereupon he declared that he had wit enough to be offended. Then I toldhim he should thank heaven for the small favor and pray God to help himuse it."
After cautioning her to secrecy, I told her of the ugly whispers thatwere abroad connecting young Wentworth, Crofts, and Berkeley with themurder of old Roger.
"No, no!" she cried, greatly agitated. "I saw the two men who did it. Isaw them in the light of Noah's lanthorn. Neither of them was youngWentworth."
I at once grew interested and asked her to describe the men she saw.
"No, no, no!" she cried vehemently, almost hysterically. I thought shewas going to weep, so I said in haste:--
"Don't weep, Frances! You must forget."
She looked quickly up to me and answered: "I am not weeping. There is nota tear in me. I have wept until I am dry."
"But your grief is unreasonable," I returned. "Roger was your friend, Iknow, but his death does not call for so great sorrowing."
"No, no, it is not that, Baron Ned. You don't know. I can't tell you.Please do not speak of this terrible affair again."
I supposed it was her horror of the tragedy that had wrought upon hernerves, usually so strong, so I dropped the subject, and it was notbrought up again until after many weeks, when circumstances made itnecessary for me to break silence.
* * * * *
While Hamilton was away, the murder of Roger Wentworth was freelydiscussed in London and was brought to the king's notice by a deputationof citizens who told his Majesty very plainly that certain of his friendswere under suspicion.
The king pretended that he had not heard of the crime, expressed hisgrief, was moved to tears by the recital, promised to do all in hispower to bring the offenders to justice, and dismissed the Londonerswith many brave, virtuous words. As soon as they were gone, he joineda cluster of friends, among whom were Crofts, Wentworth, and Berkeley,to whom he repeated, with many witticisms, the complaints of the citydelegation. With what he thought was fine comedy, he reiterated his firmdetermination to bring the criminals to justice with despatch that shouldhave nothing of the law's delay. Closing his remarks on the subject,he said with a wink and an affected air of severity:--
"Gentlemen, I insist that you make an effort to be more careful of mytanners in your frolics. Even tanners' hides have their uses. Waste themnot! Again I say, waste them not!"
"Not even for a thousand pounds, Rowley?" asked Crofts.
"Ah, well, of course, a thousand pounds is--well, it is a thousandpounds," answered the king, laughing.
It may be surmised from the king's words and manner that he intendedtaking no steps to bring the offenders to justice, and that he knew whothey were. The London people soon discovered his real intent and began inearnest on their own account.
When the net began to draw too closely about the culprits, the kinginterfered and gave the London courts of justice to understand thatfurther proceedings against Wentworth, Crofts, and Berkeley would cause aroyal frown. The Londoners were not willing to drop the matter, even atthe risk of royal displeasure, so the king caused it to be hinted to theLondon officials that Crofts, Berkeley, and Wentworth were innocent, butthat possibly Hamilton was the guilty man. No mention was made ofChurchill, he being at the time the Duke of York's most intimate friend.
Hamilton was away from home and was friendless, all of which gave hisaccusers the courage to fix suspicion on him, though they did so withouttaking the responsibility of making the charge themselves.
So it was that when George returned to England, several weeks later, hefound trouble awaiting him in many forms.
* * * * *
My cousin's presentation to the duchess was made in private and was asuccess in every respect. I asked Mary Hamilton to accompany LadyWentworth, Frances, and myself on this occasion, and she graciouslyconsented. Lady Wentworth insisted on making the presentation, so onemorning I called for my cousin and her chaperone, took the Wentworthbarge at Blackfriars water stairs, and proceeded by river up toWestminster stairs, where we disembarked. I left my companions in abookstall in the Abbey and went to fetch Mary, who lived near by in ahouse called Little Hamilton House, under the shadow of Great HamiltonHouse, which was the home of Count Anthony.
Mary was waiting for me, so she and I hastened to the bookstall, took upFrances and Lady Wentworth, went back to the barge, and then by water toWhitehall Garden stairs. There we left the river, walked to the Palace,and proceeded immediately to the parlor of her Grace, the Duchess ofYork, whom we met by appointment.
When we entered her Grace's parlor, she rose, came to meet us, pausedfor a moment, gave one glance to Frances, and, without a word ofpresentation, offered her hand to my cousin, saying:--
"I need no introduction to Mistress Jennings. Her beauty has beenheralded, and I know her. I understand she wishes to do me the grace ofbecoming one of my maids of honor?"
"Yes, madam," returned Frances, kneeling and kissing her Grace's hand. "Ihope you may do me the grace of accepting my poor services."
"Oh, do not kneel to me here among ourselves," said the duchess, smilinggraciously. "It is you who grant the favor, and, without more ado, Iheartily welcome you to our family."
Thus, almost before she knew it, Frances's beauty had won, as we had beensure it would, and she was a maid of honor in Whitehall Palace to herGrace, the Duchess of York, sister-in-law to the king.
"The Mother of the Maids will instruct you in your duties, chief of whichyou will find easy enough, that is, to be beautiful," said the d
uchess,taking a chair and indicating that we were to be seated.
Frances, Mary, and Lady Wentworth took chairs, but nothing short of abroken leg or tottering age would have justified me in accepting theinvitation to sit.
"Before I send for the Mother of the Maids," said the duchess,graciously, "let us talk a few minutes about ourselves and other people."
Her suggestion being taken by silent consent, she asked Lady Wentworthabout Sir William's health and was graciously inquisitive concerning manyof her Ladyship's personal affairs, to her Ladyship's infinite delight.She talked to Mary and to me for a moment, and then turned to Frances, ofwhom she asked no personal questions, but spoke rather of her Grace's ownaffairs and of life at court, dropping now and then many valuable hintsthat had no appearance of being instructions.
Presently her Grace said, "Now we have talked about ourselves, let ustalk about other people."
We all laughed, and Frances inquired, "Will your Grace kindly tell uswhom we may abuse and whom praise?"
"Oh, abuse anybody--everybody. Praise only the very young, the very oldand the halt; abuse all able-bodied adults, and laugh at any one in whomyou see anything amusing," answered the duchess.
"Not the king and--" laughed Frances.
"The king!" interrupted her Grace, with a tone of contempt in her voice."Every one laughs at him. He's the butt of the court. Do you know hisnickname?"
"No," returned Frances.
"Yes, yes," interrupted Lady Wentworth, laughing nervously. She did notwant to be left out of the conversation entirely, so she chimed inirrelevantly.
"We call him Old Rowley in honor of the oldest, wickedest horse in theroyal mews," said the duchess, laughing. "You need not restrain yourself.Soon every one at court will be talking about you, the men praising yourbeauty, and insinuating ugly stories about your character, and the womenwondering how any one can admire your doll's face or find any wit in whatyou say. Remember that the ordinary rule of law that one is deemedinnocent until proved guilty is reversed in Whitehall. Here one is deemedguilty till one proves one's self innocent, and that is a difficult task.Ah, my! It has been many a day since we have had any convincing proof!Eh, Lady Wentworth?"
"Yes, yes, your Grace! Many a day, many a day! Ah, we are a sad, naughtycourt, I fear," answered my Lady, with a penitent sigh. Her chief desirewas to be a modish person; therefore she would not be left out of theiniquitous monde, though her face, if nothing else, placed her safelybeyond the pale of Whitehall sin. One of the saddest things in life is tobe balked in an honest desire to be wicked!
"Yes, you won't know yourself when your character comes back to you,filtered through many mouths," said the duchess, laughing. "But don'ttake offence; retaliate!"
"My cousin will have to learn the art, your Grace," I suggested.
"Ah, I have a thought!" cried the duchess, turning to Frances. "Nothingsucceeds like novelty here at court. Be novel. Don't abuse people save totheir faces, but don't spare any one then. Remember that a biting epigramis the best loved form of wit among us Sodomites. We love it for its ownsake, but more for the pain it gives the other fellow. We like to see himsquirm, and we have many a joyous hour over our friends' misfortunes.Turn yourself into a mental bodkin, and you will find favor among us, forit is better to be feared than loved in our happy family."
"Ah, how beautiful!" cried Lady Wentworth, determined to be heard, eventhough never addressed.
"But as I have said," continued the duchess, "try, if you can, to benovel, and be a bodkin only to the victim's face, save, of course, in thecase of a new bit of racy scandal. That must be used to the greatestadvantage as soon as possible, for scandal, like unsalted butter, willnot keep."
The duchess laughed, as though speaking in jest, but she was in earnestand spoke the truth.
"But I must learn the current faults of my friends-to-be," suggestedFrances, laughing, "so that I may not fall into the unpardonable error ofrepeating an old story. Stale scandal is doubtless an offence in the earof the Anointed."
The Anointed was the king.
"That is true," returned the duchess, seriously. "Old scandals bore him,but if, by good fortune, a rich new bit comes your way, save it for ourRowley, whisper it in his ear and forget it. Leave to him the pleasure ofdisseminating it. He dearly loves the 'ohs' and 'ahs' of delight incidentto the telling of a racy tale. But I'll take you in hand one of thesedays and tell you how best to please the king, though your beauty willmake all other means mere surplusage. To please the king, you need but beyourself; to please my husband, the duke, is even an easier task. He iseverybody's friend. They will be wanting to divorce the queen and me foryour sake. Two such fools about pretty women the world has never knownbefore and I hope never will again. To see the two royal brothers oglingand smiling and smirking is better than a play. I used to be disgusted,but now it amuses me. So if my husband makes love to you, don't fear thatI shall be offended, and if the king makes love to you, as he surelywill, have no fear of the queen. She is used to it."
"I shall try to please every one," said Frances.
"No, no, no!" cried the duchess. "That would be your ruin! A dog licksthe hand that smites it. We're all dogs. Every failure I have known atcourt has come from too great a desire to please."
Frances laughed uneasily, for she knew she was hearing the truth,disguised as a jest. After a moment's silence, she asked:--
"May I not at least try to please your Grace? And may I not seek youradvice and thank you now and then for a reprimand?"
"Yours is the first request of the sort I have ever heard from a maid ofhonor, and I shall take you at your word," said the duchess. "I'm notposing as the head of a morality school, but if I may, I shall try to beyour guide."
Lady Wentworth was almost comatose with pride--"pride on the brain"Frances afterwards called it.
Presently her Grace continued seriously. "The king will make love to youon sight. If he fails in obtaining a satisfactory response, he may affectto be offended for a few days, during which time my husband may try hishand. Failing, he will smile and will withdraw to make room for Rowley'sreturn attack. Rowley's return will be in earnest, and then will comeyour trial, for the whole court will fawn upon you, will lie about you,and beg your favor for them with the king."
"Surely it is a delightful prospect," returned my cousin, smiling.
"Oh, delightful, delightful!" ejaculated Lady Wentworth in a semilucidinterval.
"Now I'll send for the Mother of the Maids," said her Grace, "who willshow you to your rooms and instruct you in the duties, forms, andceremonies of court. I suppose you dance the country dances. They are theking's favorites. He calls the changes."
"Yes, your Grace," answered Frances.
"And the brantle and the coranto?" asked the duchess.
"Yes, your Grace."
"And do you play cards?"
"Yes, your Grace, but I loathe games."
"Ah, I see you're equipped," said the duchess. "But here comes the Motherof the Maids."
The duchess presented Frances to the Mother, who presently led her forthacross the threshold of a new life, destined to be filled with manystrange happenings.
After leaving the Duchess of York, Frances and the Mother of the Maidsentered the Stone Gallery, half the length of which they would have totraverse before reaching the door that entered the narrow corridorleading to the apartments of the maids of honor. Midway in the gallery,a man, evidently in wine, accosted Frances without so much as removinghis hat.
"Ah, ah! Whom have we here?" he asked, winking to the Mother of theMaids.
Frances was astonished and a little frightened, but she soon broughtherself together and retorted:--
"What is it to you, sir, whom we have here?"
At once it occurred to Frances that the impertinent man was either theking or the duke, but she hid her suspicion.
"Much it is to me, fair mistress," returned the gentleman, taking off hishat and bowing. "The sun shines for all, and when one dare be asbeautiful
as yourself, all men may bask in the radiance and may ask,'What new luminary is this?'"
"You may bask to your heart's content," retorted Frances, laughing, "butyou must know that it does not please the sun to be stopped by anunprepossessing stranger."
The Mother's face bore a look of consternation, and the gentleman threwback his head, laughing uproariously.
"Ah, my beauty, but I would not remain a stranger. If I amunprepossessing, it is because I am as God made me and I cannot help it.But I can help being a stranger to you and would make myself known, andwould present my compliments to--"
"To the devil, who perhaps may like your impertinence better than I likeit," retorted Frances, turning from him angrily and hastening toward theopposite end of the gallery.
When Frances reached the door of the corridor, she looked back and sawthe Mother of the Maids listening attentively to the gentleman. He waslaughing heartily, and when the Mother left him, Frances noticed that shecourtesied almost to the floor, a ceremony little used save with theking, the queen, the duke, and the duchess.
When the door of the gallery was closed behind Frances, she asked theMother:--
"Who is the impudent fellow?"
"He? Why, he--is--why, he is Sir Rowley," answered the Mother,hesitatingly, and Frances knew that she had won her first round with theking, though she kept her knowledge to herself.