Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord

EIGHT

Nell was busy during the months which followed. These were the happiest of her life, she believed. Charles was a frequent visitor; his delight in my lord Burford and my lord Beauclerk was unbounded; the little boys were well; and Nell’s parties were gayer than ever.

It was true that there was no title for her, but Charles had promised her that as soon as he could arrange it, he would make her a Countess.

Nell allowed herself to shelve this ambition. Little Charles was an Earl, and nothing could alter that. She was ready to be contented.

Hortense was friendly and wrote to Nell, congratulating her on the elevation of her sons.

Nothing could have delighted Nell more.

“I have a letter here,” she called to her steward, Mr. Groundes. “The Duchess Mazarin congratulates the Earl of Burford on his elevation.”

“That is good of her, Madam.”

“It is indeed good, and more than Madam Squintabella has had the good manners to do. Why, since the Duchess is so gracious concerning the Earl of Burford, I think I will call upon her and give her my thanks.”

So Nell called for her Sedan and was carried to the apartments of the Duchess Mazarin, calling out, as she went through the streets, to her friends. “I trust I see you well?” “And you too,” would come the answer. “And your family?” “Oh, my lord Burford is well indeed. My lord Beauclerk has a little cough.” Then she would call at the apothecary’s. “We are running short of pectoral syrup, and my lord Beauclerk’s cough has not gone. I like to have it ready, for when my lord Beauclerk has a cough it very often happens that his brother, the Earl, catches it.”

It was disconcerting, on arriving at the Duchess’ apartments in St. James Palace, to find the Duchess of Portsmouth already there.

Louise, who was chatting with the French ambassador, Courtin, gave Nell a haughty look. Lady Harvey, who was also present, smiled uncertainly. Only Hortense was gracious. But Nell did not need anyone to help her out of an awkward situation. She went to Louise and slapped her on the back.

“I always have thought that those who ply the same trade should be good friends,” she cried.

Louise was horrified; Nell was unperturbed. While Hortense smiled her sleepy friendly smile.

“It was kind of you to come,” she said.

“Indeed I came!” declared Nell. “I was touched by your good wishes, Duchess. My lord Burford would have come to thank you in person, but he keeps my lord Beauclerk company.”

“You must be very happy,” said Hortense.

“And gratified,” said Louise, “having worked so hard and so consistently to bring it about. Your son is fortunate indeed to have such a mother.”

“And such a father,” said Nell. “There has never been any doubt as to who my lord Burford’s father is—although ’tis more than can be said for some.”

Louise was taken aback although she could not believe the affront was meant for her. She had led an exemplary life—apart from that strange and somewhat tepid relationship she shared with Danby.

“And the same goes for my lord Beauclerk,” said Nell.

Louise recovered her equanimity quickly. “I rejoice to say my own little Duke is well.”

Nell at that moment was determined that before she died my lord Burford should be a Duke.

Hortense said to Nell quickly: “I have heard that you have petticoats which are the wonder of all that behold them.”

“I have a good seamstress,” said Nell. She stood up and, lifting her skirts, began to dance, twirling her lace petticoats as she did so.

Hortense laughed. “You twirl so we can scarcely see them. I pray you let us examine them more closely.”

“You’ll not find better work in London,” said Nell. “And this woman will be making silk hoods with scarves to them for my lord Burford and my lord Beauclerk.” She became alert; she could never resist the pleasure of doing a good turn. “Why, I doubt not this good woman would be ready to make for Your Graces if you should so wish it.”

Hortense said that she did wish it; Louise said she feared she must go, and left while the rest of the company were examining Nell’s petticoats.

Nell’s eyes fell on the French ambassador. “Come, sir,” she said, “like you not my petticoats? Portsmouth hath not finer, for all the presents that are sent to her by the King of France. Why, you should tell your King, sir, that he would do better to send presents to the mother of my lord Burford than to that weeping willow. I can tell you, sir, the King liketh me better than Fubbs. Why, almost every night he sleeps with me, you know.”

Courtin hardly knew what to answer. He bowed awkwardly, fixing his eyes on the petticoats. Then he said: “Great matters need great consideration.”

And after a while Nell took her leave and went back to her chair, stopping to buy shoestrings merely for the pleasure of telling the keeper of the shop in the New Exchange that they would grace the little shoes of my lord Burford.

In Nell’s house the Whigs gathered. Shaftesbury and Buckingham were excited. They believed that the country was behind them and that if they could bring about a general election they would have no difficulty in getting a majority.

Danby was nervous. He knew that, once Shaftesbury’s party was in power, it would be the end of his career. He was determined to avoid the dissolution of the present parliament at all cost.

Shaftesbury and Buckingham planned to bring this about. And Nell, believing that Danby was the one who was preventing the King from giving her the patent which would make her a Countess, and knowing that he was the friend of Louise, assured them that she supported them wholeheartedly. Nell believed that once Shaftesbury was in power he would make her a Countess.

She did not realize that, in demanding a new election, Shaftesbury and Buckingham were going against the King’s wishes, and that Charles’ great desire was to rule without a Parliament, as he believed the Divine Right intended a King to rule. It was ever Charles’ desire to put Parliament into recess, from which he only wished to call it when it was necessary for money to be voted into the exchequer.

Nell was awaiting the result of the meeting of Parliament and preparing for the banquet she would give that night. She believed that the diabolically clever Shaftesbury and the brilliant Buckingham would come back to her house to tell her how they had defeated Danby’s administration, and how there was to be a new election which would certainly give them a majority over the Court Party in both Houses.

Then, she thought, I shall be made a Countess. Charles wishes to do it. It is only Danby who, to please Fubbs, prevents him.

While she waited a visitor called. This was Elizabeth Barry, a young actress in whom my lord Rochester was interested. He had found a place for her on the stage and was helping her to make a great career. He had begged Nell to do all she could for Elizabeth, and Nell, who would have been ready to give a helping hand to any struggling actress, even if she had not been a friend of Rochester’s, had done so wholeheartedly.

Now Elizabeth was frightened.

“To tell the truth, Nell,” she said, “I am with child, and I know not what my lord will say.”

“Say! He will find great pleasure in the fact. All men think they are so fine that the hope of seeing a copy of themselves fills them with pleasure.”

“My lord hates ties, as you know. He might look upon this child as such.”

“Nay, acquaint him with the facts, Bess. They’ll delight him.”

“I understand him well,” said Elizabeth uneasily. “He likes to laugh. He says that a weeping woman is like a wet day in the country. He hates the country as much as he hates responsibility. I once heard him say to a dog who bit him: ‘I wish you were married and living in the country!’”

” ’Tis the way he has with words. He must ever say what he thinks to be clever, no matter whether he means it or not. Nay, Elizabeth, you should have no fear. He will love this child, and you the more for bearing it.”

“I would I could believe it.”

“I’ll see that he does,” said Nell fiercely. And Elizabeth believed she would, and was greatly comforted.

They talked of children then, and as Nell was discussing in detail her feelings and ailments while she was carrying my lord Burford and my lord Beauclerk, another visitor arrived. This was William Fanshawe, thin and poor, who held a small post at Court. He had married Lucy Water’s daughter, Mary, over whom the King had exercised some care, although he had refused to acknowledge the child as his own, since everyone was fully aware that she could not be.

“’Tis William Fanshawe,” said Nell. “He is proud because his wife is with child. He will boast and try to convince you that Mary was in fact the King’s daughter, I doubt not. It is the main subject of his discourse.”

William Fanshawe was ushered in.

“Why, Will,” cried Nell, “right glad I am to see you. And how fares your wife? Well, I trust, and happy with her belly.”

Fanshawe said that his wife was hoping the child would bear a resemblance to her royal father.

“’Tis to be hoped,” said Nell, “that the baby will not take so long to get born as her mother did.” This was a reference to the fact that Lucy Water’s daughter was born far more than nine months after Charles had left her mother. But Nell softened at once and offered a piece of friendly advice. “And Will, spend not too much on the christening but reserve yourself a little to buy new shoes that will not dirty my rooms, and mayhap a new periwig that I may not smell your stink two storys high.”

William took this in good part. He was delighted to be near one who was in such close touch with royalty.

But it was clear to Nell that he had not come merely to talk of his wife’s pregnancy, and that he had something to say to her which was not for Elizabeth’s ears.

So, finding some pretext for dismissing Elizabeth, she settled down to hear Fanshawe’s news.

“Your friends are committed to the Tower,” he said.

“What friends mean you?” asked Nell, aghast.

“Shaftesbury, Buckingham, Salisbury, and Wharton … the leaders of the Country Party.”

“Why so?”

“By the King’s orders.”

“Then he has been forced to this by Danby!”

“They argued that a year’s recess automatically dissolved a Parliament. They should have known that His Majesty would never agree that this was so, since it is His Majesty’s great desire that Parliament be in perpetual recess. The King was angry with them all. He fears, it seems, that the fact that they make such a statement may put it into the members’ heads to pass a law making a year’s recess a lawful reason for dissolution.”

“So … he has sent them to the Tower!”

“Nell, take care. You dabble in dangerous waters and you are being carried out of your depth.”

Nell shook her head. “My lord Buckingham is my good friend,” she said. “He was my good friend when I was an orange-girl. Should I fail to be his when he is a prisoner in the Tower?”

The King took time off from his troubles to enjoy a little domesticity with Nell. These were happy times, for Nell’s contentment was a pleasure to witness.

Charles took great delight in discussing their sons’ future. Ironically he copied Nell’s habit of referring to them by their full titles every time he addressed them or spoke of them to Nell.

“Nell, my lord Burford and my lord Beauclerk must receive an education due to their rank.”

Nell’s eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“Indeed yes. They must be educated. I would not like to see my lord Burford nor my lord Beauclerk suffer the tortures I do when called upon to handle a pen.”

“I promise you they shall not. You know, there is one place where they could receive the best education in the world—the Court of France.”

Nell’s expression changed. “Take them away from me, you mean?”

“They would merely go to France for a year or so. Then they would come back to you. They would come back proficient in all the graces of the noblemen you wish them to be.”

“But they wouldn’t be my boys anymore.”

“I thought you wished that they should be lords and dukes.”

“I do indeed; and forget not that you have promised they shall be. But why should they not be with their mother?”

“Because it is the custom for children of high rank to be brought up in the households of noblemen, Nell. Had I left Jemmy with his mother, he would never have been the young nobleman he is today.”

“Which might have been better for him and others. Mayhap then he would not have been strutting about as Prince Perkin.”

“You speak truth. I would not press this. It is a decision you must come to for yourself. Keep them with you if you wish it. But if you would have them take their place in the world beside others of their rank, then must they follow a similar course of education.”

“Why should I not have tutors for them?”

“It is for you to say.”

When the King left Nell, she was disturbed.

She found the boys playing with Mrs. Turner, their governess, in charge of them. They ran to her as she entered.

“Mama,” they cried. “Here is Mama, come to sing and dance for us.”

Nell had rarely felt less like singing and dancing.

She dismissed Mrs. Turner and hugged the boys. They were so beautiful, she thought. They had an air of royalty which, no matter what education they received, must surely carry them to greatness. Charles was the image of his father. My darling, darling Earl of Burford, thought Nell; and little James? Nay, he had not the same air as his brother. There were times when Nell thought she saw her mother in him. This was not a new idea. She had settled her mother in a house in Pimlico, where she was very contented to be. Nell did not want her mother to influence those two precious lives.

“Mama,” said Lord Burford, “are you sad?”

“Nay … nay, my little lord. I’m not sad. How could I be when I have two such precious lambs?” She kissed them tenderly. “Would you like to go to France?” she asked abruptly.

“Where’s France?” asked Lord Beauclerk.

“Across the water,” said his brother. “’Tis a grand, beautiful place. Papa lived there a long time.”

“I want to live there,” said little James.

“Is Papa coming with us?” asked Charles.

“No,” said Nell. “If you went, you’d have to go alone.”

“Without you?” said Charles.

She nodded.

“Then I won’t go,” he answered haughtily—royally, thought Nell. The Divine Right of the adored child shining in his eyes.

She thought, Mr. Otway shall be his tutor. Poor Tom Otway, he’ll be glad of a roof to his head and his food each day.

Little James had taken her hand and was staring into space. He was picturing himself in France.

Nell thought: Lord Beauclerk would not feel the break so much. Perhaps he should go to France. It is more important for a young son to have that air of nobility. Honors may not come so easily to him as to his brother. Nell snatched him up suddenly and held him tightly in her arms. I can’t let him go, she told herself. He may be my lord Beauclerk, but he’s my baby.

Charles was relieved to have the troublemakers in the Tower. Their lodgings there were comfortable enough; they were allowed to have their own servants to wait upon them; they received visitors; in fact they lived like the noble lords they were; there was only one thing they lacked, and that was freedom.

Charles trusted none. To Danby, to Louise, he listened with sympathy; he visited Nell’s house and talked with the utmost friendship to her Whig friends. But all the time he was playing the secret game. He had one great desire—to rule his country without the help of Parliament. Parliament, with its opposing parties, made continual trouble. The Whigs slandered the Tories and the Tories the Whigs. They were more concerned with their petty hatred for each other than their love of their country. Charles loved his country (as he would have been the first to admit, loving his country was tantamount to loving himself) and he was determined to use all his skill—which was considerable when he brought it into play—to prevent himself ever going on his wanderings again.

He supported Danby because Danby was a wizard who had managed his financial affairs as they had never been managed before. He did not believe he could afford to do without Danby. For the first time since he had come to England he felt his affairs to be in good order. He placated Louise because she was Louis’ spy, and it was of the utmost importance that he should keep Louis’ friendship. The bribes he was taking from France now, in exchange for which he kept aloof from the Continental war, were the very reason for his country’s prosperity. Charles had always known that the country which stood aloof from war and concentrated on trade was the prosperous one. It was pleasant therefore to receive Louis’ bribes for keeping a peace which in any case he had intended to keep. He pretended to take Louise’s advice. Poor Louise! She must please Louis. He had to satisfy her in some way, and for the life of him he could not bring himself to visit her as often as he once had.

As for Nell, her dabbling in politics amused him so much that he could not keep away from her salon. She had as much understanding of politics as Old Rowley the stallion and Old Rowley the goat—who shared his nickname. Politics to Nell meant one thing: Who gives a dukedom to my lord Burford and makes the noble Earl’s mother a Countess, shall have my support. Danby had been against elevating Nell—doubtless on account of Louise—therefore Nell was Danby’s enemy.

So while Charles sympathized with Louise and Danby’s Tories and turned a sympathetic ear to Nell’s Whigs, he went his own way. And while he was accepting Louis’ bribes he was trying to go ahead with the arrangements for the marriage between his niece, Mary, and William of Orange.

James sought his brother. James’ face was dark with passion.

“Charles, you cannot mean this. My daughter Mary to marry that man!”

“Forget that he is the Protestant leader of the Dutch, and you’ll see what an excellent match he is.”

“The man’s a monster!” said James indignantly.

“The Prince is a brave soldier, Stadtholder of Holland, and our nephew.”

“My little girl is too young.”

“Your little girl is a Princess and therefore prepared for early marriage.”

“Have you forgotten his conduct when he was here?”

“That is a long time ago, and we made him drink too much. When a man drinks too much he does wild things. That is why I like only to drink when I am thirsty.”

“Brother, for the love of God do not give my little Mary to this man.”

“But this marriage is a necessary part of the peace between our two countries.”

“A man who smashed windows to get at the maids of honor. He is a lecher. He is debauched.”

“Oh, come … no more than the rest of us.”

James went away. He went to his little daughter and took her solemnly into his arms.

“Papa,” said Mary, “what ails you?”

“My little one … my little one,” sighed James.

Charles had followed him. He said: “Mary, a great future awaits you. You are to have a fine husband, and that is what every young lady—if she is wise—looks for.”

But Mary’s frightened gaze was fixed on her father’s face. She stared at him and slowly the tears began to fall down her cheeks. She understood. She would marry, and when a Princess married she was forced to leave her home.

The King liked to please Nell. Most of her requests—apart from the demand for that title which she felt should belong to the mother of her boys—were for others. She pleaded fiercely for Buckingham. His Majesty had so enjoyed the noble Duke’s company. Could he ever be really angry with Lord Buckingham? Not for long, surely. They missed him at her parties; and had Charles forgotten how they had been friends together in their childhood?

Charles prevaricated. He was afraid of offending Louise and Danby, whom he wished to keep in the dark concerning the policy he was pursuing regarding the French. The fact that he wished to bring about the marriage of Mary and William of Orange would displease Louis and therefore Louise, though Louise, still unsure of her position, was giving little trouble concerning this marriage. He did not wish to sway too much to the side of the Whigs by releasing Buckingham.

But he hinted to Nell that if she visited Buckingham in his prison she might intimate that the King no longer wished his old friend and companion of his boyhood to remain in the Tower.

This Nell quickly did, with the result that Buckingham was granted leave for a month’s freedom to help him throw off several indispositions which he had developed during his imprisonment. He did not return to prison, coolly taking up his quarters with his friend Rochester instead. They kept merry company with Nell Gwyn, and the King could not exclude himself from such entertainment as they gave.

Louise wept bitterly and told Charles that she feared he no longer had any regard for her. If he had, how could he show such friendship to those who sought to harm her?

The King softened towards Louise. He was more tender than he had ever been, because his love for her was gone. Poor Fubbs! She had never been the same since she had caught his sickness and she did not cease to remind him, with reproachful looks and hints, that she had suffered through him. He promised her that Buckingham should be dismissed from Whitehall; and he was as good as his word, knowing that Buckingham would not go far away. The Duke did indeed move to Nell’s house in Pall Mall, and there the merry supper parties continued.

And the French ambassador was almost as concerned about the King’s attendance at Nell’s parties, those hotbeds of Whiggery, as he was about this proposed marriage between Mary and William of Orange.

Meanwhile Charles was playing his lonely political game. The proposed marriage had thrown Louis into a fluster of anxiety. Louis, engaged in Flanders, was finding that the Dutch were a race of brave men, and stubborn fighters. William of Orange had proved himself to be a leader of genius, and Louis’ hopes of quick victory were not fulfilled. There was one thing Louis dared not face—an alliance between England and Holland.

Charles went with apparent heedlessness to Newmarket. He went to Windsor to fish. He laughed and made merry at the parties his mistresses arranged for him. Danby reproved him for his friendship with the Opposition, but he merely laughed at Danby. “I declare,” he cried, “I will not deny myself an hour’s pleasure for the sake of any man.”

Danby, bewildered and unable to understand on whose side the King was, wrote to Louis making fresh demands and promises. Charles read his Treasurer’s letters. To all of these Charles gave his royal sanction. “This letter is writ by my order. C.R.”

Louis continued to pay to keep England aloof to enjoy that peace which her King was determined to have. Louis was assured that the talk of a marriage between England and Holland was necessary to keep the people quiet and to prevent their demanding intervention in the war on the side of Holland.

But in October of that eventful year Charles announced the engagement of William and Mary. England and Scotland went wild with joy because they saw in this marriage an end to the menace of popery.

Not all rejoiced. In her bedchamber a fifteen-year-old girl sobbed bitterly while her father knelt by her bed and sought to comfort her.

It was a misty November day, and in the Palace of St. James were assembled those who would attend the marriage ceremony of the little fifteen-year-old Princess Mary. In Mary’s bedchamber an altar had been set up, for it was here in this room that the ceremony was to take place.

The bride’s eyes were swollen; she had wept incessantly since her father had told her the news. She was terrified of the small pale young man with the grim face who seemed to her so cold and so different from her father and her Uncle Charles. They told her that she should be proud of her husband. He was a great soldier. He was called the “hero of Nassau.” He had waged war on the invaders of his country; he had declared with such fervor his willingness to die rather than give in that his countrymen had rallied about him and followed his example. Nor had those been idle words. Mary was to marry a man whose name would be spoken of with awe every time military operations were mentioned. He was her cousin, her uncle had pointed out, his own sister’s boy; and when that sister—Mary’s own namesake—had died, Charles had promised his care of little Dutch William.

“And how could I relinquish that care to better hands than yours, my dearest niece?” asked Charles.

But Mary merely threw herself into the royal arms and sobbed bitterly. “Let me stay, Uncle. Please, please, dearest Uncle, Your Majesty, let me stay with you and Papa.”

“Nay, nay, you’ll be laughing at yourself in a short while, Mary. You are but a child, and we must all, alas, leave childhood behind us. You will rule Holland with your husband and, if this new child your new mother is to have should be a girl … well, then, one day you may rule England. If that became necessary, you’d have need of Dutch William.”

But Mary could only sob and refuse to be comforted.

Now in her familiar room the King and the bridegroom were present, and the King was saying: “My little niece is the softest-hearted creature in the world. She and her sister Anne have been dear friends since their childhood. Poor Anne is suffering now from sickness, and her sister suffers with her. It is a pity that her dearest Anne cannot be present to witness the greatest moment her sister has yet experienced.”

Mary wanted to cry out: “I do miss Anne. I would that she were here. But Anne will get well and, when she is well, I shall be far away. I shall lose all those I love, and in their place there will be this cold man who frightens me.”

Her father had entered now. She suppressed the desire to run to him, to fling herself into his arms. There were tears in James’ eyes. Dearest Papa, she thought, he suffers as I do. With James was Mary’s stepmother, Mary Beatrice; she was large with child, and her beautiful dark eyes were fixed with compassion on her stepdaughter. Mary Beatrice had offered as great comfort as any could during the preceding days. She herself had not been long in England, and when she had first come she had been every bit as frightened as poor Mary was now. “That was different,” said Mary. “You married Papa … my Papa … There is no one quite as kind as Papa.” “I did not think so. I burst into tears when I first saw him. It is only now that I begin to know him that I realize there was no need for those tears. So you will find it with William.”

Mary had allowed herself to be comforted, but now, in the presence of Dutch William, her courage was failing her again.

Charles, looking anxiously at his niece, was eager to have the ceremony done with. He called impatiently to Compton, the Bishop of London, who was to perform the ceremony.

“Come, Bishop,” he cried. “Make all the haste you can, lest my sister here, the Duchess of York, should bring us a boy, and then the marriage will be disappointed.”

William looked grim. His uncle’s jovial cynicism astonished him. He was aware that Charles knew that, in marrying Mary, he was hoping that one day he would come to the throne of England, but he thought it astonishing that Charles should refer to it at the ceremony.

He looked with distaste at the poor blubbering child, in whom his hopes were centered. She did not attract him, but there would be others who did.

“Who gives this woman?” the Bishop was asking.

“I do,” said Charles, firmly.

The Prince said the words required of him. He put a handful of gold coins on the book, as he endowed Mary with all his worldly goods.

“Put it in your pocket, Mary,” said the King with a smile. “For that is all clear gain.”

After that the ceremonies began. The bridegroom was aloof and indifferent to his bride, who continued to weep throughout the banquet in a quiet helpless way as though she had given up all hope of ever being happy again.

Charles was glad he had brought Rochester out of retirement. He found Dutch William and his friends a dull crowd, and was glad when the time came for him to officiate at the ceremony of putting the couple to bed.

Poor little Mary looked with dull eyes at those who crowded into the bedchamber to break bread and drink the posset, and cut her and her husband’s garters.

At last Mary and William were in the great bed together, and the King himself drew the curtains.

He did not look at Mary. He could not trust himself to meet the appeal in the tear-drenched eyes of his little niece.

He glanced at grim William, who looked like a man at a funeral rather than at his own nuptials.

“Now, nephew, to your work!” cried Charles. “St. George for England!”

Charles could no longer deceive Louis. The marriage with Holland was a fact, and the Parliament—Shaftesbury had now been released from the Tower and was back in the House—were demanding that an army be raised to assist Holland. Louis, through Danby and Louise, increased Charles’ pension. Charles, in accepting this, continued to assure Louis that the raising of the army was being effected only to pacify his people and keep secret his friendship with France.

Louis was realizing that, in hoping to work through Charles, he had given himself a more difficult task than he might have had. There were others in England who could be of the utmost use to him. He considered the career of Shaftesbury, he whom Charles had named “Little Sincerity,” and he felt that the leader of the Opposition might be as useful to him as the King. Louis was rich; he offered more bribes, and it was not long before the members of the Opposition—those stern Protestants—were on his pension list.

Thereupon Parliament refused to advance the money necessary for the troops, and there was nothing to be done but disband the army. Charles was forced to pay them out of his own pocket, which again put him in the power of the Parliament, for it was necessary to ask for a further grant of money.

The old struggle between King and Parliament was revived. The Commons made it clear that they wished to control the country’s affairs. Shaftesbury demanded the expulsion of the Duke of York. And Louis, furious at the way in which Danby had made him his dupe, passed over to the Commons Danby’s letters in which he had arranged for Louis’ bribes to be paid to the King.

Now Danby’s enemies were at his throat.

Charles assured the Parliament that all Danby had done had been at his command; and indeed at the bottom of each letter was written in Charles’ hand, “This letter is writ by my order. C.R.” The Commons decided to ignore the King’s part in these communications with Louis. They were out for Danby’s destruction; and his impeachment was imminent.

Nell tore herself from the domestic flurries concerning my lord Bur-ford’s shoelaces and my lord Beauclerk’s cough, and gave way to rejoicing. Danby and Louise had worked together, and she was sure that but for them she would have been a Countess by now, and my lord Burford a Duke.

Louise was afraid for, as Danby and she had worked together, she knew that many of his enemies strove to strike at her through him.

Then throughout the city there were rumors. They penetrated Whitehall.

Plots were afoot to murder the King and set the Duke of York on the throne.

People began to talk of a man named Titus Oates.