“Give me leave to finish my dinner, sirs. I’ll be with you presently.”

Their eyes consulted one another, dubiously, but after hesitating a moment they backed off and stood meekly waiting. When he was done he wiped his mouth, washed off his fork and put the case back into his pocket, shoved aside his pewter-plate and got up. “Well, gentlemen, I go now—to surrender myself.”

“God go with your Grace!”

As he started for the door the two officers sprang forward and would have taken his arms, but he motioned them aside. “I can walk unassisted, sirs.” Crestfallen, they trailed after him.

There was an explosion of shouts and cheers as Buckingham appeared in the doorway, grinning broadly and raising one hand to them in greeting. The crowd in the street had now grown to monstrous size. It was packed from wall to wall and for a distance of several hundred yards in both directions all traffic had come to a standstill. Coaches were stalled, porters and car-men and sedan-chair carriers waited with more patience than usual; all nearby windows and balconies were full. This man, accused of treason against King and country, had become the nation’s hero: because he was out of favour at Court he was the one courtier they did not blame for all their recent and present troubles.

There was a coach waiting for him at the door and Buckingham climbed into it. It was but little over half-a-mile to the Tower and all along the way he was greeted with clamorous shouts and cries. Hands reached out to touch his coach; little boys ran in his wake; girls flung flowers before him. The King himself had not been greeted more enthusiastically when he had returned to London seven years before.

“Don’t worry yourselves, good people!” shouted Buckingham. “I’ll be out in a trice!”

But at Court they thought otherwise and in the Groom Porter’s lodgings they were betting great odds that the Duke would lose his head. The King had stripped him of his offices and bestowed most of them elsewhere. His enemies, and they were numerous and powerful, had been unceasingly active. He had, however, at least one ardent supporter—his cousin, Castlemaine.

Just three days earlier Barbara and her woman Wilson had been driving along Edgware Road in the early evening, returning from Hyde Park. All at once a lame tattered old beggar appeared from some hiding-place and dragged himself before the coach, forcing it to stop. The coachman, swearing furiously, leaned down to strike him with his whip but before he could do so the beggar had reached the open window and was hanging onto the door, holding a dirty palm toward the Countess.

“Please, your Ladyship,” he whined. “Give alms to the poor!”

“Get out of here, you stinking wretch!” cried Barbara. “Throw him a shilling, Wilson!”

The beggar hung on stubbornly, though the coach had started to move again. “Your Ladyship seems mighty stingy for one who wears thirty thousand pound in pearls to a play-house.”

Barbara glared at him swiftly, her eyes darkened to purple. “How dare you speak to me thus? I’ll have you kicked and beaten!” She gave his wrist a sudden hard rap with her fan. “Get off there, you rogue!” She opened her mouth and let out a furious yell. “Harvey! Harvey, stop this coach, d’ye hear!”

The coachman hauled at his reins and as the wheels were slowing the beggar gave her a grin, displaying two rows of beautiful teeth. “Never mind, my lady. Keep your shilling. Here—I’ll give you something, instead.” He tossed a folded paper into her lap. “Read it, as you value your life.” And then, as the coach stopped and the footmen ran to grab him he dodged swiftly, no longer limping, and was gone. He turned once to thumb his nose at them.

Barbara watched him running away, glanced at the paper in her lap and then suddenly unfolded it and began to read. “Pox on this life I’m leading,” she whispered. “Expect me in two or three days. And see that you do your part. B.” She gave a gasp and a little cry and leaned forward, but he was gone.

Barbara was scared. She had heard the rumours too—his Majesty’s patience was at an end and this time Buckingham must suffer for his treacherous impertinence. Exile was the easiest punishment they saw for him. And she knew her cousin’s malice well enough to realize that if he went down he would drag her with him. Every time she saw Charles she begged him, frantically, to believe that the Duke was innocent, that it was a plot of his enemies to ruin him. But he paid her scant attention, merely asking her with lazy amusement why she should be so concerned for a man who had done her very little good and some harm.

“He’s my cousin, that’s why! I can’t see him abused by scoundrels!”

“I think the Duke can hold his own with any scoundrel that ever wore a head. Don’t trouble yourself for him.”

“Then you will hear him out and forgive him?”

“I’ll hear him out, but what will happen after that I can’t say. I’d like to see how well he can defend himself—and I don’t doubt he’ll entertain us with some very ingenious tale.”

“How can he defend himself? What chance has he got? Every man in your council wants to see him lose his head!”

“And I doubt not he has similar hopes for them.”

The hearing was set for the next day and Barbara was determined to get some kind of promise from him, though she knew that the King regarded promises much as he did women—it should not be too much trouble to keep them. As usual, she sought to gain her ends by the means to which he was least amenable.

“But Buckingham’s innocent, Sire, I know he is! Oh, don’t let them trick you! Don’t let them force you to prosecute him!”

Charles looked at her sharply. He had never, in his life, done anything he actually did not want to do, though he had done many things to which he was indifferent in order to buy his own peace or something else he wanted. But he had endured years of stubborn conflict with a domineering mother and hated the mere suggestion that he was easily led. Barbara knew that.

Now as he answered her his voice was hard and angry. “I don’t know what stake you have in this, madame, but I’ll warrant you it’s a big one. You’d never be so zealous in another person’s cause otherwise. But I’m heartily sick of listening to you. I’ll make my own decisions without the help of a meddlesome jade!”

They were walking along the south-east side of the Privy Garden, where it was flanked by a row of buildings containing apartments of several Court officials. The day was hot and still and many windows were open; several ladies and gentlemen strolled in other nearby walks or lounged on the grass. Nevertheless Barbara, growing angry, raised her voice.

“Meddlesome jade, am I? Very well, then—I’ll tell you what you are! You’re a fool! Yes, that’s what you are, a fool! Because if you weren’t you wouldn’t allow yourself to be ruled by fools!”

Heads turned, faces appeared at windows and then hastily retreated out of sight. All the Palace seemed suddenly to have grown quieter.

“Govern your tongue!” snapped Charles. He turned on his heel and walked off.

Barbara opened her mouth, her first impulse being to order him back—as she might once have done—and then she heard a snicker from somewhere nearby. Swiftly her eyes sought out the mocker, but all faces she met were veiled, innocently smiling. She swept her train about and started off in the opposite direction, rage swelling within her until she knew that she would burst if she did not break something or hurt someone. At that moment she came upon one of her pages, a ten-year-old boy, lying on the grass singing to himself.

“Get up, you lazy lout!” she cried. “What are you doing there!”

He looked at her in amazement, and then hastily scrambled to his feet. “Why, your Ladyship told me—”

“Don’t contradict me, you puppy!” She gave him a box on the ear, and when he began to cry she slapped him again. She felt better, but she was no nearer the solution of her problem.


The council-room was a long narrow chamber, panelled in dark wood and hung with several large gold-framed paintings. There was an empty fireplace at one end, flanked by tall mullioned windows. An oak table extended down the center and surrounding it were several chairs, high-backed and elaborately carved, with turned legs and dark red-velvet cushions. Until the councillors came it looked like a suitable place to do state business.

Chancellor Clarendon arrived first. His gout was bad that day and he had had to leave his bed to attend the trial, but he would not have missed it had his condition been a great deal worse. At the door-way he got out of his wheel-chair and hobbled painfully into the room. Immediately he began to sort over a stack of papers one of his secretaries laid before him, frowning and preoccupied. He took no notice of those who came next.

After a few moments Charles strolled in with York at his side and several busy little spaniels scurrying about his feet. One of them he held in his arms, and as he paused to speak for a moment with Sir William Coventry his hand stroked along the dog’s silken ears; it turned its head to lick at him. The dogs were not affectionate but they seemed to know and love their master, though the courtiers were often bitten for trying to strike up a friendship with them.

Presently Lauderdale, the giant Scotsman, arrived and stopped to tell Charles a funny story he had heard the previous night. He was a very inept raconteur, but Charles’s deep laugh boomed out, amused more by the Earl’s crude eccentricities than by what he was saying. York, however, regarded him with contemptuous dislike. Now he went to sit beside the Chancellor. Instantly they were engaged in earnest low-toned conversation. No two men there today had so much at stake; Buckingham had been an active and dangerous foe of both for many years. The enmity far predated the Restoration, but had become even more virulent since.