Charles stood up. “My Lord, I’ve heard you at length on this subject before! You will excuse me if I decline to hear it again! I will send Secretary Morrice to you for the Great Seal! Good-day!” Swiftly and without once glancing back he walked from the room.

Clarendon and York both watched him go. When the door had closed, their eyes slowly veered around to meet. For a long moment they stared at each other, but neither spoke. At last Clarendon bowed and slowly he crossed the room and went out into the sunlight. Clustered there about the doorway, sitting on the grass, lounging against the walls were a score or more of men and some women—the news had spread that the Chancellor was with the King and they had gathered to watch him come out. His eyes narrowed, swept over them, and then as heads turned and mouths smiled he walked between them and on. He heard the murmurs begin to rise.

He had almost crossed the garden when all at once a gay feminine voice cried out to him. “Goodbye, Chancellor!”

It was Lady Castlemaine on the balcony above, surrounded by cages of bright-feathered birds; on one side of her stood Lord Arlington and on the other was Bab May. Though it was almost noon she had jumped out of bed when they told her that he was coming and now she was fastening her dressing-gown as she stood there above him, grinning, her red hair streaming loose.

“Goodbye, Chancellor!” she repeated. “I trust we won’t meet again!”

The young men gathered below laughed, looking from him up to her and then back again. For a moment Clarendon’s eyes met hers in the first direct look he had ever given her. Now very slowly he straightened his shoulders; his face was tired and old, marked by pain and disillusion—something that was both contempt and pity showed there.

“Madame,” he said quietly, but with perfect distinctness. “If you live, you will grow old.” Then he walked on, passing out of sight, but Barbara leaned over the railing above, staring, dismayed.

The young men were calling up their congratulations and compliments to her, Arlington and Bab May were both talking —but she heard none of them. All of a sudden she whirled around, pushing with her hands at the two men, and then she fled back into her chamber and slammed shut the door. Swiftly she snatched up a mirror, rushed with it to the light and stood staring at what she saw, her fingers touching her cheeks, her mouth, trailing down over her breasts.

It isn’t true! she thought desperately. Damn that old bastard —of course it isn’t true! I’ll never be old—I’ll never look any different! Why, I’m only twenty-seven and that isn’t old! It’s young—a woman’s at her best at twenty-seven!

But she remembered a time, perhaps only yesterday, when twenty-seven had seemed very old, when she had dreaded and avoided the thought of it. Oh, drat him! Why did he say that! She felt sick and tired and full of resentful hatred. Somehow, after all their years of despising each other he had had the last word. But then a rebellious determination flared within her. Outside the men were waiting, excited, triumphant—what did it matter what a stupid malicious old man had said? He was gone now and she would never see him again. She flung away the mirror and went to the door, threw it open again and walked out, smiling.


Throughout the Palace there was fear and unrest. Men distrusted one another and those who had seemed friends now scarcely spoke but passed in the corridors as though neither friend nor foe existed. Whispers and murmurs leaped from mouth to mouth, rumours swept along—some like vagrant breezes which merely touched and were gone, others of such force that all seemed to bend and rock before them. No one felt safe. The Chancellor was out, but they were not so well satisfied as they had expected to be. Which one would go down next?

Many said it would be Lady Castlemaine.

Barbara heard the talk herself but shrugged nonchalantly and did not trouble herself about it. She was perfectly confident that when and if that time came she would be able to bully him as she had in the past. She had her comfortable easy life there at Court and did not intend that anyone should put her out of it. And then one morning when she was in bed with Mr. Jermyn, Wilson burst excitedly into the room.

“Your Ladyship! Oh, your Ladyship—here he comes!”

Barbara sat up and gave her hair an angry toss, while Mr. Jermyn peeped inquisitively over the top of the covers. “What the devil d’you mean coming in here? I thought I—”

“But it’s the King! He’s coming down the hall—he’ll be here in just a moment!”

“Oh, my God! Keep ’im off a minute, will you! Jermyn, for Christ’s sake—stop staring like a stupid booby and get out of here!”

Henry Jermyn scrambled out of bed, grabbed up his breeches in one hand and his. periwig in the other and made for the door. Barbara lay down again and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She could hear the spaniels as they came in at a run and, just in the next room, the King’s murmurous laugh and his voice as he paused to speak to Mrs. Wilson. (There was gossip that he had recently begun an affair with her pretty serving-woman, though Barbara had not yet been able to make either of them admit it.) Opening one eye she saw, to her horror, that Jermyn had left behind a shoe and quickly snatching it up she flung it into the bed. Then she jerked the curtains to and lay down, composing her face to pretend that she was sleeping.

She heard the door of the bedroom open and in an instant a couple of the dogs had leaped between the curtains and were prancing on her pillows, licking at her face. Barbara muttered a curse and flung out one hand to ward them off just as Charles pulled back the curtains and stood smiling down at her, not at all fooled by the questioning sleepy look she gave him. He swooped the two dogs off onto the floor.

“Good morning, madame.”

“Why—good morning, Sire.” She sat up, one hand in her hair, the other modestly holding the sheets to her naked breasts. “What’s o’clock? Is it late?”

“Almost noon.”

Now he reached down and took hold of the long blue ribbon on Mr. Jermyn’s shoe and very slowly he drew it out and held it up, looking at it quizzically, as though not quite certain what it was. Barbara watched him with a kind of sullen apprehension. He twirled it slowly about by the string, observing it carefully on all sides.

“Well,” he said finally, “so this as the latest divertisement for ladies of quality—substituting the shoe for the gentleman. I’ve heard some say it improves mightily upon nature. What’s your opinion, madame?”

“My opinion is that someone’s been spying on me and sent you here to catch me! Well—I’m quite alone, as you may see. Look behind the screens and drapes, pray, to satisfy yourself.”

Charles smiled and tossed the shoe to the spaniels who seized upon it eagerly. Then he sat down on the bed, facing her. “Let me give you some advice, Barbara. As one old friend to another, I think that Jacob Hall would give you more satisfaction for your time and money than Mr. Jermyn is likely to do.” Jacob Hall was a handsome muscular acrobat who performed at the fairs and, sometimes, at Court.

Barbara retorted quickly. “I don’t doubt that Jacob Hall is as fine a gentleman as Moll Davis is a lady!” Moll Davis was his Majesty’s newest mistress, an actress in the Duke of York’s Theatre.

“I don’t doubt it, either,” he agreed. For a long moment they looked at each other. “Madame,” he said at last, “I believe that the time has come for you and me to have a talk.”

Something inside her took a plunging drop. Then it hadn’t been just gossip, after all. Instantly her manner became respectful and polite, and almost flirtatious. “Why, certainly, Your Majesty. What about?” Her violet eyes were wide and innocent.

“I think we need pretend no longer. When a man and woman who are married have ceased to love each other there is nothing for them but to find entertainment elsewhere. Fortunately, it’s otherwise with us.”

That was the boldest statement of his feelings he had ever made to her. Sometimes, in anger, he had spoken sharply, but she had always assured herself that he had meant it no more than she meant what she said when angry. And she refused to believe even now that he could actually be serious.

“Do you mean, Sire,” she asked him softly, “that you don’t love me any more?”

He gave her a faint smile. “Why is it a woman will always ask that, no matter how well she knows the answer?”

She stared at him, sick in the pit of her stomach. The very posture of his body showed boredom and weariness, his face had the finality of a man who understands his feelings perfectly. Was it possible? Was he really and truly tired of her? She had had warning enough for the past four years, both from him and from others, but she had ignored it, refusing to believe that he could fall out of love with her as he had fallen out of love with other women.

“What do you intend to do?” Her voice was now just a whisper.

“That’s what I’ve come to discuss with you. Since we don’t love each other any longer—”

“Oh, but Sire!” she protested swiftly. “I love you! It’s just that you—”

He gave her a look of frank disgust. “Barbara, for the love of God spare me that. I suppose you think I’ve pretended to myself that you were in love with me. Well—I haven’t. I was beyond the age of such illusions when I met you. And if I loved you once, which I suppose I did, I don’t any longer. I think it’s time we make a new arrangement.”

“A new—You intend to turn me out?”

He gave a short unpleasant laugh. “That would be rather like turning the rabbit to the hounds, wouldn’t it? They’d tear you to pieces in two minutes.” His black eyes swung over her face, amused and contemptuous. “No, my dear. I’ll deal fairly with you. We’ll come to a settlement of some kind.”