“I come to warn Your Majesty.”

“A familiar occupation of my subjects,” murmured Charles lightly, wondering where he had seen that face before; if the features had not been distorted in madness, he believed he would have recognized him.

“I am the Holy Ghost come down from Heaven.”

“Then I should say I am pleased to make your acquaintance and accept the fact that since you are holy and I am merely royal you are entitled to disturb my peace.”

“I am the Holy Ghost!” cried the man, beating his chest.

“Poor fellow,” said Charles. “He is indeed distressed.”

“Mad, Your Majesty.”

“What has brought you to this state?” asked Charles gently.

“My wife,” said the man. “She is young … scarce eighteen.”

“I see that like myself it is long since you were that age.”

The King’s tone seemed to calm the man for he nodded soberly.

“And she is unfaithful.”

“A common failing and to be expected, when eighteen mates with …” The King came closer and peered into the man’s face.

One of the guards asked His Majesty’s pleasure with regard to this disturber of his peace.

“Treat him gently,” said the King. “He is much distressed.”

“It’s the royalty. It bemuses them,” murmured the madman.

Charles was puzzled; he knew the background of all his present mistresses and did not believe one of them could possibly be this man’s wife.

“Pray tell me your name,” he said.

“I am the Holy Ghost.”

“Where do you live?”

“In my house in Scotland Yard.”

“Scarcely a fitting domicile,” murmured Charles.

“He comes quite openly. The whole household knows. They laugh behind my back.”

“An embarrassing situation for a celestial being.” Charles signed to the guards. “Take him away. Take him to his home and let me know who he is. Perhaps I will speak to his pretty young wife.”

One of the guards said: “Your Majesty, he is Sir John Denham.”

“John Denham of a surety. Now I remember. Our Irish poet. He was loyal to our cause. And now he has come to this through marrying a young wife. Well it is a folly many commit and suffer for. Take him quietly to his home.”

Now it was clear to Charles. As he returned to his apartments he remembered that the royal lover was his brother James whom everyone knew had taken Margaret Denham, this man’s young wife, to be his mistress. The whole Court would now be talking of how the liaison between Margaret Denham and the Duke of York had driven poor John Denham mad. How like James to involve himself in such a scandal.

There was something ineffectual about James. He was a good fellow—affectionate, sentimental, and doomed to attract trouble because he simply did not know how to live. He mismanaged his life. Why had James not come to see him earlier when he was summoned? Charles had wanted to settle the unfortunate affair of Clarendon and who could explain what had to be explained more tactfully than the old man’s son-in-law. There again James was a fool. His marriage was one of love, he had declared; he would have no one but Clarendon’s daughter and she, of course, was very eager to have him—not only because of his royal blood and the fact that he was heir presumptive to the throne, but at the time of that trouble she had been growing bigger every week. Clarendon’s daughter and a commoner! James would always be in trouble.

And now the husband of his mistress was going about declaring he was the Holy Ghost and the reason was that James had made him a cuckold.

Charles was feeling exasperated with James when a message was brought to him that his brother was asking for an audience.

Charles commanded that he be brought immediately.

“Well, brother?” he said.

James bowed stiffly; then his manner relaxed. He was not unlike Charles, not so tall but even so more than medium height; and he had a natural dignity. His features were similar; the difference was in their manner. The King was natural, at ease, lazily charming; James was reserved; he was considerably more handsome than Charles, but completely lacked his brother’s charm. Charles was nonchalant; James was very serious; Charles succeeded in winning his subjects’ affection without trying. James tried hard and did not often succeed. He had been popular when he had resounding successes at sea, but that popularity waned with failure, whereas Charles never lost the acclaim of the people in spite of his scandalous behavior. The Duke of Buckingham had said of them: “Charles could if he would, and James would if he could!” A remark which many believed summed up succinctly the differences between the brothers.

“I believe Your Majesty wishes to discuss the vexatious matter of my father-in-law,” said James.

“Ah,” retorted Charles, “what a family you have married into!”

James retorted: “And what a Chancellor Your Majesty has got yourself.”

“Methinks he will be Chancellor little longer, for the truth is his behavior and humor have grown insupportable, and I can no longer endure it, finding it impossible to live with.”

“Yet,” said James, “he is a man who has done good service.”

“And he is your father-in-law.”

James snapped his fingers.

“Your wife will not be pleased.” Charles smiled. “But then there are other matters in which you displease her, so I believe.”

“What can Your Majesty expect? I am your brother.”

Charles smiled lazily at James. “I should expect you to give a good account of yourself to your little friends,” he said. “I would not have it otherwise. Wives alas can be demanding.”

“I think the Duchess and I understand each other.”

“Then you are indeed a fortunate man, for a wife who understands and smiles at her husband’s peccadilloes is beyond rubies. But the lady’s father?”

“This is the end, is it not?”

“There is no other way, brother. He has been a good minister in the past … and that I remember. But he has become overbearing. He works against me and the Parliament. Many are calling for his blood. I shall try to save him from his enemies … if that is possible. But I want him to go, James. Tell him that I want no more of him. Persuade him to go quietly and his reward shall be to live in peace.”

“I shall speak to him.”

“Speak gently, for he is an old man. But tell him to go … while he can.”

“I shall do my best.”

“And there is one other matter. The husband of a friend of yours called on me this day. The Holy Ghost. Have you the honor of his acquaintance?”

James looked puzzled.

“Investigations proved my visitor to be come not from the celestial regions but from Scotland Yard. His name is Denham. Can you enlighten me?”

“Denham?” said James. “Margaret’s husband.”

“An Irish poet who has been a good friend to our father and ourselves. We should remember our friends, brother.”

“I have naught against him. I scarce know the fellow.”

“It is understandable since you know his wife very well. A strong friendship with a lady often means one of slightly less warmth with her husband.”

“She is but eighteen …”

“A delectable age!”

“And he is fifty and looks seventy. What can he expect marrying one so young?”

Charles smiled cynically at his brother.

“Alas,” he said, “the people expect you to conduct your affairs with discretion.”

“Your Majesty’s affairs are …”

“Not always discreet. The King’s prerogative, brother. Remember you are not yet King.”

“And you are asking me …”

“Only to have a little care. I liked not the look of our friend Denham. He was a sick man with a purpose in his eyes. I am warning you to be discreet. That is all.”

“I will go along to Scotland Yard. I will discover what this means.”

“Then I pray you go quietly, for the sake of your Duchess. I trust the lady is well. And the children?”

James’s face lightened up at the thought of his daughters. They were well, he told Charles; and he began to enlarge on the cleverness of Mary, to which Charles listened indulgently. He was fond of his nieces, particularly Mary, and his was too generous a nature for envy. Although he earnestly wished for legitimate heirs he did not grudge James his.

“I begin to despair of sharing your good fortune,” he said ruefully. “The Queen cannot get children. So James, you should prepare yourself to take on my burden in due course.”

“Not before I am an old man myself, I trust.”

“Do you, James? Have you no desire to wear the crown?”

“I would leifer see Your Majesty with a healthy son.”

“Would to God Jemmy were legitimate.”

He was still hankering after making Monmouth legitimate, thought James. One of the grudges Charles had against Clarendon was that the old man had stood out against Monmouth’s legitimization.

“Doubtless Jemmy shares your feelings on that score,” added James.

Charles grimaced. “Forget not what I have told you. Speak to your father-in-law. Show him the wisdom of graceful retirement. It is so much more dignified to step into obscurity than to be forced into it … or worse.”

“I will do my best.”

“My good brother, I know you will. Now I would have you leave me for the hour grows late and my guests will arrive and you, I know, have your own friends awaiting you.”

As James left his brother, he was thinking of what he would say to his father-in-law. Poor old man, his was a familiar fate. He had too much power and believed himself invincible. He had angered Monmouth by standing against his legitimization; he had made an enemy of Lady Castlemaine by trying to turn the King from his immoral way of life. A man could not afford to make powerful enemies; and his self righteousness and sanctimonious manners had in time antagonized the King. So with his ministers baying for Clarendon’s blood on one side, and his beloved bastard and his demanding mistress on the other, it was inevitable that Clarendon’s end should be in sight.