Roderick had conceived that they did not stand first with either Roxhythe or the King. He was undoubtedly crazed. The King was naturally above reproach. Equally above reproach was Roxhythe. Christopher cast his brother’s warnings to the four winds.
He was interested in politics and listened closely to all the arguments that took place at Jeremy’s. There was usually some conversation concerning Home Affairs and the King’s intentions. It was well known that Charles squandered away more money than he possessed, and men wondered how he would contrive to pay off his load of debts.
Foreign Affairs were also discussed, especially the menace of France to Holland. Everyone knew that Louis would never rest until he had annexed those Provinces which he claimed, and everyone hoped that England would throw herself seriously into the conflict. Such a contingency would surely turn the scale against Louis. King Louis was universally feared; he was growing too powerful, and too belligerent. It was known, too, that he coveted the throne of Spain for one of his own children. If the ailing young Spanish King died, matters would become serious. On no account must Louis be allowed to seize Spain.
Christopher was deeply interested. He had the hatred of the average Englishman of the time for France. He wished that Roxhythe would discuss these matters with him, but Roxhythe only laughed and protested that such conversation was too deep for him.
At the present moment my lord was in Paris. He had been away a week, and on Christopher’s shoulders had fallen the strenuous task of making his excuses to the various people whose invitations to routs and dinners he had ignored.
These visits to France were always unexpected. Suddenly my lord would remark that he could bear London no longer. He would depart with perhaps a day’s warning. More suddenly would he return, with no warning at all. Christopher supposed that he went because of some Frenchwoman. Gossip said so, and he, knowing Roxhythe, believed Gossip.
He was seated in the library one morning, sorting out my lord’s correspondence, when he heard a leisurely footfall without. He lifted his head, listening, for the step was familiar.
The curtains over the doorway parted. Roxhythe came into the room.
Accustomed as he was to my lord’s ways, Christopher was still surprised. He sprang up.
“Sir! I had no idea you were in town!”
Roxhythe smiled at him.
“Nor was I until an hour ago.” He went to the table and turned over his letters. “You are well, Chris?”
“Very well. And you? You had a pleasant visit?”
“Quite amusing,” nodded Roxhythe. “Need I look at all these?” He flipped a pile of letters with his finger.
Christopher glanced through them.
“There are one or two letters from Lady Flora, sir,” he said.
“They will keep. She is becoming wearisome.” He sat down. “Have you any news, Chris?”
Christopher put the letters in the drawer.
“Nothing of great import, sir. Lord Buckhurst requests the pleasure of your company at a supper-party he is giving on Wednesday. I accepted for you. Sir Malcom Digby begs you will honour him on Friday at Shawn House. Mr. Carver gives a dance for Miss Rosiland next month. I have not answered that.”
“Carver? I do not think I have the honour. …”
“You have forgotten, sir. He is the man who gave us shelter the night we rode to Bevan in the storm.”
“That wealthy tradesman?” asked his lordship. “What impudence!”
“I am to refuse?”
“Naturally. Stay—this Rosiland—have you seen her?”
“She’s young and shy, sir.”
“Oh, refuse, refuse!” said Roxhythe impatiently. “Odds-life, what is the world coming to that that upstart should invite me to his house? Naught else?”
“Naught else, sir, unless it be my Lord Arlington’s invitation to supper and cards. I accepted.”
“Well I need not go,” remarked my lord.
“Then I think you will greatly offend Lord Arlington, sir.”
One haughty eyebrow rose the fraction of an inch.
“Oh? What maggot has Bennett in his head now?”
“He seemed anxious that you should go. And—and he has influence. He was not pleased that you refused his last invitation.”
“Oho! You think I should do well not to offend his lordship?”
“Well, sir, he would make a powerful enemy.”
“But not, I think, so powerful an enemy as Roxhythe.” My lord rose and stretched himself. “I suppose I must to Whitehall.” He lounged out.
An hour later, his dress changed, his person powdered and perfumed, he walked into the King’s presence.
Charles was in the midst of his Court, talking to Lady Castlemaine. Way was made for my lord to pass up to his couch. He went forward gracefully, bowing to right and left in answer to the many nods and smiles.
“Why, here is our good Roxhythe!” cried her ladyship, welcoming him. “See, Sir!”
“I see a base deserter,” said Charles. He held out his hand. “I believe you love his French Majesty more than me, David.”
Roxhythe bent over it.
“No,” he said, inimitably. “His French Majesty was an interlude, no more.”
Charles joined in the general laugh.
“How doth His Majesty?” he asked.
“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “Very expensively.”
“Surely that’s Roxhythe?” came a voice from behind. “I thought so! Well, my lord? So you’ve returned to us?”
Roxhythe bowed to the slim, graceful youth who came up to the group about the King.
“As your Grace sees,” he said.
Monmouth leant on the back of the couch, above Charles, smiling, debonair.
“I thought I could not be mistaken. I would swear to your presence in a room of a thousand people!”
“You are a flatterer,” Roxhythe shook his head. “You had best visit Versailles.”
Monmouth sighed. He put back his curls with one delicate, white hand.
“I have a mind to. I have a great desire to visit the French Court.”
“Ah, no!” said Charles, quickly, raising his hand. He laid it affectionately on his son’s arm. “I cannot spare you, James.”
“You spared Roxhythe,” shrugged Monmouth. There was a suspicion of triumph in the
