All through the winter Roxhythe continued to make trifling and spasmodic love to Lady Crewe. Christopher watched, troubled. He saw that Millicent was taking his master very seriously, and he was sorry, for he knew that Roxhythe was beginning to weary of her. He dared not speak to him on the subject, but he was a tenderhearted boy, and he wished that my lord would amuse himself with someone older, and more accustomed to the game. He saw that Millicent was not treating it as a game any longer. He saw also that Sir Henry Crewe was less and less at his wife’s side, and had begun to look at her coldly. He wondered how it would end.
Meanwhile, great changes were taking place in England. Ashley, now the Earl of Shaftesbury, was Chancellor, and led the Cabinet. The long recess of Parliament still went on. The Country party was more than ever opposed to the Court party and dissension was growing apace.
From Harcourt Christopher learned that the Declaration of Indulgence was becoming more and more unpopular. War with Holland was imminent; the King continued to amuse himself.
Roxhythe still ignored the universal unrest. Christopher was more than ever sure that he had no interest in politics, was of no party, and was above all the petty jealousies and intrigues that went on daily. Now and then he went to Paris, but mostly he was at Whitehall, pursuing his brilliant course. Christopher no longer puzzled over these visits to France. Roxhythe had assured him that his vague fears were groundless; he trusted Roxhythe.
And so the year crept out, and the New Year was upon them.
Book III
Quo Vadis?
I
Whitehall
“Never was there a man so beset!”
Roxhythe looked amusedly across at his master.
“Was there not, Sir?”
“Never.” Charles spoke gloomily. “I swear I do not know why ever I came back to such an importunate, ungrateful people.”
They were in the King’s private closet. It was late autumn and chilly. A fire burned in the wide grate and the room was stuffy. One was aware of the presence of dogs.
Charles crossed his legs and went on speaking.
“They would not have my Declaration of Indulgence; they insisted on an act which should prevent Catholics from holding office under the Crown. So I let them have their Test Act, thus enraging my brother. I thought to have some peace. But no. Clifford resigns his office because he cannot subscribe to the Test. And now they clamour and debate over James his second marriage. Mordieu, what a thing it is to be King!” He sighed.
“The Duke would do well to consider,” said Roxhythe. “A marriage with the Catholic Mary of Este will only serve to gain him more unpopularity.”
“So I think. Next the Commons will demand his exclusion from the succession. I see it coming very plainly. He is so unwise. … And he was a damned good admiral,” he added with another sigh. “Odso! It meant so little. He might have been as Catholic as he pleased to himself if only he would have conformed outwardly to the Test. However, he’d none of it, and gave up his post. And now he is so chafed and irritable that he plagues all and sundry and affects them against him. He won’t listen to my sage counsel; he goes his own foolish way. I know the Commons will demand his exclusion sooner or later. And then what’s to do?”
Roxhythe knew that on this one point his master was likely to remain adamant. He had some affection for his brother.
“I really don’t know, Sir. I doubt you’ll manage to confound the Commons when that time comes—if it comes.”
“Oh, it will come, sure enough, unless he mends his ways, which he will not.”
“Then you will skilfully circumvent the Commons,” smiled Roxhythe.
“But what unpleasantness! What fatigue!” said Charles. “I was not born for this strenuous life.” He shut his eyes wearily. Then he opened them again. “David, I am satiated with Ashley.”
Ashley now led the Cabinet.
Roxhythe laughed softly.
“You were like to be that, Sir. ’Tis a dull dog.”
“My dear David, ’tis the wickedest dog in Christendom—all on a sudden. He must go.” He said this quite calmly.
“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “Though I mislike the idea of Ashley’s hand against us.”
“I cannot help it. He must go. He opposes me at every turn while pretending to aid me.”
“And so?”
“And so I have another man in mind.” Charles looked at him quizzically.
“I might guess his name, Sir,” drawled the favourite.
“You might, Davy, but I think none other would.”
“Perhaps not. Doth he hail from Yorkshire?”
Charles nodded.
“If you ever go over to the opposition, Davy, I shall be undone. You would foresee all my intentions. Do you like my choice?”
“Osborne,” pondered Roxhythe. “A tool. Therefore untrustworthy.”
“I had thought of that. He must be bribed.”
“So others may think.”
“Davy, why will you always play the pessimist? You try your best to dishearten me!”
My lord rose, and walked over to the window.
“My heart’s not in it, Sir.”
Charles stirred uneasily.
“In what, Roxhythe?”
“In all this bribing and duping and double-dealing.”
“Why, David, do you then yearn to tread the straight and narrow path?”
Roxhythe stood silent, gazing out of the window. There was a hint of bitterness in the cool eyes; even a little sadness.
Charles studied his profile concernedly.
“What is it, Davy?” he asked gently.
Roxhythe smiled.
“I was just thinking, Sir. Perhaps we were happier in the old days, across the water.”
“We plotted then and bribed,” said Charles quickly.
“It was rather different. Then we were a few against the world. We had only ourselves to think of. Now we have the whole of Britain depending on us, and we plot and trick, and lower her honour.”
“Davy, I do her no harm! Surely you have
