The King’s brow was very black.
“He should be strung up if I had my way!”
“Happily for him you have not, Sir. I did consider the matter, but I decided to let him go.”
“But why? why?”
“There were several reasons. First, it was so damned amusing. And Roxhythe does not descend to vengeance on gnats. He was altogether too little. Lastly there is his wife.”
“Sangdieu! Are you so infatuated by that chit?”
“No. On the contrary. I am so weary of meeting her and seeing her wan looks cast at me that I am determined to make an end. I have sent them away. Had I handed Crewe over to justice Millicent would have remained. In all probability she would have expected me to marry her.”
The King’s lips twitched.
“So in this weird fashion you are rid of both?”
“That is it, Sir.”
“You are wonderful,” said Charles. “And quite unique.”
“I believe I am,” said his lordship modestly.
“You’ve still to combat the gossip,” warned Charles. “London is shrieking the news that you have been murdered by Crewe. No one will believe your tale of accidents.”
“Will they not, Sir! I think they will not dare to disbelieve—openly.”
“Perhaps you are right. But you cannot kill talk.”
“I shall not try. There will be no talk addressed to me. And Crewe will be out of reach.”
“And so it ends! I admit that it is a wise finish. But I would have liked to punish the wretch.”
“Sir, I have had enough of heroics. You’ll oblige me by treating the affair as an accident.”
Charles laughed at him.
“You shall be obeyed, my lord. And now there is another matter.”
“I know, Sir. I have been cursing my ill-luck all day.”
“So have I. ’Tis not often that you fail me, David.”
“I humbly beg your pardon, Sir.”
“No, no, Davy! ’Twas not your fault. But devil take us all, what am I to do?”
“May I make a suggestion, Sir?”
“Provided it bear sense.”
“I counsel you to continue your negotiations through Barillon.”
“I tell you I’ll not! You say fifty thousand is Louis’ price. It is not enough. Cordieu! the thing is hard to do as it stands. I’ll be well paid.”
“Fifty thousand is a very fair price, Sir.”
“Before he paid two hundred thousand.”
“True. But since then you have played fast and loose with him, Sir. You’ll not get that sum again.”
Charles bit his lip moodily.
“Does Louis think that it is an easy matter for me to trick my Parliament?”
“He remembers that you did it before with great ease, Sir.”
“Ay, but now they suspect me. Body o’ God! I’ll not accept a paltry fifty thousand for such a task!”
“What says Danby?” asked my lord.
“He is a fool.”
“I take it that he does not like the Bond?”
“Oh he likes it well enough until he is assailed by a fit of virtue. And then he glooms and grumbles. I am sick to death of them all.”
“And His Highness?”
“As usual he objects to what he terms ‘the bribe.’ He hath no head.”
“And Lauderdale?”
“To hell with Lauderdale!”
“I’m with you there. Beware that man, Sir!”
“Pah! I have him in a vice. He fears impeachment.”
“So! And now what?”
“I’ll write to Louis.”
A shadow crossed Roxhythe’s face.
“Your Majesty is vague. If it is not an impertinent question, what will you write?”
“Asking him for better terms.”
The firm lips curled.
“You’ll beg of Louis, Sir?”
Charles was silent.
Roxhythe stared before him. His face was hard, inscrutable.
Charles moved his hand wearily.
“I’ve no choice. I must have money. Last year I essayed the Commons. You saw what came of it. What else can I do?”
Roxhythe turned his head.
“Well … so be it. After all, what matter?”
“What indeed? I knew you would stand by me, Davy!” The King’s spirits had risen. Quickly they clouded over again.
“I wanted you to bear the letter to Paris—to plead my cause with Louis. And they tell me you’ll not be out of your room for a week.”
“They lie,” said my lord calmly. “But I fear I cannot travel for a week.”
“I’ll not have you move from your bed until the surgeon permits. Understand that, Roxhythe!”
“Is this an order, Sir?”
“An order that I will have obeyed.”
“Very well, Sir. And I do not think I should be an apt messenger.”
“I am sure you would,” smiled Charles.
“No. I am not versed in the art of—begging.”
“Roxhythe!”
The favourite lay back. There were grim lines about his mouth.
“I do not take that tone from any man alive, Roxhythe.”
My lord never said a word.
The King grew colder.
“I await your apology.”
“If I have offended, I ask your Majesty’s pardon. I but spoke my mind.”
Charles was very angry. He rose and put back his chair.
“It seems you want to quarrel with me, Roxhythe. You are under my displeasure.”
He stood looking down at the drawn face for a moment. Then he bent, laying his hand on Roxhythe’s.
“I had forgot how nigh I was to losing you, Davy. I’ faith, I cannot find it in my heart to punish your rudeness.” His voice was very gentle.
Roxhythe’s fingers closed on his.
“Sir, you know how great is my love for you! If I have been impertinent ’tis because I cannot bear to have you beg of Louis.”
“I know, David, I know! Do you think it does not irk me? But needs must when the devil drives.”
“If you say so, Sir, it is enough. Yet I am glad that I cannot bear this letter.”
“Now that I know your mind, I’d not ask you. Dimcock must take it.”
Dimcock was the King’s private messenger.
“Or Church,” said Roxhythe.
“No. Church is not faithful.”
“When did you discover that, Sir?”
Charles smiled.
“I discern your triumph. A week ago. I remembered your warnings. Now there is only Dimcock left. I dare not risk an unfaithful messenger with this.” He drew his hand away as he spoke. “I must go, Davy. I doubt I have tired you.”
“You have given me new life, Sir.”
“Have I? I will come again as soon as may be. And, Roxhythe!”
“Sire?”
“Promise me you will obey the surgeon! Mordieu, if
