“I have eyes, sir. I should know when you went to France what was your mission. I—could not—shield you from suspicion. People have always tried to squeeze me concerning you. How could I reassure them, knowing the truth?” He did not look up; he dared not.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Roxhythe. He sighed. “I am sorry.”
“I—I cannot make evasive replies; I cannot counterfeit. It might even be that I should—all unwittingly—betray you.”
“You could not do that. I am not a clumsy intriguer. But I suppose you must have your own way.” Again he sighed. “We tread different paths.”
“Yes—sir. You choose to follow King; I—I cleave to—Country.”
“But mine, Chris, is the better part.”
“No, sir, no. Yours is the—tempting part—but I believe that mine is the right.”
“We shall not agree on that score,” answered Roxhythe. He looked round the room. “Oddsblood, I shall miss you, Chris. You have been with me for so long.”
“Nine—years,” said Christopher, little above a whisper. “I, oh, my dear lord, why did you do it? Why did you trick me? I had never found out else! Why, why did you do it?”
Roxhythe smiled.
“Is that the way the wind blows? I believe I could persuade you very easily if I tried.”
Christopher shook his head.
“No—do not try!”
“I shall not. I’ll not have you here against your will. Nine years! You must have become a habit, Christopher.”
“Yes—that is all. You will not—miss me for long. You will have another—secretary—you will forget that there ever was—a Christopher. ’Tis I who—shall not forget.”
“Another secretary. … It seems strange.”
Christopher’s hold on his hand tightened.
“Don’t speak of it, sir! I—can’t—bear it!”
Roxhythe bent over him.
“Look at me, Chris!”
The grey, almost blue eyes met his.
“You mean it, Chris? You’ll leave me?”
Christopher tried to wrench his gaze away but the steady brown eyes held his. He drew a deep breath.
“Yes, sir. I—must.”
Roxhythe straightened. He drew his hand away.
“I thought I could bend you to my will, Chris,” he said. “It seems I was wrong. Well, what now?”
Christopher rose.
“I shall stay until you have—found a—secretary, sir—of course.”
“Thank you. And then?”
“Then—I do not know. I cannot think of the future—as yet.”
Roxhythe looked at him thoughtfully.
“One thing, Chris, I want you to remember always. Whatever happens, whenever you will, you may return to me. Don’t forget it, child. I shall welcome you back no matter when you come. And if you ever want help, call upon me.”
“You—are very good, sir. I—will—remember.”
Roxhythe nodded. He watched Christopher go out of the room. Then he picked up his hat and gloves.
“So ends the one friendship,” he said aloud. “I wonder—is it worth it?”
Book IV
The One Part
I
The New Master
In April of 1677 Christopher left Roxhythe after nine long years and took rooms in Cheapside. After the first struggle he seemed to sink into a state of apathy. He hardly stirred from his rooms and he received no one. At present he was living in some horrible nightmare; he could not even now realise all that had happened.
In May of the same year Lady Frances returned from Scotland where she had been staying. She made her curtsey to the King at Whitehall and stayed by his side for some time, laughing and talking with him in a reminiscent vein. After that she exchanged frivolities with Lord Buckhurst. It was at that moment that Roxhythe appeared on the scene.
He stood for some while by the King, but presently he perceived his cousin and came across the room towards her.
Lady Frances gave him her hand.
“Well, David!” She eyed Lord Buckhurst with her head on one side. “Dear me, Charles, I believe Lady Finchley wants you!”
He laughed in answer to her twinkling glance.
“Which means that you do not? Very well! I’ll go!” He strolled off to join Killigrew.
Lady Frances smiled up at Roxhythe.
“Charles is very charming, is he not?” she said. “Sit down, David. How are you?”
“The same as ever,” he answered. “And you?”
“How do I look?” she parried.
“Marvellous!” he said lazily.
“Then that is how I feel. How is Chris?”
My lord regarded the rosettes on his shoes.
“I really don’t know. He has left me.”
Lady Frances gasped.
“Left you? Christopher? Good gracious, Roxhythe, what has happened?”
“We had a difference of opinion and he decided that our ways lay apart.”
Lady Frances to some extent recovered her composure. She laid a compelling hand on his arm.
“Roxhythe, you must have shown yourself very vile! I insist on knowing everything!”
“I am sorry to have to disappoint you, my dear. Suffice it that we agreed to part.”
“It does not suffice! Something terrible must have happened to induce Chris to leave you.”
“No, not at all.”
“Roxhythe, do not play with me! He is—disillusioned?”
“Thoroughly.”
“He knows that you are not—so idle?”
My lord raised his brows.
“Oh, pho! You know very well that I see through your pose! Others may be blind, but I am not. You are the King his man.”
“Is not this a rather public spot wherein to discuss such matters?”
“Has Chris found out?”
“Why not ask him?”
“I shall! Have no fear of that! But I want it from your lips. Oh, come, David! I too have lived in intrigue; I am not blameless myself. Chris discovered that you were plotting?”
“Something of the sort!”
“And so he left you? No, that is not enough. You used him?”
“You should have been born a man, my dear.”
“My mother knew better. Did you use Christopher?”
“You weary me,” said Roxhythe. “You were never wont to do that. I did use him.”
“Then you are utterly without a heart, without shame! You are loathsome!” said my lady vehemently.
“You always knew that I had no heart. Shame is an unknown quantity. But as to loathsome … h’m!”
“It is true. Oh, David, why did you do it?”
“I forget. There was a reason.”
“For heaven’s sake don’t be flippant!” she snapped. “Where is Christopher?”
“In rooms. 94, Cheapside.”
“I shall tell him to visit me. Perhaps he will be more explicit!”
“I doubt it.” My lord smiled insufferably.
“We shall see. I suppose you have killed his love for you?”
“On the contrary.”
“Do
