Charles stretched out his hand quickly.
“Don’t speak like that, Davy! Always you are my dearest friend!”
Roxhythe went on his knee.
“Always,” he said, and kissed the King’s hand. “Always.”
Danby’s attack on Montague failed, for Montague carefully secreted the two most important documents in his possession. One of them was the letter written by Charles’ order before the Peace of Nimeguen. Backed by the Treasurer’s bitterest enemies he brought charges against Danby. Impeachment followed. There was fresh uproar in the House.
Danby narrowly escaped imprisonment, but the majority was small. Public feeling was against him.
Then Charles prorogued his unruly Parliament, and in January, scarcely a month after, dissolved it.
VIII
The Haven
After ten years Christopher returned to Holland. Much of it he had forgotten, much brought back old memories, poignant in their nearness to him. He had travelled from Harwich to Rotterdam, spending only a night in that town. He visited 19, Prinsen Straat, hoping to see de Staal again. It had been a shock to find the house in other hands and to hear that de Staal had gone to his rest four years ago. He had hardly realized how much he wanted to see the old man. He went away with lagging steps, guided along that very road which they had walked that evening, now so long ago. He visited the inn at which he had stayed, and looked up at the window of his room. It was just the same. Nothing seemed to have changed: not even the fat landlord.
Christopher wandered into the coffee-room. Here he had seen the spy who had dogged their steps. He remembered, smiling a little, how excited he had been, and how placid he had found Roxhythe. My lord had been dozing in his chair; he had refused to be roused.
He tore himself away from the inn, knowing that it was foolishness to have come. It was with relief that he left Rotterdam behind.
The Hague seemed yet more packed with memories. The Poisson d’Or had changed no more than the inn at Rotterdam. Christopher looked up at the window, almost expecting to see Roxhythe standing there with the inevitable Milward at his elbow.
It was with an effort that he turned away. He had always remembered the Hague as a cheerful, happy town. Now it seemed dark, forlorn, a place of ghosts.
Roderick had grown kinder, and less harsh. He made no reference to Roxhythe. He was unfeignedly glad to see Christopher again; he wanted to present him to the Prince, but Christopher refused. Later he would go to the Huis ten Bosch, but for the present he wanted to be quiet.
He bought a horse shortly after his arrival and one day rode out to Scheveningen. The peaceful fishing-village took his fancy. Nearly every day he rode there, sometimes talking to the fishermen, mostly sitting by the sea alone, undisturbed by any uncouth sound, watching the silver-backed gulls swirling and diving against the intense blue sky.
Slowly the ache within him died, already it was less acute. Sitting on the shore, listening to the cry of the gulls and the continuous break of the waves on the sand, all that had passed during the last year seemed to fade away to a memory. It was no longer the never-ceasing pain; it was still there; it was still a great sadness, but it had softened and was not ever-present.
Bit by bit he began to take an interest in what went on around him. He watched the fishermen draw in their hauls, interested in the slippery, gleaming fish that floundered in the bottom of the net. Once he went out in a boat, helping the fishermen. He grew stronger, more virile, less morbid.
Roderick seldom accompanied him to Scheveningen. Christopher did not wish it. His brother’s presence disturbed him, disturbed the great peace of the village. He would spend all the day there, rejoicing in the vast loneliness, feeling the rough spray on his face, and the wind blowing strongly about him. At sundown he would ride back to the Hague, tired and hungry. Sometimes he dined with Roderick, sometimes by himself.
After a while he went less often to Scheveningen. Desire for company was coming to life again. Roderick saw it, and introduced him to Mynheer Heenvliet and various other members of the Prince’s household. Other friends Christopher made for himself, all Dutchmen. One of these, Jan Van den Busch, showed him some of the countryside. Christopher visited Rijswijk and Loosduinen. It gave him a taste for sightseeing, and he went away for a time, travelling north. When he returned, Roderick was surprised at the change in him. His eyes were brighter, his bearing more brisk, his spirits lighter. His laugh still lacked its old spontaneity, his smile was not so joyous, but it came more often and less forcedly.
Roderick realized that Christopher had aged more in one year than in all the others of his life. He had no youthful illusions, no youthful impetuosity. He was calmer, more shrewd. He had a knowledge of men and of the world. Roderick realized that in some ways Christopher was older than he.
Once again he broached the question of an introduction to the Prince. This time Christopher consented.
So one day the brothers rode out of the Hague through the wood that led to the Huis ten Bosch. Christopher was rather silent for the most part but when they reached the gardens of the palace he expressed his admiration.
“His Highness will be pleased to hear that you like his flowers,” said Roderick. “He takes great pride in them.”
“What does the Princess here?” asked Christopher suddenly. “I had not thought that the solitude was congenial to her.”
“At first Her Highness conceived herself very homesick. She is different now.”
“Poor Lady Mary! She was such a gay princess! She took such delight in the life at Whitehall.”
Roderick spoke stiffly.
“There is no need to pity her. She is the Prince his wife.”
“Poor lady!”
