The brown eyes grew haughty.
“Your Grace is insulting.”
“Sangdieu! Has it come to that? I am insulting? I tell you, my lord—”
Charles rose. He was no longer one of them. He was the King.
“You are both lacking in respect to me. I will have no quarrelling here. James, you speak wildly. Roxhythe, you may go.”
My lord picked up his hat and bowed.
“I crave Your Majesty’s pardon.” He left the room.
The King turned to his brother.
“James, I request that you will not speak thus to Roxhythe. You should know by now that he acts only in my interests.”
“The man is double-faced! He hates me!”
“You have not given him overmuch cause to love you. I warn you, do not anger him.”
Two red spots burnt on the Duke’s cheekbones.
“Your Majesty asks too much of me! I also have a warning! Do not trust Roxhythe!”
Charles looked at him, half smiling. He seemed to slip back into his easy placidity.
“You are a fool, James,” he said, quite pleasantly.
IV
The King His Triumph
Sir Jasper came slowly into his wife’s room. Lady Frances knew from his face that he was troubled. She could guess the cause. She was reading a letter from Christopher, but it fell to the ground as she sprang up.
“Oh, Jasper—no!”
Montgomery took her hands.
“My dear. …”
Unaccustomed tears came to her eyes.
“They won’t let him die! Oh, they cannot!”
“The sentence was read today.”
Lady Frances pulled her hands away.
“It’s too awful! too cruel! He never had a thought of—plotting! He was so sweet—so—” She broke down.
Montgomery watched her pitifully.
“Dear. …”
“They cannot believe—him guilty of—these monstrous charges!”
“They do not. But public feeling is too strong. My lord made an excellent defence, but to no avail. The judges affected to believe Tuberville’s lies. Tuberville swore that Stafford had engaged him to murder the King, five years ago.”
Lady Frances tried to check her tears.
“The King—will not—intervene?”
“My dear, I have long since given up expecting aught but selfishness from the King.”
She twisted her hands.
“It is death?”
“Yes. I’ll not revolt you with the details.”
She shuddered.
“He is—so old! They surely—cannot hang him—and—oh, it is too awful!”
“It is believed that the King will refuse his consent to that. We can only hope for decapitation.”
Lady Frances turned away, biting her lip.
“I knew him so well! Papa—was one of his—dearest friends. I—oh, there’s naught but cruelty and—lowness in England!”
“We are indeed come to a pretty pass,” sighed Montgomery. “I never heard palpable lies so easily swallowed. The whole affair was disgraceful. The King was present, and the Duchess of Portsmouth. Her Grace might have comported herself more decently, I thought.”
“I daresay.” Lady Frances picked up Christopher’s letter. Her voice still trembled.
“Chris—seems more at ease. He—writes cheerfully. He is very busy.”
“I am glad he went away before all this trouble came to a head,” said Montgomery. “I wonder what part Roxhythe plays?”
“I had rather—not know,” said his wife.
Bit by bit Shaftesbury’s adherents fell away from him. Roxhythe still ostensibly helped on his cause, but the Earl neither trusted nor mistrusted him. He believed that Roxhythe wanted the Exclusion but he knew that he had intrigued with the Orangist faction. The Cause was practically hopeless now, for the execution of Stafford had somewhat appalled the mob. Monmouth still blazed through England, and James clamoured for his arrest. It was Roxhythe who counselled the King to hold his hand.
Divining the calming temper of the mob, Shaftesbury tried to revive the terror of the Popish Plot. Roxhythe urged him to take action, knowing that, as a result, more members would join the Crown.
Then came the Exclusion Bill again, and the King moved at last.
“David,” he said, “I shall now prorogue Parliament.”
“You could not do better, Sir,” agreed Roxhythe. “Your popularity with the people is growing. They have begun to consider.”
“What do they consider?”
“Your attitude. They laud you for refusing to listen to Monmouth’s claim. They see in it a just regard for your brother.”
“How do you know, David? ’Pon my soul, you are sublime!”
“I am indeed. I have done more work in these past months than I ever thought to do in a lifetime. And I am a frequenter of taverns and public meetings. It is most amusing.”
“No one suspects you?”
“On the contrary, everyone suspects me. Sunderland guesses that I informed you of his duplicity; Halifax will no longer traffic with me; Essex warns Shaftesbury to have no dealings with me. My day is nearly done, but I know enough. Shaftesbury’s ruin is in sight, and it but remains to snare the rest. One man alone trusts me.”
“Who is he?”
“Monmouth.”
The King recoiled a little.
“I don’t want him ruined, David! I love him.”
“Certainly, Sir. But through him I can catch at the rest.”
“I—cannot—believe that he is willingly against me!”
Roxhythe looked down at his hands for a moment.
“Why, Sir,” he said slowly, “do not distress yourself. Monmouth is weak; he has been led away.”
“You say that to console me,” answered Charles. “I will not conceal from you, David, that it has hurt me more than all else.”
“I repeat, Sir: he is weak. And very young.”
“Yes,” assented Charles. “He is young, of course. …” He sighed. “Well, David, repinings will not help me. I am minded to appeal to the nation.”
“A declaration. … Well, I think the nation will support you.”
“So do I,” nodded the King, more cheerfully.
He was right. The Declaration was the one thing needed to seal the change in the people’s temper. The country was plunged into a sea of loyalty, and Shaftesbury, almost despairing, withdrew to his house in Aldersgate Street, where he proceeded to gather round him certain citizens of London who, he boasted, would rise at a moment’s notice.
Then came a diversion in the shape of William Nassau, who visited London again with Charles’ consent, although the Duke of York, already wary of him, besought the King to forbid his coming.
William was as secret as ever, but his uncle could guess his intentions. He wanted to bring England into league with him against France. He wanted Charles to summon a new Parliament. During his
