“I thank Your Gracious Majesty.”
She curtseyed and retired while he stood looking at the paper in his hand.
Poor little Anne! So she had found there was something as sweet in the world as chocolate. There had been times when he had thought she never would.
He folded the paper carefully and put it into his pocket; then he summoned one of his pages and told him that he wished the Duke of York to be sent to him without delay.
When James arrived Charles held out the note which Sarah had brought him.
James took it gingerly and when he read it he looked up, bewildered, into his brother’s face.
“You see,” said Charles, “that our little Anne is ripe for marriage.”
“But Mulgrave!” cried James.
“I echo your sentiments,” Charles told him. “I have fancied that of late my lord had become too hopeful.”
“You think Anne is in love with the fellow?”
“Anne loves him as she loves sweetmeats, brother, and the love for a sweetmeat is a passing fancy. There it is … ah, delectable, adorable. What flavor! The taste lingers for a while—a very little while. And then it is gone. When we have removed Mulgrave from her greedy little eyes she will be looking round for the next fancy. We must find something very sweet and succulent for her, brother.”
“My poor child. I cannot forget Mary.”
“Anne is not Mary; and we will try to find her a more attractive bridegroom than the Orange.”
“I was never in favor of that marriage.”
“Your misfortune James is that you have rarely been in favor of what was to your advantage.”
Charles gave his brother a melancholy smile. What will become of him when I am gone? he asked himself. There would be trouble. With Monmouth casting sheep’s eyes at the crown and William who couldn’t cast sheep’s eyes if it were a matter of saving his life to do so—still, if the poor fellow could not lech for a woman he could for a throne. William could be as chock-full of passion as Monmouth when it came to the crown of England; and there was James—ineffectual, with a genius for doing the wrong thing at the worst possible moment. Oh, God, thought Charles, never was a man more thankful than I that he’ll be out of the way when his inheritance is for sale.
“James,” he said, “why cannot you show some sense? Why not let it be known that you’ve given up this flirtation with popery?”
“Given it up! Flirtation! I like not your levity, brother.”
“If you could season your seriousness with my levity, James, and I could mix a little of your seriousness with my levity—what a pair we would make! Nay, but if I were a betting man, which I’m not, I would wager my levity would carry me farther from trouble than your seriousness. If you would ostentatiously attend the Protestant Church, if you would practice popery in secret.…”
“You are asking me to deny my faith.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“More’s the pity; but I’d not be proud to join the miserable band.”
“Do you call our illustrious grandfather one of a miserable band?”
“Our grandfather! I am tired of hearing how he said Paris was worth a mass.”
“If you could learn a lesson from his wisdom, James, you would be a wiser man. Do you want to go a-wandering again? God’s fish, man, you have just come back from Scotland. Do not tell me that you enjoyed your exile.”
“Enjoyed it! Enjoyed being driven from my own country, forbidden to return to my native land … the land which one day—though I trust not for years and years—I could be called upon to rule!”
“There’s the trouble, James. They are not going to be eager to call upon you to perform that duty.”
“It is my right.”
“These people consider that we govern only at their invitation. Take care, James, that that invitation is not withdrawn. I tell you this: I did enough wandering in my youth, and I am of no mind to start again.”
“Your Majesty fears the people might send you away.”
“Nay, James, never. They would not rid themselves of me to get you!” Charles began to laugh. “No matter what I did they’d still take Charles in place of James. Now, brother, I’m warning you—and I’m forgetting why I sent for you. We must find a bridegroom for Anne … without delay. Our little plum is ripe for the picking. She needs a husband. Bless her heart, she shall have one.”
“But not the one of her choice,” said James sadly. “Whom have you in mind?”
“It is a question I have been pondering ever since I received this note.”
“I hear that Louis’s wife is ill.”
“A French marriage! A Catholic marriage! Are you indeed out of your mind, James?”
“My little girl the Queen of France.”
“It would not do. But first there is something which I am sure you will agree must be done without delay. I think we should be together when we receive our ambitious young lover. I will summon him without delay.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“Do not look alarmed, James. You know I never take revenge. Nor do I wish my subjects to be in awe of me. I have no wish to be like some of our ancestors. ‘Off with his head. He has offended me!’ ” Charles grimaced at the arch over the fireplace which was decorated with Tudor roses and the initials H. and A. “I do not wish my subjects to go in fear and trembling. I would have them know that I do not take revenge; when I am harsh there is no personal animosity. It is a case of: ‘The situation demands this—therefore the King is forced to do it.’ ”
Mulgrave, who was in his apartments writing a poem in praise of the Princess Anne was startled when summoned to the King’s presence. He could not believe that they were discovered; how could this be? They had been so careful; and Anne would never have told because she had sworn not to do so.
What if the King had singled him out for some honor! His luck was in. Why should it not continue?
In good spirits he presented himself to the King; but he was a little uneasy when he saw that the Duke of York was also present.
“Ah, my Lord Mulgrave,” said the King genially.
Mulgrave bowed, first to the King, then to the Duke.
Tears came into the Duke’s eyes. A handsome young fellow; his dear Anne was going to be badly hurt. James would never forget Mary’s sorrow. He had never seen a girl cry so much as she had on that dreadful day when he had had to tell her she was to marry Orange. He loved his daughters dearly and could not bear that they should suffer. He himself had married their mother for love. Poor Mary! Poor Anne!
“My lord,” said Charles, “we have sent for you to tell you how much we appreciate your good services.”
Mulgrave found it difficult to hide his relief.
Charles went on: “So much so that we are sending you on a mission to Tangier which we know you will perform with your usual talent.”
“Your Majesty …” gasped Mulgrave.
“Do not waste time in thanks,” said Charles, waving a hand. “You will sail in the morning.”
Mulgrave did not remember how he left the apartment; all he remembered was that he was standing outside, muttering: “Someone has betrayed us.”
Anne was bewildered. There was no one to whom she could turn for comfort but Sarah. It was Sarah who had brought her the news. She had said: “Dearest Madam, I do not want you to hear of this through anyone else. You must be brave. The King has, through some means, discovered your love for Mulgrave, who is now far away … bound for Tangier, I have heard.”
“Sarah!”
The round mouth sagged piteously; the pink of the cheeks had turned to scarlet; and the vague shortsighted eyes were filled with tears.
Sarah gathered her mistress into her arms.
“I am here to comfort you. I will never leave you.”
“Oh, my dearest Sarah, my beloved friend, what should I do without you?”