True enough in most cases. But I had to believe Henry had enough of Henrietta’s sweet temperament to counteract Howard’s influence. There must be hope in all this. After all, I had spent the last few years drinking and whoring and gaming like a fiend, and my own heart had emerged intact. Hadn’t it?
‘Howard is determined to turn Henry against his mother. He has convinced Henry that she’s a whore.’
‘That must have taken considerable effort,’ the queen said, rattling the sugared almond against her teeth.
‘He wants revenge upon Mrs Howard. He wants her to suffer. More than anything. He would not refuse three thousand pounds a year, of course… but it is his hatred of his wife that propels him.’ I stopped, unwilling to speak further.
The queen continued to suck her confection, snick, snick, snick against the top of her mouth. She glanced at Budge, raised an eyebrow. ‘Mr Hawkins has dragged a sacrificial calf into the room. But he does not have the courage to slit her throat.’ She played with a diamond ring on her little finger. ‘Why, Mr Hawkins – would you have me wield the knife for you? Are you afraid to look in the poor, trembling calf’s eyes? Are you worried her blood will spoil your clothes…?’
My mouth was dry. The queen spoke the truth, and I was sickened by it. I had condemned both Henry and his mother tonight in this room. I had ruined both their lives to save my own. Not to say the words now, at the end, was mere cowardice. ‘Mrs Howard must write to her son. In detail. She must tell Henry that everything his father claims of her is true.’
The queen slid her gaze from mine, thinking. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Howard will like that. He always enjoyed humiliating his wife.’ And to her credit, she looked disgusted. ‘Is it enough? No,’ she answered herself. ‘Continue, sir.’
Somehow, I forced the words from my lips. ‘She must promise never to contact her son – to relinquish all claims upon him.’
‘Your Majesty,’ Budge interrupted. ‘I doubt she will agree to that. She fights a case at present in secret. She is seeking a legal separation from Howard.’
My heart sank. The Howards had lived apart for many years, but to pursue an official, legally binding separation – it was almost unprecedented. For a judge even to consider the case, there must have been the most devastating evidence of Howard’s cruelty. And here I was, delivering Henry into that monster’s hands for ever.
The queen was looking away into the fire with a soft expression. ‘We will give him his son. And the letter. And twelve hundred a year. Control, humiliation and a fat fee. It will suffice. In return he will not fight the separation. Yes. I believe this will work. Blackmail would have enraged Howard. He might have lashed out in spite. This way, he will believe he has won. He will like that.’ Her lips pressed into a tight line. ‘Men do.’
Aye, he will believe he’s won. Because he has. I cleared my throat. ‘Should we not consult with Mrs Howard, ma’am?’
‘With Mistress Switzerland?’ The queen fanned herself slowly. ‘What might she possibly contribute to the matter? She is neutral in all things.’
‘Not on this matter, surely, Your Majesty?’ I pressed. I owed Henrietta this much at least. ‘Not over her only child? She might prefer to leave the court? Should she not be granted the choice…’ I stopped abruptly. The queen’s cheeks had tinged bright pink.
‘Choice? No indeed, Mr Hawkins. Howard is my servant. She will do precisely as she is told.’
There was a long, angry silence. There was something deeper here – old wounds of betrayal. Henrietta had been the queen’s servant long before she became the king’s mistress. They had been allies and confidantes once, when they were young women. When the queen was still the Princess of Wales, just a few years married. Still beautiful and still adored, by all accounts.
‘It is a hard thing to lose a son,’ the queen said at length. Her gaze slid to mine.
She knew I must have heard the stories – the prince and princess banished from court in disgrace, their children held hostage. The King had given Caroline a devastating choice: stay at court with her children or leave with her husband. Her youngest boy had been just a few weeks old and very sick. He had died before the family had reconciled.
And then there was her oldest son, Frederick, raised alone at the court in Hanover – a stranger to the entire family, including his mother.
The queen understood the agony of losing a son – through death and through estrangement. Now she would inflict that torture upon Henrietta. It was pragmatic, necessary – and cruel. But who was I to judge her now?
‘Twelve hundred a year,’ she said. ‘The king will accept that. He will rail and kick his hat about the room for a few days. In a few weeks he will be pleased that we have saved him eighteen hundred pounds per annum. In a few months he will believe it was all his idea.’ She tapped her fingers playfully against the arm of the sofa. ‘Adequate, Mr Hawkins. Adequate. You will do.’
A clear dismissal. I was released – at least for one night – and at no great cost, save to my conscience. I bowed low, feeling ashamed and relieved in equal measure.
On a whim, she tugged the diamond ring from her finger and dropped it into my palm. ‘For your little trull. For her courage. I am glad she left a mark on the brute.’
Mrs Howard waited in the antechamber. If she were anxious she didn’t show it. Small wonder that her face was so smooth and unlined. An even temper made for an even countenance. Given all that she had endured, her equanimity was nothing short of miraculous. But maybe that was why she had survived for so long, through all those years of torture at her husband’s hands. And now she would suffer again, because of me.
‘You look pale, sir,’ she said. ‘Was Her Majesty not pleased with your news?’
I stared at my shoe. I had polished the silver buckle so hard that I could see my face in it, distorted. ‘She was satisfied, I believe.’
She drew closer, tilting her head so that she could look into my downcast eyes. ‘The queen lays her traps very well,’ she said, softly. ‘We only see them when they bite down upon us. Whatever you have done, whatever she has made you do… you must not blame yourself, sir.’
I couldn’t answer her. She meant to be kind, but her words shamed me. The truth was, I had seen the trap and I had thrown her upon it, to save myself. Little comfort that Howard would now retreat and leave her in peace. Henrietta would never see her son again.
I was saved by Budge. ‘My lady. Her Majesty wishes to speak with you.’
She curtsied and went to see her mistress. Now at last I could look at her; her straight back, her smooth, graceful step. Would the queen enjoy telling her husband’s mistress she had lost her son for ever? Or would she choose to be kind? And there lay her power. There lay the motive for all Queen Caroline’s plots and schemes. The power to choose.
Budge led me back through the winding passageways and on to Pall Mall. It was very cold and clear, and the sky was blazing with stars. I lit a pipe and found that my hands were trembling.
‘Her Majesty has an effect,’ Budge observed. He tucked a wad of tobacco into his cheek and began to chew. ‘How go your enquiries?’
‘Very ill.’
‘Unfortunate. I hear reports. The town’s against you, Hawkins.’
‘The town can fuck itself.’
He spat a thin stream of brown liquid onto the ground. ‘Joseph Burden was an arsehole by all accounts. But he lived in that house for twenty years without trouble. Then you arrive next door. Rumours of violence. Rumours of murder. Rumours you can’t seem to shake…’ He held up a hand, refusing my objections. ‘Burden says he has proof you killed a man. You threaten him. He dies the same night. I’m struggling to see this as a coincidence, Hawkins. And I like you.’