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‘Then you leave at once?’
‘At once,’ he agreed. ‘There is no point in losing time.’ He stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘Rest as much as you can. Take care of yourself.’
She watched him walk briskly from the room.
He was wearing a black cloth suit and riding boots. His very tread had an unusually determined air. His manner was in absolute contrast to the languid cynicism he had displayed on their first meeting. She had seen him in many other moods since then. Wild and reckless when drunk, gentle since her miscarriage, coolly business-like with his Commons colleagues— there were many facets to his nature, she had learnt. She knew the many masks he held up before his face. What she could not fathom was what lay beneath them. He still held her off emotionally, disguising his real feelings. She knew no more of his heart now than she had before they were married.
When he had ridden off to Kent, she felt flat and dull.
Nan was her usual companion, talking, sewing, complaining about the laziness of the other servants.
Cornelia teased her, let her run on without really listening. She had come to terms now with the household. She saw beneath their wooden masks to the decent good nature many of them felt towards her. The cook insisted on discussing the meals with her. The housekeeper praised the delicacy of Cornelia’s sewing when she mended some of the fine linen. The footmen waited on her eagerly, fetching and carrying, anticipating her slightest desire.
Several times she had other visitors. Rendel’s sister came once, very stiff as always, yet slightly more unbending than she had ever been before. Gruffly, she expressed her sympathy over the loss of the child.
‘I know how much it would have meant,’ she said, not quite looking at Cornelia. ‘You must not despair. You will have other children.’
Touched, Cornelia thanked her, and saw a flush come into the sharp features. Dorothy changed the subject in a fluster and began to complain about the rudeness of the watermen who had taken her up river the day before. ‘The creatures laughed when I pointed out that my feet were getting sodden with the wash of filthy water in the barge. They get above themselves. ‘
Lavinia came, a more welcome visitor, and chattered with her engaging frivolity about the latest Court gossip. Germaine, it seemed, had rapidly lost the King’s favour.
‘She was too greedy too soon,’ Lavinia grinned. ‘Even the King is not such a fool. She was a fool to challenge Lady Castlemaine—she insulted her in public, and Barbara never forgets or forgives an insult. The King was more frightened of Barbara than of Germaine. So Germaine loses. He is a weak man.’- Lavinia shook her pretty curls regretfully. ‘He always retreats. Barbara has only to scold him, or weep, and he is undone.’
Cornelia laughed, remembering how the King had shrunk in horror from her own tears on that dreadful evening. Then she also remembered his kindness to her, the way he had helped her to escape from the humiliation of being a witness to Rendel’s public flirtation.
‘Oh, I like the King,’ she said fervently.
Lavinia looked at her in amused surprise. ‘Why, so do I, my love. But if a woman can govern him so easily, with a frown or a tear, how can he be trusted with the government of the country?’
‘
Think what an unhappy life he has had,’ said Cornelia compassionately. ‘He has endured much. It is no wonder that he flings himself into hours of pleasure now.’
Lavinia’s eyes twinkled. ‘Aye, he does that with the greatest good will in the world. The Puritans have been preaching against him again, you know. They call him Charles the Lecher. The King laughed when someone told him. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘so I am, by God.’’ Her blue eyes danced. ‘His sense of humour will save him if nothing else.’
Cornelia nodded thoughtfully. ‘His father lacked that common touch. I wonder if it was that which brought him down? If he could have laughed more, been more open with his people, he might never have lost his head. I remember how impressed my own father was when he met the King— he thought him a good fellow, easy to talk with, friendly to the lowest of his subjects.’
‘Even that is wrong—if one listens to the Duke of York. He thinks the King lacks dignity. He tells everyone so. The Duke is determined that if the King is too open with the Commons, his brother shall more than make up for it in stiffness and dignity. Poor King Charles. He can do nothing right.’
‘I think the King is right,’ declared Cornelia, laughing.
Lavinia laughed back. ‘Why, so do most women, my dear. He is an amusing monarch. There is nothing of his levity in his brother. If you prick the Duke of York, he bleeds sawdust. ‘
Lavinia’s visit did Cornelia good. She had not once mentioned the miscarriage, although, Cornelia knew, Rendel had told her of it, and that silent sympathy was more comforting than Dorothy’s few brusque words.
When the other girl had gone she lay back, flushed and relaxed, smiling as she thought over their talk. Nan, coming to help her back to bed, looked pleased as she took in the change.
‘Well, you look a hundred times better. Sir Rendel will be delighted in the change in you.’
It was only during that night that Cornelia suddenly realised that, if Germaine were no longer the King’s mistress, she would be free once more to encourage Rendel. She lay wide awake, staring into the stuffy darkness, restlessly turning between the sheets. What would Rendel do now? Would he resume that old relationship?
A cold shiver ran down her back. Had he, perhaps, already done so? Had he really gone to Stelling? Or was he secretly visiting Germaine?
The stab of doubt passed. She persuaded herself that her husband would not be fool enough to get involved with the cold-eyed Germaine again. Lavinia had sworn that it was over long before he married. He had too much common sense to be dragged back into Germaine’s corrupt world.
Indeed, the more Cornelia learned of the Court and its encircling planets the less she could understand how Rendel had ever allowed himself to become part of it.
The King, in his lazy, dissolute pursuit of pleasure; the greedy, loose-living women who surrounded him, the wild Court gallants who roamed the streets by night beating up the night watch and assaulting the women who were unfortunate enough to cross their path, the gamblers, pimps, bullies —these were like the scurrying insects one finds when one lifts a stone.
