Through A Glass Darkly Page 10

  "The king seems in good humor tonight," said Roger.

  "George is behaving himself," she said, rolling her eyes at Roger, who laughed. She was referring to her husband, George Augustus, the Prince of Wales, a slightly stupid and very impatient man, busy flirting with his mistress.

  "I let him amuse himself," the princess said. "It keeps him out of trouble."

  "You are very adroit." Roger smiled down at her. His eyes crinkled in the corners, and he looked as if he, too, understood disillusion in love.

  "One learns," she said more softly, his charm having disarmed her. "Dear Roger, you are always so kind. My Aunt Liselotte asks of you in her latest letter." Liselotte was Princess Elisabeth–Charlotte of France and Bavaria, the same Elisabeth–Charlotte whose portrait was in Roger's bedchamber. She was cousin to King George and widow of Monsieur, brother of France's Louis XIV.

  "Write her that I kiss her hand a thousand times, and that I am coming to France very soon, where I shall most certainly visit her for all the latest gossip."

  Caroline smiled. "She will be delighted to hear that. Go. His majesty sees you. We will talk later."

  He made his way, smiling and bowing, toward the King of England, a plain man of fifty–five with a very long, pointed nose. The courtiers moved for him, many noticing King George's smile of genuine pleasure as Roger walked toward him. Few Englishmen brought it to his face. The king was a private man, dining alone, keeping to himself. But Roger walked in the palace gardens with him and hosted him in his own home and was welcome at any time behind those palace doors closed to so many others.

  "Just look at the two of them. He looks like a king. The king looks like his groom," said Robert Walpole, looking like a fat brown bear in his brown velvet suit and striped waistcoat. He stood with his brother and brother–in– law, Viscount Charles Townshend, one of the king's secretaries of state, not far from Roger and the king.

  "Handsome is as handsome does. Is it true he is going to marry Kit Alderley's girl?" asked Townshend, watching Roger bow and smile and begin to talk as naturally with the king as if he had known him all his life. The king laughed at something he was saying, and Countess von Schulenburg smiled too.

  "Where did you hear that?" asked Robert.

  "You told me. But everyone is talking of it anyway. It seems the girl is bringing some vast pieces of property to the marriage. For Roger's sake, I am glad, but I hate to see Diana pulling herself out so well."

  "Diana," repeated Walpole. "I keep hearing her name. Where is she? Is she here tonight? Point her out to me."

  Townshend and Horatio exchanged a look.

  "Over there is a faction of the Tamworths, but I doubt Diana will be with them. She is up to her neck in creditors and hiding out."

  Robert looked to where Townshend indicated. Abigail, Lady Saylor sat with her family. She looked worn and irritated tonight as she watched Roger and the king talk, her mouth pinched in, her fan snapping open and shut. She wore a blue velvet gown that squeezed her breasts up like melons. Her breasts were smooth and full; it was a shock to look upward and encounter her aging, determined face. Her son, Anthony Richard, second Duke of Tamworth, sat beside her. He was seventeen, plump and vacant– looking in a pink satin suit and a blond frizzy wig. Her eldest daughter, Fanny, Lady Wentworth, and her husband were sitting with them. Fanny was a prettier, softer version of her mother. And two of the late duke's sisters, Elizabeth, Lady Cranbourne and Louisa, Lady Shrewsborough, both magnificent in the amount of wrinkles, jewels, and haughtiness they displayed, also sat with them. The women were focused on Roger while Tony and Lord Wentworth watched the musicians at the other end of the room.

  Horatio shuddered. "The duke did not inherit his grandfather's looks—"

  "Or his mind," cut in Townshend.

  "I would hate to be caught in a dark alley with that group tonight. Lord, look at Lady Saylor's face. She looks fit to be tied."

  "She is opposed to the marriage. Roger will be lucky if he obtains one acre of property from them," said Townshend.

  "Diana sounds like a spirited woman," said Robert. It was obvious he had been paying no attention to them.

  Horatio and Townshend exchanged another glance.

  "Diana Alderley will have nothing to do with you, Robert. You do not have enough money," said Horatio.

  "And you are too ugly," said Townshend.

  "And too fat," said Horatio.

  * * *

  "Those are my plans, your majesty," Roger told the king in flawless French. "I would like to be in France in time for Carnival. There are estates I wish to see, and old friends. I thought to summer in Italy and"—he smiled at the king and bowed—"Hanover."

  "There is a Scotsman in France, a John Law," King George said. "Have you heard of him?"

  Roger winked at Melusine, who smiled back at him. "Certainly, sir. He has some theories about credit which are said to be revolutionary. I thought I might look into them."

  "I thought you might do so also, Roger. And you might take some private messages to the regent, nothing official that anyone need know of, just some personal notes to him from me."

  Roger bowed.

  "You turn his pleasure trip into one of business," said Melusine. "He works too hard and will have you do also, Roger."

  "I owe him too much to refuse him. He would put me in the Tower and cut off my head. Has he been ignoring you, Melusine? You could always leave and run away with me."

  "You mock me, Roger. I hear you are promised to another. Do send him to the Tower, your majesty, for trifling with me. But do not cut off his head. It is far too handsome."

  Roger stared at her, openly annoyed. "Who says I am promised?"

  She pointed with her diamond–studded fan to Tommy Carlyle, obvious in very high, very red heels that made him tower over almost every man in the room. Carlyle looked toward them, and seeing them staring at him, blew Roger a kiss. In spite of his annoyance, Roger had to bite his lip not to smile. The king snorted in disgust.

  "Why do you have anything to do with him, Roger? He is unnatural, an aberration of nature!"

  "He is a friend, your majesty. I am loyal to my friends. And he can be very amusing, as you have just seen."

  "Even when spreading gossip about you?" asked Melusine.

  "A man such as that knows no loyalty," said King George. "He is ruled by his unnatural passions. How it used to sicken me to watch Monsieur mince about! How cruel he was to my cousin Liselotte with his pretty boys and handsome lovers!"

  "Perhaps such people are to be pitied, rather than abhorred, sir—"

  "Do not keep talking of Carlyle," interrupted Melusine impatiently. "Is it true you are to marry that traitor Alderley's daughter?"

  "Melusine!" said the king.

  "There was no man more loyal than her grandfather," Roger said. "Her mother has the same blood in her veins. And you know you may count on the Tamworths, sir." He nodded toward the group of them sitting against the wall, the young duke, his mother and sister and aunts. Lady Saylor saw them looking and said something to her daughter. They stood up and shook out their gowns.

  "I can do better for you," said King George. "The branch you choose is on the brink of ruin. Let me find you a German heiress."

  Roger bowed. "No, thank you. It might be amusing to bring them back from the brink. And in any case, it is my own affair. Your majesty… Melusine…" Backing away, he joined the Walpole brothers and Townshend.

  "You offended him," the king said.

  "How romantic," said Melusine. "And how English. And how foolish."

  "Bah!" said the king. "Now I know why Lady Alderley requested an audience with me. She is burning her bridges behind her."

  "What does that mean?" demanded Melusine.

  He smiled at her. "It is a military term, my cabbage. I think the lady has Roger outflanked."

  "Pooh!" she said. "Oh dear, do smile, George. Here comes that haughty Lady Saylor and her daughter."

  "Let us leave at once, Robert," Roger
said, glancing at the two bearing down on the king. "Abigail has me in her sights, and I am in no mood to be polite."

  * * *

  Clemmie brought the note in, holding it as if it burned her fingers. Diana snatched at it and tore it open. She read it once, then once again. Barbara, watching her, thought, The note is from Roger. I know it. I feel it. Why does Mother stare so? He is dead. Yes, that is it. He has died, and it is all over. Or worse. He has changed his mind. He never wants to see me—

  "He is coming tomorrow," Diana said slowly. Barbara could not move; her limbs were turned to stone. She stared at her mother like an idiot.

  "He is coming tomorrow," Diana repeated, half shouting the words. Clemmie threw her apron over her head and began to dance a jig. Diana laughed and tossed the note up in the air. It fluttered to the ground like a white bird. Barbara's heart was beating so fast she thought she might be dying. She tried to speak, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. Diana pointed at her and began to laugh harder. Barbara felt bubbles of hysterical laughter floating up inside. Clemmie whirled around the room like a fat brown jug come to life. She whirled into a table and went crashing to the floor. The apron was still on her head. Diana screamed with laughter.

  Clemmie pulled the apron off her head. "I fell," she explained unnecessarily.

  Barbara looked at her mother. "S–She f–fell," she repeated. Then she exploded with laughter. Clemmie's face rearranged itself into folds of disapproving, hurt fat. Diana shrieked with laughter; so did Barbara.

  "I may have broken my leg," Clemmie told them.

  "Her leg," howled Diana, bending over and holding her sides. Barbara stamped her feet and fell back against the chair. The room echoed with their baying laughter.

  Clemmie slowly heaved herself up. She looked at Barbara. She looked at Diana. She sniffed. Their laughter doubled. She shuffled from the room in a dignified waddle.

  Barbara held her sides. They ached. Diana wiped at her eyes. They were both breathing as hard as if they had been running, and every now and again, one or the other would break into fresh laughter. Barbara smiled at her mother. Diana smiled back. For a moment, she looked as if she loved Barbara.

  Barbara stood up and took a step toward her. "Mother—"

  Diana turned away. She sat down at her table and picked up her quill pen. "Leave me be. Tell Clemmie to send for Meres. We have work to do before Roger arrives."

  She sent them all out scurrying to find items carefully noted on ink– stained lists. Doling out coins, she warned them to obtain the best bargains for their money or she would beat them all. Meres must fetch water, buckets of it, and buy sand and potash and scrub brushes and a soup pot and caps and plates and spoons and pewter. Clemmie and Barbara must go to the baker's and order food for the tea they would serve Roger tomorrow. And they must find Turkish carpets, pictures and lace curtains in the secondhand shops. And flowers. Clemmie and Barbara were to wait until the market was closing and then buy as cheaply as possible.

  "Do not pay where you do not have to; insist on a down payment rather than the full amount; and give a false name and address," she told them. It was after dark when they had everything Diana wanted. Barbara was sent to bed, but she heard her mother and Meres and Clemmie in the parlor working for what seemed like a long time. She rubbed milk of roses in her cheeks and said her prayers. Tomorrow. Her life began tomorrow.

  The next morning, she leapt out of bed and ran into the parlor. Clemmie and Diana had been up before her, and they had wrought a miracle. Gone was the threadbare, dirty room. In its place was a warm, cozy, almost charming one. Tables and chairs had been polished with beeswax. Fresh starched white lace curtains hung at the windows and red–orange geraniums and white hyacinths bloomed in pots on the sills. The fire was burning brightly, and soup (bought in the shop last night) bubbled in a soup pot and filled the room with its delicious smell. Turkish carpets, bright blue and green and gold, spread across the tops of the scarred, mismatched tables. Shining pewter peeked out from the cupboard shelves. Pictures hung on the walls. Rugs were scattered on the floor. A table was set for tea. There was even a Christmas wreath over the fireplace.

  "It is almost beautiful," breathed Barbara.

  "I am glad you approve!" Diana snapped.

  Barbara knew that tone. Her mother was running on nerves alone and the least thing would send her into a rage. The lines on each side of her mouth were deep and hard. Though it was hours before Roger would arrive, Diana marched Barbara into her bedchamber for her approval. She was to bathe all over. The water was icy cold, and she gasped like a fish when Clemmie lathered her hair with a mixture of ale and egg and herbs and rinsed it with two buckets of water. By the time they were finished, Barbara's teeth were chattering so hard she thought she might bite her tongue. Clemmie wrapped her in a blanket and set her on a stool in front of the fire. She and Diana began the business of pulling together Barbara's toilette. Barbara shivered and sat as close to the fire as she dared. She felt scraped raw inside and out. Once her hair was dry, they began to dress her. She stepped into a delicate lawn chemise of her mother's and pulled on her own white stockings and tied them about her thighs. Clemmie helped her step into Diana's stays, and Barbara gripped the bedpost while Diana pulled the laces so tight that tears came to Barbara's eyes.

  "I cannot breathe!" she cried out.

  "Be quiet!" hissed Diana, and Barbara, hearing the barely controlled tone of her voice, was silent. Next they tried one of Diana's hoops and a petticoat of quilted white satin. Both were too large, but Clemmie, who had lived with the ups and downs of Diana's life too long not to be versatile, produced needle and thread and went to work. The needle flew like the wind and within an hour, both were tucked to fit. Barbara held up her arms as Clemmie and Diana slipped a gown over her head. It was her own, her best one, of pale blue velvet with elbow sleeves set in foaming lace the color of cream. Her white neck rose out of the gown's front like a delicate flower stem. Diana motioned for Barbara to sit and began to brush her hair. But she jerked the brush so brutally that Barbara cried out, and Clemmie took the brush without a word and began gently to pull her thick hair up into a knot of curls. Diana paced back and forth like a lioness. Barbara bit her lip, all her joy at seeing Roger dissipat ing. If I fail, she will kill me, she thought. If I fail, I will kill myself. She almost smiled at her gallows humor, but the stays were pulled too tight. Clemmie calmly threaded ribbons of pale blue and green and silver and pink into the red–gold topknot of curls on her head. Diana looked her up and down.

  "Go to your room and stay there," she commanded.

  "Keep thy heart with all diligence," Barbara repeated to herself as she obeyed her mother, "for out of it are the issues of life." She said the phrase over and over as a litany against panic. Some calmness returned to her. And confidence. There was no reason Roger should not marry her. He wanted Bentwoodes, and she came with it. That was all. That she should love him was a dividend he would not be expecting. A sweet dividend. She would not let her mother's impatience and bad temper sway her. Roger. She must concentrate on Roger. This was their first meeting in five years, and though it might not mean much to him, her whole future was in it. Calm. Calm yourself. Think of Tamworth, of the woods and gardens. Think of summer and cool, green things. Think of bees humming over red and white rambler roses. Grandmama strolling on the lawn with Anne and Charlotte toddling after her. Yes…yes…calm, peace, serenity—

  A knock sounded at the door. She jumped. Her heart began to beat so loudly that it was all she could hear. Now. She sat on the bed and waited for her mother to summon her. The roaring in her head quieted. Her heart slowed down. Her mother's summons did not come. She waited a few minutes more. I will not go and see what is wrong. I will wait, she told herself sternly. One of her vows to God had been that she would stop eavesdropping if God would make Roger marry her. But perhaps her mother had called and she had been so upset, so excited, she had not heard. She would go into the hall only. No farther. She crept th
ere, skirts lifted. Clemmie sat in a chair. When she saw Barbara, she rolled her eyes and pointed toward the parlor. Barbara crept closer. Clemmie shook her head at her, but she ignored her. Just once more, she thought. Then I will stop. I swear it. She put her ear against the door.

  "I do not like having my hand forced, Diana." It was his voice, Surely it was his voice. Her heart thumped violently. Clemmie pulled at her arm. Come away, she mouthed. Barbara snatched her arm back and shook her head.

  "I do not understand you," her mother said.

  "You understand me perfectly. It is all over London that I shall marry your daughter. I do not like to be anticipated."

  "Roger!" her mother said. "You know it was not my doing. I would never be so foolish."

  Aunt Abigail's words bubbled up suddenly in Barbara's mind like witch's brew. She could no more have moved from where she was than she could have stopped breathing.