The Great Roxhythe

A large gentleman was strolling from group to group in one of the great galleries of Whitehall. He was very exquisite, this gentleman, adorned with all the coloured silks, velvets and furbelows which that Year of Grace, 1668, demanded. A great peruke was on his head, with flowing, dark curls that reached over his breast and below his shoulders. He carried his plumed hat in his hand, and at times he made great play with it, as if to point some witty remark. At other times he opened his jewelled comfit-box with a delicate flick of his wrist, and selected, with some care, a tinted sweetmeat. Once or twice he swept a low bow to some lady of his acquaintance, but for the most part he was occupied with the courtiers who were present, always lazily smiling, and with his brown eyes bored and expressionless. His height, and the breadth of his shoulders made him easily distinguishable in the gay throng, so that those who wished to speak to him soon found where he was standing, and made their way towards him. He was the Most Noble the Marquis of Roxhythe, the King’s favourite and the ladies’ darling, and his name was on many lips.

No longer in his first youth, my lord had nothing to learn in the way of polish. He was the perfect courtier, combining grace and insolence even more successfully than his Grace of Buckingham. His brow was incomparable; his air French; his wit spicy; his tailoring beyond words, remarkable. Even in those days of splendour and unlimited extravagance he was said to be fabulously wealthy.

“No, I am going to expound.” My lord lifted up a quill, and surveyed it idly. “Tomorrow I keep my room; on Wednesday we travel by coach to Rotterdam. I am afraid I shall be ill again, Chris. You will be suitably perturbed, and you will fetch a certain Mynheer de Staal, an apothecary, and a friend of mine. He will give it out that I am suffering from a low fever and must not be disturbed. I shall make my escape by way of the window at night and proceed to de Staal’s house where I shall wait till morning. Then I shall ride to the Hague, leaving you and John to trick the spy into thinking me abed. De Staal will come every day; I can trust him. At the Hague, I shall stay at the Three Fishers, and, with the aid of your brother, gain access to the Prince, when I shall lay His Majesty’s proposition before him. That done, and the Prince his answer given, I return to Rotterdam, and recover from the fever. For the rest it is easy. We proceed to the Hague; we meet our friend Milward. Presently, behold! His Majesty has forgiven me! We return to London. I think the amiable Mr. Milward will be perplexed.”

Christopher’s eyes glowed.

“It is a marvellously well thought-out scheme, sir. But I am afraid.”

“On what score?”

“You may be discovered. The French spies may have orders to prevent your gaining access to the Prince at any cost.”

Roxhythe’s lips curved haughtily.

“They dare not.”

“Dare not?”

“I am Roxhythe.”

“Then you think they would not murder you?”

“William of Orange has my sympathy,” he murmured.

The heavy curtains swung noiselessly back. A slight youth, with great eyes burning in an unnaturally pale face, came quickly into the room. Dart followed him, and the curtain fell back into place.

The boy was dressed as plainly as Dart. Light curls fell to his shoulders and framed his hawk-face. His eyes were hazel, cold and keen, the nose aquiline; the mouth thin. He gave Roxhythe the impression of one much repressed, and old beyond his eighteen years.

My lord swept a low, court bow.

“Your Highness!”

William spoke haltingly. His voice, even then, had a harsh timbre.

“Mi⁠—lor’⁠—Roxhyt’e?”

My lord bowed again.

“I have to thank Your Highness for receiving me at this hour. I am very sensible of the honour you do me.”

“I want to tell you how lovely you are.”

She was a child, playing with a forbidden toy.

“I do not think I want to hear it.”

“Then I’ll tell you how much I love you.”

“And that I must not hear!”

“You shall feel it, sweetheart.”

“You are very wicked, you know,” she said, gravely.

“You would not like me else, dear.”

“Should I not? Do you think women are like that?”

“Women, child, are the most incomprehensible, mad, divine creatures on this earth. Come with me, and I’ll tell you how wonderful one woman is.”

“I ought not to. And it is only a game.”

“Nothing is so alluring as the ‘ought not,’ beloved.”

“No. But should one give way to temptation?”

“Most certainly one should, for if one does not, it leaves the devil idle.”

“Surely he were best idle?”

“Not at all. If he is idle, he rests for a while, devising fresh temptations which are more seductive than the last.”

“You are dreadfully wicked!” nodded Millicent. She went out with him.

Roxhythe shut the door.

“And now what is it?”

Crewe was standing by the fire. At my lord’s words he swung round.

“It is this, sir! I’ll not have my wife’s name dishonoured by such as you! For nearly three years it has gone on! At first I thought nothing; she had her admirers, but she loved me. And then you gradually stole her from me, until she thinks of naught save when she shall next be with you! Oh, I’m not blind! I’ve watched and waited. But tonight I could no longer contain myself! One of us dies, my lord!”

“Very fine,” applauded Roxhythe. “But you make a deal out of nothing. Let us say that I fascinated Lady Crewe. We played at love, bien sûr. Now we have agreed to end the game. As to her good name, no harm is like to come to that.”

“No harm, you say? All the town will talk of this. How do I know that there is not more between you?”

The fine lips curled contemptuously.

“Faith, you have a good opinion of your wife!” said Roxhythe. Then he grew grave. “You foolish boy, what have you been about all this time? You say you have watched us? Then why a-God’s name did you not act? By heaven, I would let no man steal my wife’s heart!”

“If it can be stolen I do not want it! I’ll make no effort to win her from you, my lord! She⁠—she has earned my contempt! my hatred!”