"I am greatly disappointed, my angel, my beauty," said the king, "that you have taken this morning"s excursion."
So he knew of her "excursion," and doubtless had instigated the visit of the sheriffs to the Old Swan.
"What has your angel done this morning to displease her king?" asked Frances, with a laugh so merry that one might well have supposed it genuine.
"What has she done this morning?" repeated the king. "She has been to visit the man who seeks the king"s life. That is what she has done."
He had hit the nail squarely on the head at the first stroke, but whether his accuracy was a mere guess, or the result of knowledge, I did not know. I trembled, awaiting the outcome of my cousin"s conference.
At first Frances appeared to be horror-stricken, and her surprise seemed to know no bounds, but after a moment of splendid acting, her manner changed to one of righteous indignation, touched with grief, because the king had so wrongfully accused her.
"Your Majesty horrifies me!" she exclaimed, stepping back from the king.
"Is there a man in all England who would seek his king"s life?"
"There is," returned his Majesty. "And you have been to visit him."
Frances denied nothing. She was simply stunned by grief and benumbed by a sense of outrage put upon her by the king. So after a moment of inimitable pantomime, she answered, speaking softly:--
"I fear a gentle madness has touched your Majesty"s brain, else you would not so cruelly accuse me. You have so many weighty affairs to trouble you and to prey on your mind that it is no wonder--"
"Did you not set out this morning with the avowed purpose of going to your father"s house?" asked the king.
"Yes, your Majesty," she answered soothingly, almost pityingly. "What then?"
"Did you go there?" asked Charles.
"No, your Majesty."
"Where did you go?"
"Am I a prisoner in Whitehall that I may not come and go at will?" she asked indignantly, knowing well the maxim of battle that the best way to meet a charge is by a countercharge. "If so, I pray leave to go home to my father, where I shall not be spied upon and suspected of evil if I but go abroad for an hour."
Her grief had changed to indignation, and she turned her face from the king, drying the supposed tears and exhibiting her temper in irresistible pantomime. The king was but a man, so of course Frances"s tears and her just anger routed him. A brave man may stand against powder and steel, but he must flee before fire and flood.
Immediately the king became apologetic: "I do not suspect you of evil, but of thoughtlessness, my beautiful one," he said, trying to take her hand, but failing. "Nor have I spied upon you. I heard that you had gone to the Old Swan to see Hamilton, whom it is said you love."
Pantomime to show great grief and a deep sense of cruel injury, but the tears ceased to flow because of the fact that she was past tears now.
"I"ll leave Whitehall this day!" she said, shaking her head dolefully. "I am not strong enough to bear your Majesty"s unjust frown. I have tried to do right, tried to please you and the d.u.c.h.ess--everybody, and this is my reward! I know little of Master Hamilton, having seen him only a few times in all my life. If I had no other cause to shun him, his character would be sufficient."
Again the handkerchief was brought to the eyes effectively, for the purpose of giving the king a little time in which to see how grievously he had wronged her. It required but little time for him to realize how cruel he had been, and in a moment he said pleadingly:--
"Your king asks your forgiveness. I do not suspect you of having gone to see Hamilton. I am convinced that I was wrong. But won"t you tell me, please, why you visited the Old Swan? It is a decent tavern, I understand, but a public place of the sort should not be visited by one such as you unescorted."
"Your Majesty is right, and I thank you for the reprimand," returned Frances, drying her eyes. "But Pickering, who is the host of the Old Swan, has a daughter, Bettina, who is a good girl, far above her station.
She is my friend. I went to see her this morning to drink a cup of wormwood wine with her. Now you know my reason for going."
Wormwood wine was considered a toper"s drink.
Her confusion and modest hesitancy in confessing to the wormwood wine were so pretty and so convincing that the king laughed and seized her by the arm affectionately:--
"Ah, at last it is out!" he cried. "I have discovered your sin! I knew you must have one tucked about you somewhere. Wormwood wine! Absinthe!
The drink of our depraved French friends! Who would have suspected you of using it?"
"Yes," murmured Frances, glad to be found guilty of the wrong sin.
"Ah, well, we"ll have it together here at home," said the king, "so that you need not go abroad for it hereafter."
"No, no, I shall never again drink wormwood," protested Frances. "Betty Pickering tells me it causes vapors in the head, horrid waking dreams, and in the end incurable spasms."
"Your resolution is well taken," returned the king. "We shall seek a harmless subst.i.tute."
At this point in the conversation his Majesty looked toward me, whispered a word to Frances, and they walked down the garden path to the fountain, while I waited at Bowling Green for Frances"s return. When she came back, she told me in detail all that pa.s.sed between her and the king.
After they had left me, the king began to talk, and Frances seldom interrupted him save to draw him out, knowing that a talking man sooner or later tells a great deal that he should have left unsaid. This is especially true if a shrewd listener reads between his words.
"Nelly Gwynn tells me that you love George Hamilton," said the king, "and in my eyes, that is his greatest crime."
Already his Majesty had told a great deal.
"I am surprised at Mistress Gwynn"s imagination and her lack of truthfulness," returned Frances. "I told her I hated him, and she herself heard me deny that I knew him when he offered to speak to me two months ago or more at the Old Swan. Mistress Gwynn kissed him. I refused to recognize him. I should say that the evidences of affection were against her rather than me."
"She says, also," continued the king, "that you believe Master Hamilton killed Roger Wentworth; that you recognized him the night of the tragedy."
"I said nothing of the sort," answered Frances, emphatically. "I saw but one man"s face distinctly. Here at court I have often seen the man who killed Roger Wentworth, and I shall tell you his name if you insist. He is near of kin to your Majesty."
The king knew that she meant his son Crofts, so he hastened away from the subject.
"Yes, yes, I have suspected as much, but I beg you, Frances, to spare me the pain of hearing the truth."
"Yes, the truth is a frightful thing," sighed Frances. "Why cannot the world be made up of pleasing lies? But tell me, does your Majesty mean to say that the wretch, Hamilton, seeks your life?"
She was seeking information.
"He does, he does," returned the king. "While he was sick at the Old Swan, one standing outside his door heard him declare his intention to kill the king. When I heard of the threat, I summoned his physician, one Doctor Lilly, who, being questioned, admitted that while in a delirium Hamilton had made threats against the king"s life, but that he, Lilly, had supposed the French king was meant. Lilly is a good faithful subject, and I often use his astrological knowledge, which is really great, but in this case I suspect he is trying to shield Hamilton, believing, perhaps, that the threats meant nothing because they were made in delirium."
"It is horrible to think upon," answered Frances, shivering. "But he has gone to France, and, thank Heaven, your Majesty is safe. Perhaps he has gone to kill King Louis."
"How do you know he has gone to France?" asked the king, much interested.
"I had a letter from him. He imagines he is in love with me," answered Frances, speaking in the letter of truth and with a fine air of calmness.
She had received a letter from George in France, but it was before his return to England.
"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the king. "Your news contradicts your avowal that you are not in love with him."
"Shall I be in love with all who say they are in love with me?" asked Frances, glancing up to the king.
"G.o.d forbid!" he answered. "I would have you in love with but one--one who loves your voice, your beauty, your goodness."