"So the strange little granddaughter turned out to be the nocturnal visitor," she was saying when Kirkwell came in.
"I was passing and saw your horse outside."
"Kate has news," said Christobel. "She is going to London."
"Oh, no," said Kirk under his breath.
"It is just for a visit ... a month or so, my father said."
Kirkwell looked very downcast. I knew what he was thinking. His thoughts would be similar to those of Christobel. My father's interest in me was aroused because I was growing up, and parents such as he was were very devoted to their families and always had in mind the thought of the upcoming generations. Although, as some had said, I was only a bastard offspring. I was still a member of the Rosslyn family, and to be considered.
I wanted to go to Kirkwell and comfort him. I remembered the occasion when he had told me—or at least hinted—that he loved me. I also remembered how anxious I had been when he had had to hide in the Devil's Tower.
I loved Kirkwell. I would always feel a tenderness for him, but I felt so inexperienced, and was not sure that the feeling I had for him was that on which to build the foundations of a good marriage.
Kirkwell's obvious unhappiness cast a gloom over the excitement which the prospect of a visit to London had inspired in me.
When I returned to the house I found Luke in a state of ecstasy.
"This is part of it," he said to me. "Our father is acknowledging us. You know what that means. He will introduce us into the right society. There will be a grand marriage for both of us. Oh, Kate, life is wonderful."
The London house was built in attractive red-brick Tudor style and the garden was a delight. The river lapped at its edge and I enjoyed watching the boats going up and down the river, which was invariably crowded with craft of all kinds—from the most elaborate to the very humble. It made me feel that London life was passing along before my eyes.
Mistress Baxter took charge of me, much as Mistress Longton had at the Dower House. She was a tall woman, with an air of immense authority, and she commanded the house as a general might an army. All the servants jumped to attention when she gave her orders. She was, as my father had said, extremely efficient, rather formidable, but I liked her.
She produced Marie, who was said to be half-French, and she was to be my maid. She would dress my hair as it should be dressed, advise me about my clothes, for Marie had what Mistress Baxter called "the touch." It was the French blood in her, and although the French might so often be our enemies on the field of battle and were noted for their cimning ways, in the boudoir they were unsurpassable.
During my first day there was a great bustle about seamstresses and the almost impossible task of turning a gauche young girl from the country into a young lady fit for the court. My hair made Marie sigh in desperation and she was convinced that only time and her own artistic hands could remedy the disaster.
I did manage to get along to Maggie on that first day, because I knew that she would have been hurt if she learned that I had failed to call on her immediately on arriving back in London.
I was received with the usual delight, and I could see that she was excited because, as she saw it, my father was going to "do the right thing" by me.
I told her about the London house, Mistress Baxter and Marie, and all the bustle of preparations which were apparently so necessary.
There were tears in her eyes as she said: "Your mother would have been so pleased. It was what she always wanted for you."
Then we talked of Christobel's marriage with pleasure.
"He seems such a good young man by all accounts, and a clever one too. She'll be happy, the dear girl. We got fond of her, did we not, in spite of the sly way she came here."
Maggie shook with laughter, remembering.
I could see that she was very pleased about everything. My father's interest in his daughter was what she had been hoping for all this time. And that which excited Christobel delighted Maggie, and that which made Kirkwell apprehensive was about to happen.
That London visit was significant.
My father gave a banquet at his Chelsea house, and many of the noblest in the land were invited, among them the Duke of Buckingham. There were others whose names I had heard from time to time, and there were still others to whom I might not have paid great attention at the time but remembered afterwards—Sir Algernon Sidney, Lord Russell and the Earl of Essex.
After the meal the guests sauntered into the garden. It was a pleasant June evening and I thought how beautiful it was, with the willows trailing into the water, and the music which floated out from the ballroom.
I had never seen Luke in such a mood. This was clearly sheer happiness to him: to mingle with people who before had been but names to him, and to be accepted as one of them, was the materialization of his dreams, I was sure. I was beginning to understand Luke well; and while it gave me great pleasure to see him so contented, I felt a twinge of fear for him.
I saw William, Lord Russell, talking to him very earnestly and later they were joined by Sir Algernon Sidney and when the Earl of Essex strolled by. Sir Algernon called to him, and for a while he chatted with them all.
As for me, my father had presented me to many of the guests as his daughter.
There was dancing in the ballroom, in which I was delighted to discover I could join. Christobel and I had practiced a few steps, but of course we were not skilled in the new ones which were being danced at court. I fell into them quite easily and, if I was a little clumsy at first, I was forgiven on account of my youth, or perhaps because I was the now-acknowledged daughter of an important man.
There was one young man. Sir Anthony Warham, who paid particular attention to me. He told me I was born to dance, and I felt very happy. However, my father was soon beside me and I sensed he did not like Sir Anthony. He told me afterwards that Sir Anthony was one of those young men of whom young ladies should be wary.
During that visit to London I was to be given a glimpse of court life. On one very important occasion for me my father took me to Whitehall.
What preparations there had been! Marie had been in a state of great excitement. No single hair must be out of place. I must stand very straight or the fall of my skirt would be imperfect. She taught me how to make the correct curtsey when presented to the King. I should have to watch every moment. She wrung her hands in despair several times and then allowed her spirits to be revived; she lapsed into French to remind me that she came from that country which was noted for its elegance, attention to formality and innate awareness of good taste.
She made me quite nervous of the whole affair, but when I was face to face with the King and those dark somber eyes regarded me, it was all so different from that which Marie had hinted at that I told myself that she was not as knowledgeable as she made herself out to be.
I made my curtsey and when he looked at me, I was immediately aware of that famous charm which completely disarmed me.
My father murmured: "My daughter. Your Majesty."
And he said: "Welcome to my court. It pleases us to see you here."
"Your Majesty is gracious," I said.
"It is you, dear young lady, who are gracious to come."
It was all over in a very short time, but I should never forget it. I was sure that no one else could be like him. He would have stood out among them all even if he were not the King, and this was not entirely due to his magnificent physique, though he seemed to tower above all the other men near him.
I saw him again later, when he was completely absorbed in two ladies who sat one on either side of him and who I learned were Louise de Kerouaille and the play actress Nell Gwynne.