“Very well. What d’you want to know?”
“I pray your Ladyship not to take offense—but I must have the names of those gentlemen who may be considered as having had a possible share in your misfortune.”
Barbara frowned a little. “You’ll be discreet?”
“Naturally, madame. Discretion is my stock in trade.”
“Well, then—First, there’s the King—whom I hope you’ll find responsible, for if I can convince him it may save me a great deal of trouble. And then—” She hesitated.
“And then?” prompted Heydon.
“Pox on you! Give me leave to think a moment. Then there was James Hamilton, and Charles Hart—but don’t count him for he’s a mean fellow, a mere actor, and—”
At that instant there was a sudden sharp sound halfway between a laugh and a choked cough, and Barbara started to her feet. “’Sdeath! What was that!”
Heydon had likewise jumped. “Only my dog, madame. Dreaming in his sleep.” They both looked at the mongrel, twitching his muscles before the fire in some nocturnal chase.
Barbara gave the Doctor a suspicious glance but sat down again and continued: “There’s my new footman, but he’s of no quality, so don’t mark him down; and Lady Southesk’s page, but he’s likely too young—”
At this there was a loud explosive laugh, as of mirth which would no longer be denied. And before Heydon could get out of his chair Barbara had sprung to her feet and rushed to the closed door from behind which the sound had come, flung it open and given the Duke a solid blow in the stomach with her doubled fist.
Buckingham, who had been bent over and almost helpless in his unrestrained laughter, now recovered himself and put out one hand to grab her about the throat, the while he jumped this way and that to avoid her clawing nails and flying feet. And then, as they struggled, they got hold of each other’s disguising wigs and pulled off both at once. Barbara stepped back with a horrified gasp, holding the Duke’s black wig in her hands, while he dangled hers at his side like some grisly battle trophy.
“Buckingham!”
“Your servant, madame.”
He made her a mock bow and tossed her wig onto the table—beside which Heydon was still standing in stupefied horror at these goings-on, which would surely ruin him—and Barbara snatched it up and clapped it onto her head again, this time somewhat askew.
“You lousy bastard!” she cried furiously, finding her tongue at last. “What d’you mean, spying on me?”
“I was not spying, my dear cousin,” replied Buckingham coolly. “I was here when you came and I merely stepped into the bedroom to wait for you to leave so that I might continue my business with the Doctor.”
“What business!”
“Why, I was trying if I could discover what woman I should next get with child,” replied the Duke, frank amusement on his mouth. “I’m only sorry I laughed so soon. That was a mighty interesting tale you were telling the Doctor. But pray satisfy my curiosity on a point or two: have you lain with your blackamoor of late, or the Chancellor?”
“Filthy wretch! You know I hate that old man!”
“We agree on one thing.”
Barbara began to gather her belongings, mask, fan, cloak and muff, tying the hood once more over her hair. “Well, I’ll go along now and leave you to finish your business, my lord.”
“Oh, but you must let me wait upon you to your lodgings,” protested his Grace quickly, for he suspected her of intending to go immediately to the King and hoped to head her off by some device or other. “It’s dangerous riding through the ruins. Only yesterday I heard of a lady of quality dragged from her coach and beaten and robbed and finally left for dead.” What he said was true enough, for the ruined City swarmed with cutthroats and thieves after dark and it was not always possible to get a hackney to make the trip. “How did you come?”
“In a hell-cart.”
“Well, fortunately I have not only my coach but a dozen footmen waiting below. You’re foolish to go about thus unprotected, my dear—and it’s mighty lucky I’m here to see you get back safe.”
Buckingham took up his wig and set it on his head again, put his feather-loaded hat on top of it, and turning to wink broadly behind her back at the worried Doctor he flung his cloak up over his left shoulder and offered her his arm. He and Barbara started down the black stair-well, where Heydon had finally recovered himself sufficiently to bring a candle to light them.
“And mind you,” called Barbara as she got halfway down, “not a word of this to anyone, or I’ll have you kicked!”
“Yes, my lady. You may trust me, madame.”
Outside it was cold and the wind swept down the narrow, dark little street, carrying pieces of wet paper with it and driving hard needles of rain against their faces. The moon was completely obscured so that the night was black. Buckingham put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. An instant later half-a-dozen men appeared from some nearby hiding-place, emerging like goblins, and after two or three minutes a great rocking coach drawn by eight horses came lumbering noisily down the steep hill toward them and stopped, six more footmen leaping off the back where they had been riding. Buckingham gave the driver his directions, handed her in, and they started out with those who could hanging onto the coach and the others running behind it; a footman on either side held a blazing flambeau.
They rode down Great Tower Hill and turned into Tower Street, which was still lined with ruins, though the ways had now been cleared of debris and were passable. It was a slow ride of some two and a quarter miles over East Cheap and Watling Street, past the twisted iron and the great heaps of boulders that marked the site of old St. Paul’s, along Fleet Street and the Strand to Whitehall.
Barbara was shivering again, huddled in her cloak with her teeth chattering. Buckingham gallantly spread a fur-lined velvet robe over them both. “You’ll soon be warm,” he said consolingly. “If we pass a tavern I’ll send in for a couple of mugs of lamb’s wool.”
But Barbara was not to be diverted by such gallantries. “What’s his Majesty going to think to hear you’ve been paying visits to an astrologer?”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t.”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“Why not? You’ve been mighty strange with me of late, George Villiers. And I know more than you may think.”
Buckingham scowled, wishing that he could see her face. “You’re mistaken, my dear, for there’s nothing to know.”
Barbara laughed, a smug-sounding impudent laugh in the darkness beside him. “Oh, isn’t there? Well, suppose I tell you something then: I know that you’re having a certain horoscope cast—and it isn’t your own, either.”
“Who told you that!” Buckingham reached out suddenly and grabbed her arm, his fingers clenching it so that she winced and tried to jerk away; but he held her, bending his face close to her own. “Answer me! Who told you that!”
“Let go of me, you sot! I won’t tell you! Let me go, I say!” she cried, and all at once she gave him a resounding slap on the face with her free hand.
With a curse he released her, one hand held to his stinging face, mumbling beneath his breath. Pox on the jade! he thought furiously. If she were anyone else I’d give her a kicking for this! But instead he held his temper and began to wheedle.
“Come, Barbara, my dear. We know too much about each other to be enemies. It’s dangerous for both of us. Surely even you are convinced by now that if ever I take the notion to tell his Majesty what’s become of his letters he’d send you hence like a rat with a straw in its arse.”