‘Then I am very grateful to Lord Arlington for the invitation.’
‘Lord Arlington has asked me to make clear to you that he is pleased to have had this opportunity of being of assistance. He wishes only that you will mention it to your own king, should the opportunity arise.’
This was more like it. For the first time - again I will speak frankly - I felt the heady power that came from being associated with the greatest country on earth, a feeling that is now so
customary with me I barely notice it, but which, if it is for some reason, such as a temporary failure of my diplomacy, withdrawn,
I miss as much as I would miss my own arm.
‘I would be pleased to. But I fear that corresponding with Versailles may be rather difficult in London.’
‘Not at all. Arrangements have already been made. The confectioner will be able to pass messages for you.’
‘May I ask how you know all this?’ I said, surprised.
‘Our countries are allies now. It is only proper that we should work together.’ His smile did not slip, but his eyes grew more serious. ‘Besides, there are some of us in England who have much in common with France.’ He touched his chest, just below the breast bone, and I understood what he meant. It was where a crucifix might hang.
‘Lord Arlington is one of us,’ he said quietly. ‘Although it would cost him his position if he were open about it. Buckingham, of course, is a Protestant. That, I am sure, is what really lies behind his change of heart. Someone has pointed out to him that bringing another Catholic into the king’s -’ he hesitated, just for moment - ‘inner circle hardly helps their cause.’
Wheels within wheels. ‘I am grateful to you for telling me so much about the political situation in England.’ Clearly, I must be careful not to get pulled into their petty rivalries: tiiere was only one king whose favour mattered to me, and he was, ensconced in Versailles, not Whitehall.
There was an embarrassing moment just before we parted, when I was obliged to ask Montagu to setde my account at the tavern.
‘His Most Christian Majesty has not given you any money with which to travel?’ he asked, clearly surprised.
I shook my head. ‘He must have assumed the Duke of Buckingham would cover my expenses.’ And I had been too bashful to bring the subject up.
‘I see.’ For a moment he looked thoughtful, then the courtier’s
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•ss
smile was back on his face. ‘Well, I am happy to help. And I am sure that Charles will be able to arrange something with the French ambassador in London. Please, do not give the subject another moment’s thought.’
A week after that I was in London. After all this waiting, suddenly there was no time. A new country, a new city, a new court - the roles of those around the king recognisably the same, only the titles and the people different, as if I were in a land reflected in a mirror.
My presentation to the king was as carefully managed as the entrance of any actor onto a stage. There was to be a ball at the Arlington’s house, to which the king had been invited. Lord Arlington gave me over to the care of his wife Elizabeth, a friendly Dutchwoman, who had me fitted for corsets and dancing shoes.
‘This is the first invitation the king has accepted since his sister’s death,’ Lady Arlington explained. ‘Bennet - my husband - has told him of your arrival, and suggested that he might like to welcome you in person. But it is unlikely that he will want to dance, so we have arranged another partner for you. A good dancer, and as tall as you are, but of course you must not pay him too much attention. You will catch the king’s eye—’
‘How am I to do that, if I am dancing.^*’
‘Bennet will point you out. There is no need for you to do anything at all. If the king decides to come over and engage you in conversation, Bennet will make a sign. But it will be best not to speak to His Majesty for too long. Say that you are still feeling tired from your journey.’
‘I don’t understand - what is the point of that.>’
‘If it looks too easy, he will certainly lose interest.’
‘If what is too easy.^’ I said, suddenly on my guard.
Lady Arlington smiled. ‘Your mission here is one that requires delicacy. If you seem too eager, I am afraid that the king will sense that he is being reminded to honour his obligations under
the treaty - and believe me, he can be quite stubborn about such matters when he wants to be. It will be better if he thinks that it is him who is inviting you into his confidence, not the other way round.’
‘What if he does not?’
‘A charming girl like yourself? And with such a delicious French accent?’ She shook her head. ‘If anything can lift the king’s spirits, it will surely be the sight of you.’
The night of the ball arrived. It was a glittering occasion, but being well used to glittering occasions — I noticed how many of the fine paintings and French tapestries that proclaimed the Arlingtons’ exquisite taste were brought in the day before, on loan from dealers and tradesmen.
For my part I rejected the dress Lady Arlington laid out for me in favour of one of those I had brought from France, a gown of grey velvet trimmed with black ermine and dotted discreetly with tiny pearls. The one she had provided was just a little too gaudy for my tastes.
The plan called for me to make an unobtrusive entrance, but as soon as I stepped into the room I saw heads turning in my direction. Why were they looking at me like that? I caught an admiring murmur: Clever. Did they mean me? It was a reUef when the young man chosen to dance with me stepped forward and I was able to focus on the physical movement "of the £falliard.
Tou need not do cinythin£i at all., Lady Arlington had said. Well, if this was to be my only dance of the evening, I might as well enjoy it; although I was a little shocked to discover that the English danced country-style, each man paired to a woman, his arm slipped around her waist, with two bars of kissing on alternate cheeks worked into the measure. It was a far cry from the quiet formality of dances at Versailles.
Then I saw those around us faltering. My partner stepped back. ‘Why—’ I began, before I saw that his gaze was directed over my
II4
shoulder, and that he was bowing along with the rest of the court. I turned.
I had met Charles before, of course, at the celebrations of Dover, and his portrait had long hung in Madame’s closet. The man who wallced towards me now looked very different. Grief had etched deep lines into his face, so that his moustache was framed by an arch running from his nose to either side of his chin. His eyes, too, looked haunted, and his tall frame, dressed in deepest black, was gaunt.
Behind him Lord Arlington was bustling forward. ‘Sir, may I—’
‘I know that gown,’ Charles said hoarsely. ‘Oh God. I know that gown.’
I saw tears in his eyes, and realised to my horror that it was me who had caused them.
‘She wore it at Dover. Not three months since, for my birthday. When I saw you dancing, I thought . . .’ His voice trailed off.
Arlington too had stopped in mid sentence, unsure what to do. The musicians had come to the end of their piece, but no one was applauding. The silence lengthened.
‘Sir,’ I said desperately, ‘I am Louise de Keroualle, your sister’s lady-in-waiting. His Most Christian Majesty the King of France gave me this gown of hers before I left Versailles. It was thoughtless of me to wear it. Please accept my apologies.’
Charles only stared at me, his eyes blank.
‘If your Majesty permits, I will go and change,’ I added.
‘Please do not,’ he said. ‘I remember you well now, mademoiselle. And it gives me great joy to see you here.’ There was little joy in his expression. ‘You must think me a poor fool, to greet you so ungallantly.’
Etiquette demanded that I respond to this pleasantry with a pleasantry of my own, some meaningless small talk that would cover my blunder and his display of emotion. But something made me say quietly, ‘On the contrary, sir, I would not wish you so heartless. I loved your sister more than anyone in France, and not a day goes by when I do not weep for her myself.’