His eyes searched my face, and he said, so low that only I could hear, ‘Then we will grieve together, some time more fitting, and share our memories of that wonderful woman.’ Looking around, he said in a louder voice, ‘Tonight I have business to attend to, but you must make merry, and tomorrow I shall hear of your adventures.’
He went to the door, nodding curdy at the musicians so that they started up again. Instandy, a knot of courtiers surged behind him, all eager to be at his heels. But I saw how he outpaced them, rolling his shoulders impatiendy, as if he would physically shake himself free of the lot of them.
‘So,’ Lady Arlington said, coming to my side. To my surprise she did not seem as horrified as I was myself by my fciux pas. ‘I suppose you knew that dress was his sister’s. You have your own strategy, it seems.’
‘I knew, but did not think,’ I said dully. How could I have been so stupid? I of all people, who prided myself on my quickwittedness and sense of propriety. ‘And there is certainly no strategy.’
But even as I spoke I recalled that it was Louis himself who had pressed those dresses of Madame’s on me. Had he, or one of his advisors, hoped that this might happen? Was Lionne, or some other occult mind, even now plotting how events rnight unfold, manipulating me in ways I could not begin to understand, directing events from a suite of offices in the Louvre?
Across the room, a man was staring at me. He was very short, almost a hunchback, and he was leaning awkwardly on two sticks. I immediately saw why: his legs were twisted, one inwards and one outwards. Despite his short stature, the cripple’s blond wig reached almost to his waist - an affectation, or possibly a sign of vanity, that together with his crooked figure made him look faintly ridiculous.
Seeing me watching, he bowed his head courteously. I inclined
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my own head in return. ‘Who is that.^’ I asked.
Lady Arlington looked over. ‘Lord Shaftsbury, the Parliamentarian. I expect he came to get a look at you. Most people have.’
‘He certainfy did not come to dance.’
‘You would have thought not,’ Lady Arlington agreed. ‘Although in some ways, despite those sticks, he is the nimblest of us all.’
Carlo
Infuse the rind of four or five lemons, peeled very thin, with the juice; add three half-pints of thick cow’s milk, and three-quarters of a pound of sugar; simmer, sift through a napkin, and freeze, and you are done.
JTje Book of Ices
After the grandeur of Versailles, the sprawling warren that made up Charles IPs palace of Whitehall came as a surprise. Some parts seemed almost derelict; others contained statues and sundials of quite remarkable workmanship, but placed without apparent thought or care. At one point we came across an ancient half-timbered cottage, seemingly embedded within the palace itself, as if in growing it had simply swallowed up the buildings around it.
‘They keep saying they’re going to pull the old place down,’ Cassell said as he led me through the maze. ‘Charles wants to build his own Versailles, out at Windsor, but Parliament takes the view it is granting him money for foreign policy, not foreign palaces. This way.’
The captain, clearly familiar with the route, opened a door, and we stepped into a cool, stone-flagged dairy. Four brown cows stared at us with mournful eyes. Under their bellies, maids pulled at their Udders with a practised, fluent motion. The smell of warm milk and chewed cud filled the air. Cassell crossed the room without pausing and unlatched another door.
A narrow passage, then a gate. It led into a cloister that contained a small archery butts. A group of women were shooting at a straw target. ‘The queen,’ Cassell said under his breath, nodding
at a slight figure. ‘She practises every day, poor thing. It is all she has to occupy her.’
Yet another door. Now, without warning, we were in a grand salon, the walls covered with frescos. On an ornate chair sat a courtier,''a woman straddling his lap facing him, her dress open to her waist. The woman gave us an incurious glance as we passed; the man did not look up. Cassell ignored them both.
At the next set of doors he halted. ‘Money,’ he said, snapping his fingers. I fumbled for the first of the three purses I had brought with me.
‘Here, I’ll hold this.’ Cassell took the ice box from me.
‘Don’t open it,’ I said anxiously.
‘Don’t worry, I know my orders. Do you have the purse?’
I found the tight leather ball that chinked of coins. ‘Yes.’
‘Give it to the servant.’
He knocked on the door. The footman who opened it pocketed the purse without a word.
We went up some stairs, emerging at the back of a balcony behind a group of people who seemed, from their dress, to be ordinary members of the public. They were gazing down at a vast banqueting hall, where a dozen or so courtiers were seated at a table that could have accommodated forty.
‘The king,’ Cassell said, nodding at the table. ‘Are you ready?’
‘I think so.’
‘Give me the other purses, then.’
As I opened the wooden box, Cassell pressed the last two purses into the hand of another servant. Then he turned and gestured to me.
I eased the silver dish out of the box. Although the mound of ice had softened somewhat during the journey from Vauxhall, it was still intact, only a slight rounding showing that it was no longer as chilled as it once had been. The smell of lemons - clean and fresh - rose from the contents.
II9
‘Hurry,’ Cassell said impatiently. ‘Once he has finished eating he will not linger.’
‘Does he always dine in public.^’ I asked as we clattered down another set of stairs.
‘Only at midday. His evenings are his own. In here. And good luck.’
Cassell opened a final door and stood back to let me through. As I advanced towards the table I felt eyes on me - not just those of the dark, tall figure in the centre who was picking at a plate of fruit, but the servants who stood around him, the men-at-arms at the door, and the public upstairs in the viewing gallery.
Finally, I was close enough to bow. I did it in the Italian manner, one foot forward, the other knee bent, my left arm lifted in a flourish behind me.
‘Your Majesty,’ I said formally, ‘I come from the court of His Most Christian Majesty King Louis the Fourteenth, by the grace of God King of France and of Navarre, and on his command offer you a most remarkable confection.’ I proffered the dish and, finally, raised my head to meet his gaze.
From the descriptions given to me by Lionne and Arlington, I had been expecting some weak-chinned, weak-eyed fop. But the king’s face was well-featured, his expression, despite:the gauntness of his face, intelligent.
‘Od’s fish,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose it must be good, if Louis says it is. What d’you call it.^’
I meant to say ‘cream ice’, but in my nervousness I got the English words mixed up. ‘Ice cream, sir.’
‘Very well.’ He waved me forward.
I looked around for the servant who would taste the king’s food. No one appeared, and for a moment I hesitated.
‘Oh, the king does not fear assassination,’ a voice drawled from the end of the table. A courtier dressed in the elaborate garb of a dandy was observing my confusion. ‘If anyone were to poison him
it would put his brother on the throne, and even in poxy England there is no one quite stupid enough to do that.’
The man was slurring his words, as if he had drunk too much, but there was a guffaw of laughter from some of those around him. I noticed; though, that the king did not join in. He indicated with a gesture that I should place the dish before him myself.