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Authors: Patricia Wynn
Tags: Historical Mystery
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sure that he does not deserve it. But for the sake of this house, I will promise to discover what I can about Colonel Potter and his loyalties, however little that is likely to be.”
He thanked her, and since he had no excuse to linger, he left her alone.
Hester found that her appetite for reading had vanished. She could not think of the welfare of this house without thinking of St. Mars. If he was not here to protect his estate, then she could do no better than to help James Henry preserve it for him.
She had not given up on the idea that Gideon Fitzsimmons would one day return as the Earl of Hawkhurst, as was his right.
* * * *
At the Palace that evening, they were conducted to the private sitting room where, it was said, the King supped with his mistress every night. The guard passed them through the Tudor Gate, and a servant led them through the courtyard to Madame Schulenberg’s apartments at the back of the ground floor, overlooking the garden. Since this was the first visit Isabella had paid to La Schulenberg, Hester had not known what kind of reception to expect from a lady who, many said, was the queen of England in everything but name. But neither she nor Isabella was prepared for the scene that greeted them.
Neither was the guard, who was accustomed to escorting visitors directly in, when the King’s mistress expected them, else he might have asked them to wait outside. He opened the door t without knocking and halted in his tracks.
Madame Schulenberg reclined on a sofa, surrounded by a handful of ladies, who were trying to stem her weeping. They moved about her like anxious bees, dabbing at her face with wet handkerchiefs and holding hartshorn beneath her nose. German phrases issued from her mouth in wails. Hester did not need to understand the words to know that the King’s mistress was very upset.
The opening of the door took her ladies by surprise. They turned as one body, but their alarm soon changed to relief. They must have been working over their mistress for many minutes with no success, for they almost seemed grateful for the distraction.
Instead of shooing the visitors out, they eagerly beckoned them to come in, while urging their mistress in a cheerful mixture of German, French, and English to compose herself for their sakes.
The guard announced their names and made a hasty retreat. Hester and her cousin stood nervously in the center of the carpet, waiting to see if they would be invited to sit.
While the ladies fussed, their voices chimed in rallying tones.
“But see here, madame, my Lady Hawkhurst and her cousin are here to cheer you. You will not wish to miss their visit.”
“Just think what his Majesty would say! You would not like him to see these tears!”
“Do not forget that you are here to support him. You must be very brave for his Majesty’s sake!”
Reluctant to stare at their hostess, Hester stole a look around the room. This was her first visit to the Palace, and she found it ironically fitting that her introduction should involve a king’s mistress. St. James’s had not been built for a royal court, but by Henry VIII for his mistress Anne Boleyn, when his true Court lay at Whitehall. Since then, it had been occupied by various members of the royal family and was the seat of the English Court under Charles I. Cromwell’s men had looted it, leaving none of the famous treasures Charles had amassed, and the Roundheads had used it for years as a prison and barracks. Upon the Restoration, Charles II had ordered it renovated for the use of his mistress, Lady Castlemaine, and his brother, the Duke of York. It had only finally become the official court of England when the Palace of Whitehall had burned to the ground, taking with it all the valuables collected by Charles II, his brother James II, and William and Mary, who had barely escaped the fire with their lives.
The result of all this turmoil, people said, was that the English king was housed worse than any
He thanked her, and since he had no excuse to linger, he left her alone.
Hester found that her appetite for reading had vanished. She could not think of the welfare of this house without thinking of St. Mars. If he was not here to protect his estate, then she could do no better than to help James Henry preserve it for him.
She had not given up on the idea that Gideon Fitzsimmons would one day return as the Earl of Hawkhurst, as was his right.
* * * *
At the Palace that evening, they were conducted to the private sitting room where, it was said, the King supped with his mistress every night. The guard passed them through the Tudor Gate, and a servant led them through the courtyard to Madame Schulenberg’s apartments at the back of the ground floor, overlooking the garden. Since this was the first visit Isabella had paid to La Schulenberg, Hester had not known what kind of reception to expect from a lady who, many said, was the queen of England in everything but name. But neither she nor Isabella was prepared for the scene that greeted them.
Neither was the guard, who was accustomed to escorting visitors directly in, when the King’s mistress expected them, else he might have asked them to wait outside. He opened the door t without knocking and halted in his tracks.
Madame Schulenberg reclined on a sofa, surrounded by a handful of ladies, who were trying to stem her weeping. They moved about her like anxious bees, dabbing at her face with wet handkerchiefs and holding hartshorn beneath her nose. German phrases issued from her mouth in wails. Hester did not need to understand the words to know that the King’s mistress was very upset.
The opening of the door took her ladies by surprise. They turned as one body, but their alarm soon changed to relief. They must have been working over their mistress for many minutes with no success, for they almost seemed grateful for the distraction.
Instead of shooing the visitors out, they eagerly beckoned them to come in, while urging their mistress in a cheerful mixture of German, French, and English to compose herself for their sakes.
The guard announced their names and made a hasty retreat. Hester and her cousin stood nervously in the center of the carpet, waiting to see if they would be invited to sit.
While the ladies fussed, their voices chimed in rallying tones.
“But see here, madame, my Lady Hawkhurst and her cousin are here to cheer you. You will not wish to miss their visit.”
“Just think what his Majesty would say! You would not like him to see these tears!”
“Do not forget that you are here to support him. You must be very brave for his Majesty’s sake!”
Reluctant to stare at their hostess, Hester stole a look around the room. This was her first visit to the Palace, and she found it ironically fitting that her introduction should involve a king’s mistress. St. James’s had not been built for a royal court, but by Henry VIII for his mistress Anne Boleyn, when his true Court lay at Whitehall. Since then, it had been occupied by various members of the royal family and was the seat of the English Court under Charles I. Cromwell’s men had looted it, leaving none of the famous treasures Charles had amassed, and the Roundheads had used it for years as a prison and barracks. Upon the Restoration, Charles II had ordered it renovated for the use of his mistress, Lady Castlemaine, and his brother, the Duke of York. It had only finally become the official court of England when the Palace of Whitehall had burned to the ground, taking with it all the valuables collected by Charles II, his brother James II, and William and Mary, who had barely escaped the fire with their lives.
The result of all this turmoil, people said, was that the English king was housed worse than any
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