city of London than it had been in earlier days. The leaves were all gone from the trees in Greenwood’s park when the carriages drew up to the door on an early December afternoon. It was already getting dark.
“Barbara and I shall go on to Whitehall,” the duke told his mother. “I will come tomorrow and tell you what is happening. I think the lasses should rest a few days in order to look their very best when they are first seen.”
“Give His Majesty my fond regards,” Jasmine said.
“He has a tendre for you, Mama,” the duke said with a grin. “What’s this sorcery you seem able to work on the Stuarts, royal and not-so-royal?” Charlie teased her.
“I think it is you and your cousin who charm most,” Jasmine replied, “but you surely know how to flatter an old woman. Go along now, Charlie. We shall see you tomorrow.”
The duke’s coach turned in the driveway and made its way back down the wide gravel road through Greenwood’s gates, and thence on to the king’s favorite palace of Whitehall. This palace had once been the London seat of the archbishop of York. It began as an ordinary two-story house, that under the auspices of Henry VIII’s personally chosen archbishop, Thomas Wolsey, had been developed into a marvelous palace, augmented in width and breadth and height. Beautified, embellished, and ornamented by Wolsey, it became an object of the king’s desire. When Wolsey failed Henry in the matter of his divorce from Katherine of Aragon, he gave this palace to his master in hopes of appeasing him. Henry rechristened the palace Whitehall and enjoyed it mightily while Wolsey fell from grace and died.
Henry enlarged his new acquisition, which had sat upon a piece of land between the River Thames and a road that led to Charing Cross and then on to Westminster Cathedral itself. The enlargement required more land, which Henry purchased, but he was unable to close off the public street that traversed between his palace and his new acreage. Hence Whitehall became an assortment of courts, apartments, galleries, and halls. It was a jumble of architectural miscellany on the outside but magnificent within. It meandered and sauntered through a maze of chambers and suites, most of which were seen only by the huge assortment of servants necessary to run the place.
Still it had all the comforts and conveniences that anyone, let alone a king, could desire. There were wonderful gardens and a broad walk along the riverside for strolling. There was a ballhouse where the ladies played featherball against the gentlemen. There was a cockpit for the beautifully bred cocks owned by the king and the nobility. A great deal of serious wagering went on at the cockfights. There were tennis courts, for Charles like his ancestors, enjoyed the sport greatly. There was a tiltyard for those gentlemen still so inclined, although most of the court preferred dancing, dicing, and card playing to the vigorous exercise engendered in the tiltyard.
Whitehall had three gates. The Whitehall Gate kept the public from straying onto the king’s grounds. The King Gate and the Holbein Gate offered the court access to the royal park. They were at opposite ends of the palace. The King Gate opened directly from the park onto the streets. The Holbein Gate was near the royal Banqueting Hall. The king’s late father had always planned to rebuild Whitehall to give it more uniformity, but Charles II had not the means to do so. Still the interior was magnificent, and that was what most people remembered when they spoke of Whitehall. Its hideous and unsightly exterior faded when one recalled the wonderful tapestries, molding, carved stonework, fine furniture, and magnificent paintings by the best artists of the current generation and generations past.
The duke of Lundy’s coach drew up within the Great Court. Liveried servants ran forward to open the vehicle’s door and to begin unloading the luggage. Well schooled, they recognized the king’s cousin and bowed. A majordomo directed the footmen to the duke’s apartments, all the while welcoming him back.
“Shall I make your arrival known to His Majesty?” he asked.
“Yes,” Charlie replied. Then offering an arm to his wife, he moved off into the palace and toward their own apartments. By the time they reached them, Charlie found one of the king’s young pages awaiting.
The boy bowed smartly. “His Majesty,” he began in a high piping voice, “desires your presence, my lord duke.”
“When?” Charlie asked, smiling down at the child who could not have been more than seven.
“Immediately, my lord,” came the reply.
The duke sighed and, handing his cloak to his valet, kissed his wife. “Do not wait up for me,” he said in resigned tones.
“I will not,” she told him with a small smile.
Charlie followed the page from his own quarters through the winding corridors of the palace to the king’s royal apartments. He was led into the king’s privy chamber where Charles Stuart was waiting for him. The king grinned, waving a hand at his page.
“Thank you, lad, now close the door behind you,” and when the child had obeyed, the king said, “Welcome back, Charlie!”
“Why are there so few outside in your chambers?” Charlie asked. Then he said, understanding completely for he knew his cousin well, “Ahh, you have the headache, my lord, eh?”
The king chuckled. “What most people do not realize, Cousin, is that it is hard work being a king. I am expected to be available to all at all times. Sometimes I grow weary of it.”
The duke nodded, pouring them each a goblet of fine red wine from a carafe on the sideboard and handing the king one.
“Sit down,” the king said, and together the two Charles Stuarts settled themselves into high-backed velvet chairs before the king’s fireplace. “Every now and then I must develop the headache if I am to get some time alone.”
“I know,” Charlie said, “and I should have realized when I saw your outer chamber virtually empty. How they all hate it when you send them away. You are the sun and the moon around which the many constellations and stars of this court circulate. They do not like it when you are not available to them.”
“Take supper with me, just the two of us, and tell me all your news,” the king said, reaching out to the bellpull.
“I’ve brought my mother and her three granddaughters to court,” Charlie began. “We have come husband hunting,” he grinned.
“The glorious Jasmine is here? Wonderful!” the king said. “She is the most incredible old woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And the lasses? Your daughter and the niece who has lived with you these past few years, of course. But who is the third girl?”
“My sister Fortune’s youngest, from the Colonies,” Charlie replied, waiting to see what the king would say, but at that moment the door opened, and the page appeared.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” he queried his master.
“Supper for two, Georgie,” the king ordered. “And I am not to be disturbed except for the meal, laddie. Bar all comers!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” the boy replied, and shut the door once more.
“The girl who killed her husband?” the king asked his cousin.
“Your Majesty, I do not know what the truth of the matter is,” the duke of Lundy said.
“But your mama knows, I am quite certain,” the king chuckled. “She would not allow anyone of bad character in her house no matter
