you?’ stammered Anne.
‘Whom else did you expect? Your lover! Or is this one he? By the saints, Madam, you forget who you are! This is conduct worthy of a serving wench.’
‘My lord Buckingham,’ began Compton sternly, ‘I come on the King’s business.’
‘Neither the King nor anyone else has business in the private apartment of a married woman of my family.’
‘The King, I had always believed, might have business with any subject, an he wished it.’
‘No, sir, you are mistaken. This is my sister, and if she has forgotten the dignity due to her name, then she must be reminded of it.’ He turned to Anne. ‘Get your cloak at once.’
‘But why?’
‘You will understand later, though it is not necessary for one so foolish to understand, but only to obey.’
Anne stamped her foot. ‘Edward, leave me alone.’
Buckingham strode forward and seized her by the arm. ‘You little fool! How long do you think it would last for you? Tonight? Tomorrow night? This time next week? No longer.And what to follow? Disgrace to your name. That you are ready to bear. But, by God and all the saints, I’ll not suffer disgrace to mine. Come, you would-be harlot, your cloak.’ He turned to the maid. ‘Get it,’ he shouted, and the girl hurried to obey.
Compton stood looking at the Duke. He wondered how long such arrogance could survive at Court. But Buckingham was no youngster; he was well past his thirtieth birthday; he should be able to look after himself, and if he valued his family pride more than his life, that was his affair.
Compton shrugged. He was faintly amused. It would be interesting to see how the spoiled golden boy responded to this.
Buckingham snatched the cloak from the maid’s trembling hands and roughly threw it about his sister’s shoulders.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked.
‘To your husband who, if he takes my advice, will place you this night in a convent. A pallet in a cell for you, sister; that is what your lust shall bring you.’
Compton plucked the sleeve of the Duke’s doublet.
‘Do you realise that His Grace will not be pleased with you?’
‘I,’ retorted Buckingham haughtily, ‘am far from pleased with His Grace’s attempt to seduce my sister. Nor do I care for pimps – even though they be the King’s own – to lay hands on me.’
‘Buckingham,’ murmured Compton, ‘you fool, Buckingham!’
But Buckingham was not listening; he had taken his sister by the shoulders and pushed her before him from the room.
‘And so, Your Grace,’ said Compton, ‘the Duke burst into his sister’s apartment, bade her maid bring her cloak, and thereupon hustled her from the apartment with threats that he was taking her to her husband, and that the pair of them would see that this night she would lie in a convent.’
The King’s eyes were narrow and through the slits shone like pieces of blue glass; his fresh colour was heightened.
‘By God and our Holy Mother!’ he cried.
‘Yes, Sire,’ went on Compton. ‘I warned the Duke. I told him of Your Grace’s pleasure.’
‘And what said he?’
‘He cared only for his sister’s honour.’
‘I planned to honour the woman.’
‘’Tis so, Sire. The Duke has another meaning for the word.’
‘By God and His Holy Mother!’ repeated the King.
Anything can happen now, thought Compton. The frisky cub is a young lion uncertain of his strength. He will not be uncertain long. Soon he will know its extent, and then it will go ill for any who oppose him.
Compton tried to read the thoughts behind those pieces of blue flint.
Frustrated desire! Now the lady seemed infinitely desirable. Out of reach in a convent! Could he demand her release? Could he have her brought to his apartments, laid on his bed? But what of the people, the people who adored him, who shouted their approval of their golden boy? They had seen him embrace his wife whom he had married because he said he loved her more than any woman. The people wanted
‘Whom else did you expect? Your lover! Or is this one he? By the saints, Madam, you forget who you are! This is conduct worthy of a serving wench.’
‘My lord Buckingham,’ began Compton sternly, ‘I come on the King’s business.’
‘Neither the King nor anyone else has business in the private apartment of a married woman of my family.’
‘The King, I had always believed, might have business with any subject, an he wished it.’
‘No, sir, you are mistaken. This is my sister, and if she has forgotten the dignity due to her name, then she must be reminded of it.’ He turned to Anne. ‘Get your cloak at once.’
‘But why?’
‘You will understand later, though it is not necessary for one so foolish to understand, but only to obey.’
Anne stamped her foot. ‘Edward, leave me alone.’
Buckingham strode forward and seized her by the arm. ‘You little fool! How long do you think it would last for you? Tonight? Tomorrow night? This time next week? No longer.And what to follow? Disgrace to your name. That you are ready to bear. But, by God and all the saints, I’ll not suffer disgrace to mine. Come, you would-be harlot, your cloak.’ He turned to the maid. ‘Get it,’ he shouted, and the girl hurried to obey.
Compton stood looking at the Duke. He wondered how long such arrogance could survive at Court. But Buckingham was no youngster; he was well past his thirtieth birthday; he should be able to look after himself, and if he valued his family pride more than his life, that was his affair.
Compton shrugged. He was faintly amused. It would be interesting to see how the spoiled golden boy responded to this.
Buckingham snatched the cloak from the maid’s trembling hands and roughly threw it about his sister’s shoulders.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked.
‘To your husband who, if he takes my advice, will place you this night in a convent. A pallet in a cell for you, sister; that is what your lust shall bring you.’
Compton plucked the sleeve of the Duke’s doublet.
‘Do you realise that His Grace will not be pleased with you?’
‘I,’ retorted Buckingham haughtily, ‘am far from pleased with His Grace’s attempt to seduce my sister. Nor do I care for pimps – even though they be the King’s own – to lay hands on me.’
‘Buckingham,’ murmured Compton, ‘you fool, Buckingham!’
But Buckingham was not listening; he had taken his sister by the shoulders and pushed her before him from the room.
‘And so, Your Grace,’ said Compton, ‘the Duke burst into his sister’s apartment, bade her maid bring her cloak, and thereupon hustled her from the apartment with threats that he was taking her to her husband, and that the pair of them would see that this night she would lie in a convent.’
The King’s eyes were narrow and through the slits shone like pieces of blue glass; his fresh colour was heightened.
‘By God and our Holy Mother!’ he cried.
‘Yes, Sire,’ went on Compton. ‘I warned the Duke. I told him of Your Grace’s pleasure.’
‘And what said he?’
‘He cared only for his sister’s honour.’
‘I planned to honour the woman.’
‘’Tis so, Sire. The Duke has another meaning for the word.’
‘By God and His Holy Mother!’ repeated the King.
Anything can happen now, thought Compton. The frisky cub is a young lion uncertain of his strength. He will not be uncertain long. Soon he will know its extent, and then it will go ill for any who oppose him.
Compton tried to read the thoughts behind those pieces of blue flint.
Frustrated desire! Now the lady seemed infinitely desirable. Out of reach in a convent! Could he demand her release? Could he have her brought to his apartments, laid on his bed? But what of the people, the people who adored him, who shouted their approval of their golden boy? They had seen him embrace his wife whom he had married because he said he loved her more than any woman. The people wanted
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