The Chevalier Read online

  TIME WARNER BOOKS

  First published in Great Britain in /984 by Macdonald & Co (Publishers) Ltd

  First Futura edition published in 1984

  Reprinted 1985, 1990

  Published in 1993 by Little, Brown

  This edition published in 1994 by Warner Books

  Reprinted 2000

  Reprinted by Time Warner Books in 2006

  Copyright © Cynthia Harrod-Eagles 1984

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters in this publication, other than those clearly

  in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to

  real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any

  form or by any means, without the prior

  permission in writing of the publisher, nor be

  otherwise circulated in any form of binding or

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  without a similar condition including this

  condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-o-7515-0644-o

  ISBN-1o: 0-7515-0644-3

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

  Time Warner Books

  An imprint of

  Time Warner Book Group UK

  Brettenham House

  Lancaster Place

  The break in the legitimate succession which occurred when James II fled to France in 1688 gave rise to extraordinary anomalies which tend to be ignored by the sort of history we learn in schools. This is no doubt because the traditional kind of historian likes his history divided up neatly into reigns or, even better, into dynasties.

  The period from 1688 to 1714 is distressingly untidy from that point of view, and history books tend therefore to tidy the dynastic problem away. But for the people who lived at that time it was by no means a certainty that Anne would follow William, and George Anne, and if I have been able in this book to convey something of their confusion, I am content.

  Amongst the books I found helpful were:

  Maurice Ashley John Baynes Eileen Cassavetti

  *

  Daniel Defoe

  *

  Celia Fiennes

  England in the Seventeenth Century

  The Jacobite Rising of 1715 The Lion and the Lilies

  A Tour through the Whole Island of Great

  Britain

  Through England on a Sidesaddle in the Reign of William III

  G. E. and K. R.

  Fussell The English Countrywoman 1500-1900

  M. D. George London Life in the Eighteenth Century

  M. G. Jones The Charity School Movement

  Alan Kendall Vivaldi, His Music Life and Times

  E. Lipson The History of Woollen and Worsted

  Industries

  R. W. Malcolmson Life and Labour in England 1700-1780

  Dorothy Marshall English People in the Eighteenth Century

  Charles Petrie The Jacobite Movement 1688-1716

  Charles Petrie The Marechal Duke of Berwick Christopher Sinclair

  Stevenson Inglorious Rebellion

  *

  Duc de St Simon Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV

  E. S. Turner The Court of St James's

  T. H. White The Age of Scandal

  *

  Lady Mary Wortley

  Montague Letters and Works

  *

  Contemporary Material

  FOREWORD

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  FOREWORD

  For my sister Lesley

  who helps me by being unfailingly interested

  in What Happened Next.

  BOOK ONE

  THE LEOPARDS AND THE LILIES

  My light thou art - without thy glorious sight My eyes are darken'd with eternal night. My love, thou art my way, my life, my light.

  Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly. Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I! Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st, I die.

  John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester: To his Mistress

  CHAPTER ONE

  That February day of 1689 had been frozen from its sluggish beginnings. The earth was bound in a pitiless frost like an iron glove that had never looked like easing; two hours after noon the light was already dying from a sky like stone. Dinner had been early, and of winter meagreness, but the maids had just gone round the house replenishing all the fires with stacked logs and pressed blocks of peat, so there was comfort to be had within each golden flickering radius.

  The steward's room was small enough to be lit by its fire without candles, and here the family and the senior servants had gathered. James Matthias, the heir to Morland Place, who was only five years old, thought that they were like cattle gathered under one tree for warmth. He had seen the overwintering cattle bunched together like that, with the apprehension of hunger in their eyes. Later he could recall the meeting with great clarity, although he did not remember much of what it was about.

  James Matthias, generally known as Little Matt, had wriggled in ahead of the others to get a good place on the floor before the fire, and here he was joined by his cousin, Arthur, Viscount Ballincrea, who was nearly seven and bullied Matt; as well as the dogs, Fand, the blue wolfhound belonging to the Countess, and his father's young bitch Kithra. The dogs shoved their hard, lean bodies against the boys until they had worked their way as close to the flames as they could, and then they collapsed on to their sides with sighs of content. Both had been rolling in cowdung, but it wasn't a smell Matt minded. The other children were too young to be included in the meeting, being all under two years old, and they were up in the nursery with Flora, the wet-nurse. It made Matt feel grown-up and important that he was not with them.

  Having settled himself with the dogs between him and Arthur, who sometimes pinched him slyly just for the pleasure of hurting him, Matt looked about the room. In the black, carved fireside chair sat Matt's grandmother, Annunciata, Countess of Chelmsford, a person of such eminence to Matt that even when he was in the same room with her he could hardly believe she was real. She was dressed all in black, and round her throat she wore a glittering diamond collar, which had been given to her by King Charles II, while on her breast she wore the gold and diamond cross which was one of the Percy jewels, a Morland heirloom. The diamonds flashed brilliant rainbow colours in the moving firelight; Matt thought she was like the Queen of Winter in the legend.

  Matt's father, Martin, who was Master of Morland Place, stood behind her chair with his hands resting on the chairback so that they just touched the Countess's shoulders. Matt loved his father dearly, but indeed, so did everyone. He was a small man, thin and wiry and brown-skinned like a hazel-nut, with soft, curly dark hair and small, dark-blue, twinkling eyes, and a mouth that seemed to smile even in repose; even now, when his face was grave and sad. He was the Countess's stepson for the Countess had once been married
to Martin's father, Ralph Morland.

  Sitting on the floor beside her chair were the Countess's two surviving sons by Ralph Morland, Charles, Earl of Chelmsford, always called Karellie, who was eighteen, and Maurice, a year younger. Behind this group were the representatives of the servants: Clement, the steward, whose forefathers had been stewards at Morland Place time out of mind, and his son Valentine who was butler; the chaplain, old Father St Maur, who had cropped grey hair and very bright dark eyes in his brown, wrinkled face; Jane Birch, the governess, sour-faced, sharp-tongued and heavy-handed; and the Countess's waiting woman, Chloris, very beautiful with red-gold curls and violet eyes.

  Now Matt's eyes turned in the other direction, towards the man whose unexpected arrival that morning had caused this meeting to be called. He was Uncle Clovis, who was half-brother to Ralph Morland but much younger than he. Matt had hardly ever seen him before, though he knew quite a lot about him, for Clovis lived mostly in London where he acted as factor to the family's wool and cloth business, and also had some position at Court.

  When everyone was settled, the Countess said, 'Let us hear your news. You may speak freely — we are quite safe here. There is no one in the house I do not trust.’

  Clovis nodded and drew out from his breast a much-folded and much-stained letter. 'This,' he said, 'is from my brother Edmund in St Omer. No need, I think, to go into details of how it reached me —'

  ‘It is better not to speak of those things,' Martin interposed quickly. 'What is not said cannot be repeated. Will you read it to us?’

  Clovis held the letter in his hand, but did not look at it. He addressed the company as a whole, but his eyes never left the Countess's face.

  ‘It is written mostly in a code Edmund and I have used from time to time, but I can tell you the gist of it. It says that King James reached France safely and joined the Queen and the Prince of Wales. King Louis of France has given them the Palace of St Germain, just outside Paris, for their home. He has been most generous to them, giving them money, furnishing the palace, redecorating the nurseries for the Prince of Wales. He treats King James with all royal state, and they are often together. They were together when the news came that Parliament has given the crown jointly to Princess Mary and Prince William of Orange. That was on the 6th.'

  ‘Fast travelling, even for bad news,' Martin said gravely. ‘They got the news almost as soon as we did.’

  Little Matt remembered the day that the news had come, the shock first, and then the anger. Parliament had decided that the King, by leaving the country, had abdicated.

  Prince William, the Dutch husband of the King's elder daughter Mary, was occupying London with his soldiers. Parliament had offered the throne to Princess Mary, but William had angrily refused to be his wife's 'gentleman usher' and had forced them to hand the crown to them jointly. Parliament had done so on condition that a Protestant succession was guaranteed, so that no Catholic might ever again sit upon the throne of England. That meant that after William's death, Princess Mary's sister Princess Anne must have the crown.

  Matt remembered the Countess's fury. 'So Parliament takes it upon itself to pass the Crown of England from hand to hand like a parcel of tea!' she had raged. 'The Dutchman made King! The Prince of Wales removed from the succession! As if they have the right - as if they have the competence!'

  ‘But at least there are to be no reprisals,' Martin had said, trying to comfort her. 'No action to be taken against those of us who resisted him.'

  ‘He wants it to appear that he took the throne by public demand and not by the force of arms,' Annunciata had said bitterly. 'He will leave us alone until enough people believe the lie that the King abdicated - and then-’

  Morland Place had been badly damaged during the siege following William of Orange's invasion. Matt tried not to remember those terrible days. The damage to the house had only been sketchily repaired as yet, and Annunciata and Martin expressed their fears readily enough to Matt, though they had not voiced them.

  Clovis glanced at Edmund's letter again, and continued.

  ‘The King was gravely shocked, of course, especially by the heartless behaviour of his daughters, but he and King Louis began to make plans at once.' Matt could feel from Clovis's voice that he was coming to the important part of the letter. 'King Louis is to give the King money and men enough to equip an entire expedition.’

  The Countess almost rose to her feet. 'To England,' she said eagerly.

  Clovis shook his head. 'Not England at first. To Ireland - the Catholics there will rise in support, and when he has Ireland, it will make a safe base from which to cross to England.'

  ‘Who is to command?' Annunciata asked. There were questions in every face, but it seemed natural that she should voice them.

  ‘The Comte de Lauzun will be commander in chief, but the King will go himself, of course, with the Duke of Berwick.'

  ‘Berwick is a good soldier,' Annunciata said approvingly. ‘My son Hugo fought with him against the Turks, and knew him in the Monmouth campaign. He spoke highly of him. It seems that the King is luckier in his bastard son than in his legitimate daughters,' she added harshly.

  Now Karellie spoke for the first time. 'Mother,' he said, ‘is not my lord of Berwick the King's son by Arabella Churchill? And did not her brother John Churchill desert the King for the Prince of Orange? I wonder that the King can trust him.'

  ‘Berwick is sound,' Annunciata said abruptly. 'John Churchill cares for nothing but his own career. He is ruled by his wife, and his wife has Princess Anne safe in her pocket, and so they think the Protestant succession will offer them the best chance of advancement and riches. If Princess Anne is ever Queen, they hope to hold the highest places in the land. Remember that,' she added bitterly to her children, 'that is what Protestantism does - it replaces faith, duty, loyalty and obedience with self-interest. You saw how Princess Anne betrayed her own father . .

  Martin's hands came down in a restraining sort of way on her shoulders, and Karellie, turning his face up to her, said gently, 'It's all right, Mother. Maurice and I have better examples to follow.'

  ‘When is the expedition to be?' Martin asked Clovis, who was waiting patiently to return to the matter in hand. ‘Very soon. They hope to land in Ireland in two weeks' time.’

  There was a silence. Maurice was looking at Clovis, but not as if he saw him. Karellie turned his face from Clovis to his mother, gazing up at her with an eager, questioning expression. The Countess shook her head minutely at him, and then looked up at Martin, and Martin, searching her face, spoke at last.

  ‘We must decide what to do.’

  And now the Countess put her hand up to cover Martin's, which rested on her shoulder. Matt, watching, saw how white and long the Countess's hand was, how square and brown his father's; more than that, he saw how there was a strange quietness about them, as if they were alone together in a place away from everyone else. Their eyes, and the lightly touching hands, were exchanging messages in some way, as if they were reading each other's thoughts.

  Finally the Countess said, as if the words continued a long conversation they had had that no one else had heard, ‘No, you must decide what to do. You are the Master of Morland Place. It is for you to say.’

  After that the talk went on for a long time, and Matt, growing weary, half-dozed amongst the dogs, letting the flow of words go over him like water, feeling the shape of them without listening for the meaning. Finally he slept in truth, and woke to Birch's hands pulling him up to his feet. Everyone was leaving the room, Clovis ushering them out quietly. Matt, looking round, half-dazed, saw the Countess and his father standing near the window, evidently waiting for privacy. Birch was tugging at his hand, and he stumbled after her, hearing the door of the steward's room click closed behind him, leaving those two quiet figures alone with the dogs and the firelight.

  The cold outside in the great staircase hall woke Matt to shivering, and he picked his feet up and hurried with Birch and Arthur to get upstairs
and to another fire. Birch dropped Arthur's hand to lift her skirts clear of the stairs, and Arthur said, 'I'm hungry. I'm hungry, Birch.'

  ‘You're always hungry,' Birch replied in automatic rebuke.

  ‘But I am. I had hardly anything at dinner.’

  They reached the turn of the stair, and Matt, glancing down despite himself, saw the chequered tiles of the hall floor and remembered them strewn with blood and dead men. That was when the rebels smashed their way in at the end of the siege. He never wanted to remember, but the visions always broke through, triggered by certain things, always the same things, somehow unavoidable. He crossed himself, and seeing the gesture out of the corner of her eye, Birch softened.

  ‘Well, well, perhaps I can find you something,' she said. ‘Poor children. God knows what will come of all this. Poor things. Hurry on, now. We'll go to the nursery, and I'll see what I may have.’

  Will the babies be awake?' Matt asked, brightening. He was fond of the babies, as one might be fond of a litter of puppies. There was Arthur's brother John; little Mary Celia Ailesbury, the orphan daughter of Martin's sister, and always called Clover, because she was round and sweet she was Matt's favourite; and Aliena, the Countess's new baby. There was something odd about Aliena, Matt knew not about her person, but about her existence, for the servants whispered and broke off when Matt came near, and Birch always shook her head over Aliena sadly, though she was a lusty child, small and dark but strong. Matt knew better than to ask questions, just as he realized the servants knew better than to ask the Countess questions, or even to speak above the lowest of whispers. 'If the babies are awake, can I play with them?' Matt pursued. Birch shook his hand in mild reproof.

  ‘Play with them, indeed. They're not toys, you know.' And then, glancing at Matt's face, she said, unexpectedly kindly, 'You can give Clover her pap, if you like. If you're careful.’