The Last Protector. Andrew Taylor

A broken-down trooper from Cromwell’s horse. The rogue recognized him and tried to detain him. Marwood gave him the slip, but the fact he was there will get back to the Duke.’

      ‘That’s a pity. Do you trust him? Marwood, I mean.’

      ‘I believe so, my lord. He’s served us well in the past. He’s a careful man, and he knows the value of his place with me. His father was a Fifth Monarchist, but he himself has none of that dangerous nonsense about him.’ Williamson hesitated. ‘The King has employed him too, once or twice, through Mr Chiffinch, which I cannot say I like, though the King was much pleased with Marwood’s service. He gave him the clerkship of the Board of Red Cloth as a reward.’

      Arlington stared up at the fresco on the ceiling. It showed the Banquet of the Gods, with Jupiter bearing a marked resemblance to King Charles II. ‘I think you’re probably right about Buckingham – in the next week or two, there will be a great deal of fuss and then a royal pardon, at least for him. The King opens Parliament on the sixth of February, so he needs the Duke in harness by then. He has to be, if he is to carry out his promise and persuade the Commons to grant the King the money he needs for the navy.’

      ‘If …’ said Williamson.

      Arlington tapped his fingertips on the table before him, as if playing a flourish of notes on the keyboard of a clavichord. Probably a jig, Williamson thought sourly. The Secretary had a vulgar taste for them. Williamson himself sneered at jigs. His own tastes were more sophisticated. He loved the work of the new French and Italian composers, and particularly the unfairly beautiful harmonies of papist choral music.

      ‘Exactly,’ his lordship said at last. ‘You see the situation as I do.’

      He smiled. Williamson could not avoid smiling back. The Undersecretary distrusted charm above all things – in the last few years, its dangers had been amply demonstrated by the King himself, who could have charmed the angels out of heaven if he had set his mind to it, and then handed them in chains to the Devil if the Devil had been willing to pay the right price and keep his mouth shut about the transaction.

      ‘In time Buckingham will damn himself in the King’s eyes,’ Arlington went on. ‘He’s a firecracker, dangerous when he catches a spark because you can never tell which way he will jump. But give him a steady job of work to do and he will soon show his want of application, his inability to match deeds to word. He can no more manage the House of Commons for the King than my daughter could. In the meantime, though, we have another difficulty, don’t we?’

      Williamson said nothing. Arlington was always seeing difficulties, and for once he had no idea which one his lordship meant.

      Arlington lowered his voice. ‘My Lord Shrewsbury has been complaisant about his cuckold’s horns for nearly two years. Her ladyship and Buckingham have let the world know of their passion for one another, so Shrewsbury must have known about it from the first. Which means that Buckingham must be wondering, why now, why after all this time should my lord have challenged him? And in the French style, too, with three against three, which makes it so likely that a great deal of blood will be spilt. And with Talbot as one of his seconds, who is one of the Duke’s greatest enemies not just in Parliament but in the whole of London. And my supporter.’

      ‘You think, my lord, His Grace may suspect that …’

      ‘That we had a hand in it,’ Arlington said. ‘Yes. Not that it was a bad idea in itself.’

      He and Williamson had persuaded Talbot to work on the cuckold’s sense of grievance and issue the challenge to the Duke. If they had fought one against one, the smaller, older Shrewsbury would have been at a disadvantage against Buckingham. But a duel in the French style had offered the Earl a chance to tilt the odds in his favour. Obviously it had been a risky business from the outset but, had it come off, the rewards would have been immense. Arlington’s most powerful political rival would have been either disgraced or dead, and through a tragic train of circumstances that had no apparent connection to Arlington.

      ‘I always had my doubts that the plan would work,’ he continued. ‘Still …’

      Williamson clamped his lips together. The scheme had been Arlington’s from start to finish.

      ‘Buckingham already has no reason to like us,’ the Secretary went on. ‘This will make him hate us. And, if I’m any judge of character, it will also make him want to make fools of us.’ His fingers danced on the table; another damned jig, no doubt. ‘He will want his revenge. But how will he set about it?’