As he advanced up the grand staircase, there were other symptoms of alarm and precaution. The Yeomen of the Guard were mustered in unusual numbers, and carried carabines instead of their halberds; and the Gentlemen-pensioners, with their partisans, appeared also in proportional force. In short, all that sort of defence which the royal household possesses within itself, seemed, for some hasty and urgent reason, to have been placed under arms, and upon duty.
Buckingham ascended the royal staircase with an eye attentive to these preparations, and a step steady and slow, as if he counted each step on which he trode. “Who,” he asked himself, “shall ensure Christian’s fidelity? Let him but stand fast, and we are secure. Otherwise——”
As he shaped the alternative, he entered the presence-chamber.
The King stood in the midst of the apartment, surrounded by the personages with whom he had been consulting. The rest of the brilliant assembly, scattered into groups, looked on at some distance. All were silent when Buckingham entered, in hopes of receiving some explanation of the mysteries of the evening. All bent forward, though etiquette forbade them to advance, to catch, if possible, something of what was about to pass betwixt the King and his intriguing statesman. At the same time, those counsellors who stood around Charles, drew back on either side, so as to permit the Duke to pay his respects to his Majesty in the usual form. He went through the ceremonial with his accustomed grace, but was received by Charles with much unwonted gravity.
“We have waited for you some time, my Lord Duke. It is long since Chiffinch left us, to request your attendance here. I see you are elaborately dressed. Your toilette was needless on the present occasion.”
“Needless to the splendour of your Majesty’s Court,” said the Duke, “but not needless on my part. This chanced to be Black Monday at York Place, and my club of Pendables were in full glee when your Majesty’s summons arrived. I could not be in the company of Ogle, Maniduc, Dawson, and so forth, but what I must needs make some preparation, and some ablution, ere entering the circle here.”
“I trust the purification will be complete,” said the King, without any tendency to the smile which always softened features, that, ungilded by its influence, were dark, harsh, and even severe. “We wished to ask your Grace concerning the import of a sort of musical mask which you designed us here, but which miscarried, as we are given to understand.”
“It must have been a great miscarriage indeed,” said the Duke, “since your Majesty looks so serious on it. I thought to have done your Majesty pleasure (as I have seen you condescend to be pleased with such passages), by sending the contents of that bass-viol; but I fear the jest has been unacceptable—I fear the fireworks may have done mischief.”
“Not the mischief they were designed for, perhaps,” said the King gravely; “you see, my lord, we are all alive, and unsinged.”
“Long may your Majesty remain so,” said the Duke; “yet I see there is something misconstrued on my part—it must be a matter unpardonable, however little intended, since it hath displeased so indulgent a master.”