Inferno

Chapter 46

King Christian VII was not at the Amalienborg Palace. It seemed he was confined to the Frederiksborg Castle, several miles beyond the city walls, and it was there that the personal emissary of King George was taken with all due ceremony. It was a broad country residence set in acres of parkland, on one side a Chinese summerhouse, on another a Greco-Egyptian temple and, tucked away beyond, a Swiss cottage, all in immaculate order.

They were met on the forecourt by a modest honour guard and a major-domo who conducted them to a small but exquisitely furnished reception room.

A petite, kindly-faced woman was waiting and advanced with a shy curtsy. ‘The Hofdame Rosen, my lord,’ she said. ‘As is the chief nurse to His Majesty.’

‘Thank you. Your command of English does you credit, madam.’

The softly lined face creased with pleasure. ‘I was born in England, my lord, and am widow to a Dane.’

‘Then we are doubly welcomed.’ It earned another curtsy.

‘Frue Rosen, how does His Majesty?’ Cecilia asked politely.

‘My lady, this is what we need to talk about before your audience.’

The guidance was practical and to the point. The King was much cast down by his affliction but if the day was kind could be lucid and charming. Nevertheless, it were better the audience was short and serene. She herself would be in attendance and, trusted through long service to the Crown, would intervene if she thought it necessary. The noble lord should understand that anything declared or granted by King Christian in the audience would be subject to the approbation of the Crown Prince acting as regent.

They were conducted through fine state-rooms to the audience chamber.

His grand court robes heavy and stifling, Renzi stood at one end of the polished marble floor, two thrones on a raised dais at the other. The rich gold canopy and hangings, ancestral portraits and extravagantly carved furniture were of a piece with England’s royalty, but with an almost defiant Scandinavian cast.

A pair of halberdiers marched out and took position each side of the dais while members of the household and functionaries waited with Lord Farndon and his lady.

Nearly fifteen minutes later a high, querulous voice could be heard echoing in a passage and a little later a stooped, robed figure emerged through the tall doors, looking about suspiciously.

All went to their knees.

There was shuffling, muttering in an undertone, then silence.

A peremptory order was given in Danish.

‘All rise,’ whispered Frue Rosen.

More harsh Danish rang out.

‘Announces your presence and style.’

And then: ‘Do approach now, my lord.’

Renzi gathered his robes and made stately progress down the length of the chamber to stop before the King. As he had done for King George not so very long before, he knelt elegantly and lowered his head, anticipating the order to rise.

There was a small pause, then movement and a rustling – and suddenly he became aware that the King was beside him, cupping his chin and peering into his face. ‘You’re English, Lord. I like the English. Don’t be afraid!’

King Christian VII would have been barely sixty but it was an old man’s features that looked back into his, with fair hair, now white, and faded blue eyes, whose sockets sagged pitifully. Renzi tried not to notice the dressing-gown peeping from under the robes of state, but took it that he should stand.

‘Come, sit with us,’ the King commanded, pulling him towards the two thrones.

Hastily courtiers brought up a chair and Renzi sat awkwardly in it, the King swivelling in his throne to face him. ‘We never see the English these days,’ he mourned. ‘Those rogues in the Council always have something to say against them.’

‘Sire, I bring greetings from your brother sovereign, His Britannic Majesty King George of Great Britain. He bids me to say-’

‘My mother was English. Did you know? That’s why I can understand you, Lord, um, Thingummy. And so also the mother of my child who … who …’

His face crumpled and, catching the nurse’s horrified look, Renzi hastened to continue: ‘Who brings a gift from his heart for the love he bears you, sire.’ He beckoned Cecilia forward. Gracefully she sank to her knees holding a small japanned black case.

‘A gift? For me? So kind! So kind!’ He stood, transformed, and hurried with childish glee to Cecilia who proffered it.

He opened it.

Inside there was a miniature sword, perfect in every detail, the hilt of gold encrusted with jewels and with a tiny tasselled knot.

‘Wonderful!’ he breathed, holding it reverently.

Then, cackling, he set off in a pitiable shuffle about the room in mock swordplay, his maniacal barks falling into the heavy silence of the assembled court.

‘You were so good to the poor man,’ Frue Rosen said, her eyes brimming. ‘So many come to sneer and be cruel. I’ve seen him as a young man … when … when …’

Cecilia held her hand, murmuring soothing words.

‘It’s just that … the English are not so liked here now, the demands they make and the dreadful time when Nelson came. I do so yearn to hear an English voice, and when I learned you were coming I … I …’

‘We’ll stay a little longer before we go, won’t we, Nicholas?’

Later, Lord and Lady Farndon retired to their gilded four-poster bed in the Amalienborg.

Renzi lay staring up at the ceiling.

Cecilia stroked his hair. ‘It’s your burden, isn’t it, Nicholas? I do feel for you, my love – to sway those stiff-necked Danish with so little to offer.’ She leaned over and kissed him. ‘Never forget, you’re giving it of your best, and if you cannot persuade them, it’s never your fault.’

Renzi stirred and said quietly, ‘The fleet will arrive directly. Then it will be doubly difficult. My dearest, time is pressing me mortally.’

He rolled over and faced her. ‘Bernstorff’s sympathetic but his hands are tied, as are those of others fearful of the French. If I can think of no course to mollify London I rather fear the consequences will be dire.’

Cecilia sighed. ‘At times, Nicholas, I think this is all something of a forlorn hope, born of the King’s desiring, of course … but who’s to say? You may be meant to fail, leaving the field to the warriors.’