The empress of ice cream

Louise

He dances with me, and I feel the urgency of his desire. He kisses me during the dance, along with the rest, and his lips linger a little longer than they should.

When he has to release my hand so that I can turn to another partner, I sense his reluctance, my fingers slipping through his, until, with a sigh, he turns away.

And yet he keeps his pledge. Never does he try to make me feel I have no choice.

That, did he but know it, is being done by others. Colbert reminds me almost daily that I overstretch the patience of not one but two kings. Lady Arlington tells me that I must act before Charles’s eye alights on someone else. Lord Rochester looks at me with cynical drunken eyes and declares that I am playing a shrewd game.

T did not know that French bitches made such clever hunting dogs,’ he says.

And Charles treats me with such courtesy that it is only when I am with him I do not feel besieged.

But this unrest over his son has given him something new to worry about. Just as it has given me, perhaps, a new way into his favour.

It is Lord Monmouth - his eldest son, illegitimate of course: the product of a union with a woman called Lucy Walters during the first years of his exile. Now the boy is twenty years old, and a hothead.

In Parliament recently, there was a debate on raising money there are always debates on raising money, to clear the king’s debts. Someone had proposed that taxes could be levied on the

theatres. A member of the court party pointed out that the theatres gave much pleasure to His Majesty, and should thus be exempt. To which a member of the parliamentary faction, one John Coventry, wondered aloud whether it was the theatres which gave His Majesty much pleasure, or those who acted in them - a clear reference to the king’s fondness for actresses.

The silence which followed this observation persuaded him that it was time to sit down, but the damage was done: by nightfall his sally was being reported in every tavern and coffee house in London.

It was also being talked about at Whitehall, where one of those outraged by John Coventry’s impertinence was Jemmy Monmouth. Declaring his father insulted, he gathered together three of his cronies, intercepted Coventry on his way home, and slit his nose open with a sword.

In response. Parliament passed an act making it a criminal offence for any person to lay hands on, or assault, a member of that body. They could not charge Monmouth, of course, as the attack had taken place before the law was made; but they were saying that in future, they would have the right to.

This, in turn, caused further outrage - the notion that laws made in Parliament could be applied to those of royal blood. Instead of keeping a low profile. Lord Monmouth ^nd his friends decided to make a public display of their defiance. After an evening’s drinking, they went out looking for amusement, which they found in the form of a ten-year-old girl and her grandfather. The girl was pretty, and they decided to have their way with her. The grandfather protested, and they kicked him to the ground. A night beadle appeared. He too protested; both at the girl’s youth, the taking of her by force, and the treatment being meted out to the grandfather. So they kicked the beadle to death.

Those who had defended Monmouth before now found themselves in a difficult position. For if he was entided to slice open a man’s nose without being subject to the law, surely things were no

different now that he had committed the attempted rape of a child, and murdered an elderly public servant?

The king’s ministers are divided. Those who say Monmouth must be punished fear the people will riot if he is allowed to go free. Those who say that Parliament must not be appeased say that riots can always be put down with bullets.

Charles is reluctant to use the army. No one knows better than him that riots have a way of turning into revolutions.

Tt is one thing to keep my crown upon my head,’ he says. ‘Quite another to keep that head upon my shoulders.’

I begin to see an opportunity here.

The issue is a subde one. Monmouth, for all that he believes himself attached to his father’s faction, is the natural ally of the Parliamentarians. As a Protestant, and the king’s acknowledged son, he could be the mob’s choice for king if Charles were to convert to Catholicism.

So, the less popular Jemmy Monmouth is, the better for the interests of France.

And - more importandy - if I can demonstrate my own influence over Charles in a small matter such as this, I may have gained a measure of freedom.

Finally, Charles talks himself to a standsdll. Between those of his advisors who say that Monmouth must be dealt with, and those who say that Parliament must be stood up to, he is caught in a dither of indecision.

Walking with him in his privy garden, I say mildly, ‘It seems to me that your dilemma is that you cannot decide whether to pardon Jemmy, or punish him.’

‘Yes,’ he says with a sigh. ‘That is it exactly.’

‘Then why not do both?’ I suggest. ‘Pardon him first, so that he is not imprisoned by the courts, but then punish him in some

other way, so that everyone can see you will not tolerate such behaviour.’

He considers this thoughtfully. ‘But how would I punish him.>’

‘He could be banished. After all, he is'scarcely an adornment to your court. And it would have the effect of making it clear to the people that the king is a higher authority than the law.’ I hesitate. ‘In fact, you would come out of this with your own position strengthened.’

‘Louise, that is excellent advice,’ he exclaims. ‘Now, why couldn’t my ministers have thought of that?’

I shrug. ‘Sometimes it is easier to give advice when one is neutral. Tell me, is it true that de Grammont has invented an amusing new dance?’

The next day my rooms are full. Ministers I have barely met arrive to pay court to me. Lord Arlington shows me off, fussing around and calling for more chairs. The young rakes come to flirt with my ladies-in-waiting; the older ones to size me up.

I serve them ices in tiny glass goblets. I discuss theatre with Mr Dryden and theology with the Bishop of Chester.

This, I think, is what influence tastes like.

Soon it will be time to talk to Charles again of war. But not directly this time. I have learned my lesson. I need to be more subtle, my approach circuitous.