The Loves of Charles II by Jean Plaidy Page B

rogue fifty gold crowns for you.”
    “Then he has none but himself to blame,” said Lucy. “No man should pay another money for me. I’m not that sort of harlot.”
    Now, watching him dressing for his appointment at Court, she did not regret the way in which matters had turned out. Robert was a satisfactory lover and she doubted his brother could be better. When she thought of arriving from the boat, and being brought to this place, to the comfort of hot food, a warm bed and a lover, she was not sorry. Robert was handsome and bold; he had wasted no time in taking to himself his brother’s preserves. “It is, after all, a family matter!” he had joked.
    She had not known that her arrival and the fifty gold pieces had provided the amusing story of the moment. It was the sort which would amuse a band of exiles. They craved other amusement than continual dicing, and all were eager to see the young woman for whom Algernon Sydney had paid his fifty pieces. That he should have been called to join his regiment for service elsewhere and so been deprived of his prize, was a matter for the greatest hilarity.
    Robert knew how all at Court were laughing over the affair; he also knew that his brother—whom he had always believed to have been something of a connoisseur where women were concerned—had not been deceived about this one. Robert was anxious to keep her to himself and not eager that she should be seen by the young roués who circulated about the Prince.
    Lucy was happy enough; never very energetic she was content to lie about the apartment, eating the sweetmeats which Robert provided, trying on the pretty ribbons which he had procured for her.
    So Robert went off to Court and Lucy lay in bed. Soon Ann Hill would come in—for Lucy had insisted on bringing Ann with her to The Hague—and her toilet would be made by the time her lover returned. Later, Lucy would explore the town, but not yet; she needed a few more days to recover from her journey.
    Ann came in and sat on the bed and talked in her bright cockney way, which was such a contrast to Lucy’s musical Welsh accent.
    Ann had been out; she had seen something of the flat country and she dismally shook her head over it. There could not be anything more different from London, she assured her mistress. The land was so flat; the wind blew across the sand, forming it into dunes; and these people had built dykes to keep out the seawater. There were small lakes all along the coast, where the sea had defied all attempts to keep it out. The town itself was more interestingalthough quite different from London. She had seen the palace where the Prince’s sister Mary lived; and she had heard that the Prince was with her there; she had seen the arched gateway which led to the prison. But this town was a poor place compared with London, and the fresh wind howled all the time. Yet there were many gallant gentlemen in the streets, and to see them in their fine clothes, and with their fine manners, one might be in London; moreover, these gentlemen were even finer than those they had been wont to see in London recently; yes, there were some who were very fine indeed.
    Lucy’s eyes shone as she listened. She said: “I think I shall dress myself and take a walk.”
    But as she rose from her bed she and Ann heard a voice singing outside the window; it was a deep, masculine voice and very musical. Lucy put her head to one side, listening, for the singer had stopped beneath her window.
    “I loved a lass, a fair one,
As fair as e’er was seen;
She was indeed a rare one,
Another Sheba’s Queen!
But fool as then I was,
I thought she loved me too:
But now, alas: she’s left me,
Falero, lero, loo.”
    Lucy could not refrain from going to the window; she opened the casement wide and leaned out. Below was a very tall young man of about her own age with large brown eyes, the warmest and merriest she had ever seen; he had long dark curly hair, and as she looked down he stopped singing,