One night, with a party of young men, including the Duke of Albemarle, the Duke of Monmouth waylaid Sir John's carriage, set upon Sir John, dragged him from his carriage and slit his nose to the bone.

It might have been the end of the Member for Weymouth, had not a beadle heard the commotion and hurried over to see what was happening. It was his duty to keep order and, shocked and horrified by what he saw, he attempted to do his duty. In the scuffle that followed, he was killed.

Sir John had escaped with a mutilated face, but the poor beadle was murdered, a grave matter.

However, the perpetrators of the crime were never brought to justice, although everyone knew that the Duke of Monmouth was concerned. It was said that it was an example of the King's great love for his bastard son, and there was an undercurrent of speculation whether, if the Duke of York persisted in his determination to practice the Catholic faith and the Queen failed to produce a child, Monmouth, with his allegiance to the Protestant faith, which he never failed to show, might inherit the throne.

However, that was far in the future. The King was radiantly happy, stronger than most men. It was one of the sights of the town to see him sauntering in the park with his friends, such as the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of Rochester, his little dogs at his heels. People used to say that all was well while King Charles reigned over them. He liked people to be happy; he was not concerned with forcing them this way and that. Let them worship God in whatever way they wished, so long as they caused him no trouble. All he wanted was a pleasant existence and the peace to enjoy it. Most of his subjects agreed with him, and they were very satisfied with their King.

But the Duke of York was causing more concern. His wife had died and he was seeking a new bride.

The people loved a royal wedding. It meant ceremony, holidays and revelry in the streets. But they did not want a Catholic wedding. There was something ominous about that. And it was typical of James that he should choose a Catholic bride; he was to marry Mary of Modena, a girl of thirteen. Negotiations had been satisfactorily concluded and she was shortly coming to England.

"A royal wedding," murmured the people. "But a Catholic."

However, the King was lusty and hearty. He would get an heir soon. Moreover, a wedding was a wedding, and as it was the Duke of York's, there would be celebrations. They were determined to enjoy them.

Kate was very excited about the royal wedding. She wanted to hear all about it and why some people did not seem to think it w^as right.

"Oh," said Maggie. "There'll always be some to find fault. Poor child. Fourteen, they say. It's too young. And him ... why, he must be forty. Well, it is not for us to judge, I will say that. But poor child."

Kate was now six years old, more eager than ever to know what was going on around her. I was noticing more and more that Maggie w^as aging. She was far from young, but she had always been so full of health and energy. She complained, though not very much, more to explain her slowness of movement rather than anything else. There were creaks in her knees, she said, and sometimes I could see that she was in pain. I tried to make sure that she did not carry heavy loads or do too much about the house; but this had to be achieved with the utmost care. The last thing Maggie wanted was that we should be aware of her ailments.

We heard that the Duke of York was at Dover with his bride and that he was coming overland to Gravesend. Mary of Modena was very beautiful, it seemed, and if she were not pleased with her aging bridegroom, he was with her. He was bringing her personally to Gravesend. The King would go there in his royal barge to meet her, and they would all travel back to Whitehall where the new Duchess would be presented to the Queen.

There would be crowds on the banks of the river to watch the royal party, and Kate was eager to be among them.

I was a little anxious about Maggie. Standing for long periods, which was inevitable on such occasions, tired her very much. I wondered if I should dare suggest she stay behind. But I soon realized that that was out of the question, hearing her talking excitedly to Kate. Maggie would be there.

It was hardly the time of year for such ceremonies. November can be a dark and dreary month and this was no exception.

The crowds had assembled along the bank close to Whitehall Stairs, and everyone tried to see the royal barge arrive.

It was indeed a sight. The barge itself, the King immediately recognizable among the company, his tall stature, his magnificent wig of black curls, his feathered hat. He was indeed a King. I watched Kate's dear face suffused with pleasure and excitement.

"There is the Duke of York beside the King," cried Maggie. They were a handsome pair, I thought, and the bride was beautiful. But she looked frightened, as though she were not sure of what was going on.

The people cheered her for her youth and beauty. They forgot, but only temporarily, that she was a Catholic.

And then, among those elegant courtiers in the King's immediate circle, I saw him. He was chatting and laughing and I felt that mingling of pain and excitement which he would always arouse in me. I gripped Kate's hand firmly. She was unaware of this. I looked at Maggie. Had she seen him?

The people were cheering wildly. The cheers, I think, were for the King. He never failed to generate this applause wherever he went. There must be some among that crowd who remembered the days of Puritanism and delighted that they were gone and that life was merry under King Charles.

The King had stepped ashore. He had helped the little bride to do the same. He kept her beside him, holding her hand, smiling at her reassuringly, and she seemed to cling to him. And there was the Duke of York, smiling ... looking happy. He had the Stuart charm, but not to the same extent as his brother. I thought in that moment that the people would have liked him well enough if he had not openly become a Catholic.

In spite of the august company, it was Jack of whom I was most aware. He had stepped ashore. He would pass very close by us.

There was a sudden surge forward and I was almost thrown off my feet. Kate fell and went down forward.

"Kate!" I called in alarm.

I saw Maggie's white face beside me. Kate was on the ground. Maggie was desperately trying to hold off the crowd. I murmured, "Oh, God, help," as I tried to reach Kate. A hundred terrifying thoughts passed through my mind in that split second. I had heard of people being trampled to death at times like this. Now it was my turn to try and hold back the crowd. Kate had disappeared from view. Maggie was trying to push forward, but her limbs were stiff and she had lost her agility.

Then I heard a familiar voice.

"Stand back! Stand back!"

It was Jack Adair.

The crowd immediately gave way to such a fine gentleman. He was forcing his way through. I saw Kate lying on the ground. He was beside her and picked her up. He was smiling his charming smile.

"Airs well," he said. "No bones broken." Then: "Stand back, I say! Cannot you see that a child has fallen?"

His voice was authoritative. He was obviously a gentleman of the court. Some of the people might have seen him leave the King's party.

He stood with Kate in his arms and turned to look at Maggie and me for a moment. Then he said: "Come, follow me. Keep close."

He had moved down to the river's edge and there he knelt down and laid Kate on the grass.

She said: "It's all right. Mama ... Maggie. I was frightened, though."

"Of a surety you were," said Jack. "Who would not be? Now, let us see if any harm has been done. Can you stand up?"

She did so.

"That is wonderful. Any bruises? No, I think we arrived in time. Crowds like that can be ugly."

He was watching Kate all the time he was speaking. I could not help noticing that she was charmed by him. He must appear to her to be a gallant gentleman, and one of the King's party, too.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "You saved me."

"Right glad I am to have done so."

Neither Maggie nor I had spoken. We were too shocked, and overcome with relief to know that Kate was safe, though deeply concerned because of who was her savior. *;'

I knew that Jack was aware of our feelings and I guessed rather amused by them.

He said: "Now, I shall conduct you to your home. You will have finished with sightseeing this day, I'll warrant."

"Oh," began Kate, "I am all right."

"My dear little girl, you have been shocked. But I am going to be a dictator and tell you that you are to go home, and I know you will not like this, but you should have a little rest." His eyes surveyed me. I could see that he was enjoying this adventure. He had seen his daughter, spoken to her, shown himself to her—in the best possible light—and, of course, he was amused by my discomfiture.

"Are you a doctor?" asked Kate.

He shook his head. "Alas, no. At this moment I wish I were. But I know my advice is sound. So I shall get a carriage and take you home."

"It is not necessary," I began.

"I beg your pardon, madam, but I think it is, and I shall not allow you and my good friend Mistress ..."

"Kate," cried Kate. "I'm Kate. Well, Katherine really."

"But Kate to friends," he said. "Well, Mistress Kate, I am going to take you home in a carriage because I believe it to be very necessary."

"Where is the carriage?" asked Kate.

"I will send for it."

There were several soldiers standing on guard near the river stairs and he called to one of them.

"Bring me a carriage. There's been an accident."

To the delight of Kate, the man obeyed immediately.

I looked at Maggie. She had not spoken at all, which was unlike her.

I could sense the tremendous relief she felt. I believe neither of us just yet could think of anything else. When we had seen Kate fall down before that press of people such fear had overtaken all other emotions and we had not yet rid ourselves of it.

We had to keep staring at her to remind ourselves that she was unharmed.

And our joy was all due to him ... Jack Adair, Lord Rosslyn, the court dandy who had betrayed me so callously.

Maggie's face was pale and I saw the lines of fatigue on it. She should not have come. She was no longer fit for these strenuous excursions.

I felt completely bewildered. He was going to take us home, after which we would thank him, as though he were a stranger who had come to our help. We must not let Kate know that he was her father. He must take us home—after all, Maggie needed a carriage and we could not be sure what effect the accident had had on Kate. Surely he must then say goodbye and go away. Which might well be what he would wish. This was just an isolated adventure to him.

He was evidently a man whose orders were obeyed, for the carriage appeared very quickly.

He helped us in. Kate could not contain her enjoyment.

"A carriage!" she cried. "Are you the King's friend?"

"We are all friends of the King, I hope."

"I mean a real friend ... do you talk to him?"

"I have done so ... on occasion."

"It must be wonderful to be at court. How did you get to us so quickly?"

"I saw you in the crowd and I realized what was about to happen. Crowds will do that. Something of interest happens and they all want to go in a new direction to get a better view. They rush forward ... people get swept off their feet, and if they fall, well, that can be dangerous. The crowd does not care ... it goes forward ..."

"Walking over you," said Kate, her eyes round.

He nodded. "But I was here just in time, was I not?"

Kate laughed. "I liked the way you made them stand back. You told them to and they did."

"It's what is called the voice of authority."

I knew that she was charming him as he was her, and my uneasiness increased.

I said: "It was a good thing you did, sir. We both thank you, and so does my daughter."

"It has been a great pleasure," he said, looking intently at me. "I am so delighted to have been of assistance to your charming daughter, madam."

I wondered what Maggie was thinking.

At last she spoke, but all she said was: "This is the house."