"He seems such a good young man by all accounts, and a clever one too. She'll be happy, the dear girl. We got fond of her, did we not, in spite of the sly way she came here."

Maggie shook with laughter, remembering.

I could see that she was very pleased about everything. My father's interest in his daughter was what she had been hoping for all this time. And that which excited Christobel delighted Maggie, and that which made Kirkwell apprehensive was about to happen.

That London visit was significant.

My father gave a banquet at his Chelsea house, and many of the noblest in the land were invited, among them the Duke of Buckingham. There were others whose names I had heard from time to time, and there were still others to whom I might not have paid great attention at the time but remembered afterwards—Sir Algernon Sidney, Lord Russell and the Earl of Essex.

After the meal the guests sauntered into the garden. It was a pleasant June evening and I thought how beautiful it was, with the willows trailing into the water, and the music which floated out from the ballroom.

I had never seen Luke in such a mood. This was clearly sheer happiness to him: to mingle with people who before had been but names to him, and to be accepted as one of them, was the materialization of his dreams, I was sure. I was beginning to understand Luke well; and while it gave me great pleasure to see him so contented, I felt a twinge of fear for him.

I saw William, Lord Russell, talking to him very earnestly and later they were joined by Sir Algernon Sidney and when the Earl of Essex strolled by. Sir Algernon called to him, and for a while he chatted with them all.

As for me, my father had presented me to many of the guests as his daughter.

There was dancing in the ballroom, in which I was delighted to discover I could join. Christobel and I had practiced a few steps, but of course we were not skilled in the new ones which were being danced at court. I fell into them quite easily and, if I was a little clumsy at first, I was forgiven on account of my youth, or perhaps because I was the now-acknowledged daughter of an important man.

There was one young man. Sir Anthony Warham, who paid particular attention to me. He told me I was born to dance, and I felt very happy. However, my father was soon beside me and I sensed he did not like Sir Anthony. He told me afterwards that Sir Anthony was one of those young men of whom young ladies should be wary.

During that visit to London I was to be given a glimpse of court life. On one very important occasion for me my father took me to Whitehall.

What preparations there had been! Marie had been in a state of great excitement. No single hair must be out of place. I must stand very straight or the fall of my skirt would be imperfect. She taught me how to make the correct curtsey when presented to the King. I should have to watch every moment. She wrung her hands in despair several times and then allowed her spirits to be revived; she lapsed into French to remind me that she came from that country which was noted for its elegance, attention to formality and innate awareness of good taste.

She made me quite nervous of the whole affair, but when I was face to face with the King and those dark somber eyes regarded me, it was all so different from that which Marie had hinted at that I told myself that she was not as knowledgeable as she made herself out to be.

I made my curtsey and when he looked at me, I was immediately aware of that famous charm which completely disarmed me.

My father murmured: "My daughter. Your Majesty."

And he said: "Welcome to my court. It pleases us to see you here."

"Your Majesty is gracious," I said.

"It is you, dear young lady, who are gracious to come."

It was all over in a very short time, but I should never forget it. I was sure that no one else could be like him. He would have stood out among them all even if he were not the King, and this was not entirely due to his magnificent physique, though he seemed to tower above all the other men near him.

I saw him again later, when he was completely absorbed in two ladies who sat one on either side of him and who I learned were Louise de Kerouaille and the play actress Nell Gwynne.

I was a little bemused to see these people, who had previously been talked of so frequently that I had built up images of them in my mind.

Several men talked to me and paid fulsome compliments, which I did not take too seriously, for I had realized that this was the fashion of the day. My father was never far away and I sensed his watchfulness. I was delighted that he cared about me so much. It occurred to me then that I was beginning to be quite fond of him, although, having read my mother's own account of what he had done to her, I could not forgive him entirely and believed I never would.

It had been a wonderful time, and I returned to Rosslyn Manor feeling that, having had this glimpse of another world, a remote, fantastic world, I would never be quite the same again.

I was right. Life at Rosslyn Manor seemed very quiet after that visit to London.

Amy was delighted to see me back. She said there had been a lot of talk in the servants' hall about my going. She whispered in confidence that Mistress Galloway was not very pleased about it, for she thought it was an insult to her ladyship.

"But Lady Rosslyn is not aware of what is happening. I understood she could not speak."

"I don't know, Mistress Kate. What goes on in that part of the house is a big mystery. Lady Rosslyn is ill, but some say that she is not all that ill and there are times when she knows what is going on. It's just that she can't speak ... perhaps she can talk in signs, as some deaf people do. Well, all I can say is that I wouldn't like to be up there. It's a bit odd to me ... with Lady Rosslyn there, and that Francine."

"Oh, how is Francine?"

"She doesn't alter. She just goes round in her crazy way."

A few days later I had a visit from Francine.

This time she came to my room and knocked at the door. When I called "Come in," she came in, looking triumphant.

"It's what you said," she told me. "You said to knock."

"Hello, Francine," I said.

"You've been to London," she said.

"Yes, I saw the King."

She studied me with wide-eyed wonder.

I told her about it, the house, the gardens running down to the river, the boats which used the waterway, the carriages in the streets and the people going into the theaters.

She was fascinated by the theater and I told her about my mother and the days long ago when I used to listen to her saying her lines of the play in which she was to act.

Francine listened, her eyes losing that strange wild look.

I thought she seemed almost normal while she was so absorbed.

I wondered about her. She was living in that secluded part of this ancient house with her grandmother and an invalid. It was no life for a child, really.

She took to waylaying me and she obviously liked to listen to me talk.

Everyone was discussing the plot to kill the King.

I heard of it first when I rode over to see Christobel. James was rarely at home, as he was usually occupied with estate business, but he had heard the news and had mentioned it to Christobel.

"Let us thank God that it was foiled. Think of what would have happened if it had succeeded."

I was eager to know what it was all about and Christobel said: "Some traitors planned to kill the King and the Duke of York on their way home from the Newmarket races."

"How terrible!" I cried, thinking of those kindly, though worldly, eyes which had smiled at me in a moment I knew I should never forget. "Imagine if it had succeeded!"

"Well, if the Duke had been killed as well as the King, what then?" I asked Christobel.

"That was the idea. The throne would then have fallen by rights to the Duke's daughter Mary and, failing her, his second daughter Anne. But I am not sure that that was the idea in the minds of those who plotted this. The King certainly has the people's affection. They will demand someone's blood for this. Cold-blooded murder, that's what it would have been. There must have been several conspirators. The King had to pass along a stretch of road on his way to and from the races and there is a farm in a lonely spot which belongs to a maltster, they say. The farm is called Rye House. Everyone is talking about the Rye House Plot."

When I went back to Rosslyn Manor Luke was just coming in. He had been doing some business for James. Lately he had begun to busy himself considerably on the estate. It had worried me slightly.

"Have you had an interesting morning?" he asked.

"Well, I have been talking with Christobel about the plot."

"Plot?" he said. "What plot is this?"

"I believe nobody knows very much about it. It may be that it is only a rumor. You know how these things start. Apparently it was a plan to assassinate the King and the Duke of York near a farm called Rye House."

Luke had turned away slightly, but not before I saw the hot red color flood his neck.

When he turned to look at me his features were composed.

He said: "The what-house plot?"

"Rye," I said, looking at him in surprise, for I felt his voice was not quite natural.

I was silent for a moment and then told him what I had heard from Christobel. After a few moments he spoke, his voice sounding rather harsh as he said: "Is that all you know about it?"

"It was James who mentioned it to Christobel. He meets so many people and he had just heard that there had been this plot."

"Oh, it may well be just one of those stories which go round at times."

But this was not just one of the stories. It was proved to be true that a scheme had been planned.

It was the time of the Newmarket races, and everyone knew of the King's fondness for the sport. He invariably traveled to Newmarket at this time; it was his custom to go on the day the races started and to return to London when they were over; therefore it was certain that at some time during these days he would be passing along that road.

It was a lonely road and what could be simpler for someone who planned mischief than to lie in wait for His Majesty and the Duke, and as there would be no resistance—or very little—the conspirators could achieve their aim with ease.

It might have succeeded but for a rare chance.

A fire had broken out in the house in which the King and his brother usually stayed when in Newmarket, and for this reason they had decided not to wait for the conclusion of the races but to return to London a day early.

The King and the Duke returned safely to London and on the day they arrived a letter which had been sent from one conspirator to another was discovered and the whole plot exposed.

Luck was certainly on the King's side on this occasion.

I was very frightened at that time, for I had come to know Luke very well and I could see by his demeanor that he was greatly disturbed.

I began to be even more afraid when I discovered the names of some of the conspirators—and the chief of them—Lord Russell, Algernon Sidney and Lord Essex.

My mind went immediately back to that Chelsea garden running down to the river at my father's London residence. No. It could not have been. They hardly knew him. But they had noticed him, they had talked to him, and now he was obviously afraid.

I wanted to talk to him, to ask him what he knew of this plot, but I could not bring myself to do so, and I tried to tell myself that I was imagining something which did not exist.

And then I heard another name mentioned in connection with the plot: the Duke of Monmouth. That added to my anxiety. I had heard Luke speak of the Duke and I had seen the burning fervor in his eyes. The Duke of Monmouth was not only an ardent Protestant but he was also the King's natural son; Luke shared with him that burning ambition to be recognized, not as his father's bastard but as a legitimate son. Monmouth might crave a crown, but Luke's desire to possess Rosslyn Manor was just as fervent.

What had happened on the night of the banquet? How deeply had Luke become involved?

My thoughts went back to that terrible time when Oates's men were close at hand and we were afraid for Kirkwell. Kirkwell had been innocent. There was no case against him, but that would have carried little weight against the followers of Titus Oates. This could be different.