I must have dozed there on the bed because I felt groggy and couldn't understand what the man was saying. I jumped up, nearly falling off of the high mattress. I turned to look at the man in the corner. It was the butler, Harry. "Master Paulet, supper is due to be served in the dining hall."
"Oh, uh, I think you're confused, Monsieur. My name is Sperrit. Jaques Sperrit," I stuttered over my own name. I think I blushed to the roots of my hair.
The butler snorted, "Well, sir, whoever you are, the master requests your presence at supper." He turned to leave and I scrambled after him.
He led me (or rather, I chased him) down the narrow stairs directly across from my assigned room. We came out in a large stone kitchen. Harry didn't realize that I was behind him until the two ladies in the kitchen gasped when they saw me there. I backed into the door that swung shut behind me.
"Oh, young sir, you shouldn't be in here," Harry said, hurrying me through the massive kitchen. "Go on through that door there and on into the parlor beyond." I was shoved rather unceremoniously through another heavy door. I found myself in yet another giant room, dominated by a table that could seat twelve people comfortably. An unlit chandelier hung low over the table, but the only light came from some dim oil lamps. I already missed the bright warmth of my chamber. I went through a large set of double doors and came into a parlor.
This must have been the center of the house, for there were no windows here. The walls were lined instead with tall bookcases. Paulet was seated before a flickering fireplace, wrapped in robe with a blanket across his lap. This tableau intensified my impression of him as a sick man. Annesly was standing to his left holding an unlit pipe. Cary was leaning against one of the bookcases, idly spinning a globe and looking rather bored. There was a young woman sitting across from Paulet. Her blonde hair was twisted into a neat roll, allowing a few tendrils to flow down against her long neck. She was very lovely, but her eyes looked dull. It was her who spoke first.
"But, Charles, darling, how will you explain him? I'm too young to have been hiding a fourteen-year-old boy in my skirts and you have no former wives. You'll be disgraced."
"I shan't have to explain him, Constance. I am lord of this manor and no one shall question me," came his answer. I was surprised at how stern he sounded. After seeing him look so ill, I expected him to sound tired and defeated. He was neither of these things.
I cleared my throat then. I really didn't want to hear anymore. I was already growing weary of people deciding things about me and speaking of me as though I wasn't present. Cary noticed me first, "Ah, if it isn't Jack. Now we can eat."
"It's Jaques," I corrected. He laughed. I was really growing very weary of him.
The woman stood and approached me. "Jack, how nice to meet you. I am Constance Paulet, duchess of Bolton and your stepmother. Please, call me Constance." I bowed slightly at her prim little speech before correcting her.
"It's Jaques. My mother named me Jaques."
"I'm sorry, young man," Charles Paulet began, "I cannot have people calling you Jaques Sperrit. You must take my name, Paulet, and be called Jack." He stood and strode toward the dining room as Harry appeared in the doorway to announce supper. The others followed suit.
I said nothing and followed the others. As soon a supper commenced, I spoke, "If you all are going to continue on as though I have no say in my life, I'd at least like to know why I'm here and when I'll get to see my mother again."
Paulet responded, his voice bitter, "You are here as my only surviving male heir. As you can see, I am riddled with illness and shall not last the year. Most of the estate will be taken over by my brother and wife here, but you must take over in name. And your name shall be Jack Paulet, second Duke of Bolton."
I scoffed, "I know nothing of your estate, your lands, or even your country. If it were not for the portrait in my withdrawing room, I would doubt that you are even my father. And you did not answer my second question."
Paulet set down his knife and fork carefully. The others seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his response. Even Harry and Letty the maid froze in their tasks. Finally he spoke. His voice was tempered but cold and ruthless, like the very sharpest blade of steel. "You shall never see your mother again. She was a mistake in my past. You are the result. I am relieved that you take after me, for I do not wish any reminder of Julie Sperrit in my final days. I was prepared to bring her here with me to repay old debts, but as fate would have it, there you sit. So, I suggest you do not ask further questions of me and endure the rigorous training that awaits you silently."
"Training? What training? Am I to learn to jump fences like a prized stallion... or to grovel and beg at the foot of your foolish king?" the question sprang, hot and unbidden, but forceful from my lips. I quivered with barely repressed rage.
Again Paulet did not answer immediately and when he did, his tone was calm but cold, "That, Monsieur Jack, was your last question. And I'll have you remember that you are in line for the throne you insult. Do watch your tongue."
The remainder of the meal was silent. I don't remember eating anything, but then, no one paid me much mind anyway.
Cary led me back through the cavernous house to my room. My anger had faded and I was numbed to the rich furnishings, statuary, and portraits we passed. When we finally arrived at my room, Cary grasped my arm, "I'm sorry, Jaques. Really I am."
I stared blankly at him, barely registering his words. He opened his mouth to speak again, but instead left me at the door and strode quickly away and down the long hall. I fell onto the bed and sleep descended upon me.
The next morning, the sun woke me by splashing it's rays across my eyes. For a moment, I thought I was home in my Parisian garret and needed to be up for a dawn rehearsal. I started and sat straight up, only to find myself sprawled on top of the blankets and still wearing my traveling clothes from yesterday.
Only moments after I woke, I heard a rap on my chamber door. When I didn't answer, I heard Annesly's familiar voice, burred by his rough accent, call out, "Jaques? Are you awake?"
I got out of bed a strode to the door. Annesly and Cary were standing there and Letty brought up the rear of the little party. "May we come in?" Cary asked, pushing past me. The other two followed him in. Letty had brought me a hearty breakfast of poached eggs, thick sausages, toasted rolls and jam, and fresh fruit. My stomach growled and I sat down to begin eating. She left us as soon as she set out the dishes and poured three glasses of juice.
Cary sat as well, watching me curiously as I loaded the food into my mouth. Annesly cleared his throat and I looked up at him. "Sorry," I said as soon as I'd swallowed.
He laughed, the full sound echoing through the room. "It's alright, young sir. I am not surprised as you ate so little yesterday." I saw that he had brought a small trunk into the room with him.
He laid it near a high-backed chair and went into my bedroom. He returned with a wooden valet. Once he'd set it up, he began unloading the box. Inside, there was a dark blue full skirted coat lined with gold buttons. The full sleeves also boasted gold masking. The breeches weren't fitted as I was used to, but bloomed like my mother's pantaloons. There was grey hose and a white linen shirt, as well as a white cravat, black cape and a large black plumed hat. Short square-toed boots completed the outfit. Soon after this costume was revealed, Harry arrived with another box. He laid it on the chair and excused himself at Annesly's nod. When Annesly opened it and produced the contents, both Cary and myself burst into a loud fit of laughter.
It was a long wig, tightly curled and white. It was an accoutrement rivaling anything I'd seen at the Opera house. "I won't wear that, if you please," I managed as I gasped for breath. This sent Cary into another gregarious fit of laughter and I joined him. Annesly held back, but I knew he was amused.
Finally, when we had settled, he spoke. "You really don't have to wear this wig, Master Sperrit, until you accompany your father to Parliament."
"Parliament?" I squawked. "What do you mean, Parliament?"
"Well, son, you understand you are your father's heir. You must keep up appearances as such."
"But I don't know anything about making English law!" I was becoming rather frightened. What did these people expect of me? I was a Frenchman, for one thing, and for another, I was only fourteen years old!
The Scot laughed, "Don't worry, young master, I shall direct you. And, really, none of the boobs in Parliament really know anything about lawmaking either." I laughed, and eased somewhat. Annesly continued, "But, for today and the coming weeks, Cary and I shall try our hardest to teach you about courtly life. Or, at least, as much as I know about it." Cary laughed again and I joined him.
Soon, I was dressed in my ridiculous finery, sans wig, and went with them to explore the grounds. Annesly told me I looked "striking" and Cary just kept laughing at me.
They told me about the recent death of Queen Mary II and of the reign of her widower, the King William III. I learned he was a permissive King, much more than The Sun King, Louis XIV. William had even passed measures to allow Parliament more freedoms and and restricted the monarchy's ability to override Parliamentary law. Many in the realm didn't favor this, wanting instead to rely upon the monarch's absolute rule. Charles was among them. Annesly was not.
Most of the following weeks proceeded this way. Daily, Annesly and Cary would come to me in the morning, bring me a new suit of clothes, and we'd go out onto the grounds for some new lesson. Sometimes it was current politics, sometimes history, sometimes philosophy. I even taught them about art and the opera. Talking about those things made the memory of my mother burn in my heart. I longed to see her again, to reassure her that I was surviving in the clammy climate. I rarely saw Paulet. He hardly even took supper with us. One week after I arrived, Constance departed to her family's home in Halifax, West Yorkshire. I did not see her again.
Cary and I were growing much closer. I had never had a friend close to my own age, as most of the actors and actresses had seemed worlds older to me. I had also never experienced many of the childish games with which Cary was acquainted. We spent all of our time together. When we were not with his father taking lessons, he was showing me all the hidden nooks and crannies in the house. We chased frogs in the garden and crept through the earthen corridor that led from beneath the kitchen underground to the stables. In the attic, there was a false wall where Cary kept his most precious books and mementos of his old home.
He explained to me that he'd been born in Scotland, his father's home. His mother had died giving birth to him. His father was Paulet's younger half-brother, but he had been a poor farmer in Scotland. When Paulet heard of his brother's loss and his poverty, he sent for him to live on his estate.
Cary also told me that up until three years ago, Paulet had rarely been at home. He preferred sailing in the Irish Sea and south in the Mediterranean. Paulet's father had been the Fifth Marquess of Winchester, and demanded him to come home and marry the girl he'd chosen for him. He'd done his duty and married Constance and settled in Bolton, taking his title as First Duke of Bolton. They had no children that lived beyond one year. Soon after his only son, James, had died in his third month, Paulet fell ill. Doctors could not cure him, and indeed, his condition deteriorated rapidly. As soon as he realized he was dying, he confided in his brother that he believed he had an heir in France to a girl he'd loved in his youth. He claimed that he saw her perform at the Paris Opera and intended to find her. Even if he had no heir, he wanted to bring her to his manor home and provide for her. And that's how I came to live in Bolton.
I began to see Paulet in a new light. I wasn't ready to like him, but I certainly felt sorry for him. He wasn't old, perhaps only forty. But, he certainly looked like he was about to breathe his last breath.
It was already November and the house had taken on a chill. I could feel the snow in the air. I'd been at the manor for two months and I had not been outside of the estate. Not even to the miserable little village. One cold night, however, Paulet joined Cary, Annesly, and I at supper. He was thinner than he had been when I had arrived. His cheekbones, so like my own, were quite visible and there were black circles beneath his eyes. I thought that if he were to remove his fine red robe, I would be able to count his ribs, perhaps even see his heart beat through his thin, pale skin. The mental image disturbed me.
Yet, when he spoke, his voice was steady, still as cold and sharp as it had been the first time I'd seen him in the foyer of the Opera. He spoke to me as soon as our plates where cleared after the final course. "Jack, you and I are going to London to meet with the House of Lords. You will be introduced formally as my heir. We will depart tomorrow."
His tone, as usual, brooked no questioning. But, also as usual, I could not hold my tongue, "And, if they fail to recognize me?"
"That is the second time you've questioned me when I told you never to do so," his reply was swift, and quiet. I stood and left the table. As I walked toward the staircase, I heard a great crash from the dining room. I smiled.
The next morning, Harry woke me. He was acting as my valet, since I did not have one of my own. He had another suit on the wooden valet prepared. The powdered wig was seated on a wooden head, groomed and awaiting me. I rose and dressed. I felt ridiculous in the heavy wig. However, when I descended the steps, I saw my father dressed nearly the same. He looked all the sicker for his finery. I said nothing to him. I nodded to Cary and Annesly and the staff. Cary had the good sense not to laugh, but he did wink at me as I exited.
Thankfully, the journey to London was quick. We were there before the noontime bells. I would not say as much to Paulet, but I was very nervous. Annesly had prepared me as best he could for the traditions of the House of Lords, and what to do when the others spoke, or what to say when speaking. There were a set of rules for adjourning Parliamentary discussion, meeting with the House of Commons, even for social meetings within the Houses. I couldn't ask Paulet for help, so I just hoped for the best.
As the stage took us through the busy London streets, I was pleased by the soaring architecture of the churches, the numerous playhouses and shops, even the abundance of people thrilled me. No city would ever make me as happy as Paris, but London was at least much more exciting than the Bolton manor house. I began to feel as though I finally belonged somewhere in this cold, awful country.
We arrived at Westminster Palace just after the House of Lords had adjourned to dinner. Paulet exited the cab in front of me and I followed him wordlessly. Once inside, several people greeted my father. Some called him Charles and clapped him on the back. When his head was turned, I studied their faces as they made note of his dire appearance. Many men just greeted him with a nod of their heads. He never once mentioned me. Even so, I saw many knowing glances float my way and heads bent conspiratorially as I passed. I looked too much like him for their to be any doubt of who I was and why I had accompanied him.
I sucked in an anxious breath when we finally entered the Lords Chamber. It was an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling at least sixty feet above my head. Directly across the room, nearly eighty feet from the threshold stood a large throne on a platform with three stairs leading to it. There was a gold canopy above it with red velvet hangings. Occupying the length of the room were three groups of red benches arranged in a U around the throne. High, arched windows and great battle frescoes adorned the walls and golden chandeliers hung low to light the space.
Paulet let me to the end of bench to the left of the throne. From my lessons, I knew we were on the Temporal side. The clerics would sit facing us on the Spiritual side. In the center of the room was the Woolsack. This was where the Lord Chancellor sat. The members of the House of Lords with no party affiliation sat on the bench behind the Woolsack. No sooner had we taken our seats when men began to filter in from the central lobby. Once everyone was seated, a trumpeter entered and sounded the king's approach. The Lords stood as one, I along with them.
William III was just as Annesly had described. He was a tall, powerful looking man with a great black head of hair. He was dressed in a red coat, red waistcoat, white breeches, and white cravat. He had a long, blue velvet robe over his broad shoulders, which was removed before he sat. The House of Lords spoke as one, "Long live the King!" I was relieved that I'd remembered to speak as well.
The King waved his hand as though bored. "Do get on with it, Lord Chancellor. I mustn't hang about here all day."
The Chancellor stepped from behind the Woolsack to address the king. "Your Majesty, there is only one bit of business remaining this day. Charles Paulet, First Duke of Bolton has come to claim an heir."
A buzz of reactions went up across the room. I colored to the roots of my hair. The King waved his hand again and a slow grin spread across his face. "An heir, has he? Well, I am anxious to see where he dug the little bastard up from. On your feet, Paulet!"
My father stood, never faltering even though it was difficult for him to move quickly. I felt a small rush of pride, but squelched it before it could grow. He strode toward the throne and stood next to the Chancellor.
"And the bastard, Paulet? Where is he? Don't keep me waiting. I have other matters to attend to that are far more relevant than any thing that your tired old dick could bring to life," said the King. Laughter erupted from all over the room. It bounced and echoed, seeming to beat down on me.
I stood, however, willing myself to stop blushing. I stepped beside my father and held my head high after giving the due veneration.
"Well, he certainly looks like you. Or, the ghost of the man you used to be," pronounced the King to more laughter. The King continued, "Young man, are you able and willing to accept the duties of Parliament and your fathers estate in the event of his death?"
"Yes," I began. I was surprised at how loud and clear my voice rang out. I had been trying to drop my French accent as much as possible at Annesly urging, but it was still present. "Yes, Your Majesty. I am willing to accept the duties as they shall fall to me." I had rehearsed the answer for three weeks. But I saw from the look that crossed the King's face, I had done something wrong.
"A Frenchman? Charles Paulet! Are you trying to commit treason in my court? Is this some spy for Louis XIV that you've picked up for a pittance?"
He spoke, his voice as loud and clear as ever, "No, Your Majesty, it is my son. His mother abandoned him in France. I found him there, with some whore in an Opera House."
I gasped. This drew the King's attention. I expected anger to smear his face. I only saw amusement. "Is this true, young master Paulet?"
"No!" Rage fairly bubbled out of me. "I am no French spy, Your majesty, that much is true. But the lies this coward sets before you are despicable. I am his son, and the product of union of which he is ashamed. My mother is a great and beautiful Englishwoman. She is a Parisian Opera star. Her name is Julie Sperrit!"
Paulet hung his head. I did not care if I was to be taken to the Tower, I would not have my mother defamed. Rather than the strike I expected, the King surprised me once again with a hearty laugh.
"Alright, boy," William began, "I grant you your father's duchy and his title in the event of his death, which I foresee to be rather untimely. I am glad you have the backbone he has lost. Now, Chancellor, is this little party adjourned?"
"Adjourned, Your Majesty," the Chancellor agreed. Once again, the Lords rose and spoke in unison, "Long live the King! Long live England!"
The King rose and all standing took a deep bow. His robe was affixed to his shoulders and he marched out. The rest of the Lords made for the lobby, some pausing to pat me or my father on the back. When the room was mostly empty, save a few lingering souls, I turned to him. He was as white as a sheet.
"Monsieur Paulet?" I asked. He swayed slightly on his feet, I caught him and lowered him to the cool, marble floor.
"Help! Please, someone!" I called. I heard people rush back into the cavernous room and soon we were engulfed in a crowd. He was taken out of my arms and rushed away. I honestly hoped I'd never have to see him again.