London - Edward Rutherfurd [428]
And so, ashamed of himself though he was, and bound for damnation anyway, out of age and pride O Be Joyful made a secret vow. “If he builds a dome, I’ll refuse to work in this church, even if Gibbons dismisses me.” He might know the evil secret of St Paul’s, but at least, for once, he would take a stand.
1679
The event which finally convinced Sir Julius Ducket that Jane Wheeler’s curse upon his family had failed took placed on a July day in 1679.
As his carriage jingled down Pall Mall he felt, despite his seventy-six years, as excited as a young man. Who would have thought, at his age, that such a call would come? He was so pleased that besides having his tailor make him a new set of clothes he had made one other dramatic change to his appearance: Sir Julius Ducket was wearing a large grey wig.
The fashion, like most fashions, came from the court of the mighty King Louis XIV of France. King Charles had started it at Whitehall just after the fire; and though a man of Sir Julius’s years would have been forgiven if he had come to court without one, he had decided that today he must be fully up to the mark. Nor was his wig a trivial affair. Imitating the long hair-style of the cavaliers, its tightly rolled curls not only covered the head but its heavy flaps fell to the shoulders. It was expensive; and oddly enough would remain in one shape or another the essential accoutrement of the upper classes for over a century, and of the English courtroom for long after that.
It was not only his new finery that made Sir Julius feel younger: the whole scene around him suggested a vigorous new life. In addition to the new city that was arising at London, the developments out by Whitehall were growing every year. To the north, classical Leicester Square was being laid out. To the west, along the northern edge of St James’s Park, the former tree alley of Pall Mall had recently become a long street lined with fine mansions. Gentry, nobility, even Nell Gwynne the actress, currently the king’s favourite mistress, lived there. Above Pall Mall, St James’s Street, Jermyn Street, and stately St James’s Square were all nearing completion. This was the West End, the new home of the aristocracy. Compared to its broad, straight thoroughfares and open piazzas, even the Romanized city seemed cramped. For Sir Julius, this burgeoning of London had also meant a burgeoning of his fortune. He had obtained a grant to build several streets of houses on the old hunting grounds – still known by the ancient huntsman’s cry of “Soho” – above Leicester Square. The profit had been huge.
But, above all for Sir Julius, it was the sense of being needed that had raised his spirits. The monarchy was in trouble again; and his king had called for help.
The business in a way was absurd – though it concerned the succession. Charles II of England still had no legitimate child. He had any number of bastards of course, and one of them, a brilliant young Protestant called the Duke of Monmouth, was highly popular. “But you can’t make a bastard king,” Sir Julius would point out. “Apart from anything else, there are so many that if you start down that road you invite a civil war from all the rivals.” Legitimacy was key; which meant that after Charles would come his Catholic brother James.
James only had two daughters, Mary and Anne, both of whom were indisputably Protestant. And though, after their mother’s death, the Duke of York had, to everyone’s displeasure, married a Catholic, the marriage had produced no children. Better yet, in an effort to reassure his Protestant subjects, the king had married his niece Mary to that most utterly Protestant Dutchman, William of Orange, mortal foe to King Louis of France and to all things Catholic. “So,” Ducket would conclude, “even if, one day, the king should predecease his brother,