We had not gone far when we left Whitehall and entered the park which lies behind. Here also were the same scenes of gaiety. Indeed, never had I seen so many gaily-dressed women in my life before. The park was in the summer of its loveliness, flowers bloomed on all sides, the trees were in wellnigh full leaf, the birds sang, while loud laughter, both among men and women, was to be heard continually. My companion paid no heed to any of these things, however. He strode quickly along, stopped at the door of one of the houses, and a minute later I stood behind him in one of the great houses. Without hesitation he led the way upstairs, and without ceremony entered a large room. As far as I could judge it had been but lately fitted up, for the things I saw were new, and shone with much splendour. Nevertheless, it did not look like a residence, but rather appeared to be a place where a man of authority might gather his friends around him. No one was in the room, and although it stood so near to Whitehall the utmost silence reigned, except that I thought that I heard whispering voices in an adjoining compartment. "Do not dare to oppose him," said the man who accompanied me; "assent to all his commands, agree with all he saith, although your judgement will lead you otherwise. Above all be silent as death afterwards. Remember, he hath no mercy." "You speak of the Duke of York?" "I speak of the next king," he replied. "Therefore, do as I bid you, and be wise. Be surprised at nothing you may hear, even if he saith things that should not be heard by such a youth as you." He had scarcely finished speaking when two men entered the room. The one was the Duke of York; I had seen him ride away in the king's coach by the side of the king when he left Dover. His appearance, as I thought, was changed. I thought then that he was, although of somewhat austere countenance, pleasant to look upon. That night he looked angry and cruel. His face was heavy, and, if I mistook not, besotted, but whether he had been partaking freely of wine I could not tell. His companion's face was hidden, and although I thought I detected something familiar in his gait, I knew not who he was. "This is the youth?" "It is, Your Grace." The duke looked at me sternly and silently, as though he would read my heart, and although I dared to lift my eyes to his but once, I thought his eyes were bloodshot. Having seated himself, he bade me come near to him. "Master Roland Rashcliffe?" he said. "Yes, Your Grace," I replied. "Tell me, boy, is your father an honest man?" The question was asked abruptly, as though he would take me unawares. "He fought for your father," I replied. "So did many a knave, until he thought he would gain by joining the rebels." At this I was silent. "Why did he send thee to find out if there was any truth in the lying story that his Majesty married the wench Lucy Walters?"