The Merry Monarch's Wife

THE MEETING AT DOVER

THERE WAS TROUBLE BREWING AND TO MY DISMAY I LEARNED that I was at the heart of it.

James, Duke of York, had made the mistake of not keeping his change of religion a secret. If Charles and I had had a child, the fact that James had turned to the Catholic faith, though it might have caused a little resentment in some quarters, would not have been of vital importance. But James was the heir to the throne and the English were against accepting a Catholic monarch.

So far there had been the hope that Charles would have a son who would be brought up in the Protestant faith, but he had not made his appearance and time was passing. Charles did have a son, however, but alas he was not legitimate. This was Monmouth. Monmouth was attractive and merry, as would be expected of a son of Charles. That he lacked Charles’s wit and shrewdness was of no great moment. Monmouth was young; he could learn wisdom.

Alas, he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they said; he could not come to the throne — and so the country was left with James.

I am sure that at this time ambition was growing in Monmouth’s mind; as for James, dislike for the boy was only natural since it was possible that he could be a menace to him.

The King’s evident love for his illegitimate son was another factor to be considered. They were constantly in each other’s company and Monmouth took liberties which others would have hesitated to take; he behaved as the King’s legitimate son and was gathering about him a circle of friends who were looking to the future.

In the other camp was James, the heir presumptive to the throne, until I produced that longed-for child.

I knew that Charles was concerned about what was happening.

He said to me: “James is a fool. Why does he have to do all that worshipping in public?”

“He feels that he would be betraying God by being ashamed of the way he worships.”

“It’s the fact that he is betraying himself that I am afraid of,” said Charles. “God help James if he ever comes to the throne…and for that matter, God help England.”

It was Lady Castlemaine who told me the significance of this to myself. She had reasons for it. She always had her reasons.

I had listened to her before, and if her interests coincided with mine, I might do well to follow her advice.

She asked to see me. I hesitated, for I loathed the sight of the woman; and now that I knew of the depth to which she had sunk, I did not want her near me. But I decided I must at least hear what she had to say.

She came. She looked older and was showing signs of dissipation. She was overweight; her magnificent hair was piled up on her head and she wore a diamond ornament in it. Her gown revealed too much of her ample flesh; but she managed to look splendid still.

I bade her be seated, which she was already doing without waiting for my permission. She came straight to the point.

“Your Majesty, there is a conspiracy of which I am sure you are ignorant.”

I replied: “Pray inform me of it, Lady Castlemaine.”

“Once before there was a plot,” she went on. “Now there is another.” Her next words sent a shiver through my body. “They are trying to arrange a divorce so that the King may marry a woman who can give him children.”

“But now…,” I stammered.

“Your Majesty must forgive my frankness. It is not Frances Stuart now.” Her lips curled with a certain satisfaction. “She is a poor creature now with her pitted face. There is no one in mind. That is to come. Some foreign princess…French possibly. But this is a threat to you and we must prevent its happening.”

“How can you know this?”

“I mingle. I talk to these men. I have my faithful friends…my servants serve me well. I know.”

“Before there was…”

“Yes, and we foiled them, did we not? This is more serious. There is no one in view. They cannot say it is the King’s desire for a new wife. The Cabal will choose her when the time comes.”

“The Cabal!”

“Oh yes. They are for it…most of them. My friend Buckingham…Arlington…it is because of James.”

“You mean the Duke of York, or…”

“Or Monmouth? Both of them. They will not have the Duke of York. They will not have a Catholic on the throne. On the other hand there is Monmouth. Now if he were not a bastard, there would be no question of James. But Monmouth is a bastard, in spite of all his efforts to be the Prince of Wales.”

“Is this true…?”

“Madam, it is for you to believe or disbelieve. I only come to warn you.”

“Why?” I asked.

She smiled at me conspiratorially. “Your Majesty, I have always had a great respect for you, ever since you came to our shores. It would grieve me greatly to see you…replaced.”

I understood. She visualized a new queen…someone young and possibly beautiful…someone who insisted on clearing the harem…reigning supreme.

When I came, she had had a great hold on the King. That was not very strong now. She was unsure of her position. That was why she wanted my help. She felt it was easier for her to maintain her position if I held mine.

I had to listen to her with all attention. The Cabal was urging this, trying to persuade the King. There must be an heir, they were saying. The country will not accept the Duke of York. There was young Monmouth…a Protestant…a bastard, but preferable to York.

“They cannot have Monmouth,” I said. “That would be unacceptable.”

“No…unless he…But there you are. They are saying that the King must have a divorce and marry a woman who will give him a son.”

I sat back, feeling faint.

She was smiling at me. “There is one other thing. The King might announce that he was married to Lucy Walter.”

“Married Lucy Walter?”

“Monmouth’s mother. If the King had married her, Monmouth would be the legitimate heir. It’s one way out.”

“But the King was not married to Lucy Walter.”

“They were on the continent. It would not be difficult to find evidence.”

“False evidence?”

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why are you telling me this, Lady Castlemaine?” I asked.

“So that you may take action.”

“What action?”

“The King has a great regard for you. I am suggesting that you speak to him. He wavers…. He knows that York will be a disaster. He knows of Monmouth’s ambitions. He realizes how all this could be set aside if only he had a son. He can beget handsome children.” She preened herself a little, no doubt thinking of those she had produced. “You see his predicament. You must make up his mind for him.”

“How?”

“I believe that if you pleaded with him…made him understand how much this means to you…if he knew how much you cared for him…which you do, I know…if he knew how desolate you would be…I think he would turn away from the persuasion of his ministers. I know the King well. This is a chance….”

“It is good of you to be concerned for me.”

She smiled at me. She did not say that she was thinking of her own advantage. She did not want to lose the King entirely, and she knew she could do so if there were a new wife.

I thanked her and she left. I sat down in desolation to contemplate the situation.

I knew that what she had told me was the truth.

WHEN I WAS ALONE WITH CHARLES, I came straight to the point.

“I have heard disquieting news,” I said.

“There is nothing unusual in that,” he replied. “The news is always disquieting now.”

“About this proposed divorce,” I went on.

His face was serious suddenly. “What have you heard?” he asked sharply.

“That — as you did once before — you are considering divorcing me so that you can marry a new wife…younger, I presume, and one who can give you and the country an heir.”

He was silent for a moment, then he said: “This has been a suggestion which was presented to me.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Do you want to be divorced?”

I felt my face crumpling. He put his arms about me and held me close to him.

“You see,” he said. “It is this devilish business of James and his religion. This is what has set all this trouble about our ears. They do not want James. I don’t blame them. Poor James. He stumbles around…tripping headlong into trouble. Why did he want to do this? Why couldn’t he have kept his religion secret? And then there is Jemmy. He is an ambitious boy. You see, Catherine, I am beset on all sides.”

“And you think that by ridding yourself of me you will settle these difficulties?”

“I should be heart-broken if you were taken from me.”

“Please, Charles,” I said, “this is a time for plain speaking.”

“I am speaking plain. I am speaking from my heart.”

“But this is a matter for heads, not hearts. They want a son…your son…and they think I cannot get one. It may be they are right. And you are a lusty begetter of sons. I do not know how many. Do you?”

“Let me tell you this, Catherine. I never want you to leave me.”

“But you will have so many consolations.”

“I am myself, I fear, and that is not a very noble thing to be. I know that. I am what I have always been and was born to be. That does not mean I do not love you.”

“It is a theme I have often heard. It is a pleasure to hear it, but it is a fiction…a romantic story. It is not real.”

“It is real,” he said. “They are talking about it incessantly. To listen to them is like being at the playhouse.”

“It is the Cabal.”

He nodded. “They do not want James. That’s the heart of the matter. They’d rather have Jemmy. He’s a bastard, but a popular bastard.”

“How could that possibly be?”

“If he were legitimate.”

“But he is not.”

“They plan to make him so.”

“How could that be?”

“Oh…a little box suddenly found…somewhere far away…on the continent, of course. In this box would be a document showing that I married Lucy Walter, Jemmy’s mother, and therefore he is the rightful heir to the throne.”

“But there is no box and you were not married to Lucy Walter.”

“A trifling detail in the minds of these schemers. If I give my permission they will find the box with the appropriate documents.”

“And you would allow this?”

He shook his head. “Never,” he said emphatically.

“So then the alternative…you will agree to this divorce.”

He took my face in his hands. “Do you want to go away from me, Catherine? God knows I would not blame you if you did. I deserve to lose you.”

All my defenses had gone. I could only stand there with the tears on my cheeks. I had to tell the truth. I had to jettison my pride.

“I never want to leave you, Charles,” I said. “I love you.”

“You must regret…”

“Never. Never. I would rather be here with you…whatever you did…than anywhere else on earth.”

He kissed me with tenderness. “Do you think I would ever agree to part from you?” he said. “I know it is difficult to understand. I know my weaknesses, but whatever I am, Catherine, I love you…with all my heart and while you want to stay with me you shall.”

I was happy. He did love me, I knew…in his way.

I HAD REASON to be grateful to Lady Castlemaine, because I believed that, had I not spoken to Charles and made him aware of the deep affection I had for him — and perhaps reminded him of his for me — he might have been persuaded to divorce me for the sake of the country.

Lady Castlemaine had naturally been thinking of her own interests. She could not have believed that the end was in sight for her.

She was growing old; her reputation had become scandalous, even for this era; and she had ceased to be amusing.

One of the prime movers in the plot to persuade Charles to divorce me was my old enemy Buckingham.

He was a strange man; there were so many contrasts in his nature. He was clever, erudite, witty and brilliant. At the same time he could be foolishly impulsive, reckless beyond belief and could conceive hare-brained schemes which most people would have seen from the moment of their inception were doomed to failure.

He was fierce in anger and if he thought anyone was working against him he would go to any lengths to destroy that person. He had shown this in the case of Shrewsbury, whom he had murdered…for it was murder, even though Shrewsbury had agreed to face him in the duel which had resulted in his death. Buckingham was quite outrageous — not unlike his kinswoman, Lady Castlemaine. It was said that after the duel, Lady Shrewsbury’s page-boy’s garments were splashed with her husband’s blood and the pair made love while she was wearing them.

Of course, there were many stories about Buckingham, but I believed some of them were true.

Ashley and Lauderdale were his special allies in the Cabal. In fact, people said that the Cabal was split and there were two factions. These three had schemed for the divorce. The main reason was not their antipathy to me, for to them I was of little importance, just a pawn in the game. The real enemy was James, Duke of York, and they were determined at all costs to prevent his coming to the throne. The best way of doing this was of course for Charles to have an heir. That was why they planned my exit from the scene, for it seemed unlikely that I should have a healthy child.

After that scene with me, the King had firmly said that he had no intention of divorcing me; and Buckingham was furious.

It was impossible to keep secrets from him, for he had his spies everywhere. He had discovered that Lady Castlemaine had visited me, and that after her visit I had spoken to the King.

Buckingham immediately understood Lady Castlemaine’s reasons for not wanting a change. Or it may have been that he had taxed her with interfering. I am sure she would have quickly lost her temper and told him of her interview with me. She would see no reason to keep up a pretence with Buckingham, and would doubtless have told him to keep out of her affairs. So…Buckingham was intent on revenge.

He knew that Barbara entertained handsome young men in her lodgings and, as Barbara had once in the case of Frances Stuart, he had the idea of taking the King to visit her, catching her in a compromising situation.

He therefore suggested that it would be amusing to call on Barbara unexpectedly, and Charles allowed himself to go along.

I heard the story of what happened. It was passed on by the servants and there were several versions, but they all agreed on the salient points.

When the King and Buckingham arrived, Mrs. Sarah was in a state of great dismay. She knew, of course, that Barbara was entertaining that evening and it was no time to let visitors in, particularly the King. According to the stories, Mrs. Sarah blustered and insisted that Lady Castlemaine was ill and could see nobody. I could imagine Buckingham’s response to that. He pushed Mrs. Sarah aside and bounded into Barbara’s bedroom.

At the door of the room Buckingham stood, the King beside him. On the bed, in the most compromising position, was Barbara with a young ensign.

The young man was known to the King because his sister Arabella Churchill was the mistress of the Duke of York. He was John Churchill, who had been a page of the Duke of York while his sister had been lady-in-waiting to Anne Hyde. The Churchills had been loyal during the Civil War, hence the favor shown to them.

Arabella had caused quite a stir, for she was the most unlikely girl to have been noticed by the Duke. But then everyone knew the Duke’s strange tastes. I had never seen her, but I had heard she was tall and thin, all skin and bone, someone had remarked, and not in the least beautiful. But she had apparently pleased the Duke, for she had had a child by him and was still in favor. Charles was always amused by James’s poor taste in women. However, this was the girl’s young brother, and he was destined for promotion and he would get it, people said, as long as his sister continued to please the Duke.

I could imagine the young man’s terror when he saw the King, his hope of advancement doubtless evaporating.

He did not know what to do. Half naked as he was, he leaped from the bed and jumped out of the window.

Charles and Buckingham burst into laughter. Charles shouted: “Don’t worry, Churchill, I know you only do it for the money!”

From the bed Barbara let out a stream of abuse. She was furious with Buckingham, for she suspected immediately that he had arranged this for her discomfiture, because she had meddled in the matter of the King’s divorce.

Buckingham had had his revenge; and that event seemed to have its effect on the King, for after it Barbara lost the King’s favor. She had had years of power, but that had been coming to a close for some time and this really seemed to be the end.

I HAD RARELY SEEN Charles in such good spirits, and the reason was that his sister was coming to England.

He had talked now and then of Henriette — Minette was his name for her. She was the youngest of the family and when she was born the Civil War had already started.

“Poor Minette,” said Charles. “She never knew peace in England. When she was about two years old, the situation had become dangerous and she had escaped to France with her governess, Lady Dalkeith, she who became the Countess of Morton later. She was a wonderful woman of great courage. Had they stayed in England, they would have become Cromwell’s prisoners.”

“I suppose she would not remember much as she was so young.”

“Oh yes, she does. Or it may be that she has heard the story so vividly told that she thinks she remembers, but Minette always says that what she recalls so clearly is the tattered gown she was forced to wear.” He smiled. “Minette is beautiful and always aware of her appearance, so that was natural. It must have seemed strange to a child accustomed to living in a palace to find herself tramping along the road to Dover. Lady Dalkeith was pretending to be the wife of a valet and one of the grooms was posing as her husband. Minette was supposed to be their child. Minette, of course, knew that she was a princess and expected to be addressed as such. Poor Lady Dalkeith must have been sorely tried to pass off this haughty little creature as the daughter of a valet. They decided that she must be called Peter, which was as near ‘Princess’ as she could get.”

“And the journey, of course, was safely made.”

“Yes. And what joy there was when they joined my mother, who was already in Paris. Minette said she thought the best thing that happened then was getting out of that horrible dress.”

“And then she was brought up in France?”

Charles nodded. “She is more French than English. Louis has been very good to us. So he should be, to his own family! I should have liked to see Minette married to Louis and Queen of France, as she might have been if I had been restored to the throne a little earlier. That would have suited her very well. She and Louis are fond of each other. He talks to her a great deal and she is in his confidence. Well, it was not to be, and she was paired off with Louis’s brother, Philippe…a poor consolation, I fear.”

“How sad for her!”

“Poor Minette. She is clever, though. She can take care of herself, but it would have been very good for us all if she had married Louis instead of Philippe.”

“I can see that you anticipate her visit with the utmost pleasure.”

He agreed that this was so.

Charles and James went to Dover to meet her, where the castle there had been made ready for her, and the court followed.

When I was presented to her, I was immediately charmed by her. She had that indefinable quality which she shared with Charles. She was perhaps not quite as beautiful as I had expected her to be, but there was an inner radiance about her which was fascinating.

She was graceful and she spoke English rather haltingly, with a decided French accent; and it was difficult to remember that she was a member of the English royal family. She seemed to be so entirely French — well, she was the Duchess of Orléans and a leading figure in the court of Louis XIV.

One of her attendants immediately caught the eyes of everyone at court. This was a young and beautiful Breton girl named Louise de Keroualle. I was particularly interested in her because I saw that Charles was watching her closely.

Henriette’s stay in England was brief. Most of the time she was with Charles. I would often see the two of them alone, walking arm in arm, their attendants some little way behind, and I had the impression that there was some important purpose behind Henriette’s visit and that possibly she came as the confidential emissary of the King of France.

There was a good deal of gossip about her and some of it came to my ears.

She was unhappily married to Philippe of Orléans, who was by no means a satisfactory husband. Some said she should have married Louis as there was a very friendly relationship between them; others implied that the King used his friendship with her as a cloak to the visits he made to a certain Louise de la Vallière, who was a maid of honor to Henriette. There must always be rumors — half truths, I supposed — so that one was never quite sure what to believe.

Philippe, they said, was annoyed by the friendship between his brother and his wife.

There was another reason why the marriage was not satisfactory. Philippe had a great friend in the Chevalier de Lorraine, who was constantly trying to make trouble between Henriette and Philippe. I imagined this escape from the intrigues of the court of France must have been very welcome to Henriette — particularly as it gave her an opportunity to be with her beloved brother.

But the trip was not meant to be entirely devoted to pleasure. Henriette had work to do; and I believe that during that short time she spent in England she did it very well.

What she had to say to Charles was for his ears alone; it was for Charles to make a decision, and he would do this without the advice of his ministers.

There was something mysterious about that treaty Charles made with Louis. I think the details were known only to Charles himself. There was, however, a treaty which a few of his ministers signed with him; but there remained this one with which only he was concerned.

Henriette must return to France as soon as the mission was accomplished. She was most eager to please the King of France, and knowing Charles, I guessed that he would do all he could to make his sister happy.

But from what I later heard of that treaty, I believed that Charles had acted in a very shrewd and clever way.

The exchequer was as usual unable to meet the demands made upon it and Louis had offered a great deal of money if England would assist him in the war against Holland. Louis was anxious to quell Dutch ambitions and Holland was, of course, a great rival of England in trade. They were old adversaries and it seemed that if Louis’s rewards were great enough, there would be few who would want to hold out against that clause. Another clause was that England should assist France in placing a Bourbon on the Spanish throne.

All this was in the future, and Charles was to receive a large sum of money in advance. The last and most secret part of the treaty concerned religion.

Charles did talk to me about this, for he knew he could trust me on this point entirely.

He said: “James has already publicly announced his conversion to the Catholic faith, and see what harm he has done.”

“It is brave of him to have made an acknowledgment of his faith,” I insisted.

“It is foolhardy,” muttered Charles. “Depend upon it, I shall not indulge in such folly. If I did, more than likely I should soon be wandering again.”

“Charles,” I said earnestly, “I believe you are a Catholic at heart.”

“At heart,” he mused. “Well, was I not brought up in it…halfway perhaps. My mother was one of the most fervent Catholics I ever knew. And you…my dear, almost equal her.”

“It would give me the greatest pleasure if you…”

He looked at me ruefully. “I fear it would not have the same effect on my subjects. They are set on one thing. If they thought I was even interested in the Catholic faith, they would be planning to send me the way of my father.”

“No!” I said fiercely.

“Fear not. I shall do nothing to offend them in that quarter. Louis has strange ideas of the English. He suggests that I offer concessions to the Puritans. Let them go the way they will…and then…suddenly we turn Catholic. We purge the land of all those who do not believe as we command. Do you think the English would accept that?”

“If it were the law…”

He laughed. “You don’t know the English, Catherine. They are lazy, careless, you think. But when they decide to take a stand, they are the most stubborn people in the world. When Mary died, that was the end of Catholicism for them. Never again, they said. Elizabeth was a wise woman. She would have gone the way they wanted. They would have none but a Protestant to rule them, so Elizabeth was a Protestant. She would have been equally at home in the Catholic faith. She was a shrewd one, Catherine. I intend to be as shrewd.”

“But Louis is paying you…”

“Louis is paying me to take this country into the Catholic faith.”

“And this you have agreed to do!”

“Yes…when the time is ripe. That is the clause. He will give me my pension, because I have given my word on this.”

“Then how…?

“Catherine, I have said ‘when the time is ripe.’ That is the heart of the matter. When the time is ripe I take my country into the Catholic faith.” He was smiling at me in that quizzical way of his. “It may well be that during my lifetime the time will never be ripe.”

Then I understood. Charles would never admit to Catholicism because he knew the English would never accept it.

He had promised to take the country into the Catholic faith when the time was ripe. But he knew that while he was King the time would never be ripe.

CHARLES WAS ANXIOUS for Henriette to prolong her visit. There were reasons for this. One was, of course, his desire to keep his sister with him, and the other was his interest in Louise de Keroualle.

I believed that he did not visit Barbara at all now. The Churchill incident had been his excuse, but for some time he had been tired of her. In his easy-going way, though, he had found it easier not to tell her so but to drift along avoiding seeing her as much as possible.

It seemed that there must always be one of his mistresses who reigned supreme. Moll Davis was fading out and Nell Gwynne was still in favor. I was sure he liked her sharp cockney wit, but what he needed was an elegant mistress who was accustomed to court life.

And here was this delectable girl — fresh from the court of France, undeniably beautiful, someone who could replace poor Frances Stuart.

Henriette greatly wished to stay longer in England but she appeared to be afraid of her husband, who had not wished her to come at all and had only given way because his brother Louis insisted on it.

I was unsure of Louise de Keroualle. She had an appearance of innocence but I detected something calculating about her. I was sure she must find Charles attractive. Most women did. But the choice was not theirs. Henriette decided that she could not allow her lady-in-waiting to stay in England until she had consulted with the girl’s parents or some authority in France.

I knew Charles was very disappointed. He had made his wishes clear. I heard that Henriette wished to give him a jewel as a parting gift. She sent for her jewel box, opened it and asked her brother to take anything that pleased him.

Louise was standing beside Henriette at the time and the King lifted his eyes to the girl’s face and said: “There is the jewel I covet above all other.” Then he took Louise’s hand and looked appealingly at Henriette.

But Henriette was firm. That particular jewel was going back to France with her.

Charles was very sorrowful when they left.

He had the treaty which he thought would bring great good to England — and himself — but he had to say good-bye to his beloved sister and Louise de Keroualle.

WHEN THE SAD NEWS CAME we were completely amazed and horrified.

I could not believe what the messenger was telling us.

Henriette was dead.

It was less than three weeks after her arrival in France that she had died in mysterious circumstances.

When Charles recovered from the first shock he was very angry, for he could not believe she had died from natural causes.

He made the messenger repeat what had happened. He was completely distraught. He paced up and down the apartment, his eyes wild; now and then he stopped to clench his fists and wring his hands.

“This is my sister, Catherine,” he said. “The one I loved best. We were always good friends. She should have stayed here with me. Then this would never have happened.”

He seemed to find comfort in going over it and told me what he had heard.

“It was soon after she returned. Someone has done this. It is Philippe…that creature. She should never have married him. He is unworthy. My sister…given to that…dandy! He put the Chevalier de Lorraine before her. They have killed her. And Louis…what has he done? Why does he not find the murderers? Because he knows his own brother is involved! He pretends to accept this stupid doctor’s verdict.”

I pieced the story together. Henriette had returned to France. She had been at Versailles…with Louis. Of course, Louis would want her to tell in every detail what had happened in England. She had come here in his service, but against Philippe’s wishes. Philippe could not bear to think that the King placed more confidence in his brother’s wife than in his brother.

At Versailles, Philippe had come upon his wife and the King in deep conversation. He had stamped his foot and flounced away in a state of pique.

Shortly afterward — it was the afternoon of the twenty-ninth of June, and Henriette had left England only on the twelfth of that month — she had asked for a cup of chicory water. She drank this and was immediately sick.

She said: “I have been poisoned.”

There was great concern, the doctors were summoned and ten hours later she was dead.

There was a postmortem. The doctor who conducted it was young and unpracticed. Charles swore that he had been procured by Philippe. His verdict was that death was due to natural causes.

There were the inevitable whisperings and rumors throughout the court of France, for there had been every indication that Henriette had been poisoned. What was in the chicory water? people asked. A servant had brought it but that servant could not be the one who had put the poison in the cup. There was no reason for a servant to do so. But there were others.

Charles was certain that the Chevalier de Lorraine had killed Henriette with Philippe’s connivance. The Chevalier de Lorraine was jealous of her; Philippe greatly resented her friendship with the King and the fact that she could be trusted with special missions. Philippe could have been in the plot to kill Henriette, and almost certainly was. Philippe’s squire D’Effiat and the Count de Bevron, the captain of Philippe’s guard, could easily have poisoned the chicory water. They had been on the spot at the time. Charles wanted them brought to trial with Philippe.

But Louis would not interfere. He thought he could compensate by giving Henriette a grand funeral at St. Denis.

Charles was consumed by grief and anger. He shut himself in his apartments and refused to see anyone. When he did emerge he was pale and subdued.

“I shall never feel the same toward Louis,” he said. “He has allowed my sister’s murderers to go free because they are in high places.”

Louis would know what effect his sister’s death would have on Charles. He tried to make amends in a special way. I could wish he had chosen some other method.

Charles told me he was giving a place in my household to a lady who, he was sure, would be useful to me. Louis had heard that Mademoiselle Louise de Keroualle was much liked at our court and he was sending her over to join us.

I must have shown my dismay.

Charles put his hand on my shoulder. “She is very young, and I am sure will be most eager to please,” he said.

I guessed whom she would be eager to please. I was no longer the innocent girl I had been.

This was how it would always be.

Barbara Castlemaine was no longer in the ascendant; Frances Stuart, poor girl, had lost her appeal; Nell Gwynne was not cultivated enough to hold him; so now there would be a new one: a lady from the court of France — Louise de Keroualle.

CHARLES SENT one of the royal yachts to meet Louise de Keroualle when she came to England. He was considerably cheered by the prospect of a new mistress.

Louise undoubtedly had a social appeal. There was a childishness about her. She reminded me in some ways of Frances Stuart. But Frances’s innocence was not assumed, as I was sure was that of Mademoiselle de Keroualle. I sensed those demure looks covered a certain shrewdness and self-interest. I guessed that Louis had sent her over for a purpose other than to present Charles with a new toy as consolation for his grief over his sister’s death. Louise would be watchful of the situation in England and, if she were as close to the King as Louis would expect her to be, she would be well qualified to pass on vital information to Louis.

Moreover, I guessed that Louise would make sure that she, besides Louis, profited from the arrangement.

She did not take up her apartments in Whitehall immediately. She had met the Arlingtons and had accepted an invitation to stay with them for a while until she “became accustomed to England, improved her knowledge of the language and was able to converse with ease.”

Arlington was suspected of being a Catholic, or at least of having sympathy with the faith. Louis had at one time tried to bribe him but Arlington — as a member of the Cabal — was too wise to accept bribes from a foreign king. He was married to Isabella von Beverweert, daughter of Louis of Nassau; and Isabella had accepted a gift of ten thousand crowns from the French King. It seemed possible that Arlington had formed a friendship with Louise de Keroualle and offered her hospitality because he was aware of the work she would be expected to do for France.

I must admit that this did not occur to me at the time, but it emerged later.

Louise de Keroualle was Louis’s spy. He and Charles had become wary of each other since Henriette’s death. Louis was well aware that Charles resented his lack of energy in unmasking his sister’s killers. All the same, I knew that Louise would consider her own good before that of anyone else. What plans she had for her relationship with Charles, I could only guess. But she would have heard of the King’s obsession with Frances Stuart and might have thought there was a chance of becoming Queen of England.