The Merry Monarch's Wife

TITUS OATES

I WAS OFTEN AT SOMERSET HOUSE NOW. I DID NOT CARE TO be at Whitehall where it seemed that Louise de Keroualle was Queen rather than I. She was so much cleverer than Barbara Castlemaine had been. She had the dignity of a queen and I was more sure than ever that she was a spy for Louis. Charles must have known that and still he kept her at his side, which was evidence of the strength of her attraction.

Of course, she was not the only one. It amazed me that Nell Gwynne had kept her place so long. I realized, of course, that these two women had special qualities, and in a way I was glad of the King’s fidelity to Nell, and heartily wished he would dispense with Louise altogether.

She had become quite a personage at court, playing a part in state affairs. Ministers knew they must tread warily with her. She worked secretly; she never interfered in the King’s amatory adventures, and did not make scenes as Barbara had done. Decorously she held her place. There was some powerful and sinister quality about Louise which I was always aware of — and because of her presence at Whitehall, I found the seclusion of Somerset House very desirable.

Soon after Mary had left, Anne recovered. Her father had visited her every day. He knew how sad she would be at the loss of her sister. While she was very ill he would not allow her to be told that Mary had left; and when he considered she was well enough he told her himself.

I think she took the news in her usual placid manner.

I saw Charles now and then. He was always affectionate, and I had learned never to reproach him for his neglect. When he came, I received him with a mild show of pleasure and never referred to his absence. He appreciated that.

It was some months after the Orange marriage — a lovely August day, I remember — when those events which were to place me in the utmost danger were set in motion.

Charles loved to walk in St. James’s Park…sauntering, as it was called. He would go there to exercise his spaniels and it was one of the sights of the town to see him strolling along with the dogs at his heels, chatting with one or two of his friends.

On this day he called in to see me at Somerset House, and I noticed at once that he was looking a little perplexed.

“A strange thing happened in the park this morning,” he said.

He was staring ahead, and I waited expectantly until he went on: “A fellow came up and told me that there was a plot afoot to kill me.”

I caught my breath in alarm.

“I am still here, as you see,” he said. “And I think likely to remain for a while. But this was the wildest thing I ever heard.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, there was I, sauntering beside the lake, watching the water fowl. Rochester was with me and one or two others…suddenly this fellow was beside me. ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I crave the honor of speaking to Your Majesty.’ I replied that it appeared to me that that was exactly what he was doing. He said ‘Alone.’”

“You did not allow it,” I cried.

He looked at me, smiling indulgently. “We were in the park. It’s true he was an ill-kempt-looking rogue. I told Rochester and the others to stand back and leave us.”

“Was that wise?”

“You are too fearful, Catherine. There was something about the man. I thought I had seen him before.”

“And had you?”

“Yes. He had worked in one of my laboratories. When he told me his name was Kirby, I remembered him vaguely.”

“And what did he have to tell you?”

“It was a wild story of a plot to abolish the Church of England, murder all the Protestants…a sort of St. Bartholomew’s Eve…then murder me and set up a Catholic monarch in my place.”

“James?” I said.

“Who else? The government was to be replaced by the Jesuits. The plot was already in progress and at any moment I might be shot.”

I could not hide my alarm.

“They had planned it to the last detail…according to Kirby. They knew of my sauntering habits. Perhaps someone was hiding in the bushes at this moment ready to set all in motion by my instant demise.”

“Charles, this is not a joking matter!”

“Ah, as soon as a man puts a crown on his head, there will be some seeking to remove it. This is just another tale. The man Kirby has fallen on hard times. That much was obvious. He wanted a reward for saving me from murderers who existed only in his own mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“They already had the silver bullet which was to send me into oblivion. You see how aware they were of protocol. Silver out of respect for royalty. You cannot accuse them of lèse-majesté.”

“Charles…I am afraid.”

“Poor Catherine. What anxieties I have caused you, and now I add this to them. I should never have mentioned this madman’s diatribe to you.”

“I believe it has disconcerted you more than you would have me believe.”

He was serious just for a few seconds. “I suppose a threat to one’s life is bound to give one pause for thought,” he said slowly. “Particularly if there is much to be repented in it.”

“Charles, what will you do?”

He lifted his shoulders. “According to Kirby, the French were involved. They have their spies here, he says. He mentioned names. It is all nonsense, but I have agreed to look at what he calls ‘the evidence.’ But…it is nothing.”

“I trust so.”

When he left me I could see that he was vaguely puzzled.

I was always alarmed when I heard of plots. It was a fact that kings were in danger and Charles must be aware of this more than most. Had not his father been murdered by his own people?

However, he thrust the matter aside. He treated it lightly and for the time I tried to see it in the same way.

I did not know that it was the beginning of the most dangerous period of my life.

IT WAS UNFORTUNATE, I often thought afterward, that Charles should have passed over the unravelling of what was to be known as the Popish Plot to Thomas Osborne, Earl of Danby.

Charles had been right when he said that the plot was the fabrication of mischievous men. Danby must have been aware of this, but he was in such dire straits himself that he seized the opportunity to turn attention to another quarter.

Danby was a very ambitious man who at this time saw his dreams of greatness crumbling away. His administration of the country’s finances had been somewhat questionable and it had been discovered that on occasion he had taken bribes. He had been involved with Charles in some of the secret negotiations with Louis and this had been revealed to his old enemy Ralph Montague. Montague had shown his enmity to Danby by exposing these revelations to the House of Commons; as a consequence of this — in addition to his questionable financial dealings — Danby had been put in danger of being impeached.

Another who had scores to settle was the Earl of Shaftesbury. He was one of those who had tried hard to persuade Charles to divorce me and he was obsessed by the idea of bringing in a Protestant queen to take my place. He had made many miscalculations. He had, however, succeeded in introducting an Act to exclude Catholics from holding high office; but in his great desire to rid the King of his Catholic wife he had failed.

I did not know Shaftesbury well but from what I gathered he was a vindictive man. He was a fanatical Protestant and as such there were two people he wished to destroy: first the Duke of York, and second, myself.

I often wondered how much credence would have been attached to the Popish Plot if these two had not been there to fan the sparks which had been ignited by unscrupulous men.

Certain men sprang into prominence then. I am a little confused about it even now and I think it is best to set out the plot as it unfolded, that it may be seen how I was drawn into it and how it so easily could have led to my downfall.

At the heart of the plot was Titus Oates, who in a short time was being talked of everywhere as the country’s savior.

He was a scoundrel and any who looked into his background could have discovered this. But he was plausible and had his friends; and there were stern Protestants in the country who dreaded a return to Catholicism and desired Catholics to be discredited at all costs.

Titus Oates was the son of a ribbon weaver who had been involved with anabaptists. The ribbon wearer became an army chaplain and was expelled for trying to rouse rebellion in the ranks. He found a living in Hastings from which he was again expelled for misconduct. Titus seemed to have followed in his father’s footsteps.

They were in continual trouble, from which they invariably seemed to extricate themselves, and by some means Titus found a place in the University of Cambridge. There he disgraced himself by falling deeply in debt and failing to get his degree, but with his customary dexterity he managed to slip into Holy Orders and returned to his father as a curate.

There was soon trouble, however. Both father and son seemed to have a mischievous compulsion to seek it; and a few months after Titus joined his father, the two of them brought a charge against a local schoolmaster. This was proved to be absurd and Titus and his father found themselves faced with damages which they were quite unable to meet. Titus was sent to prison and his father lost his living.

It was not long, however, before Titus escaped from jail. He joined the navy, from which he was soon expelled. I was never able to understand how he could extricate himself from these situations and establish himself afresh.

He then spent some time in Spain, where he decided to join the Jesuits. After a few months, once more he was expelled and he returned to England, styling himself D.D. of Salamanca, a title to which, of course, he had no right.

In spite of everything, he managed to find a place in the household of the Duke of Norfolk where he encountered many papists. It was probably there that the idea of the Popish Plot began to grow in his mind.

He was not welcome there for long and soon found himself in London. Without the means to support himself, he turned to a man he had met some years before when he had been vicar of a Kentish parish.

Israel Tonge was not the villain Oates was. He was a scholar who had emerged from the university with his degree, but in spite of his scholarship he had found it hard to make a living. He had been rector of a London church at the time of the great fire and his was one of the many churches which had been burned to the ground. After that he had translated some holy works, but this brought him little money. Then Sir Richard Barker, who had admired his work, offered him a place in his house in the Barbican.

At that time he had come into contact with Titus Oates. He believed that the Catholics in England were trying to get into power, and they would have a chance of doing this when James came to the throne. But this might not be for some time, and the Protestants should refuse to have him.

Tonge was convinced that the plot which the Catholics had devised must be prevented from being carried out, and those concerned in it must be brought to trial.

This was a project close to the heart of Titus Oates. Intrigue was life to him; also it was a means of getting a roof over his head.

The two conspirators worked in unison and with Oates’s imagination and love of plotting, Tonge’s original suspicions were greatly increased. Enthusiasm grew and it was agreed that the King should be warned without delay. Kirby had joined them and, because he had once worked in a royal laboratory, he was considered to be the one most suited to approach the King.

Tonge’s statement was set out with great care and some erudition. Oates’s sojourn with the Jesuits and the information he had collected about them gave him the chance to add to Tonge’s statement and the plot became mainly Titus’s own.

It was presented to Danby and, faced with what he deemed might be a good diversion from his own affairs, he gave it more consideration than he would otherwise have done.

I heard rumors of this and it filled me with anxiety. In the first place, I was disturbed to learn of designs on the King’s life; and I was deeply concerned that the Catholics should be blamed.

Charles knew this and came to tell me what was happening, so that I should not be worried by all the wild rumors which were circulating.

“You will have heard of this Popish Plot which is being talked about,” he said.

“I want to hear about it,” I replied. “I want to know the truth.”

“It is the wildest fabrication. This man Oates seems to be behind it…with Israel Tonge.”

“What does it mean?”

“That certain people want to make themselves appear more important than they are.”

“Do you really think that is all?”

Charles was thoughtful. “Danby thinks it should be investigated,” he said.

“What exactly are these people supposed to be plotting?”

“That is easy to answer. They want the removal of the Black Bastard — that is myself, as you know. Pope Innocent XI is to be the Supreme Head of the Church of England. The French are involved in this. Père La Chaise has lodged ten thousand pounds in London for anyone who will kill me, and there is another ten thousand promised by the Jesuits when the deed is done…and yet another six thousand from Savoy. So you see how valuable I am.”

“Please do not speak of it so flippantly. These scoundrels could harm you.”

He smiled at me tenderly. “The King is dead. Long live the King.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It is James who concerns me. I have often thought I was safe because they would never want to kill me, for if they did they would have to have James.”

“It seems that these people want James.”

“To be the papist puppet. The idea is that my death will be followed by those of my ministers. The French will invade Ireland…”

“Do you believe that?”

“I am inclined to believe that these two…Oates and Tonge…have put their heads together and invented the whole thing.”

“But this is criminal.”

“A natural way of life to such as they are. Poor Danby! His enemies are at his heels, you know. This gives them something else to think about. There is one thing, Catherine, you must not think for one moment…but perhaps I should not tell you.”

“Please tell me, I must know what it is.”

“They say that a sum of money has already been paid to a doctor in the household. It is to be his reward for poisoning me.”

“One of the doctors in the household! Do they say which one?”

He was silent for a moment. He looked at me apologetically.

“Well, it is nonsense, of course.”

“Who is it? Please tell me.”

“Sir George Wakeman.”

I felt faint. Sir George Wakeman was my physician.

I began to see that they were going to implicate me in this plot. Charles caught me as I swayed.

“You must not take it to heart,” he said. “It is a package of nonsense. These men are trying to call attention to themselves. It is clear what they are up to.”

“Sir George Wakeman is an honorable man.”

“Of course he is.”

“Does he know…?”

Charles shook his head. “We are going to prove it is nonsense. These men should be sent to the Tower for causing such a stir. I know this, but as I tell you, Danby wants to make an issue of it. You know his reasons. He is not going to let it drop easily. We do not know what they will come up with next.”

I could guess. They were going to implicate me in their schemes.

Charles made me sit down and he sat beside me and put an arm about me.

“You must not fret,” he said. “There will be these rumors. They are nonsense. We’ll prove them to be nonsense. I no more suspect Wakeman than you do. I am sure we shall be able to prove that this Oates is nothing more than a troublemaker.”

I felt better when I listened to him, but after he had left me my anxieties returned.

THERE WAS A FEVER OF EXCITEMENT in the streets. Titus Oates was the country’s savior. He had discovered the plot in time and we were saved from the wicked papists — or at least we knew what they were planning and would be able to foil them.

Danby was all for setting the findings before the Privy Council. Charles was against it.

“It would only put the idea of murdering me into someone’s head,” he said. “As for these tales about the papists, I simply do not believe them.”

I was not sure that Danby did either, but it made the diversion he needed. With the whole country worrying about the papists, there was little interest in the misdemeanors of one of the ministers.

I could imagine the disappointment of Titus Oates and his fellow conspirators when they realized the King refused to take them seriously. Oates told Tonge that he must make their declaration before a Justice of the Peace, since the King had not wished to go before the Privy Council. This was the duty of a good citizen, insisted Oates. So, accordingly, this was done. He and Tongue went to the offices of Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey and set their “discoveries” before him. They gave their oath on this, and, realizing the nature of their revelations, Sir Edmund decided that he must bring the matter to the notice of the Council.

This made it impossible for even the King to thrust it aside, and as a result Oates and Tonge were summoned to appear and substantiate their accusations.

I think this might have put an end to the matter, but for two events which favored Oates.

There had been a number of arrests after Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey had received the declaration, and among them was a certain Coleman, who had been a secretary to the Duchess of York.

However, Oates was not clever enough to deceive Charles, although the Council was inclined to be swayed by him.

The man had a certain eloquence, but he allowed himself to be carried away by his own rhetoric, and this led him into pitfalls.

After the meeting Charles came to see me. It was one of his most lovable traits that, knowing my fears — not only for myself but for my servants such as Sir George Wakeman — his aim at that time was to assure me that, unfaithful husband though he might be, he could be a loyal friend.

He was quite gleeful on this occasion.

“That fellow is a fraud,” he said. “I’ll grant him this much. He knows how to tell a good story, but he gets carried away by the drama of his own invention, and that is where he goes awry. He should join the players. I’ll warrant he could give them some rousing plays.”

“Tell me…what did he say?” I asked.

“Well, he began by telling us that the Jesuits had decided they would kill me and, unless James agreed to put himself in their hands, he would go the same way. Père La Chaise has paid over ten thousand pounds already to be given to the assassin when the deed was done. I asked him if he had been told this. ‘No, Sire,’ he answered. ‘I was attending a meeting in your service, Sire, in the disguise of one of them. I overheard the discussion and saw Père La Chaise hand over the money to the messenger who was to bring it to England.’

“I said to him, ‘Mr. Oates, you were most assiduous on my behalf and I thank you. Tell me, where was this transaction made?’ He replied, ‘In the house of the Jesuits.’ ‘And which one was that?’ I asked. ‘It was the one close to the Louvre, Sire.’ ‘That is odd,’ I replied, ‘I had a long sojourn in Paris, so I know that the Jesuits do not have a house within a mile of the Louvre.’”

“He was lying,” I said.

“Of course he was lying. One would have thought that was obvious. But how people love a good conspiracy. It was clear that they did not want to stop this ingenious Mr. Oates in his flow. He would have us believe now that, on our behalf, he had labored long and faced many difficulties, for he implied what his fate would have been if those fanatical Jesuits had learned that he was a spy for His Protestant Majesty of England. When he was in Spain, he went on to tell us, he had been received by Don John of Austria. Mind you, it had needed a great deal of cunning planning to reach that gentleman. ‘Do describe him to me,’ I said. ‘Oh, Your Majesty, he is a tall and lean man, and swarthy.’ ‘You surprise me,’ I replied, ‘for when I met him he was short, fat and fair.’ All this confirmed what I had suspected. Our Mr. Oates is a fraud…a man who is determined to call attention to himself…to earn notoriety…and fortune…no matter whom he destroys on the way to it.”

I was relieved.

“Then this will be an end to this tiresome matter,” I said.

“I pray so. Though Danby will be reluctant to let it go. At the moment people have turned their attention from him. After all, what is a defaulting minister compared with a plot to murder the King?”

IN SPITE OF DANBY’S EFFORTS to keep the Popish Plot the issue of the day, the appearance of Titus Oates before the Council and the errors into which he had fallen discredited him to a certain extent and the conclusion that he was a cheat began to be expressed.

Then there was a change. It came about through Coleman, who had been one of those men whom Titus Oates had accused and who, on Oates’s evidence, had been arrested. Coleman was indeed a spy; he had received a pension from France; he was in the service of Père La Chaise and letters from the French priest were found in his possession. The sum of twenty thousand pounds had been offered to him for his continued services to France and for working to bring the Catholic faith to England.

This was one of those unfortunate coincidences. I had no doubt that Coleman had been in the pay of France for many years, for they had their spies everywhere. He was a Catholic, of course, and that was known and was the reason why Titus Oates had named him as one of the suspects.

What luck this was for Titus Oates! In the eyes of the people he was vindicated. He had brought a dangerous spy to justice.

There was something else — and I believe this was less fortuitous — in fact a part of the plot.

It concerned the Justice of the Peace Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.

It appeared that on Saturday morning he left his home at nine o’clock to go to Marylebone to see one of the church wardens at St. Martin’s in the Fields on parochial business. Later he went to St. Clement Danes, calling at Somerset House. After that no one knew where he had gone, but when he did not return, his servants became alarmed, for he was a man of regular habits.

It was Lady Suffolk who told me what had happened. I think my friends were all growing a little uneasy since Titus Oates had sprung into prominence, for the very fact that the so-called plot was directed against Catholics would mean that I could not escape suspicion. I had had my enemies before, but this was a particularly dangerous one.

It was Friday, I remember, six days after Sir Edmund had last been seen.

Lady Suffolk could not hide her consternation, and I demanded to know what was wrong.

She said: “Your Majesty, they have found Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.”

“I am glad of that,” I said. “What had happened to him?”

“He is dead, Madam. He had been run through with his own sword.”

“Killed himself?”

She shook her head. “It is believed that the wound was not self-inflicted.”

“But why…?”

“There is great excitement. There are crowds in the streets. They are saying…”

“What are they saying?”

“That he was the one who laid the information before the Privy Council. They are saying it is the papists’ revenge.”

I held onto a table for support. I felt dizzy. It was not enough that Coleman had been proved to be a spy. Now this would be further evidence.

Catholics in this country were in acute danger — not least myself.

THERE WAS TENSION EVERYWHERE. People wanted to know how the Justice of the Peace had been murdered and by whom. I knew a great deal hung on the answer. He it was who had brought the plot to the notice of the Privy Council, which had resulted in the arrest of certain spies — one of whom was Coleman who had been caught red-handed.

And now…what?

Charles himself told me what had happened at the inquest which had been held at White House on Primrose Hill in Hampstead, as it was in that neighborhood that Sir Edmund’s body had been found. The doctors declared that he had not died through the stabbing but had been strangled first. He had died of suffocation. He had not been murdered on Primrose Hill, but his body had been taken there after the deed was done…several days after, probably five. There was money on him so it had not been a crime of robbery.

It was clear that Fate was working in Oates’s favor. First Coleman and now Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.

For some days I lived in a state of trepidation, wondering what the outcome would be. I knew what rumors were going round the city. People were saying that the murder had clearly been the work of Catholics. It was their revenge on Sir Edmund for putting the case before the Council. Titus Oates was once more the hero of the day. They said that it was now quite clear that in our midst were those who would stop at nothing to bring the country back to the faith it had rejected.

There followed attacks on the houses of well-known Catholics. Everywhere there were cheers for Titus Oates.

I dreaded the day of Sir Edmund’s funeral. People crowded into the streets to pay homage to the martyr, as they called him. They shouted anti-Catholic slogans. “No Popery!” “Down with the devils of Rome!” I knew that among these they included the Duke of York and myself.

Charles came to see me. He was assiduous in his care for me during that time. I cannot imagine how I could ever have lived through those days without him. I tried to forget his preoccupation with Nell Gwynne and Louise de Keroualle. I saw him as my best friend…unfaithful husband though he might be.

But I understood him now. He had been born with those sexual needs and they were insatiable. No woman would be enough for him. But what a loyal friend he was!

He said: “There is chaos in the streets.”

“It is the funeral,” I said.

“Why did this have to happen now? This…and Coleman. There could have been an end of it.”

“And was Godfrey really murdered?”

“There does not seem a doubt of it.”

“By whom?”

He hesitated. “Oates is a fraud. It may be that he and his friends have done this. He has some knowledge but he cannot resist the impulse to embellish. Remember how I caught him out. He is brimming over with eagerness to present his case…and this is for his own glory. I would dearly love to be rid of the fellow.” He lifted his shoulders. “But what can I do? The people love him…at the moment. They see him as the savior. They could as easily turn against him, though.” He was melancholy for a moment. “None knows more than I how quickly the people can turn. At the moment Oates is exalted. He is the exposer of plotters. This is how the people see him and, for the time being…we must needs go along with them…up to a point.”

“What shall you do?”

“Our first duty is to discover who murdered this man. If it could be proved that he was a robber…”

“But whoever killed him did not take his money.”

“That’s true. If we could prove he was murdered by friends of Oates, that would finish the matter once and for all. I am offering a reward of five hundred pounds for the discovery of the murderer of Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey.” He turned to me. “Be of good cheer. These villains shall not harm you while I am here to defend you.”

I was filled with apprehension, but I could not express how happy those words made me.

THE KING’S OFFER of five hundred pounds brought a new figure into the drama. This was William Bedloe, an ex-convict, adventurer and a man practiced in dishonest business.

He came forward and announced that he had been aware of a plot which was brewing among Catholics. He had made many discoveries and would have put them before the Council himself if Titus Oates had not been just a little ahead of him.

He knew who had murdered Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey. The deed had been done at Somerset House.

As soon as I heard this I knew these people had decided that I should be more deeply incriminated.

What followed confirmed this, and made me even more aware of the danger in which I stood and into which I was sinking deeper every day.

Bedloe declared that he had seen the body of Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey lying on the back stairs of my apartments in Somerset House. According to him, it had been there for two days before it had been removed. My servants had then taken it to the ditch on Primrose Hill to be discovered far away from where the murder had been committed. He had heard the talk of my popish servants, he said, those who had assisted in the murder. The Justice of the Peace had been suffocated between two pillows because he had assisted in bringing to light the details of the Popish Plot.

This was of course a scheme to involve me, and I was now convinced that these people were intent on my destruction.

Bedloe even mentioned the names of two of my servants, who he alleged had committed the murder.

I was thrown into deep distress when they were arrested.

Bedloe said that he was shown the body by a certain member of my household and offered a thousand pounds if he would remove it. This, so he said, he had declined to do.

It was such a wild accusation that I could not believe anyone would give it credence. But it was what the people wanted to hear, and they were ready to accept it.

It was Charles who saved me again.

“The story is clearly nonsense,” he said to me. He himself had been at Somerset House on the day in question and, because of his presence, his guards would have been there. They would have been posted at all exits and entrances and it would have been quite impossible for anyone not of the household to slip in unnoticed.

But the people wanted to believe it…so they did.

Moreover, Danby was still eager to keep public interest in the plot.

Bedloe received his reward; Titus Oates was being paid expenses for his work; and those villains who had been unknown and rejected by society were now heroes. They were continually trying to enhance their importance in the eyes of the people.

I OFTEN WONDERED where it would end. I had realized by this time that it was the aim of Titus Oates and his friends to attack me and perhaps bring me to the block.

There was a certain furtiveness among those about me. I wondered if they knew more than I did. There were constant references to Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. The King was devoted to Louise de Keroualle. Would he marry her if he could? She had proved herself capable of bearing children. She already had a son by the King. But no. She was another Catholic, so this would be nonsense. A Protestant queen would be found for him.

It was true that the King stood beside me and had proved the evidence of Oates and Bedloe to be false when they had sought to move against me; but such men would believe that in his heart the King must want to be rid of me.

He was still young enough to get a son…an heir to the throne…a Protestant heir, of course. So they set out to trap me. I was now the main target of these wicked men. It was not enough for them that many people — innocent, I was sure — were now in prison awaiting possible death for treason they had never committed.

I would be the big prize. If I were discarded the people would be pleased. They had never wanted me. I was a foreigner, and, most heinous of all at this time, a Catholic.

With the almost hysterical acclamation which greeted him everywhere he went, Oates grew bolder.

The King so far had protected me, but Oates obviously felt he must increase his efforts if he were not to be defeated in bringing me — as he would say — to justice.

There seemed no end to the man’s machinations.

He now said that he had seen a letter in which the Queen’s physician Sir George Wakeman had stated that Her Majesty the Queen had given her assent to the murder of the King. Having seen this letter, in his great determination to save the King’s life and the continuance of a Protestant England, he, Titus Oates, had gone to Somerset House. He did not state on what business, which would have made quite clear the fact that he was lying. But, as I said, people believe what they want to, and there is no doubt that they wanted to believe every shred of “evidence” against me. He was aware, he went on, that several Jesuits were visiting me, which was the reason why he was there. He crept into an audience chamber and hid there. He had seen the Jesuits enter my chamber and, as they had left the door open, he was able to hear what was said.

He had heard me say I was weary of the humiliations I had to suffer through the King’s infidelities and would no longer endure such a state of affairs. I would help Sir George Wakeman to poison my husband and set up the Catholic faith in England.

Charles was very angry. His inclination was to send Titus Oates to the Tower. I could imagine what would have happened if he had. The people would have been in revolt. They had made up their minds that they were going to believe Titus Oates. They had had enough of Catholics and would not suffer another Catholic king on the throne.

Charles sent for Oates. He told me afterward what had taken place.

“I challenged him,” he said. “I suggested that he was lying. He had not been to Somerset House any more than William Bedloe had been when he said he had seen Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey’s body there. I asked him to describe the Queen’s apartments. The confidence of the man is amazing. He has no shame. He blatantly lies with an air of truth. He could not describe your apartments for the simple reason that he has never seen them. He built up a picture of one of the rooms — an audience chamber which could have been in any of the palaces. I told him he was a liar. He just bowed obsequiously, but I saw his evil smile. He knew that if I ordered his arrest the whole of London would be crying out for revenge on any who touched his sacred person. I can tell you, it is a damnable situation. But never fear. I shall make him rue what he has done…one day.”

I knew Charles was right. To have stood out against him now would have resulted in riots…discord throughout the country. Monmouth was waiting somewhere in the shadows…ready for the opportunity when it came.

Who would have believed that so much could have arisen out of the lies of an unscrupulous adventurer?

COUNT CASTELMELHOR CALLED to see me. The Count was a man on whom I could completely rely. He had left Portugal when my brother Alfonso had been deposed and had remained loyal to him — so he was not welcome at Pedro’s court.

I said to him: “My dear Count, I can see you are very anxious.”

“It is a situation which arouses the utmost anxiety. I am indeed afraid for Your Majesty.”

“These wicked men are telling such terrible lies about me.”

He nodded. “My dear lady, perhaps we should write to your brother.”

“What could Pedro do to help me?”

The Count looked melancholy. “He might protest.”

“To the King? The King hates what is going on as much as I do.”

“But for the King, my lady, I fear they would have had you in the Tower.”

“I know what I owe him. I can only pray that this nightmare will soon end.”

“It is time Oates was recognized for what he is, but he has the people with him. They hate those of our religion. All the resentment created during the reign of Queen Mary is being revived. It is because they fear that Charles will die without an heir and James will be King…a Catholic. That is the only reason why this man Oates has been able to do what he has. They are arresting people everywhere…on this man’s evidence…and it is false…false.”

“I know. Many of them are my friends. Dr. Wakeman is in the Tower accused of attempting to poison the King…and they say that he was to do this with my help. I verily believe that I should be in the Tower at this moment if it were not for the King.”

“It is true. The King stands between you and these villains. Thank God for that. But you are in great danger, and it may be that even the King cannot save you. You must take great care. I think you should write to your brother. It would be better for you to leave the country…perhaps…”

I shook my head. “I would never do that, Count. I shall remain here. I have great faith in my husband.”

“There is something else. I must tell you, for I think it is important that you should understand all and miss nothing. The fact that Oates has been proved to be lying…although the people do not accept this…is forgotten, for Bedloe is now supporting these accusations against you.”

“Bedloe?”

“Yes, my lady. He, also, is now saying that he overheard a conversation between you and two French priests. Coleman was there at the time, he says, and some Jesuits. It was in the gallery of the chapel at Somerset House. He says you were told of the plot to murder the King. At first you wept and said you would have nothing to do with such a plan, and when you were reminded of the King’s infidelities you at length consented to take part in it.”

“What lies!”

“Your Majesty, these people have achieved notoriety through lies.”

“How can people believe their wild tales?”

“Because they want to believe. There are so many who fear a Catholic king on the throne of this country. But they will have to take James…when the time comes.”

“They will not have James.”

“They will…and with God’s help England will in time be brought back to the true faith…but I know there are many who are set against it.”

“They do not like me. There are many who would like to see me in the Tower. They think they will overcome the King’s scruples because he is eager to be rid of me. They see him with the Duchess of Portsmouth. He is so often in her company. He is devoted to the playactress Nell Gwynne. And I am a Catholic and barren. Quite unsuitable, you see. They think it will be safe to tempt him to be rid of me. Sometimes it seems like a miracle that he is determined to stand beside me.”

“Your Majesty, I am convinced that you should write to your brother.”

“What could he do?”

“He is the King of Portugal. They have been whispering about King Henry VIII. Remember, Catherine of Aragon might have lost her head if she had not been the aunt of the Emperor Charles.”

“And so she lived through years of unhappiness and humiliation.”

“This is different. This King shows his concern for you and the other showed none for his wife. Write to King Pedro. It can do no harm. I would do so, but I am out of favor. If it were Alfonso it would be different.”

“I feel very uneasy….”

“It is understandable that you should be.”

“Come and see me soon,” I said. “You are one of the few I can trust.”

When he had gone I wrote to Pedro, though I could not believe there was anything he could do to save me. I could rely only on Charles.