The Merry Monarch's Wife

THE AWAKENING

MY DREAM WAS OVER. FROM BEING THE HAPPIEST WOMAN in England I had become the most miserable.

I had not seen Charles since that scene. He was really angry with me, and that could only mean one thing: the appointment of Lady Castlemaine was of the utmost importance to him. And why? It could only be for one reason.

But he must know that I would never have Lady Castlemaine in my household. He must understand. Surely anyone would see the reason for it. He was certainly aware of it, but he was angry because he greatly desired the woman to be there. She had asked for the appointment and he had promised it.

So he must have seen her. His urgent business was to be with her. She had just left her husband because he had had her child baptized as a Catholic…and the child was not her husband’s.

Whose child was it? Why was she so incensed that it had had a Catholic baptism? The inference was obvious. Oh no! I could not believe it. But I must not shut my mind to the obvious. Charles had been so loving to me, so charming, because he was indeed practiced in these matters. I had been one of the many…albeit that I was his wife.

No wonder Maria and Elvira had looked so grave; no wonder Maria had talked to my mother, who had sought to prepare me for Lady Castlemaine.

I was seeing it all clearly now. I had been duped during those weeks at Hampton Court. And how easy it had been to deceive me! No wonder I had so often seen amusement in his eyes. He must have been laughing at the simplicity of the task.

I wanted to go home…back to my mother…back to her palace…back to the convent where I could live with my dreams.

It was several days since I had seen him. At times the longing to do so was so great that I was on the point of sending a message to him. “Please come back to me. I will do as you wish. I will accept her in my household.” Then I would say to myself: Never. Never will I have her near me.

And so I did not see him.

I had to make a pretence that nothing unusual was happening. I did my best, but it was not easy. Maria and Elvira noticed the change in me.

“Are you well? Is anything wrong?” asked Maria.

“I am well, thank you.”

“You are overtired,” said Elvira.

“Perhaps you should see the physician,” added Maria.

“Please…please do not fret. I am quite well.”

They looked at each other skeptically. Their disapproval of English ways as well as their manners of dress had not diminished.

Then came that day which I was to remember as one of the most unhappy of my life.

I was in the Presence Room and some of the ladies of the court were being presented to me. Maria and Elvira had taken their stand on either side of me as they always did, like a pair of dragons guarding me, which mever failed to cause some amusement in the company.

I was trying to behave normally when I heard Charles’s voice. My heart leaped with pleasure. He had come then! He had decided to end this trouble between us. He had realized, of course, that I had only behaved as a wife naturally would. He had accepted my decision. All would be well between us.

He had caught my eyes across the room and was smiling at me.

I felt my features relax. Happiness filled me. It was over. All was well between us.

He was coming toward me, holding the hand of one of the ladies as he always did when he presented them to me.

One could not help noticing her. She was tall and one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Yet, statuesque as she was, Charles still towered above her. They looked splendid together. I often thought that his height made me look smaller than I actually was, and I was very conscious of that and felt a certain envy of tall women. This one’s hair was bronze in color, falling in luxuriant curls over her bare shoulders; her eyes were large and sparkling; she held herself proudly, arrogantly, one might say: she gave an impression of complete assurance. I supposed one would have that, with such looks. She was the sort of woman who would be noticed immediately whenever she appeared.

Charles presented her to me. She smiled and lowered her eyes as she bent to kiss my hand. The King murmured something I could not catch.

She turned away, Charles with her.

Maria bent toward me. “Do you know who that was?” she demanded.

“I could not catch the name.”

“He intended you should not. He did not pronounce it clearly for that reason. Can you not guess?”

I looked at her blankly.

Elvira whispered: “It is Lady Castlemaine.”

Now I understood why there was tension in the room, why there was a lull in the conversation.

How could he? I thought. How dare he!

I felt the dizziness overcome me; then something warm was spreading over my face, for the blood was gushing from my nose. I saw the stain on my gown and fell fainting to the floor.

I CAN IMAGINE the consternation, although I was unaware of it. What a spectacle it must have been! The Lady — as I learned later they called her — sauntering away with the King, and the Queen lying on the floor in a faint, her face and gown covered in blood.

There could never have been anything like it in the court of England.

I can picture Maria and Elvira fussing over me, giving directions, implying that no one must dare touch me but themselves. Charles would know what had brought this on. Did he find it amusing, I wondered. That was unfair. He would be distressed. He was fond of me. He could not have deceived me as blatantly as that. If I would be the complaisant Queen, accepting his mistress, I could still have a small place in his affections.

I lay in my bed, and with consciousness came back the memory of that Presence Chamber and Maria and Elvira telling me who it was who had kissed my hand.

I never wanted to live through such a moment again in the whole of my life.

And there I was, in my bed with the physicians standing by, and Elvira and Maria hovering over me, determined to protect me from whatever disaster should come to me next.

I think the physicians understood that there had been such attacks before and that seemed a matter for relief. I must rest, they said. They would give me some physic. I must remain quiet and not excite myself.

So I lay in my bed, going over it all. I longed for my mother. She would know what I should do. I believed there was one thing she would be certain of: I should never have that brazen woman in my household.

A day passed. I left my bed. I sat about miserably, hoping that the King would come. Surely he must understand my reason for refusing to have Lady Castlemaine in my household. He was usually so ready to understand the problems of others; he was always so sympathetic. But perhaps that was only when they did not inconvenience himself.

Maria came to tell me that I had a visitor. My heart leaped. I was sure it must be the King. But it was not. It was Lord Clarendon.

He was brought in and came to me and kissed my hand. He was neither tall nor short and had a ruddy complexion, inclined to be fat, and he walked with difficulty. He had a clever face, but I did not need this to tell me that he was one of the most able men in the kingdom.

I was amazed that he should come to see me.

He immediately asked after my health and I asked after his.

“It is this accursed gout, Your Majesty,” he said. “It makes a slave of me.”

“Then pray be seated and tell me your business,” I said. We were able to speak in Spanish, which was convenient.

He was a man of great insight, much traveled, as I knew; he had remained loyal to the Royalist cause throughout its darkest days; he had traveled on the continent with Charles and was his most trusted adviser; he had shared hardships with him, sometimes, as he had written, “with neither clothes nor fire to preserve him from the sharpness of the season and not three sous in the world to buy a faggot.”

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I come on behalf of His Majesty the King.”

I said: “Why does not the King come himself?”

“Madam,” he went on, “he is uncertain of your mood and it seems, on this occasion, that an intermediary is advisable.”

“That is not so,” I retorted sharply. “If the King wishes to speak to me, it is for him to do so.”

Clarendon looked excessively uncomfortable. He shifted painfully in his seat.

“This little misunderstanding between Your Majesty and the King is deeply to be deplored.”

“None deplore it more deeply than I.”

“Then I am sure we can smooth it out.”

He then began to talk at some length of the King’s dilemma, and I gathered from his tone that I had been a little hasty and not as understanding as I might have been.

I was hurt and angry because it seemed that he believed I was the one who was in the wrong and that it was really rather foolish of me to make such trouble about an insignificant matter.

I looked at him steadily and said: “I do not think, my lord, that you and I see this matter in the same light. I will not have Lady Castlemaine in my household.”

My face was flushed and my heart was beating very fast. He was aware of my agitation and he rose quickly, saying he did not wish to distress me and would call again at a time more convenient to me.

I did not seek to detain him, and he left.

I tried to calm myself. I must not become so agitated at the sound of that woman’s name. All I had to do was refuse to see her. After all, was I not the Queen?

The next day Lord Clarendon called again. I felt much calmer and ready to talk to him.

“Pray be seated, my lord,” I said. “I am sorry for my reception of you yesterday. I was unprepared. I fancied that you believed the blame to be mine and I found that insupportable. I cannot see it in that light. I had looked upon you as my friend. I know you came on the King’s behalf and you have always been his most loyal servant. He has spoken to me of your fidelity to him at all times, but you must understand that I have suffered great anguish over this matter, which has made me a very unhappy woman.”

He replied earnestly that his great desire was to be of service to me. He would be very unhappy if, in explaining the effect my conduct had had on the King and how it would be wise to put matters right between us, he had appeared to be ungracious to me.

I replied that I was not averse to hearing if I had committed some fault.

He said: “Oh, Your Majesty, everything that has happened is very understandable. Your Majesty has had a restricted upbringing, if you will forgive my saying so. There are certain imperfections in mankind that have to be accepted, lamentable though they may be. I would point out, Madam, that these little failings are not only to be met with in this country.” He smiled wryly. “It has come to my knowledge that they exist in your own land in no small measure. But you have been sheltered. Your ears have never been sullied with these…er…little follies which are common to all mankind.”

“It is all so unexpected…”

“Your Majesty, you will agree with me that, had we sent an English princess to Portugal, she would not have found a court completely virtuous.”

“I cannot say…”

“Then I can assure Your Majesty that it would be so. The King has been devoted to you. Anything that happened before your marriage ought not to concern you, nor should you attempt to discover it.”

“I have not inquired into the past. I merely refuse to accept this woman into my household and she is being forced upon me. I do not want her. She is not a virtuous woman and therefore my ladies should not be expected to associate with her.”

“Madam, if the King insists…”

“If he insists, he exposes me to the contempt of the courts of Europe and shows he has no love for me.”

“I must warn Your Majesty that you should not provoke the King too far.”

“But it is he who is provoking me.”

“Accept this…as others have before you. The great Catherine de’ Medici accepted her husband’s affection for the Lady Diane de Poitiers, and she held her position at court. In fact, it was strengthened. It is all part of the duties of a Queen.”

“I wish to please the King, but I cannot accept that woman in my household.”

He gave up in despair, but he was not as despairing as I was.

I was deep in misery.

THAT NIGHT CHARLES CAME. I had never before seen him look as he did then. The tenderness was missing and he looked displeased.

“I hear you remain stubborn,” he said. “And I see that you have no true love for me.”

“Charles! It is because I love you! That is why I cannot bear to have this woman here.”

“I tell you, I have given her my word that she shall come.”

“That means that she will come…no matter what I want.”

“All I ask is that you receive her.”

I murmured: “To bring her here as you did…without warning. I cannot forget that you did that to me.”

“You should have controlled your venom against her. Instead of…”

“I know, I know. It was a distressing scene, but I had no control over it. Charles, it was due to my overwhelming grief, grief that I had been so deceived.”

“It is a great deal of fuss about a matter of no great importance.”

“If it is of no great importance, why do you insist that she comes?”

“I mean of no great importance to you. I can only marvel that you can behave so.”

I shouted at him: “Not so much as I marvel at your behavior.”

“You are completely unworldly. You reason like a child.”

“I reason like a wife who is ready to love and please her husband and has now been so ill-treated that her heart is broken. I wish I had never come here. I will go home. I will go back to Portugal.”

“It would be well for you to discover first whether your mother would receive you. I shall begin by sending back your servants. I have a notion that they maintain you in this stubborn attitude.”

We had both raised our voices and I thought afterward of how many people would be listening to us and how soon the news that the King and Queen were quarrelling over Lady Castlemaine would be spread round the court. It would reach her ears, and I was sure she would be gratified.

“You have not kept to your vows,” I cried.

“Can you upbraid me for that? What of your family? Did they honour our terms? Did they carry out the obligations of the treaty? What of the portion which was promised and was not there when the time came? What of the spice and sugar that has yet to be transformed into cash? If I were you, I should not talk too much of honouring vows.”

This was unkind. It was no fault of mine that the money which had been waiting had had to be used in our conflict against the Spaniards.

“Oh, I should never have come,” I said. “I want to go home.”

I saw the expression cross his face. He was shocked that, in spite of all this, I should want to leave him. And did I? I was not sure. I was too bitterly wounded to know what I wanted.

He seemed suddenly to decide he would hear no more. He left me in my misery.

CLARENDON CAME NEXT DAY. I think he was sorry for me, but at the same time he was determined to see this through the King’s eyes. I suppose that was his duty.

“Your Majesty, this has become a grievous matter indeed,” he said.

“The King was here last night. He was most ill-tempered.”

“I understand Your Majesty’s temper matched his. I have come this day hoping to persuade you to take the course which will be most advantageous to your happiness.”

“That must surely be to insist on not having that woman near me.”

“Will Your Majesty have the patience to listen to me if I try to explain how it appears to me…and to others? No wife should refuse to accept a servant who is esteemed and recommended by her husband.”

“How could such a woman be esteemed and respected by him?”

“If Your Majesty will forgive me, she is esteemed and recommended by the King, and if you refuse to receive her, what I ask you to remember is this: this thing will be done with or without your consent.”

I was silent.

He went on: “The whole court has been aware of the King’s devotion to you in the first weeks since your marriage. He sought no company but that of Your Majesty. Do you not see that you are charming enough to lure him from others? Have you such a low opinion of your attractions that you do not realize you can do this?”

I stared at him. I should have understood, of course. He was trying to help me. He was telling me that whether or not I agreed to Lady Castlemaine’s coming, she would do so because it was the King’s wish that she should. He would insist, since he had promised the lady. I did not know then, of course, of the power she had over him. I could not have understood then the depth of her sensuality, which matched his own. Temporarily I had had the appeal of innocence — unworldliness in a worldly court. I had had an initial advantage because I was so different from other women he had known. I did not know then that he would never have been faithful to me, but if I had been compliant, sweetly forgiving, I could have kept some hold on his affections. He was a man who hated trouble, and I was now causing him a great deal of it.

But I did not understand then. I could think only of what was right, and I firmly believed that to give my consent to that woman’s coming into my household must surely be wrong — and I determined to stand against it.

Clarendon was looking at me appealingly. But I did not understand.

I said: “The King will doubtless do as he wishes, but I shall never give my consent to that woman’s coming into my household.”

Clarendon shrugged his shoulders. He had done his best.

THOSE WERE VERY UNHAPPY DAYS. Charles and I scarcely spoke, and then only when absolutely necessary. He was not by nature a vindictive man. When he had returned to England and the Royalists had dug up the bodies of Roundheads and exposed them in public places, he had been the one to call a halt to the practice.

I think it was because of his deep disappointment in me that he acted as he did. He had believed I adored him — as indeed I had — and therefore would accept anything for his sake. It was a bitter disappointment to him that I was adamant on this matter which meant so much to him. It was not, I knew, entirely his devotion to Lady Castlemaine which made him act as he did, but his dislike of the storms she created, which she was prone to do vociferously and sometimes in public.

How could I be expected to understand such things at that time? His reference to the unpaid dowry had shocked me profoundly. He was slighting to Don Francisco; Diego Silvas was sent to prison for failing to make the arrangements for the sale of those goods which were meant to be part of my dowry; and there were preparations to send my Portuguese attendants back to Portugal.

I was shocked and bewildered. Everything had changed so suddenly. I had been too happy. I should have known it could not last.

Then something happened which at least temporarily lifted me out of my gloom.

I was dressing one morning with my ladies around me when Charles appeared. I started in amazement. Lady Stanhope dropped a deep curtsey, so did the others, with the exception of Donna Maria whose sight was failing so that she did not immediately recognize him.

He had changed. He looked more like the man I had known in the beginning. He was smiling at me, and I was suddenly happy.

“I would speak with the Queen,” he said, and in a few seconds they all had gone.

“I have news,” he said to me. “My mother is coming here. She will be leaving Calais shortly. We must give her a warm welcome.”

The words thrilled me. I desperately wanted us to be back where we had been.

It was characteristic of Charles that he should behave as though there was no rift between us — as though it had never been. I should have to be beside him to greet his mother, and we should have to pretend that all was well between us. Even pretence would be better than this prolonged indifference.

“She will go to Greenwich,” he said. “Later, I think, Somerset House would be more fitting…but while that is being made ready…it will be Greenwich.”

“And we must go to see her there?”

He was smiling. “We must let her see how glad we are that she is here. I wonder what you will think of my mother, Catherine?”

“I long to meet her.”

“And she to meet you. She has said that is the reason she is making the journey.”

“I hope she is pleased by our marriage.”

“Indeed she is. How could she not be? Poor James will get something of a drubbing, I do not doubt. And I am sorry for Anne. I hope she will be able to defend herself. But I am of the opinion that she will do that very well.”

He was laughing, and I thought how foolish I had been. I had missed so much, I should have given way; then I could have been with him all this time. If he could not be entirely mine, in that moment, I would have been prepared to give way and accept what I could get.

Our relationship had changed again. I was in his company more as we prepared to go to Greenwich to meet Queen Henrietta Maria. He talked to me about his mother.

“You must not allow her to bully you,” he said. “She is overpowering and will certainly try. She likes her own way. Who does not? But Mam thinks it is only right that she should have hers. She and I never got on as well as the others. Perhaps I liked my own way, too. I disappointed her in some ways. I was never her favorite. James shared that position with my youngest sister Henrietta, until his marriage. She has never forgiven him for that.”

When we went to meet her it had to be in royal style.

“My mother will be very much aware of that. She would not like to think that the very best had not been given to her. Poor Mam! She has had a tragic life. She did not enjoy those years in exile, and then…what they did to my father would have broken a woman of lesser spirit. She came through, but she has suffered a great deal through her husband and those children whom she lost. Elizabeth…Henry…Mary…all gone. Hers has been a tragic life.”

“I shall do everything I can to please her.”

“I know you will. I have a notion that you and she will be good friends. You have a good start. You are of the same religion and that counts for much with her.”

I was lifted out of my misery. It was amazing, but Charles seemed to have forgotten that there was any trouble between us. It is true that talk was all about the preparations for his mother’s arrival and comfort; but it was wonderful to have something to keep him with me.

In due course we set out, accompanied by our splendid company. We sailed along the river to Greenwich, and there were loyal shouts to greet us. I stood side by side with Charles to acknowledge the cheers; and I was almost happy.

At Greenwich Queen Henrietta Maria was waiting for us.

She was tiny. I was pleased to see that she was shorter than I, for I continued to deplore my lack of inches. She had been beautiful; that was still obvious, although her face was ravaged with the suffering of the years. But she was animated; her dark eyes were alert, darting everywhere; and although she was so small, she held herself proudly, as though to remind everyone that she was the daughter of a king and the wife of one: there could be no doubt that she was a woman of strong opinions and of a nature to force them on others.

I saw a flicker of pride in her eyes when they rested on Charles. Of course she would be proud of him. He looked so truly a king. His height set him above others; and those heavy features which on most men would be ugly, with him exuded an inimitable charm. I was proud of him; so must she be.

She had turned to me, her eyes taking in every detail of my appearance. Her face relaxed into a smile.

I made to kneel but she quickly put her arms round me and drew me to her.

“No…no, no,” she said. “You are my daughter now.” She kissed me. “You and I must know each other.” She spoke rapidly, half in English, half in French, which somehow I managed to interpret. “It is to see you I have made this long and tiresome journey. Oh that wicked…wicked sea! How I hate him. But I must come to see my new daughter…so we will not kneel and kiss hands…that is for others. Not for us…eh, my daughter?”

There could not have been a warmer welcome.

I stammered my appreciation of it.

“I have said I will never come here again. I shall never face that sea. It is always worse when I am on it. It likes me not, no more than I like it.” She lifted her shoulders in a gesture which I later learned was characteristic of her. “But I must come; to see my daughter…and to serve her as the Queen.”

I was so overcome by these words, which touched me the deeper because of the slights and humiliations I had suffered of late, that I burst out: “Your Majesty must not speak of serving me! I know I shall love you. Not the King, nor any of your children, can love you more than I shall.”

I think we were both overwrought. I certainly was. As I came to know her, I realized that her return to England had brought back a mingling of memories: her happy life with the King, her husband, and the terrible tragedy which overtook them both.

She was a highly emotional woman; she loved fiercely and hated in the same manner. There were no half measures for Queen Henrietta Maria.

I knew that when she looked at me she was thinking of herself as a young bride just come to England. She understood my feelings. I wondered how much she knew of the rift between Charles and me. But if she knew, she would understand. She would be my ally.

She walked back to the palace — Charles on one side of her, I on the other. James, with Anne, walked a little behind. I had noticed her chilly reception of these two. I was amazed how she could change in a matter of seconds. Anne held her head high. She was the Duchess of York and nothing Queen Henrietta Maria could do would alter that.

Henrietta Maria kept me beside her.

The conversation was conventional, as it must be on such occasions, but even so Henrietta Maria was determined that all should know how she felt towards certain members of the company. There was a great show of warmth towards me, a vague criticism of Charles, a reproach to James and disapproval of Anne.

Charles showed his amusement by a somewhat light-hearted bantering manner toward his mother; James was inclined to be sullen; while Anne assumed an air of indifference. So it was pleasant for me to bask in the Queen’s approval and to feel that she was more pleased with me than with any member of her own family.

We remained at Greenwich for four hours and at the end of that time said farewell to the Queen. We were to meet again, for she was to join us at Hampton.

She whispered to me: “There you and I will talk together…alone.” And there was an air of conspiracy about her which I found exciting and reassuring.

We returned to Hampton Court and that night supped in the great hall. I sat beside the King and the people came in to watch us, according to the custom. I knew they marvelled to see me with the King. It was the first time we had supped together for some weeks.

But I think they were pleased. Charles appeared to be, too. But of course I could not be entirely sure of that.

Oh, certainly I felt a great deal better than I had for some time.

AFTER THE ARRIVAL of the Queen Mother, my relationship with Charles had taken a new turn. It was not possible, after being together so affably during the Greenwich visit, to continue aloof. There were matters to discuss. My entry into the capital could not long be delayed. The people wanted to see me, and a King and Queen who were not on speaking terms would not please them.

Charles, as I knew, had a habit of shrugging off unpleasant situations. One could not be long in his company without realizing that. He behaved as though there had been no trouble between us. True, I had refused to receive Lady Castlemaine, but she came to court and Charles was often in her company. At least she had not been forced into my bedchamber, but he made no attempt to disguise his friendship with her. But it was obviously his wish that no more should be said about the matter.

Of course I had lost the lover of my honeymoon days, but there was no doubt that the presence of the Queen Mother in the country had wrought a change.

I would sit at my window, watching Charles strolling in the gardens. He was always accompanied by his closest friends, and several of his spaniels were usually at his heels; and among those people with him I often saw Lady Castlemaine, and she would be walking close to him.

It was a complete defiance of my wishes and brought home to me how little influence I had with him.

Henrietta Maria came to Hampton Court, and during that visit I had opportunities to be alone with her. She comforted me considerably.

In the first place, we were of the same religion, and we worshipped together in my chapel; afterward she told me how glad she was that Charles had married me.

“It was always a matter of sadness to me,” she said, “that my husband was not of the faith. My Charles was a good man. Why should good men suffer so in this wicked world while those who commit great sins so often go free? They took him out there at Whitehall and they struck off that noble head. He was the King and they did that to him!”

She wept. I put an arm around her and she embraced me, tenderly. She wept easily; her emotions were very close to the surface. She was different from me. Anger bubbled over when she considered she had been unjustly treated. I wondered how she would have dealt with Lady Castlemaine.

It was easy to confide in her.

She nodded as she listened. “It is not an unusual story, chérie. It was a problem I did not have. My Charles was a good husband. He loved me…he loved his family dearly. They say he was not a good king. There was that wicked war…and they said it need not have been. He believed in the right of kings…given by God. The Divine Right. He would have none of the Parliament…so they went to war and cut off his head. They say we do not judge him as a man but as a king. Charles, they say, was a good man but a good man does not always make a good king. The two are apart, they say. They made that excuse…and they took him out before Whitehall and they cut off his head.”

She wept bitterly.

“My son Charles is less like his father than any man I know. They will let him keep his head, I am sure. They love him as they never loved his father. What is it that makes people love? My father was much loved. He was a great king. They say the greatest king the French ever had. But he was not a good man like my Charles.”

“Do not talk of it if it distresses you,” I said.

“I like to talk to you, my dear. You are of my faith, and you and I understand each other. And now there is this between you and Charles. It does not show. That is Charles for you. I never understood my firstborn. He laughs much. He turns aside one’s wrath. He always did. Oh, what an ugly boy he was! When I first saw him after his birth ‘This is not my son!’ I cried. ‘Not the son of my handsome Charles.’ Charles my husband was a handsome man, you know. Why did we have such a little monster? And he stayed ugly. Yet somehow he managed to please them all. The nursemaids adored him. They gave him all he wanted, yet he was not what I would call a spoiled child. He loved to be fondled by the nurses. He loved all women…and they loved him, for, ma chérie, when people love they are inclined to be loved in return. He is his grandfather again. My father, the great Henri, was loved wherever he went. He was merry…laughing his way through as Charles does. Sometimes I think Charles is my father born again. Such get their way as they go along. Even great misfortune does not hit them as it does others. While we were wandering on the continent Charles was never really sad…as you might have thought he would be. He always hoped, I suppose, and if he did not have his kingdom, well, he was having a very pleasant time while he was waiting.

“My mother was a very clever woman. She was of the Medici family. You have heard of them. A very famous family. She was his second wife. He was a Huguenot at the beginning, but he became a Catholic because it was his only way to the throne. ‘Paris is worth a mass,’ he said. My son Charles is very like him.”

“And Lady Castlemaine, you think…”

“Ah, chérie, I think you must turn away. You must not look. You say, ‘Who is this woman? A mistress! What does such matter to the Queen of England?’ My mother had to accept the fact that her husband loved many women. Perhaps he did not love them. Love is rare and there were so many. But they were necessary to his comfort and the King must have his comfort…or he will grow unhappy…and then he blames those who cause his discomfort.” She lifted her shoulders. “It is not wise to be that one.”

“And Lady Castlemaine?”

“Ignore her. She is not the Queen. You are the Queen. You are the one who will bear the next King, remember that. The rest is not important…an irritation, yes. Let it be no more! It is one I never had to suffer…but I saw it with my mother. Oh…they are much of a kind…my son and his grandfather. Kind at heart…they do not cause hurt wantonly…only where these needs are strong…too strong for them. And that is how it was with my father and your husband.”

“So you think I should receive her?”

“No…not that. She is at court. Leave it at that. Put her from your mind.”

I thought a great deal about what she said. Clearly she thought the storm over Lady Castlemaine was of no great importance.

She was more deeply concerned with religion.

She said to me one day: “It was a great sadness to me that my children did not share my faith. They would not allow that in England. For an irreligious people, I never knew any so set against the Catholic faith as the English. They always hated me because of my religion.” She snapped her fingers. “I did not care for that. I know I am right and they are wrong. I did my best to bring the truth to my Charles…but he would have none of it. He had to remember that he was King of a Protestant country…but I did my best.”

I said: “I want so much to bring Charles to the faith.”

She put her hand over mine. “God speed to you, my dear,” she said, and drew closer to me. “I will tell you something: I believe he has a fancy for it. He would never be a religious man. He would use religion…if you understand what I mean. It is difficult to express my feelings when we do not fully understand each other’s tongues. Charles would suit the Catholic faith. He would treat it rather as my father did. ‘Paris is worth a mass.’ Nevertheless, he should come to it. Now James is different.”

“Oh yes, James and Charles do not resemble each other.”

“Except perhaps in one thing…this obsession with women. James was always close to me…not as close as my little Minette…that is Henrietta, my youngest…my beloved one. Now, do not whisper this to any. You see how I trust you. James is taking instruction.”

“Instruction?”

“Instruction in the Catholic faith. He is as yet undecided, I am told, but it will come. James will be one of us ere long.”

“I did not know.”

“It is such a pity that he has made a fool of himself over this marriage. How could he! The girl is a schemer. She must be.”

“I think she truly loves James.”

“Loves him! She loves the glory. Dear child, he is second in line to the throne. Of course, he will never be King. That is for the son you and Charles will have. But women like that always hope. The upstart daughter of that man Hyde to be Queen of England! That would never be allowed.” She was fierce now. She was so governed by her emotions that I was not sure how much of what she had told me I could believe.

“Oh,” she went on, “I have great hopes of James. He has seen the Light. Charles perhaps will come to it in time. My little Henrietta — there has never been any question with her. She is truly Catholic, and now she is married into France as well. Of all my children, she is the closest to me. I cannot tell you what a blessing she has been to me all these years. She hardly knew her father. She was only five years old when he was murdered. She escaped to France and has become more French than English. Charles loves her dearly.”

“Yes, he has spoken to me of her.”

“His dear Minette! She adores Charles and he her. They have always loved each other dearly. She is married now to Philippe, brother of the King of France. It should have been Louis himself. I trust she will be happy.”

“It is not often in royal marriages that happiness is found,” I said soberly.

“That is true, alas. I was fortunate. I believe you can be, my dear, if you are careful. We all have to pick our way through life. Nothing is easy. Do not ask for too much and you may not be disappointed. Harken to me. When did I ever say I was satisfied? I have made so many mistakes in my life and I greatly regret that I could only see them after I had made them. I often ask myself how much I contributed to the tragedy, how much was due to me that I am a lonely widow and my dear Charles was cruelly murdered. Perhaps I was in some way to blame. Perhaps he might have been here now…sitting beside me…and I might be Queen of England still and you, my dear, Princess of Wales.”

“You must not blame yourself,” I said.

“I wonder. When we get old, we look back…our lives become overshadowed by memories of the past. But no matter how much one weeps, tears will not wash it out.”

“I am making you sad.”

“No, chérie, you make me happy. You are the wife I would have chosen for Charles. He is fond of you, I know.”

“But fonder of Lady Castlemaine.”

“No. No. That is a sort of fever, I know. I was brought up at the court of Henri Quatre. I know how my father felt toward the myriads of women who surrounded him. They were necessary to him, but it was not deep love. It is a surrender to the irresistible passion of the moment. Understand that and you will have nothing to fear. The crown is yours. You are the King’s wife. These women can do you no harm. Stand firm and remember that…and you have won the battle. You will be the Queen when they are forgotten.”

“How wonderful it has been for me to be with you.”

“For me too, my dear. I came to see you, and I have not been disappointed.”

WE HAD LEFT HAMPTON COURT for Whitehall, that palace which for Charles must hold some very tragic memories, for it was there, before the banqueting hall, that his father had been cruelly murdered.

Whitehall was a fine building. Its gatehouse, made of small square stones, glazed and tessellated, was most impressive. It had been a royal palace ever since Cardinal Wolsey had presented it to Henry VIII, hoping to soften that despotic monarch’s heart toward him for a little longer before he met his inevitable fate. It had been changed since then and, because some of the buildings which had been added were in white stone, it was called Whitehall.

I could not be as happy there as I had been at Hampton Court, where I had gone in blissful ignorance with my romantic dreams.

I had come a long way since then.

I saw a great deal of Lady Castlemaine, who was frequently at court. I used to watch Charles walking with her or sitting beside her at the gaming tables. Everyone was aware of his passion for her.

There had been one concession, though. She did not live as close to me as she might have done. Instead she had her apartments in what was known as the Cockpit, which was a part of the palace, though not exactly of it, for coming out of the palace one had to cross the road to reach it. It was situated next to the tennis courts and bowling green; and as there was cockfighting there, it took its name from this.

Queen Henrietta Maria was now installed at Somerset House.

The Queen’s friendship had cheered me considerably, and I think Charles was delighted to see us getting on so well together.

It was necessary that I should be present on every occasion of importance, and as there were many such, for numerous entertainments were devised for the pleasure of the Queen Mother, I was constantly in his company. No one would have believed that there was a rift between us, but it was still there, and I supposed would be until I received Lady Castlemaine into my bedchamber.

Both Maria and Elvira had been ill and had absented themselves on many occasions for this reason. Maria was getting feeble; her failing eyesight inconvenienced and disturbed her more than anything else; but she was deeply upset by the manner in which I had been treated.

In spite of the language problems, Maria and Elvira had managed to pick up what was happening in the Castlemaine affair and were incensed by it. Together they talked of the dishonor and insult to their Infanta, and had been on the point of writing to my mother. I had prevented their doing this only by forbidding it. Naturally I did not want my mother to know. She had been adamant about my refusing to receive Lady Castlemaine; and that was exactly what I was doing. I could not return to Portugal, and if I were truthful, I must say I did not want to.

The talk with the Queen Mother had brought me comfort, and I had faced the fact that seeing Charles now and then was at least better than not seeing him at all.

Lady Castlemaine was always prominent at the functions, of course. She was the sort of person who had only to be at a gathering to be the most outstanding person there. She was always sumptuously dressed. She had some valuable jewelry — presents from the King, I imagined — her gowns were always more daringly cut than those of others; her magnificent hair was dressed to advantage on every occasion. She wore the most elegant feathered hats; and, hating her as I did, I had to admit she was splendid and the most handsome woman at court.

One day I noticed a young man in attendance on her. He was scarcely more than a boy. I supposed he was about fifteen…perhaps even younger than that. He was exceptionally handsome, tall and dark, with an unmistakable air of assurance. Lady Castlemaine obviously thought highly of him. She was quite coquettish with him; and he seemed to enjoy this.

Several people were with them, and they all seemed to be making much of the boy.

A few days later I saw him again. We were at Somerset House, visiting the Queen Mother, and he was still in the company of Lady Castlemaine. I thought he must be some protégé of hers.

I said to Donna Maria, who had recovered from her illness sufficiently to be with me: “Who is the young man over there?”

She peered ahead, and it was brought home to me how quickly she was losing her sight. Poor Donna Maria, she was trying to hide how blind she was becoming. I turned to one of the women and said: “I should like to speak to the young man who is over there. Do you know who he is?”

“I believe him to be Mr. James Crofts, Your Majesty,” said Lettice Ormonde, one of the women who had joined my service. “It is said that he has been long in France and has recently returned to England.”

“He seems to be very popular. He has the dignity of a man though he can be little more than a boy.”

Lettice Ormonde made her way to the group of which the young man was a part. She spoke to him. I heard Lady Castlemaine laugh and give the boy a little push. He looked slightly embarrassed and immediately walked to me with Lettice.

“Mr. James Crofts, Your Majesty,” said Lettice.

He knelt with the utmost grace. I held out my hand and he put his lips to it, and lifted his very attractive dark eyes to my face.

“Please rise,” I said. “You may sit beside me. I have seen you here on one or two occasions.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Are you with your family?”

“I am with Lord Crofts, Madam.”

“He is your father?”

“No, Your Majesty, but I live with him.”

“I see.” I thought I must be misunderstanding, for though I was improving rapidly, there were occasions when I was baffled.

“And you have recently come to England?”

“Yes, Madam, I came with the household of Queen Henrietta Maria.”

“And Lord Crofts…your guardian…he is here today?”

“Oh yes, Madam.”

“You seem to know a number of people.”

“Oh yes, Madam.”

“And particularly Lady Castlemaine.”

“The lady is a friend of mine, Your Majesty.”

“Tell me how old you are.”

“I am thirteen years old, Your Majesty.”

“You have a tutor?”

“Oh yes, Madam, Thomas Ross. He is the King’s librarian. Before that it was Stephen Goff. He died, and when I came to England, it was Thomas Ross.”

“So great attention has been given to your education.”

“Yes, Madam. I want to grow up, though. I want to be done with education.”

Thirteen, I thought! At times he seemed much older, and then suddenly he was just a boy. I felt myself to be far more unworldly than he was.

“Is Lord Crofts a friend of the King?” I asked.

“Oh yes, Madam.” He went on to tell me that Lord Crofts had been with the King at the Battle of Worcester. “Do you know, Madam,” he cried with enthusiasm, “our forces were only thirteen thousand and Cromwell had thirty to forty thousand? It was small wonder we had to retreat.”

He spoke as though he had been there.

“You would have been a loyal supporter of the King,” I said.

“Of a surety, Madam. I could not have been aught else. Alas, I was not born then. I wish I had been with the King…riding through the country…disguised…to Whiteladies…to Boscabel. I never tire of hearing of it.”

“I, too, like to hear of it. The King has told me the stories…”

I was transported to those honeymoon days when, like the simpleton I was, I had thought Charles cared for me as I did for him.

“The King has been good to me,” said the boy almost shyly.

“It delights me to hear it.”

I looked up and saw that the King himself was coming toward us.

“Well met!” he cried. He smiled from me to James Crofts. “So, sir, you have been entertaining the Queen.”

The boy flushed slightly and lowered his eyes.

“I trust you found him amusing,” said Charles to me.

“I found him interesting company,” I replied.

“Then that pleases me. Well done, James Crofts. I am leaving now,” he went on. “Come.” He took my arm. “Perhaps you would care to share our coach, James Crofts.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled.

“Then let us go,” said Charles. “I trust, sir, that Thomas Ross will give a good account of your diligence?”

I marvelled that he knew so much about the boy, and I was very pleased that he had suggested I ride with him.

My joy was short-lived, for as I was about to step into the gilded coach which was to take us to Whitehall, I saw Lady Castlemaine sitting in it.

I was taken aback, although I knew that now and then she rode in the royal coach. I hoped the King would ask her to leave, as I was to ride with him, but he did no such thing, and I could not make a scene by refusing to ride with her. I had had my fill of scenes.

Everything that happened to us was noted, and as we passed along the road, I saw surprise in the passersby to see me riding in the royal coach with the King, James Crofts and Lady Castlemaine.

I WAS SOON TO DISCOVER why the sight had aroused such interest. There was something else besides the fact that Lady Castlemaine and I were riding together.

It was Lady Suffolk who, after some pressure, enlightened me. She was my friend, I believed, and in this country I had need of friendship, so I treasured hers.

While she was preparing me to retire for the night, I said to her: “Do you know the boy, James Crofts?”

She paused for a moment with the brush in her hand and said, “Oh yes, Your Majesty.”

“I found him interesting.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“I could not quite understand…though he spoke very good English…I believe he is English…but he has been a good deal in France.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“He is called Crofts and seems to be related to Lord Crofts, but I gathered Lord Crofts is not his father.”

“No, Madam.”

“The King seems to know him.”

“Oh yes, Madam.”

I turned and looked at Lady Suffolk intently. I saw that puzzled look in her face which, knowing her of old, indicated to me that she might be asking herself whether she should tell me something.

I said: “What do you know about James Crofts, Lady Suffolk?”

“Well, Madam, he is well known at court.”

“So I gathered. I learned that Lord Crofts was at the Battle of Worcester.”

“He has always been a loyal supporter of the monarchy and spent years in exile with the King.”

“And the boy is not his son. Who is his father, then?”

Lady Suffolk had turned away. I caught her hand. “You know,” I said. “Please tell me.”

She said after a pause: “Your Majesty will know in time, and before long, I’ll swear. The King is his father.”

“The King?”

“Yes. His mother was a certain Lucy Walter. She is dead now. James was put into the care of Lord Crofts. The King has always been interested in his welfare.”

I felt the room spinning round me. I clutched the table. I feared I was going to faint again.

Why was it that I was always in the dark when others knew? Those people who had seen me riding in the coach knew; Lady Castlemaine knew; the whole court knew. I was the only one in ignorance.

I had ridden in the royal coach with the King, his mistress and his bastard. It seemed significant in some way.

I was shocked and bewildered.

I COULD NOT SLEEP. I lay on my bed turning from side to side, imagining Charles with Lady Castlemaine. She had been giving birth to a son when I arrived. It was the reason why Charles had given so much time to me. Because she was unavailable.

It was most shameful and humiliating.

Could I endure it? I must. There was no going back. I remembered his voice with a hint of sarcasm: “You should discover first whether your mother would have you.” No, there was no turning back. I should have to accept my fate. And the question was in my mind: If I could go back to Portugal and never see him again, should I want to?

The truth was that I wanted to stay. Unhappy, jealous as I was, I would rather be near him than apart. It was hard to set aside my pride and admit this, but it was true.

I had an opportunity of talking to Queen Henrietta Maria about it. She loved to talk to me and give her advice; and, moreover, she was by now very fond of me.

I told her that I had discovered that James Crofts was Charles’s son.

“It’s true,” she said. “Mon Dieu, and who could doubt it! He has a look of the King…and the manners at times. Young James cannot forget that he is the son of a king. I like the boy. I advised Charles as to his education and he is being well cared for.”

“And his mother?”

“A slut without doubt…though not ill-born. Her father had a castle in Wales…Roch Castle, I think it was. She was just Charles’s age. They must have been about eighteen when they met. She was a beauty…though without much wit. But who looks for wit at eighteen? And Charles had enough for the two of them. She was no blushing virgin. Her favors had been somewhat freely dispensed. James once told me that Algernon Sidney had given fifty gold pieces for her, and was very aggrieved because no sooner had he paid the money than he was called away to his regiment and his brother stepped in and took the prize. She had had many lovers before and since Charles. The family’s castle had been destroyed by the Roundheads and Lucy had come by stages to the continent. It was at the Hague where they met.”

“And he fell in love with her?”

“Well, perhaps. It was something more than a passing fancy. Jemmy — James Crofts — was born in ’49…that terrible year when my husband was murdered.”

“And did Charles acknowledge James Crofts as his son then?”

“Charles is by nature…accommodating. Is that the right word? But it seems certain Jemmy is his. I suppose one can never be absolutely certain…even in the most respectable circles.” She gave a light laugh. “But there seems little doubt. Jemmy is every inch a Stuart.”

“And what happened to his mother? Where is she now?”

“Where sinners go when they leave this earth. She stayed at the Hague while Charles went to Scotland, and when he came back she no longer attracted him. The boy was put with Lord Crofts, and Lucy slipped back into the life which suited her best. She was given a pension and returned to London. But her connection with Charles was known and Cromwell’s men soon discovered her whereabouts. She was arrested in some lodgings near Somerset House and spent a time in the Tower, so I heard. But they must have realized she would not have had the wit to spy, so they sent her back to the continent. She died in Paris about two years before the restoration. My son James told me that he has always been uneasy about James Crofts. There was once a rumor that Charles married Lucy Walter. Quite absurd, of course, but it alarmed James. Well, well, until you produce the heir to the throne, James is there…next in line…and if Jemmy were Charles’s legitimate son, as he would be if Charles had married Lucy Walter…well, you see what I mean. But do not fret. There was no marriage. Charles would not be such a fool…and Lucy is long since dead. James Crofts is a delightful boy…like his father in many ways. Let us hope that he does not take after his mother.”

“I see that I have a great deal to learn.”

“Ma chérie, we all have much to learn. When I think of the mistakes I have made in my life…poof!” She made a gesture as though to blow them away. “I could spend my time saying, ‘What if I had not done this, that?’ Oh, it is no good. Sacré bleu, one must not regret too much…concern yourself with what is…now. Make up your mind. Is this what I want? you say. Forget all that has gone before. It is now that matters.”

“You are so good to me, so understanding.”

“Ah, life is so short. Let us live as best we can. It is the life hereafter that is important.”

I said: “I was so unprepared. Since I have come here I have had many shocks.”

“You mean with Charles?”

“Yes, with Charles.”

“I know him well. He is…is he not…my son? There is much that I would alter if I could. He is a man governed by the love of women…or perhaps I must say…the need of women. Some are like that. My father was. Charles inherits this…through me.” She lifted her shoulders and grimaced. “They will have their women, no matter what. For the rest, they are wise and witty, and at heart kindly…a little lazy…hating trouble. Charles is fond of you. He likes you very much…but he will never be faithful to you. It is not in him to be faithful…not to any woman. My father was like him. I saw how my mother lived. So I understand. Accept this weakness in him and he will be grateful to you, he will be kind. You will give him the son which is so necessary…and that son will be King. But do not try to interfere with those women of his. Remember, they are not important. I tell you before. You are the Queen, and the wife of the King is the mother of the King-to-be. Accept this and all is well. You say you had romantic dreams…but, chérie, life is not made of dreams. Yet it can be good. I have learned some wisdom in spite of all my follies. Would to God I had learned earlier. Bah…but it is always easy when solving the problems of others. It is only one’s own that are so difficult.”

I took her hand and kissed it.

“My dear, dear child,” she said. “It makes me happy that you are here. It is not the King’s amours that should concern us. It is his immortal soul. You will persuade him to the true faith in time. Do not whisper this, but I believe James is already there.”

“Then,” I said, “I must accept these women. I must show friendship to them…to Lady Castlemaine?”

“Her time will pass, chérie. And there will be another…perhaps an easier one. She is an odious creature…bold, brazen…but, let us face the truth…very handsome. She is outrageous and so amuses the King — and he likes to be amused. But never fear. She will be replaced.”

I smiled. “What a blessing it is to be able to talk to you! You do me so much good. You are so wise.”

She laughed. “I can tell you this: when I look back over my life, I can see that, if there were a palm for the most foolish of queens, that palm would be mine.”

“No…no!”

“Yes…yes! It is so. But never mind it now. It is over and finished. You are young and you are going to bring Charles’s soul to God.”

“I will do my best.”

“And you will succeed.”

It was indeed comforting to talk to her. I had gained some advantage. Whatever more I had to learn of Charles’s amours, I could no longer be taken by surprise.