Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

BETROTHAL

It was a rather bleak February day. I would not be fifteen until the following November so was still very young. Mamie, who was by nature curious and particularly so about matters which concerned me, was the first to tell me about our visitor.

“My Lord Kensington has arrived,” she said, “and I have heard that he comes to France on a very special mission.”

I replied that when foreign noblemen came to Court it was usually on some special mission.

“I believe he is a great friend of the Duke of Buckingham, and as the Duke of Buckingham is the first favorite of the King of England and known to be a crony of the Prince of Wales, does that suggest anything to you?”

“That his visit might be more than just for personal pleasure.”

“The Prince of Wales is of an age to marry.”

“I believe so and it was for that purpose that he went courting in Spain. Perhaps Lord Kensington calls on us now as the Prince of Wales and Duke of Buckingham did when they were on their way to Spain.”

“The Spanish arrangement no longer exists. The Prince and Duke were not pleased with their reception in Spain.”

“You mean he is not going to marry the Infanta?”

“I do mean that. It is said that he looks elsewhere for a bride.”

I felt myself go cold suddenly, as though—as Mamie would say—someone were walking over my grave.

“Who?” I heard myself whisper.

Mamie took me by the shoulder and replied, smiling: “Who else?”

From then on my thoughts were in a turmoil. I quickly realized that Mamie’s surmise was not without foundation.

I was torn by contrasting emotions. There was pleasure…excitement…but always apprehension. He had decided against the Princess of Spain. What if he should do the same in the case of the Princess of France.

I knew there was no doubt of what was afoot when my mother sent for me.

All the way to her apartments I tried to tell myself that she wanted to see me about a masque which Anne was devising and in which I was to play a prominent part. As we had a visiting lord from England it might be that she wished us to perform something special.

But, of course, it was nothing to do with the masque.

I curtsied to my mother, who beckoned me to come closer. She laid her hands on my shoulders and said: “You have grown into a very pretty young woman, Henriette. I am glad. That will please your husband.”

I did not answer and she went on: “I have good news for you. It may well be that you will be the bride of the Prince of Wales. You understand what that means? You will, in due course, be Queen of England.”

I tried to look greatly impressed but I was only extremely nervous.

“I always wanted crowns for you children. Elizabeth has hers, and now it is your turn, my daughter…although of course it is not yet yours. I want you to do all you can to please Lord Kensington who will carry back a report to his master. You are to have a miniature painted and he will take it back with him to England. I am sure we shall get a lovely picture. Stand up straight, child. It is a pity you do not grow a few more inches.” She looked at me critically. I had always been a little self-conscious about my height for I was an inch or so shorter than most people of my age. Mamie used to say: “Little and good. You are dainty and feminine. Who wants to be a strapping hoyden?” But I could see that my mother did not agree with that and was regretting that my lack of height might be a handicap in the matrimonial stakes.

I tried to stand as tall as I could.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now when you meet Lord Kensington make sure you hold yourself erect. Talk to him confidently. Do not mention that you know about the trip to Spain. It is better to say nothing of that. But it is a stroke of luck for us that it was not successful and it leaves the Prince of Wales free for us.”

I was dismissed and went immediately to Mamie to report the conversation.

“It seems very certain that there will be an offer of marriage,” she said.

“If I go to England you are coming with me.”

“Of course I shall come with you. I’ll be the chief maid of honor. You couldn’t go without me.”

“I wouldn’t go at all…unless you came too.”

“There!” said Mamie, speaking more lightly than she felt; knowing the world far better than I she could see difficulties looming ahead, but I did not understand all this until later. “It will be interesting to be in England,” she said quickly, “if we go that is…to be among strange people. We’ll find lots to amuse us, I don’t doubt.”

She discovered that Lord Kensington was staying with the Duc and Duchesse de Chevreuse. I liked the Duchesse very much; she was very beautiful and vivacious and had a reputation for being what was called “a little naughty.”

“I’ll swear my Lord Kensington is enjoying his stay with the Duc and Duchesse,” said Mamie. “With the Duchesse in any case…so rumor has it.”

She made a point of discovering all she could about Lord Kensington, so that when I met him I should not be at a disadvantage. He was Henry Rich, the son of Penelope Rich who was the daughter of the Countess of Leicester—so his stepgrandfather was the famous Leicester who had become notorious as the favorite of Queen Elizabeth. Lord Kensington was an extraordinarily handsome man—tall, with very gracious manners, and I could see why he was a temptation to the Duchesse’s not very strict morals.

My mother presented me with a certain pride, and he took my hand and, bowing very deferentially, kissed it.

I must forgive him, he said, if he appeared dumbfounded. I might have retorted that he did not appear in the least so. But he was overwhelmed by my charms. He had heard of my beauty but no accounts could do justice to the reality.

Such fulsome flattery should, of course, have irritated me but it did not. I delighted in it and I conversed with him for fifteen minutes before my mother broke up the meeting. She was smiling benignly and I was not quite sure whether this meant that she was pleased with my performance or whether it was merely the facial expression politeness demanded. If it were not the former, I had no doubt that I should hear in due course.

At the masque I had an opportunity of speaking to the Duchesse de Chevreuse who was present with her husband and Lord Kensington. I danced with the Queen and we were very loudly applauded, but I was most eager to have a word with the Duchesse about Lord Kensington.

I said to her: “Lord Kensington seems to be a very happy guest.”

The Duchesse laughed. It seemed to me that she was constantly laughing; she had reason to be content; she was very pretty and had something beyond prettiness. I noticed how her eyes sparkled as they rested on certain gentlemen, and I was aware of the warm responses she had from them.

“Oh, Madame Henriette, I assure you he is a most contented guest.”

“Does he talk to you much of the English Court?”

“Constantly. He is devoted to Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham.”

“So he talks of them?”

“Most glowingly. He says that the Prince of Wales is the most cultivated and handsome gentleman he ever set eyes on.”

“Does he mention that journey to Spain?”

“Oh, that. A fiasco…nothing more. My Lord Kensington says he is grateful for it. If it had succeeded that would have been an unhappy day for the Prince.”

“Is that what he truly says?”

“Yes…now his envoys have come to France. I can tell you this: the Prince is very handsome.”

“How can you know? Did you see him when he came here as Tom Smith or was it John Brown?”

“No. But I have seen a miniature of the Prince, which Lord Kensington keeps on a ribbon about his neck. It is hidden by his coat.”

“But you have seen it!”

She laughed and put her lips to my ear. “Many times,” she whispered. “I say to my lord: ‘Let me see the picture.’ I declare he grows quite jealous. He demands to know whether I think the Prince more handsome than he is.”

“And do you?”

“Strictly for your ears…yes. Though of course the Prince is young but my Lord Kensington is a man well practiced in the ways of love.” She evidently thought she had betrayed too much for she put her hand over her lips and giggled.

I was not very interested in her affairs, but I kept thinking about the miniature which hung round Lord Kensington’s neck. I longed to look on the face of Prince Charles.

I told Mamie what the Duchesse had said and she herself asked Lord Kensington to show her the miniature. This he did readily and Mamie said that it was indeed a handsome face depicted there. She told me that he withdrew the ribbon from where it was hidden and displayed the miniature to several of the ladies who had gathered round.

“It seems,” I said coldly, “that everyone has seen this picture except me.”

“I think,” replied Mamie, “it would be considered unseemly if you showed a great interest in the picture at this stage.”

“Yet how I long to see it. I think I should be the one to see it first.”

“As soon as there has been agreement between the English ambassadors and your mother, you can ask to see it. But I think you can hardly show a great interest before that.”

I grew angry to think that all my ladies knew what he looked like and that I did not, so I decided to act. When I next saw the Duchesse de Chevreuse, I asked her if she could procure the portrait at the right moment…and bring it to me.

The Duchesse, who loved intrigue, swore she would do it. “The very next time he takes it off,” she said, “which he does…” she smiled at me, “on occasions….”

Within a day or so the portrait was in my hands.

My fingers trembled as I opened it for it was in a gold locket. And there he was! My heart leaped as I looked at it. He was handsome, yes, but there was a fineness—a refinement—about his features…something almost ethereal, which I found enchanting.

I could not stop looking at it, and I held it in my hands for the best part of an hour until I knew every part of that handsome face, and the more I looked the happier I felt.

When I gave the picture back to the Duchesse I thanked her for her help. She said that Lord Kensington had missed the locket and she had told him where it was.

“It did not seem to disturb him in the least. In fact I think he was very happy about the matter. He assured me that the Prince of Wales is even more handsome than his portrait.”

Matters were progressing very fast and Lord Kensington asked my mother if she would permit him to have a private interview with me.

After some hesitation she allowed this and I spent a pleasant half hour in the company of the man who, everyone was saying, was not only the English envoy but the lover of Madame de Chevreuse.

He was very courteous to me and implied again that he thought me very pretty. He said he would go back to England and tell his Prince what a charming Princess I was, and that any man who had the good fortune to marry me would be very lucky.

This was the sort of talk which delighted me.

“Doubtless you have some growing to do yet,” he said, and that was the only allusion to my somewhat short stature.

Then he told me about the Court of England. “Less elegant, I fear, than yours here in Paris, but we manage to enjoy life.”

I replied that I could well imagine he did that wherever he went.

He told me that he very much hoped to complete his mission successfully. “My Prince is a very impatient man where some matters are concerned,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

I liked him very much and during those days I lived in a whirl of excitement.

It was Mamie who told me that everything was not going as smoothly as they had at first expected.

“If you married Prince Charles there would have to be a dispensation from the Pope,” she said, “because of the difference in religion. Catholic France and Protestant England.”

“If ever I became Queen of England I should try to save my subjects from damnation,” I replied firmly.

“Yes,” said Mamie lightly, “but what if they should determine to save you?”

“How could they? I am a Catholic and therefore saved.”

She looked at me with her head on one side as she did sometimes but she did not pursue the matter; but when I had interviews with my mother which I did constantly at this time, she impressed on me the need to remember always that I was a Catholic and that it was my duty to bring people to the true Faith.

But Charles, the handsome young man in the miniature, what of him?

“It is the English,” my mother explained. “They insist on their Kings being Protestant. It is very misguided of them and your first task will be to bring him to the true Faith…if there should be a marriage.”

I thought about it and burned with zeal. I imagined Charles in time thanking me. “But for your coming I should have died in ignorance. I should have spent eternity burning in hell.”

It was a pretty picture.

Then there was Mère Magdalaine who was constantly advising me. If it should be God’s will that I should go to England I must not give myself up to frivolous pleasures. I must remember that I had a duty there.

There came a time when it seemed that the marriage might not take place. There were too many difficulties, but the main one was the difference in religion. The English were very reluctant to accept a Catholic Queen. They had deplored the idea of a Spanish marriage—for they saw the Spaniards as their greatest enemies; but because an alliance with that country through marriage had been mooted and had come to nothing they were so pleased and almost ready to accept the French proposition as the lesser of two evils. But, of course, the religious aspect still persisted, and it was growing to such proportions that the Duke of Buckingham—who was in charge of negotiations and eager to see them successful—came to the conclusion that Lord Kensington, suave and charming court gallant though he might be, was not capable of handling complicated politics. So he sent out Lord Carlisle.

It was some time afterward that I discovered why the marriage almost did not take place.

The matter of Frederick and the Palatinate which had put an end to the Spanish negotiations cropped up again. King James wanted the Palatinate restored to his son-in-law, but the French had no wish to support Germany, which was staunchly Protestant.

There was another reason for delay. The French wanted King James to promise to protect Catholics in England and without his promise they refused to conclude a marriage treaty so it certainly seemed at one point that marriage negotiations were about to be broken off and I should have to forget the handsome face in the miniature, which had haunted my dreams since I had seen it.

I suppose my brother and my mother thought that if this marriage did not come about it might be difficult for me to find another opportunity as good as this one and decided that it was better to be a little lenient if by being so they could get me to England where I might be instrumental in doing good work for the Catholic cause.

A great deal of all this I learned later but the fact was that my brother and Lord Carlisle talked together privately and my brother hinted that the English King need not take the religious controversy too seriously. If he would just give his word that the Catholics might practice their religion privately all might be well.

Both sides hesitated. But the English, no less than the French, were eager for the marriage and finally they decided to make concessions to each other.

I was to have full freedom to worship in the true Faith; I was to be given control of the religious instruction of any children I should have up to the age of thirteen; I was to have my own chapel wherever I was, together with my priests and almoners and chaplains.

The next step was to get the dispensation from Rome.

It came at length and with it was a letter for me written by the Holy Father himself. I felt weighed down with responsibility when I read it.

It was simply because I was going to be Queen of a heretic country that he was giving the dispensation. I should have power—perhaps even over my husband—and it would be my duty to devote myself to the salvation of him and his poor sad subjects. I had the opportunity of being like Queen Esther—the Jewish virgin—who was chosen to be his Queen by the Persian King Ahasuerus and who brought about the deliverance of her people, or like Bertha who married Ethelbert of Kent—in that very country to which I was going—and converted him and spread Christianity among the Anglo Saxons. The eyes of the Catholic world would be turned on me.

My fingers shook as I penned my reply to the Holy Father. I assured him that I was aware of the great task which lay ahead of me and that I would endeavor with all my heart to carry out the work assigned to me by Heaven, and to raise my children in the Catholic Faith.

After I had written that letter I knelt and prayed that God would give me the strength to do what I had to do.

So with the Pope’s dispensation, there was no longer need for delay. Preparations for the proxy wedding began. It was decided that May would be the best month. It was then March.

News came from England that King James was ill. No one thought he was near to death so therefore it was a shock when on that cold March day news came to Paris that he was dead and his son, my bridegroom-to-be, was King Charles the First of England.

It was a beautiful May morning when I was escorted to the episcopal residence where I was dressed for my wedding. It would only be a proxy wedding and it seemed very strange to be married to a man whom I had never seen, although such an arrangement was commonplace in royal circles. At least I had seen a miniature of him. I wondered if he were thinking the same of me. But perhaps he would have other matters than his wedding with which to occupy himself as he had, only two months before, become a king.

I stood very still while they dressed me. I could not help feeling happy to wear such clothes. Clothes always had an effect on me and I believe I could not have been completely unhappy while I was wearing a beautiful gown. Of course I was very young then and perhaps more thoughtless and frivolous than many of my age. Now I stood patiently while they put on my gown. It was made of cloth of gold and silver and the material was spattered with golden fleurs-de-lis and here and there diamonds twinkled on it. My mother had said I must have the most elaborate of dresses to match the Duke of Buckingham, who would most surely be elegantly attired. At that time it had been thought that he would be my proxy bridegroom but he had been unable to leave England because his presence was necessary there on account of the death of the late King.

Strangely enough the choice of proxy had fallen on the Duc de Chevreuse because he was a distant connection of King Charles. I wondered fleetingly if he would be reminded of his own wedding and whether he regretted having married his fascinating wife, who seemed to create scandal wherever she was.

Mamie hovered about me while they placed the little crown on my head. It was very becoming.

“Crowns suit you,” she said.

I smiled happily. I should have to go away but as she would come with me my qualms were considerably reduced.

The morning slipped quickly away and I was glad when we set out for Notre Dame. It was a very slow procession that passed to the west door of Notre Dame for we were to be married outside the cathedral as La Reine Margot and my father had been because marriage in which one of the participants was a Protestant could not take place inside.

The Swiss guards and trumpeters were followed by a great assembly of knights, heralds and marshals. Then I came in my beautiful glittering dress with Louis on one side of me and my brother Gaston on the other—followed by my mother and Queen Anne.

As we neared the platform, which had been placed at the west door, and I stepped under the canopy, my brother Louis stood aside and the Duc de Chevreuse came to stand beside me. He looked very handsome in black velvet with slits in his jacket to show a lining of cloth of gold. Across his chest was a sash covered in diamonds, and as diamonds also sparkled on his coat he glittered almost as much as I did.

So I was married—albeit by proxy—to the King of England.

After the ceremony I went into the cathedral to celebrate Mass with my family, but the Duc de Chevreuse, as proxy for King Charles, did not join us and went off with Lord Kensington, as Charles would have done had he been present. This incident called attention to the differences in my religion and that of my bridegroom and I felt a little sad while I burned with zeal to begin his conversion.

After Mass I could return to the episcopal residence and rest awhile before the banquet began. I spent the time with Mamie, who chattered excitedly about the ceremony and the splendor of my diamonds and those of the Duc de Chevreuse.

It was a merry banquet which took place that evening. I sat at the head of the table on the right-hand side of my brother, and my mother was on the other side of me. I noticed that they paid a new deference to me. I was no longer little Madame Henriette; I had become a Queen.

Afterward I danced with the Duc de Chevreuse as my partner and I tried to see, instead of his face, the one in the miniature; then I danced with Louis and after that Anne and I did one of our special ballets. I felt excited dancing with Anne because I could remind myself that we were now of equal rank.

It was not an unhappy day by any means though an exhausting one, and I was really rather glad to get out of my splendid gown and lie down to sleep.

“This is my wedding night,” I said to Mamie.

She plumped up the pillows and said: “It will not be long before you sleep with your bridegroom beside you.”

I was thoughtful and she suddenly put her arms about me and held me tightly.

“He has a kind and gentle face,” she said reassuringly.

And that was my wedding night.

Lord Kensington was made Earl of Holland as a reward for having brought about the marriage and two weeks after the ceremony the Duke of Buckingham came to France. He created quite a stir. He was so debonair and so handsome; and he brought with him a most magnificent wardrobe. “All the clothes,” said Mamie, “that he had intended to wear as proxy bridegroom.”

When he was first presented to me he was dressed in white satin covered with diamonds. Mamie heard that the suit alone—considering the number of precious stones on it—was valued at twenty thousand pounds. And that was just one outfit. He loved diamonds and everything he possessed was decorated with them; they were in his hat and even the feather was decorated with them; and they were on the hilt of his sword and on his spurs.

It was as though he wanted everyone to know how rich and important he was. In fact, it has been said that he was the most important man in England. King James had doted on him—but then King James was apt to dote on handsome young men; and now he had become the close friend and adviser to Charles. He had arrived ostensibly to escort me to England but Mamie believed he might have other motives as well. He wanted to make an alliance with my country against Spain.

However, there he was in all his glory and glitter, behaving as though he was an equal of my brother, my mother and the young Queen. There were great festivities to honor him, for we were still celebrating the wedding and it had been decided that after a week of entertainments for the Duke, we should begin the journey to England.

I was not to be torn completely from my family just at first, for my mother with Louis, Anne and Gaston were to accompany me as far as the coast. There I should leave them and cross the Channel in the company of the Duke of Buckingham, and Kensington—now Earl of Holland. The Duc de Chevreuse as my proxy bridegroom was to stay with me until I was passed over to my real one; and as the Duc came, so did his flighty Duchesse. I was quite reconciled to leaving my country—after all none of my family had been very affectionate toward me—as long as I was accompanied by Mamie as my chief lady-in-waiting.

It was a merry party and as we passed people came hurrying out of their houses to cheer us. There was intrigue afoot—romantic intrigue. This would always occur where the Duchesse de Chevreuse happened to be. What could be more exciting for her than to have a lover actually in the party.

Mamie said that she and the Earl of Holland were quite blatant and she wondered the Duc de Chevreuse was not aware of the flagrant immorality of his wife.

It was not long before the behavior of another couple in our entourage began to demand our notice. Mamie mentioned it to me.

We had ridden far and she was helping me to bed one night when she said: “Have you noticed the Duke of Buckingham and the Queen?”

“What of them?” I asked.

“It would seem that the Duke is romantically inclined toward the Queen.”

“Anne!”

“Anne indeed. I must say it does not surprise me. Louis is a most negligent husband.”

“The Duke just admires her.”

“And she likes to be admired.”

“You’re imagining this. I believe you do imagine things.”

“Perhaps…a little. But I have a sharp pair of eyes.”

We talked of other things, but the next day when we continued our journey I did notice that Buckingham contrived to ride beside the Queen and engage her in conversation. There was a great deal of laughter, and Anne’s eyes sparkled with delight while my Lord Buckingham appeared to be very pleased with himself.

So although I lacked a husband in the flesh, what with the accomplished affair of the Duchesse and Holland, which was carried on quite blatantly in the presence of the cuckolded husband, and the aspirations of the Duke of Buckingham toward the Queen, I was beginning to learn a great deal about existing morals.

We had not gone very far—Compiègne as a matter of fact—when Louis began to have one of his shivering fits. Our mother was greatly concerned and insisted that we stop while physicians were called. This threw a slight gloom over the proceedings and several of the festivities which had been arranged for us were canceled. I was not very disappointed about this, much as I loved dancing and singing and all that went to make up these entertainments, for it was rather refreshing to have a few quiet evenings in Mamie’s company.

My mother came to my room in the morning looking rather grave.

“The King is suffering from fever. I don’t think it would be wise for him to continue with his journey,” she said.

I could not believe she was worried about Louis for himself. They did not like each other. That had been obvious when the Maréchal d’Ancre had died. At the same time Louis’s death or long illness would plunge the country into disorder. There was no child of the King’s marriage, and I did not know how my mother felt about my brother Gaston who would be the next in line to the throne. However, for whatever reason, there was no doubt that she was deeply concerned about my brother’s health.

“I shall rely on what the physicians have to say,” she went on. “If they advise him to rest here, the question will be whether to wait with him or pursue our journey, but I do think it is necessary for you to get to England as soon as possible.”

I bowed my head. I wondered why she was saying this to me. It was not as though my opinion would count. But I had forgotten. I was a Queen now.

“So…” went on my mother, “if the physicians think it is wise for him to remain in Compiègne, the rest of the party will continue the journey.”

“Yes, Madame,” I said.

“Perhaps a good night’s sleep will cure him.”

It did not. And during the next day it was decided that the journey should continue without Louis.

When we came to Amiens, my mother was very tired and admitted that she found the journey exhausting. It was not only the arduous traveling conditions which she had to endure, but there were the festivities which had been arranged in the villages and towns through which we passed. She looked very pale and when we arrived at the château where we were to spend the night, she fainted.

There was no doubt that she was ill. We called the doctors and the verdict was the same with her as it had been with my brother. Rest was needed.

There followed a conference. The Duke of Buckingham seemed to welcome a little delay, which I was sure had something to do with his pursuit of the Queen, and he said there was no need for great haste. He would send messengers to the King to explain why our progress was interrupted. He was of the opinion that we should not proceed without the Queen Mother, for we had already shed the King on the way and it would seem as though the journey were ill-fated if we had to go on without another such important member of the party.

The Earl of Holland warmly agreed with this. Their reasons were identical, but the Duke of Buckingham’s were more urgent than those of the Earl of Holland for the latter’s mistress would accompany the party to England so he would not be deprived of her company for some time. It was different with Buckingham; the Queen would leave us when we sailed, and he still had his courting to do, it seemed.

“At least,” commented Mamie, “we hope so. I would not like to think that the royal House of France might have a little cuckoo in the nest…even though the little bird had the blood of such a noble Duke.”

“For shame!” I cried.

And she laughed at me. Her attitude had changed since “my marriage.” She referred to me often as “Your Majesty” and “the Queen,” and she behaved as though I had suddenly become experienced of the world, which was far from the truth of course.

However we stayed at Amiens and, without the strict supervision of the Queen Mother, morals became more lax than usual.

Ladies and gentlemen paired off and not always with their legal partners. We were lodged in a large mansion surrounding which were beautiful grounds and in which there was a walled garden. It was rather overgrown but there were paths through the trees, and it soon became the favorite haunt of lovers.

One of my mother’s elderly women brought this to her notice and as a result orders were given that this garden should be kept locked at night. This could be quite easily managed for there was a gate leading to it. The key of the garden was left with the Captain of the Guard, who was ordered to make sure it was locked at dusk and not opened until the morning.

I did not know what happened exactly, but it appeared that one night the Queen with some of her ladies ordered the Captain of the Guard to give her the key of the garden. He did not know what to do. The Queen Mother had said he was to keep it in his possession, but here was the Queen ordering it to be given up. Anne cajoled—she could be very persuasive—she threatened and she could be ominous. Poor man, he did what most men would have done in the circumstances; he gave up the key.

Several ladies with their gallants were in the garden that night and among them was the mischievous Duchesse de Chevreuse with the Earl of Holland. In fact it was she who had put the idea of getting the key into Anne’s head. The Duchesse was a woman who lived dangerously, and like so many of her kind, not content with going the way she wanted to, she was anxious that others should follow her example. I believed she had urged the Queen to encourage Buckingham while her lover Holland did all he could to help the Duke to success with the Queen.

I was not present on this occasion, of course. Why should I want to walk in the darkening gardens? I was in my bed, so only heard of the incident from my usual source; but I could be sure Mamie would get the entire story.

“It was like this,” she said. “The ladies and gentlemen were in the garden walking through the paths to sequestered spots where they settled down to rest for a while. The Queen soon discovered that the Duke of Buckingham was her companion. Imagine them…wandering in the darkness. He would put his arm through hers and tell her how beautiful she was and mention that it was a great shame that the King should be so neglectful and seem unaware of her dazzling charms.”

“Anne would like to hear that,” I commented.

“Most young people would—particularly those who have an indifferent husband. The Queen is very young and my Lord Buckingham…well, he is not so young. He is thirty-three if he is a day and experienced in all ways of making love, so I have heard. Therefore one would have thought he would have been more subtle on this occasion. He had misjudged his…I was going to say victim…but perhaps it is lèse majesté to talk thus of the Queen.”

“Oh, get on with the story,” I cried impatiently.

“Well, suddenly a shrill scream rent the air. Imagine it! A moment of silence and then all the attendants running to the spot where the Queen stood…wide-eyed, hands across her breast as though to protect herself…and standing close by looking as near sheepish as such an arrogant Duke could look…my Lord Buckingham.”

“What did it mean?” I asked.

“It could mean only one thing. Our Duke made a mistake. He must have attempted to force his attentions on the Queen. He did not realize that all she wanted was words…gestures…certainly not actions. I will tell Your Majesty something: This will be the end of that little affair. Perhaps it is as well that it was only a little one. Queens, Your Majesty, must be beyond reproach.”

The next day everyone was talking about the scream in the garden. I was glad no one mentioned it to my mother. I wondered what would have happened to the Captain of the Guard who had relinquished the key if she had known.

My mother’s health improved a little but her doctors thought that the journey to Calais would be too tiring for her and bring on a recurrence of her malady so it was decided that she should come no farther. Gaston was the only member of my family who would go with me until I left French soil.

Our waiting in Amiens had therefore been unnecessary for my mother rose from her sick bed and accompanied the party through the town and then took her leave of us.

She embraced me with what seemed like real affection on parting. She told me that her thoughts would always be with me and she would follow my progress with the utmost attention. She entreated me to be a good wife and she trusted I would bear many children. I must always remember that I was royal—the daughter of a King and Queen of France. I must never forget the country of my birth, and there were no matters as important as my Faith and my royalty. I was going to a heretic land. God had selected me as he had St. Paul and St. Peter. I was to carry on with my duty and never cease until my husband and the whole of England were saved for the Truth.

It seemed a daunting task, but I promised that I would do what I could and would always remember my Faith, my loyalty and my country.

As she embraced me she thrust a letter into my hands.

That night I read the letter. It was long and it stressed her love for me. She reminded me that I had lost my earthly father and only had God for my father now. I must never forget what I owed Him. He had given me to a great King and had sent me to England where He would require my services, and this would mean that, through what I did there, I could attain eternal salvation.

“Remember that you are a daughter of the Church by baptism and that it is indeed the first and highest rank which you have or ever will have, since it is this which will give you your entrance into Heaven…. Be, after the example of St. Louis from whom you are descended, firm and zealous for religion, which you have been taught and for which your royal and holy ancestor exposed his life. Never listen to or suffer to be said in your presence aught in contradiction to your belief in God….”

I read and reread that letter. I knew what was expected of me. I was going to a strange country. I was going to a husband whom I must strive to bring to the true Faith. I had a great responsibility.

As I read the letter I swore to God and to myself that I would do everything in my power to bring the true Faith to England.

The next night news was brought to us that there was plague at Calais and it would be dangerous for us to go there, so we must divert our course to Boulogne.

Before we could set out next morning, the Duke of Buckingham came to me in a state of great urgency.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I have this morning received communications from King Charles. It will be necessary for me to return to Amiens that I may present these papers to the Queen Mother.”

I was very well aware that he had received no papers, and I did in fact confirm this later when I discovered there had been no messenger from England. But Anne had stayed behind in Amiens with my mother and for that reason he wanted to go back to see her before he left for England.

“You must admit,” said Mamie, “that our Duke is no laggard when it comes to love.”

I was angry at the delay. It seemed that our journey was ill-fated. First there was my brother’s ill health, then my mother’s, and after that, plague at Calais, and now Buckingham was darting off to suit his whims.

It was too much to be endured.

I abused Buckingham in no quiet voice and it was some time before I would listen to Mamie’s pleas to calm myself.

Then I began to wonder whether I was in any great hurry to leave my native land, and the enormity of what was happening to me was brought home to me. I felt there was a vague menace in the air. I was going into a strange land among strangers.

So when Buckingham did return I was not so very eager to resume our journey, for every day…every hour that passed carried me farther away from the life I had known.

At length we came to Boulogne. The ship was waiting for us and as I stepped aboard there was a discharge of ordnance to mark the significance of the occasion. Mamie was close beside me. She smiled at me reassuringly.

I was on deck watching the coastline of my country slowly disappear from view and I felt afraid and very vulnerable on that seething gray sea. The ship lurched and Mamie persuaded me to go below.

The uncomfortable journey seemed to go on interminably, but I think I was too emotionally disturbed to notice the discomforts as some of the others did.

In due course we came close to land. I went on deck and had my first glimpse of the white cliffs.

My new life had begun.