Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

SHE—MAJESTY—GENERALISSIMA

I hated the sea. When I was sailing it always seemed to put on its most malevolent aspect, and we were only a little way off the English coast when the storms arose. These journeys always seemed endless, but at least the stormy weather took my mind off my parting with Charles. I was in a state of anxiety most of the time, not so much from fear of drowning as that the ships carrying my plate and valuables would be lost.

My fears were not without foundation, for when Helvoetsluys was in sight one of the ships went down in the rough sea. I was grieved to see that it was the one which contained the equipment to fit up a chapel for me in the apartments which would be given to me during my stay.

That seemed a bad omen.

I had very few friends with me. Among them were Lord Arundel and Lord Goring—the father of George who had betrayed the Army Plot but who had returned to us so contrite that Charles had forgiven him, saying that he would be the more eager to serve us because of his lapse from fidelity and would want to make up for the trouble he had caused us. I had my confessor Father Philip and Father Cyprien Gamache; and among the few ladies Susan, the Countess of Denbigh and the Duchess of Richmond—and a few of my French attendants.

How wonderful it was to be on dry land. I was immensely relieved when, with Mary beside me, I stepped ashore at Hounslerdike. The eager young bridegroom was waiting for us there and the welcoming cannon thundered out as he escorted us to the coaches which would take us to the Hague.

There was no doubt of the respect in which the Prince of Orange held us. I had not been mistaken in his delight at the marriage; I did not want ceremony though. I wanted to make my transactions quickly, to build up an army and take it back to Charles.

I was met by Charles’s sister, Elizabeth of Bohemia, who was very beautiful although she took little pains with her appearance and now seemed somewhat ravaged by the tragedies which had befallen her. There could not have been two people more unlike. She made me aware of how she despised that attention I gave to my appearance and the clothes I wore (something which was born in me and which I had never cultivated), my smallness, my femininity; perhaps she knew that my folly had not helped her brother’s cause. She had never forgotten that she was an English Princess and was angry because of what was happening in England. She could not have been more deeply concerned about that than I was, and the fact that she was inclined to blame me was something I found hard to bear at that time.

Rupert was kind and respectful; he exuded the desire for adventure and was determined to obey the wishes of the King and look after me. Charles Louis was still sulking and did not appear.

I thought that if only Charles had been with me and all was well at home, what a happy occasion this could have been.

March had set in, cold and blustery, and during the journeyings and triumphal entry into the capital I was growing more and more impatient. But the Prince of Orange was determined to honor us. How I could have laughed with Charles at the gauche behavior of these Dutch. They lacked the manners of the English Court and I remembered that I had found those far less gracious than the ones I had grown accustomed to in my girlhood. The Burgomasters kept their hats on in my presence which at home would have been considered an insult, and at first I thought this might have been intended because some of those simply clad, unsmiling men bore a certain resemblance to our own Roundheads. But it proved to be just ignorance. I thought when the mistake was explained to me I would break into hysterical laughter for one of them kissed the hand of my dwarf, Geoffrey Hudson, thinking he was one of my sons.

How indignant my sons would have been at that!

I used to cry at night longing for Charles. The only consolation I could find was in writing to him; and as I did so my eyes would brim over with tears which dropped onto the paper making great blots.

“The marks of love,” I told him they were. They would prove to him how I wept for him.

It was a great day when I received a letter from him. It contained little news of the progress of affairs, but it assured me—his dear heart—that his days were dark without me and that he was entirely mine.

The weeks flew past. So much time was spent in ceremonies and I realized that I should have come quietly for there were few opportunities of conducting the business which I longed to complete.

By the time we left the Hague for Rotterdam, May had come. I chafed against the delay. Charles was writing regularly and his letters constantly expressed his devotion, but they were no substitute for his presence. We had worked out a little code before I left and it gave me a delicious sense of intimacy as I opened his letters and read. I lived for those letters and the day when I would return to him.

In the midst of this, one of the daughters of the Prince of Orange died and the ceremonies were brought to an abrupt end. We returned to the Hague and the Prince of Orange joined his army. He insisted that we inspect his troops, which was all for our honor, of course, but I could get no answer to the real question: How much help could I wring from them? Or perhaps, could I get any help at all?

At length it was intimated to me that while the Prince of Orange was ready to mediate between the King and the Parliament it would be unwise to supply arms for Charles to fight his own subjects. The people of Holland were sternly Protestant and not unlike our own Roundheads. He could not go against the wishes of his people.

Then I must try to barter with the jewelry and plate which I had brought with me. There followed for me a period which was something like a dream. I became a kind of saleswoman, a peddler displaying my wares and trying to bargain with people the like of whom I had never known before.

It was a disheartening business. Most of the people who came to see me were Jewish and had a keen eye for business. They admired the jewels. Who could fail to do so? They were the priceless heirlooms of England.

They were beautiful, one merchant told me and his eyes glistened as he touched them reverently. “But, my lady, these jewels are not yours to sell. They are the property of the crown.”

I was angry. “My husband gave them to me so I cannot see how they are not mine,” I retorted.

“If we bought them they could be demanded back as goods sold when the seller had no right to sell.”

“That’s nonsense,” I cried.

“It is how it would be,” insisted the merchant. “And who would want to buy a crown like this? Who would wear it but a monarch?”

“You could break it up. The rubies are priceless.”

“Break up such a beautiful thing, my lady! You are asking me to break my heart.”

So they argued and the real reason was that if they bought those jewels they could be demanded back and a court of law would doubtless say they had no right to them. It was understandable from their viewpoint.

They were interested, though, in some of the smaller items. I knew I should not get a very high price for them but supposed anything was better than nothing.

My journey was not being a success and I was beginning to wonder what Charles was doing without me there to guide him. I know that sounds conceited and nonsensical too, considering the mistakes I had made, but much as I loved Charles I could not be blind to his weaknesses, and most of all the easy way in which he gave in when pressed. He needed me there to make him stand firm against his enemies.

It was a great blow to learn that Hull had declared against him and that when he had sent out little James to occupy the city in his name, the gates had been shut against him. Hull! That city where was stored the ammunition intended for the Scots!

“It is disaster all the time,” I said to the Countess of Denbigh. “We are the most unlucky people on Earth.”

A messenger came—not from Charles this time, but from someone on behalf of my mother. She was living in abject poverty in a small house in Cologne. Her attendants had all deserted her because for a long time she had been unable to pay their wages, and she had been forced to break up the furniture to burn in the grate because she suffered so much from the cold. She had little longer to live and she wanted to see me before she died.

I prepared to leave at once but was told that the visit would be frowned on by Holland for there was a strong republican feeling here and they did not like Queens. While I was hesitating another message came. My mother was dead.

Desolation hit me then. My mother—the wife of the great Henri IV, the Regent who had once ruled France, to die as a pauper! How could my brother have allowed that?

What was happening to everyone and everything around us? I could not believe that the world had grown into such a cruel place. There was another death which saddened me even more than that of my mother. It was years since I had parted from Mamie and during that time Charles had become of such importance in my life that my affection for him was greater than anything I could ever feel for another person. But I had loved Mamie dearly and always would. She had been the dearest companion of my childhood. And now she was dead.

I was stunned when I heard the news following so closely on the death of my mother.

Mamie was too young to die. Her life must have been very different after she had left me. Marriage…children…had she been happy? She had given me the impression that she had been but how could I be sure? And she had had little children. Dear Mamie, how she must have loved them and they her! She had become governess to Mademoiselle de Montpensier, who must have been a trying charge, and yet she was at Mamie’s bedside when she died and Mamie had commended her children to her for her last thoughts had been for them. She had remembered me too.

I wept bitterly. I should have been there. Dear Mamie, I thought. I hoped she had been as happy in her marriage as I had…but that was impossible for there was no man on Earth like Charles. Mamie had been so pleased that I had found happiness in marriage.

“Dearest Mamie,” I murmured. “Rest in peace and may God bless you.”

In the midst of my mourning for my mother and my dearest friend, there was one piece of good news. Messengers arrived from George Digby, Earl of Bristol, and Henry Jermyn. They wanted to join me but first wished to know if they would be welcome. I sent off at once to say I should be delighted to receive them.

“There is so much I could do with the help of trusted friends,” I wrote.

So they joined me and in spite of everything my spirits were lifted a little. I often thought how happy I could have been if Charles were with me and this was a state visit. With the Prince of Orange and his father away from the Court on military maneuvers there were not the same entertainments. Mary seemed to pine for her husband, which pleased me because I longed for my children to enjoy the happiness I had found in marriage—or should have done if our miserable enemies had allowed me to. Alas, there were not many men in the world like Charles.

Henry Jermyn did a great deal to cheer me. Digby did what he could but he was too fond of the sound of his own voice and was constantly declaiming about the wrongs of the Parliament and such matters which did not make him very popular. Henry Jermyn was different. He was merry and charming and somehow made me feel that everything was not as hopeless as it had seemed before his arrival.

The Princess of Orange gave birth to a daughter and I was asked to hold the child at the font and as a compliment to the new member of the family the child was to be given the name of Mary. But I held firmly to my convictions which could not allow me to be present at a Protestant church ceremony, so Mary took my place.

There were some—perhaps Henry Jermyn among them but he was too discreet to mention the matter—who thought that I should not have risked offending the Prince and Princess of Orange by refusing to take part in the ceremony, but nothing on Earth would induce me to go against my principles.

With the coming of Henry and Digby luck changed a little. I discovered that, though I could not sell the royal jewels, I could pawn them, for there were some merchants who were ready to advance large sums of money on the understanding that if the jewels were not redeemed by the payment of this money with interest they could legitimately claim them.

I was never one to think far ahead. I needed the money at that time and I needed it desperately and here was a chance of getting it. Ammunition, an army, ships…they were far more important to me than jewels.

Moreover the Prince of Orange who had publicly said he could not aid me, was less rigid in private. He was very proud of his connection with the royal family of England and did not want to see it become of less importance. Unobtrusively ships were beginning to slip across the North Sea and were lying at anchor in the river Humber. I was really becoming rather pleased with my mission after all. It had taken longer than I had anticipated and I had not done it in quite the manner which I had believed it would be done, but what did it matter as long as the mission was accomplished.

With what joy I wrote to Charles to tell him of my success, but whatever news we had for each other was always overshadowed by our declarations of love. I asked tenderly after his health and told him he must not worry. I was working with him. He was going to be surprised at what I was able to do. We should soon have those miserable Roundheads skulking away, hiding themselves in the country. I was longing to be in England, I told him. “Holland does not suit me. The air must be different from that of our land which you love because it is yours, and I for the same reason. I have pains in my eyes and my sight seems sometimes not so good. I think perhaps I have shed too many tears and they need the balm of seeing you since that is the only pleasure which remains in this world, for without you I would not wish to remain in it one hour.”

Rupert came to me one day at the end of August. He was wildly excited.

He said: “The King has set up his standard at Nottingham. I shall go and fight beside him. This is war.”

So it had come. I had known it would for some time, but to hear it was actually so was a great shock to me. I had to get back. I could not remain away any longer.

I began my preparations to return.

It was sad saying goodbye to Mary. The poor child wept bitterly.

“But you understand, my love,” I reminded her, “that I must get back to your father. I am leaving you with your kind new family and I believe you are already in love with your Prince and he certainly is with you. In happier days you will come to our Court and we shall come to yours. I shall enjoy wandering through those lovely gardens of the Hague Palace. The ornamental walls and the statues and fountains are very fine and the lovely stately hall is almost as large as our own at Westminster. You will soon be with us, dearest child, so don’t fret. Pray for us. Your father is the best man in the world and we are all so lucky to belong to him. Never forget that.”

Poor child, she was so young! It was too much to expect that she could hide her grief.

I hated the sea. It has never been kind to me. Sometimes I thought there was some malevolent force which was determined to make me as uncomfortable as possible whenever I set out on it. I had my dear old dog Mitte with me. She was always such a comfort and I would not be parted from her; I dreaded the day when death would take her from me for she was very old. I loved all my dogs and had always been surrounded by them, but Charles had given me Mitte and she had been with me so long. So I talked to her and she nestled against me and I whispered to her that we should soon be home.

The Princess Royal was a fine old English ship and we set sail from Scheveningen with eleven ships all full of stores and the ammunition which I had been able to buy. I must say I was feeling rather proud of myself and I prayed fervently that I should reach England without mishap. As the great Admiral van Tromp accompanied us, I was confident that we had a good chance of doing this.

I might have known that there would be no easy voyage for me. It was not in my destiny to have that good fortune. No sooner were we a few miles from the coast than the wind arose. What discomfort! There we were in our horrid little beds, tied down to prevent our being thrown out by the violent pitching and tossing.

That journey was a nightmare but oddly enough I seemed able to endure it better than my companions. Perhaps I had suffered so often at sea that I was prepared for it; perhaps I was so fearful of the future and of what would happen to Charles and his kingdom that a storm at sea seemed of less consequence to me. Moreover I was not so ill as some of the others and found that if I could escape from my bed and stagger onto deck, the fresh air revived me. Everyone thought this was highly dangerous but I insisted. My ladies who felt they must accompany me wailed out their wretchedness.

“We are all going to be drowned,” they cried.

“No,” I answered. “Comfort yourselves. Queens of England are never drowned.”

I was so elated at the thought of going home and by the transactions I had been able to make that I could not be downhearted. They all marveled at my high spirits and I couldn’t help laughing to see my attendants attempting to observe the etiquette of the Court and serve me in an appropriate manner though the mischievous winds tossed them about and some of them were obliged to approach me on all fours.

We had several priests on board. They lost a little of their dignity for they thought they could not possibly survive, and I could not altogether restrain my mirth to see their fear. They were usually so tutorial and I had resented being told even by priests that I was sinful and that I must make this or that reparation. So I could not help but be amused to see them in terror of sudden death when they might not have time to make their last confessions and so die without the forgiveness of their sins.

Some of them shouted to the heavens, detailing what sins they had committed, so it could not be anything but funny to hear these men who had set themselves up as our pastors admitting to such sins as fornication and dishonesty, revealing that they—who had set themselves on such high pedestals the better to instruct us in our duty—had the same acquisitive and prurient tastes as so many.

After we had tossed on that wicked sea for nine days we sighted land. Alas, it proved to be Scheveningen from where we had started out.

As we came into port my daughter, with the Prince of Orange and Prince William, was there to greet us for news had reached the Hague that we were being driven back to Scheveningen.

I stumbled on deck, not realizing what a pitiful spectacle I must have presented—pale-faced, tousle-haired, my garments, which I had been unable to change for nine days, stained and malodorous.

The gallant Prince drove his carriage into the sea so that I could be lifted into it and not have to face the eyes of the curious crowd which had assembled on the shore.

Our terrifying trip was over and had merely brought us back to the place where we had started, minus two ships; but most people thought we were lucky to have lost only two.

The first thing I did when I was bathed and changed was sit down and write to Charles.

“God be praised that He has spared me to serve you. I confess I never expected to see you again. My life is not a thing I fear to lose except for your sake. Adieu, dear heart.”

I was determined to stay only long enough to recover from the ordeal so that we could be refreshed and ready to start again.

We landed at Burlington Bay in Bridlington. It was bitterly cold for the snow lay on the ground, but I did not care. I had landed safely and I had a squadron of ships containing the treasures we needed. I was exultant. Soon I should be with Charles.

It was a quiet spot but I noticed a little thatched cottage close to the shore and this appeared to be the nearest habitation and the only one from which I could watch the unloading of the stores so I said that was where we would stay.

I sent some of the men to arrange this and very shortly I was in the cottage eating food which had been prepared for me. Now that I had arrived I realized how exhausted I was. During the first disastrous stage of our voyage I had hardly slept at all and now that I was becoming easier in my mind there was nothing I needed so much as sleep. And I think this applied even more to my attendants, who had suffered far greater from the ravages of the sea than I had.

We could not begin to unload until I heard from Lord Newcastle, who was in charge of the area and who, I knew, was a staunch supporter of the King. I needed his help in the operation, for we should have to get the arms and ammunition to the King’s forces as soon as possible. So the wisest thing to do was to rest.

I went into the little room which had been made ready for me and I stood for a moment looking out of the tiny window at the fog which was settling on the sea and my eyes strayed to the snowy-roofed houses of the town. Where was Charles? I wondered. I should soon know. I could imagine his delight when he heard that I had landed safely in the country.

Then I lay down on the bed and was soon fast asleep.

I was awakened by the sound of a shot and as I sat up in bed I heard voices and running footsteps as the door of my room was flung open. Someone came and stood close to the bed.

“Henry!” I cried for in the dim light I could recognize Henry Jermyn.

“You must get up at once,” he told me. “We have to get out of this cottage. Four ships belonging to the Parliament have come into the bay. They know you are in the cottage and are opening fire.”

He seized a robe and wrapped it round me.

“Hurry!” he commanded, forgetting in his agitation that he was speaking to the Queen.

I allowed myself to be wrapped up and hustled into the open, where my ladies and other attendants were impatiently waiting.

“We must get away from the shore,” said Henry; and even as he spoke the cannon balls were firing on the village and one hit the roof of the cottage I had just vacated. “Hurry,” went on Henry. “We must take cover.”

Then suddenly I remembered that Mitte was still sleeping on my bed. I stopped short and cried: “Mitte. She is back there in the cottage.”

“We cannot think of a dog now, Your Majesty.”

“You may not,” I retorted, “but I do.” And breaking away from them I ran back into the cottage.

Although a cannon ball had hit the roof it had not destroyed the place and Mitte was curled up and sleeping soundly through all the commotion. She was a dear old creature and quite infirm nowadays but I always remembered her as the mischievous puppy she had been when Charles gave her to me. I snatched her up and ran out of the house to where my party was anxiously waiting for me.

Henry would have taken the dog from me but I would not let her go.

The shots were coming faster and one came so near that when it buried itself in the ground the soil came up and was spattered over our clothes and faces. I was hurried through the village to the ditch which surrounded it and Henry made us all lie in this so that the shots could whistle over our heads and where, apart from a direct hit, we could be safe.

I crouched there with Mitte in my arms and my thoughts were for the ammunition I had brought to England. It would be unendurable if after all my endeavors it were to fall into the hands of the enemy.

After about two hours spent most uncomfortably in the dirty ditch, the firing ceased. Some of the men went out to see what had happened and came back with the news that van Tromp had sent word to the Parliamentarians that if they did not cease their bombardment—neutral though his country was—he would open fire on them.

I was delighted of course but a little annoyed with van Tromp for waiting so long before making his declaration.

“He took his time,” I commented drily.

How relieved I was to see our attackers had retired! They must have realized that they could not have made much of a show against van Tromp and his mighty squadrons.

Henry Jermyn convinced me that I could no longer stay in the cottage, even though the damage from two cannon balls had been slight.

“Boynton Hall is but three miles from here,” he explained. “It is the only mansion in these parts. Three miles is not such a great distance and you could come to the coast and from there each day watch the unloading of stores.”

“Boynton Hall? To whom does it belong?”

Henry grimaced. I always told him that his mischievous humor would be his undoing—but I liked it all the same.

“I am delighted to tell Your Majesty that it is the home of Sir Walter Strickland,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows and then we were both laughing. Strickland had been the envoy to the Hague at the time I was trying to raise money and arms, and as he was a firm supporter of the Parliament he had done everything possible to frustrate me.

And it was to his estates that Henry was suggesting we go!

“He is far from home serving his masters,” said Henry slyly. “As Your Majesty well knows, when sovereigns travel through the realm it is the delight of all loyal subjects to place their houses at the royal disposal. It is an honor none would want to forgo. You are not going to deny Lady Strickland that pleasure?”

I ceased to hesitate. I must be near the coast and I could not stay in the cottage. I must maintain my royalty as best I could if only to remind myself that I was still the Queen.

“Very well,” I said. “Let it be Boynton Hall.”

What would have happened if Sir Walter had been there I cannot imagine, but the ladies of the household were thrown into a flutter of excitement on my arrival at their gates.

Henry went on ahead and explained to them that I had come and would stay for a few days. He added that he knew that they were aware of the honor done to Boynton Hall.

Lady Strickland was presented to me and she fell to her knees. Custom dies hard and I was sure she and the ladies of the household were more pleased to receive the Queen than they would have been to have some miserable old Roundhead come to stay with them; and after the first hesitation Lady Strickland set her servants working in the kitchens and had the best apartment prepared for me. She even brought out the beautiful family silver plate which they used only for their important guests.

The next day men came from the Earl of Newcastle to unload the ships and work got under way. There were no more threats and the operation was carried out successfully. It was widely known that I was in the country and I could imagine Charles’s impatience. I knew that he would come to me as soon as was humanly possible.

In the meantime, to my fury, I received a letter from General Fairfax, one of the leaders of the Parliamentary cause.

“Madam,” he wrote.

“The Parliament has commanded me to serve the King and Your Majesty in securing the peace of the northern parts of the country. My highest ambition and humblest suit is that Your Majesty would be pleased to admit me and the forces with me to guard Your Majesty; wherein I and this army shall all of us more willingly sacrifice our lives than suffer danger to invade the trust imposed. I am, Madam,

“Your most humble servant, Fairfax.”

When I read that letter I was overcome with rage. Did the man think I was a fool? And what would he do when he came to guard me? Imprison me most likely. “No, Master Fairfax,” I said, “I am not as easily caught as that. If you came near me I should immediately have you arrested so that you could no longer harm the King.”

I was longing to get away with the armaments and to march to join the King. What a moment that would be when we met!

I had by this time brought the stores ashore but the difficulty of transporting them worried me a great deal. Ten days passed and still I could not find wagons in which to carry all that I had brought. I should have to get help and there was no more news from Lord Newcastle. I thought then that if I marched to York with the army I had managed to accumulate I could take some of the stuff with me and leave the rest at Bridlington with men to guard it until we could get it removed.

There was a letter from Charles.

“Dear Heart, Although ever since last Sunday I had happy hopes of thy landing, yet I had not certain news before yesterday. I hope thou expects not welcome in words, but when I shall be wanting in any other way according to my wit and power of expressing my love for thee, then let all honest men have doubt and eschew me as monster. And yet when I shall have done my part I shall come short of what thou deservest of me. I am making all haste to send my nephew Rupert to clear the passage between this and York…. My first and chiefest care shall be to secure thee and hasten our meeting. So longing to hear from thee I continue eternally thine….”

I wept over his letter and then prepared to make my way to York. I had been able to acquire two hundred and fifty baggage wagons and these I loaded with ammunition, arms and valuables. I had now several thousand horse and foot, for many of the King’s loyal subjects had joined me.

Just as I was about to leave Henry said to me: “What excellent silver they have at Boynton Hall. It would be a pity if that were sold for the benefit of our enemies.”

“What are you suggesting?” I cried. “That we take the silver?”

“Borrow it. Promise payment when the King is safe on his throne. It is rather amusing. Sir Walter Strickland’s silver…going to help the King.”

The more I thought of it the more I liked it. I hated Sir Walter. He had made things very difficult for me in Holland, but his wife was a pleasant creature and I am sure that but for her husband she would have been entirely with us.

I sent for her and said: “You live very comfortably here, my lady. Do you think it right that while the King and I must take what lodgings we can get it is fitting for Parliamentarians to live in such style?”

The poor woman blustered and did not know what to say, so I went on quickly: “I am, therefore, taking your plate. It is very pleasant and tolerably valuable. The King needs all the support he can get and I am sure you will think it goes in a worthy cause…whatever your villain of a husband should believe. I was never one to blame a wife for her husband’s misdeeds…so we are taking your plate. We are not stealing it…just holding it until all is well. When the trouble is over we will redeem the plate and it shall be given back to you. In the meantime I will give you a pledge…as is always done in such transactions. You shall have this magnificent portrait of me as a pledge for your plate and a memento of my visit to Boynton Hall.”

So we left taking the plate with us and leaving the portrait with Lady Boynton.

As we traveled westward we met a crowd in the midst of which was a very disconsolate man seated on his horse with manacles on his wrists and his legs tied under the horse’s belly. The crowd was shouting abuse at him and I stopped and asked who he was.

“It is Captain Batten, the commander of the squadron which sailed into the bay, and he is the man who did his best to murder you,” I was told.

“I am glad to say that he did not meet with success,” I answered.

“Thank God for that, Your Majesty,” said Henry who was riding beside me.

“Thank you too and all my loyal friends,” I replied with emotion. “What will happen to this Captain Batten?”

“He was captured by our royalist friends who are incensed that he did his best to kill you. They’ll hang him…or worse. It will be the end for him.”

“But I have already pardoned him. He was, I suppose, doing what he thought to be his duty. Moreover he did not kill me. Therefore he shall not die by my wish.”

The crowds who had gathered to see me watched with interest and I told them that I bore no ill will toward Captain Batten. “I have pardoned him,” I said. “He shall not die for he did not succeed in killing me.”

When Captain Batten heard that he had been pardoned at my command he came to see me. The guards did not want to let him come near me, but I fancied I knew a little more of human nature than they did.

I said: “He is a brave man. He will not hate me since I have just saved his life.”

And I was right. He threw himself at my feet. He told me that he would never forget my merciful act and his great desire now was to serve me.

I smiled at him. He had a good, honest handsome face.

“Very well,” I said. “Let us see. You are in command of a squadron. Perhaps you can persuade others to follow your example and turn faithful subjects to the King.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” he said, and added: “With all my heart.”

He kept his word and I doubt whether the King or I had a more loyal supporter after that than Captain Batten.

When I arrived at York people flocked to my banner and it was heartwarming to see them. I was very happy when William Cavendish, the Earl of Newcastle, arrived. I had always been fond of him. He was loyal, gallant and handsome and so eager to fight for our cause that he was inclined to be a little reckless. Charles was always wary of such impetuosity but I was inclined to favor it. William gave me confidence and I knew he had his Whitecoats all over the North. It was true that they were not trained soldiers but they were his tenantry and they regarded him as their lord for he was a generous one and I heard that they liked their uniforms made of undyed wool—hence the name of Whitecoats.

Then there was James Graham, Earl of Montrose, the romantic Scotsman who had suddenly become our friend. He also was very handsome and, although not tall, of a marvelously stately bearing which distinguished him in a crowd. I took a great liking to him in spite of the fact that he had at one time helped the cause of the Covenanters and had commanded their troops. He had been anti-royalist then and defeated those in Scotland who had risen in favor of Charles at both Stonehaven and the Bridge of Dee. But when the Covenanters had refused to make him their supreme commander, he had abandoned them and declared his support for the royalist cause.

I spent a great deal of time discussing the future plan of action with him and William. Henry Jermyn was always present at our conferences and I enjoyed them so much because I found all three men charming as individuals—I had always been rather fond of handsome men—and they were all vital and ambitious and hated indecision, which I fear was a fault in my beloved Charles.

Montrose wanted to go to Scotland and raise an army for the King and said that it should be done before the Parliamentarians got a grip on the country. William had engaged in several skirmishes with Parliamentary forces; as for Henry he was always anxious for action. I felt that if it were left to us we should soon have some decisive movement.

Charles, however, was against what we were doing. He wrote reprovingly, reminding me that only three years ago Montrose had been an enemy. Charles did not trust what he called turncoats. I might have pointed out the case of Captain Batten and reminded him that when an enemy turned, through gratitude he very often became a loyal servant. It was no use trying to change Charles’s opinions. Although he could never make up his mind quickly, when he did he could not be moved from his standpoint. He would not trust Montrose and sadly I had to explain to the Earl that the King declined his offer.

This made a certain coolness between myself and Charles—nothing much of course; but I could not help being a trifle piqued after all I had suffered and done, and I suppose he was anxious—as he had so often been—about my impetuosity.

Nothing could weaken our love and we were both very contrite when that little storm had blown over and our letters were more loving than ever. We longed to be together and chafed at the delay. From York I made a few little skirmishes and not without some success. I enjoyed riding at the head of my tropps, often with Montrose, Cavendish or Henry beside me.

The Parliamentarians pretended to be skeptical of my endeavors but I believed they were beginning to regard me with some concern. I called myself She—Majesty—Generalissima. I rather liked the term and what it implied and encouraged my friends to use it.

My spirits lifted when I heard people singing one of the songs written by a royalist. My attendants also hummed it as they went about their work.

It was the words I liked:

God save the King, the Queen, the Prince also

With all loyal subjects both high and both low

The Roundheads can pray for themselves, ye know

Which nobody can deny.

Plague take Pym and all his peers

Huzza for Prince Rupert and his Cavaliers

When they come here those hounds will have fears

Which nobody can deny.

I was astounded one day when news came from France of my brother’s death. He had always been a weakling, but I had not realized that he was near death. Coming so soon after my mother’s end it shocked me a great deal. I know I had not seen him for many years and that he had been far from helpful to me in my need; but death is so final. And he was after all my brother and King of France.

Anne had become Regent as little Louis XIV was too young to rule and I did not think she would be a very good friend to me. She was very much guided by Mazarin, who had been a close associate of Richelieu; so France had once more passed into the hands of a Regent and a wily churchman.

But I had too many troubles of my own to ponder much on the fate of my native land. I should have to wait for events to show me what would happen there and in the meantime those of England were such as to demand all my attention.

My mood changed from day to day. If I was exhilarated over one success, I could be sure that my joy would not last.

Catholic priests were being persecuted in Puritan strongholds and my heart bled for them. Then the Parliament decided to try me for high treason. They did not even give me the title of Queen. I remembered then how Charles had pointed out to me the folly of refusing to be crowned. But did it matter to me? “Let them find me guilty if they want to,” I cried. And they did. I did not care. I was working for my King; and there were days when I was certain of victory just as on others I was sunk deep in despair.

In one of these moods I wrote to Charles: “Being patient is killing me, and were it not for love of you, I would with the greatest truth, rather put myself in a convent than live in this way.”

I think the enemy were a little afraid of me which showed they viewed with misgiving the success I had had. They attempted to drive a wedge between me and Charles and they could not do this in any other way than by slandering me in my private life, so they attacked my moral character. But Charles knew and I knew that the love between us was too strong to be hurt by these calumnies. He did not believe them for one instant when they said I was more fond of William Cavendish than a virtuous wife had a right to be. They had long accused me of being Henry Jermyn’s mistress. I could shrug all that aside. I hoped Charles could.

Then they began to sneer at my title. They changed it to “Mary, by the help of Holland, Generalissima.” They always referred to me as Queen Mary—as many people did. I think they found the name Henriette too foreign although it was people in England who had changed it to Henrietta.

But I was certainly in high spirits when at last we reached Stratford-on-Avon and were there entertained by a sprightly and witty lady in a pleasant house called New Place. This lady was the granddaughter of the playwright William Shakespeare and she had many an amusing anecdote to relate of her illustrious grandfather.

But the great excitement was meeting Rupert there. He had grown considerably since I had last seen him and was handsome, vital and seeming to enjoy the conflict. I shall never forget how disappointed he had been when we met at Dover and he learned that the war had not started. He talked excitedly and gave me the impression that victory was in sight. Best of all, Charles was on the way and very close now. We were to ride to Oxford to meet him.

In the Vale of Kineton the meeting took place. I cannot describe my feelings as I saw him coming toward me. Charles, my beloved husband, and beside him my two sons, Charles and James. I was too moved to speak as we came close and so was he. I saw the tremor of his lips and the tears in his eyes.

Then he dismounted and came to my horse and taking my hand kissed it with fervor. He lifted his eyes to mine and all his love for me was there for me to see—as I knew mine was for him.

The joy of our reunion was almost like a pain, so intense was it and I wondered how we had lived without each other all this time. It was only because I was working for him, waiting for this reunion that I had been able to endure the separation.

Now here we were…together.

I greeted my sons. How they had grown! Charles still looked swarthy and incredibly wise. James was handsome but somehow very much in Charles’s shadow.

I was so happy and I thought then that it was only because of the wretchedness I had endured that I could feel this great joy now.

We rode side by side back to Oxford and all the time we were talking not of war, not of the parlous state of the country, but of how we had missed each other every hour of the day and night, how we had lived only for this reunion.

I sometimes tell myself that those few months I spent in Oxford were the happiest of my life. It was so wonderful to be with Charles and to marvel at the intelligence of my sons. Young Charles at thirteen seemed quite a man of affairs. How quickly he grasped the situation and although he assumed a somewhat lazy attitude I knew he missed nothing. I noticed that his greatest interest was aroused by pretty girls. I mentioned this to the King, who laughed and said that Charles was but a boy.

The King told me that he had arranged our meeting in the Vale of Kineton because it was close to Edgehill, where he had fought a victorious battle against the Parliamentarian forces. The enemy might say it was scarcely a victory but the Parliamentarian forces’ losses were far greater than those of the royalists and that was the real test. But whatever the enemy said, the advantage was with Charles, who had been able to take Banbury and march on to Oxford without resistance. That old traitor Essex had gone to Warwick. It was particularly depressing when members of the nobility ranged themselves against us. What was Essex doing on the side of the enemy? One could forgive men like Pym more easily.

My lodgings were at Merton College, in which was a beautiful window overlooking the Great Quadrangle. I had many of my attendants in a suite close to the Fellows’ Gardens and they were very happy there. I remember still the old mulberry tree which had been planted by James I. I often think I should like to see that once again.

The weather was warm and sunny for most of the time—or so it seems looking back. I loved to sit in my rooms with my dear little dogs all about me. Mitte had survived her adventures and was more demanding than ever and although some of my attendants said she was ugly and bad tempered I pretended not to hear—I only remembered the days when she had been an adorable puppy.

Many people came to see me. I was still the Generalissima. Nobody could sneer at my efforts now. Hadn’t I been to Holland and brought back that which we needed more than anything? I had ridden at the head of my troops. The Parliament had thought it worthwhile to impeach me. I was a force to be reckoned with.

Some said that the King listened too much to me. They even likened me to the ivy which clings to the oak and in time destroys the tree. That was something I was to remember in the years to come.

But now the days were made for pleasure. We all believed that we were going to succeed. We were going to march back to London, take up our residence in Whitehall and fight our enemies. Charles and I used to walk arm in arm through the cloisters and sometimes our sons were with us. We talked and talked of what we would do, and everything seemed set fair.

There were of course minor irritations and some which upset me a good deal. I could not bear to hear of the break-up of my chapel, which it had given me such pleasure to erect. The mob of savages had forced their way in and destroyed the place. Rubens’s picture over the High Altar had been spoiled; and the seat in which I had been wont to sit had been treated with special violence to indicate hatred of me. But what shocked me most was the thought of those ruffians breaking off the heads of Christ and St. Francis from their statues and playing ball with them.

There was other sad news too. Edmund Waller, who used to write such beautiful verses for me in the old happy days, plotted in London to destroy the Parliamentarians and bring back the King. It was discovered and Waller was now in prison. Worse still, one of my faithful servants, Master Tomkins, who was concerned in the plot, had been hanged outside his own front door in Holborn.

But as Charles said, we must not brood on these matters. We must look ahead to victory and when that was achieved we would remember our friends.

“If they have not died in the meantime,” I added.

“We will not forget the families of those who have served us,” answered Charles.

Oxford became a very elegant place during our stay there. People came from all over the country to be at Court and almost every house in the town had to take in lodgers to accommodate all who wished to be there. The finest ladies and gentlemen were grateful for the smallest rooms in tiny houses. The citizens of Oxford were delighted for we were bringing prosperity to the town. The colleges were loyal and determined to help us. The belltower of Magdalen was loaded with ammunition to fire down should we be attacked. We strengthened the walls, and even the professors came out of their colleges to help dig ditches.

Rupert was there with his brother Prince Maurice and at night they used to go out to see if they could find any of the enemy to fight. The Puritans hated Rupert. They called him Robert the Devil. He was a great asset to our cause for he could not have been more enthusiastic and determined on success if he had been fighting for his own country.

Autumn was on the way and that beautiful summer was nearly over. It was to live in my memory as the last truly happy time I was to know, and perhaps the intensity of my joy in it was the knowledge that it was fleeting. I knew I had to grasp every delightful moment and savor it…and this I did.

In September Henry Jermyn was created Baron Jermyn of St. Edmundsbury, an honor well deserved. A less happy event was the impudence of the Earl of Holland, who had worked with the Parliament and had the impertinence to present himself to the King and expect to be treated with the old friendliness which we had shown him in the days before his defection.

This time Charles was inclined to forgive and forget, but I never could.

Henry advised me to try to accept Holland because of his importance and he pointed out to me that if such men decided they had wavered toward the wrong side and were eager to make it clear that they were back on course, that was all to the good. It should mean that the general feeling was that we were the winning side.

I could never bow to expediency in that way and I was annoyed with Charles for what I called being duped by such men. Our roles had reversed.

Holland was trying to persuade Charles to make some sort of patched-up peace with the Parliament and I was urging exactly the opposite. I wanted Charles not only to call himself King but to be King. And if he were truly so he could not be dictated to by men like Holland, who were ready to give their services to the other side if they thought it was to their advantage to do so.

I was right as it was later proved because, although Holland was with the King at the siege of Gloucester, he soon came to the conclusion that he could do better with the Parliament and left Oxford. He was one of those men who liked to hold themselves aloof from complete involvement and watch which way the conflict was going before leaping to the winning side.

I was aware of this but could not make Charles see it and, though Henry agreed with me, even he thought we could make use of Holland.

When the Earl left Oxford and took his seat in the Parliament I guessed that meant he felt the Roundheads had the greater chance of success. I had no patience with such men and, however much good they could bring when they appeared to be on my side, I did not care.

I wanted only faithful friends around me. I was deeply hurt by traitors and still felt the wounds inflicted by Lucy Hay’s treachery.

But as the autumn mists rose over the town I began to experience certain familiar symptoms.

I was once more pregnant.

It was the worst possible time for this to happen. I was tired and ill; the country was in a state of civil war; we had healthy children and did not need another child. However, it had happened and I should love this child when it was born—if I did not die in producing it, for to tell the truth, I felt near death, and as the months passed I became more and more indisposed. I was suffering badly from rheumatism, which was no doubt due to all my travels and sometimes sleeping in damp beds; and to add to my discomfort was this unwanted pregnancy!

Charles was deeply disturbed. He wanted me to go to Exeter, where I could stay in Bedford House and he would entreat Dr. Mayerne to come to me. I wondered whether the rather perverse Sir Theodore would do that even for the King. He was old and did not want to concern himself in the country’s conflicts I was sure. But he had always loved Charles and had been his physician since Charles was a boy. He may have thought of me as a foolish woman and made no attempt to hide his opinion, but for Charles he had something like reverence and when Charles wrote to him: “For the love of me go to my wife,” he could not refuse.

I also wrote: “Help me, or all you have done in the past will be of no use.” Then realizing that this was the kind of statement which might make him refuse I added: “If you cannot come to me in my extreme need I shall always remain grateful to you for what you have done in the past.”

The result was that Dr. Mayerne came with all speed to Exeter, where in a state of considerable anxiety on account of the King, I awaited the birth of my child.

I wrote to my sister-in-law Anne of France to tell her that I was expecting a baby in June. We had never been great friends but she herself had suffered a great deal from the dominance of Cardinal Richelieu and that might have made her more gentle and sympathetic toward the suffering of others. She was now in a strong position as Regent, with Mazarin beside her to guide her, and her standing must be more firm than it had ever been. I was looking to her for help. Perhaps I could go to France if I ever recovered from this birth and there raise money and arms as I had done in Holland.

The response was immediate and I knew that I had been right in thinking that success often changed ambitious people for the better. She sent me fifty thousand pistoles, which was a good sum, and with it came everything I would need for my confinement. She wrote that she was sending Madame Perrone, her own sage femme, whom she could thoroughly recommend.

I was absolutely delighted at both this display of Anne’s friendly feelings toward me and for the money—the greater part of which I immediately sent to Charles for his armies.

It was a hot June day when my daughter was born. She was a beautiful child from the moment of her birth and, perversely, because she was the one I had not wanted, I loved her more dearly than the others.

I called her Henriette after myself and later I decided on Anne after the Queen of France in gratitude for past favors and in hope of future ones. But for the time being she was simply Henriette.

I was very anxious about my new daughter for I feared that events were not moving as we had imagined they would during that flush of euphoria which Charles and I had experienced during our reunion.

I sent word to Charles at once with the news of our daughter’s birth, telling him not to believe rumors which were being circulated to the effect that she had been born dead. She was very much alive and very beautiful and I was sure that he would only have to see her to love her.

He sent word that she was to be baptized in Exeter Cathedral according to the doctrines of the Church of England. Dear Charles, he was terrified that I would have her baptized in the Catholic Church!

He was right, of course, and I suppose Dr. Mayerne was too when he implied that a great many of the troubles through which England was passing were due to my adherence to the Catholic Faith and my efforts to introduce it into the country.

I immediately complied with Charles’s wishes and our little one was taken to the cathedral where a canopy of state had been hastily erected, but the ceremony was naturally conducted without the usual pomp.

Whatever was happening outside I did feel that joy which mothers feel when they have been safely delivered of an infant. If Charles could have been with us—even for a brief time—I could have forgotten what was happening in the outside world.

It was just over a week later, when I was still in bed and weak from my ordeal, when Henry Jermyn came to see me in some agitation.

He cried out unceremoniously: “Your Majesty is in danger. Essex is mustering troops in the town. He is going to ask for its surrender or there will be a siege.”

“Then we must leave here without delay.”

“That would be unsafe. Essex’s army is even now firmly entrenched about us.”

“Can he really be such a brute? Does he not know that I have not yet risen from child-bed?”

“He knows well and doubtless thinks it is a good time to force his will on you.”

“Bring me pen and paper. I will write to him asking for safe conduct. If he has any compassion at all he will give it.”

Henry obeyed and I wrote a letter to the Earl of Essex asking him to allow me to go unmolested to Bath or Bristol—a favor I greatly resented having to ask.

When his reply came back I was furious. The request was denied. I should have known better than to make it. Essex, however, stated that it was his intention to escort me to London where my presence was required to answer to Parliament for having levied war in England.

That was tantamount to a threat. I knew then that I had to get away before they captured me.

How could I travel with an infant only a few days old? I was distraught. I did not know which way to turn. I believed that the fiendish Essex had contrived this because his main object was to capture me. How I loathed and despised the man. He should have been with us. He had turned against his own upbringing and his own people. I could more readily forgive that traitor Oliver Cromwell, whose name was being mentioned more and more and who seemed to be responsible for the greater success which the Roundheads were having now. Yes, I could forgive him. He was a man of the people—but when men like Essex turned against their own, that was unforgivable.

But it was no use wasting time in expressing my fury against Essex. I had to think how I was going to escape, for escape I must. If they captured me and took me to London it would be the ultimate disaster. Charles would promise anything to free me.

I had to escape, and as I could not take my newborn daughter with me, I must, perforce, leave her behind.

I sent for Sir John Berkeley, who was the Governor of the city of Exeter and a tenant of Bedford House where I was living. I already had Lady Dalkeith with me, a woman of great integrity who, Charles and I had agreed, must be the one to look after our daughter. In this we proved right. I shall never forget what I owe to that woman.

Briefly I explained that for the King’s cause I had no alternative but to escape. The Roundheads were almost at our gates and their object was to capture me and take me to London, there to accuse me of treachery to the crown.

“This as you know would be such a blow to the King that he would do anything to save me, jeopardizing his own throne and losing it if need be. There is only one course open to me. I know you understand that.”

Sir John said he did indeed and would do anything I asked of him. Lady Dalkeith joined her loyal expressions to his and told me that she would defend my child with her life if need be.

I took her into my arms and we wept together. Sir John raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

So fifteen days after the birth of my little Henriette I left her, desolate and heartbroken as I was, for I knew it was the only course to take.

I waited until night fell and then dressed as a servant and, with only two of my attendants and a confessor, I escaped from Bedford House.

We had arranged that others of my household who were determined to accompany us should leave the house at various times in disguises so that they should not be recognized. My faithful dwarf, Geoffrey Hudson, who had stepped out of a pie to comfort me in no small degree, had begged to be of the party and I could not refuse him. He knew of a wood near Plymouth in which there was an old hut, and he suggested that we should make this our meeting place and all make our way to it by different routes.

When dawn came we were only three miles from Exeter and it was clearly too dangerous to walk about in daylight, for there were so many soldiers about. We found a hut. It was tumbledown and filled with straw and litter and we hastened to take refuge in this when we heard the sound of horses’ hoofs. It was fortunate that we did for the horses belonged to a group of Roundhead soldiers who were on their way to join the forces who were gathering on the outskirts of Exeter.

Our dismay was great when we realized that the soldiers were coming straight to the hut and we were thankful for the litter underneath which we were able to hide ourselves.

When I heard the soldiers right outside, my heart seemed as if it would suffocate me and I had rarely been so frightened as when I heard the door creak. We all held our breath as a soldier stepped inside the hut and kicked some of the rubbish aside.

I prayed—something incoherent and silent—and on that occasion my prayers were answered for I heard the man shout: “Nothing in here but a load of rubbish.” Then the door creaked again and the soldier was no longer inside the hut.

We waited breathlessly, listening. The man must have been leaning against the wall of the hut. He was talking to another.

He said: “There is a reward of fifty thousand crowns for her head.”

I knew they were talking of mine.

“I’d like to be the one to carry that to London.”

“Who wouldn’t? Fifty thousand crowns, eh? A goodly sum and ridding the country of the Papist whore at the same time.”

It was difficult to curb my anger. I wanted to go out to them, to denounce them for the traitors they were. Traitors, liars, defamers of virtue and my religion. I restrained myself, thinking of Charles. I would endure anything for him, discomfort, insults, pain, hardship…anything for Charles.

It was some time before they passed on, but we did not emerge from the hut until darkness fell; then we sped on our way. We were fortunate after that and reached our rendezvous in the woodland cabin in safety. There I was rejoined by many of my faithful friends including Geoffrey Hudson, who had brought Mitte and another of my dogs with him, for he was certain that I should be unhappy without them.

How the good friends made up for the treacherous ones!

At Pendennis Castle Henry Jermyn was waiting for me with a suitable guard and when he saw how ill I was he immediately gave orders that I was to be carried on a litter for the rest of the journey to Falmouth. How thankful I was for his thoughtfulness! And what a relief it was to see a fleet of friendly Dutch vessels in the bay.

Before I went on board I wrote to Charles explaining why I had left the child behind. It was for his sake for if I had been captured by our enemies, as I was sure I should have been had I remained in Exeter, that would have been a great blow to our cause.

“I am hazarding my life that I may not incommode your affairs. Adieu, dear Heart. If I die believe that you will lose a person who has never been other than entirely yours and who, by her affection, has deserved that you should not forget her.”

I stood on deck, exhausted almost beyond endurance, but determined to remain there until I could no longer see the land where he was…as desolate and unhappy by this parting as I was.