The Merry Monarch's Wife

HOPE AND DISAPPOINTMENT

I HAD TAKEN THE QUEEN MOTHER’S ADVICE VERY SERIOUSLY and was trying to do what she suggested. I accepted the fact that I had married a man who was sexually insatiable and that one woman was not enough for him. I must remember that he was the King and, within certain limits, kings could take what they pleased. A certain laxity in the Portuguese court had been referred to. I had never been aware of this because I had been shut away from reality. But I was prepared now, and I must act accordingly.

I no longer averted my eyes when Lady Castlemaine was near. I even talked to her in my faltering English. She seemed delighted at this and responded readily.

I knew that people watched us and raised their eyebrows. Charles was pleased, though. I had been right to take his mother’s advice.

We were often quite merry. I remember well that occasion when we were at supper. The King’s conversation was always amusing and there was a hushed silence when he spoke. This of course was due to their respect for royalty as well as appreciation of his wit.

He liked to make me speak English on these occasions, and very often my pronunciation, or what I said, caused some mirth.

The Queen Mother was present and I was always comforted by that. She gave me certain courage and Charles always showed his pleasure in our friendship.

James Crofts was also with us, and now I understood why he was so often in close proximity to the King. Charles’s eyes often rested on him with pride. This was all clear to me now.

His eyes were on James Crofts when he said to his mother: “There is happy news. Catherine and I shall soon have our son.”

Queen Henrietta Maria’s expressive face shone with joy.

“But this is magnifique!” she cried. “This pleases me much. This is the best news I can hear.”

I was astounded. I looked at Charles. I sought for words. I cried: “You lie!”

There was a silence round the table. I had insulted the King. To his face I had accused him of lying. Such a thing had never been heard of.

Unacquainted as I was with the English language, I did not fully realize the impact such an accusation would have.

Lady Castlemaine said jocularly: “But this is treason.”

The King was laughing. “My Lady Castlemaine,” he said. “What was said might be termed a treasonable outburst in a subject, but surely a wife should be allowed to use a little plain speaking to her husband.”

He put his hand over mine. “There, Queen Catherine, you see what a storm you have raised. Treason, they say. And you know the penalty for treason.”

“Hanging,” said James Crofts.

“And Jemmy,” said Charles. “If we were to send this lady to Tyburn, what would you do?”

“I should ride there to rescue her.”

“Well done. You are in certain danger, Catherine the Queen. Confess and be hanged.” He leaned toward me. “Have no fear. I should be there before Jemmy. I would not allow anyone to harm a hair of my Queen’s head.”

Then he took my hand and kissed it.

I was bewildered by all this, but the tenderness in his eyes filled me with joy.

Queen Hentietta Maria was watching me, unable as ever to hide her feelings. There was a glitter in her eyes, but I could see that the King’s attention to me delighted her.

That night when I was in my bed, Charles came in. He stood at the foot of my bed, smiling at me.

“Tonight,” he said, “you were not put out…not angry?”

“No. Everyone seemed to be amused. But it was not true…what you said.”

“One thing that is true is that, if that boy is not on the way, he should be.” He came toward me and put his arms around me.

There was within me that which wanted to resist, to talk, to make conditions, but I remembered the Queen Mother’s words.

And that night he stayed with me and it was as it had been in the beginning.

I STILL HAD A GREAT DEAL TO LEARN. Charles was so tender and eager, and so did he deceive me with his ardent lovemaking that I began to feel that he wanted to be with me more than any other. I should have remembered that at that particular art he was adept. It all came naturally to him. In the first place he had inherited skills from his grandfather, and practice had made him perfect.

Perhaps I was deliberately blind. However, I was happy for a while.

But almost immediately, another of those shocks to which I was becoming increasingly accustomed was waiting for me.

I found Donna Elvira supervising the packing of her clothes — and not only Elvira. Donna Maria was lying on her bed, too overcome with grief to do anything.

“What has happened?” I asked in dismay.

“We are to leave in two days.”

“Leave!”

“All of us. It is the King’s orders, they say.”

“There was talk of your going, but…”

I went to Donna Maria. She said: “All your life I have been beside you. You are as my child…this separation will kill me.”

“It must not be,” I said.

“I am an old woman. My life is nearly over. I would the good God had taken me before this happened to me.”

I wept with her. “I cannot let you go,” I said.

“I am old and useless now. I can scarcely see you. What use am I?”

“You are dear to me. I cannot imagine my life without you in it. You have always been there.”

“Your mother gave me the care of you. I remember well when you were a child…so very young…at the Villa Viçosa.”

“I remember too, for I was only two when we left there and you were with me then.”

“Oh — if we had never left…if there had not been this fight for a crown…this royal marriage.”

We wept together.

Then I thought: I cannot let her go. It is true that it will kill her. I am all the life she knows. She has nothing more now. She is old and ill…and it is too cruel. I must speak to Charles. Would he come tonight? It would be the only chance of seeing him alone. Surely he would not refuse me this.

I was so agitated that I could not wait. I sent for my secretary Sir Richard Bellings.

“Sir Richard,” I said, “I must see the King. It is most urgent. Would you take a message to him.”

“I will go at once, Your Majesty.”

Charles came to me.

“What ails you?” he asked.

“It is my attendants. They are going to be sent back to Portugal.”

“Their departure has been somewhat delayed. They were due to go weeks ago.”

“Charles, they are my friends.”

“Oh, you have good friends here now.”

“These people understand me.”

“Attendants always go back to their homeland. It is the custom.”

“I do not speak the language here.”

“Oh, but you are learning very quickly.”

“You used to give me lessons.”

“And very good you were. But you are surrounded by the English now and hear the language all the time. You are improving by leaps and bounds.”

“Charles, I do not want them to go.”

“Alas, my love, we must adhere to the custom. This is what we all have to do.”

“You could stop it.”

“It would not be good to do so.”

“Poor Donna Maria is heartbroken. She is old and feeble. She has been with me all my life and this separation will kill her.”

“Oh, come. She will get over it.”

“Some people love deeply, Charles. Their emotions are not superficial. I tell you, this will kill Donna Maria.”

“Poor old soul. Well, let her stay.”

“Thank you. And there are my priests.”

“Oh yes…some of them too. I have said they should stay, and your cook and some of those servants…but the rest, they will have to go.”

I could see he was adamant.

I thought of his promising Barbara Castlemaine a place in my household and how he had kept his word to her, no matter what trouble it caused. I told myself then that I had been foolish to think he really cared for me.

I was plunged into melancholy when I said good-bye to my old friends, but at least Donna Maria was still with me.

I HAD A DESIRE TO RIDE OUT — not with the company which usually was with us — but alone. I could not do this, of course, but if I were accompanied by my Master of Horse, that would doubtless be acceptable.

I sent for him.

I said: “Mr. Montague, I wish to ride…but not in a party. I have a mood for solitude.”

“I will prepare Your Majesty’s horse and I shall ride behind you.”

“That would give me pleasure, Mr. Montague.”

Very soon I was riding away from the palace. I did not have to mention that we should not go onto the open road. Edward Montague was the soul of discretion and would understand that. We took the sylvan paths.

After a while I said: “Please ride beside me, Mr. Montague. I wish to talk to you.”

He obeyed with such alacrity that I felt he was both honored and glad to do so.

I had told myself I would sort out my thoughts as I rode, but I found I did not wish to do this. I had already decided on how I must act. I must try to see Charles as he really was, not as I had made him in my dreams. He had so many good qualities, so much that was lovable…too much really. But I must face the truth. There was a lasciviousness in his nature which nothing could subdue. I had to accept that, and ask myself whether I would be one of many…or simply nothing to him. He could not change, so I must needs do so.

That was clear enough to me. The matter was settled and I would do my best not to torture myself with it further. I would take what I could get, because even though I had discovered this flaw in his nature, I could love him nonetheless.

I tried to interest myself in Edward Montague. I wanted to hear about his life.

He was of that family to which the Earl of Sandwich belonged, and it was the Earl who had been instrumental in getting him his place at court.

I had guessed that Edward Montague was something of a Puritan by the manner of his dress and his way of speaking, and I was sure he was more than a little shocked by some of the frivolity he observed at court.

“The Earl of Sandwich, I believe, commanded the fleet under the Roundheads,” I said.

“It is true, Your Majesty. He worked for England, and at one time that meant for Oliver Cromwell.”

“I expect he had a respect for the Lord Protector.”

“I have always understood, Your Majesty, that the Lord Protector was a man who commanded respect.”

“I expect you are right. Life must have been very different under Puritan rule.”

“Very different indeed, Madam.” I heard the disapproval in his voice. Like everyone else, he would know the kind of life the King and most of his associates lived.

I found it comforting to talk to someone who felt thus. It was in tune with my own thoughts.

How happy I could have been if I had married a man of moral instincts! But, I reminded myself, he would probably not have been as attractive as the one I had married.

I said: “I am sad at this time, Mr. Montague, because I have so recently said good-bye to some of my friends.”

“I understand, Madam. But you have good friends here.”

“I hope so. But the friends I have lost had been with me for a very long time. They spoke my native language, and it is sometimes difficult for me to talk in English. It is often not easy to find the words, and there can be misunderstandings.”

I thought of myself arguing with Charles in Spanish. I wondered if I had sometimes misunderstood him and he me.

“Soon Your Majesty will be speaking the language fluently.”

“I hope so, Mr. Montague.”

“Madam…I should like you to know…” He hesitated.

“Yes, Mr. Montague?”

“I am at your service, Your Majesty. Anything you wish…anything. It is my urgent desire to serve you with my life.”

I was taken aback. He was such a solemn young man. But I liked his earnestness. It was comforting to know that he held me in such esteem. I did not quite understand what he meant, but it was pleasant to hear it said.

I felt better as I rode with him back to the stables.

ALMOST EVERY EVENING I saw Lady Castlemaine. I made a point of being affable to her, which pleased her, and she was inclined to seek every opportunity of speaking to me. I hated her, and I think she despised me; but we both kept our feelings well under a cloak of pretence.

It was a great effort to me and I was often on the point of telling her that I would prefer not to feign this friendship, but I remembered what Queen Henrietta Maria had told me, and I was sure she was right.

Charles and I were on good terms now. He visited me now and then and was always tender and lover-like. I had learned to accept that. It was hard for me, but I had to tell myself that I had to do it, or lose him altogether.

That was why Lord Clarendon’s attitude was particularly hurtful to me.

I had noticed several disapproving looks which came my way, not only from him, but from others too; and I wondered what they meant.

Lady Suffolk was my chief informant. Maria had never been that. She was only half aware of what was going on and could not pick up much gossip because of the language difficulty.

Lady Suffolk was a kindly woman and had a fondness for me, I think. She well understood the difficulties of my position, and would have done much to help me if that were possible.

I said to her one day: “I wonder if I have done aught to offend Lord Clarendon. At one time he was quite friendly, full of good advice. Now he scarcely looks my way. Is anything wrong?”

She went into one of her silences, which told me that she was wondering whether she ought to tell me or not.

“If you know what I have done,” I said, “you must tell me.”

“Your Majesty appears to be very friendly with the Lady.” The Lady was of course the name by which Lady Castlemaine was generally known throughout the court.

“I am civil to her, yes.”

“Your Majesty is often in her company.”

“I could not be otherwise. She is so frequently where I am.”

“Lord Clarendon is surprised that you should be so very friendly with her.”

I stared at her in amazement. “But it was he who told me that I should accept her…if I would keep the King’s regard!”

“Your Majesty asked me…,” she murmured apologetically.

“I want to know. Pray tell me what else is being said.”

“He says that Your Majesty at first protested so vehemently and refused to accept the Lady. You said you would return to Portugal rather than do so. And now it seems you are the greatest friends.”

“I am amazed,” I cried. “Lord Clarendon told me I should accept Lady Castlemaine, that I was wrong to insist she be banished from court.”

“He says that Your Majesty’s feelings could not have gone deep, that you deceived us all into believing that the presence of the Lady was obnoxious to you…and now it would seem that you are fawning on her.”

“Oh…this is most cruel! How dare he say such things!”

“The Lord Chancellor will say what he wills…even to the King. He says that, in making such a friend of the Lady, you have lost his esteem. Nor has it pleased the King, as you may think. And how can anyone know your real feelings when you are able to feign passion and fury and then turn about so completely.”

I felt limp, discouraged and defenseless.

It seemed that whatever I did was wrong.

Lady Suffolk tried to soothe me.

“The Chancellor has many troubles at this time.”

“We all have troubles, and it is no excuse for such talk, especially when it was he who advised me to accept Lady Castlemaine.”

“Your Majesty should not take it to heart.”

“But I do, I do.”

“The sale of Dunkirk has upset the Chancellor deeply,” said Lady Suffolk.

“I believe it had to be sold to raise money,” I said.

“But you see how worried he is. The exchequer should not have been so low that such a sale was necessary.”

I had heard much of the sale of Dunkirk. It had been discussed frequently in all quarters. It was that important town which had been taken by Cromwell and now had been sold to the French for five million francs because the money was desperately needed. I could understand Clarendon’s anxieties, but that did not excuse him for venting his wrath on me.

I was not popular. A Catholic queen never would be in this country. The King so clearly showed his preference for other women, and for that I was pitied by some, despised by others.

The year was passing, and there was to be a grand ball to mark its end. I did not welcome these occasions. I must be present, of course. I should have to watch Lady Castlemaine flaunting herself, splendidly attired, her jewels more dazzling than any others — the Queen of the Ball, while the Queen of England sat there, looking dejected and ignored…smiling bravely, trying to pretend that she was completely unaware of that neglect, not only of the King but of the whole company.

I watched the King dance. He was a graceful dancer, although he performed rarely, but when he did, it was with an effortless skill. Everyone applauded. He shrugged that off with a nonchalance which implied, stripped of my royalty, my performance would only be half as good.

I knew there were some at court who deplored his open liaison with the Lady, but at the same time even they were charmed by him.

I watched Lady Castlemaine dancing with James Crofts.

The young man was looking at her with admiration and she was responding rather coquettishly, I thought. I wondered if the King noticed.

James Crofts is only a boy, I thought. But is she trying to seduce him? Surely even she would not be guilty of such blatant immorality. Yet I had come to believe that the Lady would be guilty of anything.

I danced very little. It was not because I did not enjoy dancing; I did very much. But I did not know the English dances. I sat watching them in the Brantle, which was a kind of cotillion; they pranced round the room, the gentlemen leading their partners. Lady Castlemaine was still with James Crofts.

She was laughing hilariously at something he had said; his eyes were shining with admiration, and she sparkled with all her jewelry…given by the King, I imagined. Could he afford it with the exchequer so low that Dunkirk had had to be sold? Perhaps they were royal jewels…and gifts which had been presented to him.

I sat there, my smiles hiding my sadness, and I wondered how many people I deceived.

I was thinking of this time last year, when I was so excited because I was going to marry Charles. I remembered my arrival and the belief that my dreams had come true.

So short-lived had been my triumph — how brief my joy! And now here I was…one year older in time…years older in experience. And wiser, I hoped.

And this was my life. I could only go forward.

I watched Charles. He was surrounded by some of his courtiers, talking to them. He must have been amusing them, for now and then there was a burst of laughter. Lady Castlemaine swept by with James Crofts, laughing, coquetting, bemusing the boy.

This was my life. I had to go on living it…forgetting the heartbreak…the bitter disillusion.

MY MIND WAS TAKEN FROM my plight by news from my mother and my brother Alfonso.

There was anxiety in Portugal because the Spanish army was stirring itself. It was true that they had set aside their aggression at the time of my marriage, and the sight of the English ships coming to take me to England had prevented their invasion of our land. They had been acting cautiously because of our alliance with England. But England was far away and they must be realizing that it would not be easy for the Portuguese to stand out against them. And now…there were signs that they were massing on the borders.

My mother had written that, if only Alfonso could be recognized as the King, there would be more respect for him throughout Europe.

As it was, the Pope would not acknowledge him, and the fact that he was always referred to as the Duke of Braganza was tantamount to an announcement that he was not the rightful king and was an imposter.

If only the Pope would lead in this acknowledgment and Alfonso’s sovereignty was not in question, the Spaniards would hesitate before attacking.

I could see that she was right, and I could not bear to think of her anxiety.

I was never sure when I should see Charles. There were times when he came to me, and I was ashamed of how much I looked forward to those occasions. So often he supped with Lady Castlemaine and I knew then that I should not see him. I guessed that he would prefer to be with her; but he did not forget the need to get an heir. If I became pregnant, his visits would cease. I longed for a child. That would compensate me for so much, I believed I could attain a certain contentment then. A new way of life…with the child the center of it.

When Charles came in, he would be merry and full of tenderness, and he always behaved as though he wanted to be with me alone. I never learned my lesson well. Again and again I believed him while it lasted. It was a strange, unreal way to live.

On this particular occasion, he noticed my anxiety.

“What ails you?” he asked.

“I have heard from my mother,” I replied. “From my brother, too. They are in great fear. The Spaniards are threatening.”

“I know this,” he said.

“The Spaniards are so strong. My mother, my brother…they are afraid they will not be able to withstand them.”

“We are aware of what is happening,” he told me. “I have sent troops out to help with ammunition and what they will need.”

“Oh…thank you, Charles. It is so good of you.”

“My dear, we are friends. Did they not send us our dear Queen…though she is becoming more like an Englishwoman every day! There is an alliance between us. We shall show those Spaniards that we will have none of their insolence.”

“I am so pleased to hear that. I wish I had known.”

“Oh, I did not want to worry you with these state matters.”

“I should have been relieved to hear of that one.”

He took the pins from my hair and let it fall about my shoulders.

“It is a shame to imprison it,” he said.

“There is…something else…,” I said hesitantly.

“Tell me.”

We sat down and he put an arm about me, caressing my neck, and now and then putting his lips to my hair. He could almost deceive me into believing he was a faithful husband.

“My mother is very sad. The Spaniards are so close…and so strong.”

“We shall hold them off.”

“There is one thing I want to do. My mother believes that this persecution will not cease until my brother is recognized throughout Europe as the King of Portugal. I want to write to the Pope.”

“Write to the Pope! What good do you think that would do?”

“I am the Queen of England.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “Which gives me great joy,” he said. “But I would guess that the Pope might be less enchanted.”

“I have some position here. You do not hate the Catholics, Charles.”

“On the contrary. Why, have I not an ardent little papist for wife?”

“Seriously…”

He put his hand on his heart. “I speak with the utmost seriousness. I love my papist wife, and shall do so till I die.”

I tried to break through this light banter, which hurt me more than it pleased me, because there was falseness in it. He came to me as a duty and spent most of his time with Lady Castlemaine. But I was going to forget that and insist on making my point. My mother was calling for help and I was going to give it to her if I could.

I said: “My country is a Catholic country. It deserves the support of the Pope.”

“My dear Catherine, Spain is a Catholic country…a rich country. It can afford the support of the Pope.”

“If my brother were acknowledged King, the Pope could not support even a rich country in its aggression.”

He looked at me soberly. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

“I want to write to the Pope. I want to tell him that I am a good Catholic. I will work for the Holy Church. I will do everything I can…if he will acknowledge my brother.”

“You will never bring the Catholic faith to this country. The English would not have it. They had a taste of it with Mary Tudor, and they have said never again. Don’t be deluded by them. They are godless in the main, I fear, liking to be merry, thrusting aside what they do not like. I am one of them, Catherine, and you know my failings.”

I put out my hand to stop him, and he took it. “They would never have it, my dear.” He went on: “But it may be that the Pope is not as sure of that as I am.”

“If he would acknowledge my brother as King of Portugal…”

“Perhaps you have a point there.”

“Spain would hesitate. It is because they insist that he is only a duke that they dare.”

He touched my cheek and stroked it.

“It means much to you, little Catherine,” he said. “Does it not?”

I nodded.

“My ministers would not be pleased if they knew my wife was corresponding with the Pope.”

“It is only one letter.”

“That would be enough. They would say you are carrying the Catholic banner into this Protestant land. You are trying to influence your husband to acknowledge that faith. That is so, is it not?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not in so many words, but that is the implication.”

I was silent.

Then his arms were about me.

“You ask for so little,” he said. “And when you do, it is for others. I like that well.”

“It means so much,” I murmured.

“It is hard for me to refuse you. Bellings would be a good man to send. He is the soul of discretion.”

I drew away from him that I might study his face. He was laughing, well pleased. Then, with a joyous gesture, he picked me up and threw me onto the bed.

“There,” he said, “you do with me as you will. Such is my desire to please you. You shall write your letter to His Holiness, and Bellings shall convey it to him. It must be done with the utmost secrecy…no, let us say discretion. That is a far more diplomatic way of expressing it, and you have become a diplomat, Catherine. In the meantime I think our soldiers will be more effective than your little missive. Now…to weightier matters.”

If only I could always have believed in his love for me as I let myself do then…briefly, how happy I could have been!

THERE MUST ALWAYS be something to disturb me. So often, when I was with Charles, I allowed myself to forget that affection played a small part in his emotional life. This attitude, I think, was partly due to his long exile; he had learned to shrug aside what could not be avoided. I was not by any means unattractive to him; he liked my innocence, I supposed; and connoisseur that he was, he would be completely aware of my feelings for him. Again and again I told myself I must not be deceived by his loving attitude, and the graceful compliments which tripped so lightly from his tongue. But still I was unprepared for this little disturbance.

A new beauty had arrived at court, much to the chagrin of Lady Castlemaine. This was Frances Stuart.

She could not have been much more than sixteen years old, and she really was outstandingly beautiful. Her features were perfectly formed in every way, and in a court where beauty was so admired, she was fêted wherever she went.

She had come over in the Queen Mother’s retinue, and Henrietta Maria had talked to me about her.

“Louis was very anxious to keep her at his court. He tried to persuade her mother to let her stay. But I put a stop to that. After all, her mother was my servant, not Louis’s. Louis’s manners are always perfect, and he would not go against the wishes of his aunt. So I brought the girl with me. I was not going to leave her at the court of France.”

I was a little puzzled, since it occurred to me that, if she had wanted to preserve the girl from licentious surroundings, would it have been so different to leave her in France?

“She is a witless creature…frivolous. The good God has compensated her with beauty for what she lacks in brains. Poor child. She would be easy prey. So…I brought her with me.”

Frances was indeed a simple creature. She loved childish games, such as Hunt the Slipper and Blindman’s Bluff; and it astonished me that she could induce these sophisticated courtiers to indulge in these infantile activities just for the pleasure of being near her.

One of her favorite games was building up cards to what she called houses, balancing them one on another, to see how high she could make them. She would sit delicately placing the cards on each other, shrieking with delight when her card house was bigger than that of the one with whom she was competing.

I had seen Charles watching her with brooding eyes for he, who so admired beauty, could not be immune to her.

Lady Castlemaine, who was aware of this, was by no means pleased. She was not a woman to hide her feelings. I can imagine the temper that was displayed in her apartments and I pitied her servants.

She sought to discountenance the new beauty, but her efforts fell on stony ground. Frances did not understand the shafts; she greeted them with tinkling laughter.

Sometimes I wondered whether anyone could be so devoid of sense, and being more accustomed to the ways of the court than I had been when I arrived in it, I asked myself whether Frances Stuart’s innocence was assumed.

However, in spite of many attempts to seduce her, she remained aloof.

Charles was seeking her out. She might have been flattered to be noticed by the King, but somehow she made it clear to all her admirers that she would become no man’s mistress.

She smiled sweetly on those who could amuse her with childish acts. I remember seeing Anthony Hamilton, a connection of the Ormondes, win her approval by putting a lighted taper in his mouth and holding it there. She clapped her hands and told him he was wonderfully brave. Young Hamilton had gone on performing the act for the joy of her approval until someone — I think it was the Duke of Buckingham — told him not to be such an idiot unless he wanted to kill himself.

Buckingham himself was another of Frances’s admirers. He was such a subtle seducer that many thought he would be the one to succeed. But he did not; and Frances remained the simpering, unseducible virgin.

I knew that Charles was deeply interested in her and I marvelled that beauty could mean so much to him that her witless chatter did not deter him any more than it did her other admirers.

When they had first seen her — so pretty and so silly — they had thought she would be an easy conquest. That was why I wondered whether La Belle Stuarte, as she was called, was really as stupid as she made out to be.

The King was neglecting Lady Castlemaine. There was no doubt of that. He was spending more and more time with Frances. How could he appear to be so absorbed in those ridiculous card houses!

The Lady herself assumed an air of indifference and gave her attention to James Crofts.

Were they lovers? I could not believe it. He was such a boy. Was she really attracted by him? There had been so many to share her bed that I supposed one more made little difference — and perhaps she would find his youth rather piquant.

I guessed that the King was not pleased by this growing friendship between his mistress and his son.

James Crofts and Charles were often together and Charles clearly showed his affection, as though he wanted everyone to know in what esteem he held the boy. He wanted him to have the respect of everyone and to be treated almost as royalty.

Once when James Crofts was dancing with me, hat in hand, according to the custom of showing respect to royalty, Charles called out that he might put on his hat. James did so with a smile of pleasure. It was tantamount to a public declaration of his royal birth.

James Crofts was in some ways similar to the King. He lacked Charles’s wit and wisdom, of course, but then he was very young. though I fancied Charles had been born with his. James Crofts was very handsome, although he had none of Charles’s charm, but in looks he resembled the Stuarts and that was enough, for it meant that no one could doubt he was the King’s son.

Charles said to me one day, and there was an alert look in his eyes as he spoke and I, who was beginning to know him well, guessed that there was something more than the words implied: “It is time I did something about James Crofts.”

I asked what he had in mind.

“He is my son,” he said. “There is no doubt of that, and he should have some standing at court.”

“He has already.”

“That is so. As my son, he is received by all. But I thought of a more tangible sign.”

“You are going to endow him with titles and estates.”

“Exactly so. And I think it is time he married.”

“Is he not somewhat young?”

“He is old enough. He is a Stuart. It will keep him out of mischief.”

He was no doubt thinking of James Crofts’s involvement with Lady Castlemaine, I guessed.

“Does marriage do so?” I could not help saying.

“I think it might absorb him…for a while…until he gets older…wiser…more able to conduct his life. So he shall be made a duke.”

“A duke!”

“The titles of the Duke of Orkney are now available.”

I felt a sudden shiver of alarm. Did Charles think of giving his bastard son such honors because there was a possibility of his coming to the throne? I had been Charles’s wife for some months…nine or so…and there was no sign that I was to have a child. Perhaps it was early yet. But was that in his mind?

Charles was saying: “He will be Baron Tyndale, Earl of Doncaster and Duke of Monmouth.”

“That will set him very high, will it not?”

Charles was smiling. “Indeed yes. He will take precedent over all the dukes who are not of royal blood…so my brother James cannot object. He will still come before Jemmy.”

“It will be a great honor for the young man.”

“He is a good boy. I have high hopes of him. And when he is the Duke of Monmouth, he shall be married.”

“You have selected the bride?”

“Yes. It is Anne Scott, the Duchess of Buccleuch. She came into the title on the death of her father…together with a goodly fortune.”

“I see.”

“You look doubtful. Do you not think it is a good arrangement?”

“Yes…from James’s point of view. I wonder what the bride is thinking.”

“She will be thinking how lucky she is to get such a handsome young fellow for a bridegroom.”

ON A BLEAK FEBRUARY DAY James Crofts became the Duke of Monmouth and less than eight weeks later he was married in the King’s Chamber to the Duchess of Buccleuch and took the name of James Scott.

Lady Castlemaine was displeased. She would have to be more careful how she behaved with the Duke of Monmouth than she had been with simple James Crofts. As for myself, I felt a return of melancholy.

Charles was accepting his bastard son. He was giving him great honor; they were often in each other’s company. Monmouth could not have been treated with more deference if he had been the King’s legitimate son.

True, Charles liked the boy, but his actions I felt showed something more than that.

I was failing. So far I had not produced an heir. The King was saying, see what a handsome boy I can get. It is only the Queen who fails me.

My spirits were lifted by the news from Portugal.

There had been a great victory at Amexial, which was largely due to the efforts of the English whom Charles had sent to fight beside my countrymen.

My mother’s letter was ecstatic. She blessed my marriage. She had always known how important it would be, she wrote:

My dearest daughter,

You cannot know how happy my people are. We shall always be grateful to our wonderful ally and for you who have done so much to make this possible.

I was proud and happy. I forgot the slights and humiliations then. Charles was my husband. No one could change that…not even Lady Castlemaine or La Belle Stuarte. I was his wife and it was his soldiers who had saved my country.

I told Charles how delighted I was and would have gone down on my knees to thank him, but he would have none of that.

“It was a small matter,” he said. “It is not the first time we have shown these Spaniards that they are not as mighty as they believe themselves to be. And since our little effort has given you so much pleasure, I am happy.”

“Oh Charles,” I cried. “How can I thank you?”

“By being with me…by loving me…by giving me so much to be thankful for.”

Words of a lover! If only I could have believed them!

“There was one little incident which will amuse you,” he said. “It did not amuse our men. But never fear. All is well now.”

“What happened?” I asked in alarm.

“Nothing to fear. All is well. But your brother…he is an odd fellow.”

“Well, my mother usually tells him what to do.”

“I’ll vow she did not tell him what to do on this occasion. Odds fish! It might have caused a riot.”

“Please tell me quickly, what has Alfonso done?”

“He thanked my men for their help and told them that, for their pains, they were to receive a pinch of snuff.”

“A pinch of snuff!”

Charles lifted his eyebrows. “These men after all, are not in the business of war because they care for causes. What they look for is some of the spoils, and I do not think these would include a pinch of snuff.”

I covered my face with my hands. How could Alfonso have been so stupid! But then he was unfit to govern. I knew that, and none knew it more than my mother. That was why she, to all intents, was the ruler. But Alfonso at that time must have escaped her vigilance. What had they thought of him?

Charles took my hands from my face and kissed them.

“No need for alarm. I have ordered that forty thousand crowns shall be distributed among them to compensate them for their efforts.”

“Oh Charles…how could he!”

“Let us not think of him. We have beaten the Spaniards. Your country is free of them for now. We should make merry.”

I thought then what a lot I owed him. Whatever sadness my life here brought to me, I must accept it. I must remember what my marriage had done for my country. I had to accept Charles’s amours. I had to grow up. I had to adopt a new set of morals…cast aside my upbringing. I had to act as many a queen before me had had to do.

THERE WAS MORE GOOD NEWS.

I believe my letter to the Pope had had its effect. He had understood the implication that I was going to do all I could to bring Charles to the faith. Perhaps he knew that James was already a secret Catholic. Henrietta Maria knew it and she was scarcely the most discreet of women.

I had heard from Charles that her inability to keep a secret could have been in a measure responsible for his father’s downfall. It would have been the last thing she intended; she would have died for her husband, instead she had talked to one of her ladies on that occasion when the five Members of Parliament, headed by John Pym, were to be arrested and taken to the Tower. But, having been warned, the men escaped in time to carry on the war against the King. It seemed to me very likely that somehow, unwittingly, Henrietta Maria would have let out the news of James’s conversion. On this occasion, it could have worked for good, because it might be surmised that if one brother had turned, why not the other? And as Charles’s wife, I was in a position to influence him, so might the Pope think.

In any event, the Pope had heeded my letter, for to our great joy, he accepted Portugal as a sovereign state and my brother Alfonso as its king.

To add to my happiness, I believed that I was at last pregnant.

I was very excited. Everything would be worthwhile now. A child of my own! Our son and heir! Charles was with me more often now. We walked together in the Park. People cheered us. Although they were amused by the King’s amours, at heart they preferred to see me with him rather than Lady Castlemaine. He was seeing less of her — but I did not think that was because of his preference for my society, so much as his preoccupation with Frances Stuart.

Frances went on in her guileless way, screaming with delight when her opponents’ houses of cards toppled to the ground, making them all join in a game of Blindman’s Bluff. It was so ridiculous. I could not imagine why they did it — except that she was exquisitely beautiful. I had heard it said that she was the only woman at court who had ever outshone Lady Castlemaine in beauty. And she was so different. Everything the Lady was, Frances was the opposite. Simplicity against sophistication; innocence against experience; purity against blatant sexuality; and one might say stupidity against the utmost guile.

My doctors thought the water of Tunbridge Wells would be good for me, but when I was making arrangements for a journey there, I was informed by my almoner that there were insufficient funds for the journey.

On making inquiries, I learned that, although according to the contract which had been drawn up at the time of my marriage, I had been promised forty thousand pounds for my household expenses, I had received no more than four hundred.

When I mentioned this to Charles he was evasive. He never cared to discuss money with me. He even hinted that I could scarcely complain about the deficiency in my income when I considered what had happened to my dowry. I thought I should never be allowed to forget that spice and sugar which my mother had sent in place of the money.

However, after a great deal of discussion, the expenses for the journey to Tunbridge Wells were raised and I was able to go.

I was delighted when the King announced his intention of coming with me — but perhaps that was because Frances Stuart was a member of my household.

Our journey to Tunbridge Wells was a pleasant one. We were cheered in the towns and villages through which we passed and I felt that the people of England were becoming reconciled to me — doubtless because they had heard of my condition.

I was glad the King’s devotion to Lady Castlemaine was waning at last. It was true I had to accept her rival, but I did not feel the same animosity toward Frances Stuart. She was always extremely humble in my presence and was not a very formidable rival; for I firmly believed that when and if she did succumb to the King’s passion, he would soon tire of her. Her empty-headedness must surely bore him, for I doubted even beauty such as hers could hold a man of his culture and intelligence for long.

She did not seem to grow up at all. She went on delighting in her games and I never failed to be astonished that her admirers could stand by applauding when her card house was the winner.

Charles was very interested in the chalybeate springs which brought many people to Tunbridge Wells. The spring contained iron salts which were beneficial to the health. Charles had always been intrigued by such cures, and had his own gardens where he cultivated and experimented with herbs. He was very considerate about my health, and I began to feel happier than I had for some time. I was longing for the day when my child should be born. I hoped it would be a boy for the nation’s sake, but I knew that, for myself, whatever sex it was, it would delight me. It would be wonderful to have a daughter, but of course, I must pray for the son everyone wanted.

Sometimes Charles and I talked about the child. He would love it, I knew. His affection for James Crofts — the Duke of Monmouth now — showed that.

He had other children too. Lady Castlemaine had several which she swore were his, but in view of the life she led, that was open to doubt: she was the sort of woman who would claim royal parentage for every child she bore.

I tried to stop myself thinking of her. I must be grateful for my good fortune. I was pregnant; Charles was kind and tender; the rapacious Castlemaine was in the shadows and I believed I had little to fear from silly Frances Stuart.

So, if life was not perfect, at least it was good; and I must enjoy it.

So I remember Tunbridge Wells with pleasure.

We could not stay indefinitely, of course; and the court moved to Bath. James, Duke of York, with his Duchess traveled with us; and among the company was the Duke of Buckingham, a man of whom I was very wary. He was never far from the center of events. He was an admirer of Frances Stuart, and I was sure he was hoping to seduce her before the King succeeded in doing so.

I wished him success, but Frances seemed to have a gift for holding these men at bay and at the same time keeping them spellbound. She did it effortlessly and was consistent in her refusal of them. It would have to be marriage or nothing for Frances. She did not actually say that, but it was implied — and, of course, neither the King nor Buckingham could offer that.

Buckingham had in the beginning been an ardent Royalist, yet oddly enough had married the daughter of one of the Parliamentary leaders — General Fairfax. It was a most incongruous marriage.

Buckingham was an adventurer by nature; he was reckless in the extreme and would throw himself into any wild scheme for the excitement of it. A man of poor judgement, I would say. On the other hand, he was extremely handsome, erudite and charming — the sort of man who could be outstanding in any company. And…he would be ruthless. That was why I felt I had to be watchful of him.

Charles should have been too. He had some knowledge of Buckingham’s methods. The Duke had been one of those who, before the Restoration, had doubted that it would ever take place; and, weary of exile, he had secretly returned to England and had a meeting with one of Cromwell’s men as to the possibility of his estates being restored to him if he came back to England ready to accept Cromwell’s rule. He had previously quarrelled with Charles, when he had contrived to marry the Princess of Orange, a scheme which had been indignantly prevented by the royal family. So no doubt he thought he had little to lose.

Cromwell was too shrewd to accept such a man’s word unquestioningly, and there again Buckingham showed his recklessness in returning to England without the Protector’s consent; so, to consolidate his position, he married General Fairfax’s daughter, Mary, who had fallen madly in love with him.

It was only Fairfax’s influence which saved Buckingham when eventually his recklessness resulted in a spell in the Tower of London.

When the Restoration came, he managed to win Charles’s forgiveness, for Charles found it difficult to bear grudges, and he was amused by Buckingham, who was the kind of man he liked to have about him. So Buckingham became a Gentleman of the King’s Bedchamber, and had the honor of carrying the orb at Charles’s coronation.

It was odd to see such a man as Buckingham leaning over Frances Stuart, cheering her on as she built up her card houses with breathless intensity.

Lady Castlemaine, who, before her marriage to Roger Palmer, had been Barbara Villiers, was related to the Duke. The fact made me doubly wary of him.

After we left Tunbridge Wells, we had a pleasant stay in Bath, Bristol and Oxford, and wherever we went there were demonstrations of the people’s affection for Charles and their acceptance of me; and I reminded myself that I had a good deal to be thankful for. My country was more secure than it had been for many years; the King’s liaison with the evil Castlemaine was coming to an end: and soon I should have my child.

And so we returned to Whitehall.

I WAS DISAPPOINTED that Charles was not with me on the first night of our return to Whitehall. I supposed that he had some business to attend to after the time we had spent away. I saw him during the following day, but briefly, and again that night he was absent.

The next morning I heard the ladies laughing together. Something had evidently happened which was highly amusing.

It was later that afternoon when Lady Ormonde was with me and I said to her: “Something seems to be amusing people today.”

“Oh that, Madam.” She smiled. “It was the flood at the Lady’s lodging.”

“I did not know there was a flood.”

“The Thames is high just now…and, of course, the Cockpit is low lying. The Lady’s kitchen was flooded last night.”

“Is that such a matter for mirth?”

“Her cook is Mrs. Sarah, Madam, and Mrs. Sarah’s husband is cook to Lord Sandwich, who is a neighbor to the Lady. They say that Mrs. Sarah does not care what she says to the Lady and there are some rowdy scenes almost every day between them. People say it is like going to the playhouse to hear the two of them shouting at each other. The Lady is always threatening to throw Mrs. Sarah out…but she never will. And Mrs. Sarah is always threatening to go and work for a real lady. They’ll never part, though. The fact is they can’t do without each other.”

“I can see that the difference between Lady Castlemaine and her cook can amuse some, but what was so particularly entertaining about the flood?”

“It was last night. Their shouting could be heard in the palace. Lady Castlemaine was expecting a guest and the kitchen was flooded so Mrs. Sarah could not cook the chine of beef. Well, there was this important supper party. ‘Cook that chine of beef,’ cried the Lady. ‘The only way I can cook that beef will be by setting the kitchen on fire,’ replied Mrs. Sarah. ‘Then set the kitchen on fire, but cook the beef!’ screamed the Lady. The shouting went on and on and in the end Mrs. Sarah took the beef to her husband, who cooked it in Lord Sandwich’s kitchen.”

I could not understand why this incident should have caused such hilarity.

The King was absent the following night.

Then I learned why they were all so amused. I heard two ladies talking together, and this time I understood what they said.

“He has supped with her these last four nights.”

“Does that mean…?”

“She’s back. Well, he wasn’t the sort to wait forever.”

“The Lady saw her chance and, depend upon it, once she’s back, she’s back for good.”

“Well, if Madam Frances…”

“Madam Frances won’t. And the Lady is back…and there she will stay.”

“And the whole court knows it…thanks to that chine of beef. Everyone’s still talking about that. They knew who her guest was that night. She couldn’t have the supper spoiled for the King, could she? She’d have the kitchen burned down rather…”

They went off into giggles.

So then I understood.

I hated the very sound of the woman’s name; and a terrible bitterness enveloped me. I felt I was choking. I could not bear it. I had grown used to her; I had forced myself to accept her, grudgingly it was true. I had almost welcomed Frances Stuart. I had thought I was free of Lady Castlemaine. And now, here she was, back…and it was all going to start again…her brazen insolence, her patronage of me.

I was tired. I should be resting, but my fury overcame me. I would not endure it all again. I slipped to the ground. I felt the blood on my face. It was like the other occasion when Charles had presented her to me and I discovered who she was.

I FELT VERY WEAK and was not quite sure where I was. For a moment I had thought I was in my cell-like room in the convent. Then I knew that I was in my bed and someone was kneeling at my bedside, holding my hand. It was Charles.

I tried to smile but I felt too tired.

As though from a long way off, I heard him say my name. I wanted to answer him but no words came. Then Donna Maria was saying something, shrilly, disapprovingly.

“She must not be disturbed, Your Majesty.”

Charles seemed to drift away.

I thought I was hand in hand with him. We were in Hampton Court. He was explaining the benefits to be derived from certain herbs, and the spaniels were barking. Then I was in the convent. The Mother Superior was saying: “You must work harder. You must remember your place. You must not disappoint your mother.”

My mother was there. “When you get to England, you may have to see that woman. Ignore her…never let her come near you.”

I was thinking of a chine of beef. It had to be cooked for the King, even if the house burned down in the process.

Then I lost all sense of anywhere. I was floating in space and then came…oblivion.

I was very ill for days. I did not know what was wrong with me. Vaguely, I remembered falling. I was aware of the blood on my face and then I must have fainted. I confused it with that other occasion. I kept hearing a whisper: “Do you know who that woman is? She is Lady Castlemaine.”

It had all happened before…and I was too tired to think.

Alas, it was more than an ordinary faint. I had fallen and lost my child.

I did not know this then. I think if I had I should have lost my will to live.

They thought I was dying. I was vaguely aware of Donna Maria, who would not leave my room, I heard later, and was with me night and day. The King was constantly there too. Often I would open my eyes and see him sitting there, but I was too tired to speak to him. When I looked at him, he would press my hand. Sometimes I heard him murmur my name. He looked at me as though imploring me to speak to him. I tried to, but no words came.

There came the day when I learned what had happened…I knew that I had lost my child and that the agony I had seen in Donna Maria’s face meant that she had thought I was dying.

But at last I knew. I was here in my bed at Whitehall. I was the Queen and I was going to die. I was sure of it, and so were all those about me.

I heard voices.

“She is conscious, Your Majesty.”

“Then let me see her.”

He was kneeling by the bed. “Catherine…my dearest Catherine. You know me…now?”

“Yes, I know you, Charles.”

“It has seemed so long.”

I smiled.

“You must not tire her, Your Majesty.” That was Donna Maria.

“I will not, I promise you. I will sit with her…quietly.”

He had taken my hand. I pressed his to let him know that I was glad he was there.

“My love,” he said. “My little love.”

I smiled again. “I want…” I began.

“Tell me what you want. It shall be yours. Just tell me, dearest.”

“I want you to be happy. I am going to leave this world…I am going to leave you.”

“No,” he said. “No.”

“It will be best. You will marry.” I was going to say Frances…but I could not. That would hurt him. It would remind him how he had neglected me while he watched her making her houses of cards. I loved him. I did not want him to reproach himself. I understood him now. He could not curb those violent sexual desires; he had to behave in the way he did. I guessed, of course, that he was reproaching himself for his treatment of me. I had rebelled at first, and then had accepted my fate…but I had not done so readily…only with bitter resignation. But that was an end of it. The time had come to say good-bye and I did not want the occasion to be marred by reproaches and regrets.

“You will marry again,” I said. “Someone better than I.”

“There could be none better.”

I could almost have believed he meant it. He looked so earnest, so desolate at the prospect of losing me.

“Someone who can give you the healthy son you must have.”

“You will, Catherine,” he said. “You will get better. I command it.”

“Even kings can have no control over life and death,” I said. “If my child had lived…”

“In your delirium you thought it had,” he said. “You talked of him. You said he was an ugly boy, but that he had great charm.”

“Did I say that?”

He nodded and I saw that there were tears on his cheeks.

I could not bear that he should weep for me. I suppose that was true love, for I would rather he did not mourn for me than it should make him unhappy to do so.

“Charles…,” I murmured. “I am sorry…not to have been good enough…”

“My dearest,” he said, “it is I who have not been good enough. It is I who should ask your pardon.”

I smiled at him. I wondered how I could bear to leave him. But perhaps I could because at that moment he really did love me. He meant what he said…for that moment. But in my heart I knew that he must be himself. He wished me well. He was fond of me. He loved me in his way. I had my little niche in his life. Perhaps he loved me more than he had ever loved Lady Castlemaine or Frances Stuart. But he did not desire me as he did those women. That was something I must understand. And the desire in such a man was so overpowering while it lasted that it overrode a quieter, gentler love.

I said to him: “You have taught me much. You will be happy now. Do not grieve for me. Do not reproach yourself. I did not understand at first. I think I do now.”

“I loved you the moment I saw you,” he said. “I shall always love you. You must not leave me.”

I replied: “I am not afraid to die. There is only one thing I regret and that is leaving you; and now that I understand so much, I would wish to stay. I would be better.”

“Please,” he begged, “do not talk so. It is not you who must be better; it is I. You must live for my sake. You must give me a chance.”

“I love to hear you say that.”

“You must get better, Catherine,” he said. “You must…for me.”

He pressed his face against my hands and I felt his tears on them.

“You will forget me,” I said, “and marry some princess who will give you sons, and bring much good to the realm. That is what you must do.”

He was too moved to speak and Donna Maria was at my bedside.

“The Queen is becoming exhausted,” she said. “This must not be.”

“I will not talk,” said the King, “but I cannot leave her. I shall sit here with you, my love, unless you wish me to go.”

“I want you to stay,” I said.

So he sat by my bed. My hand was in his, and every now and then I would open my eyes and smile at him.