The Merry Monarch's Wife qoe-9

by Виктория Холт

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I was silent.

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

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

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

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

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

  Clarendon shrugged his shoulders. He had done his best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “And we must go to see her there?”

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

  “I long to meet her.”

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

  “I hope she is pleased by our marriage.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  At Greenwich Queen Henrietta Maria was waiting for us.

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

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

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

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

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

  There could not have been a warmer welcome.

  I stammered my appreciation of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Henrietta Maria kept me beside her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  It was easy to confide in her.

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

  She wept bitterly.

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

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

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

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

  “And Lady Castlemaine, you think…”

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

  “And Lady Castlemaine?”

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

  “So you think I should receive her?”

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

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