by Jean Plaidy
Charles was very angry. His inclination was to send Titus Oates to the Tower. I could imagine what would have happened if he had. The people would have been in revolt. They had made up their minds that they were going to believe Titus Oates. They had had enough of Catholics and would not suffer another Catholic king on the throne.
Charles sent for Oates. He told me afterward what had taken place.
“I challenged him,” he said. “I suggested that he was lying. He had not been to Somerset House any more than William Bedloe had been when he said he had seen Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey’s body there. I asked him to describe the Queen’s apartments. The confidence of the man is amazing. He has no shame. He blatantly lies with an air of truth. He could not describe your apartments for the simple reason that he has never seen them. He built up a picture of one of the rooms—an audience chamber which could have been in any of the palaces. I told him he was a liar. He just bowed obsequiously, but I saw his evil smile. He knew that if I ordered his arrest the whole of London would be crying out for revenge on any who touched his sacred person. I can tell you, it is a damnable situation. But never fear. I shall make him rue what he has done…one day.”
I knew Charles was right. To have stood out against him now would have resulted in riots…discord throughout the country. Monmouth was waiting somewhere in the shadows…ready for the opportunity when it came.
Who would have believed that so much could have arisen out of the lies of an unscrupulous adventurer?
COUNT CASTELMELHOR CALLED to see me. The Count was a man on whom I could completely rely. He had left Portugal when my brother Alfonso had been deposed and had remained loyal to him—so he was not welcome at Pedro’s court.
I said to him: “My dear Count, I can see you are very anxious.”
“It is a situation which arouses the utmost anxiety. I am indeed afraid for Your Majesty.”
“These wicked men are telling such terrible lies about me.”
He nodded. “My dear lady, perhaps we should write to your brother.”
“What could Pedro do to help me?”
The Count looked melancholy. “He might protest.”
“To the King? The King hates what is going on as much as I do.”
“But for the King, my lady, I fear they would have had you in the Tower.”
“I know what I owe him. I can only pray that this nightmare will soon end.”
“It is time Oates was recognized for what he is, but he has the people with him. They hate those of our religion. All the resentment created during the reign of Queen Mary is being revived. It is because they fear that Charles will die without an heir and James will be King…a Catholic. That is the only reason why this man Oates has been able to do what he has. They are arresting people everywhere…on this man’s evidence…and it is false…false.”
“I know. Many of them are my friends. Dr. Wakeman is in the Tower accused of attempting to poison the King…and they say that he was to do this with my help. I verily believe that I should be in the Tower at this moment if it were not for the King.”
“It is true. The King stands between you and these villains. Thank God for that. But you are in great danger, and it may be that even the King cannot save you. You must take great care. I think you should write to your brother. It would be better for you to leave the country…perhaps…”
I shook my head. “I would never do that, Count. I shall remain here. I have great faith in my husband.”
“There is something else. I must tell you, for I think it is important that you should understand all and miss nothing. The fact that Oates has been proved to be lying…although the people do not accept this…is forgotten, for Bedloe is now supporting these accusations against you.”
“Bedloe?”
“Yes, my lady. He, also, is now saying that he overheard a conversation between you and two French priests. Coleman was there at the time, he says, and some Jesuits. It was in the gallery of the chapel at Somerset House. He says you were told of the plot to murder the King. At first you wept and said you would have nothing to do with such a plan, and when you were reminded of the King’s infidelities you at length consented to take part in it.”
“What lies!”
“Your Majesty, these people have achieved notoriety through lies.”
“How can people believe their wild tales?”
“Because they want to believe. There are so many who fear a Catholic king on the throne of this country. But they will have to take James…when the time comes.”
“They will not have James.”
“They will…and with God’s help England will in time be brought back to the true faith…but I know there are many who are set against it.”
“They do not like me. There are many who would like to see me in the Tower. They think they will overcome the King’s scruples because he is eager to be rid of me. They see him with the Duchess of Portsmouth. He is so often in her company. He is devoted to the playactress Nell Gwynne. And I am a Catholic and barren. Quite unsuitable, you see. They think it will be safe to tempt him to be rid of me. Sometimes it seems like a miracle that he is determined to stand beside me.”
“Your Majesty, I am convinced that you should write to your brother.”
“What could he do?”
“He is the King of Portugal. They have been whispering about King Henry VIII. Remember, Catherine of Aragon might have lost her head if she had not been the aunt of the Emperor Charles.”
“And so she lived through years of unhappiness and humiliation.”
“This is different. This King shows his concern for you and the other showed none for his wife. Write to King Pedro. It can do no harm. I would do so, but I am out of favor. If it were Alfonso it would be different.”
“I feel very uneasy….”
“It is understandable that you should be.”
“Come and see me soon,” I said. “You are one of the few I can trust.”
When he had gone I wrote to Pedro, though I could not believe there was anything he could do to save me. I could rely only on Charles.
QUEEN IN DANGER
I AM SURE TITUS OATES WAS DETERMINED TO INCRIMINATE me after Charles had disconcerted him over his false descriptions of my apartments.
It is difficult now to see myself as I was at that time. How does one feel when one is more or less under sentence of death? There were times when I felt that the axe was poised over my head, and I would become numb with fear. At others I would feel a certain exultation. One swift sharp blow and my troubles would be over. There was even a moment when I felt a sublime indifference. I was innocent of what they accused me. As if I would plot to kill the one I loved beyond all others! There was one thought which was always with me during those days. It was that he believed in my innocence and it was he who had stood between me and my enemies. There were times when I said to myself, they will have to destroy him before he allows them to destroy me.
Perhaps it was that thought which enabled me to meet the days with a serenity which amazed those about me.
Poor Donna Maria was too old and infirm to know what was happening. I was glad of that. I was relieved that my mother was no longer here, for she would have learned of my danger and it would have wounded her deeply to know that all her plans for me had led to this.
I often thought of those first days in England at Hampton, where I had known the supreme joy of loving and believing myself to be loved; and I tried not to remember that cruel awakening when Lady Castlemaine came to shatter my happiness.
It was over…and Charles was now here beside me, my protector.
The Count had been right when he had said that Bedloe had told of how he had heard me plotting with the Jesuits in the chapel at Somerset House. Bedloe, no doubt urged on by Titus Oates, had written his accusation and delivered it to the House of Commons.
I heard what had happened when his words were read out, how Titus Oates approached the Bar and declared in ringing tones: “I, Titus Oates
, accuse Catherine Queen of England of High Treason.”
I was told of the astonishment of the House and how, for some seconds after the announcement, there was a deep silence.
Titus Oates had his supporters, Shaftesbury at the head of them, and it was proposed that an address should be sent to the King without delay and that I, with all my household, should be committed to the Tower on a charge of High Treason.
I had never come nearer death. They had accused me, and they would find means of proving me guilty. The truth was of no consequence to them.
It was fortunate for me that such action could not be taken without the consent of the Lords and their verdict was that they would not treat me as guilty until it was proved that I was, and they would need more than the accusation of men like Oates before they did.
Shaftesbury was infuriated by the rejection of the Commons decision, but there was nothing he could do.
It was Charles’s reaction which put heart into me.
He was very angry. He ordered that Oates should be arrested and put under guard. He declared that he would not suffer an innocent lady to be wronged as these men were trying to wrong the Queen.
I wept with joy at his response, but I soon realized that, in spite of his power, even he could not completely withstand the demands of the people.
There was an outcry about the incarceration of Titus Oates, and the people demanded that he be freed.
It was only then that Charles realized what a hold that man had on the people, how they revered him, how they waited for every word he uttered.
And my fate seemed to be in the hands of such a creature.
Count Castelmelhor came to me in great dismay.
“Oh, my lady,” he cried, “I have lived in such fear. When I heard of Oates’s declamation at the Bar I thought it was the end.”
“I, too,” I said.
I touched my neck with my fingers. I could almost feel the axe there.
“But,” went on the Count, “it did not happen.”
“No. The Peers saved me…and then the King.”
“The Peers just wanted more evidence…and do you doubt Oates would not have invented that? It was the King who saved Your Majesty. If he had given way in the slightest degree…”
“It would have been the end of me.”
“Thank God and all the saints for His Majesty the King.”
What strange feelings possessed me! I had come within a few steps of the axe. No one who has not experienced that can understand what it is like…and at the same time I was exultant because I owed my life to Charles.
Charles himself came to see me.
He looked at me, smiling that rather careless smile, as though there was nothing to disturb our serenity.
I said: “I have heard what you did…”
“Oh, you mean that villain and his familiar, Bedloe, do you?”
“The Commons…and the Lords…,” I began.
He shrugged his shoulders. Then he came to me and put his arms about me, holding me tightly, protectively.
I said: “Thank you…thank you…for what you have done for me.”
“What have I done?” He laughed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Very little that is good, I fear. Now I want you to come back to Whitehall with me. I like not this long sojourn at Somerset House.”
I forgot that I was in danger. I forgot all that I had suffered through his preoccupation with other women. He was taking me back to Whitehall…to be close to him. I knew why he wanted this. It was to show them all that I was his Queen and he was there to protect me against all those who wished me ill. They should not succeed because he was there to care for me.
WE WERE TOGETHER NOW. I sauntered with him; we rode together; and I was happier than I had been for a long time. It was because he was afraid for me. I was fully aware of that, though he shrugged his shoulders and spoke contemptuously of the plotters.
I was overcome with joy when I overheard someone whisper mockingly: “The King has a new mistress. It is his Queen.”
It was wonderful that his aim should now be to protect me, to show the court that any who attacked me must first deal with him.
I had my fearful moments. There were cries of, “No Popery!” in the streets; and I knew that Charles would like to keep Oates and his associates in the Tower. But even he dared not do that. When he talked of what he called his wandering years, I often saw the determination in his eyes. He would never go wandering again.
I knew the mood of the people. They would not have a Catholic king. Charles himself leaned toward the Catholic faith, but he was never going to admit it…for none knew better than he that it would be the first step toward that fate which he had determined should never be his again.
He often said that James was a fool. Why could he not do his worshipping in secret? Why did he have to proclaim his faith to the world?
During that time he and I grew close together and there were occasions when he implied that if he were free to make a choice it would be for my faith. It appealed to him. It had been his mother’s faith, and he had French blood in his veins. His grandfather had begun life as a Huguenot and his well-known assertion that Paris was worth a Mass would never be forgotten.
“My grandfather was a wise man,” Charles once said. “He wanted the crown, so blithely he changed his religion to keep it. I have the same respect for my crown as he had for his.”
He told me that we were in a precarious situation. These men would stop at nothing. They were adventurers. If one looked into their history one saw clearly that they would do anything for gain. Why could not the people see this? It was the old story. They would not because they did not want to. They wanted to believe in Oates because they wanted a Protestant country.
“We must be watchful,” he said. “This man Oates will strike again.”
How right he was! A few days later I heard that one of the silversmiths in my household had been arrested.
This was Miles Prance—a meek and inoffensive man who, I was sure, was far more interested in his silver work, cleaning it and generally keeping it in good order, then becoming involved in any state plot.
Poor Miles! How could be withstand the torture Oates insisted should be applied to extricate his “confession.” What they did to him exactly I never heard, but they reduced him to a gibbering wretch ready to say anything they demanded of him.
Had he been involved in a plot to poison the King? they asked.
Poor Miles! How could he endure the pain?
“Yes, yes,” he cried.
“At the Queen’s command?”
“Yes, yes,” if that was what they wanted to leave him alone.
He must name other accomplices. He called out all the names he could think of.
More arrests. More executions.
Miles had confessed and was freed; and no sooner was he at liberty than he repented so earnestly of what he had done that he proclaimed to everyone that he had lied and lied and knew of no attempt to poison the King. He would never rest again if he did not put right what he had done. He had spoken against the Queen which was false…all false. They had tortured him so fiercely that he did not know what he was saying.
He disappeared and we heard that he was back in Newgate. It was not enough to let him disappear. He had done enough harm to Oates, so he was chained to the floor in a cell where he was tormented. He did not admit to more misdeeds; he simply went mad. He was no use to them—so they hanged him with those whom he had accused.
In the streets people went on shouting, “No Popery!” Shaftesbury was “discovering” several people who declared they had witnessed the marriage of the King to Lucy Walter. In the taverns Monmouth’s health was drunk. People were calling him the Prince of Wales. This was done so frequently that Charles publicly made a declaration stating that he had never been married to Lucy Walter. He had been married only once in his lifetime and that was to Queen Catherine. It was not what the people wanted, but it was amazing how popular Charles
remained. He had the gift of making people love him. I sometimes thought that if he decided to become a Catholic they would still have wanted him to rule them.
His grace and charm won their hearts, and always had. His infidelities were laughed at and looked upon as the waywardness of a charming boy. He was everybody’s darling.
If this had not been so, events might have turned out very differently. Even so, the people were determined, and even Charles had to be watchful.
I heard that Sir George Wakeman was about to be tried, and I knew that this could be of the utmost importance to me. If the court found my physician guilty of trying to poison the King, that would be tantamount to condemning me.
The trial, I guessed, would not be fair. Many people had been executed on the evidence of Oates and Bedloe…innocent people. Why should Sir George Wakeman be different from those?
And if he were declared guilty, in the minds of the people so should I be.
I knew that Oates would do everything in his power to bring about Sir George’s downfall; and if he were successful, could even the King save me?
THOSE ABOUT ME WERE in a state of tension…but none more so than I. I felt light-headed. I wondered how much longer I could endure this persecution. It was only my innocence—and Charles’s support—which kept me from collapsing, I believed. I tried to tell myself that they could not prove anything against me because there was nothing to prove. But what of others equally innocent? When had these people cared for the truth?”
I often wondered how a man with such a record as Titus Oates behind him could so delude the people. But, as Charles always said, they believed because they wanted to. Oates was the enemy of Catholics and that was at the heart of the matter. If I had had a child, if James had not publicly acclaimed his conversion, all this would not have arisen. But these were the facts, and out of them had come Titus Oates and his criminal associates who were destroying so many, including myself.
So Sir George Wakeman was indicted for High Treason and was to appear at the Old Bailey to be tried by Lord Chief Justice Sproggs, and never was the outcome of a trial awaited with such excitement and interest as this one. So much hung upon it…and especially for me.
