A Health Unto His Majesty

by Виктория Холт

  “But Madam, I came to tell you of plans I have discovered, plans which are indeed being set on foot to force Your Majesty from the throne.”

  “It is fantastic.”

  “Nevertheless, Madam, it is true.”

  “The King would not consent.”

  “The King must have an heir, Madam.”

  “He would never treat me thus.”

  “He can be persuaded.”

  “No … no. He is too noble … too good to agree to such a thing.”

  “Madam, I warn you. I beg of you, take my advice. The King has a tender heart; we both know that. You must win him to your side against your enemies. You must implore him to protect you against those who would destroy you. The King is tenderhearted. If you can move him with your tears … if you can but bring him to pity you, your enemies will have no power to harm you.”

  The two women looked at each other as though measuring each other’s strength and sincerity.

  Barbara was aging and the signs of debauchery were beginning to show on her handsome face, but however old she was, she would still be handsome. Catherine was pale from her miscarriage and in despair because she could not produce the heir so necessary to the country. They had been rivals for so long; they had hated each other; and now it was clear to them both that at last they must become allies.

  “I must thank you, Lady Castlemaine,” said the Queen, “for coming to me thus.”

  Barbara knelt and kissed the Queen’s hand. For the first time Catherine saw Barbara humble in her presence; and she realized that Barbara feared the future even as she did.

  It was rarely, Catherine reflected bitterly, that she had an opportunity of being alone with the King. She had become resigned to the relationship between them; she had schooled herself not to show how hurt she was every time she saw him becoming enamored of a new woman. She had learned to hesitate before entering her own apartments, lest he should be there, kissing one of her maids, and she surprise them.

  She had learned to subdue her jealousy; and now she realized that she would endure any humiliations which life with Charles brought her rather than suffer the lonely despair of life without him.

  She waited for one of the nights when they were alone together. At such times she felt that he was more her husband than her King. He would then modify that brilliant wit of his and attune his conversation to suit her; he was unfailingly courteous. If she were ill he would tend her carefully; he never failed to be considerate of her health. She fancied that that expression of melancholy regret, which she saw so often on his face when he was in her company, meant that he was sorry because he could not be a better husband to her.

  She now said to him: “Charles, it seems that there are many in your counsels who believe I am incapable of bearing children.”

  That light and easy smile flashed across his face as he prevaricated. “Nay, you must not despair. We have been unfortunate. There have been a few disappointments …”

  She looked about the chamber of this apartment in Hampton Court and thought of other queens who had, within these very walls, despaired of their ability to produce an heir to the throne. Was there a curse on queens? she wondered.

  “Too many disappointments,” she said. “It does not happen with … others.”

  “They are stronger than you. You must take better care of your health.”

  “Let us be frank one with the other, Charles. There are men who plan to destroy me.”

  “To destroy you! What words are these?”

  “They wish to rid you of me, that you may marry again. Buckingham, Ashley, Lauderdale … all the Cabal … and others. They offer you a new and beautiful wife who can give you sons. Oh, Charles, do not think I cannot understand the temptation. I am not beautiful … and you so admire beauty.”

  He was beside her; his arms were about her. “Now, Catherine, what tales are these you have heard? You are my wife. For you I have the utmost affection. I know I am not a good husband, but you took me, Catherine, and, Od’s Fish, you’ll have to stick to me.”

  “They seek to destroy me,” she repeated blankly. “They seek to send me away from you. Do not deny it. You cannot deny it, can you, Charles?”

  He was silent for a while; then he said gently: “They have thought that there is much of which you disapprove in our sinful Court. They have seen you so devout, and have thought that mayhap you would be happier in a nunnery.”

  She looked at him quickly, and she was overcome with anguish. Was that an expression of hopeful anticipation she saw on his face? Was he asking her to leave him for a nunnery?

  Sudden determination came to her. She would not leave him. She would fight for what she wanted. She would never give up hope that one day he would turn to her for the love which she was but waiting to bestow upon him. Surely, when they were both old, when he had ceased to desire so many women, surely then he would understand the value of true love, the quiet affection which was so much more lasting than physical desire. She would wait for that. She would never despair of getting it; and she was going to fight all her enemies in this country until that day when Charles turned to her for what he needed most.

  He was the kindest man she had ever known; he was the most attractive, the most tolerant; he would have been a saint, she supposed had he not been entirely sensual. It was that sensuality which caused her such misery, because she herself was not endowed with the necessary weapons to appeal to it in competition with such women as Barbara, Frances Stuart, Moll Davies, Mrs. Knight and Nelly.

  But she would never give him up.

  She turned to him: “Charles,” she cried, “I will never willingly leave you.”

  “Of a certainty you shall not.”

  She threw herself at his feet. She was suddenly terrified. He was so careless, so easy-going, so ready with light promises; and those about him were ruthless men who stopped at nothing. She thought of Buckingham, determined to destroy her, his hands red with the blood of his mistress’ husband. She thought of Ashley, that terrifying little man, with his elegant clothes, his head—adorned with a fair periwig—which seemed too big for his frail body, his sharp wit and that soft and gentle voice which belied the ruthless determination behind it; she thought of other members of the Cabal who had determined to provide a new wife for the King.

  “Charles,” she implored, “save me from those men. Do not let them send me away from you.” She could no longer hide emotion. The tears streamed down her cheeks, and she knew that he could not bear to see a woman’s tears. They never failed to move him deeply; he was even ready at all costs to stop the tears of women such as Barbara, who turned them on and off according to whether they would be effective.

  “Catherine,” he said in dismay, “you distress yourself unnecessarily.”

  “It is not unnecessary, I know. Charles … they will do anything to separate us. I know full well it is not merely their hatred of me which makes them determined to ruin me. What do they care for me! Who am I? A poor woman of no importance … unloved … unwanted….”

  “I’ll not have you say that. Have I not cared for you?”

  She shook her head sadly. “You have been kind to me. Are you not kind to all? Your dogs enjoy your kindness…. The animals in your parks benefit from it. And … so do I. Nay! They do not hate me. I am unworthy of hate … unworthy of love. They hate your brother. They are his sworn enemies. They are determined he shall not rule. They are determined on a Protestant heir. Oh, this is nothing so simple as their hatred for one poor woman…. It is a policy … a policy of state. But, for the sake of that policy, I shall be condemned to a life of misery. Charles, they will trample on my life as Buckingham trampled on Shrewsbury’s. Charles, save me … save me from my enemies.”

  He lifted her in his arms and, sitting down, held her on his knee, while he wiped the tears from her face.

  “Come, Catherine,” he murmured, as though she were a child. “Have done with weeping. You have no cause to weep. Od’s Fish! You have no cause w
hatsoever.”

  “You are gentle with me. But you listen to them.”

  “Listen to their roguery? I will not!”

  “Then Charles, you will not let them turn me away?”

  “I’ll not allow it.”

  “My lord Buckingham makes many plots, and this is no less likely to be carried out than others.”

  “Nay! You listen to gossip. You and I will not allow them to separate us. If they come to me with their tales, I shall dismiss them from the Court. And, moreover, we’ll foil them! They say we cannot have children. We’ll show them otherwise.”

  He kissed her and she clung to him passionately.

  He soothed her; he was adept at soothing hysterical women.

  Buckingham, Ashley and Lauderdale laid their plans before the King.

  “Your Majesty, the Queen cannot bear children, and we fear that the country is growing restive because of this.”

  “The Queen is a young woman yet,” murmured Charles.

  “There has been more than one miscarriage.”

  “’Tis true.”

  “If Her Majesty would be happy in a nunnery …”

  “She has told me that she would never be happy in a nunnery.”

  Buckingham murmured in a low and wheedling voice: “If Your Majesty gave me permission, I would steal the Queen away and send her to a plantation, where she would be well and carefully looked after but never heard of more. The people could be told that she had left Your Majesty of her own free will, and you could divorce her for desertion.”

  Charles looked into the cunning, handsome face before him, and said quietly and with that determination which he rarely used: “Have done and hold your tongue! If you imagine that I shall allow an innocent woman to suffer through no fault of her own, you are mistaken.”

  Lauderdale began: “But Your Majesty would wish to take a new wife. Your Majesty could choose any beautiful princess.”

  “I am well satisfied with the ladies of my Court.”

  “But the heir …”

  “My wife is young yet; and hear me this: If she should fail to get children, that is no fault of hers. She is a good and virtuous Princess, and if you wish to keen my good graces you will no more mention this matter to me.”

  The three statesmen were aghast.

  They were determined that Catholic James should never have the throne. If he ever came to it, their ambitions would be at an end; moreover they foresaw a return to the tyranny of Bloody Mary.

  Lauderdale then ventured: “The Duke of Monmouth is a brave and handsome gentleman. Your Majesty is justly proud of such a son.”

  “You speak truth there,” said Charles.

  “Your Majesty must wish,” said Ashley, “that he were your legitimate son. What joy for England—if you had married his mother!”

  “If you had known his mother you might not have thought so. I doubt whether the people of England would have accepted her as their Queen.”

  “She is dead,” said Buckingham. “God rest her soul. And she gave Your Majesty a handsome boy.”

  “I am grateful to Lucy for that.”

  “If he were but your legitimate son, what a happy thing for England!”

  Charles laughed lightly. He turned to Buckingham; he knew him to be a dangerous adventurer but, because he was the most amusing man at his Court, he could not resist his company.

  “Have done with making trouble with my brother,” said Charles. “Try cultivating his friendship instead of arousing his enmity.”

  “Your Majesty, I live in terror of the Duke, your brother,” said Buckingham. “He threatens my very life!”

  “I beg of you, no playacting,” said the King, and he began to laugh. “I confess that to see you riding in your coach protected by your seven musquetoons for fear my brother will take your life … is the funniest thing I have witnessed for a long time.”

  “I am grateful to have brought a little sunshine into Your Majesty’s life.”

  “George! Have done with your plotting and scheming. Let matters lie as they are. The Queen and I may yet get an heir. If not …”

  “The Duke of Monmouth is a worthy heir, Your Majesty.”

  “A bastard heir for England?”

  “We could discover that Your Majesty married his mother. Leave it to me, Sire. I will find a box in which are the marriage lines…. She begged you, she implored you … for the sake of her virtue … and Your Majesty, being the man you always are with the ladies, could not find it in your heart to refuse her!”

  The King laughed aloud but his eyes were shrewd. He knew they were speaking only half in jest.

  He said abruptly: “Have done! Have done! The Queen stays married to me. I’ll not have the poor lady, who is the most virtuous in the land, plagued by you. As for Monmouth, I love the boy. I am proud of the boy. But he is a bastard and I’d see him hanged at Tyburn before I’d make him heir to my throne.”

  The members of the Cabal retired, temporarily defeated. And the matter of the divorce was dropped, for another more serious one arose. This concerned the secret treaty of Dover in which the King, unknown to his people and the majority of his ministers, agreed to become a Catholic and lead the country to do the same; for such services to Catholic France he would become the pensioner of that country. The matter had given Charles much grave thought. He was in dire need of money; he was verging on bankruptcy. There were two ways of raising money; one was by taxing his subjects, as Cromwell had done to such extent that they could bear little more; and the other was by making promises to the King of France—which might never be kept—and allowing France to wipe out England’s deficit.

  These matters occupied his mind continually and, when the sister whom he loved so tenderly came to England as the emissary of the King of France, when he realized how deeply she desired his signature to the treaty and all that his signature would mean to her, and how such a signature could make her unhappy life in France supportable through the love of Louis, he agreed—and the very few of his counsellors who were in the secret were of his opinion—that the best way out of England’s troubles was the signing of the treaty.

  There were fêtes and balls in honor of the King’s sister, and Catherine was moved to see how tender was the love between Charles and Henriette of Orléans.

  How sad he was when he bade farewell to his sister; and how much sadder he would have been, could he have known that he would never see her face again, for only a few weeks after her return to France Henriette died suddenly. During the King’s grief at the loss of this beloved sister it was Catherine who brought him most comfort. She would sit with him, while he talked of Henriette, and of those rare occasions in her childhood when he had been able to enjoy her company.

  He wept, and Catherine wept with him; and she believed that in his unhappiness she meant more to him than any woman of his Court.

  She thought then: This is a foretaste of the future.

  When he is old, when he no longer feels the need to go hunting every pretty thing that flits across the scene—like a boy with a butterfly net—then he and I shall be together in close unity; and those will be the happiest days of my life, and perhaps of his.

  Buckingham had not forgotten his threat to punish Barbara for not supporting him in the matter of the Queen’s divorce. His spies had informed him that Barbara had whispered to the Queen of his plots against her, even telling her that he had suggested kidnapping her and taking her to a plantation—an idea too fantastic to have been meant in true earnest. And, because she had been warned, the Queen had been able to pour out her tears and pleadings to the King who, softened by these, had determined to turn his thoughts from the idea of divorce.

  It was infuriating. For Charles was certainly tired of his Queen; he had never been in love with her; she was a plain little woman and by no means a clever one. Buckingham, Ashley and Lauderdale had several fascinating and beautiful creatures with whom to tempt the King; but they had been defeated by the Queen’s tears which were the result of
Barbara’s perfidy.

  Barbara should be shown that she could not work against her kinsman in this way; it should be borne home to her that her position at Court was far from secure.

  When Charles’ sister had visited him for the last time she had brought in her train a charming little Breton girl, named Louise de Kéroualle, who had taken Charles’ fancy immediately; and, after the death of Henriette, Louis had sent the girl to Charles’ Court, ostensibly to comfort him, but more likely to act as spy for France.

  She was a very beautiful young girl, and it was clear that the King was ready to fall more deeply in love with her than was his custom.

  This meant that Barbara would have a new and very serious rival; and the fact that the King had showered great honors on Barbara was an indication that he was expecting her to retire from Court. She had been created Baroness of Nonesuch Park, Countess of Surrey and Duchess of Cleveland; he had given her £30,000 and a grant of plate from the jewel house and, as she was already receiving an annual income of £4,700 from the post office, she was being amply and very generously paid off; but Barbara, while accepting these gifts and honors, omitted to remove herself from the Court and continued to pretend that she occupied the place of maîtresse en titre.

  The King was uneasy. He saw trouble ahead between the newcomer—who, some said, had not yet become his mistress—and Barbara, now known by the grand title of Duchess of Cleveland.

  Barbara continued to flaunt her jewels and her person at Court functions; she was often seen at the playhouse wearing her jewels, worth more than £40,000, so that all other ladies, including the Queen and the Duchess of York, seemed far less splendid than she.

  She gave up none of her lovers and had even taken a new one—one of the handsomest men about the Court. Barbara’s lovers were always handsome.

  The latest was John, son of a Sir Winston Churchill, gentleman, of Devonshire. John Churchill had been a page to the Duke of York and had later received a commission as ensign in the Foot Guards. The Duke of York had shown him great favor, which might have been due to the fact that the Duke had cast a covetous eye on John’s sister, Arabella.