by Jean Plaidy
‘This is but the beginning,’ cried some. ‘The destruction of England is at hand. First the plague; then the war; and now the great fire. This is Sodom and Gomorrah again. What next? What next?’
The King realized that there was nothing to be done but lay up the Fleet, for where in his suffering country could he get means to maintain it? And to lay up the Fleet meant suing for peace.
Sailors were rioting in the stricken City’s streets because they had not been paid. There was revolution in the air. Charles himself rode out to do what he could to disperse the groups of angry seamen. In vain did his Chancellor and those about him seek to restrain him. His subjects were in an ugly mood; insults had been hurled at the King on account of his way of life. But Charles insisted on going among them. He was bankrupt in all save that one thing which had stood him in good stead all his life; his charm was inviolate as was his courage.
So he rode out into the midst of the brawling crowds of angry sailors who stood about in the heart of the City amid the blackened buildings and heaps of ashes and rubble. He knew their mood; yet he was smiling, with that charming rueful smile. His manner was dignified, yet all those men were aware of the easy affability which had always been shown to any who came near him whatever their rank, and which had done much to make all submit to his charm.
They fell back before him; they would have expected him to come with soldiers behind him; but he came alone, and he came unarmed. So they fell back before him and they were silent as he spoke to them.
It was true they had not been paid. The King would remedy that as soon as it were possible to do so. They had fought gallantly. Would they tell themselves that they had fought for their country, and would that suffice for a temporary reward? He promised them that they should be paid – in time. They would be wise men to wait for that payment rather than to persist in acts which would lead themselves and others into misfortune likely to end in the traitor’s fate on the gallows.
They had all suffered terribly. The plague last year; the fire this. Never in the country’s history had such calamities befallen it. Yet had they not given good account of insolent Dutchmen? Let them all stand together; and if they would do this, their King doubted not that ere long they would have little cause for complaint.
Then suddenly someone in the crowd cried: ‘Long live the King!’ and then others joined in and helped to disperse the mob.
On that occasion trouble had been avoided, but revolt continued to hang in the air.
The people looked about them for a scapegoat and, as usual at such times, their thoughts turned to the Chancellor. Crowds gathered outside the fine house he had built for himself in Piccadilly; they murmured to one another that he had built the palace with the bribes he had been paid by the French King to advise the selling of Dunkirk. It was remembered that he, the commoner, was linked with the royal family through the marriage of his daughter Anne Hyde with the King’s brother. It was said that he had procured Catherine of Braganza for the King because he knew she would never bear children and thus leave the succession clear for the offspring of his own daughter. Everything that was wrong in the country was blamed on Clarendon; and this attitude towards the poor Chancellor was aggravated by such men as Buckingham – urged on by Lady Castlemaine – Arlington, and almost all the King’s ministers.
A gibbet was set up on a tree outside the Chancellor’s house, and on it was an inscription:
‘Three sights to be seen—
Dunkirk, Tangier, and a barren Queen.’
For the sale of Dunkirk, the possession of an unprofitable seaport and the Queen’s inability to bear children successfully were all laid at Clarendon’s door.
The King sought to throw off his melancholy and was already instructing his architect, Christopher Wren, to make plans for the rebuilding of the City; he was urging the Parliament to find money somehow for the refitting of his ships that they might, with the coming of spring, be ready to face their Dutch enemies. He sought to find consolation among the many ladies who charmed him, but he found that his desire for the still unconquered Frances Stuart made contentment impossible.
*
There were men about the King now who, perceiving his infatuation for Frances Stuart, reminded him of how his predecessor, Henry VIII, had acted in similar circumstances. Chief among these was the Duke of Buckingham who, much to Barbara’s annoyance, had made himself chief adviser and supporter of Frances Stuart.
What if there were a divorce? The Queen’s religion displeased the people. After the disaster of the fire it could easily be suggested that this had been started by Papists. No English man or woman would desire then to see the King remain married to a member of that wicked sect. Moreover, the Queen was barren and surely that was a good enough reason for divorcing her. It was necessary for the King to have an heir and Charles had proved again and again that he was not to blame for this unfruitful marriage.
‘It should not be difficult to obtain a divorce,’ said Buckingham. ‘Then Your Majesty would be free to marry a lady of your own choice. I doubt that Mrs Stuart would say no to a crown.’
The King was tempted. Frances had become an obsession. Through her he was losing his merry good humour. He was angry far more often than he used to be. He was melancholy; he wanted to be alone, whereas previously he had enjoyed company; he was spending more and more time in his laboratory with his chemists, but what compensation could that offer? It was Frances whom he wanted; he was in love. If Frances would become his mistress he was sure that he could forget, for long spells at a time, the sorry condition of his realm and all the troubles that were facing him.
Then he remembered Catherine – the Catherine of the honeymoon – so naïvely eager to please him, so simple, so loving. He had wronged her when he had made her accept Barbara. No! In spite of his love for Frances he would not agree to ill-treat Catherine.
He continued melancholy; but his temper blazed out when Clarendon again took up his tutorial attitude towards him.
‘It is more important to Your Majesty to give attention to state matters that to saunter and toy with Lady Castlemaine.’ How often had the man said those or similar words, and how often had they been received with a tolerant smile!
Now the Chancellor was told to look to his own house and not try to set that of his master in order.
Clarendon was unrepentant; he prided himself on his forthright manners. He knew he was unpopular but he did not care; he said that all that mattered to him was that he should do his duty.
The Chancellor began to look upon Frances Stuart as an unhealthy influence, and thought that the best thing she could do was to marry. Her cousin, the Duke of Richmond – another Charles Stuart – was one of the many young men who were in love with her and having recently become a widower was eager to marry her. He was rich, of high rank, being distantly related to the King as Frances was. The Chancellor therefore called the young Duke to him and urged him to continue with his wooing. And when he had seen him and discovered that was just what the young man was most eager to do, he sought an audience with the Queen.
They looked at each other – Queen and Chancellor.
Catherine’s appearance had not been improved by all she had suffered. She knew of the people’s animosity towards herself; she knew that they hated her because she was a Catholic, and concocted rhymes about her which they sang in the streets; and that these rhymes were witty and ribald after the manner of the day.
She guessed too that certain of the King’s ministers had spoken against her, because Charles had been particularly kind to her of late, which meant, she realized now that she had come to know him, that he felt sorry for her and was doubtless urging himself not to listen to his ministers’ advice.
There was a numb desolation in Catherine’s heart. She knew that they were advising him to rid himself of her. What would become of her? she wondered. Whither should she go? Home to Portugal where her brothers wrangled for the crown, a disgraced Queen, turned away by her husband because s
he could not bear him children and had failed to win his love and that of his subjects? No! She could not go back to Portugal. What was there for her, but a nunnery! She thought of the years stretching out ahead of her – she was a young woman still – of matins and complines, of bells and prayers; and all the time within her there would be longings which she must stifle, for whatever happened she would never forget Charles; she would love him until the day she died.
Last night he had stayed with her; he had resisted all temptation to go to one of his mistresses. She had been sick and overtaken with trembling, so fearful was she of what the future held for her.
How she despised herself! When she had the opportunity of being with him she was unable to make use of it. How could she hope to arouse anything but pity within him? His kindness she enjoyed was due, not to her attractiveness nor her cleverness, but merely to his goodness of heart. When she had been sick it was he who had brought the basin, and held her head and spoken soothing words; it was he who had called her women, to make her clean and comfortable, while uncomplaining he left the royal bed and moved to another room.
She could enjoy his kindness, but never his love.
Those were her thoughts when Clarendon was shown into her presence.
The Chancellor spoke in his usual blunt but somewhat pompous and authoritative manner.
‘Your Majesty will have heard rumours concerning Mrs Stuart?’
‘Yes, my lord, that is true,’ agreed Catherine.
‘I am sure Your Majesty will agree with me that the Court would be a happier place if Mrs Stuart were married, and mayhap left it for a while. Her cousin, the Duke of Richmond, would be an excellent match. It would be well for those of us who wish Mrs Stuart good to do all in our power to bring such a match about.’
‘You are right, my lord.’
‘Perhaps a word to the Duke from Your Majesty would be of use; and, as Mrs Stuart’s mistress, Your Majesty might see that the young people have every opportunity to meet.’
Catherine clenched her hands tightly together and said: ‘I will do all in my power to bring this matter to a happy conclusion.’
Clarendon was pleased. He, the Queen, and the Duke of Richmond were determined to bring about this marriage. There was one other who would be equally delighted to see it take place. That was Lady Castlemaine. And if Frances herself could be made to realize the advantages of the match, it must surely come about.
*
Barbara, whose spies were numerous, discovered that the Duke of Richmond was often in the company of Frances Stuart and that the conversations which took place between them were of a tender nature. Infuriated by the rumours she had heard of the King’s contemplating a divorce that he might marry Frances, Barbara had one object in mind – and that was to ruin Frances in the King’s eyes.
She did not believe that Frances was seriously contemplating marriage with her cousin, the Duke of Richmond. What woman, thought Barbara scornfully, would become a Duchess when the prospect of becoming a Queen was dangling before her?
She suspected Frances of being very sly and, in spite of her apparent ingenuousness, very clever. Barbara could be angry with herself when she came to believe that she, no less than others, had been duped by Frances’s apparent simplicity.
No! said Barbara. What the sly creature is doing is holding on to her virtue where the King is concerned, following the example of other ladies in history such as Elizabeth Woodville and Anne Boleyn. It may even be that she is not averse to entertaining a lover in private!
One day she discovered through her spies that the Duke of Richmond was in Frances’s apartment, and she lost no time in seeking out the King.
She waved away his attendants in a manner which annoyed him, but he did not reprove her for this until they had left.
Then she shouted at him: ‘Would you have them remain to hear what I have to say? Would you have them know – though doubtless they do already – what a fool Frances Stuart makes of you?’
The King’s calmness could always be shaken by the mention of Frances, and he demanded to know to what she referred.
‘We are so virtuous, are we not?’ mimicked Barbara. ‘We cannot be your mistress because we are so pure.’ Her blue eyes flashed, and her anger blazed forth. ‘Oh, no, no, no! We cannot be your mistress because we think you may be fool enough to make us your Queen.’
‘Be silent!’ cried the King. ‘You shall leave the Court. I’ll never look on your face again.’
‘No? Then go and look on hers now . . . Go and catch her and her lover together, and then thank me for showing you what a fool that sly slut has made of you.’
‘What is this?’ demanded the King.
‘Nothing . . . Nothing at all. Merely that your pure little virgin is at this moment languishing in the arms of another Charles Stuart. It would seem that she hath a fancy for the name. Only one is a King and to be dangled on a string, and the other . . . is merely a Duke, so there is no sense in being quite so pure with him.’
‘You lie,’ growled the King.
‘You are afraid of what you’ll discover. Go to her apartment now. Go . . . Go! And then thank me for opening your besotted eyes.’
The King turned and hurried from the room. He went immediately to Frances’s apartments; he pushed aside her attendants and went straight into that chamber where Frances was lying on a couch and the Duke of Richmond was sitting beside her holding her hand.
The King stood, legs apart, looking at them.
The Duke sprang to his feet. Frances did likewise.
‘Sire . . .’ began the Duke.
‘Get out of here,’ said the King ominously; and the Duke backed to the door and hurried away.
‘So,’ said the King, turning to Frances, ‘you entertain your lovers alone at times. Did you find his proposals to your liking?’
Frances said: ‘They were honourable proposals.’
‘Honourable! And he here alone in your apartment?’
‘Your Majesty must see that . . .’
‘I know nothing of your behaviour to this man,’ said the King. ‘I can only draw conclusions, and I see this: that you, who have been so careful not to be alone with me, employ not the same care in his case.’
Frances had never seen Charles angry with her before, and she was alarmed; but she did not tremble before him; she knew he would not harm her.
She said: ‘Your Majesty, the Duke came hither to talk to me in an honourable fashion. He has no wife.’
‘How far has this gone?’
‘No farther than you saw. How could it? I would never submit to any man except my husband.’
‘And you plan that he shall be that?’
‘I plan nothing . . . yet.’
‘Then he should not be here in your apartments.’
‘Are the customs of the Court changing then?’
‘We have always heard that you were set apart, that you did not accept the standards of the rest of us frail folk.’
He took her by the shoulders suddenly; his face was dark with passion.
‘Frances,’ he pleaded. ‘Have done with folly. Why do you so long hold out against me?’
She was frightened; she wrenched herself free and, running to the wall, clutched at the hangings as though childishly wishing to hide herself among them.
‘I beg of Your Majesty to leave me,’ she said.
She realized that his anger was still with him. He said: ‘One day mayhap you will be ugly and willing! I await that day with pleasure.’
Then he left her, and she knew that her relationship with the King had taken a new turn.
*
Frances, her fear still upon her, sought audience with the Queen.
She threw herself at Catherine’s feet and burst into tears.
‘Your Majesty,’ she cried, ‘I beg of you to help me. I am afraid. I have aroused the wrath of the King, and I have never seen him angry before. I fear that when his wrath is aroused it is more terrible than in those to whom ange
r comes more often.’
‘You had better tell me what has happened,’ said Catherine.
‘He disturbed me with the Duke. He was furious with us both. The Duke has fled from Court. I know not what to do. He has never looked at me as he did then. He suspected . . . I know not what.’
‘I think,’ said Catherine sadly, ‘that he will not long be displeased with you.’
‘It is not that I fear his displeasure, Your Majesty. He believes the Duke to be my lover; and I fear he will not have the same respect for me as hitherto.’
‘That may be true,’ agreed Catherine.
She felt then that she hated the beautiful face which was turned up to hers, hated it as much as she hated that other bold and arrogant one. These women with their beauty! It was cruel that they should have the power to take so easily that for which she longed, and longed in vain.
At that moment she would have given her rank and all she possessed to be in Frances Stuart’s place, loved and desired by the King.
He was angry with this girl, she was thinking; yet with me he never cared enough to be anything but kind.
She was aware of a rising passion within herself. She longed to rid the Court of all these women who claimed his attention. She believed he was tiring of Barbara, whose continual tantrums were at last wearing him down; but this young girl with her matchless beauty and her girlish ways was different. He loved this girl; he had even contemplated making her his wife. Catherine was sure of this.
She said suddenly: ‘If you married the Duke you would have a husband to protect you. You would show the King that he was mistaken in thinking you had taken a lover. Would you marry the Duke? He is the best match you could make.’
