The Merry Monarch's Wife (17 page)

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.