The Merry Monarch's Wife (6 page)

“I have called on him to help,” she said. “I told the Earl that we could pay half of your dowry now and the rest at the end of the year. But the fact is I do not have the money even for part of the first half. So what I propose to do is to put on board the value of the money—the half we are speaking of—in goods, spices, sugar, such things, merchandise as we would export from our country. Diego Silvas will travel to England with the goods and when he arrives in England he will store them and see that they are sold to the merchants he knows in London, and when this is done the money will be delivered to the English treasury.” She took a deep breath and spread her hands with a smile. “It was the only thing I could do.”

I looked at her incredulously and thought how wonderful she was…how imaginative…how resourceful. She was the most remarkable person I had ever known.

I felt the tears in my eyes. For the first time I fully realized what my departure would mean to me, because after I had gone, I might never see her again.

She watched me, reading my thoughts.

She said: “I could think of no other way.”

“And do you think it will be accepted?”

“I do not know. I can only pray. The Earl was astounded. He was not sure what he should do. He has gone away to ponder. I believe he must accept. How can he return without the bride? And what of Tangiers? After all, is the money so important beside Tangiers…and Bombay…and all the free trade which will come their way? And he is favorably impressed with you. I could see that. All will be well, daughter, I am sure of it.”

It was agonizing to wait for the Earl's decision. There had been so many obstacles to the marriage that I began to fear that this one would be insurmountable.

How would the King feel? He was expecting money and would receive sugar and spices.

Only my mother could have thought of such a plan.

She came to me.

“He has agreed to accept,” she said. “I knew he would. What else could he do? It has gone too far. He could not leave now.”

“Has the King agreed?”

“My dear daughter, how could there be time for that? It has to be the Earl's decision. He is a worried man, but he sees the inevitability of this. There is only one course of action for him.”

“It is a difficult decision for him to make.”

“We all have difficult decisions to make, and he is a sensible man. How could he go back to England without the bride everyone is expecting? I have given him our bond that the rest of the money will be paid before the year is out.”

“Can that be done?”

“It must be done. He knows that Diego Silvas, who has a reputation for honest dealing and shrewd bargaining, will see that the King gets his first installment as promised. So…we can forget our fears. In a short time you will be sailing for England.”

         

THERE WAS A GREAT DEAL
of interest in the English court among those surrounding me; and there must have been gossip about its nature. I often marvel at the successful manner in which this was kept from me. It must have been on my mother's orders, for both Donna Maria and Donna Elvira were fond of gossip.

She had chosen these two to be close to me and to accompany me to England. There would be other waiting women, of course, but these two were in command. They had grown in importance and had increased their care of me—somewhat ostentatiously, I must admit.

I soon realized they had something on their minds. If I asked them, they immediately became cautious, and it was almost as though they buttoned up their lips, because they were fearful that words would slip out.

One day I heard Donna Elvira say: “I think we should speak to Donna Luiza. It is only right that the Infanta should be prepared.”

To that Donna Maria replied: “It is a thought which has been with me for some time. The poor child will be unready for what she must surely find.”

I confronted them and asked to know what they thought I should find.

They blustered and said I must have misheard their words.

Shortly after that, when I was with my mother, I decided to tell what I had overheard, and I felt there was something which was being kept from me.

“They seemed quite anxious about it,” I said.

She hesitated for a moment, as though she were making up her mind. “Tell me,” she said at length, “what have you heard of the King?”

“The King? Charles? Oh, that he has been welcomed back…that the people are glad to have him…that he has made England merry again…that he fought valiantly and offered his life for his father's…and that it is wonderful that he is back where he belongs.”

“All that is true, but there is more to know.”

“It is my desire to know all I can about him and his country.”

“It may be that there are certain aspects which you might not like.”

“I do not understand.”

“My dear Catherine, you have lived what is called a sheltered life. You have hardly ever left the walls of the palace or those of the convent. Life can be rather different in certain places. You were very fond of your father. He was a wonderful man…devoted to his family…a good man in every aspect. He loved you children dearly and was a faithful husband to me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Because you have seen so little of life, you might judge all men by him.”

I was puzzled and wondered why she, who was usually so direct, should now be so hesitant.

“The King is thirty-two years of age. He is unmarried. He has led an adventurous life, wandering about the continent. Such is the nature of men that there will be women in their lives. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Mistresses?” I began.

She nodded. “You see, the King has never had a wife…well, you see…it is only natural.”

“Yes…but when he is married, that will be over…”

“Of course. But…er…”

“Please tell me, my lady.”

“There is talk that at this time he is enamored of a certain woman….”

“Oh, but now I shall be his wife. You saw the letter he wrote to me.”

“Yes, I saw it.” She smiled brightly. “It is just that we think you should know that there has been this woman. By all accounts, she is handsome and…very demanding. If you should hear of her, you must ignore her. Do not let her come to court. You should treat her as though she does not exist.”

“But of course I shall, and when I am married, she will certainly not be there. Who is this woman?”

“Her name is Barbara Palmer, Lady Castlemaine.”

It was the first time I heard the name of that evil woman.

         

ON THE TWENTY-THIRD OF APRIL,
St. George's Day, the time had come for my departure—and by a happy coincidence, St. George is the patron saint not only of England but also of Portugal. All I could think of was the parting with my mother and that this might be the last time I set eyes on her.

My two brothers were with me and they escorted me down to the hall where my mother was waiting for me. She looked at me with such affection that I almost burst into tears. I knew I must not do that. She must not be ashamed of me. She was restraining her emotions and so must I mine.

She held me tightly in her arms; and then it was over and my brothers were leading me to the coach. Surrounded by an array of the nobility, we went in procession to the cathedral. The bells were ringing and the guns were firing the salutes; there was music in the streets and the people cried: “Long live the Queen of England!”

When the cathedral service was over, we made our way to the sea.

I was surrounded by a great company led by my brothers. Don Francisco was present. He had recently been ennobled for the excellent work he had done in negotiating the marriage contract and had become the Marquis da Sande. That he was delighted in the manner in which everything had been resolved was evident.

Waiting for us was a splendid barge which was to take us to the Admiral's ship, the
Royal Charles.

When I stepped aboard this magnificent vessel, the Earl of Sandwich was waiting to greet me, and my brother Alfonso formally handed me over to him. Donna Maria and Donna Elvira stood beside me, my protectors. The Admiral conducted me to the splendid cabin which had been prepared for me, and my brother said a sad farewell and departed.

I was on my way to England.

MARRIED BLISS

WE COULD NOT SAIL OUT OF THE BAY THEN AS THE WIND
was too strong and I was told it might be some time before we could leave.

I settled into my cabin, which was truly magnificent. I marvelled at the amount of care which had gone into making it so; it was not only comfortable but luxurious. The walls had been lined with velvet; there were curtains of damask and taffeta; and there were rugs on the floor. I imagined Charles giving orders that all should be of the best for his Queen.

How miraculous it was that all our plans had worked out. I should be rejoicing, but I could not help thinking of my mother. I should never forget her face as it had been at that last moment when we embraced. There were no tears. How could she weep with so many watching her? But her grief had been none the less because of that.

“I shall never see her again,” I kept saying to myself; and then waves of misery would sweep over me.

And yet our purpose—the dream that had been with us for years—was realized. It could not have been any other way. That was like life, I supposed. Nothing could be entirely perfect.

I had to stop thinking of my mother. I had to remember that I was going to my husband—the man of whom I had dreamed for so many years…ever since that day when I was seven and I had learned that there was a possibility of his being my husband.

The hours were passing and we still remained in the bay.

In the evening my brothers brought a group of noblemen from the court to serenade me. They sailed in their little boats round the
Royal Charles,
playing music and singing to me. It was very moving.

And when I awoke next morning, the sun was shining brilliantly. The wind was still strong but the Admiral decided that we would wait no longer. We would defy the weather and set sail. So, with Donna Maria and Donna Elvira, six maids of honor and their servants, with Don Francisco de Mello, who was to supervise my safe delivery into England, with Richard Russell, my almoner, who was an excellent interpreter, and others who were necessary to me, plus boxes of sugar and spices, I left my country for a new life in England.

It was a most hazardous journey. Some of my ladies were so ill that they wished for death; I myself suffered slightly less. We really believed that our last moments had come and we should never see England; and when some of the vessels were damaged by the storm, we were certain of this.

The wind roared and buffeted us and we were at one stage forced to take refuge in Mount Bay, off the coast of Cornwall.

We were heartened to receive a welcome from the people on shore. They knew that I was on board one of the ships and they were clearly determined to show their pleasure in my arrival. Bonfires were lighted along the coast and we could hear people singing; salutes were fired and there was a wonderful display of fireworks.

After that brief halt we were able to pursue our journey, and came to the Isle of Wight, where the Duke of York, the King's brother, was waiting with a squadron of frigates to greet us.

A message was sent to me. The Duke wanted permission to come aboard the
Royal Charles
that he might “kiss my hand.”

There was excitement in the cabin. Donna Maria and Donna Elvira were shocked when I said I must greet the Duke of York in English dress. Clothes had been thoughtfully provided for such an occasion, and I ordered my women to dress me in a gown of white silk trimmed with lace.

Donna Maria covered her face with her hands when she saw me in it, and Donna Elvira held up her hands in horror.

“It is most unsuitable!” wailed Donna Maria.

“Quite immodest,” agreed Donna Elvira.

“It is the English fashion,” I told them.

“Then,” retorted Donna Maria, “we had better turn back and go home.”

“What!” I cried, mocking her. “Face the sea again? I heard you say that nothing on earth would make you sail again.”

But Donna Maria was truly distressed since, having just emerged from one ordeal, she was confronted by me in a most unsuitable gown. It was too much for her.

I heard the arrival of the Duke. Don Francisco was on deck waiting to receive him and bring him to one. My heart was beating fast as he approached.

The Duke was tall, his features heavy, but his complexion was fair, whereas I had heard Charles's swarthiness referred to often. It had been said that he was more like a Spaniard than an Englishman, so therefore James's comparative fairness surprised me. He had a certain dignity, but there was a friendliness about him.

He started to kneel before me; but I thought that was too formal for one who was to be my brother-in-law. So I asked him not to do so and embraced him. His response was immediate.

He then spoke in English which I did not understand. Richard Russell translated for me. James was saying what a great pleasure it was to welcome me to England on his brother's behalf, but he included an earnest welcome from himself at the same time.

He asked me how the voyage had been and then suggested that, as he knew a little Spanish, it might be easier for us to converse in that language; and this we did.

He then told me that his brother was awaiting my arrival with the greatest eagerness, and how the whole country was jubilant.

The people were still celebrating the return of the King. Poor souls, they had suffered under Cromwell. He had made England a country without laughter. That was no country to live in. But at least it had made them appreciate the merry times the more.

He wanted me to know that he was determined to be my friend and if he could be of service to me at any time I must tell him, for nothing would delight him more than to help. I wanted him to sit beside me, but he said he could not do so because that was his brother's place. He would sit in a chair without a canopy.

I had not expected such rigid regard for etiquette in England and think, from what I gathered afterward, that it was just the Duke's way of showing he wanted to honor me.

When he left he brushed aside ceremony and remarked that I did not do justice to my rank, to which I replied that I acted out of affection, and I could see that this pleased him.

So my meeting with my brother-in-law was most satisfactory.

Before he left, he presented to me the Earl of Chesterfield and the Duke of Ormonde, with other gentlemen who had accompanied him. All were most effusive in their welcome and, with the horrors of the sea voyage behind me, my spirits were considerably lifted.

Shortly after the Duke had left, Donna Maria said she was feeling unwell. I insisted that she went to bed immediately, and to my surprise she did not protest. So I guessed that she was indeed ill, for nothing else would have induced her to leave my side at such a time.

When we reached Portsmouth she was so ill that she could not be with me, and I was left to Donna Elvira and my ladies-in-waiting.

I was taken to the King's house in Portsmouth where the Duchess of Suffolk, who was to be Mistress of the Stole, was waiting to be received by me. She appeared to be a very pleasant woman, although we could not understand each other very well.

Donna Maria was suffering from a feverish cold and was not seriously ill, which was comforting; and I settled down to await the coming of the King.

My only regret was that my mother was not here with me. How gratified she would have been by the welcome I had received! She would be thinking of me now, I knew. We were separated, but at least she had acheved her ambition; and in such circumstances it could not be otherwise. I was as good as married to the King of England and the Spanish would not dare attack Portugal now that England was brought closer to us by this alliance.

If only she could be with me now, what great happiness I should know!

There was consternation when, a few days after my arrival in Portsmouth, I caught Donna Maria's cold. I was sneezing and had a slight fever. The doctors were called and they said I must keep to my bed.

Several days had passed since my arrival and I had not yet seen the King. He was detained in London on urgent business, I was told. I was a little uneasy that he should be delayed so long. It might seem that he was not very eager to see me. I wondered what the business in London could be which was so urgent. Matters of state, of course.

It was five days after my arrival in Portsmouth when he came. I was in bed. The fever had subsided but the cold still persisted.

Donna Maria, now recovered, said: “You must not leave your bed, and one thing is certain, the King must not see you in it.”

“He will expect to see me when he arrives.”

“If he is a sensible and right-minded man, he will realize the impropriety of seeing you at such a time.”

I wondered. I had already noticed that formality was not so rigidly insisted on here as it was in Portugal. It existed, of course, but the English had a habit of discarding certain things if they become inconvenient.

He arrived. I heard the commotion below. Donna Maria and Donna Elvira were standing at the door like two angels with flaming swords guarding Eden.

Then I heard a voice—the most musical I had ever heard. It was soft and caressing, though I could not understand the words which were spoken.

The Earl of Sandwich was there.

He said in Spanish that the King had arrived and wished to see the Queen.

Donna Maria replied that the Queen was indisposed.

“The King will see her,” replied the Earl. “He has traveled from London for this.”

Donna Maria was about to protest, but with a courtly gesture, the Earl led her to one side. And there was the King.

I felt myself flushing and trying to shrink below the bedclothes, fearful that, unadorned as I was, he should find me ill-favored.

He came to the bed. He had taken off his plumed hat and flung it onto a chair. He was smiling and he was all that I had dreamed him to be. One was immediately aware of his height, and his dark face with the heavy-lidded eyes. They sparkled with merriment and friendliness. Yet there was a certain gentleness about him. He was swarthy, yes, that was true enough. He was quite unlike the fair-skinned Englishmen whom I had met so far. In fact, he was different from anyone I had ever seen before. He may not have had perfect features, but he had something far more attractive. It was an excessive and indefinable charm. For so long I had created an image—now here was the embodiment of my ideal.

He sat on the bed and took my hand. He kissed it, looking up into my face as he did so.

He spoke in English and then, laughing, slipped into Spanish.

“The Spaniards have a use then,” he said. “They gave us a language which we both understand. My little wife, how it delights me to see you! But I am sad that you should be indisposed. But you will be well soon. Your doctors have told me that. It is nothing much…just a little inconvenience. That makes me very happy.”

“You are kind,” I said.

“Kind?” He laughed. “And to whom should I be kind if not to my Queen? Life is going to be good. I can see that you and I will be of one mind. We shall be merry together. The sea was not good to you, they tell me. That grieved me much. And now you are here, all shall be well from now on. How I have longed to see you!”

It did not occur to me until later—such was the magic of his presence—that if he had so longed to see me, he need not have waited five days before doing so. But I was to discover that, while one was with Charles, he beguiled one into believing him. Or perhaps one did so because one wanted to.

“As soon as you are well, we shall be married,” he said.

He saw the furrow in my brow and asked me in a tender voice if anything worried me.

With a certain apprehension, I broached the subject which was uppermost in my mind. Perhaps he was not the one to whom I should have spoken, but there was a kindliness in him and I sensed he would be tolerant and understand a point of view which might not be his own. I should certainly not have mentioned it on our first meeting, but I had already tried to speak of it to Don Francisco, who had brushed it aside.

I said: “There is something, Your Majesty.”

He took my hand. “Charles…” he said reproachfully, and I immediately felt able to confide in him.

“It is the ceremony…”

“Oh, the ceremony! What fuss! For myself, I could happily dispense with such encumbrances.”

“Your Majesty…Charles…I could not be happy if there was not a Catholic ceremony.”

For a moment he dropped his bantering mood. Then he smiled and said: “You need have no fear. Our marriage will be regarded throughout the world as a true marriage.”

“It would not be so to me,” I said.

“Ah,” he replied. “They have made an ardent papist of you, have they? Papists are so earnest.” He laughed. “You remind me of my mother. You and she will be good friends when you meet, I'll swear. As for this Catholic ceremony…you see, my dear, you are Queen of this country and you must be married according to the religious observances of the place. But you say you will not be happy…and I cannot allow you to be unhappy. I will tell you how we will resolve this matter. There shall be a ceremony here in this bedchamber. It shall be as you wish, and the other one will take place as arranged on the same day. It means you will have to marry me twice. Could you bear that?”

I felt my lips tremble. I was going to weep because I was so touched, so happy.

“You are all that I hoped for…and all that I dreamed,” I said emotionally.

He looked at me in mock dismay. “Do not have too good an opinion of me, I beg you. I fear you will find me a somewhat sinful fellow.”

“Oh no. You are the kindest and best man in the world.”

He leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. He was sober suddenly. He said: “You shame me.” Then he was merry again. His gravity seemed always to be fleeting, as though his gaiety was waiting impatiently to break in on it.

“So,” he went on, “that little matter is taken care of. There is nothing now for you to be anxious about. All you have to do is get well. I am impatient for these ceremonies to be over.”