The Merry Monarch's Wife

by Jean Plaidy

“Oh…it was of no importance.”

  “Only if Your Majesty found it so.”

  “There was a great deal of talk throughout the court about the foolish matter.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Well, ’tis over and done. Do you think my English is improving, Mr. Montague?”

  “Indeed it is, Madam. You have attained fluency.”

  “You are flattering me. I am still hesitant. The King laughs at me.”

  Again that look of disapproval.

  “Methings he should applaud Your Majesty.”

  “Oh, he does…he does. But as you know, the King laughs at many things.”

  He nodded again. His eyes were eloquent. He was telling me that he knew of my unhappiness and he would do anything in his power for me.

  It was very comforting.

  I thought he might be regretting the return of the monarchy. He was very serious-minded, a religious man to whom the foibles of the King seemed very sinful.

  I could not doubt his devotion to me. I only had to hint at the smallest service and it was performed with a deep enthusiasm.

  THE POSITION AT COURT was still the same. Frances was as aloof as ever. I had a feeling that Buckingham was intriguing in some way. There was an air of secretive amusement about him.

  I was right about this, and I learned so from an unexpected quarter; none other than Lady Castlemaine herself.

  I was amazed one day when one of her servants arrived with a message for me. Her ladyship begged me to grant her an interview where we might talk alone, for she had something of importance to say to me.

  I was filled with apprehension, and my inclination was to refuse to see her. What good had she ever done to me? I had alienated the King by showing my disapproval of her, and had lost his respect by feigning to accept her. I wanted nothing to do with the woman.

  Why should she wish to see me? But I knew all the time that I would not refuse. That would be folly. I must know what this meant.

  She came, more soberly dressed than usual, yet even so, I was struck by her beauty. It forced itself upon one. There was really no need for the elaborate patches, the feather and the jewels. She was magnificent just in herself.

  She looked different, almost pious. That brazen determination to call attention to herself was gone.

  “Your Majesty, it is so kind of you to receive me.” I could scarcely believe in this humility. There must be a reason.

  It came.

  “A somewhat dastardly plot has come to my ears. I keep in touch with what is going on around me. I have very good and faithful servants—and my Mrs. Sarah, who cooks for me, has a husband in Lord Sandwich’s household. Thus through Mrs. Sarah I heard what is going on there.”

  “You must be very knowledgeable, Lady Castlemaine.”

  “I am thankful on this occasion that I am.”

  “Pray tell me.”

  “Buckingham is hatching a plot. One can never trust Buckingham. He is a Villiers, as I am…of my family. That is why I understand him more than most people can. He is a most ambitious man.”

  “I quickly became aware of that.”

  “Of a certainty, Your Majesty would. You have taken his measure. I doubt not, Madam, we must stop this wicked plot.”

  “I am waiting to hear what it is.”

  “Your Majesty must forgive my broaching this matter, but we must be frank. You and I are not so foolish as to turn our eyes from what is blatantly true. We face the facts. It is the only way to deal with them. Your Majesty knows as well as I do that the King is enamored of that silly little Stuart girl.”

  I bowed my head in assent.

  “And she holds out against his wooing. I know Buckingham. He has become close to the girl. Oh, I do not mean that he is her lover. She remains aloof from all her admirers. That much I have proved. She is quite brainless and as simple as a child of six years. She has some notion that she must withhold that precious body of hers until someone comes along who will marry her and give her great titles.”

  “There are many who would say that is the moral attitude to take.”

  Lady Castlemaine drew a deep breath to suppress her impatience.

  “Buckingham believes that he knows how to manipulate her. He can play that card game better than anyone else, which makes him something of a genius in silly Frances’s eyes. He has a plan that she shall become the King’s mistress and he shall rule through her…lead her to take the King the way he wants him to go. Thus power to Buckingham and Arlington, and Sandwich, who are in this vile plot.”

  “How do they propose to bring it about?”

  “That is what I have come to tell Your Majesty, for I think they can be foiled, and after all, much as we despise the silly Stuart, she is an innocent girl and the plot is monstrous.”

  “Please go on.”

  “The Duchess of Buckingham is giving a ball tomorrow night.”

  “I know of that.”

  “Poor Mary Fairfax! I do not doubt she wishes she had married a nice sober gentleman from Cromwell’s band. She thought she was doing so well to get Buckingham…and so did Fairfax! What does poor Mary think now? Wife of the Duke? It may have some compensation. Well, Mary is to give a ball. The King will be there…and so will Frances…and Buckingham, Arlington and Sandwich. They think this game of playing the vestal virgin has gone on too long. It is disturbing the King. He is morose and frustrated and that spoils the fun. So they plan to bring it to an end.”

  “How?”

  “This is what I have come to tell you. Frances will be present. She will call for the cards, of course. And then there will be the usual silly contest. She will sit there and play her game for hours, and while she is doing it, she will be plied with drink. Frances is not accustomed to that. She is by nature abstemious. The drinks will be especially strong—treated in some way—and when she is so absorbed in her game dear Frances will have more than is good for her. In such a mood she will be spirited away. They have a nice little apartment waiting for her and…there will be the King.”

  I felt myself flushing with indignation.

  I cried: “And the King…does he know of this?”

  She lifted her hands. “I believe he knows nothing of it.”

  I was relieved at that. “It’s a dastardly plot,” I said. “It is for Miss Stuart to decide what she will do, and to behave toward a young girl in this way is…scandalous.”

  “Your Majesty is of the same opinion as myself. It must not be. We must save this poor girl from this…outrage.”

  “I shall tell the King.”

  She shook her head emphatically, and I wondered whether she was implying he would be ready to go along with the scheme…which he might well be.

  “Then Frances Stuart…”

  Again that shrug. “She would not be able to deal with it. They would swear their innocence…and then later try it again. No, we must foil this in a diplomatic way. Your Majesty can do it with the utmost ease.”

  “How so?”

  “You will go to the ball and decide to leave early. Your Majesty is tired and wishes to retire. You need your lady-in-waiting to return with you. You just command Frances to accompany you.”

  “It seems simple.”

  “It is,” said Lady Castlemaine, “and it is the way to foil this dastardly plot and preserve Miss Stuart’s virtue.”

  “Thank you, Lady Castlemaine,” I said. “I will consider what you have told me.”

  She smiled, bowed and left me. If I had not found the situation so distasteful, I could have been amused to see Lady Castlemaine in the role of defender of virtue.

  I WAS CAUTIOUS. I wondered what was behind this. I did not trust the Lady. It might be some scheme of hers to embarrass me.

  I was unsure.

  I could not exactly like Frances Stuart, but I did think she was genuinely virtuous, and it was not her fault that she had been endowed with so much beauty and so little brain.

  In due course I went to the ball accompanied by Charle
s. I was watchful of both Frances and Buckingham and soon became sure that the Lady had been right. Buckingham was looking amused and secretive. He was a man who betrayed his feelings and was a poor plotter because he could not hide the fact that something was in progress.

  I believed the story now. It was natural that the Lady should want to prevent the plot’s succeeding, and I knew that Buckingham might well believe that he could rule the King through Frances—absurd as that might seem.

  And there was Frances surrounded by her admirers, calling for her beloved cards.

  I was watching her. I was aware of Lady Castlemaine, whose eyes met mine conspiratorially.

  Buckingham was playing the game with her. Sandwich and Arlington sat one on either side of her. It was true that they were filling her glass.

  Frances was flushed and her laughter was louder than usual. Her hands stayed steady, though. She was an adept with her houses of cards.

  I said to Lettice Ormonde: “I wish to retire. Please tell Miss Stuart that I shall need her.”

  Such an order from the Queen could not be ignored.

  With a gesture which sent her house of cards tottering to the floor, Frances rose.

  She was a little unsteady.

  I saw the black faces of the plotters, and Frances’s unsteady gait and the vacant smile on her face made me certain that Lady Castlemaine’s suspicions had been correct.

  What a strange world I lived in when a king’s passion for one of the ladies of his court could result in such a conspiracy!

  SHORTLY AFTER THAT I was given an unpleasant shock, and I wondered if it was the result of what had happened about Frances Stuart.

  Rumors were circulating throughout the court and, as is usually the case, the one most deeply concerned is the last to hear of them.

  Buckingham may have realized that his scheme to set up Frances Stuart as Charles’s chief mistress, when he, Buckingham, would guide her how to influence the King, had been foiled by me in league with Lady Castlemaine.

  I had no desire to be caught up in their intrigues, but it seemed I had in this one.

  That Lady Castlemaine should have done everything in her power to prevent Frances Stuart from becoming the King’s mistress was clear enough, but why should I care whether it was Lady Castlemaine or Frances Stuart? In fact Frances Stuart woud have been preferable.

  In any case, I had spoiled Buckingham’s plan and Frances Stuart would be on the alert if he should attempt such a thing again.

  I was sure these rumors were set in motion by Buckingham and his friends.

  The first clue I had came one evening at supper. We were talking as usual. Charles was in a merry mood and was entertaining the company with his conversation. Buckingham was singing a song—one of the King’s own composition about the pleasures of love.

  I was following the conversation more easily nowadays and my grasp of the language enabled me to express myself more intelligently, if a little quaintly. Buckingham was talking about a dishonest servant in his household who had been found stealing.

  “And our servants…they surround us. We have need of them as they have need of us. How fortunate we are when we find those who serve us faithfully and loyally.” He was smiling at me. “Your Majesty knows this well. You have at least one good and faithful servant—your noble Master of Horse. I’ll warrant he is always ready at hand to give good service to his mistress.”

  There was a short silence. I distinctly heard someone smother a laugh.

  I did not understand what this meant and I forgot it almost at once. It was only later that I realized the implication of these words.

  At the time I said: “My Master of Horse has always been a good servant to me…from the time I came here.”

  “But of course,” Charles said lightly. “I chose him for you, my dear.”

  Then the conversation went on as usual.

  The next day when I sent for my Master of Horse, I was told that he had gone.

  “Gone?” I cried. “Gone where?”

  “I do not know, Your Majesty. On the King’s orders he was dismissed from his post and told that he was no longer Your Majesty’s Master of Horse.”

  This was a blow to me. My friendship with Edward Montague had been genuine. I had liked his serious conversation and his sympathy, which I sensed though it was not spoken of.

  When I saw Charles I said: “They have sent away my Master of Horse. Why?”

  Charles looked at me in astonishment. “He could not remain after Buckingham’s insinuation.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Buckingham is an insolent fellow. He goes too far. He’ll have to be curbed. They have been saying in the court that you had become too friendly with your Master of Horse.”

  “Too friendly! But he is a good friend.”

  “My dear Catherine.” He laid his hands on my shoulders and smiled gently at me. “I know you would never take a lover. Though…God knows…could I blame you? It would not be wise though. There is the succession.”

  “I do not understand what you say.”

  “Rumors have been going round the court that Montague was your lover.”

  “How dare they!”

  “Oh, they dare a great deal for gossip. They lie…they slander…it’s all a game to them. But Buckingham’s insolence made it impossible for Montague to stay in his position.”

  “It is cruel…so untrue.”

  “The world is cruel sometimes.” He looked at me with compassion, and I knew he was telling me how sorry he was that he was not a better husband. He knew I had turned to Edward Montague for a little sympathy and understanding. That was what was so lovable about Charles. He was as worldliwise as his courtiers, but with his cynicism and abandonment to pleasure, there was also kindness and understanding of those who were not like himself.

  “Montague had to go,” he went on. “I know he was a good fellow…a good friend of yours…and when I say friend I mean just friend. But there was talk. Malicious talk, as there always is and always will be, and we have to consider the effect of such talk…even though we know it to be false. Choose another Master of Horse.”

  “I will not. I cannot. I should have been consulted.”

  He shook his head. “It had to be. You must understand that he had to go. You have to walk very carefully because you are the Queen.”

  “As carefully as you do,” I could not help retorting.

  “I am a sinner and the world knows it, but you, my dear, must be above reproach.”

  “And all your friends…?”

  He lifted his shoulders.

  “You are going to give us the heir to the throne and no one must be allowed by word or look even to imply that his father is other than the King.”

  “You do not think…,” I began.

  He shook his head and kissed me tenderly.

  “I know you to be good and virtuous…far too good for me. But that is life…and here we are. Now, you must have a new Master of Horse.”

  I DID NOT IMMEDIATELY CHOOSE anyone to replace Edward Montague. I was too upset not only by the loss of a good friend but by the wicked interpretation which had been put on our friendship by those who wished me harm.

  I knew Charles did not believe this calumny. I wondered whether he would have blamed me if the scandal had been true. He continued in his relationship with Lady Castlemaine, although her lovers were so numerous that I had heard it said she would not remember how many there had been.

  Lady Castlemaine had had the temerity to suggest a replacement for my Master of Horse, and I had indignantly rejected her choice. I told Charles that I had no intention of taking a new man yet. I was too upset by the manner in which Edward Montague had been dismissed.

  The intrigues of the court were dimmed into insignificance by the trouble with the Dutch. For some time there had been conflict between Dutch and English fishermen and there were several fights at sea during which the vessels of both nationalities were sunk. English merchants were continually
complaining that their trade was being damaged by the Dutch.

  Caricatures were smuggled into the country. There were many directed against Charles and they caused him considerable annoyance. In one he was depicted with the pockets of his jacket hanging out empty to indicate the poverty of the exchequer, and in another he was led by one woman while another was clinging to his coattails and others were running after him.

  They were meant as insults and to show the contempt in which the Dutch held the King of England—and the country, for that matter.

  Charles was more serious that I had ever seen him before. He gave up his daily habit of sauntering in the park. He had always loved to walk there, his dogs at his heels and surrounded by his favorites.

  But a subtle change had come over him. He had always been interested in ships, an enthusiasm shared by the Duke of York. A new vessel was being built and he paid constant visits to the dockyards and spent a great deal of time there poring over plans and talking with the shipbuilders. Admiral the Earl of Sandwich was constantly in his company.

  I realized what was happening. The battles between our sailors and the Dutch, and the insolent comment on the King’s activities, were leading somewhere.

  On one occasion Charles talked to me.

  “I do not like the situation,” he said. “I am afraid there may be war. War is senseless. I have had my fill of it. Odds fish, I never want to see a war again as long as I live.”

  It was inevitable that it should happen. We were at war with Holland. The fleet was to leave with the Duke of York in charge, and Charles was going to Chatham to see it set out. I begged to be allowed to accompany him and was delighted when he agreed that I should.

  It was a great occasion, though a solemn one. Queen Henrietta Maria joined us there and I was pleased when she greeted me with the utmost warmth and told me how pleased she was that Lady Castlemaine was not with us on this occasion.

  “I cannot understand why Charles keeps that woman about him,” she said. “One would have thought he had had enough of her by this time. And that Stuart girl? What of her?”

  I could talk easily to my mother-in-law, so I told her that Frances Stuart was still holding back, and that the King remained deeply enamored of her though he still very often supped with Lady Castlemaine.