by Jean Plaidy
“It is trying,” she said. “It is a pity Charles does not take after his father. He was always such a faithful husband. But I lost him…Charles will never go the way he did. Charles has too much respect for his head. He will keep it where it belongs. But I wish his heart was not so susceptible. And there is this war now…and England is not very friendly with the French either…or the Spaniards. Well, they are the natural enemies.
“I pray this Dutch matter will soon be over and you, my dear, will soon give birth to the heir to the throne.”
“I was unfortunate…”
“My heart bleeds for you, chérie. And no other in sight? Some breed easily. Others cannot. This is the story of history. It is littered with queens who could not have any children and those who had too many. How perverse life is! But you must have a child, my dear. That will make all the difference.”
“I know.”
“I pray for it.”
It was good to be with her. She stood between Charles and me and shared our pride as the newly launched Loyal London sailed away.
THE WINTER WAS BITTERLY COLD—one of the worst people remembered. We were all looking forward to the spring and victory over the Dutch; but with the coming of that beautiful season, tragedy struck.
Earlier in the year, people had been amazed, and not a little alarmed, because a strange spectacle had been seen in the sky. It appeared at certain times and was like a misty star with a bright tail. Charles was very interested in the stars and would watch for it every night. I used to sit with him and look at this strange object. I think he was rather pleased by my interest. It was not the sort of phenomenon which would interest Lady Castlemaine or the fair Stuart.
Some said it was an evil omen and recalled a similar display in the sky in the year 1066—the year of the Norman Conquest.
We heard that in some parts of the country there had been a certain disease which was easily passed from one person to another and few who had the misfortune to fall victim of it survived.
I remember the day well. It was April. The weather was beginning to get warm. A man had collapsed in Cheapside and when people approached him they saw that he was shivering and delirious. He had opened his shirt and there on his chest was the dreaded spot…the macula which was a sign that the victim was suffering from the plague.
He was dead. Others were found. They had collapsed in the streets before they could reach shelter.
It soon became clear that the plague had come to London.
It spread with alarming rapidity. There was great consternation and a hasty meeting of Parliament. Everyone in the city was in danger, and drastic measures were needed.
It was decided that the King and the court must leave, for it would be disastrous if the King should become a victim. The country was in a state of uncertainty. We were at war with the Dutch; but the first importance was the health of the citizens.
Charles was no coward. He said he would stay with the people, but the folly of such a sacrifice was pressed upon him. The Duke of York was engaged with the navy; he must of necessity be in a certain danger, so the King must protect himself.
We left London for Salisbury. The Duke of Albermarle remained in London to look after affairs there with Archbishop Sheldon. Both these men proved to be magnificent and I was sure did a great deal to prevent the epidemic becoming more terrible than it was.
Charles was very unhappy at that time. I had never known him to be so serious. He felt deeply disturbed because he was not in London and he had news of what was happening there brought to him every day.
The weather was sweltering hot during that June, July and August and people were dying by the hundreds in the capital.
The Duke of Albermarle had acted quickly and firmly. He reported what he was doing and Charles said he could not have been a better man for the task. The greatest need was to stop the disease spreading. Any house where one of the inmates had contracted the disease must immediately be marked with a red cross and the words “Lord Have Mercy upon us” painted below the cross; and if any of the inmates left that house before a month had elapsed since a victim had died, that would be breaking the law.
Charles and I were closer together during this period. He had little desire to sup with his friends and make merry. He talked seriously of what this would mean.
Firstly we must discover what caused the disease. That it had been brought into England from some other country seemed certain. It was so infectious that it spread with rapidity, which was alarming, and we had to find the cause.
Meanwhile London was like a ghost city. Grass was growing among the cobbles of the streets, for few walked in them now. During the night the death cart roamed through the streets, its dismal bell tinkling in the stillness.
“Bring out your dead,” called the crier; and the cart was filled with bodies.
There was no time to bury the corpses ceremonially. Pits had been dug outside the city and into these the bodies were piled.
There were some very noble and selfless men in London at that time. Archbishop Sheldon was one; another was the Reverend Thomas Vincent. There were others—men of religion who went into stricken houses and gave comfort to the sufferers. It was surprising that they emerged unscathed. I believe their faith preserved them.
There were stories of people who behaved with somewhat less heroism; there were some who deserted wives, husbands and even children to escape infection. Thus many victims were left alone to die.
We were cheered by news of the Duke of York’s victory over the Dutch at Harwich.
Charles told me that the English had taken eighteen of the enemy’s ships and destroyed fourteen more.
“And what were our losses?” I asked.
“The comparison is trifling. We lost only one ship. Alas, several of our men were lost, but few in comparison with the seven thousand they did. And we lost two admirals; the Earls of Falmouth and Marlborough and Portland have also gone. These things must be.”
“Is it going to shorten the war?”
Charles was dubious. “At least,” he said, “it is a turn in our fortunes, and people will cease to brood on the evil warnings of the comet.”
He looked at me quizzically and went on: “You might be interested to know that your one-time Master of Horse, Edward Montague, has joined the navy…under Sandwich.”
“The navy?”
“Well, we have need of all the men we can muster.”
“But he loved horses.”
“Poor Edward. I fear he was deeply hurt by his dismissal.”
“Maybe when he returns…”
Charles gave me another of those intent looks. “Who can say what will happen when the war is over?”
I THOUGHT OF EDWARD MONTAGUE a good deal. I had not realized before that he really had cared for me. I had been too innocent to recognize the signs. I remembered his concern for me, his compassion and his sympathy. The way his eyes would shine when I appeared. Perhaps those were the signs of love which others had noticed.
He must have been very unhappy when he was dismissed, and that dismissal was instant so there was no time to tell me what had taken place.
And he had joined the navy. That would have been easy for him as the admiral, the Earl of Sandwich, was related to him.
I missed him more than I had believed possible. I suppose when one’s husband so blatantly prefers other women there is great comfort in the attentions of someone else—particularly if he is a serious man, not given to light-hearted flirtations, a man who clearly disapproves of the licentiousness of the court, a man of charm and dignity.
I should never have taken a lover, of course, and I am sure Edward Montague would never have indulged in an illicit affair; but he had been there, he had cared for me, and that had meant a great deal to me.
They were melancholy days. The King was worried about the money which was needed to pursue the war. There was bad news from London where thousands were dying every week.
An attempt had been made at Berge
n by the Earl of Sandwich to capture a fleet of Dutch ships which were sheltering in the harbour there. The action had been one of complete disaster for the English and there were many casualties. One of them was Edward Montague.
It was a great shock to hear of his death. I had so many memories of him. I thought how strange fate was. But for those people who had provoked a scandal about him, he would have been with me still.
Edward Montague dead! I was overwhelmed by sadness.
FIRE OVER LONDON
THAT TRAGIC SUMMER WAS PASSING. ALL THROUGH SEPTEMBER the heat had persisted. The number of dead during the first week of the month was over eight thousand; during the second week it was slightly less; and during the third had risen to ten thousand.
It was difficult to imagine what life was like in a London no longer a bustling city, the streets deserted, houses painted with the dreaded red cross, the silence broken only by the ringing of the bell and the cry: “Bring forth your dead.”
The weather changed and with the cooler breezes the plague abated a little.
We were at Oxford now, and when the King opened Parliament there he was voted money for the purpose of carrying on the war. The City of London lent him one hundred thousand pounds, and from his Privy Purse he contributed one thousand pounds to the relief of those who were left destitute by the plague.
The very fact that the scourge was losing its virulence gave us great cause for rejoicing; and then a wonderful thing happened.
I believed I was pregnant.
The King was delighted when I told him.
“All will be well now,” he said. “London will be its old self. We shall defeat that wretched plague together with the Dutch—and we shall be merry again.”
I was happier, for he was very affectionate toward me. I must take the utmost care, he insisted. This time there was to be a boy.
What a relief it was when the summer was over! If I could have a child, I told myself, I could be completely happy. Charles was almost a faithful husband; but I was not so foolish as to think he would not stray again. But if I had a child I should be content. But that contentment was marred when I was told that Lady Castlemaine was pregnant again. She was so fertile and gave birth with such ease that it seemed that no sooner was she delivered of one child that she was to have another. She always insisted that these children were the King’s. No one could deny this; nor could they be sure. She was no more faithful to the King than he was to her.
The situation had changed, though. This was because Charles had so many important matters to concern him. There could hardly be carefree balls and banquets when normal life in London was at an end; the war with the Dutch was in bitter progress and the French were becoming estranged. But in spite of this Lady Castlemaine was still close to us, and Frances Stuart remained aloof though still sought after.
I was very careful of my health. Donna Maria cosseted me, as did the Ladies Suffolk and Ormonde. I am not sure what happened, but one afternoon I felt faint and before I could stop myself I fell to the floor.
I was hurried to my bed and the doctors were sent for.
And then it happened. I lost my child.
It was sufficiently developed to show that it would have been a boy.
No one knew why I should have failed to carry it through to the end of the term. I was sunk in depression.
“It is a pity,” said Lady Suffolk, “that Lady Castlemaine should seem to be so well.”
“When is her child due?” I asked.
“Very shortly now, Your Majesty.”
“She has so many. It is unfair.”
“Very unfair, Madam.”
When her child was born they did not mention it to me but it could not be kept from me for long. I could read Charles’s bitter disappointment in his eyes. Did I fancy there was a certain resentment? That would be quite unbearable.
Lady Castlemaine was delivered of a fine boy.
Why…oh why…could I not have just one? And did not the fertility of the Lady prove that I was the one at fault? It was being asked if the King had married a barren Queen.
THE SPRING HAD COME. People were filtering back to London for the plague had virtually vanished.
Charles went back for periods but he said that I must stay in Oxford as there might be some remains of plague in London and I must remember that I was in a delicate state of health and would be more susceptible to disease.
He did not reproach me as some might have done, but I could not help knowing how bitterly disappointed he was. I could imagine how he felt when he saw Lady Castlemaine’s boy in his cradle. At least he could have been sure mine was his, as he never could with hers.
But the fact remained that she was capable of bearing strong and healthy children—one after another—and this was my second attempt which had failed.
There seemed no end to the blows fate was dealing me. I did not hear of this until some days after the news had come to England. Lady Suffolk told me afterward that the King had ordered that I was not to be told until he considered it would be wise to do so.
“He said that Your Majesty would have to know in time but the blow would be too great for you, your health being what it is just now…”
He was right. It was a great shock to me. My mother was dead.
It was, of course, some few years since I had seen her, but I had never thought of her dying. She had seemed indestructible…immortal.
Charles himself broke the news to me.
He came in looking very sombre, threw his hat aside and, taking my hands in his, led me to a sofa where we sat close together.
He said: “I have sad news for you, Catherine. You are going to find this hard to bear.”
I looked at him fearfully.
“It is your mother.”
“She is ill?”
He hesitated and I stared at him in horror.
“She has had much to trouble her. She worked too hard. We none of us are here forever, you know.”
“But she…”
“I know how you cared for her. But she is gone and your home is here now.”
I turned to him and he put his arms about me and held me against him.
I felt bereft…alone. She had meant so much to me, and although I had not seen her for so long, I had always known that she was there…and now she was there no longer.
WHEN I HAD RECOVERED A LITTLE from the initial blow, I began to ask myself what this would mean to Portugal.
True, Alfonso was King—a fact which my younger brother Pedro had always resented, feeling that he himself was more suited to wear the crown—but it was my mother who had ruled, and I knew that Alfonso was incapable of doing so.
The Spaniards would immediately realize the country’s vulnerability. England, engaged in war with the Dutch and suffering from the effects of the plague, would be a feeble ally. I feared disaster; and in addition to my overwhelming grief was this added anxiety.
Charles ordered that there should be mourning for my mother throughout the court. The ladies were to wear their hair in plain styles without adornments and they were to stop using patches for the period.
Lady Castlemaine was very put out. Her artificial aids meant a great deal to her. I could not help but be amused and somewhat pleased at her discomfiture. It might have relieved a little of the gloom.
The King had caught a chill. When he had been inspecting the ships at Chatham, he had taken off his coat and wig because of the heat. The temporary relief he had felt had not been good for his health. He caught the cold, which had persisted.
I think everyone was out of humor…even Charles. He was usually in such perfect health that he found it more difficult than most to endure the little discomforts; as for myself, I was deeply depressed by the loss of my mother and fears for my country. The only one who could have comforted me then was the child I had lost, and with the calamity came the fears that I might be destined never to have children.
I think people’s tempers were a little short at that time.
There was quite a scene one day when someone commented that the King was finding it difficult to throw off his cold.
Lady Castlemaine was sitting close to me at the time and her presence intruded on my thoughts which were with Pedro, my brother. I was wondering whether he would try to oust Alfonso from the throne.
Someone remarked on the King’s inability to shake off his cold, and, in a sudden burst of irritation, I said with some asperity: “The King’s condition does not improve because he stays so late at the lodgings of Lady Castlemaine when he sups with her, and the cold air of the early morning is not good for him.”
Lady Castlemaine’s eyes glittered. She said: “The King does not stay late at my house, Your Majesty. Methinks he must stay at the house of someone else.”
I was taken aback. Was she suggesting he had a new mistress?
I said: “I am of the opinion that it is at your house that he stays so late.”
“The King is gracious to so many,” retorted Lady Castlemaine, her eyes glinting mischievously. “He bestows his honor on so many ladies that it is not always easy to know which of them is in favor at any moment.”
Charles had come in and heard that last remark.
He, too, shared the general dissatisfaction with the court at that time and was less indulgent than he was wont to be.
He stood close to Lady Castlemaine and said quietly, but in a voice which I and those nearby could hear quite clearly: “You are insolent. Please leave the court and do not return until I send for you.”
Lady Castlemaine stared at him in amazement.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“I have said leave the court. I will send for you if I decide to, but leave now.”
She did not lower her voice, but said in such a way that all could hear her: “You dare to talk to me like that?”
“You dare to talk to me like that,” he repeated. “Go and do not return until I send for you.”
She had turned white with rage. I had known for some time that if Frances Stuart responded to his advances, Lady Castlemaine’s days would be over.