by Jean Plaidy
There was great fear that they would reach London; and ships were sunk at Blackwall and Woolwich to prevent their doing this.
Having wreaked havoc not only on our ships but on our morale, the Dutch sailed triumphantly away.
The English were outraged and, as is customary, they looked for a scapegoat.
They chose Clarendon. He had become increasingly unpopular over the last years. I was deeply sorry for him. I knew he was not guilty of what he was accused. It was no fault of his that we were at war with the Dutch, nor that we had suffered plague and fire and lacked the necessary funds to carry on the war successfully.
Charles was turning away from him even though the Earl had been such a good friend to him during his exile.
Clarendon was a man who lived a very moral life. He believed a husband should be faithful to his wife; he deeply deplored the King’s promiscuity and, because of that familiarity rooted in the past, he did not hesitate to say so. Although normally Charles was tolerant, he was under great strain at this time and less inclined to patience. So…Clarendon was out of favor…not only with the people.
He had powerful enemies at court. Buckingham was one, Lady Castlemaine another; and the King was weary of his continual lectures.
So he was certainly in a lonely position.
While the foreign ships were in the Medway, the mob had gathered outside Clarendon’s house. They had uprooted trees, broken windows and set up a gibbet which was an indication of the hatred they had for him.
Charles was deeply anxious. How I wished he would talk more to me of his troubles!
He did on one occasion and I asked him what was happening about Clarendon.
“He will have to go, I fear,” he said. “There is nothing I can do to save him. His time has come.”
“They are blaming him for the war!”
“That is unfair, of course. He was a good friend to me in the past…but now…”
“You do not like him as you used to.”
“He has frustrated me in so many ways.”
I knew what he meant. He blamed Clarendon for Frances Stuart’s departure. I never ceased to marvel that physical attraction could be so strong. It could not have been anything beyond that considering Frances’s childlike mind. And Charles suspected Clarendon of arranging the elopement. I wondered what he would say if he knew what part I had played in that. I think he might have understood my motives and not judged me too harshly. However, I would not tell him…not until we were old and near the end of our lives. Perhaps not even then.
“I do not like these sanctimonious ones,” said Charles. “They set themselves up as pillars of virtue and think it is their duty in life to censure those who fall short of their standards. Such men are tiresome.”
Previously Charles had been good-humored about criticism. He must certainly be feeling Frances’s desertion deeply.
“I have been advised,” he went on, “that if I do not rid myself of Clarendon, I might go the way of my father.”
“No!”
He looked at me wryly. “The heads of kings are never fixed very securely on their shoulders.”
“Please do not talk so.”
“Never fear, Catherine. I am deteremined to keep mine where it belongs, and never will I go wandering again. The best thing would be for Clarendon to resign. He could do that gracefully and it might be that we could then avoid unpleasant consequences. James is putting the suggestion to him.”
“James?”
“Yes. Perhaps not the most tactful emissary, but he is my brother and Clarendon’s son-in-law, and it could scarcely come from me.”
Poor Charles! He was very anxious at that time.
The result of James’s interview with the Earl was that the latter presented himself at Whitehall and told Charles that he would give up the Great Seal. Which was wise, said Charles, for the only alternative would have been to take it from him.
I was sorry for Clarendon. He, who had once been mighty, was indeed brought low.
The relinquishing of the Great Seal was not enough for his enemies. He must be arraigned for treason. I was glad that his son-in-law the Duke of York stood by him. Alas, in the midst of this James was smitten by smallpox and had to retire. Fortunately he soon recovered, but people said that the smallpox had been a sign of God’s displeasure because the Duke had defended Clarendon.
In spite of the feeling against him, the Earl was able to prove that the charges had no foundation and they had to be dropped.
Charles showed me the letter he had received from Clarendon.
He wrote: “I do upon my knees beg Your Majesty’s pardon for any over bold or saucy expression I have used to you. It is a natural disease in servants who have received too much countenance…”
He went on to ask the King to have the prosecution withdrawn and to allow his old Chancellor to retire overseas where he could spend his last days in peace.
Charles looked at me in consternation. “What can I tell him?” he said. “There will be an uproar if I give him permission to leave.”
That did not mean that he did not help Clarendon to get away and put an end to this distressing matter.
Clarendon did leave.
He slipped away quietly to the coast and took a ship for Calais.
JAMES’S CONVERSION
LATE THAT YEAR TWO EVENTS OF SIGNIFICANCE TOOK place. Neither of them attracted much notice. I suppose what was happening in Portugal would not; but they were important to me.
Donna Maria was the only one to whom I could speak of Portuguese affairs. In fact, it was the only subject in which she was really interested. She disliked England and constantly wished that we had never come. In vain did I tell her that I had no desire to return to Portugal, especially now that my mother was dead; and if she yearned so much for her native land I would make sure that she returned to it.
This she firmly thrust aside. Had she not been with me all my life? What did I imagine she would do without me to worry about?
“You could live in peace in the country you love.”
“You are the one I love,” she said. “Where you are is home to me.”
Dear Donna Maria! I am afraid I did not always appreciate her and was impatient with her sometimes. I should have been more grateful for all the devotion she gave me.
So with her I talked of events which were taking place in Portugal.
There has been conflict between my brothers.
“Pedro was always impatient with Alfonso,” said Maria. “It is a pity Pedro was not the firstborn.”
“Pedro despised Alfonso and was jealous of him because he was the elder,” I said. “And now he is known as Regent.”
“He was always the one to push himself forward.”
“But it was necessary, Maria. Alfonso could not govern without my mother.”
“Oh, she was the strong one. She knew at every turn what should be done.”
“When she was gone…this was inevitable, Maria.”
She nodded. “My poor Alfonso. What have they done to the boy?”
“He will be all right. They have sent him into exile. He is to live in the Azores, which I believe is very pleasant.”
“As long as he is well looked after.”
“There is something else,” I said. “His marriage has been annulled.”
“What?”
“Alfonso’s wife, Maria Françoise Elizabeth…”
“I know her name,” said Donna Maria impatiently.
“She has been divorced from Alfonso and has married Pedro.”
“He has married his brother’s wife!”
“That is so.”
“So he has not only the crown but the wife as well?”
“It seems so, Maria.”
“I wonder what next. Those boys…they were so pretty.”
“Pedro is making peace with Spain.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It was what my mother would have done. She thought there must always be peace
with Spain if possible. It was done with the help of Charles and his government.”
Donna Maria grunted. She believed that Charles had treated me badly and she did not forgive him easily for that, however much he had helped Portugal.
She was shaking her head sadly, thinking of two little boys whom she had loved, playing their childish games. They still played games…but less childish ones.
I left her dreaming of the old days.
The other important event passed almost unnoticed. No one at that stage could guess what violent repercussions it was to have in the future.
James, Duke of York, no longer made a secret of his religious beliefs. He worshipped publicly as a Catholic.
THERE WAS A NEW MINISTRY after Clarendon had gone. The people called it the Cabal because of the names of the ministers who formed it: Clifford, Arlington, Buckingham, Ashley and Lauderdale.
Charles had high hopes of them.
“They are men of differing opinions,” he said, “so between them they should be able to avoid narrow-minded prejudice. True Clifford is a Catholic—a somewhat fiercely enthusiastic one—and Arlington is also a Catholic, although more moderate in his views. Buckingham…well, you know the noble Duke…perhaps you could call him independent; Ashley is something of a philosopher and Lauderdale a solid Protestant. So you see, we should be well represented from all sides.”
Charles had always been fond of the theater—as it seemed was the whole of London. On his restoration Charles had granted two men of the profession, Sir William D’Avenant and Mr. Thomas Killigrew, a patent to open two theaters.
Charles was on terms of friendship with both these men. They were witty and amusing and Charles found them good companions. Both had been loyal to the royal cause throughout all the troubles and Charles was delighted to be able to reward them by making it possible for them to come back to a profession which they loved; and he naturally honored them with his patronage.
D’Avenant’s theater was called the Duke’s—actually the Duke of York’s. D’Avenant was a playwright and a poet. He had been knighted for valor in the battlefield during the Civil War and had lived in France in exile where he had became a favorite of Queen Henrietta Maria. He claimed to be related to William Shakespeare and he had frequented the court of Charles I, for whom he had written plays and poetry, and made quite a name for himself.
I occasionally went to the theater. I enjoyed the plays and meeting some of the players. We were always on show and the people liked to see us there. Sometimes I felt the people came to see us as much as the play. Charles agreed. “We must not disappoint them,” he said.
During the time of the plague the theaters had naturally been closed; and when the great fire followed, people seemed to have lost their zest for playgoing. It was coming back at this time and the playhouses were beginning to flourish again.
It was Lettice who said to me one day how pleased the people were that the King was going more frequently to the playhouse nowadays.
She said: “He seems to have a preference for Sir William D’Avenant’s players.”
I said: “He always found pleasure in the theater. The reason he has not been there so much of late is because he has had weightier matters on his mind.”
“Well, he is certainly finding D’Avenant’s The Rivals good entertainment.”
I might have known there was some insinuation behind her words. There was one name which I heard mentioned frequently. It was that of a certain Moll Davis.
I asked Lady Suffolk who Moll Davis was.
“Oh, Madam, she is an actress of Sir William D’Avenant’s company.”
“She seems to be attracting a good deal of attention. Is she very good?”
“They say she is very good indeed.”
“Perhaps I should go to see her.”
“It may be, Madam, that you would not care for the play.”
“But since everyone is talking about her…”
“She is a pretty girl…and some people like that.”
She was telling me something.
She went on: “It is her dancing perhaps. She dances a very merry jig.”
Suddenly the truth dawned on me. I heard one of the maids singing a song which sounded like “My lodging is on the cold ground…”
“You don’t sing it like Moll Davis,” said another.
“I’ll swear she doesn’t have to sleep on the cold ground now.”
There was laughter and giggles. “Changed the cold ground for a royal bed, eh?”
So then I knew. I flushed with shame. Why was I always the last to hear?
He was tired of Lady Castlemaine. He would have finished with her altogether, I believed, but for the fact that she would not allow herself to be set aside without making a great noise about it, so I supposed it was easier to let her go on clinging.
I gradually learned that Moll Davis had left the Duke’s Theatre and was set up in a house of her own. She possessed a handsome ring worth six hundred pounds.
Lady Castlemaine was heard to say that the King’s taste had gone from simpering idiots who played making card houses to vulgar actresses who danced jigs.
I was very sad. I thought he had changed a little, grown more serious. But no, nothing had changed. There would always be women…ladies of the court…actresses…it would always be thus.
On reflection, though, it was easier to accept the actresses than the ladies of the court, and when I contemplated what I had suffered through Lady Castlemaine and Frances Stuart, I told myself that I had little to fear from Moll Davis.
THE COUNTRY WAS in a very precarious position and there was a recklessness in the air. We were on the verge of bankruptcy. Rarely could so many misfortunes have occurred in such a short time.
Charles was worried. There were two sides to his nature. People might think him selfish and self-indulgent, but beneath all that insouciance there was a shrewd and clever mind backed by a determination never to go the way his father had gone. People declared that Clarendon had been the author of our ills. They refused to accept the absurdity of this and waited for the Cabal to produce a miracle.
There was an uneasy situation between James, Duke of York, and the Duke of Monmouth. It was obvious that Charles doted on his son. As for myself, I could never look at that handsome young man’s face without being filled with foreboding. He was a constant reminder of what Charles might have had from the right woman.
Monmouth resembled his father in some ways. He was sought after by women because of his looks and position. He was already known as a rake. He was full of high spirits and liked to roam the streets with his rowdy companions causing trouble. Charles was constantly making excuses for him and smoothing over difficulties made by the young man’s conduct.
There was no doubt that Monmouth was attractive and could be charming. I said that he was like the King…not in looks though, except that he was dark. I think he must have inherited his mother’s beauty. He liked to call attention to himself and remind people that he was the King’s son. It was natural, I suppose, particularly as he was not legitimate, but he did want everyone to remember that he was the King’s eldest son.
James, Duke of York, was very wary of him. I liked James because he had been pleasant to me from the first moment of my arrival in England. He was quite unlike Charles except in one respect: he shared the King’s obsession with women and was as unfaithful to Anne as Charles was to me. But there the resemblance ended. James had none of Charles’s grace, though he was a good naval commander. He had proved that, but he had no subtlety and every enterprise of his—apart from naval operations—seemed to go wrong.
There was something alarming in the attitude of James and Monmouth toward each other. I guessed what it was and that I was concerned in this. Monmouth was the King’s beloved son. It was Monmouth who accompanied the King to Newmarket for the races and to Bagshot for the shooting. What if the King, despairing of ever having a child through me, legitimized Monmouth? Then what of James? James must have
an eye on the throne, for Charles was no longer very young and was still without legitimate offspring.
Monmouth yearned to be made legitimate and James feared that it might happen. Therefore they were very watchful of each other…and of me, for if I produced a child the matter could no longer concern them so deeply.
When I had discovered that Charles contemplated divorcing me, that he might marry Frances Stuart, I had been deeply shocked and, even though Frances had now married, I had not yet recovered from it.
What was so hard to endure was that Charles had numerous children. Barbara Castlemaine alone had, I believed, six—healthy boys among them. There were others scattered around, so there was no doubt as to whose fault it was that the marriage was unproductive. I felt wretchedly inadequate and never quite sure when Charles might attempt to get rid of me…not only for his own satisfaction but for that of the state.
When James committed some inanity which set the people laughing behind their hands, Charles said to me: “The people are wondering whether they did right to call me back. Cromwell gave them drab lives, telling them that pleasure was sin—and they did not like that. Is it possible though that they might prefer even that to what they are getting now?”
And when I protested that the people loved him, he went on: “They might just tolerate me for my time…but if it is James who comes after…” He shook his head gravely. “I fear for James.” I could see speculation in his eyes. Was he thinking of that other James…Monmouth?
It seemed at that time that manners became even more licentious. Courtiers were blatant in their promiscuity. I supposed they would say they were following the King’s example. Lady Castlemaine’s affairs were the talk of the town. The King was involved with a play actress, Moll Davis. He was turning more and more away from Lady Castlemaine, who retaliated by conducting love affairs with people in all stations of life. She would go to the theater and afterward summon actors to visit her. She made no secret of her amours.