The Merry Monarch's Wife

by Jean Plaidy

  “The Crown Jewels, my love. As I told you, he tried to steal them. He had worked out a most devious plan. I’ll tell you all about it. Three weeks before the attempted robbery he came to the Tower of London, dressed as a parson in cloak and cassock. With him was a woman whom he called his wife. She was not, of course. Probably the wife of one of his accomplices. The guardian of the jewels was a man called Edwards and, while looking at them, Parson Blood made himself very affable. Odds fish! How I should have loved to see him playing the part.”

  “A parson! Hardly fitting, I should think.”

  “Oh, but Blood could handle it. However, the ‘wife’ expressed a great desire to see the crown. There was no harm in showing her this, and Edwards did so, and while this was going on she pretended to faint. There was consternation, and Mrs. Edwards appeared and took the lady to her apartments that she might rest. Blood thanked the Edwards profusely and a few days later returned with a present for Mrs. Edwards. Blood and his ‘wife’ stopped awhile to talk and before they left they had formed a friendship, and Blood asked permission to call again.”

  “And Edwards suspected nothing?”

  “My dear, Blood is a superb actor. He could join the players at any time.”

  “He would find stealing the crown jewels more profitable, if he could succeed, that is.”

  “There you speak truth, but what a conceit the man has! And but for ill luck, he would have succeeded.”

  “Pray tell me more.”

  “It seemed that the Edwards were much impressed and after a few visits Blood asked if he might bring his nephew to visit them. The nephew, they were told, was a young man with a few hundred a year. You can imagine what effect this had on the Edwards, because they had a marriageable daughter. Blood and the ‘wife’ were immediately asked to dine and bring the nephew along with them.”

  “The poor daughter. How dreadful for her!”

  “The nephew and she were immediately friendly. Meanwhile, Blood was able to make a thorough examination of the premises. He discovered a fine case of pistols which he offered to buy as a present for a nobleman who, he said, was his neighbor.”

  “Even then the Edwards did not suspect anything?”

  “Indeed no. I can tell you, Blood is a supreme actor…and no doubt he had coached his fellow players well. The Edwardses were delighted at the prospect of their daughter’s union with a man who owned a small fortune. Now it was time for the deed to take place. Blood and the nephew came early to the Tower and, as the ladies were not ready, Blood suggested that Edwards show the nephew the Crown Jewels while they were waiting for them. When they went into the room where the jewels were, Edwards closed the door, then Blood went into action. He threw a cloak over Edwards’s head and put a gag in his mouth. They would not harm him, Blood said, as long as he remained silent. Realizing how thoroughly he had been duped, Edwards struggled and tried to remove the gag from his mouth. Blood had to silence him; he knocked him down and momentarily stunned him.”

  “Poor man,” I said. “How can you admire this Blood?”

  Charles shrugged his shoulders. “It was a clever plan, and Edwards was a fool to be so duped. They would have escaped with the jewels, but a strange thing happened. Edwards’s son, who had been in Flanders with Sir John Talbot’s army, had come home unexpectedly, and by that time Mrs. Edwards and her daughter had realized that something unusual had happened. Young Edwards dashed into the room in time to see the conspirators escaping, and found his father lying on the floor. The old man had sufficiently recovered to cry: ‘Treason! They have taken the Crown Jewels!’

  “The young man dashed after them. One of the guards, hearing the commotion, had come out of his quarters, and went off with young Edwards in pursuit. The jewels were heavy and, knowing every inch of the Tower, the pursuers had the advantage. Blood and his accomplice were caught with the jewels in their possession. There has never been such an attempt and it could so easily have succeeded but for the fortuitous return of that young soldier…which, you have to admit, was a chance in a million. Poor Blood! His scheme failed.”

  “You can say ‘Poor Blood! His scheme failed’? He would have murdered that old man.”

  “But to attempt to steal the Crown Jewels is not an ordinary theft, is it?”

  “Indeed it is not! It is a very serious one.”

  Charles laughed. “He is a saucy fellow. He was caught with the crown under his cloak. Yet he would make no confession unless it were to me.”

  “And you have seen him! You allowed him to come to you?”

  “I had a wish to see him. I always knew he was no ordinary man. He said to me, ‘Your Majesty will understand my temptation. You once had a great fancy for a crown. It was denied you for a long time, and you risked a great deal to attain it. So…we understand each other, you and I. We had the same motive. It was a bold attempt…yes. But remember, it was for a crown.”

  “I could not resist the temptation to talk to him, and made him tell me of his adventures. He amused me mightily. He had not a care for what would happen to him. It was impossible not to like the man.”

  “So…he was pardoned!”

  “Such men are an asset to the country. They should be forgiven their little misdemeanors. To attempt to steal the Crown Jewels! What a proposition! I could not allow a man who had amused me so much to be punished. He would give no account of his fellow conspirators. He said the scheme was entirely his. He alone had conceived it. Who else, he asked, would have had the wit to do so? It would have worked admirably but for the return of that zealous young man. So…the jewels are safe. What harm is done?”

  “What of Edwards?”

  “He is not badly hurt. He will recover. It will teach him to be more careful in future. I offered Blood a place at court. He prefers, however, the return of his estates. But I doubt not that we shall be visited by him…occasionally.”

  That was the strange affair of Captain Blood’s attempt to steal the Crown Jewels. People marvelled that a man who had committed such a felony should not only go free but be rewarded for it.

  THE ORANGE MARRIAGE

  THEY WERE TROUBLOUS TIMES. WE HAD DECLARED WAR ON the Dutch with our French allies. It had to be. It was a clause in the Dover Treaty which we had pledged and must therefore be honored. Charles had received great benefits from the treaty and must keep on good terms with his powerful kinsman across the water.

  The perpetual need was money…and men. Mothers and wives tried to keep their men at home for fear of their falling into the hands of the pressgangs who would send them to fight on land or sea.

  Charles made speeches in Parliament. The Dutch war was necessary, he declared. The Dutch were our natural enemies: they filched our trade; they attacked our ships; we must drive them from the seas.

  There was growing concern about religion. Charles, it was said, had been too lenient with the Catholics. The fact that the Duke of York openly professed his faith was causing greater anxiety as time passed and it seemed certain that he would follow his brother to the throne.

  This, of course, brought home to me afresh my own deficiencies. I was clearly to blame. Barbara Castlemaine had given ample proof of the King’s virility; Nell Gwynne now had two sons; and Louise de Keroualle, who after her initial reticence had become the acknowledged mistress of the King, had just given birth to a son.

  So there could be no doubt. I was always on the watch for the suggestion which might arise again, since it had twice before. Many would continue to ask: should not the King free himself from this barren wife?

  I had had Charles’s assurance that he would never divorce me, but could one rely on Charles? There was a rhyme, written by the irrepressible Earl of Rochester, which was being circulated throughout the court. Rochester had had the effrontery to pin it on the door of the King’s bedroom. It was:

  Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King

  Whose word no man relies on

  He never said a foolish thing

  And never did a wise
one.

  Charles was the first to appreciate the rhyme. It was amusing, witty and there was some truth in it.

  His retort was typical of him. “’Tis true, Rochester,” he said. “But remember my words are my own, my actions my ministers.’”

  I quickly learned that Louise de Keroualle was more clever than any of her predecessors, and therefore more dangerous. She was indeed Louis’s spy.

  She was possessed of all the graces she had learned at the French court; she was elegant and dignified; I imagined Charles enjoyed mental as well as physical stimulation with her. She was without doubt maîtresse en titre. Nell Gwynne was her great rival, but Nell, of course, was a child of the streets of London: she could amuse; she had wit; and she was very pretty. But Charles was a cultured man and there were times when he wished to be with people of his own kind. Yet I imagined there were occasions when he wanted to escape from Louise to Nell.

  From what I knew of the little playactress, she was of a tolerant nature. It must have been a great adventure for her to have attracted the King. She was, I believe, less demanding than any of his mistresses had ever been, and asked only for privileges for her sons. She had two of them now—fine boys and a further reproach to me. And because she did not ask, she did not receive.

  She had, though, demanded a title for her eldest son, who was now the Earl of Burford. How she must have laughed to think of herself…little Nelly…fighting for a living, selling her oranges, getting her chance on the stage…and then becoming a favorite mistress of the King, side by side with such as Lady Castlemaine and the Duchess of Portsmouth, as Louise de Keroualle had now become.

  There was a story that in the King’s presence she referred to their little son Charles—named after his father—as the “little bastard.”

  Charles protested and she flashed back “I call him so because that is what he is. I might as well drop him from this window for who cares for him? Certainly not his father. So I say, poor little bastard.”

  It was playacting, of course. They were in the town of Burford at the time and Charles called out dramatically, “Save the Earl of Burford!”

  That was good enough for Nell. Her son had a title. He could stand beside the offspring of Barbara Castlemaine and Louise de Keroualle.

  There was an undercurrent of unease everywhere. The conversion of the Duke of York was at the root of it. The country was divided. I knew that many prayed that I would have an heir—the King’s legitimate son to be brought up in the Protestant faith. There would be trouble if James came to the throne.

  And then…there was Monmouth; and the deeper the resentment against the Duke of York became, the more blatantly Monmouth displayed his Protestantism. It was clear what was in his mind. What he longed for was that the King should declare he had married Lucy Walter. The fact that she would have been completely unsuitable to marry the King was of no importance. Charles had been merely an exile at the time. How simple everything could have been! But much as Charles doted on his son, he was not prepared to lie to that extent for him. Monmouth had his followers and he was very wary of Louise—a Catholic who would surely work against him.

  The young Duke sought every way of showing people that the King regarded him as his beloved son, and the rumor about the box containing documents proving Charles’s marriage to Lucy Walter was revived.

  “There never was a marriage, so there never were these documents,” Charles declared emphatically, “and therefore they cannot be discovered.”

  Monmouth wanted to command the forces which were being sent to Flanders.

  Charles told me of this, for he was perplexed.

  He said: “How can he? He lacks experience. I know he is popular. He is so good-looking, but that is not enough. He came to me, begging me on his knees to give him the command.”

  “You have not done so!” I cried in dismay, knowing his weakness where Monmouth was concerned.

  He shook his head. “No…but he was so appealing. He really is a handsome boy…and affectionate. I know that much of his love and devotion is for my crown, but perhaps without that useful ornament, there might be just a little for my plain self. Poor Jemmy. It is not an easy position for him. There is adulation wherever he goes, and he is ambitious, as most of the young are. I sometimes think he might have been happier if he had been a son of one of Lucy’s other lovers.”

  “Are you sure he is your son?”

  “There is little doubt of it. He is pure Stuart. I see ourselves reflected in him.”

  “And what have you decided?”

  “I’ve sent for Arlington. He will take care of it. Monmouth will be known as commander, but there will be others to take care of the troops.”

  I marvelled at his tolerance toward Monmouth. I often thought of the affair of Sir John Coventry and that poor beadle who had lost his life. Surely those two events should have shown Charles the nature of his beloved son and how dangerous his ambition could become.

  Louise was very unpopular with the people. In the first place she was a foreigner and, even more detrimental, a Catholic. I had always been under suspicion because of my religion. It was strange that the English, who were lackadaisical in their attitude toward religion, should have felt this passionate determination not to tolerate a Catholic on the throne.

  There were times when it was quite dangerous for Louise to ride out in her carriage, for the mob could be fierce against her.

  “Go home, papist,” they shouted at her. “Go back to where you came from.”

  It was different with Nell Gwynne. She had a way of charming the people. After all, she was one of them. They would surround her carriage, shouting good wishes, and she sometimes gave a performance of mock-royalty, which amused them and made them cheer her the more.

  “Long live Nelly,” they cried. “God bless pretty, witty Nell.”

  There was one occasion when she was in a closed carriage and people mistook her for Louise. They gathered round, shouting abuse, and someone threw a stone. Nell let down the window and looked out.

  “You are mistaken, good people,” she cried. “This is not the Catholic whore but the Protestant one.”

  There was much laughter and cheering, and shouts of “God bless Nelly.”

  Nell bowed and smiled and waved her hand in imitation of a languid royal personage, which amused them the more; and, instead of a dangerous situation, it turned out to be a very merry one.

  IT OFTEN AMAZED ME, when I looked back on that innocent girl I had been on my arrival in England, that I had been able to accept Charles’s mistress as a matter of course. There could have been only a few faithful husbands at court, or wives for that matter. Licentiousness was the way of life here. I deplored it and sometimes thought how happy I could have been if Charles had loved me as I loved him; but that was not to be and I had had to come to terms with it.

  I was grateful to him because he had refused to set me aside. I must be relieved because he had a great deal of kindness in his nature and the rare ability of putting himself in the place of others. He understood my love for him and appreciated it; he understood that Monmouth’s arrogance grew out of his insecurity. There was so much love in Charles and I had long before decided that I would rather accept his mistresses than be without him.

  The war with the Dutch gave cause for anxiety. We had our victories but, like many such, they were hollow ones.

  There was news that a battle had taken place under the Duke of York at Southwold Bay. Ineffectual as James could be in so many ways, the navy was an obsession with him and he had become a good commander. Against him on that occasion was De Ruyter, the Dutch commander of some renown. It had been a fierce battle and the struggle a desperate one. Many ships were lost and among the casualties was the Earl of Sandwich.

  I was saddened, remembering the day he had come to bring me to England, and felt how pointless were those hard-won victories which turned out to be so indecisive.

  Charles too was distressed by the death of Sandwich. He sailed to the
Nore to meet James who was returning with the fleet. Many of the ships had been severely damaged and the number of wounded appalled him. He was particularly depressed by the latter and gave orders that care for them must be the primary concern.

  About a month later he took me down to inspect the ships. Then all signs of battle had been removed and I enjoyed the expedition with him. It was on such occasions that I felt that I truly was the Queen.

  And so the time was passing. Charles showed little sign of age. He was as vigorous as ever; when he removed his wigs one did see that his black hair was liberally streaked with gray, but when the wig of luxurious curls was on his head he seemed as young as ever.

  James was looking for a wife and when Mary Beatrice of Modena was found for him, there was dissatisfaction throughout the country. The English, as ever, were wary of Catholics. I was one—but I think that by this time they had come to realize I was a docile one. But Catholicism allied with barrenness could make a queen very unpopular.

  However, the marriage went ahead. Mary Beatrice, a young girl of fifteen, could not have much influence, and in any case James was already too steeped in his religion to be weaned from it even if he did have a Protestant wife.

  I was also sad when I heard that the Earl of Clarendon had died abroad. I remembered him so well and wondered if he had felt a twinge of conscience when his daughter Anne died. He had not been very kind to her at a time when she needed kindness. But he had been a good husband…if that meant a faithful one. He was a man of high moral standing, but lacking in kindliness, so different from Charles who would never have turned against his own daughter in her time of need. Clarendon had not always been a friend to me—still I could be saddened by his death.

  A certain interest was aroused when workmen, doing repairs in the Tower of London, found the skeletons of two young boys buried under the stairs. These, it seemed without doubt, were the remains of the young princes who had disappeared some two hundred years before—little Edward V and his brother the Duke of York. It was during the reign of Richard III that they disappeared, and it was said that they had been murdered on the orders of King Richard. People talked of the unfortunate boys for a while and then forgot them.