The Merry Monarch's Wife

by Jean Plaidy

  Meanwhile the mournful bride kept mainly to her own apartment, praying that the wind would be too strong for her to leave England.

  When I saw her she burst into tears.

  I said: “My dear Mary, it will not be so bad.”

  “He doesn’t like me,” she answered.

  “He does. He wanted to marry you. Remember, he insisted on the marriage taking place at once.”

  “That was because he wanted the alliance. And now my half-brother is here, and he wishes he hadn’t married me. Oh, how I wish he had not!”

  “You’ll feel better in time. One always does. It seems difficult at first. We most of us have to leave our homes and families…just as you are doing. I had to.”

  “But you were coming to England…I am going away from it.”

  “But England was not my home.”

  “You came to my uncle the King. I have to go with…Caliban.”

  “You must not call him that. You will find him a loving husband when you get to know him.”

  “I have to leave it all…my dear, dear father…Anne. What of Anne? She will get better, will she not?”

  “Of course she will get better. She is already improving.”

  “But I shall not see her…and we have always been together.”

  “Dear Mary, you have to accept your fate.”

  “How I wish I could see Anne…say good-bye to her.”

  “Your father has given instructions that this must not be. It is for your sake.”

  “But to go right away…without saying good-bye.”

  “You will come back on a visit.”

  “It is not the same.” She threw herself into my arms. “Oh…I want to stay. I want it to be like it used to be.”

  What was the use of trying to comfort her? She would not be comforted.

  We heard that Frances Villiers, who was to have accompanied Mary, had caught the smallpox. That was a further blow for Mary. She looked so young and lonely, and fervently she prayed that the wind would not change.

  But it did and the time for departure had come.

  Mary was weeping profusely. She threw herself into her father’s arms. She took a tender farewell of the King. She and I embraced, and she gave me two letters which she asked me to give to her sister Anne as soon as I was able to see her.

  “Tell her I love her and pray every night for her recovery.”

  “I will,” I assured her.

  “Tell her that I wish more than anything on earth that I could be with her.”

  “I will tell her that.”

  Frances Villiers was to die a few days later, and I was glad that Mary did not know this. Three of Frances’s daughters were in the suite going with Mary to Holland. They were Mary Villiers, who was now Lady Inchiquin, Anne Villiers, and that other sister Elizabeth who had been Mary’s companion at Richmond.

  At least Mary would have some familiar faces around her. Fortunately she did not know then what trouble Elizabeth Villiers would cause her.

  My heart was smitten with pity when I looked at the poor child’s blotched face, and I was sure it could not have given much pleasure to her surly husband.

  The Duke of York was greatly distressed. I thought at one stage he was going to refuse to allow her to go.

  But that, of course, was out of the question. She was now William’s wife.

  The last farewells were said. The time had come for Mary to embark on her new life as Princess of Orange.

  TITUS OATES

  I WAS OFTEN AT SOMERSET HOUSE NOW. I DID NOT CARE TO be at Whitehall where it seemed that Louise de Keroualle was Queen rather than I. She was so much cleverer than Barbara Castlemaine had been. She had the dignity of a queen and I was more sure than ever that she was a spy for Louis. Charles must have known that and still he kept her at his side, which was evidence of the strength of her attraction.

  Of course, she was not the only one. It amazed me that Nell Gwynne had kept her place so long. I realized, of course, that these two women had special qualities, and in a way I was glad of the King’s fidelity to Nell, and heartily wished he would dispense with Louise altogether.

  She had become quite a personage at court, playing a part in state affairs. Ministers knew they must tread warily with her. She worked secretly; she never interfered in the King’s amatory adventures, and did not make scenes as Barbara had done. Decorously she held her place. There was some powerful and sinister quality about Louise which I was always aware of—and because of her presence at Whitehall, I found the seclusion of Somerset House very desirable.

  Soon after Mary had left, Anne recovered. Her father had visited her every day. He knew how sad she would be at the loss of her sister. While she was very ill he would not allow her to be told that Mary had left; and when he considered she was well enough he told her himself.

  I think she took the news in her usual placid manner.

  I saw Charles now and then. He was always affectionate, and I had learned never to reproach him for his neglect. When he came, I received him with a mild show of pleasure and never referred to his absence. He appreciated that.

  It was some months after the Orange marriage—a lovely August day, I remember—when those events which were to place me in the utmost danger were set in motion.

  Charles loved to walk in St. James’s Park…sauntering, as it was called. He would go there to exercise his spaniels and it was one of the sights of the town to see him strolling along with the dogs at his heels, chatting with one or two of his friends.

  On this day he called in to see me at Somerset House, and I noticed at once that he was looking a little perplexed.

  “A strange thing happened in the park this morning,” he said.

  He was staring ahead, and I waited expectantly until he went on: “A fellow came up and told me that there was a plot afoot to kill me.”

  I caught my breath in alarm.

  “I am still here, as you see,” he said. “And I think likely to remain for a while. But this was the wildest thing I ever heard.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Well, there was I, sauntering beside the lake, watching the water fowl. Rochester was with me and one or two others…suddenly this fellow was beside me. ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I crave the honor of speaking to Your Majesty.’ I replied that it appeared to me that that was exactly what he was doing. He said ‘Alone.’”

  “You did not allow it,” I cried.

  He looked at me, smiling indulgently. “We were in the park. It’s true he was an ill-kempt-looking rogue. I told Rochester and the others to stand back and leave us.”

  “Was that wise?”

  “You are too fearful, Catherine. There was something about the man. I thought I had seen him before.”

  “And had you?”

  “Yes. He had worked in one of my laboratories. When he told me his name was Kirby, I remembered him vaguely.”

  “And what did he have to tell you?”

  “It was a wild story of a plot to abolish the Church of England, murder all the Protestants…a sort of St. Bartholomew’s Eve…then murder me and set up a Catholic monarch in my place.”

  “James?” I said.

  “Who else? The government was to be replaced by the Jesuits. The plot was already in progress and at any moment I might be shot.”

  I could not hide my alarm.

  “They had planned it to the last detail…according to Kirby. They knew of my sauntering habits. Perhaps someone was hiding in the bushes at this moment ready to set all in motion by my instant demise.”

  “Charles, this is not a joking matter!”

  “Ah, as soon as a man puts a crown on his head, there will be some seeking to remove it. This is just another tale. The man Kirby has fallen on hard times. That much was obvious. He wanted a reward for saving me from murderers who existed only in his own mind.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “They already had the silver bullet which was to send me into oblivion. You see how aware they w
ere of protocol. Silver out of respect for royalty. You cannot accuse them of lèse-majesté.”

  “Charles…I am afraid.”

  “Poor Catherine. What anxieties I have caused you, and now I add this to them. I should never have mentioned this madman’s diatribe to you.”

  “I believe it has disconcerted you more than you would have me believe.”

  He was serious just for a few seconds. “I suppose a threat to one’s life is bound to give one pause for thought,” he said slowly. “Particularly if there is much to be repented in it.”

  “Charles, what will you do?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “According to Kirby, the French were involved. They have their spies here, he says. He mentioned names. It is all nonsense, but I have agreed to look at what he calls ‘the evidence.’ But…it is nothing.”

  “I trust so.”

  When he left me I could see that he was vaguely puzzled.

  I was always alarmed when I heard of plots. It was a fact that kings were in danger and Charles must be aware of this more than most. Had not his father been murdered by his own people?

  However, he thrust the matter aside. He treated it lightly and for the time I tried to see it in the same way.

  I did not know that it was the beginning of the most dangerous period of my life.

  IT WAS UNFORTUNATE, I often thought afterward, that Charles should have passed over the unravelling of what was to be known as the Popish Plot to Thomas Osborne, Earl of Danby.

  Charles had been right when he said that the plot was the fabrication of mischievous men. Danby must have been aware of this, but he was in such dire straits himself that he seized the opportunity to turn attention to another quarter.

  Danby was a very ambitious man who at this time saw his dreams of greatness crumbling away. His administration of the country’s finances had been somewhat questionable and it had been discovered that on occasion he had taken bribes. He had been involved with Charles in some of the secret negotiations with Louis and this had been revealed to his old enemy Ralph Montague. Montague had shown his enmity to Danby by exposing these revelations to the House of Commons; as a consequence of this—in addition to his questionable financial dealings—Danby had been put in danger of being impeached.

  Another who had scores to settle was the Earl of Shaftesbury. He was one of those who had tried hard to persuade Charles to divorce me and he was obsessed by the idea of bringing in a Protestant queen to take my place. He had made many miscalculations. He had, however, succeeded in introducting an Act to exclude Catholics from holding high office; but in his great desire to rid the King of his Catholic wife he had failed.

  I did not know Shaftesbury well but from what I gathered he was a vindictive man. He was a fanatical Protestant and as such there were two people he wished to destroy: first the Duke of York, and second, myself.

  I often wondered how much credence would have been attached to the Popish Plot if these two had not been there to fan the sparks which had been ignited by unscrupulous men.

  Certain men sprang into prominence then. I am a little confused about it even now and I think it is best to set out the plot as it unfolded, that it may be seen how I was drawn into it and how it so easily could have led to my downfall.

  At the heart of the plot was Titus Oates, who in a short time was being talked of everywhere as the country’s savior.

  He was a scoundrel and any who looked into his background could have discovered this. But he was plausible and had his friends; and there were stern Protestants in the country who dreaded a return to Catholicism and desired Catholics to be discredited at all costs.

  Titus Oates was the son of a ribbon weaver who had been involved with anabaptists. The ribbon wearer became an army chaplain and was expelled for trying to rouse rebellion in the ranks. He found a living in Hastings from which he was again expelled for misconduct. Titus seemed to have followed in his father’s footsteps.

  They were in continual trouble, from which they invariably seemed to extricate themselves, and by some means Titus found a place in the University of Cambridge. There he disgraced himself by falling deeply in debt and failing to get his degree, but with his customary dexterity he managed to slip into Holy Orders and returned to his father as a curate.

  There was soon trouble, however. Both father and son seemed to have a mischievous compulsion to seek it; and a few months after Titus joined his father, the two of them brought a charge against a local schoolmaster. This was proved to be absurd and Titus and his father found themselves faced with damages which they were quite unable to meet. Titus was sent to prison and his father lost his living.

  It was not long, however, before Titus escaped from jail. He joined the navy, from which he was soon expelled. I was never able to understand how he could extricate himself from these situations and establish himself afresh.

  He then spent some time in Spain, where he decided to join the Jesuits. After a few months, once more he was expelled and he returned to England, styling himself D.D. of Salamanca, a title to which, of course, he had no right.

  In spite of everything, he managed to find a place in the household of the Duke of Norfolk where he encountered many papists. It was probably there that the idea of the Popish Plot began to grow in his mind.

  He was not welcome there for long and soon found himself in London. Without the means to support himself, he turned to a man he had met some years before when he had been vicar of a Kentish parish.

  Israel Tonge was not the villain Oates was. He was a scholar who had emerged from the university with his degree, but in spite of his scholarship he had found it hard to make a living. He had been rector of a London church at the time of the great fire and his was one of the many churches which had been burned to the ground. After that he had translated some holy works, but this brought him little money. Then Sir Richard Barker, who had admired his work, offered him a place in his house in the Barbican.

  At that time he had come into contact with Titus Oates. He believed that the Catholics in England were trying to get into power, and they would have a chance of doing this when James came to the throne. But this might not be for some time, and the Protestants should refuse to have him.

  Tonge was convinced that the plot which the Catholics had devised must be prevented from being carried out, and those concerned in it must be brought to trial.

  This was a project close to the heart of Titus Oates. Intrigue was life to him; also it was a means of getting a roof over his head.

  The two conspirators worked in unison and with Oates’s imagination and love of plotting, Tonge’s original suspicions were greatly increased. Enthusiasm grew and it was agreed that the King should be warned without delay. Kirby had joined them and, because he had once worked in a royal laboratory, he was considered to be the one most suited to approach the King.

  Tonge’s statement was set out with great care and some erudition. Oates’s sojourn with the Jesuits and the information he had collected about them gave him the chance to add to Tonge’s statement and the plot became mainly Titus’s own.

  It was presented to Danby and, faced with what he deemed might be a good diversion from his own affairs, he gave it more consideration than he would otherwise have done.

  I heard rumors of this and it filled me with anxiety. In the first place, I was disturbed to learn of designs on the King’s life; and I was deeply concerned that the Catholics should be blamed.

  Charles knew this and came to tell me what was happening, so that I should not be worried by all the wild rumors which were circulating.

  “You will have heard of this Popish Plot which is being talked about,” he said.

  “I want to hear about it,” I replied. “I want to know the truth.”

  “It is the wildest fabrication. This man Oates seems to be behind it…with Israel Tonge.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “That certain people want to make themselves appear more important than they are.”
/>
  “Do you really think that is all?”

  Charles was thoughtful. “Danby thinks it should be investigated,” he said.

  “What exactly are these people supposed to be plotting?”

  “That is easy to answer. They want the removal of the Black Bastard—that is myself, as you know. Pope Innocent XI is to be the Supreme Head of the Church of England. The French are involved in this. Père La Chaise has lodged ten thousand pounds in London for anyone who will kill me, and there is another ten thousand promised by the Jesuits when the deed is done…and yet another six thousand from Savoy. So you see how valuable I am.”

  “Please do not speak of it so flippantly. These scoundrels could harm you.”

  He smiled at me tenderly. “The King is dead. Long live the King.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It is James who concerns me. I have often thought I was safe because they would never want to kill me, for if they did they would have to have James.”

  “It seems that these people want James.”

  “To be the papist puppet. The idea is that my death will be followed by those of my ministers. The French will invade Ireland…”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I am inclined to believe that these two…Oates and Tonge…have put their heads together and invented the whole thing.”

  “But this is criminal.”

  “A natural way of life to such as they are. Poor Danby! His enemies are at his heels, you know. This gives them something else to think about. There is one thing, Catherine, you must not think for one moment…but perhaps I should not tell you.”

  “Please tell me, I must know what it is.”

  “They say that a sum of money has already been paid to a doctor in the household. It is to be his reward for poisoning me.”

  “One of the doctors in the household! Do they say which one?”

  He was silent for a moment. He looked at me apologetically.