A Health Unto His Majesty

by Виктория Холт

  So she lay back and her women smoothed her hair away from her brow and spread cooling unguents on her heated face; they wiped away the tears which she could not restrain.

  That night the King came to her chamber.

  Clarendon had failed, and Charles no longer felt impelled to pretend he cared for her. She had disappointed him. Her charm had been in her soft tenderness, her overwhelming desire to please. Now she was proving to be such another termagant as Barbara, and not nearly so handsome a one.

  They are alike, thought the King; only the method of getting what they want is different.

  “Charles,” she cried tearfully, “I pray you let us have done with this matter. Let us be as we were before.”

  “Certainly let us have done with it,” he said. “You can decide that quicker than any of us.”

  “I could not bear to see her every day in my chamber…. I could not, Charles.”

  “You who have talked of dying for me … could not do this when I ask it?” He spoke lightly, maliciously.

  She said: “When you speak thus I feel as though a hundred daggers pierce my heart.”

  “That heart of yours is too easily reached. A protection of sound good sense might preserve it from much pain.”

  “You are so different now, Charles. I scarcely know you.”

  “You too are different. I feel I knew you not at all. I had thought you gentle and affectionate, and I find you stubborn, proud and wanting in your sense of duty.”

  “I find you wanting in affection and full of tyranny,” she cried.

  “You are inexperienced of the world. You have romantic ideals which are far from reality.”

  “You have cynical ideas which shock and alarm me.”

  “Catherine, let us have done with these wrangles. Let us compromise on this. Do this one thing for me and I promise you that Lady Castlemaine shall never, in the smallest way, show the slightest disrespect for you; she shall never, for one moment, forget that you are the Queen.”

  “I will never have her in my household!” cried Catherine hysterically. “Never … never. I would rather go back to Portugal.”

  “You would do well to discover first whether your mother would receive you.”

  Catherine could not bear to look at him. He was so aloof and angry, and anger sat so unfamiliarly on that dark face. That he could talk so coldly of her going home frightened her.

  He went on: “Your Portuguese servants will soon be going back, so doubtless they could lay this matter of your return before your mother; then we should see whether she would be willing to receive you.”

  “So you would send my servants away from me—even that?”

  Charles looked at her in exasperation. She was so innocent of the world, so ignorant of procedure. She thought that in sending her servants from her he would be guilty of another act of cruelty; she did not understand that in all royal marriages a bride’s servants stayed with her only until she was settled into the ways of her new country, and that it was considered unwise for them to stay longer since they created jealousy and were inclined to make great matters of small differences—such as this one—which arose between a king and his queen.

  He did not explain to her; he was exasperated beyond endurance. Moreover it seemed to him she was ready to misconstrue all his actions and doubtless would not believe anything he told her.

  “I did not know,” she said, “that you could find it in your heart to treat me so ill. My mother promised me that you would be a good husband to me.”

  “Your mother, alas, made many promises which were not fulfilled. She promised a handsome dowry which has not yet been delivered.”

  He immediately hated himself for those words, for he had told himself again and again that the defalcation of her mother was no fault of Catherine’s.

  He longed to be done with the matter. It was absurd. A quarrel between two women, and he was allowing it to give him as much anxiety as the threat of a major war. He was wrangling with her through the night in such loud tones that many in the Palace would hear him.

  It was undignified; it was folly; and he would do it no more.

  He hurried from the apartment, leaving Catherine to weep through the rest of the night.

  The days passed most wretchedly for Catherine. She seldom spoke to the King. She would see him from the windows of her apartment sauntering with his friends; she would hear their laughter; it seemed that wherever he was there was merriment.

  She was lonely, for, although she was the Queen, there was no one in the Palace who did not know of the estrangement between herself and the King, and many who had been eager to please her in the hope of receiving her favor, no longer considered her capable of bestowing benefits.

  She knew something of what was said of her. The King’s devotion of the last two months had been given out of the kindness of his heart: there had been no real love, no passion. How could there be? There were many ladies of the Court more beautiful than the Queen, and the King was deeply affected by beauty.

  For two months he had given his affections exclusively to her, and she, being simple and ignorant, had not realized what a great sacrifice that was for the King to make.

  She was humiliated and heartbroken. She did not know how foolish she was; she did not realize that, since there could be no happiness for her while the King was displeased with her, she could quite easily win back his grateful devotion. Charles hated to be on bad terms with anyone, particularly a woman; his tenderness for her sex was apparent in all he did; even to those women who attracted him not at all he was invariably courteous. He was sorry for Catherine; he understood her difficulties; he knew she was an idealist while he was very much a realist; and if at the time she had given way in this matter, if she had understood his peculiar problem, if she had been able to see him as the man he was—charming, affable, easy-going, generous, good-natured but very weak, particularly in his relationship with women—Catherine could have won his affectionate regard for all time; and although she could never have roused his passion she could have been his very dear friend. But her rigid upbringing, her lack of worldly knowledge, her pride and the influence of her prudish Portuguese attendants robbed her of not only her temporary peace of mind but of her future happiness.

  So she sat aloof, sometimes sullenly, sometimes weeping bitterly; and the King ignored her, his courtiers following his example. Thus Hampton Court, the scene of those first weeks of triumphant happiness, became the home of despair.

  Henrietta Maria, the King’s mother, arrived in England; she wished to meet her son’s wife and let the whole world know how she welcomed the marriage.

  Then it was necessary for Charles to behave towards Catherine as though all was well between them.

  They rode out from Hampton Court side by side while a brilliant cavalcade accompanied them. The people lined the roads to cheer them, and Catherine felt new pride stir within her when she realized how the English loved their King.

  That was a happy day, for Charles was chatting with her as though there had been nothing to disturb their relationship; and when they arrived at Greenwich, Henrietta Maria, determined to dispense with ceremony, took her daughter-in-law in her arms and assured her in her volatile way that this was one of the happiest moments in the life of one whose many sorrows had made her call herself la reine malheureuse.

  She accepted a fauteuil and sat on the right hand of Catherine. Charles sat next to his wife, and on his left hand sat Anne Hyde the Duchess of York, while the Duke stood behind his mother.

  It was Henrietta Maria who talked continually, studying the face of her daughter-in-law, trying not to let her eyes betray the fact that she was wondering if she were yet pregnant. Those lively dark eyes missed little, and she could see no signs of a child.

  “This is indeed a pleasure, my dearest daughter. And how like you your country, eh? I thank the saints that you have come to it in summer weather. Ah, I remember my first visit to this country. That was in the days of my youth … t
he happiest time of my life! But even then I had my little worries. I was so small—smaller than you, my dear daughter—and it grieved me lest my husband should wish me taller. How we suffer we princesses sent to strange lands! But I found my husband to be the best man in the world … the kindest and most faithful husband … the best of fathers….”

  Charles interrupted: “I beg of you, Mam, say no more. My wife will expect too high a standard of me.”

  “And why should she not expect you to be like your father! I trust that you may bring her as much happiness as he brought me … though … through my love of him I suffered much. But is not that the way with love? To love is to suffer….”

  Catherine said fervently: “It is true, Your Majesty. To love is to suffer.”

  “Well, let us not talk of suffering on such a happy occasion,” said the King. “Tell me, Mam, how is my sister?”

  Henrietta Maria frowned. “She has her trials. Her husband is not kind to her.”

  “I am sorry for her,” said Catherine.

  “Ah … indeed, yes. When I think of the regard the King of France has for her … when I think of what might have been….”

  “It is useless to dwell on what might have been,” said the King. “It grieves me that my sister is not happy.”

  “You must not be jealous of his love for his sister,” said Henrietta Maria to Catherine. “I declare that my daughter’s husband is jealous of hers for him. They have been devoted all their lives.”

  The Duke of York joined in the conversation and Henrietta Maria chattered on in her garrulous way; her manner was faintly cool to the Duchess of York whom Charles had forced her to accept, but James had always been a favorite of hers. She made little attempt to veil her likes and dislikes. She asked how fared that man Hyde—she refused to give him his title of Earl of Clarendon—and she asked if her son was still as strongly under his influence as he always had been.

  The King turned aside her awkward remarks with his easy manner, and Catherine felt more deeply in love with him than ever before.

  She could not be unhappy while they were together thus, for although it might only have been for the sake of etiquette, the King would turn to her again and again, and it was delightful to enjoy the warmth of his smiles and his tender words once more.

  She felt desolate when it was time to return to Hampton Court, but she found that the King’s manner towards her did not change as they rode away from London. He remained friendly and charming; though of course she knew that he would not be her lover.

  Even then she did not see how much happier her life might have been had she given way on this one matter; and although she had been able to set aside her misery during the visit to Greenwich, still she determined to nurse it, and the matter of Lady Castlemaine’s admittance to the household was still between them.

  Henrietta Maria visited the King and Queen at Hampton Court, and during the month of August Catherine made her first public entry into the capital of her new country.

  She rode down the river in the royal barge; and by her side was Charles, delighted to be on water, and returning to his capital. Full of charm and gaiety he was tender and affectionate. The Duke and the Duchess of York were with them in the brilliantly decorated barge, as well as those Princes, cousins of the King, Rupert and Edward, with the Countess of Suffolk; other members of the royal household followed. All along the riverbanks cheering people watched them; and when they were within a short distance of London they left the barge for a large boat with glass windows. The awnings were covered in gold-embroidered crimson velvet.

  Now they were ready for the triumphal entry.

  “And this,” Charles told his wife, “is all in honor of you.”

  The river was crowded with craft of all description, for the Lord Mayor and companies had turned out in force to play their Queen, to the tune of sweet music, into her capital. On the deck of their boat, beneath the canopy which had been made in the form of a cupola with Corinthian pillars decorated with flowers, sat Catherine and Charles.

  To Catherine it was inspiring and thrilling. The music enchanted her as did the shouts of the people acclaiming their loyalty to the royal pair; but what delighted Catherine more than anything else was the fact that Charles was beside her, her hand was in his, and his affable smiling face turned again and again from his cheering people to herself.

  It was possible to believe that their differences were forgotten, that all was well between them, and that they were lovers again.

  And so to Whitehall, of which the King had often talked to her, where the public crowded into the banqueting hall to watch the royal party dine.

  Catherine realized now how much a part of this merry boisterous existence Charles himself was, how his ready smiles to the humblest, how his quick retorts, his dispensing with royal dignity, appealed to the people. They were delighted—those who crowded about Whitehall and came into the private apartment to see their royal family—with the easy manner of their King and his friendliness to all; they were enchanted with the extravagance of his Palace and glittering splendor of the gentlemen of his Court and the beauty of the ladies.

  They loved their King not only because of his good nature—and when he had returned to England he had brought with him a colorful way of life—but also for his weaknesses, for providing them with many a titbit of scandal; they loved him for his love affairs, which could always be relied upon to raise a laugh in any quarter, and were such a contrast to the dull, drab and respectable existence of men such as Cromwell and Fairfax.

  Now he joked with the Queen and his mother at the royal table, and the crowd looked on and enjoyed his wit.

  Catherine was shocked when, before them all, he discussed the possibility of her bringing an heir to England.

  “I believe he will soon put in an appearance,” said Charles.

  “This is wonderful news!” cried Henrietta Maria.

  Catherine looked from one to the other, trying to follow the conversation which was taking place in English.

  The King turned to her and explained what had been said. Catherine blushed hotly, and the people laughed. She stammered in English: “You lie.”

  At which the whole assembly burst into loud laughter on hearing the King so addressed; and none laughed more heartily than the King.

  He said: “And what will my people think of the way in which I am treated by my wife? These are the first words in English she has uttered in public.” His face wore a look of mock seriousness. “And she says I lie!”

  He then turned to her and said that she must talk more in English, for that was what his people would like to hear; and he made her say after him such phrases as set the people rocking with hilarious laughter in which all the noble company joined.

  But Catherine’s joy was short-lived, for it was not long before Barbara appeared at Whitehall. No more was said as to her becoming a lady of the bedchamber; she was just there, always present, brilliantly beautiful; so that whenever Catherine compared herself with Charles’ notorious mistress she felt plain—even ugly—quite dull and completely lacking in charm.

  She grew sullen; she sat alone; she would not join any group if Barbara were there, and, as the King always seemed to be where Barbara was, all the brilliant and amusing courtiers were there also.

  Almost everyone deserted the Queen; the Earl of Sandwich, who had been so charming when he had come to Portugal, no longer seemed to have any time to spare for her; young Mr. James Crofts, a very handsome boy of about fifteen, scarcely noticed her at all, and moreover she felt that the fact that he was received at Court was an affront to herself, for she knew who he was—the son of a woman as infamous as Lady Castlemaine. And the boy’s features, together with a somewhat arrogant manner would have proclaimed him to be Charles’ son—even if the King did not make it openly obvious that this was so.

  James Crofts was often with the King; they could be seen sauntering in the Park, arm in arm.

  Catherine heard what was said of the Kin
g and this boy. “Greatly His Majesty regrets that he was not married to the mother of such a boy, for it is clear that handsome Mr. James Crofts is beloved by his father.”

  James gave himself airs. He was at every state occasion magnificently dressed, and already ogling the ladies. He was a fervent admirer of Lady Castlemaine and sought every opportunity of being in her company; and there was nothing this lady liked better than to be seen with the King and his son, when they laughed and chatted together.

  There were some who said that young James’ feeling for his father’s mistress was becoming too pronounced, and that the lady was not displeased by this, but that when the King realized that this boy of his was fast becoming a man he would be less fond of Master James. The King however was human and, like all parents, took far longer than others to become aware that his son was growing up.

  Although the King was outwardly affectionate to his wife, all knew of his neglect of her. It was said that he was pondering whether he might not proclaim Mr. Crofts legitimate, give him a grand title, and make him his heir. If he did this it would mean that he had decided no longer to hope for an heir from the Queen; and all understood what that implied.

  So Catherine grew more and more wretched during those summer months. It seemed to her that she had only two friends at Court. Most of her attendants were returning to Portugal and all her most intimate friends were to leave her, with the exception of Maria the Countess de Penalva for, it was said, the King thought Maria too old and infirm to influence Catherine and support her in her stubbornness.

  That other friend was a younger brother of the Earl of Sandwich—Lord Edward Montague—who held the post of Master of Horse in her household.

  Edward Montague had by his demeanor shown his sympathy with her and had told her that he considered she was shamefully treated.

  She found some pleasure therefore in listening to his words of sympathy, for it was comforting to think that in the royal household there was at least one who understood her.

  When she said goodbye to her servants she continued to believe that Charles had deprived her of their company in order to spite her. She would not accept the fact that custom and the wishes of English members of the household demanded their departure.