A Health Unto His Majesty

by Виктория Холт

  It was a strange world, this Court of her husband. She was once more reminded that it was a Court in which beauty and the power to charm were of greater importance than virtue. Lady Chesterfield provided an example. Could Catherine herself follow it?

  There was young Edward Montague who was often at her side. But were his feelings for her inspired by pity for her plight rather than admiration for her person?

  Now she must dance, and here was the Duke of Monmouth, in whose honor the ball was held, ceremoniously asking for the hand of the first lady of the Court.

  Catherine rose and put her hand in his. He was a very graceful dancer, and Catherine, who loved to dance, found herself enjoying this one.

  How like Charles he was! A younger, more handsome Charles, but lacking that kingliness, that great elegance, that wit, that charm. In comparison Monmouth was merely a pretty boy.

  And as he danced with her—holding his plumed hat in his hand, since he danced with the Queen—Charles came to them and, there before the whole assembly, in an access of tenderness for this boy whom it was his delight to honor, stopped the dance, took the boy in his arms, kissed him on both cheeks and bade him put on his hat and continue the dance.

  Everyone was astonished at this action of the King’s. It could mean only one thing, it was whispered. The King so doted on his handsome son that he had determined to make him legitimate. Then the Duke of Mon-mouth would be heir to the throne.

  Rumor began to grow. Had the King truly married Lucy Water? Had the creature prevailed upon him to go through a ceremony of marriage? Charles had been an exile then, and all knew how easy-going he was with his women.

  Catherine sadly continued to dance; she feared that the King’s regard for her was so slight that he was telling her—and the Court—that whatever children she might bear him, they could not mean more to him than did young Monmouth.

  In the little octagonal building which was part of Whitehall Palace and was called the Cockpit, Barbara had her apartments and here she held court. Hither flocked those ambitious men who believed that through Barbara lay the way to glory.

  The chief of these was George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham and Barbara’s second cousin once removed; he was recognized, not only as one of the most handsome men of the day, but one of its most brilliant statesmen.

  He saw in close association with Barbara a means of getting that power for which he had always longed, and there was one man whom he felt stood between him and his goal; that man was Clarendon, and in their hatred of the Chancellor, he and Barbara were united.

  There in her rooms at the Cockpit they would meet frequently, and about them would gather all those who hoped to follow them to power. In the light of candles they would make merry, for, in addition to being a wily statesman, Buckingham was a man of many social graces: he was one of the most entertaining men at Court, and his imitations of well-known figures could set guests laughing so much that they became almost hysterical, so clever was he at caricaturing those little vanities and dignities of his enemies to make them appear utterly ridiculous. He used this gift in order to bring ridicule to those he disliked, and his caricature of Clarendon was in constant demand.

  Another great enemy of Clarendon’s who came to Barbara’s parties was the Earl of Bristol. He was bold and vivacious but somewhat unreliable. He had written a book about the Reformation and, during the course of writing this, had become a Catholic; he was looked upon as the leader of the Catholic party in England and because of this was watched eagerly by those who hoped to see the Catholics more firmly established in the land. There was not a man at Court who hated the Chancellor more than did the Earl of Bristol.

  Henry Bennet, who had been with the King in exile, was another; he was a clever, ambitious but rather pompous man who bore a scar on his nose of which he was so proud that he called attention to it by wearing a patch over it which was far greater than the scar warranted; this was meant to be a constant reminder to the King that he had been wounded in the Royalist Cause. Henry Bennet had shared Lucy Water with Charles when they were in Holland, and it was a matter of opinion whether Lucy’s daughter Mary was Bennet’s child or the King’s. Barbara had included Bennet in her own little circle of men she could use, and it was largely through her that he had replaced Nicholas as Secretary of State.

  It was these three men—Buckingham, Bristol and Bennet—with whom Barbara sought to intrigue after that New Year’s ball during which the King had clearly shown his interest in Frances Stuart.

  They all wished to bring about the downfall of Clarendon, and at the same time it was Barbara’s desire to damage Frances Stuart in the eyes of the King.

  Barbara was seriously alarmed about Frances Stuart. The girl had in the first place seemed to be a simpleton. She was young and artless and seemed unaware of the fact that there was not a woman at Court whose beauty could compare with hers; and in a Court where the King was instantly moved by beauty in any form—and in particular the beauty of women—that meant a passport to power.

  Barbara watched Frances closely. Each day she seemed to grow in beauty. The girl was perfect; her figure was enchanting, her face, with that expression of supreme innocence, delightful. Had she not been the most beautiful girl at Court, her very grace of movement would have made her stand out among them all, and allied with this was a charming air of innocence. She laughed easily; she prattled of nothing in a lighthearted way; she seemed almost simpleminded in her childishness. But Barbara had her own ideas. She did not believe in Mrs. Stuart’s innocence. She remembered the case of Anne Boleyn, who had remained haughty, pure and aloof, and had murmured to an enamored King: “Your wife I cannot be; your mistress I will not be.”

  Barbara was furious with the girl, but the situation was too delicate to allow her to give full vent to that fury. Barbara was in her twenties; Frances in her teens; Barbara lived riotously, never denying her senses what they craved; Frances slept the sleep of the innocent each night and arose in the mornings fresh as a spring flower.

  Barbara had realized that where this sly little prude was concerned she would have to play a wary game.

  So she took Frances under her wing. She believed that, if she had not, the King might have been found supping where Frances was and Barbara was not. She made Frances her little friend; she even had her sleep in her bed.

  She knew, of course, that the King had made the usual advances to the girl—the languishing looks, the pressing of hands, the stolen kisses, the gifts. All these she had received with wide-eyed pleasure as though the insinuation which accompanied them was quite beyond her understanding.

  So Barbara played those games which Frances loved, childish games which made the simple little creature shriek with pleasure. They played “marriage”—with Barbara the husband and Frances the wife, and they were put to bed with a sack posset and the stocking was flung. Unfortunately the King had come in while that game was in progress and had declared that it was a shame poor Frances had been married to one of her own sex. He was sure she would have preferred a man for her husband; he therefore would relieve Barbara of conjugal responsibilities and take them on himself. What shrieks of laughter from sly Mrs. Stuart! What nudging and whispering of those participating in the game! Had the bride been anyone else, Barbara knew full well that the frolic of that night would not have ended as it did. But sly, virtuous Mrs. Stuart knew when to draw back; and Barbara, with murder in her heart, believed the sly creature was contemplating very high stakes indeed.

  So the dearest wish of Barbara’s heart was to see Mrs. Stuart exposed in the eyes of the King as a wanton. She knew that he was growing more and more tender towards the girl, that he believed in all that innocence, and that it was having a devastating effect which might prove disastrous to Barbara. Dearly as she wished to see the fall of Clarendon she wished even more to see the fall of Mrs. Stuart.

  It was in the Cockpit that she conferred with her friends.

  “It should not be difficult now,” she said, “for yo
u gentlemen to assure the King of how this man works against him.”

  “The King is too easy-going,” growled Bennet.

  “Yet,” said Buckingham, “his opposition to the Declaration of Liberty for Tender Consciences has, I am certain, incensed the King.”

  “I have assured him,” said Barbara, “that Clarendon opposed the Declaration, not because he believed it to be wrong, but because of his hatred towards those who promoted it.”

  “And what said he to that?”

  Barbara shrugged her shoulders. “He said that Clarendon was a man of deep conscience. He had reason to know it, for he knew the man well.” “Still he was displeased with Clarendon.”

  “Indeed he was,” said Bristol, “and it was solely because of his need for money that he agreed to those laws which deal harshly with all who differ from the Act of Uniformity.”

  “And now,” said Buckingham, “he has been forced to proclaim that Papists and Jesuits will be banished from the kingdom, although I have good reason to believe that he will do everything in his power to oppose the banishing. You know his great wish for tolerance, and it is solely because he needs money so badly that he is forced to fall in with the Parliament’s wishes.”

  “But he loves them all a little less for forcing him to agree,” said Barbara. “And he knows that it is Clarendon who has led those against him.”

  “So,” cried Bristol, “now is the time to impeach the fellow. If the King fails to support him as he failed to support the King, all those who feign friendship towards him will drop away like leaves in an autumn gale.”

  “Yes,” said Barbara, “now is the time.”

  “There is another matter,” said Bristol. “I am a Catholic and I know how friendly the King has been to Catholics. There are rumors—and always have been—that one who can be so lenient towards Papists must surely be of their Faith.”

  “It is nonsense,” said Barbara. “He is often more lenient when he does not agree. It is due to some notion he has of suspecting all points of view.”

  “Clarendon deplores his tolerance,” said Buckingham. “I have it! Someone has been spreading reports of the King’s devotion to the Catholic cause. It might well be Clarendon.”

  “It shall be Clarendon!” said Barbara.

  “Moreover,” said Bristol, “I have heard that a correspondence has taken place between the Queen and the Pope. His Majesty is weary of the Queen; that much is certain. There is no sign of a child. Doubtless the woman is unfruitful; princesses often are. And the King has proved his ability—nay his great good fortune—in getting children elsewhere. It may be that he would wish to rid himself of the Queen.”

  Barbara’s eyes were narrowed. Could it be that these friends of hers were concocting some plot of which she was not acquainted? Had Bristol betrayed it; and could it by any chance concern Frances Stuart?

  “Nay,” she said quickly, “I warn you. If you should try to turn the King against the Queen you would be greatly mistaken.”

  Better, thought Barbara, a plain little Portuguese Catherine as Queen than beautiful Frances Stuart.

  “Barbara is right in that,” said Buckingham. “Let us not take the plot too far as yet. Let us settle this one matter first, and we will deal with others afterwards. Let us rid ourselves of the Chancellor; let us set up a new Chancellor in his place….” Buckingham looked at Bristol, and Bristol looked at the ceiling. Why not Buckingham? thought Buckingham. Why not Bristol? thought Bristol. Bennet was smugly content as Secretary of State.

  They parted soon afterwards. Barbara was hoping the King would call upon her.

  A few days later she had an opportunity of speaking to Buckingham alone.

  She immediately began to discuss Frances.

  “Do you believe she is as virtuous as she feigns to be?”

  “There is no proof that she is otherwise.”

  “Mayhap no one has tried hard enough.”

  “The King is a skillful player. Would you not say he is trying very hard indeed?”

  “George, you may not be the King, but you are the handsomest man at Court.”

  Buckingham laughed.

  “Dear cousin,” he said, “I know full well how mightily it would please you should I take the Stuart for my mistress. It is galling for one of your high temper to see His Majesty growing more deeply enamored every day. It would be pleasant for me to bask in your approbation, Barbara, but think what goes with it: the fury of the King.”

  “Nay, he’d not be furious. It is her seeming virtue that plagues him. He only half believes in it. Prove it to be a myth and he’ll love you better than he loves the silly Stuart.”

  “And you too, Barbara?”

  But Buckingham went away thinking of this matter. He was a handsome man; he was irresistible to many. Might it not be that for all his royalty, Charles as a man had failed to appeal to Frances? Might it not be that she realized that Charles in pursuit might be more amusing—and profitable—than Charles satisfied?

  He decided to cultivate the fair Stuart.

  Barbara whispered to Sir Henry Bennet: “She is beautiful, is she not—Frances Stuart?”

  “She is indeed. Apart from yourself, I would say there is not a more handsome woman at the Court.”

  “I know that you admire her.”

  “’Tis a pity she is determined not to take a lover.”

  “So far!” said Barbara.

  “What mean you by that?”

  “Mayhap the man she would wish for has not yet claimed her!”

  “The King, it is said, has had ill fortune in his pursuit of her.”

  “The King may not always be victorious. I have heard it said that Lucy Water, who knew you both well, had a more tender heart for Henry than for Charles.”

  Bennet was a vain man. He postured and laughed aloud at the memory of Lucy Water.

  And when he left Barbara, he was thoughtful.

  The plot to discredit Clarendon failed completely, largely through Charles’ interference. Charles fully realized that the charge had been brought against him, not because those who brought it believed that Clarendon was working against him and the country, but because the plotters were working against Clarendon.

  The Chancellor’s judges decided that a charge of high treason could not be brought by one peer against another in the House of Lords; and that even if those charges against Clarendon were true, there was no treason in them. The House of Lords therefore dismissed the charges.

  Bristol, who had been the prime mover against Clarendon in this case, seeking to justify himself with the King and believing that Charles wished to rid himself of Catherine, added a further charge against Clarendon, declaring that he had brought the King and Queen together without any settled agreement about marriage rites, and that either the succession would be uncertain, in case of Catherine’s being with child, for want of the due rites of matrimony, or His Majesty would be exposed to suspicion of being married in his own country by a Romanish priest.

  When the King heard of this he was indignant.

  “How dare you suggest that there would be an inquiry into the secret nuptials between myself and the Queen?” he demanded.

  “Your Majesty, I thought that in raising this point I should be acting as you wished.”

  “You carry your zeal too far.”

  “Then I crave Your Majesty’s pardon.”

  “It would be easier to grant it if I did not have to see you for a little time. I would have you know—and all those who are with you—that I will not have slights cast on the Queen.”

  “There was no desire to slight the Queen, Your Majesty.”

  “Then let us hear no more of the matter. It is astonishing to me that you, a Catholic yourself, should have added this article to the impeachment of Clarendon. What caused your conversion to Catholicism?”

  “May it pleasure Your Majesty, it happened whilst I was writing a book for the Reformation.”

  The King turning away, said with a half smile: “Pray,
my lord, write a book for Popery.”

  It was necessary after that for the Earl of Bristol to absent himself from Court for a while.

  The people in the streets and about the Court had said that Bristol and his friend had cast the Chancellor on his back past ever getting up, but Clarendon retained his post, although the rift between the King and his Chancellor had widened.

  The Queen had become very happy. She was certain now that she was to have a child.

  This made the King very tender towards her; he longed for a legitimate heir. He had not proclaimed Monmouth legitimate and he had denied the rumors that he had married Lucy Water. He was seen often in company with the Queen; but he was deeply in love with Frances Stuart.

  He still continued to visit Barbara, who retained her hold over him, and she kept her title as his first mistress.

  She made no attempt to control her temper, and she was pregnant again.

  “It would seem,” she said, “that I have no sooner borne a child than the next is conceived. Charles, I hope our next will be a boy.”

  “Our next?” said Charles.

  “Indeed it is our next!” shouted Barbara.

  The King looked about him. Barbara was not the only one who had her apartments in the Cockpit, for the building was large and had been built by Henry the Eighth to lodge those whom he wished to keep near him. Clarendon had a suite of rooms there; so had Buckingham.

  Charles knew that these people were quite aware of the stormy nature of his relationship with Barbara, but he did like to keep their quarrels private.

  “I doubt it,” said Charles. “I very much doubt this one to be mine.”

  “Whose else could it be?”

  “There you set a problem which you might answer more readily than I, though I confess you yourself might be hard put to it to solve it.”