Chapter Ten
This resolution survived in Francis, in spite of all the delays, excitements and frequent disappointments of the next few months.
Though he did not want to be caught back among the useless volunteers of the botched Cadiz expedition he could not help feeling some chagrin at the total lack of interest in his supposed disappearance, his probable demise.
Master Leslie was overjoyed by this neglect though he was careful to conceal his feelings from Francis. When news came at last from Colonel Ogilvy, repeating his former offer to do all he could for his nephew in Holland, the alderman hastened to find a berth for the lad on a trading ship bound for The Hague, paying all charges himself for both Francis and Will Stubble, from whom the former refused to be parted. It was with great satisfaction that he and Mistress Leslie saw the two embark and watched the stout vessel sail away slowly from the anchorage in the Pool of London. Later he wrote an account of it to Sir Francis, knowing the lad had not sent any message since his return from Spain to the guardian he still stubbornly resented, though he had written one letter to Oxford to his Uncle Richard.
Francis accepted the alderman’s substantial help with open gratitude but some inner reluctance. He had to accept it, for not only was he too inexperienced to be able even to set about his journey, but he was still penniless. This was chiefly because he had not applied for his deferred pay or compensation for personal losses. But, as he learned from Will Stubble, no one had been paid, neither the conscripted soldiers nor the chartered ships’ masters. There was still no money in the King’s coffers, Parliament would grant no more, seeing clearly it would be wasted. The City of London followed Parliament.
So Francis set out with sufficient means in his pocket for his arrival in Holland. He found his uncle very easily for Master Leslie had continued, through his agents, to have Colonel Ogilvy informed both of the probable date of his nephew’s arrival and the name of the ship in which he had sailed. A man was waiting on the quayside to take him to his uncle’s quarters.
‘A sadly mismanaged affair,’ the colonel agreed as they sat together that evening. ‘But I am glad to see you have profited by it so extremely well.’
‘Profited?’ Francis was astonished.
‘Aye, lad, profited. You are twice the man you were when His Grace’s messengers took you from me near Dover. Some nine months ago, is’t not?’
‘It was May, sir, and we lay idle till October, late October. With no training, no proper exercise, no food if the good fisher-folk of Bosham had not seen fit to supply us, though most reluctantly. I owe them my life.’
He enlarged upon that fallow period of boredom and frustration.
‘We heard so little of the outer world I was not properly aware of the King’s marriage until August when I learned it had taken place in June. We heard nothing of any pageantry or rejoicings.’
‘A Catholic marriage with an age-long enemy. Would you expect any but relief that it was not with Spain?’
Francis nodded agreement.
‘We could not well rejoice here, for in the natural course of nature we must expect it will set back the expectation of our misfortunate but well-beloved sister of King Charles.’
‘She that was wife to the Palgrave?’
‘Is, boy, is! Also sometime Queen of Bohemia, where Frederic her husband was made king at the people’s wish because they follow Calvin and the Emperor would have them return to the old faith.’
‘So I have heard.’
Francis did not want to go over the tale again. He had heard the bare bones of the sad story many times from all manner of sources, but always with the conclusion that the Elector Palatine had fallen between two stools, the wicked intrigue of Spain the oppressor and the well-intentioned, but totally misguided advice of the late King James.
‘I would serve the exiled queen,’ he said very seriously. ‘I would fight in the great, good cause to restore the Palgrave to his lost possessions. Is there not some plan when the winter ends to begin a fresh campaign to this end?’
‘There are always plans,’ Colonel Ogilvy answered with some bitterness. ‘And never the funds to pursue them. Count Mansfeld continues to gather fresh troops in England but he has neither arms nor provisions for them. They scatter over the countryside, begging for food which our sturdy careful peasantry deny them. It is rumoured he would join King Christian of Denmark for the coming campaign but that monarch expects support from England which I dare swear will not be forthcoming.’
Francis was silenced by this depressing news. If the poor Queen of Bohemia was to be denied all help from her uncle of Denmark and those volunteers who had come over so willingly to fight for her cause, what future could there be for himself?
Already, his uncle saw, the young man placed that much-admired lady at the summit of his ambition, not her husband, the Elector Palatine, or Palgrave as he was called. The handsome, weak-willed and generally incapable Elector commanded far less allegiance than his wife and by now was almost forgotten, except as a name or figurehead by his oppressed, far-distant subjects in the Palatinate.
Not wishing to depress his nephew too deeply Colonel Ogilvy left him to settle himself and his servant in the two rooms he had secured for them. He promised to come again shortly to take young Francis to the English Embassy and present him to the Ambassador, Lord Carleton, as a first step towards securing him a position as near as possible to himself in the Prince of Orange’s army.
‘Where I have served with the English regiment these last ten years,’ the colonel explained. ‘Under the late Prince Maurice, who has now been succeeded by his brother, Prince Henry of Nassau.’
This remark gave Francis an opportunity he had waited for ever since his arrival in Holland. But he did not take it immediately, for it was plain his uncle wished to leave him and also he needed to think over and digest the complicated facts he had been given about the exiled pair from the County Palatine.
He had not understood until now how short a time of happiness they had enjoyed in Frederic’s ancestral home before their ill-fated acceptance of the Bohemian throne. Only three years of peaceful security and then in a bare nine months the rise to monarchy followed by swift disaster, flight and exile. That had lasted now for six years, with the utter ruin of their fortunes and no further prospect of regaining any part of them.
Walking about the streets and bridges of the town, the neat, well-built houses reflected in the water of the canals, Francis grieved for the condition to which the royal pair had been reduced, dependent even for their bread upon the generosity of others. Though he had learned that the late Prince of Orange had left the Queen some shares in the East India Company that she could call her own private means. Well, apart from this tiny fortune, quite unbecoming a queen, was not her fate akin to his? Had he not suffered something of the kind, dependent upon others, unwanted, cast out, using a name that was not really his? In his bitterness he dared to liken his case to hers, while finding it a crime in himself to do so.
Will Stubble, though quite unaware of matters of State, yet brought his master confirmatory news of the Queen of Bohemia’s popularity among the common people.
‘They call her Queen of Hearts for her goodness and kindness to all,’ he explained. ‘And the Winter Queen for her misfortune. It is a great lady, sir, we should be most proud to serve.’
‘And so we are, Will,’ Francis told him. ‘You have discovered much in two days with no knowledge of the language.’
Will reddened but seeing his master was laughing joined in with a great guffaw.
‘Lord bless you, sir, it were not the natives informed me. I went in a tavern proclaiming I was from England and asking for beer. Their name for it is the same, as it is for much else. There was a fellow there spoke our tongue and that is very frequent also. He took me to another place where the English merchants of Delft come to secure their cargoes. It was here I learned how the people regard our Princess Elizabeth that was.’
When Colonel Ogilvy c
ame again he was wearing his uniform of an officer in the English troops of the Prince of Orange. Though he was now in his late forties and had led a very arduous life, soldiering in various minor continental quarrels, he held himself erect and moved with the vigour of a man ten years younger. Francis could not help admiring him for his splendid appearance and found his vanity soothed by acknowledging such a desirable relative. He himself could do no more than put on a clean shirt with starched collar and ruffles ironed by Will. His doublet and breeches were those the alderman had given him, as were his hose and buckled shoes. He dared not spend the last of Master Leslie’s advance until he had found some paid employment.
Colonel Ogilvy looked his nephew up and down, noticing the drabness of the suit with pity, but approving the clean freshness of the linen. About the auburn curls swinging down to the lad’s shoulders he was not so sure. As a boy in England in the last years of the great old queen his head had been cropped regularly. As a young man he had grown a thick black thatch from nape to forehead to pad his skull inside his battle helmet. The black had turned to grey now but was still thick enough for protection and in common with other sober middle-aged men, hung down to his ears, but not beyond.
He made no comment upon Francis’s appearance, however, beyond praising the shining condition of his sword in its scabbard.
‘Will’s work, sir,’ Francis said. ‘It is the weapon I recovered in Plymouth from the thief who took it from me near Cadiz. I think I told you the story.’
Colonel Ogilvy smiled, but again said nothing. Young Francis would be offended if he told him not to repeat that tale too often. For an officer who slept so soundly he did not wake when relieved of his weapon, was either a sluggard, a fool, or a child. An innocent child, Francis, not to see he could be blamed, even punished, for such a dereliction of duty.
‘I have an invitation from the Ambassador to present you to him tomorrow. He says he has plans for your disposal but does not say what they are. Today I will take you to meet some of my young officers, mostly Dutchmen, but a few from England. There are besides always visitors from thence.’
Here was another opening for Francis to put those questions he most longed to have answered.
He said, ‘If you please, sir, may I ask you about my mother?’
Colonel Ogilvy was startled, but since all he knew of his sister’s behaviour and its consequences had come to him at second hand he was able to control both his face and his voice as he answered, ‘What would you know of her?’
‘No one will tell me aught, except the fact of my bastardy!’ Francis cried with passion. ‘And the dreadful facts of her death at sea. I know my father’s, my real father’s, plight when he killed a servant of my Lord Lennox. I know that he was ignorant of my mother’s state until several years after I was born, when she had been married all that time to Sir Francis. But no one will tell me exactly why she left England, unattended, even by a maidservant, or who those friends were that expected her here in Holland. Can I not be told where to find them? Not even their names? What is this mystery? Wherefore?’ His voice broke and he stopped speaking, turning to his uncle with pain-filled eyes.
They were crossing one of the waterways by a little bridge as he spoke. The colonel stood still, with Francis halted beside him, both staring down at their reflections in the water, the young face and the mature, the grey head in the military shako, the chestnut curls below the broad-brimmed hat.
A couple of swans, hoping to be fed, swam towards them, breaking up the mirror, stretching out their long necks.
‘I was scarcely ever in London,’ the colonel said, shaking his head sadly. ‘Neither in Kate’s girlhood nor later. I remember an uncommonly pretty child, spoiled by both my parents. I remember a most beautiful girl, her head full of romance about the glories of the Court. I found it hard to get home again for several years. Spain had taken the Flemish Low Countries. We were in danger here, often in skirmishes. Then the Elector Palatine and his bride arrived …’
‘With friends, with attendants? There must have been many English ladies in the train of the Princess Elizabeth. Surely some stayed?’
‘Oh yes, very many stayed. Far too many. They were resented after a time and at last ordered home.’
‘But their names, sir? I mean those that remained to wait upon Madam, the Electress? Those that were here three years later at the time my poor mother was to visit those nameless friends?’
Colonel Ogilvy hesitated again. Certainly there must be one or two whose memories could be stirred by this persistent poor boy, if he could find them. But others, surely, whom he could name either because they were dead or returned to England or could be trusted to show discretion.
‘There was a Mistress Anne Dudley,’ he began slowly. ‘A very particular lady-in-waiting upon Her Highness. She married the Palgrave’s special adviser, Colonel Schomberg, who had served him from a boy. But the unfortunate lady, who was no longer young, died in childbirth soon after her marriage and Schomberg himself died a year or so later. Then there were Lord and Lady Harrington. Lord Harrington left when the princess’s train was reduced, but he died on the way to England. Lady Harrington came back later with her married daughter, Lucy, Countess of Bedford.’
He stopped, while Francis waited eagerly for more. After a time Colonel Ogilvy said, ‘I would assist you if I could, Francis. I understand your urgent desires. I do sympathise. But I am only a professional soldier. I live by my sword – of choice, you understand. I have never moved in exalted circles, only,’ he smiled, ‘stood at attention to watch the great ones go by. So you must forgive me.’
Francis was moved by his uncle’s simple modesty. He mumbled his thanks, for he did not trust his voice. Clearly the colonel had no more to tell him, but he had two names to follow up. Though their owners were dead it was only tea years since Lady Katherine Leslie had faded into a strange sinister mist from which she had never emerged. The Ambassador had frequent visitors from England, Uncle Arthur had told him. Perhaps His Excellency or one of those visitors could show him the path to discovery.
Chapter Eleven
But for a time nothing came of young Francis’s inquiries. Chiefly because when Colonel Ogilvy presented his nephew to the Ambassador, that perplexed representative of the English king was trying vainly to understand the new monarch’s policy in regard to France and the very curious matter of the support Charles seemed to have given his brother-in-law in the latter’s conflict with the Huguenots, those obstinate adherents of the reformed religion who would neither recant nor be put down.
Naturally Lord Carleton wished to support his king, but also he wished to uphold the Protestant cause wherever it existed. Which included the exiled Queen of Bohemia, her ineffectual husband and all those German states and principalities who held themselves devoted to restoring him to his lost Palatinate.
France seemed to be pledged to help in this against Spain, attacking through the Netherlands, but no troops appeared for that purpose. England was pledged to assist Louis XIII in all matters except those involving direct attacks upon him, Charles. To fulfil this promise Charles directed his navy to aid Louis in recovering a loss of six ships seized by the Huguenots and taken to their stronghold, La Rochelle, upon the Atlantic coast of France.
But the English captains and crews detailed for that service refused to allow French troops on board their vessels. They returned to England and would not fight against fellow-Protestants. Charles had to condone this mutiny, while trying to make Louis believe it was a misunderstanding.
The confusion was not lessened by the Duke of Buckingham’s behaviour. Lord Carleton’s somewhat vague manner in acknowledging Francis’s wish to serve in a military capacity was explained to him and his uncle later by one of the aides-de-camp detailed to look after them at the conclusion of their interview.
‘We have been much put out by the rumours, if such they should be called, of His Grace of Buckingham’s behaviour in Paris when he was there last summer to conduct the Princes
s Henrietta Maria to England for her marriage to King Charles.’
‘There was some account of it in London at the time,’ Colonel Ogilvy answered. ‘But I did not gather it fully. I was here again, you may recollect, after completing my mission at the time of the late King James’s death. So I do not know what exactly is supposed to have happened.’
Francis was silent. Again he cursed those stagnant weeks he had spent at Bosham, an ignorant but at the time not unwilling, though impatient prisoner of the Duke’s men.
‘They say it all stemmed from a visit Prince Charles and Buckingham made to the French Court on their way, incognito, to Spain, when a Spanish marriage for the Prince was still possible. His Grace was much admired, by the ladies especially, and took most unbecoming advantage of it, which roused King Louis to extreme displeasure, not at all concealed. It seems that at this second official visit, His Grace determined to seek revenge for the snubbing and approached the Queen, Anne of Austria, with insolent familiarity, even forcing his way into her bedchamber and attempting to make love to her.’
‘I wonder he was not arrested and punished!’ Francis could not help exclaiming.
‘If his mission had not been so particular and if he had been a French subject I doubt not he would have lost his head,’ the aide agreed. ‘They have a very rapid justice in France. The King’s will is the Law, upheld of course by Richelieu.’
‘That unmitigated villain!’ Colonel Ogilvy burst out. ‘But no wonder my Lord Carleton is perplexed and disturbed, for does not His Grace come here presently?’
‘Oh aye, to make a grand treaty of alliance with Denmark and all the German Protestant States. We have to suppress all scandal, both the old and what we anticipate will be the new.’
‘He will get no advantage with our queen. That I am certain of,’ the colonel said stoutly.
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