“Oh, how I wish I could have a country life.”
He sat down, took out his black pocket book, and wrote down these words:
O how blest and how innocent
and happy is a country life
free from tumult and discontent
here is no flattery nor strife
for ‘twas the first and happiest life
When first man did enjoy himself
This is a better fate than kings
hence gentle peace and love doth flow
for fancy is the rate of things
I’m pleased because I think it so
for a heart that is nobly true
all the worlds arts can ne’er subdue
He looked wistful, even sad.
“There is nothing like a country life – it’s so mercifully free from the things that drag us down at court.”
Chapter 16
King Charles was in no mood for merriment. He and the Duke of York went to the Secretary, Mr. Jenkins’s, office where Monmouth was being held. The old king looked at his thirty-four year old son, who stood before him like an indignant schoolboy who had been caught misbehaving.
Monmouth’s eyes shifted from the angular, glacial, sneering face of his uncle James, to the plumper, warm, droopy face of his father. The bags under his dark brown eyes were more noticeable; he was clean-shaven more often these days, no longer sporting the thin mustachios that he had in his younger days. He wore his characteristic black periwig, French lace at his chin and cuffs.
“My boy,” said Charles, adopting a strident tone, “if you have ambitions to take my throne, though you are my son – you will be cut down.”
“But, father!” Monmouth protested.
Charles calmly stated, “My brother is my heir and he will rule after me. You and everyone else will obey me in this.” The King unfurled a document, and took a quill from the desk and dipped it into the inkwell. “Sign this document, confess, and do your duty.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!” Monmouth protested, vehemently.
The Duke of York spoke in the condescending manner with which he often addressed Monmouth: “You should sign, and admit your guilt. It is far past time that you began to behave like a man of your years instead of a feckless boy.”
“Feckless! Boy?” Monmouth exclaimed, angrily rising to his feet to confront his uncle. By God, he could have struck him for that, so he crossed his arms angrily to avoid doing so. He looked at his father again, “Then the time has come to acknowledge that I am just another one of your many bastards.”
“Do not say such things!”
Charles quickly arose from his chair and pulled Monmouth tightly to his chest. “Please, brother, leave me a time with my son,” he said to the Duke of York, who, still sneering at the young man, left the room.
The King put his hands on either side of Monmouth’s face, “You are my son, and I cherish every single hair upon your dear head, but you are not my heir. My brother is my heir, and there’s an end. How can I possibly trust in you now, Jemmy, after plots and schemes against me, made in your name and by those whose interests lie with you.”
“Can I really help it if people choose to support me? I am your first-born son. Mother oft told me that you were married to her. I refuse to believe that she would lie to me!”
“Listen to me, Jemmy, I loved your mother, I worshipped her and was mad for her, but she was a liar, and a wanton. We were never married.”
“No! I cannot believe that!” Monmouth had, in the past, openly threatened to kill any man for saying that his parents were not married. It was painful to hear the words come of out his father’s lips.
“You must believe it!” Charles urged.
“Mother never would have lied to me!” Monmouth obstinately continued, “Why can’t you acknowledge me? I am your eldest son; I have always done my best in battle for you, to give glory to your name and to this kingdom. The people love me – I would make a popular, beloved king. Why do you not love me, father?”
Charles looked down into his eyes, “’Od’s fish! Of course I do, you are my boy, but this has nothing to do with love.”
Monmouth begrudgingly nodded.
“Jemmy,” Charles continued, “When I am gone, things will be different. Parliament will be stronger; there is no doubt in my mind about it. Your uncle will not be a popular king, but-”
“I don’t wish to think about you dying,” Monmouth interrupted, “I won’t hear of it. And I won’t hear of him being king!”
“You will and you must. James has always felt as though he lives in my shadow, and once my shadow is no longer upon him, he may be emboldened and strive to seek things this country is not yet ready for. You cannot go against him, my boy; he has always had a vein of cruelty in him that I would not wish to fall upon you. He already distrusts you greatly. ”
“I care not what he thinks!” spat Monmouth. “He is so utterly different from you, father, I sometimes find it hard to believe that you are brothers.”
“I know that you do not see this, but James is a good man. If only you saw him during the Civil Wars, you would have a better opinion of him.” He paused, remembering the hardships they had had to endure at that bleak time, “I, however, am still king and whilst I am, I will maintain order. There must be order in the succession. You know how vastly things have altered since your grandfather was on the throne. We have limited powers now.”
“But I can maintain order as a Protestant king. If you continue with this absurd path of supporting your brother, the English people will rise up against him…”
“You misjudge the English people, Sir.”
“How so? In my progress in the West Country, I saw thousands of men who will refuse to have a Catholic King.”
“Jemmy, I will hear no more. You know I must exile you.”
“Exile me? Wherefore?”
“You know damned well that you have been implicated in this Rye House business against me. You went to a secret meeting where the plot against me was discussed. What more reason do I need to exile you?”
“I did nothing wrong,” Monmouth protested, “I refused to be party to it.”
“Just the same, I must exile you. You knew of the plot, yet you did not inform us.”
“It was only talk, they hadn’t even made proper plans. I could not betray my friends, could I?”
“Ah, but you have betrayed me, haven’t you, my boy?”
Monmouth furrowed his brows, suddenly realising that he had, in fact, done so.
“That was not my intent.”
Monmouth slumped down into a nearby chair and held rubbed his weary face with his hands.
“Whither shall I go?”
Charles scratched the side of his head as he thought.
“James can’t bear the sight of you, I can tell. If I were you, I’d spend my days in the arms of that lovely Wentworth lass.”
A little smile appeared on his face, “I have missed her greatly these past few days. We lived together as man and wife for those many months whilst I was in hiding. I love her, father.”
Charles smiled, for he had not heard his son say such words before. “Very well, that is far enough to appease those against you, and close enough should I deem it time for you to return. But, mind you – I won’t have you coming back here until I send word. I’ve been far too lax with you in the past, and I will not allow you to disobey me in this.”
Monmouth turned away from the king, and pondered over it all as he rubbed his little black leather-bound book with his thumb.
He looked back at the tall King, “When will I see you again, father?” he asked, with tears in his eyes.
Charles put his hands on either side of his son’s broad shoulders and gave him a hopeful smile.
“God knows, my Boy, God knows. Just stay out of trouble.”
Chapter 17
And so to Toddington did Monmouth return, and into Henrietta’s loving arms did he find comfort.
“
My love, why do you allow yourself to be ensnared in these intrigues?”
“I do not know - I am always getting into trouble, it seems, and through no fault of my own!” he complained.
As they lay upon her great, canopied bed, she kissed his forehead and looked into his deep blue eyes. “Think not upon the succession, my heart, nor any other politics, for such thoughts have only ever served to vex you.”
“But it isn’t right! He married my mother, and therefore, I should be his heir. If he dies before any of this is settled, I shall have what is due to me taken by my loathed uncle.”
“I thought you liked him. I thought that you went hunting with your uncle often.”
“Oh, aye,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I have done so, and I think we both did it to please my father. Uncle James’s disdain for me is evident enough in every sneer and frown which is so common in his face when in my company.”
“Not only in your company, dearest, for they do not call him Dismal Jimmy for nothing, you know?” She gave a cheeky grin towards her lover. “Now, hush, dearest. Your father lives and is well, and should outlive your uncle James, I’m sure of it. He is so active and energetic, there’s no one like him.”
“Perhaps you are right, my love.”
“I have a house being built in Soho and I think you’ll love it.”
“Ah, a Monmouth Square!” she joked, “But, why don’t you simply keep the home in Bloomsbury?”
“Oh, no, that is to be let, and I would not wish to take you there, for that was where I lived with Eleanor.”
“I see.”
“Everything’s so different with you that I do not wish to bring you into my sinful past, a past which…I am ashamed to think of the things I have done. I do not deserve you.”
***
“Oh, look at this!” he moaned, as he inspected his hair in the looking-glass. “Grey already!” Henrietta had been using a nit comb to remove his lice.
“What does it matter?” she said, tousling his hair into a mess. “You always wear those ridiculous periwigs anyway – no one can see that you’ve gone grey. I’m the only one who sees your real hair now.”
“And what about when I play tennis? Oh, I’m becoming an old man.”
“Do stop moaning so, we all grow old if we are lucky.”
“And look at this wart – it’s getting bigger!” he exclaimed, as he pointed to a little wart which was growing on the skin by the right side of his nose.
“God ‘ave mercy, Jemmy, you are terribly vain sometimes!” she said, tousling his greying hair playfully with her hands. “You must know you have been blessed with more beauty than any other man at court, or anywhere.”
“Aye, I know I do.”
“Some humility, please!” she scolded, with a smile.
***
It was a hot and humid day when Monmouth learnt of Russell’s execution. He came into the room where Henrietta sat embroidering by the window.
“They’ve butchered my Lord Russell,” he said with repulsion, “That bungling fool Ketch made a horrific job of it.”
Jack Ketch, either with sadistic malice in his heart or by genuine lack of expertise (he was usually a hangman) had botched Russell’s execution so badly that he required three chops to sever the man’s head from his body. Those who had witnessed the horror of the scene demanded an apology from the grim executioner, which Ketch had begrudgingly printed soon after.
“Russell should not have died for it, they had paltry evidence and yet look what they’ve done to him!” he exclaimed. The Lord’s devoted wife, Lady Russell, had done everything in her power to defend him, to stop him from being executed, even throwing herself onto her knees before the king, supplicating him to save her husband’s life; but all had been in vain.
Henrietta rubbed his shoulders and back, “Shh, dearest, it is the way of things. Perhaps things will change some day.”
“All they wanted was to deny the throne to my uncle. The thought of England returning to Popery was too much for them to bear. Russell thought Catholicism both nonsensical and ridiculous, he said it often enough.”
He read more of the letter he had received.
“And Thomas Armstrong has been hanged, drawn, and quartered. His head is on a spike outside Westminster Hall for all to see.”
Henrietta covered her mouth in shock. “How terrible!”
“Have these men died for nothing?”
“It is awful, but what must be will be.”
“Nay, I cannot agree with that.”
“Everything has been mapped out before we were born.”
“So then, we do nothing? Is that what you believe we should all do – just wait to see what fate has in store for us?”
She shrugged her shoulders, “I do not know – I have never thought of it, really. I simply think that it is wise to read carefully, do what you think right, and your path shall be revealed.”
“I wish I had such faith in God’s plan as you do.”
Chapter 18
One day, a neighbour visited Philadelphia unannounced, her objective less to converse with the mother and more to see if the rumours of a man living with the young Baroness were true. The old lady was nosey and made her way towards Henrietta’s parlour, when she overheard the girl laughing to something a man had said. A man! Alone in her room! She tiptoed closer and saw the door was ajar, and soft light from the glow of the fireplace and candles shone onto the wooden floor.
She quietly moved closer and peeked through the opening. There, she was shocked to see Henrietta dressing – half naked – in front of a man who sat in a turkey work embroidered chair – his back to the door – so she could only see the back of his dark periwig, the lace at his wrist and the jewelled ring upon his finger showed his wealth. He was tall, with his long legs covered in white hose splayed out comfortably.
“Oh, Jemmy – you are incorrigible!” Henrietta exclaimed.
“I only like to see what is mine – and you are mine now.”
“Humph!” exclaimed the old woman, before hurrying off.
Henrietta froze, and whispered to Monmouth, “What was that?”
“One of the servants, no doubt,” he responded, with a dismissive gesture of his hand.
“Mother!” Henrietta later admonished her mother, upon learning about the intrusive neighbour. “How could you have allowed a guest up here, you know full well how dangerous it is for Jemmy. Why, he could have been arrested after the stag hunt the other day. He was recognised!”
“I thought you were out!” Lady Philadelphia replied.
“Ladies,” Monmouth intervened, “do not be troubled, I pray you.”
Before night had fallen the whole of Toddington knew that the young Baroness – who formerly possessed a spotless reputation - was living in sin with the Duke of Monmouth, a man wanted by the law – and married, to boot.
***
Shakespeare wrote that “summer’s lease hath far too short a date,” and so it was short, and the cool autumnal air soon enveloped England. Monmouth, still more at peace at Toddington than he had been anywhere else, wrote another poem in his little pocket book:
With joy we do leave thee
False world, and do forgive
All thy base treachery,
And now we’ll happy live!
We’ll to our bowers,
And there spend our hours,
Happy there will be,
We no strifes there can see;
No quarrelling for Crowns,
Nor fear the great one’s frowns,
No slavery of state,
Nor changes in our fate,
From plots this place is free.
There we’ll ever be!
We’ll sit and bless our stars,
That from noise of wars,
Did us Toddington give,
That thus we happy live.
***
Then November had turned into December, and the trees surrounding Toddington Manor were bare, and the winds howle
d like tormented ghosts. Monmouth then learnt of the fate of another one who had attended the Rye House meeting. Algernon Sidney had been beheaded. Mercifully, it had not been as horrific as Lord Russell’s had been.
“This Lord Chief Justice, this Jeffreys,” Monmouth said to Henrietta, “My word, the man sounds as though he has no heart. I have never heard of so cruel a man. He took Sidney’s written words and used it as proof of his treachery. The man did nothing wrong!”
1683 also saw the death of Shaftesbury, from illness, and Monmouth grieved, too, for his old friend.
Chapter 19
It was 1684, and another April had come to England, the snowdrops had come and gone, and the daffodils swayed in the spring breeze. Soon the bluebells would bloom all over the countryside, filling the woods with a haze of purplish blue. But as springtime emerged from its wintry cocoon, even Toddington was not far enough away for Monmouth’s enemies, and King Charles, still irate that Monmouth had withdrawn his confession, had his boy exiled.
“I must away to the Dutch Republic, come with me,” he said.
“I will follow thee anywhere in the world,” Henrietta replied. Soon, they had their trunks packed, and she held her jewels – the only things of value she possessed besides her home – in a blue velvet pouch. The journey to the Dutch Republic was tolerable, save for Henrietta’s bout with seasickness. Monmouth, a veteran of battles on sea as well as on shore, had no trouble and looked after her until they reached the mainland. In the midst of her sickness, Henrietta noticed that the further away they were from England, the more at peace Monmouth seemed to be. He remembered the country of his birth well, the canals, the clean houses, and the polite Dutch people.
It was here in the Dutch Republic, that he sought and – after an initial frosty reception – was welcomed by his cousins, William and Mary, the Prince and Princess of Orange, at their court. The Princess greeted Henrietta with great affection, for she remembered her well from the masque of Calisto all those years before. As she embraced Henrietta, her orange-blossom and rose perfume swathed her like a dream.
His Last Mistress: The Duke of Monmouth and Lady Henrietta Wentworth Page 7