Louise, in the King’s confidence, assured him of the advisability of carrying out his obligations under the treaty. Charles had no intention of not carrying out this particular clause. He too badly needed the French gold which had been coming into his exchequer to offend Louis so flagrantly. Therefore Charles decided to send an expeditionary force of 6,000 men to aid the French.
Monmouth came to the King and asked if he might speak to him alone. Louise was with Charles, and Duke and King’s mistress eyed each other with some suspicion. Each of them, favored by the King, was jealous of Charles’ regard for the other. As yet they were unsure of the other’s power. There was one great cause for dissension between them. Louise was Catholic, Monmouth Protestant. Monmouth knew—not that he had realized this himself, but those such as Buckingham whose interest it was to persuade the King to legitimize him had told him this—that Louise was an ambitious woman whose hopes went beyond becoming the King’s mistress. Therefore she was dangerous. Monmouth did not believe for a moment that Charles would divorce Queen Catherine; but if the Queen died and Louise was able to fascinate the King enough, who knew what might happen? Louise was already pregnant, and she was delighted that this should be so. If she proved that she could give the King sons, as she was a lady of nobility there was a possibility that Charles might marry her. The thought that that child she now carried might one day take all that Monmouth so passionately longed for was unbearable to him.
Louise saw the King’s natural son as an upstart. Monmouth’s mother had been of little more consequence than the play-actress of whom the King was so fond. Little Charles Beauclerk had as much right to hope for the crown as this other bastard.
“You may speak as though to me alone,” said the King.
Monmouth glared at Louise who, proud of her breeding, was clever enough to know that the King was so enchanted with her because he could be sure of decorous handling of any situation. Louise was determined to impress upon Charles that her manners were impeccable.
Now she inclined her head graciously and said with quiet dignity: “I see that my lord Duke would have speech with Your Majesty alone.”
Charles gave her a grateful look and she was rewarded. She was smiling as she left father and son together. She would in any case very quickly discover what Monmouth had to say.
Monmouth scowled after her.
“Well,” said Charles, “having succeeded in dismissing the lady, I pray you tell me what is this secret matter.”
“I wish to go to Holland with the Army.”
“My son, I doubt not it can be arranged.”
“But as the King’s son I wish to have a rank worthy of me.”
“Oh, Jemmy, your dignity rides ahead of your achievements.”
Monmouth’s handsome face was flushed with anger. “I am treated as a boy,” he protested.
Charles laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Would you remedy it, Jemmy? Then grow up.”
“There is only one post worthy of your son, Sir,” he said. “Commander of the Army.”
“You may command it, Jemmy. In time … in time …”
“Now is the time, Father. Wartime is the time to command an army.”
“’Tis true that at such times honors can be won. But disgrace can also be the lot of the commander who fails.”
“I should not fail, Father. Always I have longed to lead an army. I beg of you, give me this chance.”
He had thrown himself at Charles’ feet, had taken his father’s hand and was kissing it. The dark eyes with their curling black lashes were appealing. Lucy lived again in those eyes. Charles thought: Why is he not my legitimate son? What a happy state of affairs we should have if he were! Then he would have been trained with a difference; then he would not have been so eager always to maintain his dignity. We would have made a bonny King of Jemmy. Brother James could have continued to worship his graven images in peace, and none would have cared; there would not have been this enmity between them. What an unfortunate father I am! But how much more unfortunate is this pretty boy of mine!
“Get up, Jemmy,” he said.
“Your Majesty will grant me this one small request?”
“You underestimate it, Jemmy. ’Tis no small one.”
“Father, I swear you will be proud of me. I will lead your armies to victory.”
“You know the temper of our enemies. You have seen what fighters these Dutchmen are.”
“I know them, Father. They are an enemy worthy of the conquering.”
“Jemmy, a commander of a great army must have more care for his men than for himself.”
“I know it, and so would I have.”
“He must be ready to face all that he asks his men to face.”
“So would I face death to win my country’s battles …”
“And glory for yourself.”
Monmouth hesitated for a while and then said grudgingly: “Yes, Sir, and glory for myself.”
Charles laughed. “I see new honesty in you, Jemmy, and it pleases me.”
“And this I ask you …?”
“I’ll think of it, Jemmy. I’ll think of it …”
“Father, do not put me off with promises such as those you give to others. I am your son.”
“There are times when I think it had been better if you had been the son of another of your mother’s lovers.”
“Nay!” cried Monmouth. “I would rather be dead than own another father.”
“You love my crown too much, Jemmy.”
“’Tis yourself, Sir.”
“And I had just complimented you on your honesty! Nay, do not look hurt. ’Tis natural to be dazzled by a crown. Do I not know it? I was dazzled all through the years of exile.”
“Father, you are turning me from my point. My uncle of York has the Navy. It is only right that I, your son, should have the Army.”
“Your uncle is the legitimate son of a King, Jemmy. There is a difference. Moreover he is many years older than you; he is possessed of great experience. He has proved himself to be a great sailor.”
“I will prove myself to be a great soldier.”
Charles was silent for a while. He had never seen Jemmy so fervently eager. It was a good sign; he at least was asking for some means of proving himself to be worthy of a crown. Previously he had thought mainly of possessing it.
“There is nothing I would like better,” said Charles, “than to see you at the head of the Army.”
“Then you will …?”
“I will do all that is possible.”
Monmouth had to accept that but he was not satisfied. He was fully aware of his father’s easy promises.
But Charles had decided that he would do something. He discussed the matter with Louise and she agreed with him that the young Duke should be given some duties. Moreover if he were sent with the Army there was the possibility of his disgracing himself or even being killed. It seemed to Louise an excellent way of getting the troublesome young man out of the kingdom for a while.
Charles sent for Arlington.
“Let the Duke of Monmouth have the care of the Army,” he said, “though not the command of it. Make him a Commander—in name only. Then we shall see how he shapes as a soldier.”
Arlington was very willing. He was eager not to be on bad terms with one so close to the King as the Duke was; he could see that Monmouth could save him a great deal of trouble without taking any of his power and profit from him.
So when the expeditionary force left England, Monmouth was with it.
And Charles, with fatherly devotion, waited to see how the young man would acquit himself.
The war continued. It was popular in spite of the fact that press-gangs roamed the streets and, invading the taverns and any place where men might be gathered together, carried off protesting recruits. There came news of the successes achieved by Louis with the aid of Monmouth. Charles was proud to hear that Jemmy was proving himself to be both brave and daring in battle, harrying the enemy with the s
ame abandon with which he had attacked innocent citizens of London.
Several of the Court gallants, considering the victories of Monmouth, planned to take a band of volunteers abroad to join the Duke. Buckingham, restless, always eager to be at that spot where he could enjoy most limelight, begged the King to be allowed to go as Commander-in-Chief.
Charles talked of this with Louise, as he talked of most things.
Louise smiled; she had visions of the Duke, returning to London a conqueror. It seemed as if that other Duke, Monmouth, might do this. Two Protestant Dukes to ride through the streets as conquering heroes! It would not do. Moreover she had a score of long standing to settle with Buckingham.
“Nay,” she said. “Send not my lord Buckingham. He is as a weather-vane. He turns this way and that, according to the winds that blow. Has it occurred to you, Charles, that the noble Duke is the most unreliable man in your kingdom?”
“Oh, George is a good fellow at heart. Wild he may be at times, and there has been trouble between us, but I have never doubted that George is my friend. We grew up together, shared the same nursery. I have a fondness for George, as I have for brother James.”
“He has not Your Majesty’s good heart. And forget not, he is a Protestant.”
Charles laughed. “As are most of my subjects, and as I am … as yet.”
“As yet,” agreed Louise. “But you will not remain so.”
The King was alert. He knew Louise spent occasional hours in the company of the French ambassador and he did not doubt that instructions for Louise would be continually arriving from Louis.
“I shall declare my conversion in my own time,” said Charles. “That time is not yet.”
“Nay, but mayhap after the war has been satisfactorily concluded….”
“Who shall say when that will be! These Dutch are stubborn fellows. And we were talking of George’s desires to lead the volunteers …”
“I long for Your Majesty to be a true Catholic in thought and deed.”
“You share the desires of my dear brother Louis, which is mayhap not surprising since you are a subject of his.”
Louise lowered her eyes and said quickly: “When one loves there is a wish for the loved one to share all things. This applies in particular to something so precious as Faith.”
“Faith is one of the most difficult possessions for an honest man to acquire,” said the King lightly. “Shall I give George his wish? Shall we turn him into a gallant soldier?”
This was characteristic. Stop this talk of my promise to declare myself a Catholic and you shall have your wish regarding Buckingham. Louise smiled gently.
“If my lord Buckingham left England, Lady Shrewsbury would miss him sorely,” she said. “Is it kind to her ladyship to inflict such hardship upon her?”
The King laughed. She had given a witty turn to the discussion and that appealed to him.
He sent for Buckingham.
“You are not to lead the volunteers, George,” said Charles, “for we could not bear to break Anna’s heart. Therefore we will not deprive her of your company.”
Buckingham’s face was purple with suppressed anger. Louise was delighted to see him thwarted. It mattered not to her that he did not realize she was the one who had prevented his attaining his desires. Louise enjoyed working in the dark. Her aim was to destroy the man who had slighted her, not merely to enjoy the transient pleasure of snapping her fingers in his face.
There came news of the battle of Southwold Bay which, while it proved indecisive, cost much in men’s lives. Now the press-gangs were more rapacious, and mothers and wives were terrified when any able-bodied young man ventured into the streets. What was this war? it was asked. The English, sternly Protestant, were fighting Protestant Holland at the side of Catholic France. They were suffering great losses. For what reason? To spread the Catholic Faith across Europe. The King’s brother, commanding the Navy, was almost certainly a Catholic. The King’s favorite mistress was a Catholic. The King himself was so easygoing that he would adopt any faith if he were asked to do so prettily enough.
There were increasing scandals concerning the Court. That July, Barbara Castlemaine gave birth to a daughter whom she tried to foist on the King, but who everyone was sure was John Churchill’s child. In spite of Barbara’s importuning him, the King refused to acknowledge the girl.
Louise’s son was born the same month. He was called Charles. Louise insisted on the name, although the King mildly protested that this would be his fourth son named Charles, and he feared he might at times be wondering which was which.
“My Charles,” said Louise, “will be different from all the others.”
She was certain of this, and she was furious when she saw the youngest of the King’s Charleses—little Charles Beauclerk—amusing his father with his quaint manners which seemed to belong half to the Court and half to the slums of London.
Louise sighed over her Charles. He would be more handsome, more courtly than any. Only the greatest titles in the land would suit him.
“For I am different,” she told Charles. “I am not your mistress. I am your wife, and Queen of England. That is how I see myself.”
“As long as no others see it so, that is a happy enough state of affairs,” said the King.
“I see no reason why you should not have two wives, Charles. Are you not Defender of the Faith?”
“Defender of the faithless sometimes,” said Charles lightly. He was thinking of Barbara, who, since he had refused to acknowledge John Churchill’s child, was making demands on behalf of those whom he had already accepted. She wanted her Henry, who was nine years old, raised to the peerage without delay. Earl of Euston, she thought, should be the title for him; then he would be fit to marry my lord Arlington’s daughter, a charming little heiress. Charles had reminded her that her eldest was already Earl of Southampton, and young George was Lord George Fitzroy.
“I was never a woman to favor one child more than another,” said Barbara virtuously. “And what of poor dear Anne and Charlotte? I must ask you to allow them to bear the royal arms.”
Charles was beset on all sides.
Louise was less blatant in her demands than Barbara. But Charles knew that they would be no less insistent. Indeed, Louise’s schemes went deeper than those of Barbara ever had. The Queen was ill, and Louise’s small squinty eyes were alert.
It was not easy for her to hide her satisfaction as the Queen grew more languid. If the Queen died, Louise would get her little Charles legitimized at once through her marriage with the King. The little Breton girl, for whom it had been so difficult to find a place at the Court of France, would be the Queen of England.
Charles pointed out to Louise that he could not give her honors equal to those of Barbara’s, for she was still a subject of the King of France, and therefore not in a position to accept English titles, so Louise lost no time in appealing to Louis. She must become a subject of the King of England, for England was now her home. Louis hesitated for a while. He wondered whether the granting of her request might mean the relinquishing of his spy. Louise assured him through the ambassador that, no matter what nationality she took, her allegiance would always be to her native land.
Louise’s hopes were high. She believed she knew how to manage the King. She had shown him that she could bear his sons. She had all the graces which a queen should possess. And the Queen was sick. Once Louis had agreed to her naturalization she would be the possessor of noble titles, and with great titles went wealth. And she would never swerve from the main goal, which was to share the throne with Charles.
One of her minor irritations was the presence at Court of the orange-girl.
She suspected that the King often slipped away from her company to enjoy that of Nell Gwyn. He would declare he was tired, and retire to his apartments; but she knew that he slipped out of the Palace and climbed the garden wall to the house in Pall Mall.
Louise knew that she was often referred to as Squintabella because
of the slight cast in her eye, and Weeping Willow because, when she wanted to make some request, she would do so sadly and with tears in her eyes. Both of these names had been given her by the saucy comedienne, who made no secret of the fact that she looked upon herself as Louise’s rival. To Nell Squintabella was no different from Moll Davies or Moll Knight or any low wench to be outwitted for the attentions of the King.
She would call to Louise if their carriages passed: “His Majesty is well, I rejoice to say. I never knew him in better form than he was last night.”
Louise would pretend not to hear.
All the same, Nell had her anxieties. Barbara’s children flaunted their honors; it was said that the King was only waiting for Louise’s naturalization to make her a Duchess; and meanwhile Nell remained plain Madam Gwyn with two little boys called Charles and James Beauclerk.
When the King called on her she indignantly asked him why others should find such favor in his sight while two of the most handsome boys in the kingdom were ignored.
Young Charles, now just about two years old, studied his father solemnly, and the older Charles felt uncomfortable under that steady stare.
He lifted the boy in his arms. Little Charles smiled cautiously. He was aware that his mother was angry, and he was not quite sure how he felt towards this man who was the cause of that anger. Little Charles looked forward to his father’s visits, but his merry mother, who laughed and jigged and sang for him, was the most wonderful person in his world, and he was not going to love even his fascinating father if he made his mother unhappy.
“Are you not glad to see me, Charles Beauclerk?” asked Charles Stuart. “Have you not a kiss for me?”
Little Charles looked at his mother.
“Tell him,” said Nell, “that you are as niggardly with your kisses for him as he is lavish with the honors he showers on others.”
“Oh, Nelly, I have to be cautious, you know.”
“Your Majesty was ever cautious with Madam Castlemaine, I understand. Those whom you fondly imagine to be your children—though none else does—are greatly honored. Yet for those who are undoubtedly your sons you have nothing but pleas of poverty.”
Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord Page 20