Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord

by Виктория Холт

  “All in good time,” said the harassed King. “I tell you this boy shall have as fine a title as any.”

  “Such a fine title that it is too fine for the human eye to perceive, I doubt not!”

  “This is indeed Nelly in a rage. Fighting for her cub, eh?”

  “Aye,” said Nelly. “For yours too, my lord King.”

  “I would have you understand that this is something I cannot do as yet. If you had been of gentle birth …”

  “Like Prince Perkin’s mother?”

  Charles could not help smiling at her nickname for Jemmy. He said: “Lucy died long ago, and Jemmy is a young man. There is plenty of time for this little Charles to grow up. Then I think he shall have as grand a title as any of his brothers.”

  “Should his mother be so obliging as to die then,” cried Nell dramatically. “Shall I jump in the river? Shall I run a sword through my body?”

  Young Charles, vaguely understanding, set up a wail of misery.

  “Hush, hush,” soothed the King. “Your mother will not die. She but acts, my son.”

  But young Charles would not be comforted. Nell snatched him from the King.

  “Nay, nay, Charlie,” she said, “’Twas but a game. Papa was right. There’s naught to fret us but this: You are a Prince by your father’s elevation, but you have a whore to your mother for your humiliation.”

  Then she laughed and jigged about the room with him until he was laughing and the King was laughing too.

  He was so delighted that he could not resist promising Nell that he would think what he could do for the boy. And he remembered too that her sister Rose suffered from her poverty, and he would grant her the pension of one hundred pounds a year for which Nell had asked him on her behalf.

  As for Nell herself, she did him so much good even when she scolded for her son’s sake that he would make her a countess, indeed he would.

  “A countess,” said Nell, her eyes shining. “That would please me mightily. Young Charlie and Jamie, having a King for a father, should indeed have no less than a countess for a mother.”

  The King wished he had been more discreet, but Nell went on: “I could be Countess of Plymouth. It is a title which someone will have ere long. Why should it not be Nelly? Barbara has done as well.”

  “All in good time,” said the King uneasily.

  But Nell was happy. Countess of Plymouth—and that meant honors for her boys. And why not? Indeed why not?

  Nell did not become Countess of Plymouth. Boldly she had applied for the documents which would have staked her claim to this title, only to be told that these could not be supplied. The King told her that he had but been jesting when he had made the suggestion; he asked her to understand the state of the country. They were engaged in a war which was proving to be more costly than they had expected; the Dutch were determined not to lose their country; not content with opening the dykes and causing the utmost confusion to the invaders, young William of Orange, Stadholder and Captain-General, was a determined young man who seemed to be possessed of military genius.

  “Who would have guessed this of that gauche young nephew of mine!” cried Charles. “Never will I forget his visit to my Court. A little fellow, pale of visage, afraid to dance lest it should make him breathless on account of his weak lungs. He was glum and I had to do something to rouse him, so I had Buckingham ply him with wine, and what do you think he did? Fall into a torpor? Not he! His true character came to the surface then. Before he could be prevented he had smashed the windows of those apartments which housed the maids of honor, so eager was he to get at them. ‘Dear nephew,’ I said, ‘it is customary at my Court to ask the ladies’ permission first. A dull English custom, you may doubtless think, but nevertheless one which I fear must be respected.’ Ah! I might have looked for greater depth in a young man who appeared so prim and whom his cups betrayed as a lecher. Then he was drunk with wine. Now he is drunk with ambition and the desire to save his country. Again we see that this nephew of mine can be a formidable young fellow indeed.”

  “We talked of Plymouth, not of Orange,” Nell reminded him.

  “Ah, we talked of Plymouth,” agreed the King. “Then let me explain that the war is costly. The people dislike the press-gang and the taxes; both of which are necessary to maintain our Navy. When the people are angry they look for someone on whom to vent their anger. They are asked for taxes, so they say, ‘Let the King pay taxes, let him spend less money on his women, and mayhap that will serve to supply the Navy.’ Nelly, I can do nothing yet. I swear to you that I shall not forget these sons of ours. I swear I shall not forget you.”

  “Swearing comes easy to a gentleman,” said Nell, “and the King is the first gentleman in his country.”

  “Nevertheless here is one promise I shall keep. You know my feelings for the boys. ’Twould be impossible not to love them. Nay, Nell, have patience. Come, make me laugh. For with the Dutch on one side and the French on the other and the Parliament at my heels I have need of light relief.”

  Then Nell softened; for indeed she loved him, and she loved him for what he was, the kindest of men, though a maker of promises he could never keep; and she remembered too the words of my lord Rochester. She must soothe the King.

  If she plagued him with her tongue, as Barbara had, she would drive him away. She, the little orange-girl and play-actress, had to be every bit as clever as the grande dame from France, who was her most formidable rival.

  Charles was now very anxious. He did not believe that his subjects would continue to support the war. He knew that he must act. Louis had taken possession of large tracts of Holland and had even set up a Court at Utrecht; but Charles saw very clearly that, once he had beaten the Dutch, Louis would look for fresh conquests and that he would try to make his pensioner Charles, his slave.

  He therefore planned to make a separate peace with Holland, doing all in his power to make them accept terms which would not displease Louis.

  William of Orange was, after all, his nephew, and it was wrong, he declared, that there should be strife between them.

  He decided to send two emissaries to Holland to sound young William; and he chose Arlington, one of the most able members of the Cabal, and the ebullient Buckingham of whom he still had great hopes. Moreover he wished to compensate poor George for his churlish refusal to allow him to take the troop abroad as its commander-in-chief.

  He felt sure that twenty-year-old William would be ready enough to make peace on his terms. He did not ask a great deal; he wanted recognition of England’s claim to be saluted by all ships of any other nation; he wanted a subsidy of £200,000 for the cost of the war, he would ask for the control of the ports Sluys, Flushing, and Brill; a subsidy for herring fishing; new arrangements regarding English and Dutch trade in the East Indies; time enough for the English planters in Surinam to sell their effects and retire; and as William was his nephew he would help him to enjoy favorable conditions in his own country.

  Buckingham, ever ready to undertake some new venture, was delighted to convey these terms to Orange.

  He landed in Holland, the benign peacemaker, and he and Arlington were greeted with expressions of joy by the people, for these two were the Protestant members of the Cabal, and the Dutch had hopes that they were in truth on their side. Monmouth joined them, and all knew that the King’s natural son was a staunch Protestant even if only because his uncle, the heir presumptive to the throne, was suspected of Catholicism.

  But the Princess-Dowager, Amalia, who was William’s grandmother and had always been a power in the land, did not trust the English emissaries, and she made this clear.

  Arlington’s exuberance was quelled; Monmouth was silent; but Buckingham sought to assure her of their goodwill.

  “We are good Hollanders, Your Highness,” he told the Princess.

  She answered: “We would not ask so much of you, my lord Duke. We would only expect you to be good Englishmen.”

  “Ah!” cried the irrepressible Bucking
ham. “We are not only good Englishmen but good Dutchmen. We do not use Holland like a mistress but like a wife.”

  “Truly,” said the Princess, “I think you use Holland just as you do your wife.”

  Buckingham could say nothing to that; he knew that she had heard that when he brought his mistress, Anna Shrewsbury, to his wife, and that poor wronged lady had protested that there was not room for her and Anna under the same roof, he had replied: “I had thought that, Madam. Therefore I have ordered your carriage.”

  He felt therefore that he could not hope for a quick capitulation by the Princess, so he sought out young William over whom he imagined he would have an easy victory.

  He remembered that it was in his apartments that William had become drunk during his stay in London. He remembered how difficult it had been to make the young man drink, for his opinions of wine seemed to be the same as those he had of gambling and the play; but he had managed it, and what fun it had been to see the solemn young Hollander smash the windows to get at the maids of honor! No! He did not foresee any great difficulty with young William.

  “I rejoice to see Your Highness is in such good health,” cried Buckingham, and went on to tell William that the King of France had seen the terms set out by the King of England and agreed that, as Holland was a conquered country, they were fair indeed. “It is because of your uncle’s fondness for his sister who was your mother. His Majesty remembers that he promised his sister to keep an eye upon you. It is for this reason that, even though your country is a conquered one, His Majesty of England will insist that you shall be acclaimed King of Holland.”

  This young man was quite different from the youth who had tried to storm the dormitory of the maids of honor. His cold face was alight with determination to drive the conquerors from his ravaged country.

  He said coolly: “I prefer to remain Stadtholder, a condition which the States have bestowed upon me; and I—and all Dutchmen—do not consider we are a conquered people.”

  “Your Highness would suffer not at all. You would be proclaimed King and accepted as such by France and England.”

  “I believe myself bound in conscience and honor not to prefer my interests to my obligations.” The two Dutch statesmen who had accompanied him, Beverling and Van Beuning, nodded gravely, and William went on: “The English should be our allies against the French. Our countries are of one religion. What good would England reap were Holland to be made merely a province of France, myself a puppet—as I should certainly be—the French King’s puppet? Picture it, my friends. Holland ruled by Louis through me. What is Louis looking for? Conquest. Why, having secured my country he might conceivably turn to yours.”

  “By God,” murmured Buckingham, “there is truth in what His Highness says.” The volatile Duke was immediately swayed to the side of the Dutchman. He saw a Catholic menace over England. He wanted to make new terms there and then which would make England and Holland allies against the French.

  “But His Highness forgets,” said Arlington, “that his country is already conquered.”

  “We in Holland do not accept that,” said William hastily.

  “You have called a halt to Louis,” said Buckingham, “by flooding your land. But with the winter frosts it may well be laid open.”

  William said firmly: “You do not know us Dutchmen. We are in great danger, but there is one way never to see our country lost and that is to die in the last dyke.”

  There was no more to be said to such a fanatical idealist as this young Prince. It was vain to tell him that his ideals were part of his youth. William of Orange believed he had been selected to save his country.

  Arlington, Buckingham, and Monmouth joined Louis’ encampment at Heeswick. New terms were submitted to Dutch William; again they were rejected.

  Then news came that the states of Brandenburg, Lüneburg, and Minster, determined to stem the conquests of Catholic Louis, were about to join William of Orange in his fight against the invaders. Louis, having found the war had brought him little gain at great expense, decided to withdraw, and marched his armies back to Paris, and there was nothing for the English diplomats to do but return to England.

  Louise was contented.

  Buckingham had failed miserably. He had wasted a great deal of money—the account he put in for his expenses amounted to four thousand seven hundred and fifty-four pounds and a penny—and he had brought nothing but ridicule to his country.

  With Arlington he was accused by the people of England of making this disastrous war with the Dutch.

  Louise was not the only one in England who had decided to bring about the downfall of the Duke.

  Charles could at last be proud of Monmouth. Whatever he had done at home, he had acquitted himself well abroad.

  Charles liked to hear the account of how his son had fought at Brussels Gate. Beside him had marched Captain John Churchill, and it had been hard to say which of the two young men—Churchill or Monmouth—had been the braver.

  “Only one man could pass at a time,” Charles was told by one who had witnessed the action. “We marched, swords in hand, to a barricade of the enemy’s. There was Monsieur d’Artagnan with his musqueteers, and very bravely these men carried themselves. Monsieur d’Artagnan did his best to persuade the Duke not to risk his life by attempting to lead his men through that passage, but my lord Duke would have none of his advice. Monsieur d’Artagnan was killed, but the Duke led his men with such bravery and such contempt for death as had rarely been seen. Many will tell Your Majesty that they never saw a braver or more brisk action.”

  Jemmy came home, marching through the streets of London to Whitehall, and the people came out in their hundreds to see him pass.

  He had grown older but no less handsome. There was a flush under his skin which made his eyes seem brighter and more lustrous. The women at the windows threw flowers to Monmouth, and the cry in the streets was: “Brave Jemmy’s come marching home.”

  This was what he wanted. This acclaim. This glory.

  And Charles saw with some anxiety that they were very ready to give it to this handsome boy—partly because he was handsome, partly because he was brave, but largely because the Duke of York was a Catholic and they had sworn that never again should a Catholic sit on the throne of England. Jemmy seemed more serious now, and Charles hoped his son might have realized it was better to jettison those dangerous ideas of his.

  Jemmy had a new mistress—Eleanor Needham—who obsessed him. He was eager to found two packs of foxhounds at Charlton. His son—named Charles—was born, and the King himself with the Duke of York were godparents.

  This was a happier way for a young man to conduct himself, thought the King. And the looks he bestowed on young Monmouth were very affectionate.

  There were rumors throughout England that the Duke of York was about to remarry, and that the Princess chosen for him was Mary Beatrice, sister of the reigning Duke of Modena. The girl was young—she was fourteen—beautiful, and seemed capable of bearing children. There was one thing against her: She was a Catholic.

  This marriage had caused Louise a great deal of anxiety. Since she had left for England, Louis had given her three main tasks. She was to work for an alliance with France against Holland, make Charles give a public profession of the Catholic Faith, and bring about a match between the Duke of York and a Princess of Louis’ choice.

  Louis’ choice was the widow of the Duc de Guise, who was worthy, being Elizabeth d’Orléans before her marriage, second daughter of Gaston, brother of Louis XIII. Louise had stressed to Charles and James the advantage of this match, but she was clever enough to know that she must not work too openly for France.

  The Duke of York, in remorse on the death of his wife, had given up his mistress, Arabella Churchill, but he had almost immediately formed an attachment with Catharine Sedley, Sir Charles Sedley’s daughter. Catharine was no beauty but, as his brother had said, it was as though James’ mistresses were chosen for him by his priest as a penance. But Jame
s had perversely decided that although he would forgo beauty in a mistress, he would not in a wife, and that Madame de Guise, no longer young and beautiful, would not suit him. So failing a French wife, Louise was ready to support the choice of Mary Beatrice since she was a Catholic, and a Catholic Duchess of York would certainly be no hindrance to one of her main duties—the bringing about of that open profession of the King’s acceptance of the Catholic Faith.

  Louise felt therefore that, although she had failed to persuade the King and his brother to take Madame de Guise, she had not altogether displeased the King of France by throwing in her support for the marriage with Mary Beatrice, particularly as there was a great deal of opposition throughout the country to a Catholic alliance for the Duke.

  A new wave of anti-Catholic feeling was spreading over England. It was long since fires had burned at Smithfield, but there were people still living who remembered echoes of those days.

  “No popery!” shouted the people in the streets.

  Louise had as yet failed to obtain any promise from Charles as to when he would declare himself a Catholic. He had, however, abolished certain laws against the Catholics. He wanted toleration in religious matters, he declared. But many of his subjects were demanding to know whether he had forgotten what happened to English sailors who fell into the hands of the Inquisition. Had he forgotten the diabolical plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament in his grandfather’s reign? The King, it was said, was too easygoing; and that with his brother a Catholic, and the French mistress at his ear, he was ready to pay any price for peace.

  “If the Pope gets his big toe into England,” declared Sir John Knight to the Commons, “all his body will follow.”

  The House of Commons then asked Charles to revoke his Declaration of Indulgence. To this Charles replied that he did not pretend to suspend any laws wherein the properties, rights, or liberties of his subjects were involved, or to alter anything in the doctrine or discipline of the Church of England, but only to take off the penalties inflicted on dissenters.