Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

by Jean Plaidy

  But how could Charles do that! She was after all my mother and in spite of those traits of hers which I had to admit were there, I loved her. Charles could never do anything to hurt me if he could help it, so she remained.

  It was true that she meddled. One day she said to me: “I was not idle in Holland. All the time I concerned myself with your good and that of the children. I sounded them on the possibility of a match between the Prince of Orange and one of your girls.”

  “The Prince of Orange!” I cried. “He is of no great importance.”

  “I didn’t mean for Mary, of course. Perhaps Elizabeth.”

  “She is three years old!”

  “My dear daughter, we have to think of the alliances of our children when they are in their cradles. I will discuss the matter with the King.”

  “No, my lady,” I said firmly. “I will discuss it with the King.”

  “Oh,” she said, a little huffily, “you two seem to talk nothing but lovers’ talk. State matters have their place too, remember.”

  “They will be the state matters of England,” I retorted coolly, and wondered if I was becoming as hard toward her as Louis was. We must show her that she could not interfere in English affairs any more than she could in French. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Surely being turned out of her home must have made her realize something. But no doubt she blamed Louis and Anne…and the Cardinal of course, for turning away one who could have been—as she would see it—a great help to them.

  At the first opportunity I told Charles what she had suggested.

  “The Prince of Orange!” he said. “Oh, he is too petty a prince to mate with a Princess of England.”

  “So thought I,” I replied. “But my mother talked of it when she was in Holland and she tells me that the Prince of Orange would be very happy with the match.”

  “I have no doubt he would. No. Not even for one of our younger daughters would he be good enough.”

  There was one other point which seemed to have escaped them all and of which I was very much aware: the Prince of Orange was a Protestant. When my children married I wanted to make sure that they married Catholics.

  I was getting bigger but still able to walk a little in the gardens. I loved those of St. James’s with the deer park and the terraces. I enjoyed walking there with Charles and the children. Charles was always so tender and affectionate and everyone marveled at his care of me…especially when I was in the condition I was at this time.

  Charles and I would sit on one of the seats and the children would run about making a great deal of noise with all the dogs yapping round them; and the ladies and gentlemen made such a charming sight walking on the paths round the palace.

  Happy days they were, when Charles looked so handsome and was so different from the rather shy young man whom I had first met. I rarely heard him stammer now; he didn’t when he was at peace and happy; and he certainly was with his family. He liked to hear little domestic details. He answered young Charles’s questions gravely and gave his attention to James when he accused Mary of taking his share of the custard tart they had had for dinner. I was sure he would have been happier being just with us than coping with his ministers.

  Why couldn’t everyone stop complaining? I asked myself. Why could they not enjoy life as we did walking in the gardens of St. James’s.

  Winter came in fiercely. “Queen Mother weather,” said the boatmen.

  It was at the end of a bitter January that my baby was born. It was a little girl and she was hastily baptized and christened Catherine, for she died a few hours after her birth.

  THE HUMAN SACRIFICE

  After the death of Catherine I think happiness was over for me, although perhaps I did enjoy snatches of pleasure when I was able to convince myself that all was well; and even when I was most apprehensive I could not have conceived the magnitude of the horror which was waiting to spring on me, crushing my joy forever and making me wait each day for the release which only death could bring.

  Where did it start? It is difficult to say. Scotland—I sometimes think—that land of trouble which I hate, with all the squabbling over a prayer book. But who am I to talk? Who was more sternly religious than I? Had I not from the moment I had set foot in England worked to bring the country back to Rome from which it had been so ruthlessly torn by that monster Henry VIII, simply because he wished for a new wife? But the succeeding monarchs had had their chance and had done nothing. I see now that the Protestant Faith suited the English—not the Puritan branch, which was as intense as our Catholic—but the easygoing, not-too-demanding Church of England.

  Was it religion? Perhaps to some extent. Then if it were, I was indeed to blame.

  But no. That was not the real reason. I was not the only one.

  I suppose Archbishop Laud with his rigid insistence on the ceremonies of the Church, the correct vestments of the clergy, all the ceremonies which were akin to the Church of Rome, had done much to bring about the Puritan strain, and consequently to result in what was tantamount to a new party composed of solemn men who thought it was a sin even to laugh; as for dancing and singing, to take pleasure in those meant to them to be on the road to hell. Laud was anxious not to be called a Catholic, but he resembled one in many ways, and he had become the most unpopular man in the country.

  Charles respected him very much and Charles was always loyal in his friendships, but I think the man he preferred above all was Thomas Wentworth. Charles admired him enormously for he had often in the past proved himself to be an honest man. He had recently returned from Ireland, where he had done well by promoting the growing of flax, opening up trade with Spain and abolishing piracy in St. George’s Channel. His aim had been to make the Irish as prosperous as the English and dependent on England while they realized that it was in their interest to be loyal to the English.

  Wentworth’s conduct of affairs had led Charles to believe that it was men like him whom he wanted at home and he sent for him. Soon after his arrival in England, Thomas Wentworth was created Earl of Strafford.

  That year came in on a rather melancholy note. I knew that Charles was very worried although he was cheered by Strafford who, he confided to me, was one of the ablest men he had ever come across and loyal too. For that reason I tried to like the man, and I found I could when I rid myself of a certain jealousy for he was a most elegant, gallant and courtly gentleman.

  I was beginning to see myself a little more clearly than I had before. I had had time for reflection during my pregnancies and to my dismay (although I did not let Charles know this yet) I was pregnant again. The experience with Catherine had been so distressing that I had hoped for a little respite. To suffer the discomforts of nine months only to find there is no result, or that it is snatched away from you almost before you have received it, is a devastating experience for a woman. The point was that I realized I had been jealous of Charles’s appreciation of Strafford. Buckingham had a great deal to answer for; I suppose that during my happy life with Charles I was always looking out for some clever man who might try to snatch him from me…not that anyone could do that now but they could diminish the regard he had for me and that was something I could not bear.

  But it was not so with Strafford and when I overcame my initial dislike, I was grateful to him for the comfort he brought to Charles; and then I found I liked him for himself. There was someone else in my household who liked him very much. That was Lucy Hay. Lucy was ten years older than I which made her bordering on forty, but no one would have believed it to look at her except that the years of experience—and I suspected very great experience—had made her more fascinating than ever; in spite of being no longer young she was still the most attractive woman at Court.

  Katherine Villiers and Susan Feilding attended services at Somerset House and were coming out into the open and declaring their conversion to the Catholic Faith, which endeared them to me. But fond as I was of them both, it was Lucy whom I liked best to be with. She was so amusing and bright, an
d was always in the midst of some intrigue which sometimes she would talk about and at others be so secretive that she fascinated me more than ever.

  It was no secret that she had become Strafford’s very good friend. They were a magnificent pair—the cleverest man and woman at Court, I guessed. I wondered what they talked of in their intimate moments.

  I impressed on Charles that it was no use letting people know how anxious we were about everything. We should make life seem as normal as possible, and to celebrate the coming of the New Year I arranged a masque and a comedy in which I was going to take the most important part.

  Charles thought it was a good idea and we had an amusing time discussing the play and the part I would take—and, of course, my costume. Lewis Richard, who was Master of the King’s Music, composed the songs and we ordered Inigo Jones to make the scenery and design the costumes so that we could make sure to have a dazzling spectacle.

  That masque stands out vividly in my memory. I suppose it was because it was the last one I played in at Whitehall. It was a brave attempt and Charles, no less than I, determined to make it memorable. I really did enjoy prancing about the stage dressed as an Amazon in silvery armor and a helmet which sported a magnificent feather.

  The winter was harsh and the New Year came in grimly. I was feeling ill because of my condition and my spirits suffered through memories of Catherine’s birth and death.

  Strafford called at Whitehall one day and when he left Charles was very depressed. He came to me as he always did to tell me the news for, bless him, he always behaved as though I had a grasp of state matters, which was far from the truth, although I must say that I did try my best to understand.

  “Strafford wants to call a parliament,” he said, “because we must have money to prosecute the war against the Scots and that is the only way to set about getting it.”

  I frowned. I hated both parliaments and wars against the Scots. One was hard enough to bear but the two of them together were intolerable. Wars took Charles away from me and that was tragic for us both; parliaments made laws and they were nearly always aimed at the Catholics, which meant myself.

  “Need it be called?” I asked. “Parliaments always mean trouble.”

  Charles agreed that they did. There had always been conflict between him and them because he could never see why a king should not be an absolute ruler since he had inherited the crown through birth and was therefore God’s chosen ruler. No, certainly Charles had no wish to call a parliament. But he needed money to carry on the war and a parliament would have to find a means of raising it.

  “I wish they would let us live in peace,” I said.

  “I could not agree with you more,” replied the King. “But I suppose Strafford is right. He usually is.”

  “So you will call this parliament?”

  “I have no alternative.”

  “Well then, call it, and let us hope it does not last long.”

  As a matter of fact it did not. It lasted only three weeks and it was that one which was called the Short Parliament. Charles was uneasy. There were three men he mentioned to me. One was John Pym, a strict Presbyterian, who was evidently a man of great powers and was becoming the leader of that party in the Commons which was opposed to the King; then there was John Hampden, who had endured a spell in prison for refusing to pay what he called the forced loan—an act which had made his name known throughout the country and turned many a man to his favor; and the other—a man whose name I had not heard before but which was to become engraved on my mind for ever—was a connection of Hampden’s for I believe Hampden’s mother was his aunt; he came from Huntingdon and was the member for Cambridge. His name was Oliver Cromwell.

  These were the men whom Charles feared. They were not in favor of imposing a tax to raise money for war on Scotland and they carried the House with them. Charles was in desperation.

  At first I was delighted that the Parliament was so short-lived; but it seemed there was little to rejoice about. Then Strafford came forward with a suggestion. Because of the good work he had done in Ireland he had been made Lord Lieutenant of that country and he said he could raise an army there and bring it over to fight for the King.

  That was where the mischief started. I do not know even now who our enemies were. Perhaps there were so many of them that it was impossible for me to know them all. I believe that Richelieu was at the heart of many of the conspiracies against us. As a ruler of the French it was to his advantage to see a weak England; he did not want to see the English helping friends abroad who were the enemies of France. It was devious politics—far too involved for me, and I had not then learned the art of unraveling these mysteries. I saw life in bright light and dark shadow…with little shading between. For me there were the good and the bad and there was no wrong in the good, no right in the bad. I am afraid my emotions not my mind guided my thoughts.

  Charles was a saint; I was his devoted wife; and any who were against us were villains. It was as simplified as that.

  If we had our enemies abroad, heaven knew we had enough living close.

  Strafford was firm beside the King and there were many who agreed that he was the most able statesman in the land. For that reason there were many more waiting to destroy him.

  They seized their opportunity. Soon after the dissolution of the Short Parliament rumor was sweeping through the country like wildfire. Strafford was going to bring over an army of Irishmen on a pretext of fighting the Scots but actually to subdue the English.

  London was in an uproar. Charles came riding with all speed to Whitehall where I was, for being six months with child, and somewhat melancholy, not only worried about the country’s affairs, but still brooding on the death of little Catherine, I was spending a great deal of time resting.

  Charles told me of his fears. “They are against Strafford,” he said. “And if they are against him it is because they are against me.”

  “You are the King,” I reminded him.

  “That is so,” he answered, and looking at me fondly he asked about my health and said he wanted to go over to St. James’s on the next day to see the children.

  We spent a pleasant evening until one of the guards came in with a board he had found attached to the gates of the palace. On it was written: “Whitehall to Let.”

  There was a sinister implication in the message which made Charles turn pale.

  He said: “I think you should leave for the country while you are still able to travel.”

  “I wanted the child to be born in Whitehall.”

  “No,” said Charles gently. “It would be better to go to the country.”

  While we were talking a letter was brought to him.

  “Who sent it?” he demanded of the guard.

  “One of the serving men said it was passed to him by one of the guards at the gate who did not recognize the man who handed it to him.”

  I looked over Charles’s shoulder and read: “Chase the Pope and the Devil from St. James’s, the lodging of the Queen Mother.”

  Charles and I looked at each other for some seconds without speaking. Then I said: “What does it mean?”

  “Our enemies have done this,” said Charles.

  “It is a threat…to my mother.”

  “Someone is raising the people against us,” said the King.

  “I must go to St. James’s without delay,” I cried. “They are unsafe there.”

  “We will go together,” said Charles.

  We rode to the palace and were relieved that we met no hostile crowds on the way. I think we were prepared for anything.

  When we arrived at St. James’s it was to be greeted by my distraught mother. She looked wild-eyed. “I have not been fed,” she cried. “How could I be? They have been sending notes calling us idolaters. They should be hanged, all of them. Charles, what are you thinking of to allow such conduct from your subjects!”

  I silenced her, bidding her remember that she spoke to the King, but Charles just smiled and sai
d: “There are times, Madam, when a king…or even a queen…is not powerful enough to stop the cruelty of enemies. They must first be found and then condemned.”

  She turned away. I guessed she was wishing herself far from here and I could not help thinking that there was a little good in all evil for if this decided my mother that she could not live in troubled England that was not entirely to be deplored. This sounds heartless. I loved my mother. I wanted to see her happy and comfortable, but I did realize that she was causing friction here; she was interfering with the way in which the children were brought up and I knew she was in secret teaching them to become Catholics. I had turned a blind eye to this but recent events had taught me to be a little more watchful; and I could guess at the fury which would be unleashed if it were thought that the Prince of Wales and his brother and sisters were being brought up outside the Church of England.

  The children were concerned, particularly Charles, who was very solemn. Lady Roxburgh told us that he had had several nightmares and she thought he had something on his mind. She had asked what troubled him and he would not answer though he did not deny that there was something.

  Charles and I were determined to find out what was worrying him and I said that I did not think he could possibly be aware of the depressing state of affairs outside St. James’s; but it seemed he was.

  Charles called the boy to him and my son stood before his father, his dark eyes alert, his expression attentive.

  “What is wrong?” asked the King. “You know you can tell me or your mother anything. Come. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I am not afraid,” said Charles.

  “Then what is worrying you?”