by Jean Plaidy
When Parliament heard that my mother was planning to leave they gave their wholehearted permission for her to go. No one could have said more clearly: Good riddance. They even helped her on her way by giving her a sum of money for the journey.
As to my leaving, they were very suspicious about that. Naturally they suspected my trip to the Continent had been arranged for a purpose other than my health. They were insulting. They gave orders that my jewels were not to be taken out of the country and they instructed Sir Theodore Mayerne to examine me and decide whether the waters of a foreign spa were necessary to preserve my health.
Old Mayerne could be one of the most irritating men I knew. Of course he was a Huguenot and not very sympathetic toward the Catholic cause. I think he looked upon me as a wayward child. He could not bring himself to say that my health would be endangered if I did not take the waters. I was annoyed with him when I heard what he had reported and the verdict was that I was not to be allowed to leave the country.
I raged at Mayerne, who surveyed me sardonically. I could not threaten to dismiss him from the royal service. He was too valuable for that and Charles would never have agreed. He admired Mayerne as the best doctor in Europe and he had often said that his frankness was symbolic of his nature. “He is incapable of dissembling,” said Charles, “and those are the sort of people we need about us, those who tell the truth for its own sake and do not suppress it out of fear or in the hope of favor.”
So I had to accept his judgment, knowing of course that it was the truth. But I stormed at him. I had suffered a great deal during the uncertainty over Strafford and I was worried every hour of the day for our future.
“I am afraid I shall go mad,” I said to Mayerne, at which he looked at me steadily.
“You need have no fear,” he replied, “for you already are.”
I could not help laughing at him. What a way for a subject to speak to his sovereign! But he did not see me as a queen. In his opinion I was an hysterical overwrought woman who was either imagining or pretending she suffered from ailments which would be cured in a foreign spa.
So with Charles in Scotland and my mother on the way to Antwerp, I went to Oatlands. There I would work out how I could get Mary to Holland and accompany her; and even if I were not allowed to leave the country it would be better for Mary to go. She would be much safer in Holland.
I was trying to find a little peace while I waited for Charles to return. If he could please the Scots, if he could get them on his side, who knew, we might put an end to this miserable Parliament. Parliaments had always caused trouble. I agreed with Charles that a king had been chosen by Divine Right to rule and surely that should be enough without parliaments interfering. They always caused trouble. Why could they not leave us in peace?
But they could not…even at Oatlands. Word was sent to me that the Prince of Wales was visiting me too frequently and that I was endeavoring to instruct him in the Catholic Faith.
My reply to that was that the King had chosen his governor and I was well aware that it was not the King’s will that any of our children should be brought up in the Catholic Faith.
That had to satisfy them, but an extraordinary thing did happen while I was at Oatlands. One day the local magistrate came to me and asked to see me in private. I saw him at once and he told me that he had received an order from Parliament to get together all the militia of the district and bring them to Oatlands by midnight. They would be met by a company of cavalry officers and would be told what was expected of them.
“I came to Your Majesty,” said the magistrate, “because I feared that it was a plot against you and I would have you know that it is my desire to serve Your Majesty with my life.”
I was always deeply moved by such expressions of loyalty and I thanked the magistrate warmly. I told him that there might well be a plot to capture me or my children…all of us perhaps. “I have many enemies, my friend,” I said. “They are those grim-faced men who think they are holier than God Himself. We have many of them in Parliament, I fear, and they plan to do me a mischief. I thank you for your warning. Now I shall be ready.”
And I was ready. The day passed quickly and I was exhilarated in spite of everything, because immediate action was demanded. I saw that everyone in the house was armed. Then we waited for nightfall and the assault.
It did not come.
I wondered why because I was sure of the integrity of the magistrate and he swore he had received the instructions he had explained.
I could only think that whoever had planned it had got wind of the loyalty of the magistrate and his men and did not want to meet opposition.
But the incident did make me feel that I ought to make plans to get away; and if they would not sanction my departure I must leave secretly.
Plotting, discarding plans, discussing the matter endlessly with Lucy who, I felt, was the only one I could really trust, planning for the horses I should need on the road to Portsmouth…all this made time pass quickly.
I decided I would leave Oatlands for Hampton Court for word had come to me that Charles was on his way home. At Hampton I could meet some of the most influential men in the country and I hoped to persuade them to stand with the King.
It was wonderful when Charles arrived at Hampton. We clung together for a long time as though we would never let each other go. The children were there too and they had their share of affection. But for Charles I was the one who meant most to him and so it was with him in my affections.
We talked and talked. The trip to Scotland had not been a success but that did not seem to matter as long as we were together again.
Quite a number of people came to Hampton to welcome the King and it was like old times and, ever ready to hope, I told myself all was going to be well again.
We were going to make a triumphant return to Whitehall. Some of our friends told us that there would be a civic welcome for us. The people were delighted because my mother had gone and that was a great source of irritation removed; the Papal envoy had left; the King had returned from Scotland without that army of Scotsmen which it was feared he might bring with him.
“Our troubles are over,” said the hopeful ones; and of course I was ready to believe them.
And then this unfortunate thing happened. We were all standing at a window looking out—the King, the children, myself and one or two of our friends—when a gypsy came up and asked for money. She had a basket on her arm; she was bent and deformed and such a strange sight that some of our party began to laugh at her.
There was a general titter. I did not like it because I never laughed at people’s deformities. I had my dwarfs, it was true, but I always treated them with the respect due to normal human beings. It was not their stunted growth which appealed to me but that I saw a certain beauty in them and they were such good servants. I was not one who laughed at the gypsy.
She looked up at us and her face was malevolent, evil. I drew back for I saw that her eyes were fixed on the King and myself as well as our children.
She took out a hand mirror from her basket and handed it to the King.
“I don’t want it,” he said.
“Look into it,” she commanded, “and see what you can see.”
The King looked at it and I who was close, looked too. I gave a little shriek. The King had turned pale. Others crowded round and looked into the mirror but they could only see their own faces and that was all I could see now, but just for a few seconds I had seen something else…and so had the King.
The mirror had shown us the King’s head…without his body.
I was almost fainting. The King had put an arm about me and I heard the cackle of the gypsy.
“Did you like what you saw, my lord, my lady? You should give me money. You should always treat the gypsies well or they might show you what it is better for you not to see.”
“Give the woman money,” said the King.
It was thrown down to her. She picked it up and put it in her basket. She t
ook the mirror which had been given back to her. She said: “In that room in which you stand another will be sleeping. He has a dog with him. That dog will die…and when he dies the kingdom will come back to the King.”
With that she hobbled away leaving the company twittering with excitement and myself almost fainting in my husband’s arms.
He said I needed to rest and he took me to our apartment in the palace.
“It was terrible,” I gasped.
“It was an illusion,” he replied. “How could something which was not there be seen in the mirror?”
“We both saw it,” I reminded him.
“It could not have been so,” he replied.
Then he tried to comfort me with the good news that the people of London were giving us a welcome.
“They have changed toward us,” he said. “Those who were shrieking outside the palace are now going to receive us with affection.”
“Can we trust those who change so quickly?”
“They had what they wanted. Strafford dead…and your mother gone. They will love us again, you will see.”
“I do not trust such fickle love,” I said.
Then he held me fast and thanked God that we were together again.
The weather was cold but there was a new warmth in my heart as we rode side by side into Moorgate where the Mayor and aldermen were waiting to greet us. We were presented with two richly caparisoned horses and a golden coach. The Mayor told us that the horses were for the King and the Prince of Wales and the coach for me and the younger children.
Charles was so delighted that he knighted the Mayor and the Recorder on the spot and when this pleasant ceremony was over, the merchants of the city crowded round to kiss the King’s hand.
My two Charleses mounted the horses which had been presented to them and with the children I stepped into the coach and we drove down to the Guildhall.
I had not been so happy for a long time as I was when I rode through those streets under the fluttering banners and the strips of cloth of gold which they had put up to welcome us.
My husband and son looked so noble on their magnificent horses. I wondered how any could turn against them for the sake of those ugly roundheaded creatures with their black clothes and miserable faces.
There was a sumptuous banquet for us at the Guildhall and the city dignitaries had brought out the gold plate which they only did on the most important occasions.
What a welcome! It showed the mood of the people. We had only had to sacrifice Strafford—which I knew still worried Charles—and get rid of my mother, who had been one of the main causes of our unpopularity. It was a pity that she had ever come. Well, she had gone now. She would be in Antwerp. I hoped she was not making trouble there.
All was going to be well. We must be strong. We must stand firm. I would talk to Charles about that. Dear good man that he was, he was too lenient, too ready to believe the best of everyone.
At last we arrived at Whitehall, tired but jubilant.
All was going to be well in the end.
I talked to Charles that night when we were alone. He had ideas. He was going to dismiss the guards which the Parliament had set up in Westminster to look after the Houses of Parliament.
“Their guards will go,” he said. “Mine will be there. I know you think I give way too easily, but I have not been idle. There are men loyal to me in the kingdom and they have their own trained bands. They shall guard the Houses of Parliament.”
I clasped my hands in pleasure. “That is excellent,” I said.
“Of course,” went on Charles, “they won’t like it. Men like Pym will have their suspicions.”
“Let them,” I cried. “We’ll make sure that our guards are loyal.”
“I wish that I could arrest certain members of the Parliament. They should be impeached for their disloyalty to the crown.”
“Why not?” I asked excitedly.
“I am unsure,” he answered.
“Which would you arrest? Pym for sure, I would say.”
“Certainly Pym; Hampden is another. Then there are Holles, Strode, Haselrig…. They are the ones I most distrust. If we could berid of them we might make some headway in Parliament.”
“You must arrest them.”
“I will think of it.”
“Soon,” I whispered.
Then he lifted me in his arms and said it was time we went to bed.
I could not sleep much. I was thinking of the wonderful reception which the city of London had given us. It was often said that if London was with you, the whole country would be.
It was changing. Perhaps the panic had been unnecessary and we had feared too much, become too nervous, let ourselves be led by fear.
I must keep Charles to his resolution. He would achieve much if he could take those men by surprise. If he could ride into the House of Commons with guards to arrest them, they could be put into prison before they realized what was happening; and once they were there it should not be difficult to make the people see that they were a menace to peace.
He must do it. He must.
I knew he would waver. He was always tormented by his fear that he might not be doing what was right. This was right…absolutely right. What had they done to dear good noble Strafford? Murder. Judicial murder if they liked, but murder nevertheless. They should all go to the block for that alone.
I could scarcely wait for morning.
Charles was thoughtful. He was pondering on the enormity of what he proposed to do. It was coming into the open, he said. So far, although it had been in people’s minds, no one had mentioned yet that such divided opinion in the country was heading toward civil war. That was a prospect which should make anyone who wished the country well pause and think.
Now Charles was pausing and thinking.
I urged him; I persuaded him; I hinted that to let such an opportunity pass was cowardice as well as folly. If he did not grasp this chance and use it to advantage he could not blame anyone but himself if he had to fight for his kingdom.
He looked at me with horror and I cried out: “Yes, I keep my eyes and ears open. I keep myself alert…for you. I cannot stand by and see you lose your kingdom. Dearest Charles, you must act…now. This is the time. Let this go and you may not have another opportunity.”
At last he made his decision. He knew that he would not be able to face me if he did not make the attempt.
He was ready. He was going to do it. I embraced him feverishly. “I am so proud of you, my King,” I said. “Everything is going to change now. This is the turning point.”
He whispered to me. “I will go now. If one hour passes without your receiving ill news of me, you will see me when I return master of my kingdom.”
I bade him farewell. “My heart goes with you,” I said.
“I will be back,” he told me. “Give me one hour.”
I don’t think I have ever known an hour take so long to pass. I could not stop myself glancing at my watch every few minutes. Lucy was sitting with me. “You are restless this morning, Madam,” she said.
“No…no…Lucy. Not restless.”
“Well, I declare this is the third time you have looked to see the time…and all in the last five minutes.”
“Oh…you are mistaken,” I said, and she smiled and spoke of other things.
When I remember that morning, I am so ashamed. I curse my folly, my stupidity…my blindness. Why could I not see what was right under my nose? The burden of guilt becomes intolerable when I look back.
At last the hour was over. Now! I thought. It is done. At this moment those men are under arrest. Everyone is going to see that the King is indeed the King. He will brook no interference from a set of miserable sly-faced scheming Puritans.
I jumped up. I could contain myself no longer. Lucy was beside me. “Something ails you, I know. It has been worrying you this last hour.”
“I am not worried…not anymore,” I cried. “It is time for rejoicing. I have every reason t
o hope that the King is now master of his realm. Pym and his confederates will have been arrested by now.”
Lucy stared at me. “Is that so?” she said. “Has the King gone to the House of Commons to arrest them?”
“He has indeed.”
“Then there is every reason to congratulate the King. I am going to bring a little wine so that we can drink a toast to him.”
“Do that, Lucy,” I said.
She ran out of the room. I was astonished that she did not return. But I was too excited to bother very much. I went to the window and stood there waiting.
I waited for a long time.
The King eventually returned…dejected. Then I heard the terrible news.
The arrests had not taken place. Pym and his friends had been warned of what was about to happen and had fled, so that when the King with his guards entered the House of Commons, they had already left.
Charles was desolate. It seemed that fate was against us. Who could have warned them? There had been so few of us who knew what was planned.
“There is a spy close to us,” I said.
“I fear so,” replied the King. He went on to tell me that he had been delayed when he was about to enter the House of Commons. “You know what it is like when I go to the Parliament. They are lying in wait for me. They all have some grievance, some petition to present. I must stay and listen to them. They are my subjects. I did not worry about the loss of time because I thought that only you and I shared the secret. So I was late going into the House. I believe they had left but a few minutes before.”
“But how…why…?”
“Someone knew and warned them.”
“But who could?”
He looked at me sadly. “You did not mention the matter?”
“Only to Lucy…and that after the hour had passed.”