Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

by Jean Plaidy

  What we must do was to get Charles fighting for his throne, and the first thing was for him to come to me here in Paris.

  I wrote to him. I had been able to redeem some of my rubies when I first came to France and was hoarding them for the day when I would sell or pawn them to raise money for my son’s army as I used to for my husband’s.

  Charles must marry and his bride must be someone who could help him regain his throne.

  I was pleased when the Grande Mademoiselle called on me at the Louvre. She was very gracious to me and condoled with me on my loss. I tried not to give way to emotion before her for she was not exactly a comfortable person, very different from warmhearted Queen Anne who had been so good to me when I needed help.

  I said: “My son will be coming to me in Paris soon.”

  “I was under the impression that your son was with you now, Madame,” she said.

  “You are referring to my son James, the Duke of York. I meant the King.”

  “Oh yes…of course. He will be King now…if he can regain his throne.”

  “There is no doubt that he will do that,” I said sharply.

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  Her eyes were speculative. She could not deceive me, this sly Grande Mademoiselle. She had suffered two disappointments. The King of Spain had married his niece, so poor Mademoiselle was not to be Queen of Spain. The Emperor of Austria had chosen one of his cousins. Mademoiselle’s nose was decidedly out of joint. It might well be that she would not be quite so supercilious now regarding her cousin Charles. It was true he had yet to regain his throne but having seen those of Spain and Austria slip out of her grasp, the ambitious creature might be feeling she could not be too selective. Moreover she must be about twenty-two years old—quite mature for a marriageable princess. She had been considering herself the most delectable marriage prospect for a very long time. Was she beginning to doubt?

  “When will he be in Paris?” She was clearly trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

  “Very soon, I promise you.”

  “You mean you promise yourself, dear aunt, not me.”

  Oh, she was an insolent creature! If it had not been for her money I would not have received her, let alone considered her as a daughter-in-law.

  Charles did not immediately respond to my summons. First he made excuses and then he merely said he was not yet ready.

  I was getting frantic and I suggested to Henry Jermyn that he approach Mademoiselle and make an offer on Charles’s behalf for her hand.

  Henry was a little reluctant and wondered if it were wise but I insisted. I had to keep events moving for while something was going on, it was balm to my wounds. Only while I was absorbed in some project could I forget that Charles was dead.

  Henry came back in some dismay, and reported what had happened.

  “I told her that when he had seen her Charles had been so overcome by admiration that he had become speechless. Mademoiselle has a sharp tongue. She retorted: ‘Oh, I thought that was due to his ignorance of the French language. He did not converse at all. In my opinion the inability to converse detracts from a personality more than anything else.’”

  “She can be a most unpleasant creature.”

  “She has always had a high opinion of herself.”

  “I thought that she might have been a little more humble after the snubs she received from Spain and Austria.”

  “There had been no commitments for the King of Spain or the Emperor of Austria to enter an alliance with her,” Henry reminded me.

  “No, but it was an understood possibility. Go on.”

  “Then she said that she would prefer to discuss the matter with Charles himself and could not commit herself to a go-between. She added that since Charles was so much in love with her he would doubtless change his religion. If he did that she would be assured of his devotion and then would begin to consider the matter.”

  “The minx! She knows that if he changed his religion he would have no chance of regaining his throne.”

  “Dear Madam, I fear there is nothing we can do but await the arrival of the King.”

  It was summer before Charles arrived in Paris. I thought he looked very impressive with his tall figure and ugly good-natured face, his musical voice and his kingly bearing. There was a certain aloofness in his manner toward me. I realized later that it was his way of telling me that he was going to decide his own affairs for himself. My little Henriette was beside herself with joy and it gave me great pleasure to see the affection between those two. She leaped into his arms and clasped hers about his neck. She was his little Minette and he was more than an adored brother; in her eyes he was a god.

  It was pleasant to watch; but I was impatient to put Mademoiselle’s vast fortune to good use in restoring the crown.

  I dismissed everyone so that we were alone and told him that Mademoiselle was more than ready to listen to reason.

  “Of course she will try to test you and suggest that you change your religion for her sake, but you must not take that too seriously.”

  “I take it very seriously,” retorted Charles. “And the answer is that I have no intention of making it impossible for me to return to England as King.”

  “I know. But laugh it off, Charles. Carry her off her feet. She is, I sense, a somewhat anxious young lady. The King of Spain and the Emperor have just chosen elsewhere in spite of her fortune.”

  I had noticed a young woman in the company who had come from Holland with him. She was very handsome in a bold and brazen way. I had asked questions about her and had been given evasive answers, but in view of what I knew of Charles and his exploits in Jersey I began to have suspicions.

  I felt a twinge of uneasiness when I heard that she had a baby—a child of two or three months.

  “By the way, Charles,” I said, “who is that handsome young woman who seems to have a place among your attendants?”

  “You must mean Lucy,” he said.

  “And who, may I ask, is Lucy?”

  “You may certainly ask, Mam,” said Charles putting on a regal air, reminding me that although I was a Dowager Queen he was the King. “Her name is Lucy Walter and she is a special friend of mine.”

  “A special friend?”

  “You heard aright, Mam. That is what I said.”

  “Oh…and the child?”

  “Mine, Mam. Mine.”

  “Charles, this is….”

  He lifted his shoulders and smiled at me. “He is a very amiable child.”

  “Your father never behaved like this.”

  “No, Mam. And I must never behave as he did.”

  I felt as though he had struck me across the face. He was repentant at once for he had loved his father; but he was right, of course. Charles’s behavior had been in a great measure responsible for what had happened to him.

  He said gently: “Lucy is a pleasant girl. She is devoted to me and I to her. She is a great diversion.”

  “There was the Jersey girl.”

  “Also a charming creature.”

  “Charles, you must be more serious.”

  “I assure you, Mam, no one could be more serious than I. I have one ambition and that is to regain my throne.”

  “Mademoiselle must not hear of this Lucy Walter.”

  He lifted his shoulders.

  “Charles, do you understand this match could be of the greatest use to you. Her fortune…”

  “I know her fortune is great.”

  “Then Charles, you must woo her. It should not be difficult. She is the most arrogant conceited creature on Earth.”

  “And this creature is to be my wife!”

  “The money…it could make all the difference. Please go to see her. Flatter her. That will be necessary. Queen Anne has arranged that you shall met at Compiègne…in the château there. It is really rather romantic.”

  “There is nothing so romantic as a large fortune,” said Charles cynically.

  However he did agree to go to
Compiègne.

  It was a disaster—as I believe Charles intended it to be. He looked more distinguished than anyone in the company because he was so tall that he towered above them all. Queen Anne was there, as eager to help as ever and with her the young King of France. I was amused to see that Mademoiselle had dressed with particular care with her hair specially curled; and her blue prominent eyes were taking in every detail of Charles’s appearance.

  He was distantly polite with her and it was rather a difficult meal. Queen Anne and Mademoiselle were both eager to know how everything was going in England but in spite of this being of paramount importance to him, Charles appeared to know very little, having been so long in Holland, he explained, and having to rely on hearsay. I could see that Mademoiselle was finding him rather dull and that he was growing more and more indifferent to her opinion of him. His French was not nearly as good as his brother James’s and he had to excuse himself more than once because of his paucity of the language.

  When the ortolans were brought in Charles declined and took instead a piece of mutton, which deeply shocked Mademoiselle, who assumed that his tastes were crude and that he was no husband for a lady of refinement.

  When the meal was over Queen Anne, always eager to help, arranged that Charles and Mademoiselle should be alone together.

  What happened during that brief interview—it lasted no more than fifteen minutes—I cannot be sure, except of one thing. Charles was determined to choose his own bride and had no intention of allowing me to do it for him.

  It was all very unsatisfactory. Mademoiselle was certainly very piqued; as for Charles he maintained a solemn enigmatical air and I supposed that he who knew so well how to attract women was equally well versed in the art of driving them away.

  He told me afterward that he did not pay her compliments because he could think of none that fitted; but as it appeared to be expected of him—by both the Queens of England and France—he had made a formal declaration to Mademoiselle by, as he took his leave of her, saying that Henry Jermyn spoke better French than he did and would therefore be better able to explain what he wished to say to her.

  Henriette was with her brother whenever she could be. I said to her: “You must remember he is the King. You must be very respectful to him.”

  She only laughed and said he was her dear brother Charles and she was his Minette and she did not have to be the least bit respectful. He loved her dearly and told her so.

  Naturally I was delighted to see the affection between them. Henriette was a dear child. I kept her close to me and supervised her education myself and with the help of Father Cyprien I was bringing her up in the Catholic Faith.

  Lady Morton did not altogether approve of this and because I was so fond of her and would never forget how she had brought Henriette out of England to me, I was very anxious for her to have the benefit of the true Faith too. I confided this to Henriette. I said: “My darling, you love Lady Morton, do you not?”

  Henriette said she did indeed.

  “Then,” I said, “is it not sad that she should be left in darkness? We should try to bring her into the light with us…. It would give me the greatest happiness if our dear Lady Morton would cease to be a Protestant and become a Catholic. We must try to help her. Will you?”

  “Oh I will, Mam,” said my little daughter fervently.

  Some days later I asked how she was getting on with the conversion and she told me very seriously that she was trying very hard.

  “What do you do?” I asked.

  “Hug her and kiss her and I say to her, ‘Dear Madam, do be a Catholic. Please be a Catholic. You must be a Catholic to be saved.’”

  I smiled and I learned that Lady Morton was touched but it did not change her. She implied that she was aware of our little plot and she told me with a smile that she believed Father Cyprien was in fact instructing her rather than Henriette.

  Henriette soon betrayed her zeal to her brother and this was the beginning of trouble.

  One could never be sure what Charles was thinking. He was not a man to lose his temper—he did not take after me in that—but gave the impression of a kind of insouciance, an indifference. At times he seemed content to dally on the Continent and I wondered whether he was making any real efforts to win back his crown. But when he was determined on something he could be very stubborn. He exasperated me sometimes because it was impossible to quarrel with him. I would rather he had flared up in anger so that I could know what he was thinking.

  He said to me: “Mam, it is unwise for Minette to be brought up as a Catholic.”

  “I think,” I retorted, “for the sake of the child’s soul it would be unwise to bring her up in any other way.”

  “It was the cause of much of our troubles.”

  “One often has to fight for one’s Faith. The Faith is strewn with martyrs.”

  “My father one of them.”

  He was sorry then because any mention of the late King filled me with melancholy which persisted for days.

  “He had other troubles,” he went on softly, “God rest his soul. But, Mam, if it is known in England that Henriette is being brought up as a Catholic and I approve of this, it could jeopardize my chances of regaining the crown.”

  “I cannot see that.”

  “I can,” he said. “The people will be afraid that I or James might be the same.”

  “I would to God you were! Listen to me, Charles. When I married your father there was a clause in the settlement that I was to have charge of my children’s religious instruction until they were thirteen years old. That was never carried out.”

  “It would have meant that we should all have been Catholics, for what children learn in their early years usually settles them for life. No, Mam, Henriette should not be allowed to talk so constantly of her religion and efforts to convert Lady Morton.”

  “She is but a child.”

  “It would be better to take her out of the hands of Father Cyprien.”

  “I will not do it,” I said firmly.

  Charles sighed. He did not want to hurt me for there was a very kind side to his nature. He hated trouble and when it was there tried to avoid it by delegating someone else to take care of it. As a king he could do that. I thought it was a great fault in his nature but later I began to see that it was an asset. He did not waste his emotions on petty quarrels. He rarely lost that magnificent serenity which later was to give him the reputation of a cynic. So now he did not insist, but I knew the matter was not at an end, someone else would be set to persuade me. In fact he gave the task to Sir Edward Hyde, a man I loathed, but whom I had to admit had always been loyal to the royalist cause and he was now Charles’s constant companion and adviser.

  I soon dispatched him with a few sharp words.

  However it did make a coolness between Charles and me and it showed me clearly that my son had no intention of taking my advice.

  A few weeks later the Emperor lost his young bride and I could not resist a dig at Mademoiselle.

  “Perhaps I should congratulate you on the death of the Empress,” I said slyly. “For if the affair failed formerly it is sure to succeed next time.”

  She flushed hotly and replied haughtily: “I had not given thought to the matter.”

  “Some people prefer old men who must be nearly fifty with four children to a handsome King of nineteen years old. It is difficult to understand but must be accepted, I suppose. Do you see that very handsome young woman over there. My son likes her very well.”

  Charles was standing by at that time and I think he was annoyed to be discussed in his presence; but I, his mother, would do as I pleased.

  I went on: “My son is too poor for you, Mademoiselle. All the same he does not want you to know of his feelings for the young lady. He is very much afraid that I should mention her to you.”

  Charles bowed to me and then to Mademoiselle and walked out of the room, his face inscrutable so that I could not tell how annoyed he was. But I guessed it wa
s very deeply. He was very cool to me afterward though always polite.

  I was angry with myself. I had been foolish to say what I had when all that mattered to me now was my children’s affection and well being. But I was angry about Mademoiselle and it did seem such a good opportunity missed. And he could have charmed her had he wished to. Heaven knows he was successful enough with other women.

  The French Court was still at St. Germain because the Fronde troubles kept starting up and Anne felt it was unsafe to bring the young King back to the Louvre. I was still there but I had noticed a growing antagonism toward me. At first they had all been so sorry for me and remembered that I was the daughter of their beloved Henri IV; now they saw me as royal, closely connected with Queen Anne and therefore Mazarin; and I was beginning to get hostile looks, and so were members of my household.

  Anne was afraid for us and sent messages asking us to come to her and the King at St. Germain. Charles agreed with me that we ought to accept the invitation, for the mood of the Parisians was growing more and more hostile.

  So one day we set out; but of course we could not leave in secret and as we passed through the palace gates an angry crowd was waiting for us. They jeered at us. It was true that I owed money to many tradesmen and they must have feared that they would never get it and that I was leaving in order to escape paying them.

  I wanted to explain, but how can one talk to a crowd of menacing people.

  I was the one they hated. They crowded round my coach and I had a few horrifying moments when I feared they were going to drag me out and kill me.

  Few mobs can be as terrifying as a Paris mob. They seem far more fierce than the English and I feared that they might become very violent indeed.

  Then just as I was certain that some ruffian was going to wrench open the door of my coach and drag me out, my son Charles appeared. He looked so tall and dignified in his black mourning garments that for a few moments he startled the crowd. Those few moments were enough. He laid his hand on the door of the coach and told the coachman to proceed slowly. He walked beside the coach as we went through the crowds, and I was amazed at the manner in which they fell back; and it was all due to that magnificent presence of his. He was unarmed; he would have been unable to defend himself with his sword against the mob; but still they recognized and respected his royalty.