Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

by Jean Plaidy

  During his brief stay at Greenwich, Charles asked if I would like to have Somerset House as a residence while I was in England. “I know you were always fond of the place,” he said; and I told him I should like that very much.

  In due course Charles and the Queen returned to Hampton Court and it was arranged that I should follow later. I would need a little rest, Charles said, after the rigors of the journey, for he knew how I loathed those sea crossings.

  I was not sorry to have a quiet time to myself.

  James Crofts had gone off with the King’s party and just a few of my intimates remained so I looked forward to a few peaceful days before we moved on. It was pleasant to sit quietly overlooking the river and talk in a desultory way to Henry, whose conversation I always found so amusing.

  Henry was a man who always seemed to know what was going on. He could sniff out scandals and rumors and devote himself to the task of discovering the truth behind them; and it was only to be expected that he must know of the troubles between the King and his new Queen.

  I said that I thought Charles was extremely lucky in his Queen and how delighted I was that they seemed so happy.

  “Ah,” said Henry, “I am not sure that the Queen is so happy.”

  “What do you mean?” I demanded.

  Henry’s eyes were sparkling. He loved imparting gossip, although as this concerned my son he was quickly looking rather grave.

  “The Queen is hurt and angry.”

  “She did not appear to be so.”

  “She would not wish you to know of her troubles as soon as you arrived.”

  “What troubles are these?”

  “The King’s mistress. It is Barbara Castlemaine who is at the root of the trouble.”

  “I have heard her name.”

  “Dearest Majesty, who has not heard of her name? She has completely enslaved the King. She is a most handsome woman…the most beautiful in England, some say…and a virago into the bargain. It is she who is causing the trouble between the King and the Queen.”

  “She was his mistress…was she not?…before the Queen arrived in England?”

  “Before and after, dear lady. And now the King wants to make her one of the women of the bedchamber.”

  “No! Surely not.”

  “I will tell you what happened. When the list was presented to the Queen, Barbara Castlemaine’s name was at the top of it. She struck it through. Later the King led in the Castlemaine and presented her to the Queen, who received her graciously and gave her her hand to be kissed. She was not familiar with English, and although she must have heard of the Castlemaine and her place in the King’s affections, she did not recognize her name when it was written down and so behaved in a welcoming way. Then one of her women whispered to her who the lady was, and the Queen was so shocked and tried so hard to restrain her feelings that the blood gushed from her nose and she fell to the floor in a fit.”

  “The poor child! Charles should have known better.”

  “Charles was horrified at her behavior. You see, Madam, he is completely under the spell of the Castlemaine. He said the Queen had behaved badly and incorrectly and should make amends to the lady.”

  “Charles said that!”

  “I agree that it was most unlike him but when the best of us are in the wrong we seek to make our actions right and perhaps act as we would not in other circumstances. Catherine however refused to receive the lady, and Charles insists that she should.”

  “It is monstrous!” I cried.

  “Clarendon tried to persuade the King that he was acting unkindly and the King doubtless knew it and it was against his nature to act so, but as I said he is the slave of my lady Castlemaine.”

  I was very angry because I had taken a great liking to the Queen on sight. I thought she was a gentle woman who would be amenable and want to learn; moreover she was an ardent Catholic and I thought that she would be a good influence on Charles.

  What a situation to find as soon as I arrived in England! I sat for a long time talking it over with Henry.

  “Whenever I come to this country there is trouble,” I said. “Oh, Henry, how I long to be back at Chaillot or Colombes.”

  Then I thought of all that was happening in France and of my dear Henriette, whose life was presenting many problems, and suddenly I felt old and for the first time in my life indifferent to the actions of my family. They were men and women now—no longer children. I felt a great urge to cut myself off from trouble, to live in that little château of Colombes where I could surround myself with trusted friends. Most of them were as old as I—or almost. We understood each other. There we could live in peace.

  My great desire now was to go back there. I did not want conflict with Charles for I had a feeling that he would always get the better of me. I did not want to quarrel with James and I knew we should if I attempted to tell him where he was wrong. And Henriette had shown me that even she would go her own way. They were the only ones left to me and I did not want to quarrel with any of them.

  It seemed a wise decision. Charles and Catherine sorted out their differences about Lady Castlemaine. He had his way—I have come now to think he always did—and Catherine, while accepting Lady Castlemaine and his other mistresses, did not seem to love him any less.

  Charles had arranged for me to stay at Greenwich until Somerset House could be ready. Like many beautiful places in England it had been ravaged by Oliver Cromwell and for a while I lived between Greenwich Palace and Denmark House. I was pleased when I could get into Somerset House which was not until late summer. I found that since I had decided to let them all go their own way and not worry too much about the mistakes they were making, they all seemed to like me so much better.

  I was very fond of the Queen and she visited me often. She was a sad little creature and I am sure felt very much alone. She longed for a child but although she had miscarriages and so could not be barren, she did not seem to be able to produce a healthy one. It was a great disappointment to Charles but far more so to her. He knew he was not at fault because he had numerous bastards and he never refused to recognize any of them.

  I longed to be in my native land. I hated the London winters which seemed so cold, but most of all I disliked the fogs. They affected my chest and I told myself that I must get back to France before long. I was expected to live in England mainly because Charles had given me a pension and Clarendon had wanted the money spent in England to give employment to English people. To have spent it in France would have been tantamount to the English crown’s paying money to that country. So although there was no objection to my visiting France now and then, it was expected of me to make my home in England.

  I was a little happier when I was installed in Somerset House. The Roundheads had actually occupied it and at first that made it distasteful to me. They had broken up the beautiful rooms but as was to be expected their most devastating work had been in my chapel; but a great deal of reconstruction had been done and I began to take an interest because I was introducing my own designs. I had the ceilings exquisitely painted and chandeliers of gilded brass installed. It was becoming magnificent and I was able to live there royally. I had crimson silk hung at the windows and beautiful screens made to keep out the draughts which blew in from the river. There was one room with a domed roof overlooking gardens which ran down to the river and from this there was a private staircase which led to a room where I could take hot and cold baths. Gardeners had set to work in the grounds, making paths down to the river so that I could walk without getting my feet muddy. I wanted to make it as different as it possibly could be from when those men had filled it with their ugly presence.

  Then I had my household with my dear Henry Jermyn, Lord St. Albans, as Chancellor, at the head of it; I had my Gentlemen of Music, Master of Games and Buckhounds and Bows. Whenever I went out it was in my Sedan chair or coach and I was accompanied by my halberdiers in black cassocks with embroidered gold badges; I had my twelve liveried bargemen to row me when
I decided to travel by river. I lived royally. I thought I owed that to myself and to Charles. I wanted to wipe out forever the indignities I had suffered; and for so long I had lived parsimoniously saving everything I could to bring back the King to England.

  Well, now it was done and it was my turn to enjoy luxury, to remind myself that I was no longer a poor relation. I was a royal Queen and now I would live like one.

  I was very much in debt when Somerset House was finished and that disturbed me a little. Then I saw that it gave me an excuse to live quietly which I had discovered was what I wanted.

  Many people came to see me and boats were constantly passing along the river. I gave concerts and in summer evenings the strains of sweet music would float along the river. There was always plenty to see from my windows because there was so much activity on the river. I was finding that I could be much happier if I did not allow myself to be tempted to tell people how they should act. I enjoyed my new role—observer rather than participator. Henry Jermyn agreed with me. When I looked back I realized that he had always been like that. Perhaps that was why he was a happy man. He had become fat and suffered from gout but he was the dearest companion and I enjoyed his company better than that of any other person.

  I rarely made a decision now without first consulting him. I suppose that was why there were rumors about us. There were many who were absolutely sure that we were married. Some even credited me with having had a child by him. We laughed together at these rumors but we took no heed of them and continued to enjoy our pleasant relationship.

  The Duchess of York had a daughter. She was called Mary and it seemed as though she, unlike her brother who had lived only a few months, would survive. I did hope so. It is so tragic when children cannot seem to get a grip on life and I had to agree that Charles was right when he had said that Anne was a good woman. Unfortunately James had tired of her and he had his mistresses just like his brother. Their behavior really did give the Court a reputation for immorality. But it was none of my business. I had learned to hold myself aloof from it now. I was still wondering how I could get back to Chaillot and Colombes. I longed to see Henriette and my good friend Queen Anne.

  Because poor Queen Catherine did not seem to be able to get a child, Charles created James Crofts Duke of Monmouth. It was in a way an insult to Catherine, calling attention to the fact that the fault must be hers as he could get a handsome healthy boy like James Crofts from another woman.

  There was a great deal of speculation about Charles’s making Monmouth his heir. He would have had to legitimize him for that but I supposed he could easily do so.

  Nothing came of that. Charles had a habit of shelving controversial matters and when I think how he came through I wonder whether that is not the wisest way.

  Lady Castlemaine, I was glad to see, was losing her hold on him, which must have been good news for Catherine, but he was obsessed by a new beauty—Frances Stuart. It would always be like that with Charles and I wished Catherine could accept that fact. But it was difficult for her and I knew full well that had I been young again and in her place I should never have done so. I daresay I would have made his life a misery. He would never have had that calm resignation from a woman like me.

  The winter which began in 1664 and went on into 1665 was a cold one. I became ill and had to take to my bed for a long time. My doctors told me that I should get out of England if possible and that was my excuse.

  I begged Charles not to close my chapel if I left and he promised he would not do so and he was most eager for me to take the waters at the Bourbon springs which had been so beneficial to me before.

  War with the Dutch had broken out and I was deeply concerned about that. Charles said that the French might decide to join with the Dutch and he believed that I might do good work for him in France, so I think he was rather glad that I was going. There was another matter. There had been some cases of plague in London and he feared if the summer was hot they might increase.

  There were several good reasons why I should go besides my health.

  I was due to leave at the end of June but before I left there came news of a great sea battle in which my son James had defeated the Dutch. James was the hero of the hour but I was afraid for him and begged Charles not to allow him to expose himself too rashly. There was something very rash about James which his impetuous marriage had proved.

  As I sailed down the Thames I wondered if I should ever come back.

  So there I was—after another dismal sea crossing—back in my native country. My spirits rose as soon as I set foot in it, but there was bad news awaiting me. Henriette was very ill. She had heard a false rumor that her brother James had been killed in battle and the shock had brought about the premature birth of the child she was carrying. She was delighted to see me and I do believe that my arrival helped to pull her through. She was far from happy and I began to wonder whether great titles were worth all one had to pay for them. I had found a crown and a happy marriage although it had ended in tragedy, but all through that marriage Charles and I had meant everything to each other.

  I thought of Charles and his poor little Queen who had to accept his mistresses and could not get the child she longed for. I thought of James and Anne Hyde who had married so romantically and were now no longer in love; I thought most of all of Henriette who had married Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, brother of the King of France, and who was the most wretched of them all.

  She confided to me that Philippe flew into jealous rages which were incomprehensible as he was not interested in her himself; but he simply could not bear her to enjoy the society of other men. Moreover he had brought his lover, the Chevalier of Lorraine, into the house and they conducted their amour openly for all to see and laugh at.

  There was sad news from London. Two of my priests had died of the plague. The Court was no longer there and red crosses were put on the houses of the plague-stricken to warn people to keep away. Throughout the night the dismal knell of the death cart was heard in the deserted streets with the cry: “Bring out your dead.”

  I went to see my old friend Queen Anne. She was in a desperate state and suffering excruciating pain for she had a malignant growth in her breast which she knew would kill her.

  Early the next year she died and I could not be sorry because, poor soul, she who had done so many kindnesses had suffered greatly. I could only be relieved that she had found peace at last.

  To my dismay France declared war on England in support of the Dutch. Louis had no wish for it, I knew; and although the people of France hated the English and the people of England hated the French, both Charles and Louis were trying to come to some agreement. It was during this time that the Dutch fleet, smarting under the humiliation of the English victory at sea, sailed up the Medway and burned several men-of-war including the Royal Charles, which was lying at Chatham.

  That was a year of disaster and the biggest of all was the great fire of London when two-thirds of the city was burned to the ground. Eighty-nine churches including St. Paul’s Cathedral were destroyed, with more than thirteen thousand dwelling houses. I was so pained when I heard that the Catholics had been accused of starting the fire and for the first time in years felt the old fighting spirit rising in me. I wanted to go to England to tell them how false that accusation was. I wanted to tell them how wicked and cruel they were to suggest it.

  England was in a sorry state. The terrible plague had brought trade almost to a standstill; the war had crippled its finances even more. My pension was reduced and I was indignant and wrote to Charles to tell him so. I was trying so hard to live within my means and my greatest pleasure was to give to the poor and needy and at the same time bring those who had strayed from it back to the Catholic Faith.

  I went to Colombes and lived as quietly as I could there. I had my friends about me—chief of all dear Henry without whom I should have been desolate indeed.

  I had my music; my reading; my chapel. I prayed constantly and thought a good deal abou
t the past.

  I began to grow introspective, reliving those long-ago scenes and asking myself what might have happened if I had done, or not done, this and that. Such thoughts intruded and I found sleep difficult. My cough was worrying me and sometimes I felt very ill indeed.

  Henriette came to see me and she expressed her horror at the sight of me. She said she was going to call in the doctors in whom she had great faith.

  I said: “There is nothing wrong with me. When I feel a little better I will go to Bourbon for the waters. Please do not make such a fuss, Henriette.”

  “But, Mam,” she cried anxiously, “I can see you are not well. You might as well admit it because it is obvious.”

  “I do not want to be like those women who cry for a little pain in the head or a cut finger,” I retorted.

  “Dear Mam, I am not going to ask your permission. I am going to call in the best doctors we have in France.”

  I had to give way; and I certainly was feeling ill. “If only I could sleep soundly,” I said. “But I simply cannot. As soon as my head is down, I am going over the past and I am blaming myself so much, Henriette.”

  “They will give you something to make you sleep.”

  “And I shall not take it. Old Mayerne said I was never to take anything like that.”

  “We will hear what the doctors have to say,” Henriette insisted firmly.

  They were the leading doctors in France. M. Valot was one and he was the first physician to Louis. M. Espoit was first physician to Philippe and M. Juelin to Henriette. They came to Colombes to consult with M. d’Aquin, my own doctor.

  I submitted to their examination and lay back listening while they talked to Henriette in a far corner where they had gone so that I should not hear too much of what they said.

  I felt rather indifferent and impatient with them. I was old; I had had a long and arduous life; I must die soon and I was ready.

  M. Valot was saying: “By the grace of God the Queen has no fatal malady. Inconvenient…but not dangerous. She would be so much better if she slept and put whatever it is on her mind out of her thoughts. Now I am going to add three grains to the prescription you are giving her, M. d’Aquin. That will ensure sleep and when she is rested we shall find her disorder clearing.”