by Jean Plaidy
‘What do you suggest? To tie her in a sack and throw her into the river one dark night?’
‘Put aside your levity. This is a serious matter. I mean divorce.’
‘Divorce!’ cried Barbara shrilly. ‘That he might marry again! Another barren woman!’
‘How do we know she would be barren?’
‘Royal persons often are.’
‘Don’t look alarmed, Barbara. It cannot be Frances Stuart now.’
‘That pock-marked hag!’ Barbara went into peals of laughter, which the very mention of Frances Stuart’s name never failed to provoke. She was serious suddenly: ‘Nay! Let the Queen stay where she is. She is quiet and does no harm.’
‘She does no good while she does not give the country an heir.’
‘The country has an heir in James.’
‘I’ll not stand by and see the King disappointed of a son.’
‘There is nothing else you can do about it, cousin.’
‘Indeed there is! Ashley and others are with me in this. We will arrange a divorce for the King, and he shall marry a princess who will bring him sons.’
Barbara’s eyes narrowed. She was ready to support the Queen, because the Queen was docile. How did she know what a new Queen would do? Was her position with the King so strong that she could afford to have it shaken? And, horror of horrors, what if he looked about his Court and selected one of the beauties to be his Queen? It might so easily have been Frances Stuart. What if he should choose some fiery creature who would insist on making trouble for Lady Castlemaine?
She would have nothing to do with this plot. She was all for letting things stay as they were.
‘The poor Queen!’ said Barbara. ‘This is shameful. So you plot against her . . . you and your mischief-making Cabal. Keep your noses out of the King’s marriage; meddle with matters more fitting. I tell you I’ll do nothing to help you in this vile plot. I shall disclose it to the King. I shall . . .’
The Duke took her by the wrist, but she twisted her arm free and dealt him a stinging blow across the face.
‘There, Master George Villiers, that will teach you to lay hands on me!’
It was nothing. There had been quarrels between them before; there had been physical violence and physical tenderness; they were of a kind, and they recognized that in each other.
Now they surveyed each other angrily, for their interests were divided.
Buckingham laughed in her face. ‘I see, Madam, that your standing with the King is in such bad case that you fear a new Queen who might decide to banish you for ever.’
‘You see too much, sir!’ cried Barbara. ‘I have given you great support during the last years, but doubtless you forget this, as it suits you to. Do not forget that I, who have done you much good, could do you much harm.’
‘Your wings are clipped, Barbara. The King but allows you to stay at Court out of laziness, rather than his desire to keep you there.’
‘You lie.’
‘Do I? Try leaving and see then how eager he will be to have you back.’
Fear was in Barbara’s heart. There was some truth in Buckingham’s words.
‘Go and do your worst!’ she cried. ‘See if, without my help – which you consider so worthless – you can rid the country of the Queen.’
‘So you have a fellow-feeling with the Queen now,’ sneered Buckingham. ‘Two poor deserted women! Mrs Nelly, they say, is an enchanting creature. She is young; she is very pretty, and she makes the King laugh.’
‘I pray you, leave my apartment,’ said Barbara with dignity; but almost immediately that dignity deserted her. ‘Get out, you plotting hog! Get out, you murderer! I wonder poor Shrewsbury does not haunt you, that I do. Get out and plot with Shrewsbury’s widow.’
‘So you refuse to help me?’
‘Not only that; I’ll do all in my power to work against you.’
‘Think awhile, Barbara. You’ll be sorry if you do anything rashly.’
‘You dare to tell me I shall be sorry? You’ll be sorrier than I could ever be.’
‘We Villiers should stand together, Barbara. You said that.’
‘Not when it means bringing dishonour to an innocent woman,’ said Barbara in a virtuous tone which sent Buckingham into hysterical laughter. Whereupon he gave, for Barbara’s benefit, an imitation of Barbara – the real Barbara, and Barbara, virtuous defender of the Queen.
Barbara was furious; she would have flown at him and dug her nails into his face, but he was quick, and before she could reach him he was through the door, and away.
*
Buckingham sought out the King and intimated that he came from the Council with a matter of grave importance to discuss.
‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘your Council and your country view with alarm the Queen’s sterility.’
Charles nodded. ‘It is a source of great disappointment to me. There was no reason for it. No accident. Nothing wrong. It is the same as that which happened previously. Again and again she loses the child she might have.’
‘It is the way with some women, Sire. You have but to look back and consider Henry VIII and what difficulties he had in getting an heir. It brought much inconvenience to him.’
‘And greater inconvenience to his wives, I fear,’ added Charles.
‘There was much unrest regarding the succession, because of the sterility of those women.’
‘In my case I have a successor in my brother James.’
‘Your brother, Sire, has turned to the Catholic Faith. Your Majesty knows what dissatisfaction that causes in the country.’
‘James is a fool,’ said Charles.
‘All the more reason why Your Majesty should make sure that he is not your successor.’
‘I have tried to make sure of that, George. God knows’ – he smiled wryly – ‘I have tried very hard indeed.’
‘All know Your Majesty’s labours have been tireless. But . . . there is no child, and it would seem that the Queen will never have one.’
‘Alas, it is a sad fate.’
‘Your Majesty would seem to accept it with resignation.’
‘I learned in my early youth to accept with resignation that which could not be avoided.’
‘There are means of avoiding most things, Sire.’
‘Are you back to the divorce?’ asked the King.
‘It is the only way in which we may reach a satisfactory conclusion to this affair of the succession.’
‘On what grounds could one divorce as virtuous a lady as the Queen has proved herself to be?’
‘On her inability to bear an heir to the crown.’
‘Nonsense! Moreover she is a Catholic and would not agree to be divorced.’
‘She might be urged to go into a nunnery.’
The King was silent, and Buckingham was delighted. He did not press the point. He would wait awhile. He believed the King greatly wished to be rid of his wife; it was not that he hated her; he was, in his way, fond of her; but because of her mildness, because of her resignation, she bothered him. She made him continually conscious of the way in which he treated her. He could no more deny himself the pleasure of falling in and out of light love affairs than he could stop breathing; but such was his nature that, knowing this hurt the Queen, he was uneasy in her presence; and it was of the very essence of his nature that he should avoid that which was unpleasant.
A divorce from the Queen! Catherine to spend the rest of her days peacefully in a nunnery!
It was a good idea. And for him the pleasure of choosing a new wife. This time he would choose with the utmost care.
When Buckingham left the King the Duke’s hopes were high indeed.
At all costs he must prevent his enemy, the Duke of York, mounting the throne – even if it meant making the bastard Monmouth heir of England.
Wild schemes formed in Buckingham’s mind. What if Charles had really been married to Lucy Water! Then Monmouth would in truth be heir to the throne. What if a box were found . . . a
box containing papers which proved the marriage to have taken place? An excellent scheme but a wild one.
It would be far, far better for the King to divorce Catherine, remarry, and let a new Queen produce the heir.
Well, he decided, he was moving forward. He had discovered something. The King would not be averse to a divorce. He sought out Lauderdale and Ashley to tell them the good news.
*
Barbara’s spies quickly brought the information to her.
She sat biting her lips and contemplating the possible danger to herself from a new and beautiful Queen.
I am satisfied with the Queen, she mused. I like the Queen – a mild and sensible lady who understands the King and his ways.
What if the King married? She pictured another such as Frances Stuart ruling the Court. The first thing such a woman would do would be to clear out the seraglio; and who would be the first to go? Those whom she most feared and whom the King was not determined to keep.
Barbara would certainly not allow these plans to proceed, for the deeper they were laid the more difficult they would be to frustrate, and it might well be that her persistent relative would set about making things so very uncomfortable for the Queen that she would sigh for the quiet walls of a convent.
Barbara sought audience with the Queen and, when she was with her, told her that what she had to say was for her ears alone.
She fell on her knees before Catherine and kissed her hand; then she lifted those bright flashing eyes to Catherine’s face and said: ‘I have come to warn Your Majesty.’
‘Of what?’ inquired Catherine. She spoke harshly. She was tormented by hundreds of mental pictures when this woman stood before her. She saw her in the arms of the King; she thought of his passionate love-making; she thought of all she had heard of this infamous woman, of the numerous lovers she took, and how she kept some as servants in her household so that she might call them instantly when she needed them. She thought of those days during her honeymoon, when Lady Castlemaine had been merely a name to be shuddered over and never mentioned.
Barbara boldly answered: ‘Of your enemies, who seek to destroy you. They would part you from the King.’
Catherine turned pale in spite of her determination to remain controlled before this woman.
‘How . . . how could they do that, Lady Castlemaine?’
‘Madam, you have failed to give the King children.’
Catherine winced and thought again of the many times this woman had been brought to bed, as she said, of the King’s child.
‘And,’ went on Barbara, ‘there are certain of his ministers who seek to have him set you aside. They talk of divorce.’
‘I would not agree.’
‘Your Majesty should never . . . never agree to that!’
‘Lady Castlemaine, you have no need to urge me to my duty.’
‘Madam, you misunderstand me. Nor do you understand how wicked, how determined are these men who scheme to displace you. They will try persuasion at first, and if that fails they will seek to compel you.’
‘They dare not compel me. If they harmed me, they would have to answer to my brother.’
Barbara raised her well-arched brows, indicating that Pedro of Portugal already had too many commitments to leave his country and sail across the seas in what would be a feeble attempt to defend his sister.
‘But Madam, I came to tell you of plans I have discovered, plans which are indeed being set on foot to force Your Majesty from the throne.’
‘It is fantastic.’
‘Nevertheless, Madam, it is true.’
‘The King would not consent.’
‘The King must have an heir, Madam.’
‘He would never treat me thus.’
‘He can be persuaded.’
‘No . . . no. He is too noble . . . too good to agree to such a thing.’
‘Madam, I warn you. I beg of you, take my advice. The King has a tender heart; we both know that. You must win him to your side against your enemies. You must implore him to protect you against those who would destroy you. The King is tender-hearted. If you can move him with your tears . . . if you can but bring him to pity you, your enemies will have no power to harm you.’
The two women looked at each other as though measuring each other’s strength and sincerity.
Barbara was ageing and the signs of debauchery were beginning to show on her handsome face, but however old she was, she would still be handsome. Catherine was pale from her miscarriage and in despair because she could not produce the heir so necessary to the country. They had been rivals for so long; they had hated each other; and now it was clear to them both that at last they must become allies.
‘I must thank you, Lady Castlemaine,’ said the Queen, ‘for coming to me thus.’
Barbara knelt and kissed the Queen’s hand. For the first time Catherine saw Barbara humble in her presence; and she realized that Barbara feared the future even as she did.
*
It was rarely, Catherine reflected bitterly, that she had an opportunity of being alone with the King. She had become resigned to the relationship between them; she had schooled herself not to show how hurt she was every time she saw him becoming enamoured of a new woman. She had learned to hesitate before entering her own apartments, lest he should be there, kissing one of her maids, and she surprise them.
She had learned to subdue her jealousy; and now she realized that she would endure any humiliations which life with Charles brought her rather than suffer the lonely despair of life without him.
She waited for one of the nights when they were alone together. At such times she felt that he was more her husband than her King. He would then modify that brilliant wit of his and attune his conversation to suit her; he was unfailingly courteous. If she were ill he would tend her carefully; he never failed to be considerate of her health. She fancied that that expression of melancholy regret, which she saw so often on his face when he was in her company, meant that he was sorry because he could not be a better husband to her.
She now said to him: ‘Charles, it seems that there are many in your counsels who believe I am incapable of bearing children.’
That light and easy smile flashed across his face as he prevaricated. ‘Nay, you must not despair. We have been unfortunate. There have been a few disappointments . . .’
She looked about the chamber of this apartment in Hampton Court and thought of other queens who had, within these very walls, despaired of their ability to produce an heir to the throne. Was there a curse on queens? she wondered.
‘Too many disappointments,’ she said. ‘It does not happen with . . . others.’
‘They are stronger than you. You must take better care of your health.’
‘Let us be frank one with the other, Charles. There are men who plan to destroy me.’
‘To destroy you! What words are these?’
‘They wish to rid you of me, that you may marry again. Buckingham, Ashley, Lauderdale . . . all the Cabal . . . and others. They offer you a new and beautiful wife who can give you sons. Oh, Charles, do not think I cannot understand the temptation. I am not beautiful . . . and you so admire beauty.’
He was beside her; his arms were about her. ‘Now, Catherine, what tales are these you have heard? You are my wife. For you I have the utmost affection. I know I am not a good husband, but you took me, Catherine, and, Od’s Fish, you’ll have to stick to me.’
‘They seek to destroy me,’ she repeated blankly. ‘They seek to send me away from you. Do not deny it. You cannot deny it, can you, Charles?’
He was silent for a while; then he said gently: ‘They have thought that there is much of which you disapprove in our sinful Court. They have seen you so devout, and have thought that mayhap you would be happier in a nunnery.’
She looked at him quickly, and she was overcome with anguish. Was that an expression of hopeful anticipation she saw on his face? Was he asking her to leave him for a nunnery?
Sudden
determination came to her. She would not leave him. She would fight for what she wanted. She would never give up hope that one day he would turn to her for the love which she was but waiting to bestow upon him. Surely, when they were both old, when he had ceased to desire so many women, surely then he would understand the value of true love, the quiet affection which was so much more lasting than physical desire. She would wait for that. She would never despair of getting it; and she was going to fight all her enemies in this country until that day when Charles turned to her for what he needed most.
He was the kindest man she had ever known; he was the most attractive, the most tolerant; he would have been a saint, she supposed, had he not been entirely sensual. It was that sensuality which caused her such misery, because she herself was not endowed with the necessary weapons to appeal to it in competition with such women as Barbara, Frances Stuart, Moll Davies, Mrs Knight, and Nelly.
But she would never give him up.
She turned to him: ‘Charles,’ she cried, ‘I will never willingly leave you.’
‘Of a certainty you shall not.’
She threw herself at his feet. She was suddenly terrified. He was so careless, so easy-going, so ready with light promises; and those about him were ruthless men who stopped at nothing. She thought of Buckingham, determined to destroy her, his hands red with the blood of his mistress’s husband. She thought of Ashley, that terrifying little man, with his elegant clothes, his head – adorned with a fair periwig – which seemed too big for his frail body, his sharp wit and that soft and gentle voice which belied the ruthless determination behind it; she thought of other members of the Cabal who had determined to provide a new wife for the King.
‘Charles,’ she implored, ‘save me from those men. Do not let them send me away from you.’ She could no longer hide emotion. The tears streamed down her cheeks, and she knew that he could not bear to see a woman’s tears. They never failed to move him deeply; he was even ready at all costs to stop the tears of women such as Barbara, who turned them on and off according to whether they would be effective.
‘Catherine,’ he said in dismay, ‘you distress yourself unnecessarily.’