Charles the King (15 page)

“I saw the King today,” he said. “I tried to persuade him to insist that the Queen is crowned at Westminster.”

“And you did not succeed,” Wentworth finished for him.

“No,” Laud said seriously, “unfortunately I did not. The King listened and agreed with everything I said. The people would be pleased and it would raise the Queen in their estimation. It's unthinkable that the Queen should never be crowned, in whatever rite. I know the King sympathized, but he wouldn't commit himself without asking the Queen first. So he sent for her, and you can imagine the result. She refused, and the King would not press her.”

“Has she no idea,” Wentworth said angrily, “how dangerous her attitude is? Can no one explain to her that it might be worth imperilling her immortal soul for an hour or two just to still all these rumours about Popery and gain the King some popularity?”

“None at all,” Laud answered. “She thinks the King is above trifles like the opinions of the mob. She also thinks that having her children reared as Protestants is sacrifice enough. She is a very stubborn woman and I sometimes wish she were less spiritual or the King less fond of her. Needless to say, she has never liked me.”

“Nor me,” Wentworth said. “She'll like me less after Lady Carlisle has finished poisoning her against me.”

“I'm glad that that is over,” Laud began peeling a ripe fig. “I never approved of it; that woman is a snake. She may shake the Queen but the King won't listen. The King loves you, and he never wavers from a friend or forgives an enemy. But I still think it's a pity to send you to Ireland. He needs you here in London.”

“Ireland is vital to the King,” his friend said. “It's in its usual disgraceful state, corruptly governed without justice for the Irish or discipline among the officials. A strong Ireland is essential to the strength and security of the King. And a prosperous Ireland would help the Treasury. I have unlimited powers, my dear Archbishop, and I intend to use them. I shall make Ireland the model of what England can be under a thorough system. It may even be loyal to an English King for the first time in history.”

“You will become even more hated than you are now,” Laud prophesied. “Especially if you stop the nobility from filling their pockets and filching the land.”

“I'm used to enemies,” Wentworth shrugged. “The better I govern the more I shall make. But the King will be stronger and that's all that matters. My only anxiety is leaving him with fools like Holland and Newcastle beside him. Keep a close watch on him, Laud. He trusts you and he will need a man of sense.”

They rose from the table and the little priest led him out of the dining hall into his private apartments.

“I shall watch over the King; we will watch together, Thomas, you in Ireland and myself in London. No harm will come to him. No harm has come in seven years since the day that accursed Parliament was closed.”

Wentworth looked out of the window up the river; there was a mist rising and he could not see beyond Westminster Bridge.

“Whatever happens, he must never summon them again. Locking the doors was not enough. When I return from Ireland, I hope he'll be able to pull St. Stephen's Hall to the ground. Only then will he or anyone of us be really safe.”

Chapter 6

The new Banqueting Hall was finished, and the King and Queen were holding a reception and a Ball in honour of their nephews from Holland. Rubens's magnificent ceiling paintings were in place above their heads, filling the stately room with colour. The artist had painted an allegorical tribute to the late King James, depicting him dispensing justice and wisdom upon earth, attended by cherubs, and receiving his celestial crown in the presence of angels and the gods and goddesses of mythology. It was a splendid ceiling and Charles could not resist looking up at it and pointing out fresh details to Henrietta. They sat under a canopy on two thrones at the end of the room, their pages and gentlemen of the Bedchamber and the Queen's ladies grouped on either side. The dais was draped in scarlet and the canopy was heavily embroidered with gold; a superb Flemish tapestry covered the wall behind them. Henrietta was dressed in yellow satin and her bodice and skirt were worked with pearls and topaz, with a wide collar of exquisite Irish lace, the present of the new Lord Deputy Wentworth. Her black hair was curled and brushed back from her face, and a five-pointed star set with diamonds, its centre an enormous stone of canary yellow, flashed as she moved her head. Charles had paid her a compliment by wearing a velvet suit of deep green with a half cloak of gold satin. He took as much pleasure in her clothes as she did, and he was particularly careful to praise her appearance because she was pregnant for the fifth time and disappointed that she could not lead the dancing. The Royal musicians were playing in the gallery at the far end of the Hall, and in front of the dais a dozen ladies and gentlemen were performing the pavane. On the King's left, the younger of two brothers who had come over from Holland was watching the scene at the English Court and thinking how different it was from the shabby gatherings in his mother's home.

Prince Rupert was only eighteen, the second son of the unhappy Queen Elizabeth of Bohemia, and the nephew of King Charles. He had been a baby when his parents were driven from Germany and the fury of the Thirty Years' War broke out in Europe, but he had been brought up on stories of the grandeur and importance of his English mother's country, and he spoke English as well as French and German. He was half Stuart, and he had inherited the breeding and arrogance of the line, and much of their good looks. He was over six feet in height, with a powerful figure and the bearing of a soldier. He had fought in the German Wars when he was still a boy and shown such an aptitude for fighting and getting himself into danger that his mother had sent him to the English Court to see what his uncle and aunt could do to civilize him. He had come for a few months and stayed for almost two years. He towered over Charles like a young giant; the difference between them made Henrietta laugh and tease him until he blushed. He loved Charles because his uncle was so different from the men he had known, so much kinder than the rough, unscrupulous German Princes of his father's family, so much more dignified and gracious and genuine than anyone Rupert had ever met. And so generous that the penniless nephew was overwhelmed with money and presents as soon as he arrived. His elder brother Carl was with him, and as the heir to the vanished throne of Bohemia he had the place of honour at their table and on State occasions. But Carl was a calculating, rather envious young man with none of Rupert's fiery gratitude for all the kindness they received, and the young Prince knew he was his uncles favourite of the two.

He looked at the beautiful Englishwomen in their gorgeous dresses, dyed in every colour of the spectrum, blazing with jewels, as they moved through the graceful figures of the dance, partnered by men as colourful and lavish in appearance as themselves, and Rupert marvelled that his uncle and aunt were reputed to be heavily in debt. England was so rich; her palaces were so large and luxurious compared to the bleak Rhineland castles and the ugly buildings at the Hague. England was like paradise with its green countryside and its prosperous towns, untouched by the wars which had ravaged his own homeland and slaughtered his people in thousands. The English were rich and at peace and, in his opinion, they did not appreciate their good fortune or show enough gratitude to the King who ruled them so well.

He looked over his shoulder at Charles, and the King smiled at him affectionately. He was proud of his nephew. He was proud of his reputation as a soldier, and his fine horsemanship and he loved the boy because he was so touchingly grateful for being admitted into their lives. And in spite of his youth, and indeed sometimes Charles forgot what a boy he was in years, he admired him for his decisiveness and courage. He was not afraid of anything; he talked of the wars to his uncle with the joy and enthusiasm of a born fighter animating his handsome, haughty face. He was a German, and the Germans were the mercenaries of Europe, selling their swords to any cause for the highest pay they could command. Rupert was a Prince but he had the soul of a mercenary, but in the opinion of the King it was a better soul than that of his brother, the cautious Prince Carl, who seldom risked himself in battle and badgered his uncle to engage in the war on his behalf. Rupert asked him for nothing; Rupert gave instead, though he had nothing but his own energy and gratitude to offer. He amused Henrietta when Charles was forced to leave her for a few days and attend to his government; Charles gave her into Rupert's charge and knew that she would be watched over and cared for, and presented back to him as if she were a helpless girl and not the Queen of England and the mother of four children. It was foolish, but every time she was pregnant Charles imagined that some harm would come to her, remembering the first pregnancy after Buckingham's death, when a pack of dogs fought round her feet and she miscarried from fright and almost died.

Everyone told him she was exceptionally strong and healthy, but he loved her too much to take anything for granted. He turned to her and took her hand in his.

“You look melancholy, my love. What is it? Are you not feeling well?”

“Dear heart, I wish you wouldn't fuss over me so—I'm perfectly well, just a little piqued to see these creatures dancing and not being able to join them. You know it bores me to watch.”

“I know,” he soothed, “but it won't be long now. And then perhaps we'll have a rest from children.”

Henrietta laughed and shrugged her shoulders. She looked into his face with her large black eyes, and they were full of mockery.

“You know perfectly well that will never be,” she said softly.

“What would I have done if you'd never loved me,” he asked her.

“You would have eventually come to hate me,” Henrietta answered. “You almost did at one time.”

“Never,” Charles insisted. They often had heated arguments about who loved the other most; like most lovers their favourite topic of conversation was themselves. “I always adored you, even when you were your most impossible, my darling love.”

“You were extremely unkind to me in spite of it.” Henrietta could never resist bringing up their troubled past for the feminine joy of seeing him wince and beg her forgiveness. One day she meant to tell him that she had really begun to love him on the day he dragged her away from the window at Whitehall and threw her on the floor. But not until he was much older and had been apologizing for many years …

“Please,” he said, and to her delight he looked as pained and guilty as ever. “Please, don't mention that. You know I would give anything in the world to make you forget it.”

“Oh, I have forgiven you,” she said gently. “You ought to know it by now. And do not look at me like that; half the room is watching us and trying to listen.”

“I have just looked at the watch on your girdle,” he said, “and within an hour we will be quite alone where no one can pry on us and I shall look at you exactly as I like.”

“Lucy Carlisle is watching,” Henrietta said. She had seen the Countess glance up at them quickly as she moved past the dais. She was one of the principal dancers.

“I detest that woman,” Charles said. “I wish you would dismiss her.”

“Oh, you expect too much,” his wife answered. “Lucy is very fond of me, and she makes me die with laughter sometimes. I know you don't approve of her, but I never heard you blaming Wentworth.”

“Wentworth was not to blame,” he said stubbornly. “You are a sweet innocent, my dear, with no more experience of life than one devoted husband, and you know nothing at all about the Lucy Carlisles of this world. It was the only foolish thing that Wentworth ever did. I was talking to Laud about him yesterday and we both agreed on it.”

“You agree on everything,” Henrietta pointed out. “I don't know what you find to talk about—all Laud does is say ‘Yes, Sire', and all you do is say ‘Quite right, Laud.' Don't let's talk about him, sweetheart, you know he irritates me, and I'm not in a condition to be irritated.”

“I wish you liked him,” Charles said gently. “He's a very holy man in his way.”

“His way is not mine,” Henrietta said quickly. “Look at poor Rupert standing there; he's miserable tonight because he's going home so soon. I wish your sister had let him stay with us indefinitely. God knows why she wants the boy back in Holland, living that dismal life and going off to fight for that ridiculous Principality. It's not even as if he were the heir. You ask her, Charles, ask her if Rupert can stay with us for another year at least.”

“She won't allow it. She's jealous, my love, and I know my sister well enough to tell you that she could never bear taking second place with anyone or anything. Even if she doesn't love Rupert, the best of her children, she will not allow him to love anyone else but her. He will have to go back. God knows, I shall really miss him.”

“So shall I,” she leant forward and smiled at her nephew. “I was hoping to find a rich heiress for him and have him settle down in England with us.”

Charles shook his head. “He will never settle anywhere,” he said. “It would be like caging a tiger. I will write to my sister and extract a promise that he can visit us again. I can do no more than that.”

“He said he would come back,” Henrietta said. “Poor Rupert! He's so splendid and so sweet. He makes me feel almost ridiculous helping me in and out of chairs as if he thought I was going to break!”

“He loves you,” Charles said happily. “He told me once he thought you were the most perfect woman in the world.”

“It's really you he loves,” she said. “He looks at you with such an expression sometimes, almost like worship. It's very touching and rather beautiful to see it. I wish our eldest son would grow like him.”