The Loves of Charles II (127 page)

“His Majesty has decided to allow the insult to pass,” said Albemarle.

“But
I
shall not allow it to pass,” cried Monmouth. “I shall make these country bumpkins realize that my father is their King, and any who dare insult him shall live to regret that day.”

“What does Your Grace plan?” asked Sir Thomas Sandys. “That, my good friends, is what I have assembled you here to discuss,” said the Duke.

The King was very uneasy. He sought out his brother James in his private apartments.

James was sitting alone, a book before him.

James, thought Charles, so tall and handsome—far handsomer than I—and clever enough in his way; why is it that James is a fool?

“Reading, James?” said Charles lightly. “And the book?” He looked over his brother’s shoulder. “Dr Heylin’s
History of the Reformation.
Ah, my Protestant subjects would be pleased to see you reading such a book, James.”

James’ big dark eyes were puzzled.

He said: “I find much food for thought ‘twixt these pages.”

“Give over thinking so much, James,” said Charles. “It is a task ill-suited to your nature.”

“You mock me, Charles. You always did.”

“I was born a mocker.”

“Have you read this book?”

“I have skimmed its pages.”

” ’Tis worth more than a skimming.”

“I am glad to hear you say so. I trust this means your feet are set in what my Protestant subjects would call the path of the just.”

“It fills me with doubts, Charles.”

“Brother, when I die you will inherit a crown. The managing of a kingdom will take every bit of that skill with which nature has provided you. You will be at your wits’ end to keep the crown upon your head, and your head upon your shoulders. Remember our father. Do you ever forget him? I never do. You are over-concerned with your soul, brother, when your head may be in danger.”

“What matters a head where a soul is in the balance?”

“Your head is there for all to see—a handsome one, James, and that of a man who may well one day be King. Your soul—where is that? We cannot see it, so how can we be sure that it has any existence?”

“You blaspheme, Charles.”

“I’m an irreligious fellow; I know it. ’Tis my nature. My mind is a perverse one, and to such as I am faith is hard to come by. But put away the book, brother. I would talk to you. ’Tis this affair of Coventry.”

James nodded gloomily. “A bad affair.”

“Young Jemmy grows too wild.”

“The fellow will live?”

“I thank God that he will. But those wild young men have slit his nose and the Parliament is filled with anger.”

“’Tis to be understood,” said James.

“I am in agreement with you and the Parliament, James. But my Parliament is displeased with me and it is a bad thing when parliaments and kings are not of one accord. We have a terrible example before us. When I came home I determined to live in peace with my subjects and my Parliament. And now young Jemmy has done this. He was defending my royalty, he proclaims.”

“That boy has such a deep sense of Your Majesty’s royalty, largely because he believes himself to have a share in it.”

“’Tis true, James. There are times when young Jemmy gives me great cause for anxiety. The Parliament has passed an act whereby any who shall put out an eye, cut a lip, nose, or tongue of His Majesty’s liege people or in any other manner wound or maim any Parliament man, shall be sent to prison for a year, besides incurring other heavy penalties.”

“’Tis just,” said James.

“Aye, ’tis just. Therefore I like not to see young Jemmy conduct himself thus.”

“A little punishment, inflicted by Your Majesty, might be useful.”

“Indeed it might. But I was never a punishing man, James, and I find it hard to punish those I care for as I do for that boy.”

“Nevertheless he will bring trouble on himself, and on you one day.”

“That is why I wish you to help me, James. Could not you two be friends? I like not to see this strife between you.”

“’Tis your natural son who causes the strife between us. He fears I shall wear the crown to which, in his heart, he believes himself to have prior claim.”

“There is only one thing which can make you two become friends, I fear; and that is a family of healthy sons for me, so that there is no hope for either of you to wear the crown.”

“Charles, there are some who say you love that boy so much that you would make him your heir in all things.”

“’Tis true I love the boy. He is my own flesh and blood. There are a thousand things to remind me of that each day. He is my son—my eldest son. He is handsome, he delights me. I’ll deny it not. But you too, brother, are our father’s son and you are my heir. Never would I make Jemmy legitimate, while there is one who, it is right and proper, should take my place. If I die childless, James, you are the heir to the throne. I never forget that. Light-minded though I may be, on this point I am firm and strong. But there is one other matter I must settle with you. It is this dabbling with the Catholic Faith.”

“We cannot control our thoughts, brother.”

“Nay, but we can keep them to ourselves.”

“I could not be false to what I believed to be the true religion.”

“But you could keep your thoughts to yourself, brother. Remember our grandfather, Henri Quatre. You’re his grandson no less than I. Think of the control he kept on his religion, and because of this a country, which had known disastrous war, at last knew peace. England is a Protestant country—as firmly Protestant as France in the days of our grandfather was firmly Catholic. England will never again accept a Catholic King. If you would have peace in England when I am gone, you must come to the throne a Protestant.”

“And if my heart and mind tell me the Catholic Faith is the true one?”

“Subdue the heart, dear brother. If you let the mind take control, it will say this: Worship in secret. Remain outwardly what the country wishes you to be. Remember our grandfather … the greatest King the French ever had. He put an end to civil war, because he, who had been Huguenot, professed to be a Catholic. Stop this flirting with the Catholic Faith, James. Show yourself with me in the church when the occasion demands it. Let the country
see you as a good Protestant. Then, brother, we shall more quickly put an end to this unhealthy fostering of young Jemmy’s ambitions. Do this—not for my sake—but for your own and that of an England you may one day rule.”

James shook his head gravely. “You know not what you ask, brother. If a man follows the Catholic Faith, how can he go to a Protestant church and worship there?”

Charles sighed wearily.

Then he shrugged his shoulders. James was a fool … always had been a fool and, he feared, always would be. Charles could console himself with the thought that whatever trouble James brought on himself he, Charles, would be in his grave and not concerned with it.

He turned to a happier subject. “How fares your family?”

James’ face lightened. “Mary is solemn as ever. Anne grows plump.”

“Come, take me to them. I would have them know their uncle forgets them not.”

In the Duke’s apartment Charles met Anne Hyde. Anne’s welcome was fond, and not entirely so because her brother-in-law was King. Anne was a clever woman, and she and Charles had ever been good friends. Anne did not forget that, when all had deserted her soon after her marriage and Henrietta Maria was demanding that she be ignored, it was Charles the King who had been her best friend.

“Your Majesty looks in good spirits,” she said.

“’Tis the prospect of talk with you,” said Charles, ever gallant even to the over-fat and ageing. “Od’s Fish! James is a gloomy fellow with his holy problems. Where are these children of yours?”

“I’ll send for them,” said Anne. “They’ll be eager to come, now they know Your Majesty is here.”

Charles, looking at Anne, thought she was more sallow than usual; her very fat seemed unhealthy.

He asked if she had news of her father, Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, who was living in exile in France.

Anne had heard. He passed his days pleasantly enough, she told the King. He was finding compensation for his exile in writing his memoirs.

“They should make interesting reading,” said the King.

Now the little girls were coming into the room: Mary and Anne, the only two who had survived, thought the King, among the seven—was it seven?—which Anne Hyde had borne the Duke of York.

Yet James, with his two girls, had been more fortunate than his brother. Why was it that royal folk, for whom it was so necessary to produce heirs, were usually so unfortunate? Lack of heirs was the curse of royalty.

Mary, the elder, took his hand and solemnly kissed it. Charles lifted her in his arms. He loved children and he was particularly fond of solemn little Mary.

He kissed her affectionately, and she put her arms about his neck and rubbed her cheek against his. Next to her father she loved her Uncle Charles.

Anne was tugging at his coat.

“Anne’s turn,” said Anne stolidly.

“Now, Mary, my dear,” said the King, “you must give place to plump Anne.”

He set Mary down and made as though to lift Anne from the ground. He wheezed and puffed, and both children shrieked with delight.

“Anne is too fat to be lifted,” said Mary.

“I confess,” said the King, “that this great bulk of my niece defeats me.”

“Then give me sweetmeats instead,” said Anne.

“It is because she eats that she is so fat, Uncle Charles,” said Mary. “If she eats more she will become fatter and fatter, and
nobody
will be able to lift her.”

Anne gave them a slow, friendly smile. “I’d rather have sweetmeats than be lifted,” she said.

“Ah, my dear Anne, you present a weighty problem,” said the King. “And knowing your fancies, and that I should be admitted to your ponderous presence, I came well armed.”

Both little girls looked at his face; for he had knelt to put his on a level with theirs.

“Armed,” said Mary. “That means carrying swords and such things, Anne.”

“Swords made of sweetmeats?” said Anne, interested.

“Feel in my pocket, nieces, and you may find something of interest,” said their uncle.

Anne was there first, squealing with delight, and cramming the contents of the King’s pocket into her mouth.

Mary put her hand in that of the King. “I will show you Papa’s greyhounds. I love them.”

“I love them too,” mumbled Anne as best she could; while the sweet juices ran down her plump chin.

“They are so thin,” said the King, giving her his melancholy smile.

“I like others to be thin,” said Anne. “It is only Anne who must be fat.”

“You fear that if they grow as fat as you they will acquire similar tastes. If we all loved sweetmeats as does Mistress Anne, there would not be enough in the world to satisfy us all.”

Anne was solemn for a while, then she smiled that affectionate and
charming smile. “Nay, Uncle Charles,” she said, “the confectioners will make more sweetmeats.”

They went to look at the Duke’s greyhounds. Their father forgot his preoccupation with religious problems and played games with his little girls. Charles showed them how to throw in
pelmel.

And, as he guided Mary’s hand when she would throw the ball and as little Anne toddled beside him, Charles thought: If these two were but mine I should end this dangerous rivalry between Jemmy and James; I should not need to feel concerned because I see my brother deep in doubt when he reads Dr. Heylin’s
History of the Reformation.

Charles came to see Nell after she had been playing on the stage of the King’s Theater for a few weeks.

He was amused by her return to the stage; but, as he pointed out, everyone knew that the child who was sleeping in the cradle was his son, and it was hardly fitting for that child’s mother to remain an actress.

“It is necessary for that child’s mother to provide food for the King’s bastard,” said Nell characteristically. “And if playacting is the only way she can do it, then playact she must. Should an innocent child starve because his mother is too lazy and his father too poor to feed him?”