The Merry Monarch's Wife (25 page)

And then Frances Stuart, now Duchess of Richmond and Lennox, returned to court and I was deeply concerned as to what effect this would have on Charles.

She had changed. She was still beautiful, but she had lost just a little of that innocence…that childish outlook on life; but she was not subtle enough to hide the fact that the marriage was not a success.

Charles received her in a friendly but somewhat aloof manner. I was relieved by this, although it was no longer of vital importance to me; the Duchess of Richmond and Lennox could not be the threat that plain Miss Stuart had been.

Moreover, he was becoming more involved with the play actress Nell Gwynne who, I had heard, was expecting his child.

Poor Frances, she was not a happy woman.

I sent for her one day and dismissed everyone else, so that we could be alone together.

“Frances,” I said, “are you happy?”

She raised those beautiful eyes to my face and there was a mournful expression in them.

“It is not what I expected it would be, Your Majesty.”

“Oh,” I replied. “You thought there was something divine about marriage…did you, Frances? And now you find…”

“I was happier before,” she said.

I saw the regret in her eyes. It was natural that she should have been fascinated by the King, for, apart from that aura, he was attractive to men and women alike. His very ugliness—if it could be called that—was appealing; his tall lean figure moved with exceptional grace, but it was in his expression and smile that one recognized that easy tolerance, that sympathy, that acceptance of life and the determination to make it a pleasure for others as well as himself. He had a rare kindliness which drew people to him. So naturally Frances would have been attracted by him and would doubtless have preferred him to her drunken duke.

She had had the choice—as someone in my position would never have had. If Charles had been free to marry, most certainly she would have married him. But she had selected the way of morality and insisted on marriage, and she was regretting that.

Now she was back at court. I guessed it was the Duke who had insisted on their return, knowing that the King would forgive the woman on whom he had once so clearly set his heart.

He was right. Charles did not bear grudges for long. He had forgiven many who had trespassed against him; so he would forgive the Duke and Duchess of Richmond and Lennox.

He obviously did.

He was contented with the women he had. I began to believe that Nell Gwynne was responsible for this satisfaction. It was strange that an uneducated girl—though I believe she had a lively mind—could be so important to Charles. But then, when I considered Frances Stuart, was it so surprising?

He was still seeing Lady Castlemaine. She seemed to have some hold on him. I had heard her threaten to publish his letters to her. I think he could easily have prevented that, but perhaps he was fascinated by her insolence. She was notoriously unfaithful to him; her lovers were numerous and there were hints that many of them had to be paid for their services. Unpleasant scandals about her abounded. I could not understand why he continued to see her—but he did. This new serenity seemed certain to come from his association with Nell Gwynne.

I tried to discover something about her. I imagined for Charles she would provide a complete escape from formality, for Nell would be no respecter of persons. She was undemanding and asked for nothing. She was in love with the King in a way, as he was with her.

So perhaps it was due to Nell Gwynne that Charles did not dash to the side of Frances Stuart.

I said to her: “Frances, you wanted to be married, and you are. You are a duchess. You wanted a title, did you not?”

She agreed. “I thought it was right to be married. I did not want to be like so many at court.”

“Poor Frances. Life does not always turn out as we plan, you know.”

“No, Madam.”

“But you are the Duchess now…a married woman. Always remember, Frances, that is what you wanted. I am sorry you are disappointed. You used to be so happy in the old days.”

“But they could not go on, Madam.”

“No. You had to make a choice. Well, Frances, you made it, and now you are back at court. There is no turning back. So is it with us all.”

She was easy to read. I could see in her eyes that she was asking herself, what did I do? I chose the right thing and found unhappiness…when I might have been happy, doing what was wrong.

What a dilemma! It was one which I had not had to face.

         

I WAS WATCHFUL OF CHARLES,
wondering what he was feeling about Frances. I guessed that if he wanted her to be his mistress there would be no obstacles this time.

The Duke would be complaisant enough, seeing advantages through such an arrangement. And Frances? What of her morals? I was not sure, but I believed she would succumb with ease. There was a great stir throughout the court when Frances contracted smallpox.

This was the most dreaded disease for, even if it did not kill, there must almost certainly be the inevitable disfigurement. Beauty could be destroyed in a few days by the hideous pits in the skin left after the sores had healed. And Frances Stuart, whose sole claim to fame had been her outstanding beauty, now stood at risk.

Charles was quite distressed when he heard. He could not bear to think of that incomparable beauty being destroyed. Frances was very ill. We heard that she had been badly smitten.

I thought the court would soon be in mourning for her. She had few enemies—only those who had been jealous of her good looks; she had never willingly done anything to harm anyone. I, who had suffered through her more than most, could only feel friendly toward her.

Then we heard that she was going to recover.

I was surprised when Charles went to see her. People did not visit smallpox sufferers. He was putting himself in danger.

That was characteristic of him. He must have truly loved her. I remembered his long pursuit of her, his contemplating divorcing me that he might marry her. Oh yes, indeed, he had cared deeply for her, for he would have hated to hurt me. Yet he had been ready to do it for her.

And now there she was, isolated because of the terrible affliction which had struck her. No one wanted to go near her; but he went.

When he returned I confronted him. I said: “Is it true that you have been to see Frances?”

He nodded, looking inifinitely sad.

“It was dangerous. What if you…?”

He shook his head. “She is past the illness.”

“But…”

He lifted a hand. “I went to see…an old friend.”

“And how was she?”

He turned away, unable to speak, and I knew then that the worst had happened.

“Poor Frances,” I murmured. “Poor, poor Frances.”

THE MEETING AT DOVER

THERE WAS TROUBLE BREWING AND TO MY DISMAY I LEARNED
that I was at the heart of it.

James, Duke of York, had made the mistake of not keeping his change of religion a secret. If Charles and I had had a child, the fact that James had turned to the Catholic faith, though it might have caused a little resentment in some quarters, would not have been of vital importance. But James was the heir to the throne and the English were against accepting a Catholic monarch.

So far there had been the hope that Charles would have a son who would be brought up in the Protestant faith, but he had not made his appearance and time was passing. Charles did have a son, however, but alas he was not legitimate. This was Monmouth. Monmouth was attractive and merry, as would be expected of a son of Charles. That he lacked Charles's wit and shrewdness was of no great moment. Monmouth was young; he could learn wisdom.

Alas, he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they said; he could not come to the throne—and so the country was left with James.

I am sure that at this time ambition was growing in Monmouth's mind; as for James, dislike for the boy was only natural since it was possible that he could be a menace to him.

The King's evident love for his illegitimate son was another factor to be considered. They were constantly in each other's company and Monmouth took liberties which others would have hesitated to take; he behaved as the King's legitimate son and was gathering about him a circle of friends who were looking to the future.

In the other camp was James, the heir presumptive to the throne, until I produced that longed-for child.

I knew that Charles was concerned about what was happening.

He said to me: “James is a fool. Why does he have to do all that worshipping in public?”

“He feels that he would be betraying God by being ashamed of the way he worships.”

“It's the fact that he is betraying himself that I am afraid of,” said Charles. “God help James if he ever comes to the throne…and for that matter, God help England.”

It was Lady Castlemaine who told me the significance of this to myself. She had reasons for it. She always had her reasons.

I had listened to her before, and if her interests coincided with mine, I might do well to follow her advice.

She asked to see me. I hesitated, for I loathed the sight of the woman; and now that I knew of the depth to which she had sunk, I did not want her near me. But I decided I must at least hear what she had to say.

She came. She looked older and was showing signs of dissipation. She was overweight; her magnificent hair was piled up on her head and she wore a diamond ornament in it. Her gown revealed too much of her ample flesh; but she managed to look splendid still.

I bade her be seated, which she was already doing without waiting for my permission. She came straight to the point.

“Your Majesty, there is a conspiracy of which I am sure you are ignorant.”

I replied: “Pray inform me of it, Lady Castlemaine.”

“Once before there was a plot,” she went on. “Now there is another.” Her next words sent a shiver through my body. “They are trying to arrange a divorce so that the King may marry a woman who can give him children.”

“But now…,” I stammered.

“Your Majesty must forgive my frankness. It is not Frances Stuart now.” Her lips curled with a certain satisfaction. “She is a poor creature now with her pitted face. There is no one in mind. That is to come. Some foreign princess…French possibly. But this is a threat to you and we must prevent its happening.”

“How can you know this?”

“I mingle. I talk to these men. I have my faithful friends…my servants serve me well. I know.”

“Before there was…”

“Yes, and we foiled them, did we not? This is more serious. There is no one in view. They cannot say it is the King's desire for a new wife. The Cabal will choose her when the time comes.”

“The Cabal!”

“Oh yes. They are for it…most of them. My friend Buckingham…Arlington…it is because of James.”

“You mean the Duke of York, or…”

“Or Monmouth? Both of them. They will not have the Duke of York. They will not have a Catholic on the throne. On the other hand there is Monmouth. Now if he were not a bastard, there would be no question of James. But Monmouth
is
a bastard, in spite of all his efforts to be the Prince of Wales.”

“Is this true…?”

“Madam, it is for you to believe or disbelieve. I only come to warn you.”

“Why?” I asked.

She smiled at me conspiratorially. “Your Majesty, I have always had a great respect for you, ever since you came to our shores. It would grieve me greatly to see you…replaced.”

I understood. She visualized a new queen…someone young and possibly beautiful…someone who insisted on clearing the harem…reigning supreme.

When I came, she had had a great hold on the King. That was not very strong now. She was unsure of her position. That was why she wanted my help. She felt it was easier for her to maintain her position if I held mine.

I had to listen to her with all attention. The Cabal was urging this, trying to persuade the King. There must be an heir, they were saying. The country will not accept the Duke of York. There was young Monmouth…a Protestant…a bastard, but preferable to York.

“They cannot have Monmouth,” I said. “That would be unacceptable.”

“No…unless he…But there you are. They are saying that the King must have a divorce and marry a woman who will give him a son.”

I sat back, feeling faint.

She was smiling at me. “There is one other thing. The King might announce that he was married to Lucy Walter.”

“Married Lucy Walter?”

“Monmouth's mother. If the King had married her, Monmouth would be the legitimate heir. It's one way out.”

“But the King was not married to Lucy Walter.”

“They were on the continent. It would not be difficult to find evidence.”

“False evidence?”

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why are you telling me this, Lady Castlemaine?” I asked.

“So that you may take action.”

“What action?”

“The King has a great regard for you. I am suggesting that you speak to him. He wavers…. He knows that York will be a disaster. He knows of Monmouth's ambitions. He realizes how all this could be set aside if only he had a son. He can beget handsome children.” She preened herself a little, no doubt thinking of those she had produced. “You see his predicament. You must make up his mind for him.”

“How?”

“I believe that if you pleaded with him…made him understand how much this means to you…if he knew how much you cared for him…which you do, I know…if he knew how desolate you would be…I think he would turn away from the persuasion of his ministers. I know the King well. This is a chance….”

“It is good of you to be concerned for me.”

She smiled at me. She did not say that she was thinking of her own advantage. She did not want to lose the King entirely, and she knew she could do so if there were a new wife.

I thanked her and she left. I sat down in desolation to contemplate the situation.

I knew that what she had told me was the truth.

         

WHEN I WAS ALONE WITH CHARLES,
I came straight to the point.

“I have heard disquieting news,” I said.

“There is nothing unusual in that,” he replied. “The news is always disquieting now.”

“About this proposed divorce,” I went on.

His face was serious suddenly. “What have you heard?” he asked sharply.

“That—as you did once before—you are considering divorcing me so that you can marry a new wife…younger, I presume, and one who can give you and the country an heir.”

He was silent for a moment, then he said: “This has been a suggestion which was presented to me.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Do you want to be divorced?”

I felt my face crumpling. He put his arms about me and held me close to him.

“You see,” he said. “It is this devilish business of James and his religion. This is what has set all this trouble about our ears. They do not want James. I don't blame them. Poor James. He stumbles around…tripping headlong into trouble. Why did he want to do this? Why couldn't he have kept his religion secret? And then there is Jemmy. He is an ambitious boy. You see, Catherine, I am beset on all sides.”

“And you think that by ridding yourself of me you will settle these difficulties?”

“I should be heart-broken if you were taken from me.”

“Please, Charles,” I said, “this is a time for plain speaking.”

“I am speaking plain. I am speaking from my heart.”

“But this is a matter for heads, not hearts. They want a son…your son…and they think I cannot get one. It may be they are right. And you are a lusty begetter of sons. I do not know how many. Do you?”

“Let me tell you this, Catherine. I never want you to leave me.”

“But you will have so many consolations.”

“I am myself, I fear, and that is not a very noble thing to be. I know that. I am what I have always been and was born to be. That does not mean I do not love you.”

“It is a theme I have often heard. It is a pleasure to hear it, but it is a fiction…a romantic story. It is not real.”

“It is real,” he said. “They are talking about it incessantly. To listen to them is like being at the playhouse.”

“It is the Cabal.”

He nodded. “They do not want James. That's the heart of the matter. They'd rather have Jemmy. He's a bastard, but a popular bastard.”

“How could that possibly be?”

“If he were legitimate.”

“But he is not.”

“They plan to make him so.”

“How could that be?”

“Oh…a little box suddenly found…somewhere far away…on the continent, of course. In this box would be a document showing that I married Lucy Walter, Jemmy's mother, and therefore he is the rightful heir to the throne.”

“But there is no box and you were not married to Lucy Walter.”

“A trifling detail in the minds of these schemers. If I give my permission they will find the box with the appropriate documents.”

“And you would allow this?”

He shook his head. “Never,” he said emphatically.

“So then the alternative…you will agree to this divorce.”

He took my face in his hands. “Do you want to go away from me, Catherine? God knows I would not blame you if you did. I deserve to lose you.”

All my defenses had gone. I could only stand there with the tears on my cheeks. I had to tell the truth. I had to jettison my pride.

“I never want to leave you, Charles,” I said. “I love you.”

“You must regret…”

“Never. Never. I would rather be here with you…whatever you did…than anywhere else on earth.”

He kissed me with tenderness. “Do you think I would ever agree to part from you?” he said. “I know it is difficult to understand. I know my weaknesses, but whatever I am, Catherine, I love you…with all my heart and while you want to stay with me you shall.”

I was happy. He did love me, I knew…in his way.

         

I HAD REASON
to be grateful to Lady Castlemaine, because I believed that, had I not spoken to Charles and made him aware of the deep affection I had for him—and perhaps reminded him of his for me—he might have been persuaded to divorce me for the sake of the country.

Lady Castlemaine had naturally been thinking of her own interests. She could not have believed that the end was in sight for her.

She was growing old; her reputation had become scandalous, even for this era; and she had ceased to be amusing.

One of the prime movers in the plot to persuade Charles to divorce me was my old enemy Buckingham.

He was a strange man; there were so many contrasts in his nature. He was clever, erudite, witty and brilliant. At the same time he could be foolishly impulsive, reckless beyond belief and could conceive hare-brained schemes which most people would have seen from the moment of their inception were doomed to failure.

He was fierce in anger and if he thought anyone was working against him he would go to any lengths to destroy that person. He had shown this in the case of Shrewsbury, whom he had murdered…for it was murder, even though Shrewsbury had agreed to face him in the duel which had resulted in his death. Buckingham was quite outrageous—not unlike his kinswoman, Lady Castlemaine. It was said that after the duel, Lady Shrewsbury's page-boy's garments were splashed with her husband's blood and the pair made love while she was wearing them.

Of course, there were many stories about Buckingham, but I believed some of them were true.

Ashley and Lauderdale were his special allies in the Cabal. In fact, people said that the Cabal was split and there were two factions. These three had schemed for the divorce. The main reason was not their antipathy to me, for to them I was of little importance, just a pawn in the game. The real enemy was James, Duke of York, and they were determined at all costs to prevent his coming to the throne. The best way of doing this was of course for Charles to have an heir. That was why they planned my exit from the scene, for it seemed unlikely that I should have a healthy child.

After that scene with me, the King had firmly said that he had no intention of divorcing me; and Buckingham was furious.

It was impossible to keep secrets from him, for he had his spies everywhere. He had discovered that Lady Castlemaine had visited me, and that after her visit I had spoken to the King.

Buckingham immediately understood Lady Castlemaine's reasons for not wanting a change. Or it may have been that he had taxed her with interfering. I am sure she would have quickly lost her temper and told him of her interview with me. She would see no reason to keep up a pretence with Buckingham, and would doubtless have told him to keep out of her affairs. So…Buckingham was intent on revenge.