The Merry Monarch's Wife (36 page)

“No,” he replied. “You will fill it.”

I said: “I have been foolish at times. I beg your pardon, Charles, I wish I had been better.”

His lips twisted into a wry smile. “You beg my pardon,” he said. “My poor dear Catherine. It is I who should beg yours…and I do…with all my heart.”

That night he had another seizure…more violent than the first…and we knew then that the end was near.

The Archbishop of Canterbury with the Bishops of London, Bath and Wells, and Durham were sent for.

There could be no hope now. Services were held in all the churches, and there was a hushed scene in the streets; people stood about and talked in whispers.

I asked the Duchess of York to come to me. We had always been good friends and I wanted her advice.

I said to her: “I know that the King was at heart a Catholic. He had contracted with Louis to be one and turn the country to Catholicism when the opportunity arose.”

“Louis paid him well for that,” said the Duchess, “and Charles accepted the payments knowing full well that the opportunity would never arise in his lifetime.”

“It has now,” I said.

“What do you mean? The King is dying.”

“I know that. He would want to receive the rites of the Catholic Church.”

She stared at me. “You are sure?”

I nodded. “I want you to explain to James.”

“I will,” she said.

I felt relieved. It was what he would have wished. It would be a secret, of course. What would the people's reaction be if they knew their beloved King had died in the Catholic faith?

I saw James. He was haggard with anxiety. He said to me: “He shall have a priest. If they kill me for it, I will do this for his sake.”

I thanked him with deep gratitude.

TIME WAS PASSING.
It was five days since Charles had had the first seizure. He was in great pain and all the remedies that had been heard of had been tried on him.

He retained his humor and asked the pardon of all those about him for being an unconscionable long time a-dying.

“Oh God,” I prayed, “how shall I live without him?”

The sixth day dawned—that black sixth of February—and the first seizure had taken place on the first of the month.

There was no hope now. I myself had been ill. I had fainted and my nose had bled profusely. Dr. King said that I must keep to my bed. That was impossible. I must be ready, lest he should call for me.

The King's bedchamber was crowded with people…churchmen, peers, doctors, ambassadors…they must all be there to see the end of the King.

He needed to rest…to sleep…but a king cannot die like an ordinary man. They tried more remedies…and he lay there, dead pigeons at his feet, a warm iron on his head.

“Please let them leave him in peace,” I prayed.

The time was near and the Duke of York, assuming authority because he was almost King by this time, cleared the room. Father Huddleston was brought to Charles. He had had the forethought to dress himself as a clergyman of the Church of England and was taken up by a secret staircase, and Charles was given the sacrament in the rites of the Catholic Church.

I rejoiced in this. I had always hoped that one day he would come to the true faith in his lifetime. He had, however, come to it on the point of death.

He seemed greatly comforted. I was close to him and I saw the peace settle on his face.

“Catherine,” he said gently, and I knew in my heart that he was thinking of me as I had been when I first came to England almost twenty-three years ago…innocent, inexperienced, already in love with the mythical prince who had lived only in my imagination.

I said, as I had on that other occasion: “Forgive me for my faults, my stupidity, my foolishness.”

He shook his head and there were tears in his eyes.

“You did no wrong,” he said. “And I am guilty of many offences against you. I beg of you, sweet Catherine, forgive me.”

I was choked with emotion.

I whispered: “I cannot bear to lose you.”

He smiled at me sadly.

James was kneeling at the bedside.

“Farewell, brother,” said Charles. “I wish you well. You have been a good brother to me.”

James was openly weeping.

“I would it were I,” he said. “You know, brother, I would willingly die for you.”

“James…James…my time has come…yours is far away. May God go with you, James. If I have ever seemed harsh, it was for your own sake.”

“I know, I know.”

“James, have a care…of yourself…and those I love. Be good to the Queen…the Duchess of Portsmouth…see that she is well-treated. And my children…James. They need your care. Let not poor Nelly starve…”

He lived through the night and the next morning he awoke at six. Two hours later he ceased to breathe.

The King was dead and on that day the Privy Council proclaimed his successor: James II.

REBELLION

I HAVE LOST COUNT OF THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED. FOR SO
long he had been the center of my life, and now that he was taken from me I felt bereft, drifting, vaguely wondering what life held for me. I did not greatly care at that time.

The new King and Queen were kind to me. James had truly loved his brother. He was a good man at heart. He had many weaknesses, of course, but there was a fundamental kindness in him of which I had always been aware. Charles had thought he lacked the power to govern and had been very apprehensive for him; but let me say he was kind to me—and kindness, I have always held to be the greatest of the virtues.

He visited me almost immediately, which was good of him, because he was beset by many anxieties. It was not that he was unprepared for the position in which he found himself; but no one had expected Charles to die for many years, and although he had said he had been an unconscionable long time a-dying, it had been barely a week between his first unexpected attack and his death. We had, of course, lived through the troublous time of the Popish and Rye House Plots and there had been a constant possibility of death…but it had been unexpected when it came.

Yet, in spite of everything, James had time to spare for me.

“Dear sister,” he said. “I know you loved him well. I loved him too. He was the best brother a man ever had. I cannot hope to be like him.”

We wept together and James went on: “You must stay here in your apartments at Whitehall until you feel well enough to move.”

I remembered then that I was no longer Queen of England. The Duchess of York bore the title now, and I was occupying those apartments set aside for the Queen. I had become the Queen Dowager.

“I had forgotten,” I said apologetically. “I must leave them.”

“No…no, not until you are prepared to do so. The Queen joins me in saying that she hopes you will act on your inclination and not feel there is any need for haste.”

“That is gracious,” I said. “How is the Queen?”

“She is well enough,” he said. “As well as any of us can be at this sad time. She hopes that when you have recovered a little you and she will meet.”

I thanked him and forgot a little of my own sorrow in my deep pity for him. He was so overwhelmed with cares; and I wondered how he would fare…a proclaimed Catholic king of a Protestant country.

I tried to arouse myself. Life must go on. I must make up my mind what I should do without Charles. What place had I here? I had lost my poor Donna Maria, but for a long time she had been ailing and she had never made any attempt to adjust herself to the English way of life. She had been very critical of Charles's infidelities. Poor Maria. But at least she had been a link with my native land.

I wondered if I ought to return there. What should I do? There had been so many changes. My mother dead, Alfonso too. There was only Pedro and his wife…who had been Alfonso's wife. Would there be a place for me?

I discussed the matter with Lord Feversham, who controlled my household affairs. He was a handsome man, dignified and sympathetic.

“It is perhaps a little early to make plans, Your Majesty,” he said. “You are not well enough to think of traveling, and His Majesty, King James has given you permission to use these apartments until you wish to move. May I suggest that you go to Somerset House? It has always been a favorite residence of Your Majesty.”

“You may be right, Lord Feversham,” I said.

“Then, of course, if Your Majesty wished to retire for a while from the court, there is the convent at Hammersmith.”

“Oh yes,” I said, thinking of the convent with which I had been connected for some time. A sojourn with the nuns would be very desirable. There could be complete peace. I could pray and ask for guidance. I could perhaps reshape my life.

“Thank you, Lord Feversham,” I said. “You understand so well.”

“Madam,” he said earnestly, “I would give my life to serve you.”

He looked at me with great affection, and in that moment he reminded me of Edward Montague who had shown a similar care for me…and perhaps because of it had lost his life, for if people had not noticed it and commented on it, he would have remained my Master of Horse and never been present at the battle during which he had been killed.

For two months I remained undecided at Whitehall, and then I moved my household to Somerset House.

         

I WAS RELYING
more and more on Lord Feversham. He would talk to me of state affairs and was very frank, knowing that he could safely be so with me.

“There is a certain uneasiness,” he said. “The Whigs remain quiet…which could be ominous. In my opinion, they will be watching very carefully for any sign of Catholic influence in the country. That is something they will try hard to prevent.”

“How can they?”

“There are means.”

“They will be loyal to the King.”

“Let us pray for that, Your Majesty.”

“But he has given his support to the Church of England,” I said. “Did he not announce this in his speech to the Privy Council?”

“He did. But on Easter Sunday he attended the Catholic Church openly.”

“But he has long made clear his support of it.”

“That is so, Your Majesty. But he is now the King, and the ceremony of that visit to the church was noted. It was an official occasion.”

“You sound apprehensive, Lord Feversham.”

“I fear conflict, Your Majesty. The last is not long behind us, and we know the effects of that one.”

“The late King often spoke of it. He was determined the like should never happen again.”

“He was wise. I pray God that…”

He did not finish, but I knew he feared for James.

I wanted to know what was happening, which showed I was being taken out of the lethargy which had been with me since Charles's death. I was no less unhappy, but at least I was interested in what was going on about me. My own future was hazy and bleak. For so long Charles had dominated my life…even before I had met him. I could not believe that those days were over forever.

I was very grateful to my Lord Chamberlain, who was doing so much to draw me out of my melancholy.

         

IT WAS ONLY LOGICAL THAT,
now we had a Catholic monarch on the throne, the position of Titus Oates must be a little uncertain. He had been very quiet of late and had indeed lost a great deal of his popularity over the last few years.

Yet I was entirely surprised when one day Lord Feversham came to me and said: “Oates has been arrested.”

“On what charge?” I asked.

“On that of perjury, Your Majesty.”

“There must be a wealth of evidence to support that,” I said.

“Your Majesty speaks truth.”

“Who
is
prosecuting him?”

“Judge George Jeffreys.”

“I have heard of him, I think.”

“That does not surprise me, Your Majesty. He has dealt with several cases in which Oates has appeared, and always seemed to favor him. He is a clever judge—amusing, witty…but a hard drinker, often seeming to relish the punishments he has to inflict. I think he is open to seek advantages for himself and has little sympathy for those who can be of no use to him. He likes, it is said, to ‘give a lick with the rough of his tongue' to those he has to sentence.”

“He sounds most unpleasant.”

“I am in agreement with Your Majesty, but it is said that he can show a certain charm to those with whom it would be an advantage to do so.”

“And he is to try Oates?”

“It would appear so.”

“I shall be most interested to hear the verdict.”

“I will report to Your Majesty if I discover anything.”

As a compliment to the new King, Judge Jeffreys found Titus Oates guilty. Not that that needed any great effort.

Oates was fined, stripped of his ecclesiastical robes and sentenced to stand in the pillory; he was whipped through the streets, starting at Aldgate and finishing at Newgate. That was not all. Two days later there was to be a further whipping from Newgate to Tyburn. For the rest of his life he was to be a prisoner.

It was harsh, but it had to be remembered that he had caused the deaths of thirty-five innocent people.

I felt almost sorry for the man when Lord Feversham told me how Jack Ketch, the notorious executioner, known for his delight in prolonging the suffering of his victims, together with his men, laid a whip of six thongs on the bare back of Titus Oates, and the people flocked into the streets to see this once proud man brought low.

He must have been almost dead when they brought him to his cell; but James had refused to stop the second flogging, although it was said that at the first Oates had been almost flayed alive.

A just reward perhaps for all the misery he had caused to countless people, besides those who had lost their lives because of him.

         

IT WAS JUNE.
Charles had been dead four months. I was wondering whether James, who had since his accession shown great moderation, might have learned wisdom from his brother, and while he remained a Catholic, be able to maintain peace in the realm.

He had shown no desire so far to force his religion on his subjects, but I guessed the Whigs were alert and at the first sign of James's favour toward the Catholics, there would be trouble.

I was alarmed when Lord Feversham told me that Archibald Campbell, the Earl of Argyll, had been arrested in Scotland.

Argyll had come from Amsterdam, where he had been in the company of the Duke of Monmouth, in three ships in which were three hundred men. His plan was to collect more on his arrival. He was displaying banners on which were written the words “For God and Religion against Popery, Tyranny, Arbitrary Government and Erastianism.”

In Scotland he gathered more men, but unfortunately for him, one of them had been captured and confessed that he had come with Argyll to turn the King off the throne and give the crown to the Duke of Monmouth.

The plot was therefore prematurely disclosed and those who were involved took fright and deserted.

“They would have had no chance against the King's forces,” said Lord Feversham. “Poor Argyll! His venture did not last, and he found himself alone, and was captured and brought to Edinburgh Castle.”

“How could he have hoped to succeed?” I asked.

“'Tis my belief that he had no thought of attacking until Monmouth arrived.”

“Surely Monmouth cannot be so foolish as to think he can overthrow the King?”

“He will insist that his father was married to Lucy Walter.”

“But the King denied it so often.”

“The King is dead.”

“You cannot think that such a venture would succeed?”

“I am not sure. It depends on how many will support him.”

“But Charles always swore that he was illegitimate.”

“He is a Protestant.”

“But if he has no right…”

“So much depends on what the people want.”

“Do you think King James will give up lightly because the people want it?”

“Do not the people always have their choice…in time?”

“Did they want Cromwell…and the Parliament to govern them?”

“Cromwell was strong. He had many supporters.”

“And you think if he had not died, the King would not have been recalled?”

“That may have been, but at the time he came to power, the majority of the people wanted Cromwell.”

“And if they want the Duke of Monmouth as their King…?”

“Your Majesty, I should tremble if that came to pass.” He looked at me anxiously.

I said, “Please, always be frank with me. I shall know, Lord Feversham, that what you have to say to me is between us two.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall always tell you what is in my mind.”

Later he told me that the Earl of Argyll had been beheaded in Edinburgh. His head was placed on a spike at the west end of the Tolbooth, but, before that, came the news that the Duke of Monmouth had landed at Lyme Regis.

         

THE DRAMA HAD BEGUN.
Jemmy had come for that which all his life he had coveted. Poor Jemmy, I feared for him. I had so often felt that he was far from the valiant ruler he had imagined himself to be. He had mistaken his charm and good looks for kingly qualities. He had not inherited his father's wisdom.

I waited eagerly for news. I was fond of Jemmy. There was something lovable about him and, in some ways, he reminded me of his father. How often had I wished that he had been my son! How much easier my life would have been. Now I feared deeply for him. He would have to learn that charm of manner does not make up for a lack of wisdom.

I understood what his plan was. Argyll, as a Scot, was to capture Scotland for him, while he took England, and as the West Country was strongly Protestant, that seemed an ideal spot for him to begin his campaign.

Lord Feversham kept me in touch with the news. These tête-á-têtes had become a custom with us, and from him I learned much more than I could from the gossip of the ladies or the scraps of news which came to me from other sources.

“Monmouth has had a proclamation read in the market place,” Lord Feversham told me. “He announces that he now heads the Protestant forces in the kingdom and is the legitimate heir to the throne.”

“What will become of him?” I asked.

“I fear the impulsive young man will lose his head ere long.”

“King Charles would have been greatly distressed. He loved him devotedly. I knew there was discord at times, but that was all due to the Duke's recklessness and ambition.”

“As is the present situation, Your Majesty. Oh, what a tragedy for this country when the King passed on.”

“You are right. It is a tragedy for us all.”

The next news I heard was that a Bill of Attainder had been issued against Monmouth and there was a price of five thousand pounds on his head.