The Merry Monarch's Wife (9 page)

Charles talked to me a good deal about the past. He made me see the days of his exile. They would have embittered some—not so Charles. He had an irrepressible spirit which gave him the power to laugh at life, however grim it might be, however seemingly hopeless. I could see that he had the power to attract people to him, for he could never be entirely sad, and in his presence people must share in his gaiety. He could usually see something to make him smile…in people…in situations…in life…. It was a most happy trait, and I knew that I was not the only one to feel stimulated and enchanted by his company.

Through his eyes I saw it all…those terrible days when it became clear that the Royalists would be defeated…when he heard that his father was Cromwell's prisoner…when he himself was wandering about the country, constantly in danger of being captured. Even then he could talk light-heartedly of it, finding humor in desperate situations.

“Picture me…hiding in Stonehenge, disguised as a serving man. My friends said they had never seen such a servingman in all the palaces in England. I could as easily have been mistaken for a Druid risen from the dead.”

And so many times he had come near to being captured.

“I must have been singularly blessed,” he said. “They could not catch me because, always at hand, there was someone to help.”

He told me about Jane Lane, the girl who had risked her life for him, as many had before and after.

“It was September,” he said, his eyes smiling as, a little dreamily, he looked back to the past. “It must have been more than ten years ago, as it was after Worcester. I knew I had to get out of the country or my fate would be that of my father. I came to Bently Hall.

“Jane Lane was there, visiting her brother before calling on a friend near Bristol. Her cousin, a man named Lascelles, was to travel with her, and she would take a manservant as well. I was to be that manservant, and we planned to go to a house near Sherborne where friends could get me to the coast and shipped to France. They dressed me as the servingman and I took the name of one of the family servants…William Jackson, I remember.”

“I cannot believe that you could ever look like anyone's servant,” I said.

“You have guessed correctly. I was a poor actor. They would never have accepted me in the King's Players.”

“Please tell me about Jane Lane.”

“A beautiful young woman.” He smiled, remembering, and I felt a twinge of jealousy. I should have liked to have been the one who helped him to safety.

“I rode the mare and Jane rode pillion behind me. Jane's brother-in-law and sister rode with us. What a journey that was! They were terrified when we stopped at inns, certain that I would betray myself. I did encounter some strange looks, I can tell you. Jane eye's were on me, fiercely condemning when I committed such folly…but she forgave me. “It is hard to be a servingman when you should be a king,” she said.

“I remember as we came into Stratford-upon-Avon we rode into a troop of Roundheads, and Jane's sister and her husband turned back at the sight of them. Jane was furious with them. She was afraid they would be seen leaving us and that suspicion would be aroused. “Ride on,” she commanded. “Keep your head down. Don't look so regal. Look humble, for the love of God.” So, for the love of God and Jane, I hung my head. The soldiers gave us a quick glance and decided that we were of no interest—and so we rode on.

“I remember putting up at an inn in Cirencester. We had some tricky moments there. I can tell you, Jane had reason to admonish me. ‘Try to play the part with some reality,' she scolded me. And then she would blush enchantingly and murmur, ‘Your Majesty.' She was delightful. You would have liked Jane. So resourceful. Do you know, in such situations I would give the palm to the ladies. They have more subtlety. They are more capable of deceit.”

I protested.

“Not you, my love. You are a woman apart. Well, Jane saved my life. I owe much to Jane and many like her. Determined as she was that our plan should succeed, yet she could not forget that I was the King…a king without a kingdom assuredly, but nevertheless a king.

“When we reached Abbots Leigh we were to stay a night at an inn, and she asked for a private room for me, her servant, mark you…because I was suffering from the ague, she said. And, would you believe it? It was given to me. Oh, Jane Lane was a lady of great character.”

“And what happened after that?”

“Jane took me to a colonel, Francis Wyndham, at Trent, which is a place near Sherborne. He was to take me over the sea and get me to France…which, God bless him, he did.”

“And did you ever see Jane Lane again?”

“Indeed I did. Cromwell's spies were everywhere. The last thing he wanted was for me to escape to France. He would never be at peace while I was alive. Poor fellow, he must have had some uneasy years. The French were friendly to me. After all, I am half French…and any monarch knows that the fall of one king is a danger to all kings. So I could rely to a certain extent on the French. I had my sister Mary to help me to regain my throne. So there would be some consternation in Cromwell's camp. They had set a reward of a thousand pounds on my head, and I had left taking that head with me. There were rumors. There were some who remembered seeing a somewhat incongruous servingman who had accompanied Mistress Jane Lane on her journey toward the coast.

“So one day, when I was in Paris, a courier brought a message to me. Colonel Lane, Jane's brother, had brought her to Paris so that if there were inquiries about that journey she had made with me, she should not be there to answer their questions. She and the Colonel disguised themselves as peasants and made their way to Yarmouth, where they found a ship to get them out of the country.”

“How very dangerous it all must have been!”

“We lived in dangerous times, Catherine. The days had become filled with hope and despair. No, not despair. I always knew in my heart that one day I would come back…and that hope was kept alive by all those good people who risked their lives for my sake.”

“What happened to Jane Lane?”

“They had come to Paris and I went to meet them. I remember it well. My mother was in the party…and my brother Henry was alive then. They all wanted to thank Jane for what she had done. I was overjoyed to see her. I was eager to thank her. I kissed her cheek and called her my life…because it was true, I owed it to her.”

“Did she stay long in France?”

“She was in Paris for some time where she was treated with great respect by the court there. They were very good to me. I owe much to Louis. Oh yes, I like to think that Jane was rewarded for what she did for me.”

“I am sure she did not want payment.”

“That's true. She was one of my most loyal and loving subjects. I was glad when she went to stay at my sister's court. Mary was in Cologne at the time and Jane went to join her household there. It was unsafe for her to go back to England after what she had done. Cromwell could be venomous against anyone who helped the monarchy. Now, I thank Heaven that all that is over.”

I still wanted to hear more of Jane and I persisted, “Where is she now?”

“She married Sir Clement Fisher of Warwickshire, on my restoration. The government gave her a thousand pounds and from me there was a gold watch. I suggested she should keep it as a memento of her bravery and it should go from eldest daughter to every eldest daughter in the household to remind them of what their noble ancestor had done for the King of England.”

“What a wonderful story!” I cried.

“With a happy ending. Would that all stories could have them. Without Jane I might not be sitting here at this moment. I am sure I should be mouldering in my grave…in two parts perhaps, head in one place, body in another.”

“I pray you, do not mention such.”

He touched his head lightly. “It is safe now,” he said, “and I intend it shall remain on my shoulders for the rest of my life. I will do everything to prevent the parting.”

“It is not a matter to joke about.”

“My dearest, life is a matter to joke about. It is the only way to live it.”

He went on to tell me of his stay in Scotland, where he was crowned at Scone.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It was no fun being King in Scotland, I can assure you. It was more like being a state prisoner. I must repent my sins, put away most of my friends, resist the merry way of life and change it for one of fasting and prayer. Odds bodikins, I'd as lief be a wandering exile far from home. At least there was some merriment in that! I was glad to leave Scotland behind and march into England. You know that they caught up with us near Worcester…and after that I wandered through England, west and south…on one occasion hiding in the branches of an oak tree in Boscabel while Cromwell's men searched for me, even coming under the tree, but the kindly leaves hid me from view—so that oak tree was yet another that saved my life.

“Two years in Cologne…three in the Low Countries…and three in France…an exile…waiting, waiting for the call. Then on that glorious day…it was the twenty-sixth of May…my thirtieth birthday approaching. What a birthday gift! Could ever a man have a better! They wanted me back. The country was weary of the Protectors. They wanted a king on the throne.”

I clasped my hands together. “What a wonderful life you have had,” I said. “How different from mine.”

“My dear one has seen so little of the world…and I so much.”

“Does that matter?” I asked anxiously.

“It will not…if we do not let it,” he said, and I did not realize then that that was a somewhat cryptic remark. He had told me so much…and so little.

         

ONE OF OUR MOST DELIGHTFUL PASTIMES
was teaching each other our languages. I said that it was far more important that I should learn his than he mine; and with this he agreed.

I said: “I find it very trying that I cannot hear what the English ladies are whispering about. There seems so much to amuse them.”

“Perhaps it is better not to know,” he said with a sudden smile which was half humorous, half serious.

“I want to know…all.”

“Sometimes there is greater happiness in ignorance than knowledge.”

“Never.”

“Think of Adam and Eve and what happened to them. Thrown out of the Garden of Eden.”

“Whatever there is to know…I want to know it.”

He was unusually silent then, but a few seconds later he was laughing at the pronunciation of some word I had spoken.

         

I PERSISTED.
I did so want to master his language. I was helped considerably by Lady Suffolk, of whom I was becoming quite fond. She had been so kind and helpful and took such pains to please me. She had made me see how unbecoming the Portuguese costume was, and I never thought of wearing it now. I could see how ill it became my women. Of course, Donnas Maria and Elvira deplored my adoption of the English fashions, but they were ready to disapprove of everything in my new country.

I was beginning to improve my knowledge of English sufficiently to enable me to carry on a somewhat halting conversation…lapsing now and then into Spanish or Portuguese. Charles was very encouraging and I often talked to him in English, with him helping me along.

Then suddenly the happy days were over. I had known we could not stay indefinitely at Hampton Court. We would return to Whitehall and perhaps make a progress through the country. There would be more presentations, more levees and more ceremonies generally to be attended.

It appeared that some dispatches had arrived for Charles and he had to leave at once. He assured me he would not be away for long.

“It is urgent business,” he said.

I wanted to share everything and was disappointed that he did not tell me the nature of this urgent business.

So he went away and I felt very lonely, which was silly of me. He would soon be back, I assured myself. Perhaps that very day.

He did not return that day.

I noticed that there was a great deal of whispering and giggling among the ladies. I guessed something amusing, interesting—perhaps scandalous—was taking place at the court, and I felt shut out. How frustrating it was not to be able to interpret the words…to feel excluded.

I was preparing to retire that night and found myself alone with Lady Suffolk, and in faltering English I asked what had happened to amuse the ladies.

She hesitated and I thought she was going to say she did not understand, as I fancied she might do if she thought the subject was not for my ears.

Then suddenly she seemed to make up her mind. She said slowly and clearly, so that I understood most of what she said: “It is something which has happened to one of the ladies.”

“Something…of scandal…is that the word?”

“It is the word, Your Majesty…and it fits the case perfectly.”

“Tell me…”

She looked puzzled for a moment and then she said: “Oh, this lady has left her husband.”

“And that is this…scandal?”

“In the circumstances, yes.”

“What are this circumstances?”

“She has just given birth to a baby boy.”

“And this?”

“Well…Your Majesty. Her husband is a Catholic, and the child has been baptized in the Catholic faith.”

“And…and this is Protestant country.”

“It is not that so much. The lady says that her husband has no right because the boy is not his. And she is leaving him…her husband, I mean.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is not easy to explain, Your Majesty.”

“But she leave because the child is baptized in the Catholic faith?”

“Yes, she says he has no right. The child should not be baptized as a Catholic just because he is…”

I looked at her in puzzlement. “Because…why is because?”

“She says his father is a very important man and not a Catholic. So she has left her husband, packed up her jewels and possessions of value and taken the child away.”