The Loves of Charles II (50 page)

So she left the ball and drove with all speed to Saint-Cloud where her children were lodged.

The little boy’s eyes lighted up when he saw his mother, but his appearance shocked her. She sank down by his bed and gathered him into her arms. In the service of the King, with the continual entertainments and ballets, she saw less of her children than she could have wished.

It was obvious that the little boy had a high fever and she turned appealingly to those about the bed.

“But his teeth came through quite well. I was told there was no longer need to worry. How did this happen? Why was I not informed?”

“Madame, the fever came on suddenly. The little Duc de Valois was playing yesterday with his sister. Then … suddenly he was in the grip of fever. The doctors have bled him continually. Everything has been done.”

She was not listening. She was holding the precious child against her, rocking him to and fro.

I am weary of this life, she mused. I have had enough of balls and masques. I will nurse him myself. I will cease to be the slave of Louis. I will live differently … quietly. When I have nursed my boy back to health I will spend long hours with my children. I am tired. Each day I grow more quickly weary.”

But while she thought thus the child’s breathing grew more difficult and he did not recognize his mother.

Later she was aware of gentle hands that took the dead boy from her.

After that there arose the need to have another son. There was a return to the hateful life with a Philippe who was becoming more and more dominated by that vilest of men, the Chevalier de Lorraine.

There was continual friction between Henriette and Philippe. Philippe seemed to be filled with hatred for his wife. To him it was a matter of great annoyance and envy that Louis should discuss with her those secret matters of state which concerned England.

Often he would cry: “You would have secrets from me? Is that the way in which to treat a husband? Tell me what passed between you and my brother.”

“If he wished you to know he would tell you,” Henriette would reply. “Why do you not ask him?”

“Is it meet that my wife should spend long hours closeted with my brother?”

“If the King wishes to command that it should be so, it
is
right.”

“What is happening between our country and England? Should these matters be kept from me, yet imparted to my wife?”

“That is for the King to decide.”

Philippe would fling away from her in a passion and seek out his dear friend Lorraine, who would console him and tell him that he was unfortunate indeed to be married to such a wife.

At Saint-Cloud a new situation had arisen. One day Henriette asked for Mademoiselle de Fiennes, whom she had noticed was not amongst her attendants. She was told that the woman had gone away.

“Gone away? By whose permission?”

The answer was: “At Monsieur’s orders. She did not wish to go, but Monsieur drove her from the house.”

Henriette went to her husband’s apartments. The Chevalier de Lorraine was sprawled insolently on his master’s bed. Philippe sat in a window seat.

Neither rose when she entered. Lorraine was polishing a magnificent diamond on his finger—one of his latest presents from Philippe.

She was angry, but with admirable courage restrained herself from as much as glancing at her husband’s favorite.

“Why have you sent Mademoiselle de Fiennes away?” she asked Philippe. “I found the girl useful.”

“So did I, Madame,” said Lorraine with a laugh.

“Monsieur de Lorraine, I know you are completely without the social graces of a gentleman in your position, but, I beg of you, do not address me until I speak to you.”

“If I am to be treated in this way I shall leave,” said Lorraine.

“I am glad you have given me an indication of how I may rid this place of your presence.”

“But it is the house of Monsieur, Madame. Have you forgotten that?”

“Philippe!” cried Henriette. “Why do you sit there and allow this creature to behave thus to me?”

“It was you who were unpleasant to him in the first place,” said Philippe sullenly.

“You may pamper the creature. I shall ignore him. I repeat: Why did you send Mademoiselle de Fiennes away?”

“I will tell you,” cried Lorraine. “Yes, Philippe, I insist.
I
did not wish
the girl to go. I liked her. I like women at times, and she was a pretty girl. It was Monsieur who sent her away. Monsieur could not endure her. It was because he thought I liked her too well.” The Chevalier de Lorraine burst into loud laughter, and Philippe scowled.

“Do you expect me to endure this state of affairs?” demanded Henriette.

“You have no choice in the matter,” answered Philippe. “And I will tell you this now, We leave for Villers-Cotteret tomorrow.”

“
We
leave?”

“You, I and Monsieur de Lorraine.”

“You mean you will carry me there by force?”

“You will find that you must obey your husband. I am weary of your spying servants. Our daughter’s governess dared go to the King and complain about Lorraine and me, saying that we did not treat you in a becoming manner.”

“At least she spoke the truth.”

“And my brother has dared to ask me to mend my ways. And this, Madame, is brought about through your servants. Therefore we shall go where we shall not be spied on.”

“I will hear no more.”

“Hear this though. We leave tomorrow.”

“I shall not come.”

“Madame, you will come. The King does not wish an open break between us. And have you forgotten our need for a son?”

Henriette turned and left the apartment. She shut herself in her bedchamber and paced up and down.

What had she done, she asked herself, to deserve the worst husband in the world?

Solitude was the happiest state she could hope for at Villers-Cotteret. Often she wept bitterly during the night.

If she had a son she would insist on breaking away from Philippe; she would no longer live with such a man. She wept afresh for the loss of her little boy.

It was fortunate that Philippe and Lorraine were soon tired of the solitude of Villers-Cotteret, and they returned to Court.

It was Christmastime and a round of festivities was being planned. Now she was able to find new pleasure, for there came into her presence one day a tall, handsome young man who brought a note from her brother. It ran:

“I believe you may easily guess that I am something concerned for this
bearer, James, and therefore I put him in your hands to be directed by you in all things, and pray use that authority over him as you ought to do in kindness to me….”

Henriette looked up into the dark eyes so like Charles’, and embraced the young man.

James, Duke of Monmouth, had been sent by her brother to visit her. Charles was proud of his son; perhaps, could Lucy Water see her Jemmy now, she too would be proud.

Henriette knew that Charles had received him at the London Court, that he had given him a dukedom and that he loved him dearly; but this was the first time she had set eyes on him.

Now she became gay again; it was the best way of forgetting those humiliating days at Villers-Cotteret; and how easy it was to be gay with Charles’ son!

In some ways he reminded her of Charles, but he lacked her brother’s wisdom, that gay cynicism, and perhaps that underlying kindness. How could she have expected it to be otherwise? There was only one Charles in the world.

“James,” she cried, “you must tell me about my brother. You must give me news of him. You must tell me every little detail: What time he rises … how he spends his days … Please, all these little humdrum things that take no account of state affairs. Talk to me … talk to me of my dearly beloved brother.”

So James talked, and Henriette often drew him aside to hear the news of her brother’s Court. She would have him show her the dances prevailing there, those quaint folk dances which seemed so strange to the French; but best of all she liked to hear news of Charles.

Lorraine seemed to grudge her even this pleasure.

“They talk in English,” he pointed out to Philippe. “She is half in love with this handsome nephew of hers.”

“Nonsense!” said Philippe. “He is but the son of the brother she loves so well.”

“She loved the brother too well, some say. Now she loves the brother’s son. These are the ways of the Stuarts … all know that.”

So Philippe taunted his wife, and their life together became more intolerable than ever. Even the Duke of Monmouth’s visit was spoiled for Henriette.

In the June of that year Marie-Thérèse gave birth to a son. There was general rejoicing throughout the country. The Dauphin, though sickly, still lived.

Henriette was expecting a child in two months’ time. She prayed for a son. If she had a boy she was determined to leave Philippe. She would speak of these matters to the King, once her child was born; and surely Louis would understand that no woman of her birth could endure to be treated as she was.

She was worried about her mother, who had aged considerably since her return from England. She had become ill through her anxiety when there had been trouble between England and France, and had spent many sleepless nights wondering about the future relationship between her son and nephew.

Henrietta Maria came to see her daughter at Saint-Cloud because at this time the birth of Henriette’s child was imminent, and she herself could pay no visits. They did not speak of the state of friction between the two countries, nor of their private affairs; these subjects were too unhappy to be talked of. Henrietta Maria knew of her daughter’s treatment at the hands of her husband—indeed the whole Court knew. So they talked of the child who would soon be born, of their hopes for a boy, and the Queen’s malady.

“I do not know what it is that ails me,” said Henrietta Maria. “But perhaps it is not a good thing to complain. I have always thought that to complain of illness did little good, and I do not care to be like some ladies who lament for a cut finger or pain in the head. But how I wish I could sleep! I lie awake and brood on the past. It parades before me. I fancy your father speaks to me … warns me … that I must curb the levity of Charles.”