The Loves of Charles II (68 page)

After seventeen days at sea, to the great relief of all aboard, the English coast came into view. Elvira had suffered from a fever during the voyage. Catherine herself felt exhausted and weak and as the days passed she was
beset by many doubts. It was one thing to dream of the perfect marriage with the perfect man, but when to accomplish it meant leaving behind her home and beloved family, she could not experience complete joy.

She had even had doubts about her husband’s virtues as the voyage progressed. It might have been that, in imminent peril of losing their lives, those about her had not succeeded in hiding their feelings as they had in calmer moments. Catherine knew that those who loved her were afraid for her; she knew that they were thinking of the woman Castlemaine, of whom she must never speak. She herself was afraid. As she lay in her cabin, tossed by the erratic movement of the ship, she had felt so ill that she had almost wished for death. But then it had seemed that her mother was near her, urging her to remember her duty, not only to her husband, but to Portugal.

She had wept a little; she had cried for her mother, cried for her home and the quiet of the Lisbon Palace.

It was well that her weakness could be kept secret from those about her.

But she had felt happier when they had come in sight of land and, as they approached the Isle of Wight, the Duke of York’s squadron hove in sight. Immediately word was sent to her that the Duke, brother to the King, had sent a message craving her permission to come aboard the
Royal Charles
that he might kiss her hand.

Soon he had come, with the gentlemen of his suite; the Duke of Ormond, the Earl of Chesterfield, the Earl of Suffolk and other fine gentlemen.

They were all dazzlingly dressed, and as her brother-in-law approached to kiss her hand, Catherine was glad that she had disregarded Maria’s and Elvira’s injunctions to receive the visitors in her native dress. She realized that it would seem strange to these gentlemen and that they would expect her to be dressed as the ladies of their Court. So she wore a dress which had been provided for her by the indefatigable and so tactful Richard Fanshawe; it was made of white and silver lace, and Elvira and Maria held up their hands in horror at the sight of her. It was, they declared, indecent compared with her Portuguese costume.

But she refused to listen to them and, in the cabin, which had been hastily turned into a small presence chamber, she received these gentlemen.

The Duke set out to charm her, and this he succeeded in doing, for, although his manners with ladies were considered somewhat clumsy by the members of his brother’s Court, Catherine sensed his great desire to please, and she was only too ready to be pleased.

They talked in Spanish and, as the Duke was eager to dispense with ceremony, Catherine was delighted to do so. She asked for news of the King, and James told her many things concerning her husband: how he
loved ships, and what care he had spent in decking this one out that it might be worthy to receive his bride; how he loved on occasion to take a hand at the tiller himself; he told of the improvements he had made in his parks and houses; how he loved a gamble at the races; how he made experiments in his laboratories, and grew strange herbs in his physic garden; he told her a great deal about his brother and mentioned the names of many ladies and gentlemen of the Court, but never once did the name of Castlemaine pass his lips.

Catherine received him daily when he would be rowed out to the
Royal Charles
in his launch; and they talked together, becoming the best of friends, so that Catherine felt her fears diminishing. And when the
Royal Charles
sailed to Portsmouth, James followed and was at hand again, when she left the great ship, to accompany her to port in the royal barge.

Once on land she was taken to one of the King’s houses in Portsmouth, where the Countess of Suffolk, who had been appointed a lady of her bedchamber, was waiting to receive her.

The Duke advised her to despatch a letter to the King, telling him of her arrival, when he would with all haste come to greet her.

Eagerly she awaited his coming.

She shut herself into her apartment and told all her attendants that she wished to be alone. Elvira was still suffering from her fever, and Maria was exhausted; as to her six ladies-in-waiting and their duenna, they too were feeling the effects of the journey and, like their mistress, were not averse to being left alone to recover.

Catherine lay in the solitude of her chamber and once more took out the miniature she had carried with her.

Soon he would be here. Soon she would see him in the flesh—this man of whom she had dreamed so persistently since she had known he was to be her husband. She knew what his face was like. He was tall, rather somberly dressed, for he was not a man who greatly cared for finery. This much she had heard. No! He would not care for finery; vanity in dress was for smaller men! He was witty. That alarmed her. He will think me so very stupid, she thought. I must try to think of clever things to say. No, I must be myself. I must apologize because I am simple and have seen so little of the world. He will have seen so much. He has wandered over Europe, an exile for years before he came into his kingdom. What will he think of his poor simple bride?

She prayed as she lay there: “Make me witty, make me beautiful in his eyes. Make him love me, so that he will not regret giving up that woman whose name I will not mention even to myself.”

I shall walk in his parks with him and I shall love the plants and bushes
and trees because he has planted them. I shall love his little dogs. I shall be their mistress as he is their master. I shall learn how to take clocks to pieces and put them back. All his interests shall be mine, and we shall love each other.

“He is the most easy-going man in the world,” they said of him. “He hates unpleasantness. He avoids scenes and looks the other way when there is trouble. Smile always, be gay … if you will have him love you. He has had too much of melancholy in his life. He looks for gaiety.”

I will love him. I will make him love me, she told herself. I am going to be the happiest Queen in the world.

There was commotion below. He had arrived. He had had news of her coming, and he had ridden with great speed from London.

She should have had time to prepare herself. She rose from her bed, called frantically to her women.

“Quickly! Quickly! Dress me in my English dress. Loosen my hair. I will wear it as the English wear it … just at first. Where are my jewels? Oh, come … come … we must not delay. He must see me at my best…. I should have been prepared.”

The Countess of Suffolk hurried into the chamber as her women bustled about her.

“Your Majesty, a visitor has come to see you.”

“Yes … yes … bring him in. I am ready.”

She half closed her eyes. She would not be able to bear to look at him. This was the most important moment in her life. Her heart was fluttering like a frightened bird.

She heard the Countess say: “This is Sir Richard Fanshawe. He has letters for you … messages from the King.”

Sir Richard Fanshawe!

She opened her eyes as Sir Richard came into the apartment.

He knelt. “Your Majesty, I bring letters from the King’s Majesty. He sends loving greetings to you. He commands me to tell you that he will be with you as soon as he can conveniently travel. At this time imperative business detains him in London.”

Imperative business! What business could it be, she wondered, to keep a man from the wife whom he had not yet seen, a King from his Queen who had undertaken a perilous journey to come to him? She wished that she could banish the name of Lady Castlemaine from her mind.

The bells were ringing in London. The people stood about in groups, as they did when great events were afoot. The Queen had arrived at Portsmouth; and now it would not be long before the ceremony of marriage
took place in England; there would be more pageantry; more revelry; and it would be amusing to see what would happen when the new Queen and Lady Castlemaine came face-to-face.

The King himself had received the news of the Queen’s arrival. He had heard also of the bags of sugar and spices that she had brought with her.

He let the communication drop from his hands. So he had a wife at last; but the very reason for her coming—that half a million of money which he so badly needed—was to be denied him.

The Queen Mother of Portugal had promised the rest would follow. In what form, he wondered; fruit? More spices? He had been deceived by that wily woman, for she had known that the reason he had agreed to marry her daughter was that the dowry would help to save his country from bankruptcy.

He must see Clarendon, his Chancellor. But no. Clarendon had been against the match; Clarendon had wished him to marry a Protestant wife, and had only agreed to support the Portuguese marriage when he was overruled by the majority of the King’s ministers. And why had they agreed to this marriage? Simply because of that half a million in gold.

So, said Charles to himself, I have a wife and much sugar and spice; I have a port on the coast of Morocco which is going to cost me dearly to maintain—did the sly woman wish me to have it because she could no longer afford to keep it?—and I have the island of Bombay, which I may discover to be equally unprofitable. Oh, my marriage is a very merry one, I begin to believe!

The Queen was here. She was waiting for him at Portsmouth, and he was expected to go and greet her … her and her sugar and spice.

Barbara was plaguing him; she had never given up the idea of having her lying-in at Whitehall. Barbara might even by now have heard the story of the sugar and spices; if so, she would be laughing herself hoarse with merriment.

He strode up and down the apartment. Mayhap this Jew they had brought with them would soon set about converting the cargo into money. Mayhap the Queen of Portugal would fulfil her promises in due time!

’Tis no fault of that poor girl! he mused. ’Tis her mother who has tricked me. But a fine laughingstock I shall be when the story of the sugar and spice is bruited about.

He lifted his shoulders characteristically; and went to sup at Barbara’s house.

Barbara was delighted to receive him.

She was now very large, for her confinement would take place within the next few weeks. She embraced the King warmly, having signed to all to leave them, for it was Barbara who on such occasions gave orders like a Queen.

She had had prepared his favorite dishes. “For,” she told him, “I heard of the manner in which these foreigners had cheated you, and I was assured that you would come to me this night for comfort.”

“It would seem,” said the King with a frown, “that news of my affairs reaches you ere it comes to me.”

“Ah, all know how solicitous I am for your welfare. Your troubles are mine, my dearest.”

“And what else have you heard, apart from the description of the cargo?”

“Oh, that Her Majesty is small of stature and very brown.”

“Your informants were determined to please you.”

“Nay, I had it from those that hate me. They say that her teeth do wrong her mouth, and that her hair is dressed in a manner most comic to behold. She has a barber with her who spends many hours dressing it. I hear too that she wears a fantastic costume. It is a stiff skirt designed to preserve Portuguese ladies from the sleight of hand of English gentlemen.”

Barbara burst into loud laughter, but there was an uneasiness in it which the King did not fail to detect.

“Doubtless,” he said, “I shall soon see those wonders for myself.”

“I marvel that you are not riding with all speed to Portsmouth.”

“Had I not promised to sup with you?”

“You had. And had you not kept your word I should not have let you forget it.”

“Methinks, Barbara, you forget to whom you speak.”

“Nay, I forget not.” Her jealousy of the Queen was too strong to be subdued. “No,” she added on a louder note, “I forget not. I speak to the father of this child I carry, this poor mite who will be born in a humble dwelling unworthy of his rank. He will be born in this miserable dwelling instead of the Palace in which he belongs. But then—he is not the first!”

The King laughed. “You speak of the child as though he were holy. Od’s Fish, Barbara, you bear no resemblance to the Blessed Virgin!”

“Now you are profane. But mayhap I shall not survive this confinement, for I have suffered so much during my pregnancy. Those who should cherish me care not for me.”

“And the sufferings you have endured have been inflicted by yourself. But I do not come here to quarrel. Mayhap, as you say, I should be on my way to Portsmouth.”

“Charles … pray sit down. I implore you. I beg of you. Do you not understand why I am nervous this night? I am afraid. Yes, it is my fear that makes me so. I am afraid of this woman with her cruel teeth, and her odd hair, and her farthingale. I am afraid that she will hate me.”

“I doubt not that she would—should your paths cross.”

Barbara had turned pale. She said quietly: “I beg you eat of this pheasant. I had it specially prepared for you.”