The Loves of Charles II (72 page)

“This child is the King’s, and all know it.”

“I demand the right to have my child baptized in my own faith.”

“You are a coward. You would not have dared to do this had I been up and able to prevent you.”

“Barbara,” said Roger, “could you be calm for a few minutes?”

She waited, and he went on: “You must face the truth. When you get up from that bed, your position at Court will no longer be the same as it has been hitherto. The King is now married, and his Queen is young and comely. He is well pleased with her. You must understand, Barbara, that your role is no longer of any importance.”

She was seething with rage but with a great effort she kept a strong control over herself. As soon as she was up she would show them whether a miserable little foreigner with prominent fangs, a little go-by-the-ground, who could not speak a word of English, should oust her from her position. But in the meantime she must keep calm.

Roger, thinking she was at last seeing reason and becoming reconciled to her fate, went on: “You must accept this new state of affairs. Perhaps we could retire to the country for a while. That might make things a little more comfortable for you.”

She was silent; and Roger went on to talk of the new life they might build together. It would be foolish to pretend he could forget her behavior ever since their marriage, but might they not live in a manner which would stop malicious tongues clacking? They would not be the only married pair in the country who shelved their differences and hid them from public view.

“I have no doubt there is something in what you say,” she said as calmly as she could. “Now leave me. I would rest.”

So she lay making plans. And when she was up and about again she sought a favorable opportunity when Roger was absent for a few days, to gather together all her valuables and jewels; and, with the best of the household’s servants, she left Roger’s house for that of her brother in Richmond, declaring she could no longer live with a husband who had dared to baptize her son according to the rites of the church of Rome.

The King was more attentive to his Queen than ever he had been. Our love is strengthened day by day, thought Catherine, and Hampton Court will always be to me the most beautiful place in the world because therein I first knew my greatest happiness.

Often she would wander through the gallery of horns and look up at those heads of stags and antelopes which adorned it; it seemed to her that the patient glass eyes looked sadly at her because they would never know—as few could—the happiness which was hers. She would finger the beautiful hangings designed by Raphael, but it was not their golden embroidery depicting the stories of Abraham and Tobit, nor the Cesarean Triumphs of Andrea Montegna, which delighted her; it was the fact that within these elaborately adorned walls she had become more than the Queen of a great country; she had found love, which she had not believed existed outside the legends of chivalry. She would look at her reflection in the mirror of beaten gold and wonder that the woman who looked back at her could really be herself grown beautiful with happiness. Her bedroom in the Palace was so rich that even the English ladies marveled at it, and the people who crowded in to see her, as was the custom, would gasp at the magnificence of the colorful hangings and the pictures on the walls as well as the cabinets of exquisite workmanship, which she had brought with her from Portugal. But most admired of all was her bed of silver embroidery and crimson velvet, which had cost £8,000 and had been a present to Charles from the States of Holland. To Catherine this bed was the most valuable of all her possessions because the King had given it to her.

Now, as the summer days passed, there seemed to he nothing he would not give her.

Tiresome state business often detained him, but on his return to her he would be more gallant, more charming than he had seemed before, if that were possible. Never, thought Catherine, did humble shepherd and shepherdess—who chose each other for love, without any political motive—lead a more idyllic existence.

She could have been perfectly happy but for her fears for her country. She had had news from her mother. The Spaniards had been frightened off by the sight of English ships in Portuguese waters, the danger to the country was less acute than it had been, now that Portugal and England were united by the marriage, but England was far away, and Spain was on the borders of Portugal.

When the King asked tenderly what was causing her apprehension, she told him.

Then greatly daring, for she knew that the request she was about to make was one which the monarch of a Protestant country would be loath to grant, she told him what was in her mind.

“It is because you are so good to me, because you are always so kind and understanding, that I dare ask.”

“Come!” said the King. “What is this you would ask of me? What do you wish? I doubt if I shall find it in my heart to deny it.”

He smiled at her tenderly. Poor little Catherine! So different from Barbara. Catherine had never yet asked for anything for herself; Barbara’s demands were never ending. He was foolish to see her so often, foolish to ride so frequently to Richmond, foolish to have acknowledged the new child as his own. But what a charming creature that small Charles was! What flashing eyes, and there was such a witty look about the little mouth already! He was undoubtedly a Stuart, for how like a Stuart to get himself—the King’s bastard—born at the time of his father’s marriage! He was more foolish still to have acted as Sponsor to the boy, with the Earl of Oxford and the Countess of Suffolk, at the time of his christening in accordance with the rites of the Church of England. And now that Barbara had declared she would never again live with Roger Palmer, and Palmer himself had left the country in his fury, there was certain to be more trouble; but if he could prevent its touching poor little Catherine, he would do so.

His one concern was to keep from the Queen knowledge of the state of his relationship with Lady Castlemaine; and as all those about him knew this was his wish, and as he was a most optimistic man, he did not doubt his ability to do so.

In the meantime he wished to indulge Catherine in every possible way; it pleased him to see her happy, and it seemed the easiest thing in the world to make her so. Now he listened to her request almost with eagerness, so ready was he to grant it.

“It is my country,” she said. “The news is not good. Charles, you do not hate the Catholics?”

“How could I, when that would mean hating you?”

“You are being charming as usual, and not saying all you mean. You do not hate them for other reasons?”

He said: “I owe much to Catholics. The French helped me during my exile, and they are Catholics. My little sister is a Catholic, and how could I hate her! Moreover, a Mr. Giffard, who did much to make possible my escape after Worcester, was also a Catholic. Indeed no, I do not hate Catholics. In truth, I hold it great folly to hate men because their opinions differ from my own. Women of course I should never hate in any circumstances.”

“Charles, be serious to please me.”

“I am all seriousness.”

“If the Pope would promise his protection to my country, it would have less to fear from Spain.”

“The Pope will support Spain, my dear. Spain is strong, and Portugal is weak, and it is so much more convenient to support that which is in little danger of falling down.”

“I have thought of a way in which I might appeal to the Pope, and with your permission I would do it.”

“What is this way?”

“I am a Catholic, here in a Protestant country. I am a Queen, and it may be that all the world knows now how good you are to me.”

Charles looked away. “Nay,” he said quickly. “Nay…. I am not so good as I ought to be. Mayhap the whole world but you knows that.”

She took his hand and kissed it.

“You are the best of husbands, and I am therefore the happiest of wives. Charles, would you grant me this permission? If you did, it would make my happiness complete. You see, the Pope and others will know how you love me, and they will think I am not without influence with you … and thus this country. If I might write to the Pope and tell him that now that I am in England I will do everything within my power to serve the Catholic Faith, and that my reason for coming here was not for the sake of the Crown which would be mine but for the sole purpose of serving my faith, I think the Pope will be very pleased with me.”

“He would indeed,” said Charles.

“Oh, Charles, I would not attempt to persuade you to act against your conscience.”

“Pray you, have less respect for my conscience. He is a weak, idle and somnolent fellow who, I fear, often fails in his duty.”

“You joke. You joke continually. But that is how I would have it. It is that which makes the hours spent in your company the happiest I have ever known. Charles, if I could make the Pope believe that I would work for the Catholic Faith in England, I could at the same time ask for his protection of Portugal.”

“Yes, that is so; and I doubt not that you would get it for such a consideration.”

“And Charles, you … you … would agree?”

He took her face in his hands. “I am the King of a Protestant country,” he said. “What think you my ministers would say if they knew I had allowed you to send such a letter?”

“I know not.”

“The English are determined never to have a Catholic Monarch on their throne. They decided that, more than a hundred years ago on the death of Bloody Mary, whom they will never forget.”

“Yes, Charles. I see you are right. It was wrong of me to ask this of you. Please forget it.”

As he continued to hold her face in his hands, he asked: “How would you convey such a letter to Rome?”

“I had thought to send Richard Bellings, a gentleman of my household, whom I can trust.”

“You suffer because of your country’s plight,” he said gently.

“So much! If I could feel that all was well there, I should be happy indeed.”

He was thinking how sweet she was, how gentle, how loving. He wanted to give her something; he wanted to give all that she most desired. A letter to the Pope? What harm in that? It would be a secret matter. What difference could such a letter make to him? And how it would please her! It might be the means of securing Papal protection for the poor harassed Queen Regent of Portugal, who had trials enough with her half-imbecile son as King and the Spaniards continually threatening to depose the pair of them. What harm to him? What harm in promises? And he felt a guilty need to make Catherine happy.

“My dearest wife,” he said gently, “I ought not to allow this. I know it well. But, when you ask me so sweetly, I find it mighty hard to refuse.”

“Then Charles, let us forget I asked you. It was wrong of me. I never should have asked.”

“Nay, Catherine. You do not ask for jewels or money, as so many would. You are content to give of your love, and that has given me great pleasure. Let me give something in return.”

“You … give me something! You have given me such happiness as I never knew existed. It is not for you to give me more.”

“Nevertheless I shall insist on granting this. To please me, you shall write this letter and despatch it. But do this yourself—let none know that I have any part in it, or the thing would be useless. Tell the Pope what you intend, ask his protection. Yes, Catherine, do it. I wish it. I wish to please you … greatly.”

“Charles, you make me weep … weep with shame for asking more of you who have given so much … weep for the joy of all the happiness which has come to me, so that I wonder why Heaven should have chosen me to be so singularly blessed.”

He put his arms about her and kissed her gently.

While she clung to him he remembered a paper he carried in his pocket, which he had meant to present to her at a convenient moment.

He patted her arm gently and disengaged himself.

“Now, my dearest, here is a little matter for you to attend to.”

He took the scroll from his pocket.

“But what is this?” she asked, and as she was about to look over his shoulder, he handed it to her.

“Study it at your leisure. It is merely a list of ladies whom I recommend for appointments in your household.”

“I will look at it later.”

“When you can no longer feast your eyes upon your husband!” he said lightly. “You will find all these ladies worthy and most suitable for the posts indicated. I know my Court far better than you can in such a short time, so I am sure you will be happy to accept these suggestions of mine.”

“Of a certainty I shall.”

She put the scroll away in a drawer and they went out into the gardens to saunter with a few ladies and gentlemen of the Court.

It was some time later when Catherine took out the scroll and studied the list of names.

As she did so her heart seemed to stop and plunge on; she felt the blood rush to her head and drain away.

This could not be real. This was a bad dream.

At the head of the list which the King had given her was the name Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine.

It was some time before, trembling with fear and horror, she took a pen and boldly crossed out that name.