It was Mamie who told me that the Countess of Denbigh had decided that she would arrange a Protestant service to take place in the great hall at Tichfield. All the household should assemble and take part—with, of course, the exception of mine.

I was rather pleased because courtesy would demand that as the Queen was in the house her permission would have to be asked.

I discussed it with Mamie.

“I shall refuse it,” I said.

“You cannot,” replied Mamie, shocked.

“I can and I will.”

“It would be a grave mistake. Listen, my dearest, you are a fervent Catholic, but you are in a country where the Protestant religion is maintained. You must graciously give your consent and while the service is going on remain in your apartments. There is nothing else to be done.”

“Why does she arrange this while I am here?”

“Perhaps to show that while the country has a Catholic Queen, it is staunchly Protestant.”

“Then I shall refuse.”

“Please do not. It would be folly. They would hold it against you. It would get to the King’s ears…worse still, to those of his ministers. It would not be tolerated to forbid these people to worship in the accepted religion of the country.”

I pressed my lips firmly together. In my heart I knew that she was right, but I could not stop myself rehearsing what I would say to Susan Villiers when she came to ask my permission.

Mamie was not with me when one of my attendants came rushing into my apartments.

“My lady,” cried my attendant breathlessly, “what do you think? There is a service going on in the great hall. The whole household…the Protestant household…is gathered there.”

I was aghast.

So, she had not bothered to ask my permission. This was a double insult. First to arrange the service while I was under this roof, then to carry it out without asking my permission.

What could I do? I was not going to ask Mamie this time because I knew she would say “Nothing.” But I was enraged and I wanted it to be known.

I had an idea. I would not go down and demand that it be stopped, which was my first reaction. I would disrupt it in such a manner as I could not be called to task for.

I gathered together a group of my attendants and told them we were going to take out the dogs. We all loved our little dogs and most of the ladies had several. We put them on their leads and I led my party down to the hall where the assembled company was kneeling in prayer. I walked across the hall to the door, my attendants following me. The dogs yapped and barked and ran about; we laughed at their antics and chatted animatedly, behaving as though we could not see the people at prayer.

At length we came out into the courtyard, laughing together. But I did not intend that it should end there. I sent about six of the ladies back to bring a kerchief for me. They went, taking their dogs with them, and I stood at the door exulting in the noise they made.

When they returned, I cried in a loud voice, “The air is a little cold. I think I will not walk today.” Then we all trooped back. Someone was preaching but his voice was drowned in the commotion we made.

Of course everyone was shocked by what had happened—Mamie as much as anyone.

They were all talking about it. I said that I should have been consulted and that to conduct such a service without my permission was a breach of good manners; but I think that most people thought that her fault in not asking my permission was slight compared with the way in which I and my attendants had acted.

Deep shock was expressed about my behavior. Mamie was the first to tell me that I should never have behaved as I did and that it would be remembered and held against me. Perhaps the Countess had been remiss but what I had done amounted to an insult to the Protestant religion.

I said I did not care and would do it again, which made Mamie despair.

When the King returned from his hunting trip he said nothing about the incident but I felt sure he had heard of it. There was a certain determination added to his usual sternness, and I wondered whether he was planning something.

In many ways he was delighted with me. I believe he could have been passionately in love with me then; but I was so unsatisfactory to him in many ways and a man of his nature could never quite forget that.

I did not understand this then. It is only now that I do when I have so much time—too much time—for reflection. There was consternation between the Courts of France and England. Nothing was going as anyone had wanted it to. There was so much conflict that Mamie feared my husband and my brother might be on the brink of war with each other. My brother—or I expect it was Richelieu—sent the Sieur de Blainville to try to bring some accord between the two countries. The King did not like him very much and that made it difficult for any understanding to be reached. Blainville came to see me and told me I should try to understand the English, to learn their language, to mingle with them at Court and not keep myself isolated with my French household.

Buckingham was out of the country, which always made me feel happier. He was trying to persuade Richelieu to join him against the Spaniards, so he said. I wondered whether he was still hankering after my sister-in-law Queen Anne and whether his little jaunt was to try to win her favor. After that incident in the gardens when she had had to scream for help, I believed Buckingham was capable of anything.

The Duchesse de Chevreuse provided a little bit of liveliness to the scene when she gave birth to a child. Whose? I wondered, and so did many more.

She was quite blatant about it and the Duc de Chevreuse acted as though the child were his. He must have been used to her little ways and that they should sometimes produce consequences should not be a matter for surprise.

Then Buckingham returned, apparently somewhat deflated. His plans had gone awry. I guessed they would. He could hardly win favor in France after his disgraceful conduct with the Queen. Moreover I think he was not the man to succeed at anything but winning the doting affection of men like King James and the friendship of young inexperienced men like King Charles. I wished that Charles was not so devoted to him. I believed they discussed me and my relationship with my husband and I began to suspect that Buckingham sowed seeds of discord in my husband’s mind. Not that Buckingham would dare openly attack me. But he must be a master of the subtle suggestion, and I had noticed that when he was absent there seemed to be less conflict between me and Charles.

When we were alone in our bedchamber Charles would be quite affectionate; he would even smile faintly and express his satisfaction with my person and forget for a while how unsatisfactory I was in other ways, so when I wanted to make appointments in my household I decided that the best time to approach him was during one of those bedtime tête-à-têtes. I wanted to assure the position of some of my attendants and I could only do this by appointing them to vacant posts.

I had taken a great deal of trouble to draw up a list, and I had been careful to add some English names to it. In fact I had rather cleverly—I thought—intermingled them skillfully which had the effect of diminishing the number of French I had included.

I was in bed and Charles had just joined me. He had turned to me and laid his arm about me when I said: “I have a paper here which I want you to look at.”

“A paper?” he said in astonishment. “Now?”

“It is just a small list of those I wish to be officers in my retinue.”

“Well, I will look at it in the morning. But you know that according to the agreement with your brother which we made at the time of our marriage, it is my right to name such people.”

“Oh, you will agree to these,” I said lightly. “There are a number of English names there as well as French.”

He raised himself on his elbow and looked at me and although I could not see him very clearly in the dim light, I knew that he had assumed that stern and suspicious demeanor.

“There will be no French in your retinue,” he said coldly. “It would be quite impossible for them to serve in that capacity.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is my will that they should not.”

“But,” I retorted angrily, “it is my will that they should. My mother wishes these people to be admitted into my retinue.”

“It is no affair of your mother’s.”

“And none of mine?” I asked defiantly.

“None of yours,” he said. “If it is not my will then it cannot be yours.”

I was so angry. If I could have done so I would have risen from the bed and made my preparations to return to France. We sat up in bed glaring at each other.

I cried: “Then take back your lands. Take them all…lands…castles…everything you have bestowed on me. If I have no power to act in them as I wish, I have no desire to possess them.”

He said slowly but very distinctly: “You must remember to whom you speak. I am your King. You are my Queen but also a subject. You should take heed of the fate of other Queens of England.”

I could scarcely believe my ears. Was he reminding me of the ill-fated Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard? Could it be that Charles, whom I had always thought of as gentle and kindly meaning, was telling me that if I did not behave as he wished I might lose my head.

I felt enraged and insulted. I began to weep—not quietly but stormily. I said I was utterly miserable and longed to be back in France. I was nothing here. I was insulted and maltreated. I was given a household but I had no power in it. I wanted to go home. While I was saying all this he was trying to placate me.