Lucy Hay professed interest, but I thought in my heart that she did so lightly. In fact she had a fondness for George Conn’s company. Quite a lot of the women were like that. They flirted with the ideas as they did with the men, while they had no intention of becoming involved in anything seriously.

It was different with Lady Newport. She became very involved and I think she had always been a little inclined toward Catholicism, for her sister was a Catholic. George Conn had made a special effort with her and so had Wat Montague, an old favorite of mine who had now returned to England with Sir Toby Matthew, a much traveled and zealous Catholic. We all believed that a little persuasion would bring her to the decision she was longing to make.

Lady Newport’s husband, who was Master of the Ordnance and a stern Protestant, had forbidden his wife to dabble in idolatry, as he called it; but Anne Newport was a persistent woman and she was growing more and more certain that the true Faith was that of the Catholic Church. Her conversion was delayed, for oddly enough she had become greatly influenced by her glover who, humble though he was, was something of a preacher and a Protestant belonging to that sect of Puritans which had become more and more prominent since such efforts to bring back the Catholic Faith had been made in the country.

She said to me: “I know he is humble and merely a glove-maker but he has a power…a way with words which can only be inspired.”

I replied: “Bring him along and let George Conn talk to him. We’ll see how his inspiration stands up to that.”

Lucy, with the rest of my ladies and friends like Wat Montague and Toby Matthews, was always excited when I proposed something unconventional, and in due course we all assembled and summoned the glover, George having already consented to talk to him.

When I saw the glover I disliked him on sight simply because here was another of those Puritans in plain black garments and that ridiculous haircut which made their heads look round.

George Conn looked elegant and handsome and so worldly that I was sure he confirmed all the glover’s suspicions about idolatrous Catholic priests. The result was as we all predicted. The poor man had a certain eloquence, it was true, but to watch him in verbal conflict with George was like watching two combatants fighting with a spade and a sword. George’s rapier thrusts were soon getting home and the poor glover was growing more and more bewildered.

At length he cried: “Pray give me leave to retire. I must think…think…You bemuse me. I am mazed….”

George smiled and laid his hand on the poor man’s shoulder. “Go in peace, my friend,” he said. “Go and ponder what I have said. You will find yourself confronted by the Truth at every turn. Never forget that when you leave the tanglewood of ignorance, I shall be the first to welcome you to the paths of Truth.”

I had rarely seen a man so bewildered. He left us in a daze and we all clustered round George and congratulated him.

“You were so clever,” I said. “Poor man! It was most unfair of me to set you against him.”

“It was right for you to do so, Your Majesty,” replied George. “Another of your good deeds.”

“You were so clearly the victor,” added Lucy.

“The Truth will always prevail,” answered George.

That interview was to have startling results. A few days later the glover went mad. He could not reconcile himself to either form of religion and, as religion was the center of his life, he was lost in a maze of beliefs and disbeliefs. We were all very sad to hear of his tragedy, for he was a worthy man and a most excellent glove-maker.

But the event which caused the greatest stir was the conversion of Lady Newport. She came to me in great uncertainty one day.

“Madam,” she said, “I need your help. I have been talking to my sister and I am now convinced which is the true Faith. I want to be reconciled to the Church of Rome. I want to make my confession and proclaim my beliefs, but how can I do this? If my husband discovers what I am about to do, he will shut me away, send me out of the country…do anything to prevent my conversion.”

Intrigue ever fascinated me and I was delighted to help her, for bringing people to the true Faith was my great purpose. I was longing for everyone to know that we had a convert in Lady Newport because I guessed that would bring quite a number who were wavering to make a decision.

So I consulted George Conn.

He came up with an idea. “Let it be a secret until it is actually done,” he said. “Otherwise there may be powerful people who will do everything within their power to prevent it. Let her visit one of your Capuchin friars at that time when she would normally be returning from some entertainment perhaps.”

Anne Newport thought it was a good idea and she said that she could go to a performance at Drury Lane and on her way home call at Somerset House and see the friar there.

So that was what we arranged. Lady Newport went to the theater and on the way home visited the chapel and made her confession to the Capuchin friar; and then she was reconciled to the Catholic Church.

Another convert! I congratulated myself that I was winning my war against heretics. I was, however, unprepared for the storm which the conversion of Lady Newport brought about. The fact that his wife had become a Catholic enraged the Earl of Newport. He was a clever man, which was not surprising considering that his mother was Penelope Rich, the daughter of Lettice Knollys, Countess of Leicester. Even now people talked about that forceful woman. The fact that Penelope’s son was illegitimate—his parentage was shared with Charles Blount, Earl of Devonshire—had not stopped his inheritance or impeded his advancement. Not only had he been made Master of the Ordnance for life, but he had made considerable profits out of the office and he was not the sort of man to stand quietly by while his wife defied him on a matter which he considered of great importance.

He went himself to see Charles. He ranted and raged and was clearly distressed. Charles expressed deep sympathy. Newport, of course, dared not say anything to Charles about me, but his implications were that I and my little coterie were infiltrating mischievously and undermining the accepted Faith of the country. He blamed several of my close associates, naming Wat Montague and Sir Toby Matthews.

“Your Majesty,” he begged, “I pray you send Montague and Matthews out of the country. I am sure that they and some of their friends are at the root of this disaster.”

Charles was very sorry for Newport’s distress but he knew that I would be rejoicing in my convert. However, he did not think it was good for such a fierce Catholic as Montague to remain at Court in view of growing resentment, but he did nothing for he knew how upset I would be if Montague were sent away.

Very soon a bigger issue grew out of the matter. When he found the King reluctant to act, Newport went to Archbishop Laud to complain that he feared the King was too much influenced by his wife to take any action which might not be in accordance with her wishes.

This was the beginning of the antagonism between myself and Archbishop Laud. There had been times when I had had hopes of Laud for he was a man who loved the ceremonies of the Church. I had mentioned to George Conn that if the Pope would give him a Cardinal’s hat he might become our man. I am not sure now whether I was right about that, but in any case he did not get his red biretta. On the other hand he said that he “labored nothing more than that the external public worship of God—too much slighted in most parts of the kingdom—might be preserved and that with as much decency and uniformity as might be, being still of the opinion that unity cannot long continue in the Church when uniformity is shut out.” This implied that he loved all the ceremonies of the Church and it was natural that I should think he was leaning strongly toward us. Had he not amended the Prayer Book and imposed it on Scotland in place of the liturgy which had been prepared by the Scots bishops?

The son of a Reading clothier, Laud was indeed a clever man to have climbed so far; such are always the most difficult to bend to one’s wishes. I have always recognized that they are possessed of a very special cleverness to have risen up and overcome their handicaps and one must in assessing them—particularly as an enemy—have a special respect for them.

There was another point: many people suspected that his attitude to the ceremonies of the Church meant that he was a secret Catholic and as he was aware—far more than I was—of the growing resentment in the country, he was eager to prove himself staunchly Protestant. He therefore complained at a meeting of the Council that since the coming of the Papal agents, Panzani and Conn, there had been many conversions to Catholicism and there was too much favor shown to Catholics and he thought that both Walter Montague and Toby Matthews should be prosecuted.

When I heard this I was enraged, and from then on the Archbishop was my enemy. Poor Charles was in a dreadful dilemma. He could quite understand Lord Newport’s fury; he saw the Archbishop’s point; but he was very eager not to upset me.

I realized then—and I think so did many others—how important I was becoming in the country. I had had such success with the Pope’s agents; I had done so much to make life easier for our Catholic subjects that I was beginning to be thought of not so much as the frivolous pleasure-loving Queen as the power behind the throne. My husband listened to me because he loved me so much and hated to disappoint me so that I was almost in the position of being his most favored and influential minister.