However, I tried to forget my own discomforts and prepare for my mother. Riders came in breathlessly to tell me that she had had a good reception in London, that people had hung out banners in the streets and that the Lord Mayor in all the splendor of his office had greeted her. I was immensely relieved because one could never be sure of the people of London and, with all those horrid Puritans about, they might have decided to become hostile. But they did love pageantry and it may have been that they found that more entertaining than a stupid riot. But I liked to think they did homage to my mother as a woman who had once been Regent of France and was still mother of their Queen.

I heard the sound of trumpets which meant that the cavalcade was approaching St. James’s. Young Charles was right beside me and the others came toddling up. I hurried into the courtyard. I could not think of ceremony at such a moment.

I ran to my mother’s coach, the children at my heels, and I tried to pull open the door. One of the coachmen opened it for me and as my mother stepped out, I was so overcome with emotion that I dropped to my knees and begged her to give me her blessing.

With great joy I took her into the palace and showed her the apartments I had had made ready for her. I was rather shocked by her appearance. It was, after all, a long time since I had seen her. I had been the fortunate one. I had learned to love my husband and had made for myself a family life so felicitous that I could not believe many people were so blessed. Poor Queen Marie! She was sixty-five years old and her life during the last years had been very uncomfortable. She had never been beautiful and events, with the aid of time, had ravaged such looks as she had had. But I was quick to realize that the indomitable spirit had remained intact, and so had the determination to manage the lives of all those about her.

She talked incessantly. She was poor…yes poor! She, the Queen of France, now lived in abject poverty. She had her jewels…oh yes, she had been clever enough to bring those with her and it had occurred to her that she might have to sell some of them.

“I will buy them, dear Mother,” I cried. “That will give you some money and you will know the jewels are safe.”

She patted my arm. She said I was a good girl and as I was rich she would be glad to accept the money for the jewels and know that they were safe in the family.

I said: “I am not really rich, my lady. There is always trouble about money. There is never enough. Charles is always wanting money and unable to get it except by unpopular taxation.”

“The perpetual cry of Kings!” replied my mother. “Of course there is money, dear child. There always is in a country. It is a matter of knowing how to extract it. You shall have the jewels. I may not be here long, you know, to burden you.”

“Burden us!” I cried. “Dear Mother, how can you talk like that?”

“I did not mean I am going to die,” she replied. “I know you are pleased that I have come to be with you. It was far too long that we were apart, Henriette chérie. I will stay with you and help you. But I may be called back to France.”

“Do you think the Cardinal…”

“The Cardinal!” She spat out the words. “He is plagued by a terrible cough. He can’t keep warm. I hear he sits by the fire drinking that sickly strawberry syrup which is the only thing which gives his throat some relief. He crouches over the fire because he cannot keep warm. How long do you think he can last like that?”

“You really think he is desperately ill?”

“I know, my child. You don’t think I have been idle. I know what is going on. One advantage of being in exile is that one can send out one’s spies and no one can be absolutely sure who they are. There are always advantages in life, child.”

“I cannot understand my brother’s turning you away.”

“Oh, he is a weakling, Louis. He always was. He is guided by his wife and the Cardinal. He is nothing…a puppet…a cypher.”

“And the baby?”

She nodded, smiling. “A healthy boy. Another Louis.” She came close to me. “No, I shall not be here with you long, dear child. A breathing space, that’s all I need. My astrologers have told me that Louis cannot last more than a year or so. He is a sick man. He was never strong. And then when he is dead…can a baby rule? Little Louis XIV will be still in his nursery. Then it is for me to return and take over the reins as I did when your father died.”

“And this is the prophecy?”

“It is and I have had the best astrologers in Europe. Their verdict is always the same. So it would be advisable for your Charles to make me happy here. I could be of great importance to him later on.”

I was overawed. It all seemed so plausible and I had seen the evidence of astrologers and soothsayers. I should never forget Eleanor Davys and her prophecy about the first baby I had had.

My mother’s presence at Court did mean that I must spend a great deal of time with her, which gave me less time for my husband. She loved the children and was most impressed by Charles. She even liked his looks and said he had inherited them from some of my father’s ancestors—The Brigands of Navarre she called them.

“He has a look of your father,” she said. “Mon Dieu, how he reminds me! Quick, lively, eyes everywhere. Let us hope they do not linger on every woman in the vicinity as your father’s did. I had to shut my eyes to his infidelities and I did so without complaint…for the sake of the crown. You, my dear Henriette, have no such trouble with your husband. He seems a mild man…but devoted to you. There seems to be nothing but pregnancies for you. I know what that means. Your father always took time off from his lights of love to fill the royal nurseries. How different you are with your Charles. You are a very fortunate woman, Henriette.”

I told her I realized that and if only Charles would stop worrying about the troubles of the country and those wretched Protestants—and worse still Puritans—I could be completely happy.

“It appears there is always trouble for rulers, but you have done well and I believe even the Holy Father is pleased with you.”

“How is Madame St. George? Have you heard?”

“I haven’t seen her since I left France, of course. I think she is happy with that little tyrant. Gaston dotes on his daughter. It is a pity he could not get a son. Little Mademoiselle de Montpensier is very rich, for Gaston’s wife, as you know, left everything to her when she died. It is a pity it did not go to Gaston. It is a mistake, in my opinion, for young people to inherit large fortunes.”

“She will find it easy to get a husband.”

“My dear child, they are waiting to pounce. Gaston will have to be careful. I should be there to make sure no mistakes are made. Well, perhaps soon…according to the prophets….”

I was a little sad at the thought of Louis’s dying. After all, he was my brother and although I had seen very little of him and I did think of him more as the King of France than a relation, the bond was still there. My mother was so sure that he was going to die and I couldn’t help feeling a little horrified that she seemed to be looking forward to the event.

Power! I thought. How people crave for it! I didn’t think I did. What I really wanted was to be with my husband and family in a peaceful country where there were no troubles—but of course that must be a country which had turned to the Catholic Faith.

My mother was saying: “I could have returned to Florence.”

“Oh, my dear lady, that would have been wonderful,” I replied. “You could have gone back to your family.”

“Oh yes. The Medicis would have welcomed me. They have a strong family feeling. It would have been strange to be in Florence again, to stroll along the Arno and to live in the old palace. But think how I should have gone back. A queen yes, but one who had been turned out of her adopted country by her own son and a cardinal. No, I could not do that.” For a moment the mask of optimism slipped from her face and I glimpsed a rather fearful old woman. Fleetingly I wondered how much she really believed in those prophecies. She added slowly: “I could not go back to Florence…a failure.” Then the mask was back again. “One day, I shall be very busy. If I have to return to France—I am sure the message will come before long—then I shall be fully engaged with affairs in Paris.”

While she was waiting for all that, she concerned herself with affairs in England.

The children were very interested in her and I was delighted to see how well they got on. She wanted to take charge of the nurseries. Charles, oddly enough for such a precocious child, had always taken a wooden toy to bed with him. He had had it when he was about two years old, had formed an attachment to it and his nurses told me that he would not go to sleep without it.

“Nonsense,” said my mother. “Of course he must give it up. It is not becoming in the Prince of Wales to need toys to go to bed with.”

She talked to Charles very seriously and somehow made him see that it was childish and not worthy of a future King.

When that argument was put to him he allowed them to take the toy away. He was very interested in the fact that he would one day be King and was already talking now and then of what he would do, and it was only this which made him relinquish his toy.

He was a shrewd, often devious little boy. We were amused by the incident of the physic, but at the same time it did show that he had a clever, if crafty, nature. The fact was that he had refused to take some physic which his Governor, Lord Newcastle, thought he needed and Newcastle had complained to me, so I wrote to Charles telling him that I had heard he had refused to take his physic and if he persisted I should have to come and make him take it as it was for his health’s sake. I added that I had told Lord Newcastle to let me know whether or not he had taken his medicine and I hoped he was not going to disappoint me.