We rode to the palace and were relieved that we met no hostile crowds on the way. I think we were prepared for anything.

When we arrived at St. James’s it was to be greeted by my distraught mother. She looked wild-eyed. “I have not been fed,” she cried. “How could I be? They have been sending notes calling us idolaters. They should be hanged, all of them. Charles, what are you thinking of to allow such conduct from your subjects!”

I silenced her, bidding her remember that she spoke to the King, but Charles just smiled and said: “There are times, Madam, when a king…or even a queen…is not powerful enough to stop the cruelty of enemies. They must first be found and then condemned.”

She turned away. I guessed she was wishing herself far from here and I could not help thinking that there was a little good in all evil for if this decided my mother that she could not live in troubled England that was not entirely to be deplored. This sounds heartless. I loved my mother. I wanted to see her happy and comfortable, but I did realize that she was causing friction here; she was interfering with the way in which the children were brought up and I knew she was in secret teaching them to become Catholics. I had turned a blind eye to this but recent events had taught me to be a little more watchful; and I could guess at the fury which would be unleashed if it were thought that the Prince of Wales and his brother and sisters were being brought up outside the Church of England.

The children were concerned, particularly Charles, who was very solemn. Lady Roxburgh told us that he had had several nightmares and she thought he had something on his mind. She had asked what troubled him and he would not answer though he did not deny that there was something.

Charles and I were determined to find out what was worrying him and I said that I did not think he could possibly be aware of the depressing state of affairs outside St. James’s; but it seemed he was.

Charles called the boy to him and my son stood before his father, his dark eyes alert, his expression attentive.

“What is wrong?” asked the King. “You know you can tell me or your mother anything. Come. Don’t be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” said Charles.

“Then what is worrying you?”

“How many kingdoms did my grandfather leave you?” He did not wait for the answer but supplied it himself. “Four,” he went on. “There are troubles in the country. I know of them. I listen to the people talking. They think I am too young to understand and that is an advantage because they do not lower their voices or choose their words. Yes, I am anxious because although you, my father, were left four kingdoms, I greatly fear that I, your son, may find myself without one.”

I broke in and cried: “What a wicked thing to say to your father!”

Young Charles regarded me from under that black fringe and said: “You asked for the truth, Mam. I but gave it. If you do not wish to hear the truth it is best not to ask for it.”

The King put his hand on the boy’s head and said: “You do well, my son, to speak what is in your mind on these matters. I am having trouble. That is true. I have enemies who send out rumors. People listen to them and learn half truths. Have no fear. I shall fight for this kingdom, so that when the time comes it shall be yours.”

I was too overcome to speak, for when my son talked of what he would inherit I could only see the figure of my beloved husband lying dead before me and that was more than I could bear at that moment.

Charles saw this and understood. He said: “I shall take your mother to her bedchamber. She is not well.”

“She is pregnant,” said young Charles. “I hope it is a little girl. I would prefer a sister.”

“Now you go back to the nursery,” commanded the King. “I can assure you that I know how to defend my kingdom and when the time comes it shall be handed…intact…to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said young Charles gravely.

When we were alone the King said: “He is a bright boy. One to be proud of.”

“I liked not his words.”

“Sweet wife, do not blame the boy for looking to his inheritance. I would rather he did. He would be ready to fight for his rights, though I pray he will never have to. Oh God, how I pray for that! And now, my love, all this unpleasantness is bad for you. Will you promise me that you will make preparations to leave London at once?”

“I promise,” I told him, “and I have already decided where.”

“Where is that?”

“Oatlands. I like it and it is pleasant to be close to the river.”

“Could not be better,” said Charles. “Soon then…you will leave for Oatlands.”

I was very fond of Oatlands, perhaps because it was just far enough from London to make access to the capital a not-too-strenuous journey and in addition had the charm of the river. Moreover Charles had granted me the estate for my life and I felt it was therefore my very own. I was always excited when I passed through the beautiful arched gateway designed by Inigo Jones, who had also built the silkworm room which had been planned by my predecessor, Anne of Denmark, Charles’s mother. There were two quadrangles and three enclosures with the garden beyond; and the principal quadrangle had a battlemented gateway with angle turrets and bay windows. Everything about Oatlands pleased me. It was not large, as palaces go, but there was royal dignity about it. Oh yes, I was very fond of Oatlands.

I should have been serene during those last months of pregnancy, but I could not think so much of the coming child as of Charles. I fancied he had anxieties which he did not always impart to me—not because of a lack of trust or because he thought such matters would be beyond my understanding, but because he feared to worry me. Perhaps, though, I worried more being in the dark.

I was not the sort of person who could sit and wait. I was completely without patience and always felt better when I was taking some action, and I was apt to take it without due thought simply because I was eager to do something.

It was while I was waiting for the birth of my child that I wrote to the Pope. It was a daring thing to do, but I remembered how pleased he had been with me and what Panzani and Conn had said about his appreciation of my efforts to bring people to the Faith. I had my beautiful cross which I wore constantly to remind me.

Sadly poor George Conn had died. He had had to leave England because the winters were too damp for him, but he did not live long when he returned to Italy. I now had Count Rosetti in his place and was quite fond of him, but he could not be such a friend as George had been.

However, greatly daring and not telling Charles for I was sure he would have forbidden it, I wrote to his Holiness telling him that the Puritans of England were trying to destroy my husband, who desperately needed funds to fight against them. Would the Pope come to our aid?

When I had dispatched the messenger, I felt better. I was sure the Pope would do something for us. After all, he had been so pleased with me.

The weather had grown hot and I was dreading my confinement. I was haunted by memories of the last and I wished fervently that Mamie could have been with me. There were times when I missed her sorely. I should have loved to have her wise comments on the situation now. Of course there was Lucy. Lucy was amusing, vital but different from Mamie. She lacked that motherliness which I had always sensed in Mamie and which had been such a comfort to me. There would never be another Mamie. She had three little children of her own now and had not been very well of late. I longed to tell her of our trouble but even I realized that it would be dangerous to write letters about such secret matters.

Every day now I looked for a messenger from the Pope. I imagined myself telling Charles what I had been able to achieve. How delighted he would be with his clever little wife!

In the meantime there was the baby and the time for its arrival was getting nearer and nearer.

It happened on the eighth day of the month. The birth was easy and the child healthy. This time it was a boy, and I was so delighted when they put him into my arms. The ordeal which I had been dreading was over and there seemed to be no fears about this one.

“I do declare,” I said to Lucy, “I never felt so well after having given birth to a child.”

“It’s a good sign,” Lucy told me. “The boys always come more easily than the girls.”

I forgot everything else in the next few days and just lay in my bed. Charles came to see me and the boy and we were very happy for a while. I had only one regret. I had no good news from the Pope to give him.

Never mind, I told myself, it will come and it will be a further reason for rejoicing.

Then he had to leave for the Border because the Scots were at their mischief again.

It was about a week after he had left when the messenger came from the Pope. Eagerly I read what he had written and I have rarely been so disappointed in my life. The Holy Father would be willing to help and could send as many as eight thousand men. He would do so as soon as the King of England embraced the Catholic Faith. Until then the Holy Father regretted that he would be unable to do anything to help.

My disappointment was so bitter, I just buried my head in the pillows and wept.

After that I suffered such a tragedy that I forgot all my anxieties about everything else.

My little Anne fell ill. She had always been the delicate one and had been troubled by a cough from her birth, but after the arrival of my son, whom we christened Henry, she seemed to grow worse.