“George Goring! No! Never!”

“That is so. He wanted to be in command and there was conflict with Wilmot on this issue—so to take his revenge he informed against the plotters.”

“I cannot believe it.”

“Whether Your Majesty does or not it is true,” he said. “The conspirators have escaped to France. I will say this for Goring. He let Jermyn go…Jermyn came to warn him that the plot was betrayed and, not knowing who the traitor was, urged Goring to get away quickly. Goring could have arrested Jermyn on the spot but apparently he had enough decency to desist from that.”

“And Jermyn?” I asked anxiously.

“Is safely on his way to Rome.”

“I thank God for that.”

“And, Madam, do you know what is being said about you and Jermyn?”

“I know people will tell any lies about me.”

“They are saying that he is your lover. If you fled now and joined him and the others what is now speculation would be taken as certainty.”

“Oh, the wickedness of it!” I cried. “How dare they!”

“They would dare much,” said stern Montreuil, “and I beg you to give them no more cause to do so. Some of your ladies have been questioned and they speak of nocturnal visits to meet men of the Parliament.”

“It was to persuade them to help the Earl of Strafford.”

“The actions of a queen who made midnight assignations with various men could be misconstrued.”

“I never heard such nonsense. I am the King’s loyal wife and subject.”

“We know, Madam, and those close to you have no doubt of it. But a queen must not only be beyond reproach but be seen to be, and your behavior has scarcely been restrained.”

“This is no time for restraint. It is time for action. Oh, why is everyone against me!”

“That is untrue. As your brother’s ambassador I am here to serve you and I can do that best by giving you the truth.”

He had gained his point. I knew that I must stay for a while yet.

That very day news came. The revelation of the Army Plot had decided them. Strafford was found guilty—among other charges—of attempting to bring an army over from Ireland to fight the English.

He was sentenced to death.

I know that Charles has been blamed for what happened next and I know too that he had no alternative but to do it.

What terrible days they were! They marked the beginning of the débâcle.

The King came to Whitehall. He was strained and more unhappy than I had ever seen him. His thoughts were all for Strafford. He had loved that man, and I had been fond of him too. Neither of us could bear to contemplate what would happen to him.

“He must not die,” Charles said again and again. “I have promised him that he shall not die.”

“You are the King,” I reminded him. “You will refuse to sign the death warrant and they cannot kill him without that. You are still the King, remember, though these miserable Puritans try to pretend otherwise.”

“No,” said Charles firmly, “I shall not sign the death warrant.”

London was afire with the desire to see Strafford’s head severed from his body. Why did the common people love such sights? Was it because those whom they had envied might now be envying them since, in spite of lack of wealth and standing, they at least had life. Perhaps. But in any case the mob was howling for Strafford’s blood.

There were rumors coming from every direction. Some said the French fleet had seized the Channel Islands. That made them curse me…and my mother. Poor Mother, what a choice she had made when she insisted on coming to England!

The night that followed was one of the most terrifying of my life. The shouts and screams of the mob can reduce even the most brave to fear; it is the sound of those who are like baying animals intent on destroying their prey; there is no reasoning; there is nothing but the desire to inflict pain and torture on those whom they have decided to attack.

The wicked scandals about me, the accusations against that good man, the King, the demand for Strafford’s blood, when all he had done was be a loyal statesman—all these were excuses those blood-crazed men and women had fed to themselves. If they had had any power to think and paused awhile to do so they must have seen them as false. But the very thin layer of civilization had been broken apart and they had emerged like animals in a jungle hunt. They were worse. Animals hunt for food; they hunted just for the lust of revenge on those who had enjoyed what they thought of as the luxuries of life. How I hated them! The feeble-minded, unwashed, envious bloodthirsty dregs of the human race.

They were clamoring at the gates of Whitehall. I could vaguely hear the shouts of “Justice! Execution.” Justice! What justice was there for a good man like Strafford? Execution? Yes. They wanted blood. Strafford was to appease them first. They were like hungry wolves following a sleigh. Throw out Strafford so that we can feed on him. That will satisfy us…for a time.

Catholics were crowding into my chapel to pray, for they saw this as something more than the mob’s fury against Strafford. My name was bandied about too freely for their peace of mind. Some of them collected their valuables and were making efforts to get to the coast.

I sent a messenger to Pym, as the leader of the Commons, asking him for protection. Lucy helped me. She professed friendship with Pym and he must have been rather flattered by the attention of such a beautiful lady of the Court. I knew of her relationship with Strafford and I was sorry for her, guessing what she would be suffering now.

Pym’s answer was that I should prepare to leave the country for that was the only way I could be safe.

Charles arrived at Whitehall. The people did not hate him so much. If he would sign Strafford’s death warrant doubtless they would cheer him.

He was distraught.

“What can I do?” he cried. “Strafford has been loyal to me. He was my friend…my good friend. I have promised him that although it may be necessary to remove him from his post, I will never let him die.”

We clung together. He stroked my hair. “This is a sorry state of affairs,” he murmured. “It grieves me that I have brought you to this.”

“You brought me only happiness,” I told him. “Always remember that.”

Then we sat together, holding hands and in a way comforting each other.

“Whatever happens,” said Charles, “you and I have known such a happy life together as few people experience.”

It was true and it was wonderful how, even with the mob howling at the gates, we could feel a certain happiness as long as we were together.

Suddenly there was a quietness from without and Charles sent one of the guards to see what was happening. What they had to tell made me shiver with horror. Someone in the mob had said that the Queen Mother was the real culprit. Nothing had gone well since she had come to England. She even had a malevolent effect on the weather.

“To St. James’s!” they had cried.

I buried my face in my hands. I would have been glad if my mother had left England but she was still my mother and I loved her in a way. I could not bear the thought of her being subjected to humiliation. It was true she had meddled: she had tried to make Catholics of the children; she had urged me to take a strong line with those who had gone against me and perhaps I had been influenced by her; she had openly flaunted her adherence to the Catholic Church and her contempt for that of the Protestants; she so often forgot that she was a guest in this country and she had cost Charles a great deal of money by keeping an establishment for which she could not afford to pay. Yet she was my mother.

And the younger children were with her at St. James’s. Only Charles was with us at Whitehall and Mary was at Somerset House.

The long night seemed as though it would never end. Charles and I sat hand in hand hardly speaking, worn out with exhaustion but unable to sleep.

In the morning several of the Bishops called on Charles.

“There is nothing to be done other than sign the death warrant,” they said. “The people have made up their minds that they want Strafford’s blood.”

“I cannot do it,” Charles insisted. “I have given my word.”

“My lord,” said one of the bishops, “there comes a time when certain action must be taken. It is better for one man to die than thousands.”

“Thousands…” echoed Charles.

“The people are in an angry mood. I fear they would attack the palace first.”

“My wife…my children…” cried Charles.

“My lord, none of them is safe. It is Strafford’s blood they want. He is a symbol. If you refuse to sign the death warrant you are going against Parliament for they have passed the sentence. To refuse to sign it is defiance against Parliament.”

“I do defy them. I will not sign away the life of a man who has shown me nothing but friendship and loyalty.”

The Bishops were dismayed. “We fear the consequences. They will break into the palace. The Queen….” They looked at me solemnly. “The people murmur all the time against the Queen.”

I looked at Charles and saw the frank terror in his face. It was fear for me and the children.

He said: “Give me time…time….” And I knew that he was wavering.

The Bishops left and Charles turned to me. “What am I going to do?” he cried in despair. “You are in danger. The children….”

I said: “Charles, you must not think of me. You must do what is right.”

“How could I not think of you? I would do anything…anything rather than that harm should come to you.”

Then we kissed tenderly and were silent for a long time. His resolution was wavering. He was going to give them what they wanted, not out of fear for himself—he was the bravest man on earth—but because he dreaded what they would do to me. I think we both remembered that Queens had been beheaded before. Worse still, if I fell into the hands of the mob, they would tear me to pieces before the judges could condemn me.