Our son came to us. He was very grave for he was fully aware of what was going on. Young Charles had always been precocious. He looked at his father questioningly and the King said: “They are crying for Strafford’s blood. How can I sacrifice one who has served me so loyally?”

Our son surveyed us solemnly and I thought how serious and kingly he looked—tall, commanding even at his age—he was eleven years old but already looked like a king. His dark rather saturnine looks gave him an air of authority. He was the sort of child whom none could ignore.

The King said: “My son, you shall take a message to the House of Lords. I will appeal to their sense of justice. It will be our last attempt to save the Earl of Strafford.”

Young Charles was eager to play his part in the drama and all night the King and I sat up drafting the letter which our son would take. We were sure he could not be ignored and would attract sympathy by his very youth.

In the morning young Charles put on robes of state and took his seat in the House of Lords. There was, I heard, a stir of interest as he entered and I could imagine that gravity, that kingly dignity which was so impressive in one so young.

He presented the letter. If the matter had not gone so far it might have had some effect. But it was too late and our last attempt failed.

The King was deeply moved to receive a letter from Strafford himself. Strafford realized what was at stake. He could perhaps see more clearly than I or the King. He knew that this struggle was between the King and the Parliament and there was still time to save the country from civil war. The Parliament had decided on his death; if the King did not agree to accept their verdict they would rise up against him and try to destroy all that the Monarchy stood for. Strafford must have seen that, and loyal subject that he was to King and country, he released the King from his promise.

Charles was deeply moved and I think that helped him to his decision. All next day the people were filling the streets. They made for Whitehall and St. James’s. The situation was becoming very dangerous.

I had been urging Charles not to give way but now I saw that if he did not it would be the end of us all. I thought of my mother, my children, the King himself…and my common sense told me that Strafford would have to go.

Charles was beside himself with grief. He had given his word to Strafford, but Strafford had released him from his promise. He believed in his heart, though, that the King would never agree to his execution.

“You have done all you could,” I reminded Charles. “No one could have done more.”

The King nodded. “But I gave my word. Perhaps…I should keep it.”

“At what cost?” I asked. “Your children…me….”

“Don’t,” he begged. “I could not bear life if you were harmed.”

“We must be reasonable, Charles. I was fond of Strafford. I know he was our loyal friend…but many lives are at stake.”

He embraced me. He was calm and cold and I knew he was thinking of me and the children.

Then he said slowly: “There is no other way out. I must sign.”

Strafford’s execution was fixed for the next day—the twelfth of May—a day I shall never forget. Charles insisted on knowing what Strafford had said when he understood that Charles had signed the death warrant.

Charles never got over it. I am sure to the last he remembered Strafford and in his mind’s eye saw the man whom he had tried to save being given the news that the King had betrayed him—for that was how Charles saw it and would not see it otherwise, however much I pointed out to him that it was not betrayal for Strafford himself had advised him to do it. But he heard that Strafford had murmured: “Put not your trust in Princes.” Poor man, he must have been overwrought. Not so much for himself but wondering about his family.

He had sent a message to Archbishop Laud, who was also lodged in the Tower, to be at his window as he passed and give him his blessing. Laud was there, and blessed him as he passed and then fell fainting to the floor as Strafford went on to the scaffold on Tower Hill.

Crowds came to see the deed, and there was a hushed silence when he raised his hand and spoke to them.

There were plenty to tell us what he had said and this was the gist of it:

“I had always believed parliaments in England to be the happy constitution of the kingdom and the nation and the best means under God to make the King and his people happy. Do not let the beginning of the people’s happiness be written in letters of blood.”

There was a warning there, but the people would not see it.

He died nobly as would be expected of such a man, refusing to have his eyes bound and asking for a moment of respite to say a silent prayer, promising that when he had prayed he would lift his hand as a sign to the executioner to wield the axe.

Thus he died and so ended the troubles of his earthly life.

Ours were just beginning.

THE SPY

When I went to see my mother she was in a state of panic. She had faced the fury of the people of her own country so was no stranger to unpopularity which was reaching the danger point.

“I must get away,” she said. “I must leave this country. I tell you this, Henriette. I picture those people storming the palace. They would have no respect for Queens. I did not think this could happen here. I had thought you were well settled. These people are barbarians. They hate the King. They hate you. And it seems that most of all they hate me. Savages! Like uncivilized people they turn on those who are foreigners to them.”

“They turned on Strafford,” I reminded her. “He was no foreigner. And yes, dear mother, I think you should go…if that is possible.”

“You should come with me, my dear.”

“And leave Charles!”

“Come with me. Perhaps we could go to France.”

“My brother would not welcome us.”

“Shame on him! His own mother and sister!”

“He is first of all King of France.”

“He has no mind of his own. Between Richelieu and that wife of his…. She gives herself airs now that she has produced the heir to the throne. Mon Dieu, she took long enough to do it.”

“Charles thinks that no hindrance would be put in the way of your going.”

“Then I shall leave as soon as possible.”

“I have thought of something. We have a new ally now in the Prince of Orange. This marriage might not have been so degrading after all. I know that Orange has little standing in Europe, but he is very rich. It may be that he will help to raise an army for us and I could bring it back to stand with the King’s. And then we could make war on these Puritan Parliamentarians and let them see who is the master here…they or their anointed King.”

“It is a good idea. I want to leave as soon as possible. I shall never sleep peacefully in my bed until I am out of this country.”

I said that I would consult Charles. “He would not want me to go,” I added. “He would hate my being out of the country.”

“Oh come,” said my mother impatiently, “you talk as though he is a passionate bridegroom and you plan your honeymoon.”

“Our being together is a long honeymoon. There is no restriction that I know of as to how long they shall last.”

My mother lifted her shoulders in exasperation. She was not the sort of woman to understand love like ours.

I left her then and when I saw Charles I told him what was in my mind. He always listened to what I had to say with as much attention—no more—than he listened to his ministers.

“Mary is too young for the consummation but the Prince of Orange is urging us to send her to Holland. Why should she not go? She will be safer there than here. I can take her…perhaps travel with my mother…and then I could say that I am going to the spa in Lower Lorraine because I am in poor health. Of course I should not go there, but be in Holland and perhaps try to see my brother. Who knows? If he were actually face to face with me he might not be able to refuse my pleas for help.”

On consideration Charles thought it a good idea.

“We should be separated in any case,” he said, “as I have to go to Scotland.”

“Scotland again!”

“I plan to placate them, to give them what they want and to enlist their help against those in England who are against me.”

I clasped my hands. Any new project filled me with hope even though, had I pondered more intently, I might have seen that it was doomed to failure before it began. But my nature was such that as long as I was feverishly putting some plot into action I could see nothing but success. Charles was a little like that too. Perhaps that was why we plunged into wild schemes without giving them due thought.

When Parliament heard that my mother was planning to leave they gave their wholehearted permission for her to go. No one could have said more clearly: Good riddance. They even helped her on her way by giving her a sum of money for the journey.

As to my leaving, they were very suspicious about that. Naturally they suspected my trip to the Continent had been arranged for a purpose other than my health. They were insulting. They gave orders that my jewels were not to be taken out of the country and they instructed Sir Theodore Mayerne to examine me and decide whether the waters of a foreign spa were necessary to preserve my health.

Old Mayerne could be one of the most irritating men I knew. Of course he was a Huguenot and not very sympathetic toward the Catholic cause. I think he looked upon me as a wayward child. He could not bring himself to say that my health would be endangered if I did not take the waters. I was annoyed with him when I heard what he had reported and the verdict was that I was not to be allowed to leave the country.