I raged at Mayerne, who surveyed me sardonically. I could not threaten to dismiss him from the royal service. He was too valuable for that and Charles would never have agreed. He admired Mayerne as the best doctor in Europe and he had often said that his frankness was symbolic of his nature. “He is incapable of dissembling,” said Charles, “and those are the sort of people we need about us, those who tell the truth for its own sake and do not suppress it out of fear or in the hope of favor.”

So I had to accept his judgment, knowing of course that it was the truth. But I stormed at him. I had suffered a great deal during the uncertainty over Strafford and I was worried every hour of the day for our future.

“I am afraid I shall go mad,” I said to Mayerne, at which he looked at me steadily.

“You need have no fear,” he replied, “for you already are.”

I could not help laughing at him. What a way for a subject to speak to his sovereign! But he did not see me as a queen. In his opinion I was an hysterical overwrought woman who was either imagining or pretending she suffered from ailments which would be cured in a foreign spa.

So with Charles in Scotland and my mother on the way to Antwerp, I went to Oatlands. There I would work out how I could get Mary to Holland and accompany her; and even if I were not allowed to leave the country it would be better for Mary to go. She would be much safer in Holland.

I was trying to find a little peace while I waited for Charles to return. If he could please the Scots, if he could get them on his side, who knew, we might put an end to this miserable Parliament. Parliaments had always caused trouble. I agreed with Charles that a king had been chosen by Divine Right to rule and surely that should be enough without parliaments interfering. They always caused trouble. Why could they not leave us in peace?

But they could not…even at Oatlands. Word was sent to me that the Prince of Wales was visiting me too frequently and that I was endeavoring to instruct him in the Catholic Faith.

My reply to that was that the King had chosen his governor and I was well aware that it was not the King’s will that any of our children should be brought up in the Catholic Faith.

That had to satisfy them, but an extraordinary thing did happen while I was at Oatlands. One day the local magistrate came to me and asked to see me in private. I saw him at once and he told me that he had received an order from Parliament to get together all the militia of the district and bring them to Oatlands by midnight. They would be met by a company of cavalry officers and would be told what was expected of them.

“I came to Your Majesty,” said the magistrate, “because I feared that it was a plot against you and I would have you know that it is my desire to serve Your Majesty with my life.”

I was always deeply moved by such expressions of loyalty and I thanked the magistrate warmly. I told him that there might well be a plot to capture me or my children…all of us perhaps. “I have many enemies, my friend,” I said. “They are those grim-faced men who think they are holier than God Himself. We have many of them in Parliament, I fear, and they plan to do me a mischief. I thank you for your warning. Now I shall be ready.”

And I was ready. The day passed quickly and I was exhilarated in spite of everything, because immediate action was demanded. I saw that everyone in the house was armed. Then we waited for nightfall and the assault.

It did not come.

I wondered why because I was sure of the integrity of the magistrate and he swore he had received the instructions he had explained.

I could only think that whoever had planned it had got wind of the loyalty of the magistrate and his men and did not want to meet opposition.

But the incident did make me feel that I ought to make plans to get away; and if they would not sanction my departure I must leave secretly.

Plotting, discarding plans, discussing the matter endlessly with Lucy who, I felt, was the only one I could really trust, planning for the horses I should need on the road to Portsmouth…all this made time pass quickly.

I decided I would leave Oatlands for Hampton Court for word had come to me that Charles was on his way home. At Hampton I could meet some of the most influential men in the country and I hoped to persuade them to stand with the King.

It was wonderful when Charles arrived at Hampton. We clung together for a long time as though we would never let each other go. The children were there too and they had their share of affection. But for Charles I was the one who meant most to him and so it was with him in my affections.

We talked and talked. The trip to Scotland had not been a success but that did not seem to matter as long as we were together again.

Quite a number of people came to Hampton to welcome the King and it was like old times and, ever ready to hope, I told myself all was going to be well again.

We were going to make a triumphant return to Whitehall. Some of our friends told us that there would be a civic welcome for us. The people were delighted because my mother had gone and that was a great source of irritation removed; the Papal envoy had left; the King had returned from Scotland without that army of Scotsmen which it was feared he might bring with him.

“Our troubles are over,” said the hopeful ones; and of course I was ready to believe them.

And then this unfortunate thing happened. We were all standing at a window looking out—the King, the children, myself and one or two of our friends—when a gypsy came up and asked for money. She had a basket on her arm; she was bent and deformed and such a strange sight that some of our party began to laugh at her.

There was a general titter. I did not like it because I never laughed at people’s deformities. I had my dwarfs, it was true, but I always treated them with the respect due to normal human beings. It was not their stunted growth which appealed to me but that I saw a certain beauty in them and they were such good servants. I was not one who laughed at the gypsy.

She looked up at us and her face was malevolent, evil. I drew back for I saw that her eyes were fixed on the King and myself as well as our children.

She took out a hand mirror from her basket and handed it to the King.

“I don’t want it,” he said.

“Look into it,” she commanded, “and see what you can see.”

The King looked at it and I who was close, looked too. I gave a little shriek. The King had turned pale. Others crowded round and looked into the mirror but they could only see their own faces and that was all I could see now, but just for a few seconds I had seen something else…and so had the King.

The mirror had shown us the King’s head…without his body.

I was almost fainting. The King had put an arm about me and I heard the cackle of the gypsy.

“Did you like what you saw, my lord, my lady? You should give me money. You should always treat the gypsies well or they might show you what it is better for you not to see.”

“Give the woman money,” said the King.

It was thrown down to her. She picked it up and put it in her basket. She took the mirror which had been given back to her. She said: “In that room in which you stand another will be sleeping. He has a dog with him. That dog will die…and when he dies the kingdom will come back to the King.”

With that she hobbled away leaving the company twittering with excitement and myself almost fainting in my husband’s arms.

He said I needed to rest and he took me to our apartment in the palace.

“It was terrible,” I gasped.

“It was an illusion,” he replied. “How could something which was not there be seen in the mirror?”

“We both saw it,” I reminded him.

“It could not have been so,” he replied.

Then he tried to comfort me with the good news that the people of London were giving us a welcome.

“They have changed toward us,” he said. “Those who were shrieking outside the palace are now going to receive us with affection.”

“Can we trust those who change so quickly?”

“They had what they wanted. Strafford dead…and your mother gone. They will love us again, you will see.”

“I do not trust such fickle love,” I said.

Then he held me fast and thanked God that we were together again.

The weather was cold but there was a new warmth in my heart as we rode side by side into Moorgate where the Mayor and aldermen were waiting to greet us. We were presented with two richly caparisoned horses and a golden coach. The Mayor told us that the horses were for the King and the Prince of Wales and the coach for me and the younger children.

Charles was so delighted that he knighted the Mayor and the Recorder on the spot and when this pleasant ceremony was over, the merchants of the city crowded round to kiss the King’s hand.

My two Charleses mounted the horses which had been presented to them and with the children I stepped into the coach and we drove down to the Guildhall.

I had not been so happy for a long time as I was when I rode through those streets under the fluttering banners and the strips of cloth of gold which they had put up to welcome us.

My husband and son looked so noble on their magnificent horses. I wondered how any could turn against them for the sake of those ugly roundheaded creatures with their black clothes and miserable faces.

There was a sumptuous banquet for us at the Guildhall and the city dignitaries had brought out the gold plate which they only did on the most important occasions.