My fears were not without foundation, for when Helvoetsluys was in sight one of the ships went down in the rough sea. I was grieved to see that it was the one which contained the equipment to fit up a chapel for me in the apartments which would be given to me during my stay.

That seemed a bad omen.

I had very few friends with me. Among them were Lord Arundel and Lord Goring—the father of George who had betrayed the Army Plot but who had returned to us so contrite that Charles had forgiven him, saying that he would be the more eager to serve us because of his lapse from fidelity and would want to make up for the trouble he had caused us. I had my confessor Father Philip and Father Cyprien Gamache; and among the few ladies Susan, the Countess of Denbigh and the Duchess of Richmond—and a few of my French attendants.

How wonderful it was to be on dry land. I was immensely relieved when, with Mary beside me, I stepped ashore at Hounslerdike. The eager young bridegroom was waiting for us there and the welcoming cannon thundered out as he escorted us to the coaches which would take us to the Hague.

There was no doubt of the respect in which the Prince of Orange held us. I had not been mistaken in his delight at the marriage; I did not want ceremony though. I wanted to make my transactions quickly, to build up an army and take it back to Charles.

I was met by Charles’s sister, Elizabeth of Bohemia, who was very beautiful although she took little pains with her appearance and now seemed somewhat ravaged by the tragedies which had befallen her. There could not have been two people more unlike. She made me aware of how she despised that attention I gave to my appearance and the clothes I wore (something which was born in me and which I had never cultivated), my smallness, my femininity; perhaps she knew that my folly had not helped her brother’s cause. She had never forgotten that she was an English Princess and was angry because of what was happening in England. She could not have been more deeply concerned about that than I was, and the fact that she was inclined to blame me was something I found hard to bear at that time.

Rupert was kind and respectful; he exuded the desire for adventure and was determined to obey the wishes of the King and look after me. Charles Louis was still sulking and did not appear.

I thought that if only Charles had been with me and all was well at home, what a happy occasion this could have been.

March had set in, cold and blustery, and during the journeyings and triumphal entry into the capital I was growing more and more impatient. But the Prince of Orange was determined to honor us. How I could have laughed with Charles at the gauche behavior of these Dutch. They lacked the manners of the English Court and I remembered that I had found those far less gracious than the ones I had grown accustomed to in my girlhood. The Burgomasters kept their hats on in my presence which at home would have been considered an insult, and at first I thought this might have been intended because some of those simply clad, unsmiling men bore a certain resemblance to our own Roundheads. But it proved to be just ignorance. I thought when the mistake was explained to me I would break into hysterical laughter for one of them kissed the hand of my dwarf, Geoffrey Hudson, thinking he was one of my sons.

How indignant my sons would have been at that!

I used to cry at night longing for Charles. The only consolation I could find was in writing to him; and as I did so my eyes would brim over with tears which dropped onto the paper making great blots.

“The marks of love,” I told him they were. They would prove to him how I wept for him.

It was a great day when I received a letter from him. It contained little news of the progress of affairs, but it assured me—his dear heart—that his days were dark without me and that he was entirely mine.

The weeks flew past. So much time was spent in ceremonies and I realized that I should have come quietly for there were few opportunities of conducting the business which I longed to complete.

By the time we left the Hague for Rotterdam, May had come. I chafed against the delay. Charles was writing regularly and his letters constantly expressed his devotion, but they were no substitute for his presence. We had worked out a little code before I left and it gave me a delicious sense of intimacy as I opened his letters and read. I lived for those letters and the day when I would return to him.

In the midst of this, one of the daughters of the Prince of Orange died and the ceremonies were brought to an abrupt end. We returned to the Hague and the Prince of Orange joined his army. He insisted that we inspect his troops, which was all for our honor, of course, but I could get no answer to the real question: How much help could I wring from them? Or perhaps, could I get any help at all?

At length it was intimated to me that while the Prince of Orange was ready to mediate between the King and the Parliament it would be unwise to supply arms for Charles to fight his own subjects. The people of Holland were sternly Protestant and not unlike our own Roundheads. He could not go against the wishes of his people.

Then I must try to barter with the jewelry and plate which I had brought with me. There followed for me a period which was something like a dream. I became a kind of saleswoman, a peddler displaying my wares and trying to bargain with people the like of whom I had never known before.

It was a disheartening business. Most of the people who came to see me were Jewish and had a keen eye for business. They admired the jewels. Who could fail to do so? They were the priceless heirlooms of England.

They were beautiful, one merchant told me and his eyes glistened as he touched them reverently. “But, my lady, these jewels are not yours to sell. They are the property of the crown.”

I was angry. “My husband gave them to me so I cannot see how they are not mine,” I retorted.

“If we bought them they could be demanded back as goods sold when the seller had no right to sell.”

“That’s nonsense,” I cried.

“It is how it would be,” insisted the merchant. “And who would want to buy a crown like this? Who would wear it but a monarch?”

“You could break it up. The rubies are priceless.”

“Break up such a beautiful thing, my lady! You are asking me to break my heart.”

So they argued and the real reason was that if they bought those jewels they could be demanded back and a court of law would doubtless say they had no right to them. It was understandable from their viewpoint.

They were interested, though, in some of the smaller items. I knew I should not get a very high price for them but supposed anything was better than nothing.

My journey was not being a success and I was beginning to wonder what Charles was doing without me there to guide him. I know that sounds conceited and nonsensical too, considering the mistakes I had made, but much as I loved Charles I could not be blind to his weaknesses, and most of all the easy way in which he gave in when pressed. He needed me there to make him stand firm against his enemies.

It was a great blow to learn that Hull had declared against him and that when he had sent out little James to occupy the city in his name, the gates had been shut against him. Hull! That city where was stored the ammunition intended for the Scots!

“It is disaster all the time,” I said to the Countess of Denbigh. “We are the most unlucky people on Earth.”

A messenger came—not from Charles this time, but from someone on behalf of my mother. She was living in abject poverty in a small house in Cologne. Her attendants had all deserted her because for a long time she had been unable to pay their wages, and she had been forced to break up the furniture to burn in the grate because she suffered so much from the cold. She had little longer to live and she wanted to see me before she died.

I prepared to leave at once but was told that the visit would be frowned on by Holland for there was a strong republican feeling here and they did not like Queens. While I was hesitating another message came. My mother was dead.

Desolation hit me then. My mother—the wife of the great Henri IV, the Regent who had once ruled France, to die as a pauper! How could my brother have allowed that?

What was happening to everyone and everything around us? I could not believe that the world had grown into such a cruel place. There was another death which saddened me even more than that of my mother. It was years since I had parted from Mamie and during that time Charles had become of such importance in my life that my affection for him was greater than anything I could ever feel for another person. But I had loved Mamie dearly and always would. She had been the dearest companion of my childhood. And now she was dead.

I was stunned when I heard the news following so closely on the death of my mother.

Mamie was too young to die. Her life must have been very different after she had left me. Marriage…children…had she been happy? She had given me the impression that she had been but how could I be sure? And she had had little children. Dear Mamie, how she must have loved them and they her! She had become governess to Mademoiselle de Montpensier, who must have been a trying charge, and yet she was at Mamie’s bedside when she died and Mamie had commended her children to her for her last thoughts had been for them. She had remembered me too.

I wept bitterly. I should have been there. Dear Mamie, I thought. I hoped she had been as happy in her marriage as I had…but that was impossible for there was no man on Earth like Charles. Mamie had been so pleased that I had found happiness in marriage.