But as the autumn mists rose over the town I began to experience certain familiar symptoms.

I was once more pregnant.

It was the worst possible time for this to happen. I was tired and ill; the country was in a state of civil war; we had healthy children and did not need another child. However, it had happened and I should love this child when it was born—if I did not die in producing it, for to tell the truth, I felt near death, and as the months passed I became more and more indisposed. I was suffering badly from rheumatism, which was no doubt due to all my travels and sometimes sleeping in damp beds; and to add to my discomfort was this unwanted pregnancy!

Charles was deeply disturbed. He wanted me to go to Exeter, where I could stay in Bedford House and he would entreat Dr. Mayerne to come to me. I wondered whether the rather perverse Sir Theodore would do that even for the King. He was old and did not want to concern himself in the country’s conflicts I was sure. But he had always loved Charles and had been his physician since Charles was a boy. He may have thought of me as a foolish woman and made no attempt to hide his opinion, but for Charles he had something like reverence and when Charles wrote to him: “For the love of me go to my wife,” he could not refuse.

I also wrote: “Help me, or all you have done in the past will be of no use.” Then realizing that this was the kind of statement which might make him refuse I added: “If you cannot come to me in my extreme need I shall always remain grateful to you for what you have done in the past.”

The result was that Dr. Mayerne came with all speed to Exeter, where in a state of considerable anxiety on account of the King, I awaited the birth of my child.

I wrote to my sister-in-law Anne of France to tell her that I was expecting a baby in June. We had never been great friends but she herself had suffered a great deal from the dominance of Cardinal Richelieu and that might have made her more gentle and sympathetic toward the suffering of others. She was now in a strong position as Regent, with Mazarin beside her to guide her, and her standing must be more firm than it had ever been. I was looking to her for help. Perhaps I could go to France if I ever recovered from this birth and there raise money and arms as I had done in Holland.

The response was immediate and I knew that I had been right in thinking that success often changed ambitious people for the better. She sent me fifty thousand pistoles, which was a good sum, and with it came everything I would need for my confinement. She wrote that she was sending Madame Perrone, her own sage femme, whom she could thoroughly recommend.

I was absolutely delighted at both this display of Anne’s friendly feelings toward me and for the money—the greater part of which I immediately sent to Charles for his armies.

It was a hot June day when my daughter was born. She was a beautiful child from the moment of her birth and, perversely, because she was the one I had not wanted, I loved her more dearly than the others.

I called her Henriette after myself and later I decided on Anne after the Queen of France in gratitude for past favors and in hope of future ones. But for the time being she was simply Henriette.

I was very anxious about my new daughter for I feared that events were not moving as we had imagined they would during that flush of euphoria which Charles and I had experienced during our reunion.

I sent word to Charles at once with the news of our daughter’s birth, telling him not to believe rumors which were being circulated to the effect that she had been born dead. She was very much alive and very beautiful and I was sure that he would only have to see her to love her.

He sent word that she was to be baptized in Exeter Cathedral according to the doctrines of the Church of England. Dear Charles, he was terrified that I would have her baptized in the Catholic Church!

He was right, of course, and I suppose Dr. Mayerne was too when he implied that a great many of the troubles through which England was passing were due to my adherence to the Catholic Faith and my efforts to introduce it into the country.

I immediately complied with Charles’s wishes and our little one was taken to the cathedral where a canopy of state had been hastily erected, but the ceremony was naturally conducted without the usual pomp.

Whatever was happening outside I did feel that joy which mothers feel when they have been safely delivered of an infant. If Charles could have been with us—even for a brief time—I could have forgotten what was happening in the outside world.

It was just over a week later, when I was still in bed and weak from my ordeal, when Henry Jermyn came to see me in some agitation.

He cried out unceremoniously: “Your Majesty is in danger. Essex is mustering troops in the town. He is going to ask for its surrender or there will be a siege.”

“Then we must leave here without delay.”

“That would be unsafe. Essex’s army is even now firmly entrenched about us.”

“Can he really be such a brute? Does he not know that I have not yet risen from child-bed?”

“He knows well and doubtless thinks it is a good time to force his will on you.”

“Bring me pen and paper. I will write to him asking for safe conduct. If he has any compassion at all he will give it.”

Henry obeyed and I wrote a letter to the Earl of Essex asking him to allow me to go unmolested to Bath or Bristol—a favor I greatly resented having to ask.

When his reply came back I was furious. The request was denied. I should have known better than to make it. Essex, however, stated that it was his intention to escort me to London where my presence was required to answer to Parliament for having levied war in England.

That was tantamount to a threat. I knew then that I had to get away before they captured me.

How could I travel with an infant only a few days old? I was distraught. I did not know which way to turn. I believed that the fiendish Essex had contrived this because his main object was to capture me. How I loathed and despised the man. He should have been with us. He had turned against his own upbringing and his own people. I could more readily forgive that traitor Oliver Cromwell, whose name was being mentioned more and more and who seemed to be responsible for the greater success which the Roundheads were having now. Yes, I could forgive him. He was a man of the people—but when men like Essex turned against their own, that was unforgivable.

But it was no use wasting time in expressing my fury against Essex. I had to think how I was going to escape, for escape I must. If they captured me and took me to London it would be the ultimate disaster. Charles would promise anything to free me.

I had to escape, and as I could not take my newborn daughter with me, I must, perforce, leave her behind.

I sent for Sir John Berkeley, who was the Governor of the city of Exeter and a tenant of Bedford House where I was living. I already had Lady Dalkeith with me, a woman of great integrity who, Charles and I had agreed, must be the one to look after our daughter. In this we proved right. I shall never forget what I owe to that woman.

Briefly I explained that for the King’s cause I had no alternative but to escape. The Roundheads were almost at our gates and their object was to capture me and take me to London, there to accuse me of treachery to the crown.

“This as you know would be such a blow to the King that he would do anything to save me, jeopardizing his own throne and losing it if need be. There is only one course open to me. I know you understand that.”

Sir John said he did indeed and would do anything I asked of him. Lady Dalkeith joined her loyal expressions to his and told me that she would defend my child with her life if need be.

I took her into my arms and we wept together. Sir John raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

So fifteen days after the birth of my little Henriette I left her, desolate and heartbroken as I was, for I knew it was the only course to take.

I waited until night fell and then dressed as a servant and, with only two of my attendants and a confessor, I escaped from Bedford House.

We had arranged that others of my household who were determined to accompany us should leave the house at various times in disguises so that they should not be recognized. My faithful dwarf, Geoffrey Hudson, who had stepped out of a pie to comfort me in no small degree, had begged to be of the party and I could not refuse him. He knew of a wood near Plymouth in which there was an old hut, and he suggested that we should make this our meeting place and all make our way to it by different routes.

When dawn came we were only three miles from Exeter and it was clearly too dangerous to walk about in daylight, for there were so many soldiers about. We found a hut. It was tumbledown and filled with straw and litter and we hastened to take refuge in this when we heard the sound of horses’ hoofs. It was fortunate that we did for the horses belonged to a group of Roundhead soldiers who were on their way to join the forces who were gathering on the outskirts of Exeter.

Our dismay was great when we realized that the soldiers were coming straight to the hut and we were thankful for the litter underneath which we were able to hide ourselves.

When I heard the soldiers right outside, my heart seemed as if it would suffocate me and I had rarely been so frightened as when I heard the door creak. We all held our breath as a soldier stepped inside the hut and kicked some of the rubbish aside.