We went over the Pont Neuf to the Palace of the Louvre where I had been born.

“Apartments have been made ready for you here,” said Anne.

I turned to her and pressed her hand, too moved for speech.

The next day Cardinal Mazarin came to see me. The Cardinal was an extremely handsome man, and I could see at once why he had acquired such a sway over the Queen. There was something quite fascinating about him and, although I had not at first believed the rumors about the love between him and Anne, I now began to think that there might be some truth in them. Later I was to hear that some people were of the opinion that there had been a marriage between them. I could hardly accept that but it was clear that Queen Anne and Cardinal Mazarin enjoyed a very special relationship.

He was shrewd—he would have had to be that to have been selected by Richelieu as his successor—and it was strange that Richelieu, who had been Anne’s enemy, should have brought to her notice the one who was to become her very close friend.

My concern was not with the intricate relationship between those whom I hoped would be my benefactors. It was to enlist their help and save my poor beleaguered Charles.

Anne, I was sure, would have promised a great deal. Mazarin was cautious; and it occurred to me that he was not altogether displeased by the way events were going in England as they meant that country could not interfere effectively in the policies of France. Anne was a goodhearted woman ruled by her emotions, but Mazarin was an astute statesman and he was going to make sure that everything worked to the advantage of France.

He was extremely kind and gentle with me; he told me how much he disliked the English Parliament and those traitors who had risen against the King, but as military help from France would be considered an act of war, he reminded me he would have to go cautiously.

I could never bear caution and in spite of the warm welcome I had been given I began to feel depressed. It was true I was able to send Charles a part of the pension Anne had given me, but that was nothing compared with what I had hoped to send in men and arms.

Eventually Mazarin put forward the suggestion that I should approach the Duke of Lorraine. The Duke was friendly with Spain and had great resources with which he proposed to help that country. Now if those resources could be directed to England, they could be of inestimable help to Charles.

“The Duke could easily be weaned from Spain,” said Mazarin. “He likes a cause and I am sure yours would appeal to his chivalry and feeling for the nobility.”

I could not afford to lose any opportunity so I at once sent an agent to Lorraine. At the same time I put out feelers at the Court of Holland. My son Charles was growing up and would need a wife. Why should she not be the eldest daughter of the Prince of Orange? I made it clear that the Princess would need a very large dowry if she was to marry the Prince of Wales.

News from home filtered through to me. It was worrying. My old friend the Earl of Newcastle, on whose loyalty I would have staked my life, had decided that he could no longer live in a country which suited him so ill and had given up his command and gone to Holland where he proposed to settle down. I guessed that he had been heartbroken by the decimation of his Whitecoats at Marston Moor.

He was not the only royalist who left the country. It was significant. Those men must have made up their minds that Charles had little chance of keeping his crown.

But Charles had determined to fight on. I worried constantly about him. I dreamed of him in fearful situations. Men like Fairfax, Essex and Oliver Cromwell haunted my dreams.

“Take more care of yourself,” I wrote to Charles. “You risk yourself too much and it almost kills me when I hear of it. If not for your sake then for mine, look after yourself.”

There was a rumor that he was suing for peace. This terrified me and I wrote to him to take care of his honor and begging him to be true to the resolutions he had made. He was the King—anointed in the eyes of God. He must never forget that.

His reply put new heart into me. Nothing…no fear of death or misery would make him do anything unworthy of my love.

I think our love for each other was greater than it had ever been. Adversity had strengthened it. We lived only for the day when we should be together; and it was that hope which kept us both going when disaster stared us in the face.

There was a new ray of hope when the Duke of Lorraine sent word that he would let us have ten thousand men, and the Prince of Orange offered transport. I was delighted. I was getting somewhere; but just as I was about to write off to Charles and tell him the good news, the States General decided that to allow these men to pass through their territory would be considered an act of war by the Parliamentarians and they could not permit it.

How I raged and stormed! Why should it not be an act of war! Why were they afraid of those miserable Roundheads!

I knew the answer. Our enemies were gaining ground and many people believed that Charles was already defeated.

I turned to Mazarin but he, too, impressed by the Roundhead ascendancy, found that he also could not allow us to bring our men and arms through France.

Disaster on all sides! if it had not been for the hope of seeing Charles one day, I would have asked nothing more than to retire from the world, to enter a convent and there wait for death; but while he lived, I wanted to live. I must be ready if ever we should be free to be together again.

His letters comforted me. I read them again and again.

“I love thee above all earthly things,” he wrote, “and my happiness is inseparably conjoined with thine. If thou knew the life I lead…even in point of conversation which in my mind is the chief joy or vexation in life, I daresay thou would pity me, for some are too wise, others too foolish, some are too busy, others too reserved. I confess thy company hath perhaps made me hard to please but not the least to be pitied by thee who are the only cure for the disease….”

It was not until the end of that July that I received news of the crushing defeat at Naseby. The general view was that this was the beginning of the end but I would not allow myself to believe that. While Charles was alive and I was alive I should go on hoping and working.

Why had it happened? Why was Fate against us? I raged. I stormed. I shouted. I wept. But what was the use? It would have seemed at the start of the battle that we had a fair chance; but as usual everything went against us. Charles had chosen his position on the raised land called Dust Hill about two miles north of the village of Naseby and we had been stronger in cavalry than the enemy, but the skill of Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell decided the issue. Prince Rupert who had had some initial success and thought he had won the battle went off to attack the Parliamentary baggage and came back to the heart of the battle too late to save it. Fortunately both Charles and Rupert managed to escape. The Roundheads lost two hundred men and the Royalists one thousand, but that was not the whole sad story. Five thousand men were taken prisoner with all our guns and baggage, as well as Charles’s private correspondence.

It was disaster…the greatest we had had.

Queen Anne very kindly offered me the Château of St. Germain for the summer and I was grateful for that, and there in the beautiful castle I brooded on what was happening at home.

There was worse to come. Rupert had surrendered Bristol to the Roundheads. Bristol…that loyal city! Charles said he would never forgive Rupert for giving it up. Poor Rupert! Poor Charles! How wretched they must have been! Charles, after Naseby, had lost half his army. What hope had he against Cromwell’s trained men? Cromwell! That name was on every lip. How I hated him and yet there was a tinge of admiration in my venom. If only he had been for us instead of against us. He had trained men to an excellence which could compare with the regular army and at the same time he had imbued them with religious fervor. He was the greatest leader in the country and he was against us. None more fervently so. His aim was to destroy the Monarchy, and after Naseby and the loss of Bristol it looked as though he were going to do it.

My anxiety was intense. Charles was more or less a fugitive and my children, with the exception of the Prince of Wales, were in the enemy’s hands. They were treated as commoners, all royal rank denied them; and there was a rumor that my little Henry, the Duke of Gloucester, was to be apprenticed to a trade. Shoemaking was being considered.

I wept until I could not see. I thrust aside the comfort my friends had to offer. I would not listen—even to Henry Jermyn and Madame de Motteville.

But after a while I began to bestir myself. Everything was not lost. Charles had gone to Scotland; he was going to see if he could persuade the Scots to help him against the Roundheads. They would settle their religious differences; he would promise them almost anything in return for their help.

It was a desperate situation but just as my spirits had sunk to their very nadir, I was hoping again and beginning to make plans.

My hopes were on my eldest son. He had escaped to Jersey and I wanted him to come to France to me. He was fifteen years old and if I could get him advantageously married it might be possible to raise a fresh army which I could send to England. The suggestion of a Dutch marriage had not been received with any great enthusiasm by the Prince and Princess of Orange. This meant that they were beginning to suspect that the Roundheads had almost won the day and that the heir to a throne which might not be there was not a very good match. I wanted him with me. I did not want to be separated from all my family. I longed for my baby more than any of the other children; I worried about her constantly. She was just over a year old and I wondered what would become of her. I knew that when Exeter had fallen to the Roundheads she had been removed to Oatlands and was still in the care of Lady Dalkeith.