I wrote to that good and faithful woman and begged her to do all she could to bring my daughter to me, although before, when she had been in Exeter with her at the time of the siege, I had abused her for not leaving the city with my child.

Many royalists had come to me in France, which was another indication of how badly everything was going at home. Some of them did not like the idea of the Prince of Wales’s coming to France because they thought that I would endeavor to make a Catholic of him and if he became one that would put an end to his ever succeeding to the throne. I had other ideas. I wanted a good marriage for him.

Lord Digby was one of those who was against my sending for the Prince and I knew it was because of religion, but I managed to persuade him of the necessity to get arms so that the King might fight again, and finally I won their agreement, and they went off to Jersey to tell the Prince that I wished him to come to Paris.

They were a long time gone and in due course I had a communication from Digby to the effect that the Prince was very reluctant to leave Jersey because he had become enamored of the Governor’s daughter. This was the first of Charles’s countless love affairs which were to be talked of all over Europe. He was only fifteen but he was already showing the way he would go. That he could dally in such a way when so much was at stake angered me. I sent urgent messages to Digby, but still Charles would not leave the Governor’s daughter.

Meanwhile there was news from the King. He was going to Scotland. I was frantic. I wrote to him asking him to command our son to come to me at once.

While I was waiting for his arrival, which could not now be long delayed, I turned my attention to my niece, Mademoiselle de Montpensier or the Grande Mademoiselle as she was often called—the richest heiress in France. She was in fact Anne-Marie-Louise d’Orléans—a royal Princess, daughter of my brother Gaston and therefore worthy to mate with the Prince of Wales on account of her birth and doubly so on account of the money she had inherited through her mother. I did not greatly care for her. She was a haughty, arrogant creature and being fully aware of my unfortunate position she was not going to let me forget it. She flaunted her superiority. Her clothes were always so much richer than those of others; she scintillated with precious jewels as though to say, “Look at me. The richest heiress in France! The most desirable wife for some lucky man. He shall be of my choice though.” She had been spoiled all her life and now it was too late to correct that. She was very fair, which made her outstanding in our dark-haired almost black-eyed family. Her large blue eyes were slightly prominent and although she had not inherited our darkness she certainly had the big nose of the family. She glowed with health and I rather spitefully noticed that her teeth were discolored and spoilt her looks. She had visited me now and then, having been prevailed on to do so by kindhearted Queen Anne, and she would sit with me superciliously noting, I was sure, my clothes, which if they were a little worn were more elegant than hers. I thought her somewhat vulgar and if it had not been for her immense fortune I would not have considered her for one moment as a suitable bride for Charles.

Ah, but that fortune! I must set myself out to win it.

“You have never been to England,” I said to her. “Oh, what pleasures you have missed.”

“There is not much pleasure to be found there now, Madame.”

“The green fields are there…those little rivers all sparkling in the sun. There is no country quite so beautiful. I confess I long for a glimpse of those white cliffs once more.”

“Let us hope the King is able to keep a hold on the crown.”

“Can anyone doubt it? This is nothing…a rebellion of a few wicked men. Rest assured the King will recover all very shortly.”

“He has been rather long in doing so, dear aunt.”

“Victory is within his grasp.”

She was looking at me cynically. I knew she was thinking: Naseby. Bristol. The King in Scotland feebly trying to win the help of an ancient enemy. The family scattered.

“The Prince is growing up,” I said. “He will be there to stand with his father.”

“He if fifteen, I believe. I am seventeen.”

“I know it well,” I said. “But you are much of an age. I have a feeling that when he comes here you are going to be very good friends.”

“I do not greatly care for the society of young boys,” she answered slyly.

“Charles is a man. He is older than his years. Why, in Jersey…”

But no. I was being impulsive again. It would be unwise to tell her of his philandering with the Governor’s daughter.

She went on: “My aunt died recently, as you know.”

“I still mourn my dear sister,” I said.

“The King of Spain will be looking for a wife, I daresay. His period of mourning will soon be over.”

The minx! I thought. She is teasing me. The King of Spain! Her aunt’s widower who is now in the marriage market. And he has a crown to offer her…not the promise of one.

Those protuberant blue eyes were laughing at me. She was saying: I see right through you, dear Aunt Henriette. Do you imagine that I do not know how eager you are to find a rich wife for your son?

Perhaps I had meddled again. Perhaps it would have been better to let Charles do his own wooing. If the affair in Jersey was an example he would be able to do that very well indeed.

It was June when my son arrived in Paris. He could not defy his father’s orders even for the sake of the Jersey charmer. He arrived a little resentful but he was soon on the look-out for fresh conquests.

I was delighted to see him and for a few moments we just clung together. He had always been a strong boy. He had grown very tall and had an air of dignity which pleased me. He looked every inch a King. He still had the swarthy looks he had been born with; his features were too big for good looks and indeed if one studied his face he was really quite ugly; but he was possessed of such charm—his smile, his voice, his manner—that in any company he would be distinguished, and his royal bearing was apparent. I was proud of him.

When he arrived the Court was at Fontainebleau and kind Queen Anne immediately sent an invitation for us to join her there.

Charles and I rode together and when we were within a few miles of the palace we were met by the Queen in her coach with little King Louis. She expressed her pleasure to see Charles, and when we alighted at the palace she gave him her arm to conduct him in while I was left to the care of the little King.

It was not long before Charles was engaged in a flirtation with his cousin La Grande Mademoiselle, as she liked to be called, but it was soon clear to me that she was only amusing herself and there could be no official ceremony until England was once more in the hands of its King.

In the meantime the King was in Scotland and I trembled for what was going on.

Life could not be all sorrow—even mine. What a wonderful day it was when Lady Dalkeith—Lady Morton now that her father-in-law had died—arrived in France with my little Henriette. I could scarcely believe this good fortune, so accustomed was I to bad.

Madame de Motteville brought me the news and I ran down to find them there. I snatched up my baby. She did not know me, of course, for she had been only fifteen days old when I had left her and now she was two years. She could chatter a little and she looked at me gravely. I thought how beautiful she was—the most beautiful of all my children and the most beloved—and always would be.

It was a wonderful reunion. I could almost believe that my fortunes had changed. From despair I allowed myself to revel in absolute happiness…for a short while.

Dear Lady Morton—to whom I had not always been kind, for I am afraid I had the common fault of blaming others when misfortune struck me. Who could have been kinder, more loyal, more loving than this good woman! Henriette loved her and would not be separated from her and I welcomed her with all my heart and asked forgiveness for my unjust criticisms of the past, at which she fell on her knees and said she only wished to serve me and the Princess for the rest of her life.

Ah, I thought, if only we had more faithful servants like this dear lady!

I settled down to hear of their adventures, because the clever woman had actually escaped from Oatlands.

“The Commons had decided that the Princess Henriette should be placed with her brother and sister at St. James’s Palace where her retinue would be dismissed and that would have meant me,” Lady Morton told me. “I had promised both you, Madam, and the King that I would never leave the Princess except on your orders so I decided that the only way was to escape to you.”

“Oh, my clever, clever Anne!” I cried.

“We should never have been allowed to leave,” she went on, “so I decided on disguise. I had with me a Frenchman, Gaston, who had been in the household and he posed as a valet and it was arranged that I should travel as his wife and the Princess was to be our child—a little boy. I thought that best in case we should be suspected. I left letters behind with people whom I could trust, asking them to keep our departure secret for three days, which would give us time to get well on our way. And then we left.”

I listened intently. It was the sort of plan I would have worked out myself.

“I told the Princess that she was not a princess anymore. She was a little boy and her name was Pierre, which I thought in her childish chatter sounded a little like Princess if she should let it be known who she really was. She did not like it at all, nor the ragged clothes in which we had to dress her. We had some scares along the road…not the least those resulting from the Princess herself, who was eager to tell everyone she met that she was not really Peter or Pierre but the Princess. I cannot tell you, Madam, what a joy it was to be on that boat.”