Виктория Холт - Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

He must tell us of his adventures, I said. I could not wait to hear.

“You have been away a long time,” Henriette accused him.

“The absence was forced on me. I would rather have been in Paris than in Scotland with those Presbyterians. They are a grim crowd, dear Minette. You would not like them. It is a sin, they consider, to laugh on a Sunday.”

“Do they save up their jokes for other days?”

“Why, bless you, jokes are sin too. Think of the things you like doing best and I’ll be ready to wager that all would be a sin in the eyes of the Presbyterians.”

“Then I am glad you are back. Will it be like that in England?”

“Not while I am King. For that life is not for a gentleman of my tastes.”

He talked of his escape after Worcester and the terrible defeat his forces had suffered there. He had his faithful friends though and chief among them were Derby, Lauderdale, Wilmot and Buckingham. Yes, the son of that evil genius of my youth was one of Charles’s closest associates. He was about three years older than Charles and I hoped he was not going to exert a similar influence over my son as that which his father had held over my husband. But I fancied my son was not the sort to be influenced. I was eager to hear more. Charles had escaped from Worcester—a man with a price on his head. He told us how the Earl of Derby had produced a certain gentleman—a Catholic at that—Charles Giffard, to guide him through unknown country to Whiteladies and Boscobel; how he, the King of England, had paused at an inn for food and afraid to stay there and eat it had ridden away with bread and meat in his hands.

I had never seen Charles so moved as he was when he told us of his first glimpse of Whiteladies, the farmhouse which had once been a convent. It was the place he had come to for shelter, and the two brothers who were living there—the Penderels—were staunch royalists.

“There was I,” said Charles, “seated in this humble farmhouse surrounded by my friends, Derby, Shrewsbury, Cleveland, Wilmot and Buckingham with Giffard and the Penderels…planning what we should do next. The Penderels sent a message to Boscobel where more Penderels lived. You should have seen the clothes they gave me! A green jerkin and doublet of doeskin and a hat with a steeple crown. I looked like a country yokel. You would never have recognized me.”

“I think I should have recognized you anywhere,” I told him fondly.

“Wilmot had sheared my hair to this offensive cut. You know Wilmot. He made a joke of it—and a bad job, I must say. The Penderels trimmed me up afterward, for as they wisely said, it must not look like a job that had been hastily done. I had to try to walk as a yokel would, and to talk like one. They were hard lessons, Mam.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I told him. “But you managed well enough I have no doubt.”

“No, indeed not. I made a poor rustic. Wilmot said his lord the King kept peering out from under my Roundhead haircut. I walked so far that my feet were bleeding and Joan Penderel, the wife of one of the brothers, washed my feet and put pads of paper between my toes where the skin was rubbed. I can tell you I was in a sorry state. Then news came that the neighborhood was full of Roundhead soldiers…all bent on one thing. To find me and put me where they had put my father.”

I shivered and touched his hand gently.

“I’m sorry, Mam,” he murmured.

I nodded and he went on: “A very good friend came to Boscobel to warn me. He was Colonel Carlis, a man I greatly trusted. He told me I was most unsafe. The soldiers were searching every house and could not fail to come to Boscobel. What could we do? He went out of the house and saw nearby an enormous oak tree in full leaf. The Colonel said ‘That is our only hope.’ So he and I climbed the tree and hid ourselves among the leaves. The Penderels said we were quite invisible and unless the soldiers decided to climb the tree, they would never see us. And, Mam, there is my little miracle. From the tree we could see the soldiers searching the wood and the houses…and they never thought to look up into the oak tree.”

So we were back where we were. He was alive and well; he had had great adventures; and, as I had come to expect, all had ended in defeat.

He had become very cynical. I sometimes thought he had given up all hope of winning the crown and had decided to live where he could enjoy life. He liked his friends, good conversation—and women, of course. I was glad to see that he was rid of that brazen Lucy Walter, who had been blatantly unfaithful to him during his absence. I suppose two years was too long for a woman of that kind to wait. But she had the boy. What a pity that was! Charles seemed to have an affection for the child. From what I saw of the infant he was strikingly handsome.

I could not rid myself of the thought of the Grande Mademoiselle’s money lying idle when it might have been equipping an army. I still hoped for the match.

She was in exile from the Court at this time because she had openly helped the Fronde. Her father, Gaston, was a supporter of them too, which was disgraceful as he was going against his own family. Always flamboyant, Mademoiselle had on one occasion gone into battle and it was significant that she had done this at the town of Orléans when the Fronde had taken it by storm.

What was she trying to be? Another Jeanne d’Arc!

She did show a certain interest in Charles. He had become something of a hero since his adventures after Worcester and I had never seen him talk as much as he did about them, for usually he was inclined to silence about his exploits. But these adventures seemed to have a fascination for him and he was ready to talk of them to any who asked him.

Mademoiselle gave a series of what she called “Assemblies.” She was still not able to attend Court but she snapped her fingers at that and made sure that she invited the most interesting people and that the food she gave them was far more delicious than that served at Court.

Charles was always invited to these occasions and I really believed she was considering him as a husband. She must be getting a little anxious now. She was twenty-five, no young girl, and the Emperor had married his third wife and again declined my ambitious niece.

On one of these occasions when I was present she made a point of talking to me. I think she took a malicious delight in raising my hopes that she might take Charles as a husband.

“He has changed since his adventures,” she told me. “He has become more mature…more serious…more mellowed shall we say? It is wonderful what hiding in an oak tree can do for a personality.”

“You too have changed, niece,” I reminded her. “You have also become more…mature. After all it must have been a great adventure to play the Maid of Orléans.”

“It was…indeed it was. I heard that the King of England is too fond of many women to be faithful to one.”

“You speak of women…not of wives.”

“Do you believe then that a man who has been promiscuous in his youth will in marriage become a model husband?”

“It is possible.”

“It would be something of a miracle. Think of your father, dear aunt.”

“I often do, and he was your grandfather, remember. We should both be proud of him. He was the greatest King France has ever known.”

“I trust my little husband will be as great.”

“Your…little husband!”

“Well,” she looked at me maliciously, “there is not much difference in our ages…eleven years and a few months. Louis is already fourteen.”

“He does not seem to be enamored of the prospect since he banished you from Court,” I said sharply.

“Little Louis banish me! Oh no, that was old Mazarin and his Mamma.”

“Nevertheless I doubt…”

She smiled at me sardonically and I dropped the subject for I was afraid my anger would explode.

Life was not all sorrow. At the end of the year I had word that Cromwell had decided to allow my son Henry to join me. I suppose this was because even Roundheads had some feeling, and the death of my daughter Elizabeth had caused a certain amount of dismay throughout the land. She had always been such a good child—a near saint—and her death had been so pathetic. Whatever the reason, Henry was given permission to leave.

Minette was delighted at the prospect of having a new brother with us. She asked countless questions, which alas I was unable to answer as my little son had been kept away from me for so long.

He arrived in Holland where his sister Mary received him and was so delighted to have him that she wanted to keep him with her. I had no intention of allowing that because I knew that she would endeavor to bring him up as a Protestant, and it was a secret resolve of mine that he should be, like his sister Henriette, Catholic.

He arrived in Paris and was so delighted to be with his own family. He immediately conceived a great admiration for Charles—whose adventures he had followed whenever he was able to—and he and Henriette worshipped him together. There was something about Charles which inspired this fervent devotion. I often wondered whether it was partly due to his height or was it his easygoing manner and superficial charm? In any case these two children adored him.

It was as though when something good happened something bad had to follow quickly. We now heard that the countries of Europe were accepting the new government of England and that Cromwell was making treaties with various countries. France was on the point of making one too, which would mean that the English government would be having a representative in Paris.