The fact remained I had lost a son; I had lost my daughter Elizabeth; and both of them had died heretics.

I prayed for them that they might be forgiven.

“It was not their fault,” I said. “They were brought up to be heretics.”

That was what upset me, I tried to tell myself. But it was not entirely true.

James came to Calais to meet us with a squadron of ships. James was now becoming renowned for his seamanship.

He embraced me warmly. He looked jaunty and handsome and said nothing about Anne Hyde. Nor did I. But I had made up my mind that as soon as I could I would have a private word with Charles. I would put a stop to that little adventure. My son was not going to marry a nobody; nor was he going to give her child his name if I could help it.

But at the moment my handsome son James had come to escort me across the Channel and I gave myself up to the pleasure of returning to England in the manner which I had always dreamed of doing.

The sea was unusually calm. How different from the face it usually showed me! So there was no sickness for which I was extremely grateful, but the crossing took two whole days because we were becalmed. However, in due course those white cliffs came into sight and I was filled with emotion thinking of the last time I had seen them and that brought back poignant memories of my beloved Charles.

Waiting for us, surrounded by a glittering assembly, was that other Charles. I was proud of him. He seemed to have grown taller but that was probably because I had not seen him for some time. He was very gracious and charming to me and his eyes shone with affection when they rested on Henriette.

Crowds had gathered on the seashore to see the meeting. I thought the cheers were not quite so spontaneous for me as they were for the King and James, but it was clear that Henriette delighted them and the people were pleased to see Charles’s affection for her.

Inside the castle a banquet had been prepared for us and I sat on one side of Charles, Henriette on the other. Charles told us that Mary was on her way to England and it would make him very happy to have the entire family together.

Later we talked privately and I asked about Henry. Charles had been present at his death, which was rather foolish of him, I pointed out. Henry had died of small pox which was highly contagious. What if Charles had caught it and succumbed? Had he thought what would happen to England without a king?

“James would be waiting to step into my shoes, Mam.”

“The people would never accept him with that woman as his wife. How could you allow that, Charles?”

“Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” He could be very flippant but there were warning lights in his eyes. Charles had always been very fond of his sisters and brothers and hated family quarrels. But I was not going to be told what I must and must not do by my own son.

I repeated that he should not have risked his life by being with Henry but as he was there I should like to know if Henry had mentioned me on his death bed.

“Yes,” said Charles coolly, “he did. He was grieved always because of the disagreement between you and how it had been when you were last together.”

I nodded. “I thought he would be sorry in time.”

“I told him he should not grieve. I pointed out to him that if he had done what you wanted him to he would have broken his word to his father and gone against his own conscience. I assured him that in God’s eyes he had done the right thing.”

“The right thing! He died a heretic. If he had listened to me….”

“Somehow, Mam, I do not think the good Lord will be as hard on him as you have been.”

I protested but there was something about Charles which warned me that it would be unwise to continue. He could be very much the King at times.

He looked at me sadly for a moment and then he said: “The years of exile have taught you nothing, Mam. Life is short. Let us enjoy it. Let there be no trouble in the heart of the family.”

Then he rose and left me. I could never really understand this son of mine. Of all my children he was the most difficult to know and had been ever since he was the serious little boy who had refused to give up the wooden toy he took to bed with him.

Henriette seemed happier than I had ever known her to be. She was so content to be at her brother’s Court and when Charles suggested that she arrange one of the ballets which were so popular at the Court of Louis XIV, she threw herself wholeheartedly into making the arrangements.

The Duke of Buckingham, that dissolute son of a father whom I had always believed to be evil, fell headlong in love with her. My dear child was a little bewildered at first and then appeared to enjoy the attentions of the young man. It was only a light flirtation, Buckingham having a wife and she being betrothed, and in any case she was a princess and he was only a duke so I did not attempt to reprove her. When I thought of the way she had been treated at the Court of France at one time, I thought it would do her no harm to realize that she was growing into a very attractive young woman.

Mary arrived and it was good to see her and we were for once in complete agreement for she was incensed when she heard about James’s marriage to Anne Hyde. I could not resist reminding her that she was the one who had allowed this folly to begin by making the upstart young woman a member of her household.

“How much better it would have been if you had taken my advice then,” I said.

She did not exactly agree, but she refused to receive Anne Hyde and the woman would have been very miserable indeed if Charles had not gone out of his way to be gracious to her.

The weeks began to fly past—very pleasant weeks. If only I could forget Henry’s death and Charles’s thinly veiled criticism of my treatment of him, and the fact that James had made this monstrous marriage, I could have been happy.

Anne Hyde’s child was a boy but a weakling and it did not look as though the child’s chances of survival would be great.

“James should have waited awhile,” I said. “Then the child might not have been a reason for the marriage.”

I was delighted when Sir Charles Berkeley declared that he had been Anne’s lover and that he knew of several other gentlemen who had shared her favors and that it was therefore by no means certain that the father of the child was James.

I wanted to confront James with that evidence, but he had already heard it and was so upset that he became quite ill and went down with a fever. We were all afraid that he might be another victim of small pox.

Anne Hyde was completely ostracized now. Her father was upset and even he railed against her, and she had no friends at Court at all. I wanted Charles to dismiss her father—who was now the Earl of Clarendon—but he would not do so. Clarendon was an excellent Chancellor, he said, and was not to be blamed for his daughter’s affairs.

Christmas was almost upon us. Charles had insisted that we stay for the festivities and I was nothing loath. I was delighted to be on better terms with Mary and it was wonderful to see Henriette blossoming, leading the dancing and amusing herself with the Duke of Buckingham.

Then about five days before Christmas Mary became ill. She had been feeling unwell for some days and thought this was due to some minor cause. My distress was great when the doctors reported that she was suffering from small pox.

Charles said I was to leave Whitehall at once with Henriette. “Take her to St. James’s,” he said, “and stay there with her.”

“Henriette shall go to St. James’s,” I declared, “but I shall stay and nurse Mary.”

“You must not go to the sick room,” Charles retorted firmly.

“My dear Charles,” I replied, “King you may be, but you are my son and this is my daughter. If she is sick I must be with her.”

“Do you realize that you could catch the disease?”

“Of course I know what small pox is. I want to be with my daughter. She will need me.”

“Mam,” he said slowly, “this is no time for deathbed conversions. Mary is ill. She is too sick to be troubled with your views on what will happen to her soul.”

“I want to nurse her.”

“How could you do that? Go back to Henriette. You would never forgive yourself if you caught the disease and passed it on to her.”

That really did frighten me. The thought of anything happening to my precious child made me waver. On the other hand Mary was my daughter too. Henry had just died, a heretic. Mary might die one too, if nothing was done.

Charles said quietly: “It would be dangerous. Besides, I forbid it.”

So I went to St. James’s and told Henriette that her sister was gravely ill, and we prayed for her recovery adding that if she were destined to die let her come to an understanding of the truth that she might not, like her brother Henry, die a heretic.

Alas our prayers were not answered and on Christmas Eve Mary passed away. She was only twenty-nine years old.

Charles was with her at the end. He was very shaken. He was very fond of his family, particularly his sisters.

I was in tears. “It seems as though God has determined to punish me,” I cried. “Is there a blight on my family? Elizabeth…then Henry…now Mary. Why? Why?”

“Who can say?” answered Charles. “But there is something I wish to tell you. When she was dying Mary was very concerned about one matter.”

I turned to him, my eyes shining.

“No…no…” he went on a little impatiently, “it is nothing to do with religion. It was Anne Hyde. Mary had a good deal on her conscience.”

“I know,” I said. “If she had not taken that woman into her household…. I told her she was wrong at the time.”