The Duchess of York had a daughter. She was called Mary and it seemed as though she, unlike her brother who had lived only a few months, would survive. I did hope so. It is so tragic when children cannot seem to get a grip on life and I had to agree that Charles was right when he had said that Anne was a good woman. Unfortunately James had tired of her and he had his mistresses just like his brother. Their behavior really did give the Court a reputation for immorality. But it was none of my business. I had learned to hold myself aloof from it now. I was still wondering how I could get back to Chaillot and Colombes. I longed to see Henriette and my good friend Queen Anne.

Because poor Queen Catherine did not seem to be able to get a child, Charles created James Crofts Duke of Monmouth. It was in a way an insult to Catherine, calling attention to the fact that the fault must be hers as he could get a handsome healthy boy like James Crofts from another woman.

There was a great deal of speculation about Charles’s making Monmouth his heir. He would have had to legitimize him for that but I supposed he could easily do so.

Nothing came of that. Charles had a habit of shelving controversial matters and when I think how he came through I wonder whether that is not the wisest way.

Lady Castlemaine, I was glad to see, was losing her hold on him, which must have been good news for Catherine, but he was obsessed by a new beauty—Frances Stuart. It would always be like that with Charles and I wished Catherine could accept that fact. But it was difficult for her and I knew full well that had I been young again and in her place I should never have done so. I daresay I would have made his life a misery. He would never have had that calm resignation from a woman like me.

The winter which began in 1664 and went on into 1665 was a cold one. I became ill and had to take to my bed for a long time. My doctors told me that I should get out of England if possible and that was my excuse.

I begged Charles not to close my chapel if I left and he promised he would not do so and he was most eager for me to take the waters at the Bourbon springs which had been so beneficial to me before.

War with the Dutch had broken out and I was deeply concerned about that. Charles said that the French might decide to join with the Dutch and he believed that I might do good work for him in France, so I think he was rather glad that I was going. There was another matter. There had been some cases of plague in London and he feared if the summer was hot they might increase.

There were several good reasons why I should go besides my health.

I was due to leave at the end of June but before I left there came news of a great sea battle in which my son James had defeated the Dutch. James was the hero of the hour but I was afraid for him and begged Charles not to allow him to expose himself too rashly. There was something very rash about James which his impetuous marriage had proved.

As I sailed down the Thames I wondered if I should ever come back.

So there I was—after another dismal sea crossing—back in my native country. My spirits rose as soon as I set foot in it, but there was bad news awaiting me. Henriette was very ill. She had heard a false rumor that her brother James had been killed in battle and the shock had brought about the premature birth of the child she was carrying. She was delighted to see me and I do believe that my arrival helped to pull her through. She was far from happy and I began to wonder whether great titles were worth all one had to pay for them. I had found a crown and a happy marriage although it had ended in tragedy, but all through that marriage Charles and I had meant everything to each other.

I thought of Charles and his poor little Queen who had to accept his mistresses and could not get the child she longed for. I thought of James and Anne Hyde who had married so romantically and were now no longer in love; I thought most of all of Henriette who had married Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, brother of the King of France, and who was the most wretched of them all.

She confided to me that Philippe flew into jealous rages which were incomprehensible as he was not interested in her himself; but he simply could not bear her to enjoy the society of other men. Moreover he had brought his lover, the Chevalier of Lorraine, into the house and they conducted their amour openly for all to see and laugh at.

There was sad news from London. Two of my priests had died of the plague. The Court was no longer there and red crosses were put on the houses of the plague-stricken to warn people to keep away. Throughout the night the dismal knell of the death cart was heard in the deserted streets with the cry: “Bring out your dead.”

I went to see my old friend Queen Anne. She was in a desperate state and suffering excruciating pain for she had a malignant growth in her breast which she knew would kill her.

Early the next year she died and I could not be sorry because, poor soul, she who had done so many kindnesses had suffered greatly. I could only be relieved that she had found peace at last.

To my dismay France declared war on England in support of the Dutch. Louis had no wish for it, I knew; and although the people of France hated the English and the people of England hated the French, both Charles and Louis were trying to come to some agreement. It was during this time that the Dutch fleet, smarting under the humiliation of the English victory at sea, sailed up the Medway and burned several men-of-war including the Royal Charles, which was lying at Chatham.

That was a year of disaster and the biggest of all was the great fire of London when two-thirds of the city was burned to the ground. Eighty-nine churches including St. Paul’s Cathedral were destroyed, with more than thirteen thousand dwelling houses. I was so pained when I heard that the Catholics had been accused of starting the fire and for the first time in years felt the old fighting spirit rising in me. I wanted to go to England to tell them how false that accusation was. I wanted to tell them how wicked and cruel they were to suggest it.

England was in a sorry state. The terrible plague had brought trade almost to a standstill; the war had crippled its finances even more. My pension was reduced and I was indignant and wrote to Charles to tell him so. I was trying so hard to live within my means and my greatest pleasure was to give to the poor and needy and at the same time bring those who had strayed from it back to the Catholic Faith.

I went to Colombes and lived as quietly as I could there. I had my friends about me—chief of all dear Henry without whom I should have been desolate indeed.

I had my music; my reading; my chapel. I prayed constantly and thought a good deal about the past.

I began to grow introspective, reliving those long-ago scenes and asking myself what might have happened if I had done, or not done, this and that. Such thoughts intruded and I found sleep difficult. My cough was worrying me and sometimes I felt very ill indeed.

Henriette came to see me and she expressed her horror at the sight of me. She said she was going to call in the doctors in whom she had great faith.

I said: “There is nothing wrong with me. When I feel a little better I will go to Bourbon for the waters. Please do not make such a fuss, Henriette.”

“But, Mam,” she cried anxiously, “I can see you are not well. You might as well admit it because it is obvious.”

“I do not want to be like those women who cry for a little pain in the head or a cut finger,” I retorted.

“Dear Mam, I am not going to ask your permission. I am going to call in the best doctors we have in France.”

I had to give way; and I certainly was feeling ill. “If only I could sleep soundly,” I said. “But I simply cannot. As soon as my head is down, I am going over the past and I am blaming myself so much, Henriette.”

“They will give you something to make you sleep.”

“And I shall not take it. Old Mayerne said I was never to take anything like that.”

“We will hear what the doctors have to say,” Henriette insisted firmly.

They were the leading doctors in France. M. Valot was one and he was the first physician to Louis. M. Espoit was first physician to Philippe and M. Juelin to Henriette. They came to Colombes to consult with M. d’Aquin, my own doctor.

I submitted to their examination and lay back listening while they talked to Henriette in a far corner where they had gone so that I should not hear too much of what they said.

I felt rather indifferent and impatient with them. I was old; I had had a long and arduous life; I must die soon and I was ready.

M. Valot was saying: “By the grace of God the Queen has no fatal malady. Inconvenient…but not dangerous. She would be so much better if she slept and put whatever it is on her mind out of her thoughts. Now I am going to add three grains to the prescription you are giving her, M. d’Aquin. That will ensure sleep and when she is rested we shall find her disorder clearing.”

Grains! I thought. That means opium. I had never taken opium and I was not going to now.

They came to my bedside and I said: “I am not taking your grains.”

“Your Majesty,” said M. Valot, “they will do you no harm, only great good. They will bring you sleep.”

“Sir Theodore Mayerne said I was never to take any such things.”

“He was old and out of date, Your Majesty. Medicine has improved since then.”

They were all talking to me, including Henriette.

“Dear Mam, you will take it. You will feel so much better….”