“Oh that, Madam.” She smiled. “It was the flood at the Lady’s lodging.”

“I did not know there was a flood.”

“The Thames is high just now…and, of course, the Cockpit is low lying. The Lady’s kitchen was flooded last night.”

“Is that such a matter for mirth?”

“Her cook is Mrs. Sarah, Madam, and Mrs. Sarah’s husband is cook to Lord Sandwich, who is a neighbor to the Lady. They say that Mrs. Sarah does not care what she says to the Lady and there are some rowdy scenes almost every day between them. People say it is like going to the playhouse to hear the two of them shouting at each other. The Lady is always threatening to throw Mrs. Sarah out…but she never will. And Mrs. Sarah is always threatening to go and work for a real lady. They’ll never part, though. The fact is they can’t do without each other.”

“I can see that the difference between Lady Castlemaine and her cook can amuse some, but what was so particularly entertaining about the flood?”

“It was last night. Their shouting could be heard in the palace. Lady Castlemaine was expecting a guest and the kitchen was flooded so Mrs. Sarah could not cook the chine of beef. Well, there was this important supper party. ‘Cook that chine of beef,’ cried the Lady. ‘The only way I can cook that beef will be by setting the kitchen on fire,’ replied Mrs. Sarah. ‘Then set the kitchen on fire, but cook the beef!’ screamed the Lady. The shouting went on and on and in the end Mrs. Sarah took the beef to her husband, who cooked it in Lord Sandwich’s kitchen.”

I could not understand why this incident should have caused such hilarity.

The King was absent the following night.

Then I learned why they were all so amused. I heard two ladies talking together, and this time I understood what they said.

“He has supped with her these last four nights.”

“Does that mean…?”

“She’s back. Well, he wasn’t the sort to wait forever.”

“The Lady saw her chance and, depend upon it, once she’s back, she’s back for good.”

“Well, if Madam Frances…”

“Madam Frances won’t. And the Lady is back…and there she will stay.”

“And the whole court knows it…thanks to that chine of beef. Everyone’s still talking about that. They knew who her guest was that night. She couldn’t have the supper spoiled for the King, could she? She’d have the kitchen burned down rather…”

They went off into giggles.

So then I understood.

I hated the very sound of the woman’s name; and a terrible bitterness enveloped me. I felt I was choking. I could not bear it. I had grown used to her; I had forced myself to accept her, grudgingly it was true. I had almost welcomed Frances Stuart. I had thought I was free of Lady Castlemaine. And now, here she was, back…and it was all going to start again…her brazen insolence, her patronage of me.

I was tired. I should be resting, but my fury overcame me. I would not endure it all again. I slipped to the ground. I felt the blood on my face. It was like the other occasion when Charles had presented her to me and I discovered who she was.


* * *

I FELT VERY WEAK and was not quite sure where I was. For a moment I had thought I was in my cell-like room in the convent. Then I knew that I was in my bed and someone was kneeling at my bedside, holding my hand. It was Charles.

I tried to smile but I felt too tired.

As though from a long way off, I heard him say my name. I wanted to answer him but no words came. Then Donna Maria was saying something, shrilly, disapprovingly.

“She must not be disturbed, Your Majesty.”

Charles seemed to drift away.

I thought I was hand in hand with him. We were in Hampton Court. He was explaining the benefits to be derived from certain herbs, and the spaniels were barking. Then I was in the convent. The Mother Superior was saying: “You must work harder. You must remember your place. You must not disappoint your mother.”

My mother was there. “When you get to England, you may have to see that woman. Ignore her…never let her come near you.”

I was thinking of a chine of beef. It had to be cooked for the King, even if the house burned down in the process.

Then I lost all sense of anywhere. I was floating in space and then came…oblivion.

I was very ill for days. I did not know what was wrong with me. Vaguely, I remembered falling. I was aware of the blood on my face and then I must have fainted. I confused it with that other occasion. I kept hearing a whisper: “Do you know who that woman is? She is Lady Castlemaine.”

It had all happened before…and I was too tired to think.

Alas, it was more than an ordinary faint. I had fallen and lost my child.

I did not know this then. I think if I had I should have lost my will to live.

They thought I was dying. I was vaguely aware of Donna Maria, who would not leave my room, I heard later, and was with me night and day. The King was constantly there too. Often I would open my eyes and see him sitting there, but I was too tired to speak to him. When I looked at him, he would press my hand. Sometimes I heard him murmur my name. He looked at me as though imploring me to speak to him. I tried to, but no words came.

There came the day when I learned what had happened…I knew that I had lost my child and that the agony I had seen in Donna Maria’s face meant that she had thought I was dying.

But at last I knew. I was here in my bed at Whitehall. I was the Queen and I was going to die. I was sure of it, and so were all those about me.

I heard voices.

“She is conscious, Your Majesty.”

“Then let me see her.”

He was kneeling by the bed. “Catherine…my dearest Catherine. You know me…now?”

“Yes, I know you, Charles.”

“It has seemed so long.”

I smiled.

“You must not tire her, Your Majesty.” That was Donna Maria.

“I will not, I promise you. I will sit with her…quietly.”

He had taken my hand. I pressed his to let him know that I was glad he was there.

“My love,” he said. “My little love.”

I smiled again. “I want…” I began.

“Tell me what you want. It shall be yours. Just tell me, dearest.”

“I want you to be happy. I am going to leave this world…I am going to leave you.”

“No,” he said. “No.”

“It will be best. You will marry.” I was going to say Frances…but I could not. That would hurt him. It would remind him how he had neglected me while he watched her making her houses of cards. I loved him. I did not want him to reproach himself. I understood him now. He could not curb those violent sexual desires; he had to behave in the way he did. I guessed, of course, that he was reproaching himself for his treatment of me. I had rebelled at first, and then had accepted my fate…but I had not done so readily…only with bitter resignation. But that was an end of it. The time had come to say good-bye and I did not want the occasion to be marred by reproaches and regrets.

“You will marry again,” I said. “Someone better than I.”

“There could be none better.”

I could almost have believed he meant it. He looked so earnest, so desolate at the prospect of losing me.

“Someone who can give you the healthy son you must have.”

“You will, Catherine,” he said. “You will get better. I command it.”

“Even kings can have no control over life and death,” I said. “If my child had lived…”

“In your delirium you thought it had,” he said. “You talked of him. You said he was an ugly boy, but that he had great charm.”

“Did I say that?”

He nodded and I saw that there were tears on his cheeks.

I could not bear that he should weep for me. I suppose that was true love, for I would rather he did not mourn for me than it should make him unhappy to do so.

“Charles…,” I murmured. “I am sorry…not to have been good enough…”

“My dearest,” he said, “it is I who have not been good enough. It is I who should ask your pardon.”

I smiled at him. I wondered how I could bear to leave him. But perhaps I could because at that moment he really did love me. He meant what he said…for that moment. But in my heart I knew that he must be himself. He wished me well. He was fond of me. He loved me in his way. I had my little niche in his life. Perhaps he loved me more than he had ever loved Lady Castlemaine or Frances Stuart. But he did not desire me as he did those women. That was something I must understand. And the desire in such a man was so overpowering while it lasted that it overrode a quieter, gentler love.

I said to him: “You have taught me much. You will be happy now. Do not grieve for me. Do not reproach yourself. I did not understand at first. I think I do now.”

“I loved you the moment I saw you,” he said. “I shall always love you. You must not leave me.”

I replied: “I am not afraid to die. There is only one thing I regret and that is leaving you; and now that I understand so much, I would wish to stay. I would be better.”

“Please,” he begged, “do not talk so. It is not you who must be better; it is I. You must live for my sake. You must give me a chance.”

“I love to hear you say that.”

“You must get better, Catherine,” he said. “You must…for me.”

He pressed his face against my hands and I felt his tears on them.

“You will forget me,” I said, “and marry some princess who will give you sons, and bring much good to the realm. That is what you must do.”

He was too moved to speak and Donna Maria was at my bedside.

“The Queen is becoming exhausted,” she said. “This must not be.”