Edward Montague dead! I was overwhelmed by sadness.

FIRE OVER LONDON

THAT TRAGIC SUMMER WAS PASSING. ALL THROUGH SEPTEMBER the heat had persisted. The number of dead during the first week of the month was over eight thousand; during the second week it was slightly less; and during the third had risen to ten thousand.

It was difficult to imagine what life was like in a London no longer a bustling city, the streets deserted, houses painted with the dreaded red cross, the silence broken only by the ringing of the bell and the cry: “Bring forth your dead.”

The weather changed and with the cooler breezes the plague abated a little.

We were at Oxford now, and when the King opened Parliament there he was voted money for the purpose of carrying on the war. The City of London lent him one hundred thousand pounds, and from his Privy Purse he contributed one thousand pounds to the relief of those who were left destitute by the plague.

The very fact that the scourge was losing its virulence gave us great cause for rejoicing; and then a wonderful thing happened.

I believed I was pregnant.

The King was delighted when I told him.

“All will be well now,” he said. “London will be its old self. We shall defeat that wretched plague together with the Dutch — and we shall be merry again.”

I was happier, for he was very affectionate toward me. I must take the utmost care, he insisted. This time there was to be a boy.

What a relief it was when the summer was over! If I could have a child, I told myself, I could be completely happy. Charles was almost a faithful husband; but I was not so foolish as to think he would not stray again. But if I had a child I should be content. But that contentment was marred when I was told that Lady Castlemaine was pregnant again. She was so fertile and gave birth with such ease that it seemed that no sooner was she delivered of one child that she was to have another. She always insisted that these children were the King’s. No one could deny this; nor could they be sure. She was no more faithful to the King than he was to her.

The situation had changed, though. This was because Charles had so many important matters to concern him. There could hardly be carefree balls and banquets when normal life in London was at an end; the war with the Dutch was in bitter progress and the French were becoming estranged. But in spite of this Lady Castlemaine was still close to us, and Frances Stuart remained aloof though still sought after.

I was very careful of my health. Donna Maria cosseted me, as did the Ladies Suffolk and Ormonde. I am not sure what happened, but one afternoon I felt faint and before I could stop myself I fell to the floor.

I was hurried to my bed and the doctors were sent for.

And then it happened. I lost my child.

It was sufficiently developed to show that it would have been a boy.

No one knew why I should have failed to carry it through to the end of the term. I was sunk in depression.

“It is a pity,” said Lady Suffolk, “that Lady Castlemaine should seem to be so well.”

“When is her child due?” I asked.

“Very shortly now, Your Majesty.”

“She has so many. It is unfair.”

“Very unfair, Madam.”

When her child was born they did not mention it to me but it could not be kept from me for long. I could read Charles’s bitter disappointment in his eyes. Did I fancy there was a certain resentment? That would be quite unbearable.

Lady Castlemaine was delivered of a fine boy.

Why…oh why…could I not have just one? And did not the fertility of the Lady prove that I was the one at fault? It was being asked if the King had married a barren Queen.


* * *

THE SPRING HAD COME. People were filtering back to London for the plague had virtually vanished.

Charles went back for periods but he said that I must stay in Oxford as there might be some remains of plague in London and I must remember that I was in a delicate state of health and would be more susceptible to disease.

He did not reproach me as some might have done, but I could not help knowing how bitterly disappointed he was. I could imagine how he felt when he saw Lady Castlemaine’s boy in his cradle. At least he could have been sure mine was his, as he never could with hers.

But the fact remained that she was capable of bearing strong and healthy children — one after another — and this was my second attempt which had failed.

There seemed no end to the blows fate was dealing me. I did not hear of this until some days after the news had come to England. Lady Suffolk told me afterward that the King had ordered that I was not to be told until he considered it would be wise to do so.

“He said that Your Majesty would have to know in time but the blow would be too great for you, your health being what it is just now…”

He was right. It was a great shock to me. My mother was dead.

It was, of course, some few years since I had seen her, but I had never thought of her dying. She had seemed indestructible…immortal.

Charles himself broke the news to me.

He came in looking very sombre, threw his hat aside and, taking my hands in his, led me to a sofa where we sat close together.

He said: “I have sad news for you, Catherine. You are going to find this hard to bear.”

I looked at him fearfully.

“It is your mother.”

“She is ill?”

He hesitated and I stared at him in horror.

“She has had much to trouble her. She worked too hard. We none of us are here forever, you know.”

“But she…”

“I know how you cared for her. But she is gone and your home is here now.”

I turned to him and he put his arms about me and held me against him.

I felt bereft…alone. She had meant so much to me, and although I had not seen her for so long, I had always known that she was there…and now she was there no longer.


* * *

WHEN I HAD RECOVERED A LITTLE from the initial blow, I began to ask myself what this would mean to Portugal.

True, Alfonso was King — a fact which my younger brother Pedro had always resented, feeling that he himself was more suited to wear the crown — but it was my mother who had ruled, and I knew that Alfonso was incapable of doing so.

The Spaniards would immediately realize the country’s vulnerability. England, engaged in war with the Dutch and suffering from the effects of the plague, would be a feeble ally. I feared disaster; and in addition to my overwhelming grief was this added anxiety.

Charles ordered that there should be mourning for my mother throughout the court. The ladies were to wear their hair in plain styles without adornments and they were to stop using patches for the period.

Lady Castlemaine was very put out. Her artificial aids meant a great deal to her. I could not help but be amused and somewhat pleased at her discomfiture. It might have relieved a little of the gloom.

The King had caught a chill. When he had been inspecting the ships at Chatham, he had taken off his coat and wig because of the heat. The temporary relief he had felt had not been good for his health. He caught the cold, which had persisted.

I think everyone was out of humor…even Charles. He was usually in such perfect health that he found it more difficult than most to endure the little discomforts; as for myself, I was deeply depressed by the loss of my mother and fears for my country. The only one who could have comforted me then was the child I had lost, and with the calamity came the fears that I might be destined never to have children.

I think people’s tempers were a little short at that time. There was quite a scene one day when someone commented that the King was finding it difficult to throw off his cold.

Lady Castlemaine was sitting close to me at the time and her presence intruded on my thoughts which were with Pedro, my brother. I was wondering whether he would try to oust Alfonso from the throne.

Someone remarked on the King’s inability to shake off his cold, and, in a sudden burst of irritation, I said with some asperity: “The King’s condition does not improve because he stays so late at the lodgings of Lady Castlemaine when he sups with her, and the cold air of the early morning is not good for him.”

Lady Castlemaine’s eyes glittered. She said: “The King does not stay late at my house, Your Majesty. Methinks he must stay at the house of someone else.”

I was taken aback. Was she suggesting he had a new mistress?

I said: “I am of the opinion that it is at your house that he stays so late.”

“The King is gracious to so many,” retorted Lady Castlemaine, her eyes glinting mischievously. “He bestows his honor on so many ladies that it is not always easy to know which of them is in favor at any moment.”

Charles had come in and heard that last remark.

He, too, shared the general dissatisfaction with the court at that time and was less indulgent than he was wont to be.

He stood close to Lady Castlemaine and said quietly, but in a voice which I and those nearby could hear quite clearly: “You are insolent. Please leave the court and do not return until I send for you.”

Lady Castlemaine stared at him in amazement.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“I have said leave the court. I will send for you if I decide to, but leave now.”

She did not lower her voice, but said in such a way that all could hear her: “You dare to talk to me like that?”