Виктория Холт - The Merry Monarch’s Wife

So he was certainly in a lonely position.

While the foreign ships were in the Medway, the mob had gathered outside Clarendon’s house. They had uprooted trees, broken windows and set up a gibbet which was an indication of the hatred they had for him.

Charles was deeply anxious. How I wished he would talk more to me of his troubles!

He did on one occasion and I asked him what was happening about Clarendon.

“He will have to go, I fear,” he said. “There is nothing I can do to save him. His time has come.”

“They are blaming him for the war!”

“That is unfair, of course. He was a good friend to me in the past…but now…”

“You do not like him as you used to.”

“He has frustrated me in so many ways.”

I knew what he meant. He blamed Clarendon for Frances Stuart’s departure. I never ceased to marvel that physical attraction could be so strong. It could not have been anything beyond that considering Frances’s childlike mind. And Charles suspected Clarendon of arranging the elopement. I wondered what he would say if he knew what part I had played in that. I think he might have understood my motives and not judged me too harshly. However, I would not tell him…not until we were old and near the end of our lives. Perhaps not even then.

“I do not like these sanctimonious ones,” said Charles. “They set themselves up as pillars of virtue and think it is their duty in life to censure those who fall short of their standards. Such men are tiresome.”

Previously Charles had been good-humored about criticism. He must certainly be feeling Frances’s desertion deeply.

“I have been advised,” he went on, “that if I do not rid myself of Clarendon, I might go the way of my father.”

“No!”

He looked at me wryly. “The heads of kings are never fixed very securely on their shoulders.”

“Please do not talk so.”

“Never fear, Catherine. I am deteremined to keep mine where it belongs, and never will I go wandering again. The best thing would be for Clarendon to resign. He could do that gracefully and it might be that we could then avoid unpleasant consequences. James is putting the suggestion to him.”

“James?”

“Yes. Perhaps not the most tactful emissary, but he is my brother and Clarendon’s son-in-law, and it could scarcely come from me.”

Poor Charles! He was very anxious at that time.

The result of James’s interview with the Earl was that the latter presented himself at Whitehall and told Charles that he would give up the Great Seal. Which was wise, said Charles, for the only alternative would have been to take it from him.

I was sorry for Clarendon. He, who had once been mighty, was indeed brought low.

The relinquishing of the Great Seal was not enough for his enemies. He must be arraigned for treason. I was glad that his son-in-law the Duke of York stood by him. Alas, in the midst of this James was smitten by smallpox and had to retire. Fortunately he soon recovered, but people said that the smallpox had been a sign of God’s displeasure because the Duke had defended Clarendon.

In spite of the feeling against him, the Earl was able to prove that the charges had no foundation and they had to be dropped.

Charles showed me the letter he had received from Clarendon.

He wrote: “I do upon my knees beg Your Majesty’s pardon for any over bold or saucy expression I have used to you. It is a natural disease in servants who have received too much countenance…”

He went on to ask the King to have the prosecution withdrawn and to allow his old Chancellor to retire overseas where he could spend his last days in peace.

Charles looked at me in consternation. “What can I tell him?” he said. “There will be an uproar if I give him permission to leave.”

That did not mean that he did not help Clarendon to get away and put an end to this distressing matter.

Clarendon did leave.

He slipped away quietly to the coast and took a ship for Calais.

LATE THAT YEAR TWO EVENTS OF SIGNIFICANCE TOOK place. Neither of them attracted much notice. I suppose what was happening in Portugal would not; but they were important to me.

Donna Maria was the only one to whom I could speak of Portuguese affairs. In fact, it was the only subject in which she was really interested. She disliked England and constantly wished that we had never come. In vain did I tell her that I had no desire to return to Portugal, especially now that my mother was dead; and if she yearned so much for her native land I would make sure that she returned to it.

This she firmly thrust aside. Had she not been with me all my life? What did I imagine she would do without me to worry about?

“You could live in peace in the country you love.”

“You are the one I love,” she said. “Where you are is home to me.”

Dear Donna Maria! I am afraid I did not always appreciate her and was impatient with her sometimes. I should have been more grateful for all the devotion she gave me.

So with her I talked of events which were taking place in Portugal.

There has been conflict between my brothers.

“Pedro was always impatient with Alfonso,” said Maria. “It is a pity Pedro was not the firstborn.”

“Pedro despised Alfonso and was jealous of him because he was the elder,” I said. “And now he is known as Regent.”

“He was always the one to push himself forward.”

“But it was necessary, Maria. Alfonso could not govern without my mother.”

“Oh, she was the strong one. She knew at every turn what should be done.”

“When she was gone…this was inevitable, Maria.”

She nodded. “My poor Alfonso. What have they done to the boy?”

“He will be all right. They have sent him into exile. He is to live in the Azores, which I believe is very pleasant.”

“As long as he is well looked after.”

“There is something else,” I said. “His marriage has been annulled.”

“What?”

“Alfonso’s wife, Maria Françoise Elizabeth…”

“I know her name,” said Donna Maria impatiently.

“She has been divorced from Alfonso and has married Pedro.”

“He has married his brother’s wife!”

“That is so.”

“So he has not only the crown but the wife as well?”

“It seems so, Maria.”

“I wonder what next. Those boys…they were so pretty.”

“Pedro is making peace with Spain.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It was what my mother would have done. She thought there must always be peace with Spain if possible. It was done with the help of Charles and his government.”

Donna Maria grunted. She believed that Charles had treated me badly and she did not forgive him easily for that, however much he had helped Portugal.

She was shaking her head sadly, thinking of two little boys whom she had loved, playing their childish games. They still played games…but less childish ones.

I left her dreaming of the old days.

The other important event passed almost unnoticed. No one at that stage could guess what violent repercussions it was to have in the future.

James, Duke of York, no longer made a secret of his religious beliefs. He worshipped publicly as a Catholic.

* * *

THERE WAS A NEW MINISTRY after Clarendon had gone. The people called it the Cabal because of the names of the ministers who formed it: Clifford, Arlington, Buckingham, Ashley and Lauderdale.

Charles had high hopes of them.

“They are men of differing opinions,” he said, “so between them they should be able to avoid narrow-minded prejudice. True Clifford is a Catholic — a somewhat fiercely enthusiastic one — and Arlington is also a Catholic, although more moderate in his views. Buckingham…well, you know the noble Duke…perhaps you could call him independent; Ashley is something of a philosopher and Lauderdale a solid Protestant. So you see, we should be well represented from all sides.”

Charles had always been fond of the theater — as it seemed was the whole of London. On his restoration Charles had granted two men of the profession, Sir William D’Avenant and Mr. Thomas Killigrew, a patent to open two theaters.

Charles was on terms of friendship with both these men. They were witty and amusing and Charles found them good companions. Both had been loyal to the royal cause throughout all the troubles and Charles was delighted to be able to reward them by making it possible for them to come back to a profession which they loved; and he naturally honored them with his patronage.

D’Avenant’s theater was called the Duke’s — actually the Duke of York’s. D’Avenant was a playwright and a poet. He had been knighted for valor in the battlefield during the Civil War and had lived in France in exile where he had became a favorite of Queen Henrietta Maria. He claimed to be related to William Shakespeare and he had frequented the court of Charles I, for whom he had written plays and poetry, and made quite a name for himself.

I occasionally went to the theater. I enjoyed the plays and meeting some of the players. We were always on show and the people liked to see us there. Sometimes I felt the people came to see us as much as the play. Charles agreed. “We must not disappoint them,” he said.

During the time of the plague the theaters had naturally been closed; and when the great fire followed, people seemed to have lost their zest for playgoing. It was coming back at this time and the playhouses were beginning to flourish again.

It was Lettice who said to me one day how pleased the people were that the King was going more frequently to the playhouse nowadays.