I smiled a little sadly. Indeed, I knew of the King’s love for his son. I could almost hear Charles’s voice: “Jemmy has some regard for me, but a greater fondness for my crown.”

James had always been my friend, Monmouth wrote. He would listen to me. He, Monmouth, believed that if he could speak to James…he might be able to explain and let him see how contrite he was.

I let the letter fall from my hand.

It was true James had always been a friend to me, but what Monmouth had done was beyond forgiveness. Did he think James would forgive him, and give him a chance to try again?

I did not think so.

I spent a sleepless night, and when I did doze, I fancied that Charles was close. “He was my son,” I seemed to hear him say. “He was a foolish, impulsive boy.”

And when I arose I decided I would attempt to see James.

I was surprised that, in view of all the state matters which must be occupying him at this time, he granted me an interview.

He greeted me warmly and asked how I was faring.

I told him I was living peacefully at Somerset House and occasionally spent a few days at Hammersmith. Then I came straight to the point.

“I have had a letter from the Duke of Monmouth.”

I saw the surprise in his face.

“He is asking me to beg you to see him.”

“He has been a traitor. He was to his father…and now to me.”

I said: “He could never harm you. He has not the power.”

“He could surround himself with those who have more sense.”

“That is true. He will lose his head, I suppose.”

“What else? He deserves it. Perhaps he should have lost it before…and would have if Charles had not been so soft with him. He was implicated in the Rye House Plot. He would have murdered his own father.”

“He swore that he would not have done that.”

“As now doubtless he will swear that he came over for a friendly visit.”

“You have always been so good to me, James. I shall never forget the time I arrived, when you made me feel so welcome. Thank you, James.”

“My dear Catherine, I have done little for you.”

“If Charles were here, he would ask you to see Jemmy.”

“Charles is not here. If he had been, this would not have happened.”

“If you listened to him…you know he is only a foolish boy…not to be feared.”

“He came to invade. He brought men and ammunition. He is a featherweight…but those behind him are not.”

“He is your nephew.”

“Charles had some odd bedfellows.”

I looked at him and he flushed slightly. He had perhaps some equally odd ones. Charles would have laughed and made some witty remark, but it was not in James to do so. Yet I thought I had touched a tender chord in him. His mistresses had been almost as numerous as Charles’s, and some of them had been undoubtedly unusual.

He said suddenly: “He has to die, Catherine. There is no help for it. I will send for him, but it will do nothing for him.”

“But at least he will know that you have answered his plea. Thank you, James. You are good to me.”

He said with emotion: “Charles asked me to care for you. I will, Catherine, I want you to know that, if I can help you at any time…”

“I do know it, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

I knew he was thinking of Charles, as I was, and it was because of him that James would see his son.

HE DID SEE MONMOUTH, but I knew that the interview would not save him. James was right when he implied that the young man would always be a menace. There was only one way for a wise monarch to deal with such as Monmouth, for he could never be trusted not to rouse rebellion again.

Monmouth was not of the stuff of which leaders are made. James told me what had taken place.

It had been pathetic. Charles had said God help England when James became King. What would he have said of Monmouth?

James told me that Monmouth had begged for his life. He declared he had been led astray. If his life were spared he would become a Catholic. That was the ultimate betrayal of all those men who had fought with him…those poor peasants who had picked up their scythes to fight for him and what they believed was the true faith.

How could he?

I could hear Charles making excuses. “He is a poor frightened boy. He is fighting for his life. He will jettison everything for it…his faith, his hopes of the crown, his charity toward those poor ignorant souls who came to fight with him.”

Alas, poor Jemmy!

James had granted the interview but refused to save his life.

They took him from his prison to the Tower and before he laid his head upon the block he told the watching crowd that he was a member of the Church of England.

Jack Ketch, whether by accident or design, did not make a clean job of the execution. He struck five blows at Monmouth’s head before it was severed from his body.

And so…the end of Jemmy’s dreams.


* * *

IMMEDIATELY AFTER the battle of Sedgemoor, the judges, led by George Jeffreys, set out on the circuit of the West Country.

I believe that those trials, which became known as the Bloody Assizes, will never be forgotten.

Jeffreys was at his most brutal and I was overcome with pity for those simple young men who, with their scythes and pitchforks, had joined Monmouth’s cause in an excess of religious fervor. Little could they have thought when they boldly went into action what their end would be.

Jeffreys delighted in torment and never before had he shown such cruelty as he did toward those people. Blithely he sentenced them to death, and, what seemed to me even worse, more than eight hundred were either sold into slavery or whipped and imprisoned.

The lamentation throughout those small towns of the West Country was great; and it was said that those with wealthy relations and friends, who could pay Jeffreys for the favor of saving their lives, were the only ones who escaped.

The rumor was that Jeffreys emerged from the Bloody Assizes a much richer man than he went in.

Was this the manner in which people were to be treated under the new reign? King Charles would never have allowed it. And when Jeffreys came to London he was greeted warmly by the King who thanked him for his services and awarded him the post of Chancellor.

When I looked back over those years, I came to the conclusion that that may have hastened the King’s downfall.

THE WARMING-PAN BABY

THE DAYS SEEMED LONG. DURING EVERY ONE OF THEM I thought of Charles and wished that I were back in the past, even those times when I had had to watch his dalliances with his mistresses. I would rather endure that jealous resentment, that heartbreak, than be without him.

I tried hard to find compensations. I was thankful for the kindness of the King and Queen. I could sympathize with the Queen, who had had several children, all of whom had died. An heir was desperately needed. Why was it that queens were so tormented in this way? How well I understood the feelings of Mary Beatrice.

James had made it clear that I was the second lady of the court, preceded only by the Queen. He was eager to let me know he remembered his promise to Charles. He was at heart a sentimental, kindly man — but alas for him, not meant to be a king.

I was fond of music and found solace in it. I gave concerts at Somerset House. I had always liked to dance, although I was not graceful enough to excel at it, so we often danced. I was passionately fond of card games and I indulged in all those pastimes more frequently than I had during Charles’s lifetime.

Lord Feversham was in constant attendance, and was a great comfort to me, until I suddenly realized what malicious interpretation could be put on an innocent friendship.

I discovered this when I heard two of the lower servants below my window — out of sight of me, as I was of them.

They were discussing some incident which had happened among my ladies.

“And where was the Dowager Queen?” asked one.

“With the Dowager King, of course. Could you not guess?”

They giggled.

“The Dowager King?” I was bewildered.

Then I understood. They meant Lord Feversham. So that was what they called him. I was horrified. Memories of Edward Montague and the vicious gossip about my friendship with him came back to me.

Of course, I did see Lord Feversham often; his company was agreeable to me. And they had noticed.

I felt sick and angry. What lies were they building up? To how many in my household was Lord Feversham known as the “Dowager King”?

I thought then: What is there for me here? They were going to spoil my friendship with Lord Feversham now. They were going to whisper all sorts of slander about me.

Charles had dismissed Montague, not because he believed in the insinuations, but because of the harm they could do to me.

I made up my mind in that moment. I was going home. I could no longer endure it here.

But could I find peace in my native land? The King of Portugal was my brother. It would be a sorrowful homecoming, because of memories of my mother…and poor Alfonso. But Pedro was my brother. Indeed I often thought of him as my little brother, and there was a family bond between us.

On impulse I sat down and wrote to him.

I told him I wanted to come home.


* * *

PEDRO’S RESPONSE was immediate.

He wrote that Count Castelmelhor would be coming to England to arrange my departure.