“They seemed quite anxious about it,” I said.

She hesitated for a moment, as though she were making up her mind. “Tell me,” she said at length, “what have you heard of the King?”

“The King? Charles? Oh, that he has been welcomed back…that the people are glad to have him…that he has made England merry again…that he fought valiantly and offered his life for his father’s…and that it is wonderful that he is back where he belongs.”

“All that is true, but there is more to know.”

“It is my desire to know all I can about him and his country.”

“It may be that there are certain aspects which you might not like.”

“I do not understand.”

“My dear Catherine, you have lived what is called a sheltered life. You have hardly ever left the walls of the palace or those of the convent. Life can be rather different in certain places. You were very fond of your father. He was a wonderful man…devoted to his family…a good man in every aspect. He loved you children dearly and was a faithful husband to me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Because you have seen so little of life, you might judge all men by him.”

I was puzzled and wondered why she, who was usually so direct, should now be so hesitant.

“The King is thirty-two years of age. He is unmarried. He has led an adventurous life, wandering about the continent. Such is the nature of men that there will be women in their lives. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Mistresses?” I began.

She nodded. “You see, the King has never had a wife…well, you see…it is only natural.”

“Yes…but when he is married, that will be over…”

“Of course. But…er…”

“Please tell me, my lady.”

“There is talk that at this time he is enamored of a certain woman….”

“Oh, but now I shall be his wife. You saw the letter he wrote to me.”

“Yes, I saw it.” She smiled brightly. “It is just that we think you should know that there has been this woman. By all accounts, she is handsome and…very demanding. If you should hear of her, you must ignore her. Do not let her come to court. You should treat her as though she does not exist.”

“But of course I shall, and when I am married, she will certainly not be there. Who is this woman?”

“Her name is Barbara Palmer, Lady Castlemaine.”

It was the first time I heard the name of that evil woman.


* * *

ON THE TWENTY-THIRD OF APRIL, St. George’s Day, the time had come for my departure — and by a happy coincidence, St. George is the patron saint not only of England but also of Portugal. All I could think of was the parting with my mother and that this might be the last time I set eyes on her.

My two brothers were with me and they escorted me down to the hall where my mother was waiting for me. She looked at me with such affection that I almost burst into tears. I knew I must not do that. She must not be ashamed of me. She was restraining her emotions and so must I mine.

She held me tightly in her arms; and then it was over and my brothers were leading me to the coach. Surrounded by an array of the nobility, we went in procession to the cathedral. The bells were ringing and the guns were firing the salutes; there was music in the streets and the people cried: “Long live the Queen of England!”

When the cathedral service was over, we made our way to the sea.

I was surrounded by a great company led by my brothers. Don Francisco was present. He had recently been ennobled for the excellent work he had done in negotiating the marriage contract and had become the Marquis da Sande. That he was delighted in the manner in which everything had been resolved was evident.

Waiting for us was a splendid barge which was to take us to the Admiral’s ship, the Royal Charles.

When I stepped aboard this magnificent vessel, the Earl of Sandwich was waiting to greet me, and my brother Alfonso formally handed me over to him. Donna Maria and Donna Elvira stood beside me, my protectors. The Admiral conducted me to the splendid cabin which had been prepared for me, and my brother said a sad farewell and departed.

I was on my way to England.

MARRIED BLISS

WE COULD NOT SAIL OUT OF THE BAY THEN AS THE WIND was too strong and I was told it might be some time before we could leave.

I settled into my cabin, which was truly magnificent. I marvelled at the amount of care which had gone into making it so; it was not only comfortable but luxurious. The walls had been lined with velvet; there were curtains of damask and taffeta; and there were rugs on the floor. I imagined Charles giving orders that all should be of the best for his Queen.

How miraculous it was that all our plans had worked out. I should be rejoicing, but I could not help thinking of my mother. I should never forget her face as it had been at that last moment when we embraced. There were no tears. How could she weep with so many watching her? But her grief had been none the less because of that.

“I shall never see her again,” I kept saying to myself; and then waves of misery would sweep over me.

And yet our purpose — the dream that had been with us for years — was realized. It could not have been any other way. That was like life, I supposed. Nothing could be entirely perfect.

I had to stop thinking of my mother. I had to remember that I was going to my husband — the man of whom I had dreamed for so many years…ever since that day when I was seven and I had learned that there was a possibility of his being my husband.

The hours were passing and we still remained in the bay.

In the evening my brothers brought a group of noblemen from the court to serenade me. They sailed in their little boats round the Royal Charles, playing music and singing to me. It was very moving.

And when I awoke next morning, the sun was shining brilliantly. The wind was still strong but the Admiral decided that we would wait no longer. We would defy the weather and set sail. So, with Donna Maria and Donna Elvira, six maids of honor and their servants, with Don Francisco de Mello, who was to supervise my safe delivery into England, with Richard Russell, my almoner, who was an excellent interpreter, and others who were necessary to me, plus boxes of sugar and spices, I left my country for a new life in England.

It was a most hazardous journey. Some of my ladies were so ill that they wished for death; I myself suffered slightly less. We really believed that our last moments had come and we should never see England; and when some of the vessels were damaged by the storm, we were certain of this.

The wind roared and buffeted us and we were at one stage forced to take refuge in Mount Bay, off the coast of Cornwall.

We were heartened to receive a welcome from the people on shore. They knew that I was on board one of the ships and they were clearly determined to show their pleasure in my arrival. Bonfires were lighted along the coast and we could hear people singing; salutes were fired and there was a wonderful display of fireworks.

After that brief halt we were able to pursue our journey, and came to the Isle of Wight, where the Duke of York, the King’s brother, was waiting with a squadron of frigates to greet us.

A message was sent to me. The Duke wanted permission to come aboard the Royal Charles that he might “kiss my hand.”

There was excitement in the cabin. Donna Maria and Donna Elvira were shocked when I said I must greet the Duke of York in English dress. Clothes had been thoughtfully provided for such an occasion, and I ordered my women to dress me in a gown of white silk trimmed with lace.

Donna Maria covered her face with her hands when she saw me in it, and Donna Elvira held up her hands in horror.

“It is most unsuitable!” wailed Donna Maria.

“Quite immodest,” agreed Donna Elvira.

“It is the English fashion,” I told them.

“Then,” retorted Donna Maria, “we had better turn back and go home.”

“What!” I cried, mocking her. “Face the sea again? I heard you say that nothing on earth would make you sail again.”

But Donna Maria was truly distressed since, having just emerged from one ordeal, she was confronted by me in a most unsuitable gown. It was too much for her.

I heard the arrival of the Duke. Don Francisco was on deck waiting to receive him and bring him to one. My heart was beating fast as he approached.

The Duke was tall, his features heavy, but his complexion was fair, whereas I had heard Charles’s swarthiness referred to often. It had been said that he was more like a Spaniard than an Englishman, so therefore James’s comparative fairness surprised me. He had a certain dignity, but there was a friendliness about him.

He started to kneel before me; but I thought that was too formal for one who was to be my brother-in-law. So I asked him not to do so and embraced him. His response was immediate.

He then spoke in English which I did not understand. Richard Russell translated for me. James was saying what a great pleasure it was to welcome me to England on his brother’s behalf, but he included an earnest welcome from himself at the same time.

He asked me how the voyage had been and then suggested that, as he knew a little Spanish, it might be easier for us to converse in that language; and this we did.

He then told me that his brother was awaiting my arrival with the greatest eagerness, and how the whole country was jubilant.

The people were still celebrating the return of the King. Poor souls, they had suffered under Cromwell. He had made England a country without laughter. That was no country to live in. But at least it had made them appreciate the merry times the more.