Charles the King (4 page)

“You must forgive me,” Charles said gently, trying hard not to stammer, “for intruding upon you like this, but after—after what happened this morning, I felt I must see you and explain.”

“I apologize for making you angry, Sire, but I understood that my ladies would receive the due of their rank in this country. As my principal lady, Madame de St. George felt that her place was with me and I agreed with her. If I was mistaken, I am sorry.”

It was a very stiff, haughty little speech, but she spoiled it by blushing and covering her face with her hands to hide the tears which overflowed again. She had been determined not to argue, to be dignified and distant and aggrieved, and certainly not cry in front of him when he was so deeply in the wrong. But after only two days, Charles could not bear to see her weeping. He came and took her in his arms, one hand stroking her hair, while she sobbed against his shoulder like an overwrought child.

“It was my fault,” he insisted. “It was all my fault. I should have explained English protocol to you but I thought it had been done … Please, dearest heart, don't cry and distress yourself.”

He sat down on a chair and lifted Henrietta on to his knee.

“I couldn't leave things unmended between us,” he said. “I have been so unhappy today when I hoped to be full of joy and pride, showing you to my people for the first time. And I could not go to our marriage service without telling you how tenderly I feel for you and begging you to forgive me for upsetting you this morning.”

Henrietta sat up and borrowed his handkerchief for the second time since they met.

“Madame de St. George is the person who is injured,” she said. Madame had indulged in a fit of minor hysterics as soon as she rejoined the Queen; her tears and reproaches and threats to return to France had overwhelmed Henrietta who was tense and tired out and quivering with humiliation.

“I am not marrying Madame de St. George and her injury does not concern me in the least,” he said firmly. “She should have been sensible enough to efface herself at once rather than cause such a scene. But we are not going to talk about her; she and her rights of precedence can wait, but misunderstandings between us must not last a moment longer.”

“She was terribly angry,” Henrietta continued, trying to make him understand the ordeal to which she had been subjected. “And she ended by telling me a most dreadful story about what will happen after the banquet tonight.”

Charles looked at her in horror.

“What dreadful story? What has that woman been saying to you?”

“She told me,” Henrietta said, “that it is the custom here for the King and Queen to go to bed in front of the whole Court! If all those strangers are going to come into my bedroom and watch me undressing, I shall die of shame!”

After a moment Charles smiled.

“It is the custom,” he admitted, “but not as terrifying as you think. The ladies prepare you and the gentlemen help me and then we are escorted to our bedroom, wished many blessings, and after we are in bed, everyone leaves. There is no harm in it, my poor little Henrietta, but if it distresses you, I shall forbid it.”

“Oh, do you promise me?” She put one thin arm round his neck and leant her head against his shoulder. There was something very comforting about him, something very tender and protective and not at all forbidding. She could not understand why all her French attendants thought him so reserved. She felt at that moment as if she had found an affectionate elder brother.

“I promise,” he said. “You have nothing to fear.”

She was so slight and so defenceless that he restrained his desire to anticipate the marriage service even by kissing her, and was surprised at the strength of the temptation. It was so strong that he set her down and got up quickly.

“I must leave you,” he said. “It is time to dress now, and we have the rest of our lives to be alone. Until one hour, my dearest Madam.”

He went back to his rooms where his valet and his gentlemen helped him into a suit of white satin, cuffed and collared in priceless lace, and fastened the bright blue sash of the Garter across his chest. Buckingham, dazzling in scarlet and gold came to escort the King to St. Augustine's Hall, and he left leaning on the Duke's arm.

He looked rather solemn and nervous, and Buckingham watched him shrewdly. Everything he had depended upon this inexperienced upright young man who was taking his marriage and his wife so seriously, and he had heard of Charles's visit to the Queen that afternoon. That was a bad sign, a sign of weakness in the King. A sign that the stupid little spitfire had established an influence over him which had already countered Buckingham's advice. He had been firm in the coach with the Duke as a witness, but weak and conciliatory when he was alone. Buckingham watched them take their marriage vows in the old Cathedral Hall and there was a coldly unpleasant expression in his eyes. There was no room for a wife who was anything but a cypher; there was no room for any influence with the King but his own. If Charles fell in love with his wife he would no longer need Buckingham.

The Duke joined the stately procession from the Hall to the waiting carriages, and smiled his congratulations to the King whose face was suffused with happiness. He had arranged this marriage. He knew then that in his own interests he must make sure that it was a permanent failure.

Chapter 2

The banquet following their marriage lasted for nearly five hours and dragged through twenty courses. The King and Queen sat at a table on a raised dais, under a crimson and gold canopy embroidered with the Arms of England, and they were served by the Marquis of Winchester who carved the meats, and the Earls of Pembroke and Essex as Stewards. Three Countesses waited on Henrietta, and she was surprised to see that these exalted nobles and their wives served Charles and herself on their bended knee. The tables were set down the length of the enormous dining hall which was very tall and draughty, and a company of three hundred members of the Court and her own attendants dined with them. The plates and cups were solid gold, and after each course she and the King washed their fingers in little golden basins and wiped them on the finest linen napkins. It was her first experience of English ceremony, and Charles watched her anxiously to see whether she approved. She did not like the food, which was coarse and heavily spiced in her opinion, and her appetite was naturally small. She picked at the dishes and sent them away uneaten. Charles ate heartily; he was very happy and attentive to her, and he assured her in a whisper that he had not forgotten his promise: she had nothing to fear. He could not help looking at her and touching her arm and leaning close to her. His feeling of love and tenderness and expectation overcame his shyness and his dislike of public display. He had the prettiest wife in the world and he was overwhelmed with pride. She was so delicate, like some fragile creature in a fable, her luxuriant hair blazed with his diamonds, and the famous Stuart pearls roped round her slender neck. He told her again and again how beautiful she was and how she had won the hearts of his Court and his people, and she smiled up into his face and asked him questions about London and the Palace of Whitehall which he had assured her was the most splendid building in the world. He had seen Versailles and stayed at the Escorial, but he made the claim in all sincerity. To him, his kingdom, his Palaces, his religion and his traditions were superior to anything inherited by other Princes. He was passionately proud of England, as proud and as insular in his own way as the great Elizabeth whose claim to be mere English was a national boast. He loved it all and he was painfully anxious that the girl he already cared for so deeply, should share his love and join in his pride. He told her that she must learn English when they were in London, and Henrietta made a naughty grimace and said that she would try but made no promises. Privately she thought it a silly suggestion since everyone of consequence spoke French.

Charles glanced down at Buckingham, his only friend and confidant, who was not quite so superior to him now that he was married and about to round out his experience of life. He was deeply grateful to Steenie for choosing such an admirable wife, and he sent for him in the middle of the meal to tell him in English how happy he was and how appreciative of his service.

“I am the happiest of men,” Charles whispered to him, one hand laid affectionately on his shoulder. “I defy you to point out one woman in this room more beautiful than the Queen!”

Buckingham laughed easily. His heart was bursting with jealousy and fear and he could have named at least fifty English women in the Hall who obliterated that sallow brat for beauty and for charm. For a moment their eyes met, and Henrietta stared at him and looked away. Buckingham's eyes did not change, nor did his smile. He turned smoothly to the King again.

“All men are envious of you tonight, Sire. All except me, for I love you so well I feel as if your happiness was my own.” He bowed very low and went back to his place. The Duchess of Buckingham looked at him. In spite of everything she loved him deeply.

“His Majesty seems very happy,” she said.

“Too happy,” Buckingham snapped under his breath. “Did you see her glare at me and turn away? I've got an enemy there, by God, and she'll do her damndest to turn the King against me.”

“No one could do that,” Kate Buckingham said. “He's besotted with you, like his father.”

“Not quite like him,” he sneered. “There's a mighty difference, and you should be glad of it, though I begin to wonder if I am. The old King wouldn't have sat ogling a woman like a sick pupppy … She's not even worthy of him!”

“She's very young,” the Duchess said. She knew all the details of her husband's conduct with the Queen of France, and she tried to be fair.

She was a wife herself.

“Leave them alone, for the love of God,” she said. “She cannot hurt you, and he deserves to be happy with her if he can. You should be thankful to have a Queen as a rival instead of watching every page and groom of the bedchamber!”

He touched her cheek suddenly with one finger and for a moment the mocking, lazy look she knew presaged desire flashed at her like a bribe.

“You were very patient then,” he whispered, “And you must be patient now. And good. Good wives get loving husbands. Leave the King and Queen to my discretion and think only of yourself and me.”

At the end of the Banquet, Charles rose and gave his hand to Henrietta. Then they left the table together, stepping down from the dais and walking slowly to the end of the long room, followed by the peers and gentlemen in attendance in order of rank, headed by the King's favourite, the Duke of Buckingham and his Duchess, with the French ambassador and the members of the Queen's household. They mounted the stairs and at the head of them they separated, each going to their own apartments to be undressed by their attendants. They would meet again at the door of the State bedroom, for the ceremony of bedding down which had horrified Henrietta.

In her own rooms Madame de St. George and the Comtesse de Touillère helped her out of the heavy gold embroidered dress worn for the Banquet and locked away her jewels. They bathed her face with scented water and combed out her long black hair, and all the time the Principal Lady of the Bedchamber wrung her hands and wiped her eyes and muttered under her breath as if the tired, nervous bride were going to her execution instead of her husband.

In a corner the Duchesse de Chevreuse held up the fabulous pearls and exclaimed over their beauty.

“Pearls are tears,” Madame de St. George declared. “Especially
those
pearls! Oh, my God, Madame, how could the King have given you such an unlucky gift? They have no imagination these people, no sensibilities!”

“Unlucky?” Henrietta's tired eyes opened in alarm. “But how could they be—he told me they were part of the Crown jewels of England.”

Madame de St. George shrugged.

“They are the pearls which Mary Stuart brought with her from France—the pearls belonging to the Queen of Tears who lost her life in this barbaric country.”

She went on her knees in front of her startled mistress whose cheeks were as white as her nightdress.

“I beg of you, do not wear them!”

“That would be a pity,” the Duchesse came forward. The whole scene appeared quite ridiculous. Madame de St. George ought to be ashamed of herself for playing on the feelings of the Princess they were supposed to guide and succour in a foreign country.

“You must always wear the King's present, Madam.” She said briskly. “Forget Mary Stuart wore them and remember that they hung round the neck of Queen Elizabeth and she never came to any harm! You will be late, I hear the King's Groom of the Chamber coming.”

In his own rooms, Charles submitted to some good-natured but ribald mockery from his gentlemen while he changed into his nightrobe and bedgown. Normally only Steenie made jokes or used coarse language, but tonight was hallowed by custom; for once the King was the prey of his courtiers. He had taken a wife and proved himself a mere man like other mortals. There was laughter in his rooms, unlike the malice and conflict surrounding Henrietta, and he came out to meet her with both his hands outstretched. Noticing her pale and anxious face, he squeezed her fingers reassuringly and they walked together down the long corridor, lit by torches in the walls which flickered and flared in a cross current of draughts, until they reached the doors of the State bedroom. The King's two personal pages opened them wide and he stood back to let Henrietta enter first. Then he followed her and turning, faced the crowd of grinning and expectant Courtiers.

“We bid you good night, ladies and gentlemen,” he said and before anyone could move, he shut the doors himself and locked them.

When he turned round, she had moved away from him into the centre of the room. Her long blue velvet night robe was tightly fastened from the neck to the waist, and Charles wondered suddenly whether he was supposed to undo the complicated bows of gold thread or if Henrietta could manage them herself. He had never buttoned his own coat or tied his own shoes in his life. He came towards her uncertainly.