Charles the King (8 page)

Her French household had been embarked for France after remaining in Somerset House and in a state of siege, demanding arrears of salary and refusing to leave without payment. Buckingham obliged the King by moving them forcibly out of London and packing them aboard ship. In revenge they took most of Henrietta's elegant trousseau and a great part of her jewels. Their defection and the dishonesty of their claims robbed the unhappy Queen of her last defence against her husband. She was now in the wrong and the people she had defended so vigorously had helped to put her there. On the evening when Lady Scrope announced the King's visit, she accepted the inevitable and submitted to the experience which was quite the most disagreeable part of her disastrous married life.

He was still in love with her. He knew that as soon as he took her in his arms, and his triumph melted immediately into remorse for the way he had treated her. She lay beside him with tears running down her thin cheeks, so much thinner and paler in the last few weeks, and he felt suddenly sickened and ashamed as if he had committed an outrage. She was his wife and so much weaker, so much younger than he was and he had taken a cruel advantage.

“Forgive me,” he begged her. “Forgive me for everything I've done to hurt you and make you unhappy. I did it because I believed it was the only way we could find happiness.” He bent and kissed her, his heart aching with tenderness, and as she did not turn away, he gathered her into his arms and began to stroke her hair.

“I love you, Henrietta. I have always loved you from the moment I first saw you at Dover. I beg of you to believe that.”

“You have separated me from all my friends,” she answered, her voice trembling. “I must accept that because you are the King and I have no redress. But if you really cared for me at all, you would never deny me a priest and force me to live like a heathen. I have not heard Mass or received the Sacraments for all these weeks. You go to your Church here at Oatlands, but there is no place where I can worship or ask God for comfort in my wretchedness.”

“Why didn't you come and ask me before now?” he whispered. “I'd no idea it really meant so much to you—I thought much of your religion was just another means of defying me, another barrier between us. I would never deprive you of your faith, you know that.”

“You promised,” Henrietta wept, annoyed with herself because she was allowing him to hold and comfort her when she had made up her mind to remain like ice. But she felt warm and safe, and in spite of everything she cuddled into him a little like a lost and frightened kitten. His response was generous out of all proportion.

“I will send for Father Philip tomorrow,” he promised. Father Philip was a gentle, studious Scot, with whom Charles had a great deal in common by temperament and nationality. He had liked the kindly old priest and never once suspected him of encouraging the excesses of zeal which had caused so much comment and resentment in a society which would have hanged, drawn and quartered him but for the Queen's protection.

“I want you to be happy,” he said desperately. “If you will only trust me, only try to love me a little, I promise you I will never fail you …” She put her arms round his neck.

“I will try,” she whispered.

At the end of the week Charles took her back to London, and everyone remarked on the change in their relationship. He was tender and protective, and his attitude forbade any reference to the circumstances in which he had left for Oatlands to subdue his wife. It was obvious that he had succeeded; it was also obvious that unless they were deceiving their household, there might soon be an heir to the throne. Charles unburdened himself to Buckingham, thanking him profusely for the excellent advice which had resolved all his difficulties, and admitted contentedly that though his wife remained unresponsive, she was angelic in temperament and acquiescent to his wishes. The Duke listened and congratulated and took the credit with every appearance of satisfaction and told everyone he could trust to repeat it to the Queen that he was responsible for the dismissal of her servants and her subjection to her husband. She might have given way to Charles, but she would never accept him. He did not want acceptance, and above all he did not want the reconciliation to continue. He pressed invitations upon Charles and Henrietta which the former insisted were a proof of his affection, and before a month had passed, the Duke was able to complain to him that the Queen was hostile and insulting and trying to separate the master from his servant. He offered to go to her and placate her, and wearied with dissention and an atmosphere of discord, Charles agreed. It was unreasonable to bear the Duke such an unremitting grudge. He ordered his horses and went out to hunt at Hampton Court.

Henrietta was sewing in her Privy Chamber overlooking the herb gardens and the river when the Duke of Buckingham was announced. She liked the old Tudor Palace better than Whitehall; the air was cleaner and the life was more leisured. There was time to walk and go for trips up the Thames which she and the King enjoyed, and she had found a friend among the English ladies, the beautiful, vivacious Lucy Carlisle. She was happier than at any time since she left France and the last person in the world she wanted to disturb her was the insolent author of her humiliation in the past.

“Tell the Duke I am unable to receive him,” she said angrily.

“Madam, do you think that is wise?” The Countess of Newport was an amiable, pretty woman who had made herself agreeable to the Queen and was advancing in her affections as quickly as Lady Carlisle. “He will only complain to His Majesty and try to cause trouble. Why don't you see him for a few moments, Madam? No harm can come of that.”

“And no good either,” Henrietta retorted. “I detest the creature; he has no right to thrust himself upon me when the King is absent.”

“Newport is right, Madam,” Lady Carlisle advised. She had once been Buckingham's mistress though the Queen did not know that. Unlike most of her lovers, the Duke had tired first and she nursed a malevolent hatred for him. This hatred, and a passion for fomenting trouble and participating in intrigue were the motives behind her friendship for Henrietta with whom she had little in common. “Don't give him the chance to accuse you of anything. See him and make an excuse after a few minutes and send him away.”

“Very well.” Henrietta stood up. “Admit him, but stay close to me.”

Buckingham came towards her and bowed. She did not offer him her hand, and instead of waiting to be spoken to, he said shortly, “I come on the King's business, Madam, and at his command I desire to see you without witnesses.” He glanced at Lucy Carlisle and gave her an impudent grin. “Your servant, my Lady, and yours,” he added, turning to Lady Newport. “I shall not detain the Queen for long.”

To Henrietta's surprise, they curtsied.

“If the King has commanded it, we must go, Madam,” Lady Carlisle explained. “Ring if you need us; we will be in the ante-room.”

When the door closed, Buckingham turned to her. There was a sneering, unpleasant expression in his eyes as he looked at her, giving her slight upright figure an expert and insulting scrutiny. There was no child as yet. She was as skinny and small-breasted and sallow as ever.

“I trust you are well, Madam?”

“I am no better for seeing you, sir. State your business, and be good enough to do it briefly.”

“It is not my business,” the Duke said coolly. “It is the King's. But perhaps you are right; the King's business is mine too. Most people recognize that and behave accordingly. You would be wise to do the same.”

“How dare you speak to me like that! Leave the room at once.”

“Don't pick up that bell, Madam. I haven't even started yet. And I shall say what I have to before witnesses if necessary. That is, if you want them to hear the King's complaint against you.”

Henrietta glared at him. He pulled a chair forward and sat down in it with his legs sprawling and his hat on his head. She turned so pale that he laughed.

“I sit in the King's presence, so why not in yours? Contain your ill-temper, my dear Madam, or you will choke on it before you have heard me out.”

Henrietta's hands clenched; her impulse was to step over to the chair and strike the hat off his head. But she did not move. She looked into the cruel, aggressive face and knew that if she touched him or retaliated, he would find a way to ruin her completely with her husband. He was confident because he knew the extent of his power over Charles, a power which she had not diminished in the slightest. She made a visible effort and controlled herself.

“Bravo,” the Duke said softly. “You have learnt some wisdom after all. Now, Madam—point one. You do not like me.”

“I detest you above every living creature!”

“Quite so. But you show it, and the King is displeased. Crossing swords with me can be a dangerous business; there are many people, some still living, but in uncomfortable, not to say restricted, circumstances who could tell you that. You may detest me, but you will have to hide your feelings. You will have to treat me with friendship and politeness because that is what the King requires. You must not try and exclude me from your little gatherings. They are full of amusement and delight, and I insist on participating. Now, point two is the matter of your coldness to the King. He has often told me how unsatisfactory he finds you in this respect.”

Henrietta bit her lips, blushing from her forehead to her neck, and her eyes filled with tears of pain and disappointment.

“I do not believe,” she said, “that the King would ever discuss me with you or anyone in such a manner.”

“I assure you,” he mocked, “the King tells me everything. We have no secrets, he and I. Now, Madam, try to take my advice in a spirit of friendship, the spirit indeed in which it is offered. Relent towards me—take me into your favour and your confidence and we will all be happy. And show some human warmth to His Majesty; he deserves it for all his forbearance to you.” He stood up.

Henrietta said slowly, “No man has ever spoken to me as you have done, my Lord. Your intention was to insult me beyond endurance, and in that you have succeeded. I will never forgive you or cease to undermine your influence over my husband as long as I live.”

“That is not a prospect which alarms me. You have a pretty head, Madam, but remember when you threaten me, that you wouldn't be the first Queen of England to lose it. You may pick up your bell and ring it now. And give my congratulations to Lady Carlisle. She has improved since I left her.”

He turned his back on her and walked out of the room. She heard him begin to whistle and the little sound became a sudden roar and a rushing and the floor heaved under her. When her women came back, they found that the Queen had fainted.

Buckingham had failed to make friends with Henrietta. The King stood in his private apartments with his favourite and listened to the Duke's account of how the Queen had snubbed him and refused his overtures of friendship.

“I tried everything,” he said. “I begged her to believe me her friend, I told her emphatically how much this meant to you and how happy you would be if she was reconciled with me. You know me, Sire—I'm not in the habit of begging from anyone, but I positively crawled to Her Majesty, and she ended by telling me that I was the creature she hated most on earth and that she'd never stop until she had destroyed my influence with you!” He paused and looked at Charles. “I'm sorry, Sire, but I'm afraid I lost my temper. I said things to the Queen which I bitterly regret.”

“What you said was probably deserved,” Charles said. “I shan't blame you, Steenie, I know you did your best. I also know my wife, and dearly as I love her, I know how far she can drive the most patient man when she wants to be insulting.”

He was so disappointed and so rent by the conflict of loyalties and affections, that he did not wish to discuss it. She had remained implacable; she had rejected Buckingham's overture and placed him, Charles, in an impossible position; a position where he was bound to inflict pain on her or on the friend he loved. He felt sickened and angry and disinclined to go near her that evening and doubtless hear a recital of Buckingham's faults. Behind his back, the Duke grinned. He felt a twinge of contempt for the unhappy, confused younger man, torn between love for his wife and devotion to his friend, and too blind to see the selfishness of one and the duplicity of the other.

He stepped close to the King.

“If it will give you lasting happiness with her,” he said, “I will retire from the Court. I don't want to come between you.”

“Don't be a fool, Steenie! What would I do without you? You've never come between the Queen and me—it's thanks to your advice we've had any happiness at all. God bless you for offering, my dear friend, but don't even think of such a thing again. The Queen will relent, I promise you, and I promise you something else. I will never abandon you for her or for anyone living. Now be a good fellow and leave me alone.”

Buckingham paid him the unusual courtesy of kneeling and silently kissing his hand. When he was alone, Charles turned and sat down wearily by the window. It was a mild evening and the scent of the gardens drifted up to him full of sweetness, and down by the river a boatman called out as his barge came into its mooring.

He loved Henrietta; he loved her slight, graceful beauty and her infuriating courage and her sad, childish dependence which could change to intractable wilfulness and pride. He loved her and he yearned with a physical ache for agreement and union between them. There had been times since they returned from Oatlands when they had sat together, holding hands and talking or listening to one of his musicians playing the virginals, and his sense of peace and contentment had shown him the final joy of a marriage where mutual love was rooted and strong. At such moments he could forget Buckingham, he could forget his debts and the troubles in his kingdom which were a constant source of worry and frustration. But such moments were too few and too transient to protect him from the intrusion of the man he genuinely loved. He could not desert Steenie to please his wife, because he owed him everything. When he stammered, Steenie spoke for him and disguised his embarrassment; when his confidence wavered or his temper got out of control, Steenie sobered him and advised him and did it without impairing his self-respect. Charles knew very well that he was a ruthless, extravagant, immoral adventurer, but he loved him and he had never presumed to be his judge.