The Devlin Diary

No death in England or France was more lamented than that of Princess Henriette-Anne. Since which time dying has been the fashion.

—John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

Hannah Devlin, a physician

Lord Arlington, Secretary of State and the king’s minister

Madame Severin, Louise de Keroualle’s mistress of the bedchamber

Louise de Keroualle, a mistress to Charles Stuart, King of England

Jeremy Maitland, a manservant to Lord Arlington

Roger Osborne, a courtier

Mrs. Wills, Hannah’s goodwife

Lucy Harsnett, Hannah’s maidservant

Hester Pinney, Hannah’s maidservant

Theophilus Ravenscroft, a natural philosopher

Thomas Spratt, Ravenscroft’s assistant

Sir Granville Haines, a courtier

Ralph Montagu, a courtier and former ambassador to France

Sir Thomas Clifford, Lord Treasurer and the king’s minister

Charles Stuart, King of England

James, Duke of York, Charles Stuart’s brother and

the successor to the throne

Edward Strathern, a physician and anatomist

Sir Henry Reynolds, a courtier

Jane Constable, a lady-in-waiting to the late Duchess of York

Sir Hugh May, Comptroller of the King’s Works

Colbert de Croissy, French ambassador to England

Robert Hooke, a natural philosopher and city surveyor

Dr. Thomas Sydenham, a physician

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Epilogue

A
UTHOR’S
N
OTE

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

29 June 1670
The Palace of Saint-Cloud, Paris

Urgent to the Rue de Varenne, Paris

The Royal Doctors give her over and so do all that see her. Princess Henriette-Anne took to her bed this morning with a Sickness some say is Poyson. She convulses and screams and clutches her Belly sobbing—it is a Piteous thing to Witness. Most suspect her husband, the Duc d’Orleans, and his lover, the Chevalier de Lorraine, whom King Louis banished to the country only a Fortnight ago. But the King will never condemn his scandalous Brother, even though his sister-in-law is now Tormented by the most excruciating Agonies.

Mors certa, hora incerta,
yet all goes on as Before. The courtiers mill about Henriette-Anne’s apartments, engaging in idle Discourses, as if this Night were no different from any other. Not one of these tricked-up Peacocks has a care that the Princess’s sincere Piety and youthful Beauty will soon be Lost; tho’ I must confess that her beauty has quickly Withered, with the repeated clysters and the copious Vomits. The French courtiers—it is a simple task to distinguish them from the English, for their excess of Lace and
overbearing Scent reveal them at once—can barely conceal their Astonishment, that a young noblewoman would Suffer so indelicately; and they continually sniff their perfumed handkerchers to mask the Stench that accompanies Death. The Princess’s bedchamber, tho’ it is grand and overlooks the Palace gardens and the Seine, smells like a charnel-house.

The English contingent—Lord Arlington, Sir Henry Reynolds, Roger Osborne, Sir Thomas Clifford, Sir Granville Haines—are more stoic and less Afflicted. Tho’ I detect a Panic amongst them that cannot be attributed to any gentle Sentiment for the Princess. I am almost certain that they are not waiting upon her because she is King Charles’s beloved sister and King Louis’ beloved sister-in-law, but have remained in France on a secret Purpose.

The efficient overseer of Henriette-Anne’s bedchamber, Madame Severin, is as always present. Tonight she is perched at the Princess’s bedside, as ominous as a Tower raven, alert to every Sigh and Tremor her mistress makes. Henriette-Anne’s fatal Distress has made Madame Severin the very embodiment of Despair and Melancholy, or so it appears; yet not long past I chanced to hear a Quarrel between them, of which I will disclose more when we meet. The Princess’s Maids are as mournful as the Matron; they huddle in the corner, red-eyed and fearful, knowing they will be without Employ or Benefactress once their Lady is still and cold.

Only one, the pretty little Breton Louise de Keroualle, seems unconcerned with her Fate. Perhaps the Attention given her by King Charles at Dover was not Lost upon her. De Keroualle is not clever, but she is comely and very Ambitious. She makes much of her Virtue, but I have heard rumors of a past Liaison with the Comte de Sault, a dull Rogue if I ever knew one, and she is poor. Even if she became maid of honor to the Queen she could not make an auspicious Match in France.

I must bring this Missive to a close—more later.

It is now past Three of the clock. Madame Severin has risen and called for the Bishop—the End is near. But no; the Princess motions her back to the Bed, rising on one unsteady Arm to utter a few hoarse Words. Madame Severin looks into the crowded Room, her eyes uncommonly bright in the candlelight.

“Monsieur Osborne,” she says, her voice rough with grief.

The courtiers react with perplexed bewilderment, a suppressed ripple of Protest, even outrage. Why Roger Osborne? The Englishman is not a favorite. A friend to King Charles and to Henriette-Anne, to be sure, but someone who arrived late to the Royalist cause. Has the princess forgotten his Parliamentarian past, his work for Cromwell? Perhaps all that matters is that Osborne forgot it quickly enough once Charles was restored to the throne.

Osborne steps out of the crowd, a man of middle Years in unfashionable dark clothes and a cheap Periwig. A large port-wine-colored birthmark spreads its scalloped edges across his right brow. He kneels at Henriette-Anne’s bedside, then leans forward to hear her weak rasping Voice. As she murmurs, his eyes grow wide and he shakes his head. Whatever Task she is assigning him, he does not want it, though by refusing he risks a charge of Treason. Henriette-Anne becomes agitated. Madame Severin moves closer, ready to end their dangerous Interlocution. The Princess waves her away, then tugs a weighty gold Band from her finger. She presses it into Osborne’s palm. He stares at it as if he has never seen a ring before.

When he looks up, he has the Countenance of a man who has heard something deeply disturbing. The Princess utters a grievous Sigh and falls back onto the bed, her body buckling in pain. Madame Severin summons the Bishop, and the room breaks into a Commotion as the courtiers make way. The Bishop rushes to the bed, but it is all for naught: the Princess’s rattle is loud enough for most to hear that she has Dyed. A shocked Gasp resounds throughout the room and the courtiers stop their twittering. The ring falls from Osborne’s hand and rolls along the floor, a golden streak of Light. Finally it collides with the wall and falls to one side,
wobbling on the rim in ever faster revolutions, its metallic singing filling the sudden silence.

Your dear Friend and my Angel the Princess Henriette-Anne is gone, her Radiance too early extinguished. I will say only this,
Letum non omnia finit:
death does not finish everything.

I remain your most Humble & Obedient, &c.