The Loves of Charles II (14 page)

“I swear it, Charles! I swear it!” she cried, tapping her foot as she did in moments of agitation. “He could deny me nothing. It was the last time I saw him. I swear to you, Charles. You would not wish to go against your father’s wishes, would you?”

“No, Mam,” was Charles’ answer. “That is why I wish you to allow Lady Morton to supervise my sister’s religious education in the faith of the Church of England.”

“But it was your father’s wish …”

The young King smiled gently at his mother. He was always extremely courteous to her, but he was not fond of her and he was too honest to pretend that he was. He loved his little sister dearly; but he also loved peace. A young King with a kingdom yet to be won had too many difficulties to face without making others with a fanatical Catholic such as his mother was. So Charles consoled himself with the thought: Minette is only a child. She will absorb little as yet. Later, something must be done. Perhaps then he could commission someone else to take up the struggle with his mother, and so escape the unpleasantness.

Meanwhile there was much to occupy him. Lucy had come to Paris with their son, and he was delighted with them both. Young Jemmy was a lusty youngster; Charles swore he had the Stuart eyes; he was certain that
Robert Sydney could not claim him as his son. He often said: “If I were not the King, I’d marry Lucy to make the boy my heir.”

He had been alarmed because young Jemmy had already started to cause some trouble at The Hague. It was realized that he was a very important little boy, and there had been a plot to kidnap him which had nearly succeeded. Charles had declared that Lucy must come to Paris and bring the boy with her. This she had been quick to do. Paris suited Lucy better than The Hague—even Paris suffering from the disasters of the Fronde. So Charles, with plans for expeditions to the loyal territories of Jersey, Scotland and Ireland to be considered, and his playmate, Lucy, and his little son to enchant him, found it easy to shelve the problem of his sister’s religion.

Henrietta Maria looked on with quiet satisfaction.

Let the boy amuse himself. Soon he would have little time for amusement. It was natural that he should wish to dally with a mistress. Was he not the grandson of Henri Quatre?

So Henrietta Maria kept her daughter with her, and often she would take the child against her knee and, embracing her fiercely, tell her that only by learning all that Père Cyprien had to teach her could her soul be saved.

“And what will happen to those whose souls are not saved?” asked Henriette.

“They burn in the fires of hell eternally.”

“How long is eternally?”

“For ever and ever.”

“And Lady Morton will burn forever and ever?”

“If she does not become a Catholic.”

Tears filled Henriette’s eyes. “Oh no! Not dear Nan! Please Mam, pray to God and the saints not to burn poor Nan.”

“If she becomes a Catholic she will be safe. You must try to convert her.”

“Oh, Mam, I will … I will!”

So Henriette went to her governess and put her arms about her neck crying: “Do be converted, dear Nan. Dear Lady Morton, you must be a Catholic to be saved. Do be a Catholic, and I will love you more dearly than ever.”

“My dearest, we cannot easily change our convictions,” said Anne Morton.

“But you must be a Catholic … you
must
! All those who are not cannot be saved. They are tormented forever and ever.”

“So they have told you that, have they?”

“I cannot bear that you should be burned, dear Nan.”

“Come, dry your tears. I promise you this: I shall not be burned.”

“Then you will …”

“Let us not talk of this, my dearest. Might it not be that there are many ways to salvation?”

“But there is only one. Père Cyprien says so.”

“It may be that he knows only one. Now I will tell you how we came out of England, shall I?”

“Oh yes, please … and how I kept telling people that I was the Princess and that the clothes I wore were not my own.”

So she was appeased for the moment, and later she said to her mother: “I will tell Charles he must be saved, for, Mam, he too may burn eternally.”

“Do not speak of these matters to your brother,
chérie.”

“But, Mam, he will not be saved if he is not a Catholic.”

Henrietta Maria was more brusque than she usually was with her little daughter. “Now … now … you talk too much. It is not for you to save souls. That is for Père Cyprien. You must learn what is told you. You are not yet ready to teach.”

“But if I may try to save dear Lady Morton, why should I not try to save Charles?”

Henrietta Maria pinched the soft cheek affectionately. “I have said you must learn first. There is so much you do not understand.”

Henriette nodded. She was content not to understand, for understanding, it seemed, could make people disagree, and that had already caused trouble between those whom she loved.

It seemed to Henriette that any day might bring news which made her mother weep and declare that she was the most unhappy Queen in the world and that no woman suffered as she did.

The troubles of the Fronde endangered the lives of royal people. It was a long time since Henriette had seen her cousins, Louis the King and his brother Philippe, so that she had forgotten she had ever known them. Her own beloved Charles had left again; he had gone to Jersey where the people were loyal. Henriette quickly learned that it was a sad thing to be an exile in a strange land. And although her mother told her stories of the days when she herself was a little girl and Paris had been her home, still they were looked upon as strangers. When the French were angry with the English government much was made of Henriette and her mother; when they were indifferent to the English government they had nothing but sullen looks for the exiles.

“It is the saddest thing in the world to have no country,” said Henrietta Maria.

“Shall we never have a country?” asked her daughter.

Her mother’s eyes, with the dark shadows beneath them, gleamed as she enlarged on one of her favorite topics. “If you marry, the country of your husband will be your country.”

Henriette nodded slowly; she knew that her mother had a husband in mind for her. It was a boy who would one day be the most important man in France. He was already a King, even as Charles was. He was Louis XIV. She had forgotten what he looked like so she began to picture him looking exactly like her brother Charles, although she knew that he was not so old. But he was a King, and people would kneel and kiss his hands as they kissed Charles’. She was not displeased at the thought of marriage with Louis since when she thought of him she thought of a boy who looked like Charles, spoke like Charles and indeed
was
another Charles—but instead of being called by that name he was Louis, and King of France instead of King of England.

Now, of course, on account of the Fronde, the little King and his brother did not come to Paris. Henrietta Maria and her daughter stayed there because they were not important and Paul de Gondi allowed them to.

So sometimes they were in the apartments of the Louvre, and sometimes they were in the house on the hills of Chaillot. Henriette studied; she found it easy to study and there were few distractions. She wanted to learn; there was so much to know. She wanted to understand why the people of England had killed her father and would not allow Charles to have his throne; she wanted to know why the people of France were threatening their monarch with the same treatment.

Mademoiselle de Montpensier visited them now and then. “La Grande Mademoiselle” she was called in Paris, for she was on the side of the Frondeurs; and she hoped to be remembered in the years to come as another Jeanne d’Arc who had saved France. She was very handsome and very anxious that everyone should pay homage to her, the cousin of the King, the richest heiress in Europe, and now … the heroine of the Fronde.

Henriette knew that her mother wanted La Grande Mademoiselle to marry Charles, and Henriette thought she was almost worthy of him as she looked at the handsome girl so exquisitely dressed in the fashions inspired by the Fronde—her long hanging sleeves were
frondées
, slung, not looped; her fan, gloves and kerchief were all
à la mode de la Fronde;
on her elaborate hat she wore an ornament which was the shape of a sling. The people cheered as her carriage drove through the streets:
“Vive la grande Mademoiselle!”

Mademoiselle should, so said Henrietta Maria, look to her actions. Did she think that her attitude endeared her to the Queen Mother? Was this siding with the Queen’s enemies a wise thing? It was true that the great Condé
was on the side of the Fronde, and that many aristocrats had followed his example, but for a young woman who hoped to marry the little King to side with his mother’s enemies, was surely unwise!

But Mademoiselle was unwise and Mademoiselle was arrogant. She thought herself grand and clever enough to do exactly as she pleased.

She was coquettish; she liked to talk to Henrietta Maria about Charles, for Charles was one of her many suitors, and although Mademoiselle considered him beneath her, she was not averse to hearing of his passion for her.

The little Princess liked to be present at these conversations between her mother and Mademoiselle; she liked to hear their talk of Charles, for, of course, they talked of him differently from the way in which they talked of him to her. There was so much she wanted to know about that most fascinating person, her beloved brother Charles.

“When he regains his kingdom his wife will be the Queen of England,” Henrietta Maria constantly reminded her niece.

“Ah, when, dear Madame! When will that be?”

“Can you doubt that it will be ere long? The people of England will not endure forever that upstart Cromwell and his miserable rule.”

“They say he has a way of enforcing that which is not palatable.”

“Can you doubt that a young man so strong, so full of courage, so determined, will not soon win back his kingdom?”

“There are some who say he loves the company of women better than that of soldiers and statesmen.”

“So did my father, but that did not prevent his conquering his enemies and bringing an end to civil war in France.”

“But that happy state of affairs did not come about until he was well advanced in years. I should not care to spend the days of my youth an exiled Queen. Moreover, the King of England, even while courting me, brought his mistress to Paris.”

“Bah! A man must have a mistress. What of that?”

“And treats her bastard as though he were a prince.”

“He is at least the bastard of a King.”

“I have heard that there is some doubt of that. This Lucy Water! Who is she? A King’s mistress should have some quality, should she not?”

“He but amuses himself. And what ladies of quality were there, do you think, at The Hague where he found her?”

“Madame, she was his mistress in Paris.”

“He is the sweetest natured man in the world. He could not turn her off because he was in Paris. You will see what grand mistresses he will have when he is in his own country.”

“Madame, I would rather my husband were faithful to me than that he
should have the grandest mistresses in the world. Your son cannot remain faithful to any woman. Why, even when he courts one, his eyes follow others. I hear now that he is causing some scandal in Jersey. There is a woman’s name which is mentioned in connection with him—Margaret Carteret.”

“Margaret Carteret!” interrupted the Queen. “She is merely the daughter of the Seigneur of Trinity. She is a young girl. My son stays at Elizabeth Castle, which is her father’s residence, and because my son is there and a young woman is there …” Henrietta Maria’s hands flew up in a gesture of inevitability.

“Wherever Charles Stuart is, Madame, there will be scandals concerning women.”

“That is because he is so gallant and charming.”

“And such a lover of women!”

“Mademoiselle,” said Henrietta Maria, “I shall tell my brother to marry you to a monk. I can see that you do not wish for a man.”

And with that Henrietta Maria rose and left her niece, taking short rapid steps which, to her daughter, conveyed her anger.

Little Henriette sat on, quietly thinking of her brother.