The Loves of Charles II (25 page)

“I understand only that he wishes to flout me. I shall make him repent this ere long. Go to him at once, Abbé. Give him my message. The ungrateful boy! He is no child of mine!”

Henrietta Maria flung herself out of the room; Henriette slowly picked up the altar cloth; then she sat down on the stool and covered her face with her hands.

Was there no end to these troubles which beset her family?

After a while she rose. She must go to Henry. Poor Henry, who had dreamed so often of reunion with his family!

She went along to his apartment. Montague was talking to Henry, whose face was white; he looked stricken yet incredulous. It was clear that he could not grasp what the man was saying; he could not believe his mother had really cast him off.

“Just think what this will mean,” Montague was saying. “If your mother renounces you, how will you live? How will you supply your table with food? How will you pay your servants?”

“I do not know,” said Henry piteously. “I cannot understand!”

“Then go to the Queen; tell her that you will be her very good son, and she will have a proposal to make which will set your heart at rest.”

“I fear, sir,” said Henry in a quavering voice, though his lips were determined, “that my mother’s proposals would not have that effect upon me, for my heart can have no rest but in the free exercise of my religion and in the keeping of my word to my father.”

James came into his apartment while Henriette was wondering what she could do to soothe her brother. When James heard the news he was astounded.

“But our mother cannot do this!” he cried. “I will go to see her. There has been some mistake.”

He strode out of the apartment, and Henriette put her arm about Henry. “Be of good cheer, Henry,” she begged. “There has been a mistake. You heard what James said. It
must
be a mistake.”

But shortly afterwards James was back. “Our mother is in a fury,” he said. “She declares that henceforth she will show her pleasure to neither of her sons, except through the medium of Montague.”

“Then she discards us both, James,” said Henry. “Oh, James, I almost wish they had not let me come to France. I was happier at Carisbrooke than here.”

“I would there were something I could do,” said Henriette. “I do not
believe Mam means this. She flies into tempers, but they pass. Go to her, Henry. Speak to her. She will soon be leaving for Chaillot, where she is going for Mass. Speak to her before she goes.”

James thought that their mother might be in a softened mood as she was departing for her devotions.

So Henry waylaid his mother; he knelt before her, entreating her not to turn away from him; but she pushed him angrily aside and would not speak to him.

The boy was heartbroken and uncertain what to do. James put his arm about him, and together they went to the service which was held in Sir Richard Browne’s chapel for the English Princes.

“She’ll get over her anger,” James told him. “Don’t fret, brother.”

But when Henry returned to his apartment after the service, he found that all his servants had been dismissed. There was no place for him at the table.

Bewildered, he flung himself down and gave way to bitter weeping. His mother, for whom he had longed during the years of exile, had turned away from him and had declared her intention of looking on his face no more.

Gloomily he walked about the palace grounds. He did not know what to do.

The day passed; he returned to the palace. He decided he would go to bed and try to make plans for the morrow. As he entered the palace his little sister ran to him. “Henry, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I do not know. I must go away, I suppose. But I do not know where to go.”

“Then you will resist … our mother?”

“I must, Henriette.”

“Oh Henry…. Oh, my brother! Oh, my mother! What can I do? I shall never be happy again.”

“So you too are afraid of her. She is only kind to you because you are a Catholic. If you were not, she would be as cruel to you as she is to me.”

Henriette continued to weep.

Her brother kissed her. “I am going to my apartment,” he said. “I shall try to rest. Perhaps in the morning I shall know what to do.”

She nodded and kissed him fondly.

He broke down then. “It is because I so longed to be with her … so much …”

“I know, Henry. I know, dear brother.”

She turned and fled; and Henry went up to his apartments, only to find that the sheets had been taken from his bed, and that all the comforts had been removed from his room.

His Controller found him there, staring about in a bewildered fashion; he reported that the horses had been turned out of the stables and that he himself had been dismissed and warned that he should expect no wages from the Queen while he remained in the service of Prince Henry.

“But I do not know what to do!” cried the boy.

James sought him out and James had good news.

“Fret no more, brother,” he cried. “All will be well. Did you think Charles would forget you! He knows how fierce our mother can be when she is engaged in conversions. Charles has sent to you the Marquess of Ormonde who waits below. He has horses and instructions to take you to Charles in Cologne.”

“Charles!” cried Henry, tears filling his eyes. “I am to go to
Charles!”

“Charles would never desert you!” cried James. “He expected this. He wrote to you somewhat sternly because he knew that you would never be at peace if you broke your word to our father. He wished you to hold out against our mother, and he is proud that you have done so. But never think that he would desert you. Be of good cheer, brother. You will find life more agreeable with the King, your brother, than among the monks of a Jesuit college which Mam had in mind for you.”

And that night, after taking fond farewells of his brother James and his little sister Henriette, Henry, an exile from his mother’s care, set out to join that other exile in Cologne.

nne of Austria delighted to see her son dance—an accomplishment he performed with such grace—and it pleased her often to give an informal dance, inviting just a few members of the highest nobility to her own private apartments in the Louvre. Here she would sit in her dressing gown, her hair hidden under a
cornette
to indicate that the occasion was an intimate one and by no means to be considered a ball. She would have the violins in one corner of the vast room, and her friends about her in another; and in the middle of the floor the young people danced while she gossiped with her friends who must constantly supply her with the latest scandal and compliments on her son’s perfections.

To these dances she often invited Henrietta Maria and her daughter.

“Such a pleasure for the little girl!” she said. “For she grows so charming. How old is she now?”

“Eleven,” said Henrietta Maria. “Yes, she is growing up. It is difficult to believe that it is eleven years since that terrible day when …”

Anne interrupted quickly: “Louis enjoys dancing so much. Ah, what it is to be young! And as for Louis, he is never tired. There never was such a one.” Anne tittered. “Why, do you know, I shall soon begin to believe that it was Apollo who stole in on me while I slept and planted his seed within me!”

“You will soon have to think of his marriage,” suggested Henrietta Maria.

“One constantly thinks of his marriage. It will be the most important of marriages. But who, dear sister,
who
will be worthy to mate with Louis? That is the problem.”

“Only the best,” said Henrietta Maria fervently. “Only the best.”

Anne looked slyly at her sister-in-law. Now if none of these tragic events had occurred in England, she pondered, if young Henriette’s brother were safe on the throne, there could be no objection to my son’s marriage with her daughter. Of course it would depend on Louis.

Anne spoke her thoughts aloud. “Louis will make his own choice, I doubt not. I remember once I took him to the Convent of the Carmelites, and when he was in the community room and the nuns spoke to him, he took no notice of them because he was so interested in the latch of the door. He played with the latch and would not have his attention diverted from it. I was forced to scold him. I said: ‘Leave that latch, Louis.’ But he frowned and answered: ‘It is a good latch. I, the King, like this latch.’ I said: ‘It is a fine thing for a King to sulk before ladies and not utter a word.’ Then suddenly his face grew scarlet and he stamped his foot as he shouted: ‘I will say nothing because I wish to play with this latch. But one day, I shall speak so loudly that I shall make myself heard.’ Oh, what a bold little fellow he was! Yes, Louis will have his own way, depend upon that.”

Louis would indeed have his own way. So, at the private dances in Anne’s apartments, Henrietta Maria could scarcely contain herself as she watched the crescent friendship between her daughter and the King of France.

Louis’ valet was dressing him for an informal dance in his mother’s apartments.

Louis was silent, smiling to himself as he was being dressed, but he did not see the handsome figure reflected in the mirror. He looked like a young god in his costume of cloth of silver-and-black velvet embroidered with golden lilies. He felt like a god.