The Loves of Charles II (31 page)

She was dressed when there was a knock at her door.

“Come in!” she cried; and Jenny entered.

“Good morrow to you, Lucy. Why, you look as pretty by morning light as by candlelight, I swear. Were you comfortable in this room?”

“Yes, thank you. I was quite comfortable.”

Jenny laughed. “I notice you took the most amusing of the gentlemen, Lucy.”

“Was he the most amusing?”

“I could see that from the moment you set eyes on him, no other would do.”

“I fear I drank too freely. I am not accustomed to overmuch wine.” “Are you not? It is good for you, and it gives you such high spirits, you know.”

“My spirits have always been high enough without. Now I must thank you for my lodging and be off.”

“Lucy … you’ll come again?”

Lucy was evasive. She was telling herself that if she had not drunk so much wine, if she had not been so long without a lover, what had happened last night would never have taken place.

“Mayhap I will,” she said.

“Lucy, I’ll make you very comfortable here. Those rooms over the shop … they must be most unsuitable for a lady used to the comforts you enjoyed at The Hague and Cologne.”

“I manage very well. I have my faithful servant to look after me, and my children to consider.”

“You could bring them all here. I could use a new servant, or you could keep her merely to wait on you. The children would be welcome here. We are a very happy family in this house.”

The woman was breathing heavily. Lucy smelt the stale gin on her breath, and was aware of the avaricious gleam in her eyes. Lucy was not clever, but she now understood that she had behaved with the utmost folly. Doubtless there had been gossip bandied about as to the life Charles led on the Continent, and her name might well have been one of those which were mentioned in connection with him; and she, stupidly, had betrayed who she was, and perhaps last night had babbled even more.

No wonder this woman was eager to make her an inmate of her brothel! She could imagine what a draw the mistress of Charles Stuart would be.

Then Lucy wanted to get away. She wanted to wipe the shame of the place from her mind. She wanted to forget that she had spent the night in a brothel. All her love affairs had been so different. She had discovered that last night—half tipsy though she had been.

She drew herself away. “Well, I will say goodbye now.”

“But you’ll come again?”

“I … I’ll see.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She was not going to let Lucy escape as easily as that.

Ann was reproachful. She guessed that Lucy had spent the night with a man. She said nothing, but she was a little frightened. Glad as she was to be in London, she was quicker than Lucy to realize that, in more ways than one, this was not the same London which they had left more than eight years ago.

Jenny called. She was wheedling, and then faintly threatening. She hinted that one who had come rather mysteriously from across the water and had clearly been a close friend of people who were regarded as the enemies of the Commonwealth, might find it convenient to shelter in the house of a good friend who would protect her.

“I am very comfortable here,” Lucy told her.

“You may not always be so,” retorted Jenny. “You may be glad of friends one day, and that day soon!”

“I shall not join you at your brothel,” declared Lucy firmly.

Jenny’s eyes gleamed. “You may find there are worse places than my house, Lucy Water.”

“I have never been in one,” said Lucy carelessly.

“You’ll change your mind.”

“Never!” cried Lucy, and for once her mouth was set into lines of determination.

The woman left, and Lucy lay thoughtfully nibbling sweetmeats.

Jenny called again on two other occasions; she sought to placate Lucy, but Lucy’s determination not to join her household brought more veiled threats.

A few days later two men called at the rooms over the barber’s shop. They were soberly clad, grim-faced men, servants of the Commonwealth. They came to search the rooms and Mistress Barlow’s belongings, they said.

“For what reason?” demanded Ann on the threshold.

“For this reason,” answered one of the men. “We suspect that the woman who occupies these rooms has recently come from the Continent, and that she is a spy for Charles Stuart.”

Lucy rose from her bed, her flimsy draperies falling about her; but these men were not Court gallants to be moved by beauty in distress. They began to search the room, and in a box they found the King’s promise to pay Lucy four hundred pounds a year.

One of them said: “Mistress, prepare yourself to leave this place at once.” He turned to Ann. “You also. We are taking you all to another lodging.”

Trembling, Ann prepared herself and the children, who were making eager inquiries.

“Where are we going?” said little Mary. “Are we going for a walk?”

“You must wait to see where we are taken,” Lucy told her.

“Mama,” cried Jemmy, “do you want to go? If you don’t, I’ll run them through with my sword.”

The men looked at Jemmy without a smile. Jemmy hated them. He was used to caresses and admiration. He drew his sword from his belt, but Ann was beside him; she caught his arm.

“Now, Master Jemmy, do as you’re told. That is what is best for your mother … and for us all. It is what your father would wish.”

Jemmy fell silent. There was something in Ann’s face which made him pause to think; he saw that his mother was in earnest too. This was not a game.

In a very short time they had left the barber’s shop and were being taken towards the water’s edge, to where a barge was waiting for them.

Slowly they slipped down the river, and soon Jemmy was pointing out the great gray fortress on its banks. “There’s the Tower!” he cried.

“That’s so,” said one of the men. “Take a good look at it from the outside, my boy. Mayhap you’ll be seeing nothing but the inside for a long time.”

“What do you mean?” cried Lucy.

“Just that we are taking you to your new lodging, Mistress, your lodging in the Tower … the rightful place for friends of Charles Stuart who come to London to spy for him.”

Lucy was ailing. The rigorous life of a prisoner did not suit her. She had been accustomed to too much comfort. She had grown thinner since her incarceration; she would sit listlessly at her barred window, looking out on the church of St. Peter ad Vincula, and every time she heard the bell toll she would be seized with a fit of shivering.

Ann looked after her as well as she could, but Ann too was frightened. She remembered the day, over six years ago, when the Parliament had beheaded the King. She wondered if the same fate was in store for them.

Their jailer would tell them nothing. He would bring their not very palatable fare each day, and they would eat it in their cell. There were no sweetmeats for Lucy now; worse still, there were no lovers.

Jemmy often flew into a rage. He was a bold boy and a spoiled one. He demanded that they be set free.

He told the jailor: “One day you will suffer for this. My father will see that you do. I will kill you dead with my sword, and when my father is King again …”

The jailor listened in horror. He had not heard such words since the close of the war, and to think that he had under his care the son of Charles Stuart—bastard though he might be—overwhelmed him with astonishment at the importance and responsibility of his task in guarding these prisoners.

The jailor had a son who helped him in his work—a youth in his teens. Lucy’s interest was slightly stirred at the sight of him, for he was a good-looking boy; but her attempts to fascinate him were half-hearted; she missed her ribands and laces, her sweetmeats and her comfortable lodgings. She was almost always tired and listless; there was about her an air of bewilderment. She, who had always been so healthy as to be unconscious of her health, was now made uncomfortably aware of many minor ailments.

All the same she made the young man conscious of her fascination, and when his father was not present he would smile shyly at his pretty prisoner and exchange a few words with her. He even brought in some sweetmeats for her, and a blue riband to tie about her hair.

Ann thought: One night I shall doubtless find him sneaking in to lie on the straw with her. Will she sink so low?

But that did not happen, for it was quickly realized that Lucy was no subtle spy. She was merely one of Charles Stuart’s mistresses and, said those in authority, if we are going to keep all such women under lock and key, we shall soon have no room in the Tower for others. What harm can this woman do? She is nothing but a stupid, wanton creature. Why should we waste good victuals on Charles Stuart’s mistress and his bastards? Send them back whence they came, and warn them not to come to England again.

So it was arranged, and a few months after Lucy’s arrival in England she found herself, with Ann and the children, on the way back to Holland.

Henrietta Maria and her daughter had once more retired to the country and only made very brief appearances at state functions.

It was clear that the fortunes of the Stuarts were at their lowest. Cromwell, determined to fight the “Lord’s battles,” had sent his Ironsides to join with Marshall Turenne against the Spaniards who, he declared, were “the underpropper of the Romish Babylon” which meant that the Protector was fighting with France. How could the royal family of France honor the enemies of their ally, the Protector? All Henrietta Maria and her daughter could do was remain in obscurity, while it was impossible for any of the Stuart men to set foot in France. In desperation Charles, James and Henry joined forces with the Spaniards. Charles had been reported wounded when fighting in Spain, but this rumor had proved to be false. A few months later James and Henry were actually in Dunkirk, which was in the hands of the Spaniards, and was taken after a siege by the French.

During this period Henrietta Maria could do little but lie on her bed and weep bitterly. In vain did Henriette try to comfort her mother. The Queen saw the dissolution of all her high and mighty schemes.

When an invitation came for the Princess to attend the fête given by the Chancellor Seguier, Henriette was loath to go, but her mother insisted.

“My child,” she said, “I grow sick and ill, but you must go. What will become of us, I wonder. And, my dearest, whatever has happened, you are still a princess. You have your position to uphold, and the King and Queen will never forget what is due to you; I am sure of that.”

But afterwards Henrietta Maria wished with her daughter that Henriette had never gone to the Chancellor’s fête, for Mademoiselle was present and she was determined on this occasion to assert her rights.

As the party left the ballroom for the banqueting hall, very deliberately she stepped in front of Henriette.

This was noticed by many, and the next day the whole Court was buzzing with the news. Etiquette was one of the most serious topics of the
day—Queen Anne would have it so; and this seemed a matter of major importance.

Mazarin and the Queen called Mademoiselle to their presence and demanded an explanation.

Mademoiselle was haughty. She was sure, she said, that she had the right to enter a room before the Princess of England.

“She is the daughter of a king, Mademoiselle,” said Anne sternly.

“Your Majesty, the Kings of Scotland always stood aside for the Kings of France, and Charles Stuart is not even a king of Scotland. He is King in nothing but in name.”

“This is most distressing,” said the Queen. “I am annoyed with you.”

“Your Majesty, I did not wish to make too much of the matter. To tell the truth, I caught her hand as we passed in, and to many it would seem that we walked together.”

Philippe, who had been listening while studying the rings on his fingers, cried out suddenly: “And if Mademoiselle did step before the Princess of England, she was perfectly right to do so. Things have come to a fine pass if we are to allow people who depend on us for bread and butter to pass before us. For my part, I think they had better take themselves elsewhere.”

Louis, who had been giving only half his attention to the dispute, was startled by his mother’s sharp cry of protest.