The Loves of Charles II (97 page)

Buckingham had not forgotten his threat to punish Barbara for not supporting him in the matter of the Queen’s divorce. His spies had informed him that Barbara had whispered to the Queen of his plots against her, even telling her that he had suggested kidnapping her and taking her to a plantation—an
idea too fantastic to have been meant in true earnest. And, because she had been warned, the Queen had been able to pour out her tears and pleadings to the King who, softened by these, had determined to turn his thoughts from the idea of divorce.

It was infuriating. For Charles was certainly tired of his Queen; he had never been in love with her; she was a plain little woman and by no means a clever one. Buckingham, Ashley and Lauderdale had several fascinating and beautiful creatures with whom to tempt the King; but they had been defeated by the Queen’s tears which were the result of Barbara’s perfidy.

Barbara should be shown that she could not work against her kinsman in this way; it should be borne home to her that her position at Court was far from secure.

When Charles’ sister had visited him for the last time she had brought in her train a charming little Breton girl, named Louise de Kéroualle, who had taken Charles’ fancy immediately; and, after the death of Henriette, Louis had sent the girl to Charles’ Court, ostensibly to comfort him, but more likely to act as spy for France.

She was a very beautiful young girl, and it was clear that the King was ready to fall more deeply in love with her than was his custom.

This meant that Barbara would have a new and very serious rival; and the fact that the King had showered great honors on Barbara was an indication that he was expecting her to retire from Court. She had been created Baroness of Nonesuch Park, Countess of Surrey and Duchess of Cleveland; he had given her £30,000 and a grant of plate from the jewel house and, as she was already receiving an annual income of £4,700 from the post office, she was being amply and very generously paid off; but Barbara, while accepting these gifts and honors, omitted to remove herself from the Court and continued to pretend that she occupied the place of
maîtresse en titre.

The King was uneasy. He saw trouble ahead between the newcomer—who, some said, had not yet become his mistress—and Barbara, now known by the grand title of Duchess of Cleveland.

Barbara continued to flaunt her jewels and her person at Court functions; she was often seen at the playhouse wearing her jewels, worth more than £40,000, so that all other ladies, including the Queen and the Duchess of York, seemed far less splendid than she.

She gave up none of her lovers and had even taken a new one—one of the handsomest men about the Court. Barbara’s lovers were always handsome.

The latest was John, son of a Sir Winston Churchill, gentleman, of Devonshire. John Churchill had been a page to the Duke of York and had later received a commission as ensign in the Foot Guards. The Duke of York had
shown him great favor, which might have been due to the fact that the Duke had cast a covetous eye on John’s sister, Arabella.

Barbara had seen the young man and had immediately desired him as her lover. Barbara handsomely paid those whose services she used in this way; she lavished rich presents upon her young men, and made the way to advancement easier for them. If they could please the Duchess of Cleveland, it was said, their fortunes might be made; and John Churchill was soon on the way to making his.

Buckingham watched the affair, and considered that, if he could arrange for the King to catch them
flagrante delicto
, he would by such a device supply the King with a food excuse for ridding himself of a woman who was growing irksome to His Majesty; he would, moreover, be doing the King a good turn while letting Barbara see that she was foolish to work against her cousin.

It was not difficult to discover when the two would be together. Barbara had never made any great secret of her love affairs; and one afternoon, when Buckingham knew that Barbara was entertaining the handsome soldier in her apartments, he begged the King to accompany him thither.

The King agreed to go, and together they made their way to Barbara’s apartment. When Buckingham saw the consternation of her women, he guessed that he had come at the right moment. Mrs. Sarah made excuses to delay them, saying that she would go to warn her mistress of their arrival, but the Duke pushed her aside and, throwing open the door of Barbara’s bedchamber, could not repress a triumphant laugh.

Barbara was in bed, pulling the clothes about her; John Churchill, hearing the commotion without, had managed to scramble into a few of his more essential garments.

Taking one look at the Duke, and seeing the King behind him, the young lover could think of only one thing: escape.

He forthwith ran to the window and leaped out of it. The Duke of Buckingham burst into uproarious laughter; Barbara picked up an ebony-handled brush which lay on a table beside the bed and threw it at her cousin, while the King, striding to the window, called out after the departing figure of Churchill: “Have no fear, Master Churchill. I hold nothing against you. I know you do it for your bread!”

Barbara, furious at the insulting suggestion that she now found it necessary to pay her lovers, and mad with rage against the Duke, found herself for once without words to express her anger and indignation.

Nor did the King give her time to recover her calm. He strode out of the room. Only Buckingham turned to give a brief imitation of John Churchill, surprised and leaping to safety.

Barbara’s rage was boundless and for some hours her servants dared not approach her.

She turned and pummeled her pillows, while Mrs. Sarah wondered which of those men she would have preferred to attack: the Duke for his perfidy in exposing her thus; John Churchill for running away; or the King for his cool and careless indifference to what lovers she might take.

It was clear that the King had ceased to regard her as his mistress; and very shortly afterwards her name failed to appear on the list of Ladies of the Queen’s Bedchamber. Furthermore, when her daughter Barbara was born, and the girl was seen to bear a strong resemblance to John Churchill, the King flatly refused to acknowledge her as his.

Barbara’s day was over.

t was sixteen years since Catherine had come to England, and in those years, during which she had lived through many fears, a little happiness and much heartbreak, she had never ceased to love her husband and to hope that one day he would turn, from those brilliant women who so enchanted him, to the plain little wife who adored him.

She had little hope now of bearing a child; and she knew that there were many of her husband’s most important ministers who sought to ruin her. If they could have brought some charge against her, how readily would they have done so! But it seemed that, in the profligate Court, there was one virtuous woman, and she was the Queen. There was one matter which they held against her, and this was her religion. There was a growing feeling in the country against Papists and, whenever there was any trouble in this connection, there was always someone to remind the company that the Queen was a Papist.

Since the Duke of York had announced his conversion to the Catholic Faith there had been a strong and growing faction working against him, and these men never ceased to urge the King to rid himself of the Queen.

The chief of these was Ashley, who had now become Lord Shaftesbury. His principal enemy was the Duke of York, and his enmity towards him had increased since the Duke’s marriage, on the death of Anne Hyde, to the Catholic Princess of Modena. The one aim of Shaftesbury’s party was to prevent the Duke’s becoming King and, since the Queen was barren, they could only hope to do this either through divorce or, as the only other alternative, by the acknowledgment of Monmouth as the heir to the throne.

They were certain that, but for the King’s softheartedness, they could achieve this, and they had never ceased, over the last ten years, to work for it.

Catherine must therefore live in continual dread that one day they would succeed in their plans.

She was no longer plagued by Barbara, for Barbara was out of favor. It was true that the King had never dismissed her from the Court. It was beyond his nature to do that. Some said that he feared Barbara’s threat to print his letters, but what harm would such an act do to him? All knew of his infatuation for her; all knew that she had behaved abominably to him and had not even pretended to be faithful. No, Catherine often thought, it is his sheer kindness of heart and his desire to live easily and comfortably without troublesome quarrels which have made him give no direct rebuff to Barbara, just as they compel him to keep me as his wife. To rid himself of either of us would make trouble. Therefore he says: Let Barbara stay at Court; let Catherine remain my wife. What matters it? I have many charming companions with whom to beguile my hours.

So that woman, Louise de Kéroualle, who had taken Barbara’s place, was the Queen of England in all but name. It was she—now Duchess of Portsmouth—who lived as the Queen in Whitehall while Catherine retired to the Dower Palace of Somerset House.

She made excuses for him. He was half French; his mistress wholly so; and in France the King’s mistress had invariably ruled in place of the King’s wife.

It was true that his neglect of her, and the fact that—now that he no longer hoped that she would give him a child—he rarely visited her, meant that the hopes of her enemies were high; and they continued most energetically to plot for a divorce.

Barbara had gone to France, where she had indulged in a love affair with Ralph Montague, the King’s ambassador. But now it seemed he had offended her and she was writing frequently to the King complaining of her ex-lover’s conduct of English affairs.

Barbara had, after the installation of Louise de Kéroualle as the King’s favorite, continued to amuse London with her many love affairs. She had turned again to the theater and had found one of the handsomest men in London, William Wycherley, the playwright, who dedicated his
Love in a Wood
to her.

But in spite of her numerous lovers she had found it insupportable to see another take her place with the King. The play-actress she accepted, but she could not tolerate the French woman. In vain did she call the woman a spy, and the King a fool. No one stopped her; they merely ignored her. That was why she had gone to France.

So, as Catherine looked out on the river from her apartments in Somerset House and her wistful gaze wandered in the direction of Whitehall, she told herself that she must be resigned to her position as wife of the King, the wife to whom he was so kind because he could not love her.

It was a hot August day, and the King was shortly to ride to Windsor. He was leased at the prospect. Windsor was a favorite resort of his, and he was looking forward to a little holiday from state affairs. He had decided to take Louise and Nelly—those two whom he never greatly cared to be without—and set off as early as this could be arranged. He was eager to assure himself that his instructions were being carried out regarding the alterations he was having made there, and to see how Verrio’s work on the fresco paintings was progressing.