Then he began to think longingly of Barbara. She would have heard of the life of domestic bliss he was leading here at Hampton Court; and that would madden her. He trusted she would do nothing to disturb the Queen. No, she would not dare. And if she did, he had only to banish her from Court. Banish Barbara! The thought made him smile. Odd as it was, he was longing for an encounter with her. Perhaps he was finding the gentle adoration of Catherine a little cloying.
That was folly. He was forgetting those frequent scenes with Barbara. How restful, in comparison, how charmingly idyllic was this honeymoon of his!
He would plan more picnics, more pageants on the river. There was no reason why the honeymoon should end yet.
As he was leaving Catherine’s apartment a messenger came to him and the message was from Barbara. She was in Richmond which was, he would agree, not so far from Hampton that he could not ride over to see her. Or would he prefer her to ride to Hampton? She had his son with her, and she doubted not he would wish to see the boy—the bonniest little boy in England, whose very features proclaimed him a Stuart. She had much to tell him after this long separation.
The King looked at the messenger.
“There is no answer,” he said.
“Sire,” said the young man, fear leaping into his eyes, “my mistress told me …”
How did Barbara manage to inspire such fear in those who served her? There was one thing she had to learn; she could not inspire fear in the King.
“Ride back to her and tell her that there is no answer,” he said.
He went to the Queen’s apartment. The Duchess of York was with her. Anne Hyde had grown fat since her marriage and she was far from beautiful, but the King was fond of her company because of her shrewd intelligence.
The Queen said: “Your Majesty has come in time for a dish of tea?”
Charles smiled at her but, although he looked at her so thoughtfully and so affectionately, he was not seeing Catherine but another woman, stormy, unaccountable, her wild auburn hair falling about her magnificent bare shoulders.
At length he said: “It grieves me that I cannot stay. I have urgent business to which I must attend without delay.”
Catherine’s face reflected her disappointment, but Charles would not let that affect him. He kissed her hand tenderly, saluted his sister-in-law, and left them.
Soon he was galloping with all speed towards Richmond.
Barbara, confined to her bed after the birth of her son, fumed with rage when she heard the stories of the King’s felicitous honeymoon. There were plenty of malicious people to tell her how delighted the King was with his new wife. They remembered past slights and humiliations, which Barbara had inflicted on them, and they came in all haste to pass on any little scrap of gossip which came their way.
“Is it not a charming state of affairs?” the Duchess of Richmond asked her. “The King has at last settled down. And what could be happier for the Queen, for the country and the King’s state of mind than that the person who should bring him so much contentment should be his own wife!”
“That crow-faced hag!” cried Barbara.
“Ah, but she is pretty enough when properly dressed. The King has prevailed upon her not to employ her Portuguese barber, and now she wears her hair as you and I do. And hers is so black and luxuriant! In an English dress one realizes that beneath that hideous farthingale she is as shapely as any man could wish. And such sweet temper. The King is enchanted.”
“Sweet temper!” cried Barbara. “She would need to have when the King remembers how he has been swindled.”
“He is, as you would know better than any, the most forgiving of monarchs.”
Barbara’s eyes glinted. If only I were up and about! she told herself. If I had not the ill luck to be confined to my bed at such a time, I would show this black bat of a Portuguese Infanta what hold she has on the King.
“I long to be on my feet again,” said Barbara. “I long to see all this domestic bliss for myself.”
“Poor Barbara!” said Lady Richmond. “You have loved him long, I know. But alas, there is a fate which often overtakes many of those who love Kings too well. Remember Jane Shore!”
“If you mention that name again to me,” cried Barbara, suddenly unable to control her rage, “I shall have you banished from Court.”
The Duchess rose and haughtily swept out of the room; but the supercilious smile on her face told Barbara that she for one was convinced that Lady Castlemaine would no longer have the power to decide on such banishment.
After she had gone, Barbara lay brooding.
There was the child in the cradle beside her—a bonny child, a child any man or woman would be proud of. And she had named him Charles.
The King should be at her side at such a time. What right had he to neglect his son for his bride, merely because they had chosen to arrive at the same time?
She thumped her pillows in exasperation. She knew that her servants were all skulking behind doors, afraid to come near her. What could she do? Only shout at them, only threaten them—and exhaust herself.
She closed her eyes and dozed.
When she awoke the child was no longer in his cradle. She shouted to her servants. Mrs. Sarah came forward. Mrs. Sarah, who had been with her since before her marriage, was less afraid of her than anyone in the household; she stood now, arms akimbo, looking at her mistress.
“You’re doing yourself no good, you know, Madam,” she said.
“Hold your tongue. Where’s the child?”
“My lord has taken him.”
“My lord! How dare he! Whither has he taken him? What right has he …?”
“He has a right, he would say, to have his own son christened.”
“Christened! You mean he’s taken the boy to a priest to be christened? I’ll kill him for this. Does he think to bring the King’s son up in the Catholic religion, just because he himself is a half-witted oaf who follows it?”
“Now listen to Mrs. Sarah, Madam. Mrs. Sarah will bring you a nice soothing cordial.”
“Mrs. Sarah will get her ears boxed if she comes near me, and her nice soothing cordial flung in her face.”
“In your condition, Madam …”
“Who is aggravating my condition? Tell me that. You are—and that fool I married.”
“Madam, Madam … there are scandals enough concerning you. Tales are carried to the people in the street about your rages….”
“Then find out who carries them,” she screamed, “and I’ll have them tied to the whipping post. When I’m up, I’ll do the whipping myself. When did he take my son?”
“It was while you slept.”
“Of course it was while I slept! Do you think he would have dared when I was awake? So he came sneaking in … while I could not stop him…. At what o’clock?”
“It was two hours ago.”
“So I slept as long as that!”
“Worn out by your tempers.”
“Worn out by the ordeal through which I have gone, bearing the King’s child while he sports with that black savage.”
“Madam, have a care. You speak of the Queen.”
“She shall live to regret she ever left her native savages.”
“Madam … Madam…. I’ll bring you something nice to drink.”
Barbara lay back on her pillows. She was quiet suddenly. So Roger had dared to have the child baptized according to the Catholic rites! She was tired of Roger; he had served his purpose. Perhaps this was not a matter to be deplored after all, for she could see all sorts of possibilities arising from it.