Then I descended the stairs to the hall.
I was aware of a figure standing there and I went forward swiftly and was about to kneel and say what I had been taught I must say on our first meeting, that I had come to His Majesty’s country to be commanded by him…but the words would not come, my voice broke with emotion and I felt the tears gushing to my eyes, while he caught me up in his arms.
He was very tender. He took his kerchief and wiped my eyes; then he kissed my forehead and my tear-stained cheeks…not once but several times.
“Why,” he said softly in French, for I had no English, “I must kiss you until you cease to weep. You are not with enemies and strangers, you must know. It is God’s will that you and I are here and does He not tell you to leave your kindred and cling to your husband?”
I nodded in agreement.
“Well then,” he said gently. “All is well. As for myself…I will not be so much a master to you as a servant to cherish you and make you happy.”
It seemed to me that no husband could have used kinder words and I began to feel better.
“Now we will sit down and talk together,” he said. “You shall get to know me and you will realize that this marriage of ours is not a matter for sorrow but for joy.”
He took my hand and led me to a window seat where we sat side by side.
I was able to take a glance at him. He was of medium height and I was relieved that he was not very tall as that would have accentuated my low stature. He was not as handsome as the picture in the miniature, but he was pleasant looking. There was, however, a certain melancholy aspect about him which had not been apparent in the miniature and which alarmed me faintly.
It might have been that I was a trifle disappointed in his looks but his kindness was comforting. He clearly did not seem disappointed in my looks, for I caught a glimpse of admiration in his eyes, and as others thought I was pretty I guessed he did too.
It occurred to me then that my portrait might have underrated my attractions, for Mamie had often said that my vivacity was a very large part of my charm. I thought a little liveliness might have improved him. I definitely had the impression in that first half hour that he was inclined to be morose.
He told me that we should leave for Canterbury later in the day and stay the night there. He had been there when he had heard of my arrival and had set out immediately, accomplishing the journey in half an hour, which was something of a record and showed his eagerness to be with his bride.
“You must present me to your attendants who have come with you,” he said. “And I will present your English ones to you.”
“I daresay I shall make mistakes,” I replied. “Matters are conducted differently here from the way they are in France, and I do not even know the language.”
“You will quickly learn,” he reassured me.
“If I make mistakes you must tell me.”
He smiled at me very gravely and tenderly. I wished he had joked a little though, brought some lightness into the conversation, but of course that was not his nature. I thought then, they could not have found a partner for me more different from myself.
He took my hand and I stood up. I came up to his shoulder and I saw by the way he looked at me that he suspected I was wearing high heels to give me height. He must have heard exaggerated reports of my low stature.
I said at once: “My heels are flat.” I raised my skirts and held out a foot to confirm this. “I stand on my own feet and have no help through art to make me taller. This high I am…neither taller nor lower.”
He took my hand and kissed it.
“You are beautiful,” he said. “I think ours will be a happy marriage.”
I wondered even then. There was so much I did not know about England and I had already been amazed—as had my attendants—that they could have housed their Queen even for one night in that shabby old castle. And Charles my husband? He lacked the gaiety of Englishmen like the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of Holland; there was something very serious indeed about him which I had already detected. Perhaps I should have rejoiced in that. I was not sure.
I presented my attendants to him and he in turn introduced those whom he had chosen to attend me. These meetings passed off comfortably and it was not until the carriage arrived to take us to Canterbury that the trouble arose.
I was walking with Charles, and Mamie was a pace or so behind, for I had told her to keep close and not lose sight of me.
“I want to see you there all the time,” I had said, “that is until I get used to these people.”
“Don’t worry,” she had replied. “I will be there.”
The King’s coach was waiting and he took my hand and helped me in. I sat down and Mamie got in beside me. The King stared at her as though thunderstruck.
“Madame,” he said, “pray leave the royal coach at once.”
Mamie turned pale while I looked on disbelievingly. At home the chief lady of honor always rode with my mother and the chief gentleman with the King.
She rose uncertainly but I cried out: “She shall ride with me.”
“There is no place for her in my coach,” said the King.
Mamie gave me an appealing glance and prepared to step out of the coach, but I caught her skirt and would not let her go. I never could control my temper and it was rising now. It seemed desperately important to me that Mamie should ride in the coach. Charles must learn what she meant to me, and I would not have her insulted in this way.
Poor Mamie! For once she did not know what to do. The King was glaring at her, ordering her to go, while I held her skirts firmly in my hands and ordered her to stay.
I looked steadily at my husband and there must have been defiance in my eyes—more than that, hatred. He looked back at me…coldly, but a little bewildered I noticed.
I said coolly: “If my chief lady of honor does not ride in the coach then I will not either.”
“She shall travel with the rest of the attendants,” said the King.
“She is my special friend and she has always ridden with me in my carriage and she shall do so now and if she does not I shall stay in this dirty old castle until I can return to my country.”
It was wild nonsense really. As if I could return! As if that would be allowed! I was irrevocably married to this cold-eyed man and in that moment I hated him. But I was never very logical in my rages. Mamie had pointed that out to me many times.
The King was white with anger. And this was the first day of our meeting! I knew that it did not augur well for the future.
There was deep silence all about us. I saw the Earl of Holland looking on in disbelief while in the face of the Duke of Buckingham there was the flicker of a smile. I had an idea that he was enjoying looking on at this—my first conflict with my husband.
I glared at the King. Mamie said afterward that I looked like a wildcat and she thought I was going to fly at him. I knew my eyes were blazing and I spat out my words so fast that many of the English had no idea what I was saying, which was perhaps just as well.
I suppose I was a little hysterical. I was like that when one of my rages took possession of me, and I knew that there was more to this than appeared on the surface. It was because I was so frightened that I let my anger get the better of me.
Charles had stepped out of the carriage. I thought he was going to drag Mamie out so I clung to her skirts. She looked at me entreatingly and muttered under her breath: “Let me go. We must stop this scene….”
But I would not let her go. I felt the hot and angry tears in my eyes and willed them not to fall. I was trembling but determined. If Mamie left the carriage, I told her fiercely, I should go too.
Several of the King’s ministers had come to him. They seemed to surround him and there was a great deal of whispering going on. The incident could not have lasted more than a few minutes but it seemed much longer.