“Lies!” I cried. “Lies…it is all lies.”
But it was strange how many people were ready to believe it.
The King questioned me about it. I told him what had actually happened.
“Unfortunate,” he said. “Most unfortunate. Why did you have to walk to such a place?”
“I don’t know,” I cried. “We just arrived there.”
I could see that he did not believe me.
He took me by the shoulders and shook me gently. “You must try to understand,” he said with mild exasperation.
I said: “I won’t go near the place again. It’s horrible. I hate it. I feel as though I hear the cries of all those who suffered there.”
“They suffered there because they were criminals,” he said tersely.
“Not all,” I cried. “Not all. Some suffered for their Faith.”
“It would be considered quite amusing for a Catholic to complain about the wrongs done to others for the simple reason that they are of a different faith from their persecutors.”
I was silent then. I was only trying to explain what had actually happened at Tyburn.
He muttered: “It is that priest of yours. He is nothing more than a spy. He shall be sent away. Your entire retinue encourages you to behave as you do.”
Then he left me. He was really very angry but I thought it was such a shame that he should be prepared to listen to the stories about me and seem to believe those who circulated them rather than me, his own wife.
I was very angry and hurt. To cheer me my friends said that we should have a little entertainment in my apartments at Whitehall and so they brought in their music and we tried some new dances, becoming very merry.
I suppose we made a fair amount of noise. I know we were all laughing rather loudly and I was dancing with one of the gentlemen of my household when the door opened suddenly and the King stood on the threshold.
Everything stopped and the silence was so intense that it made me want to scream out for them to start the music again. I looked at him. I was holding my partner’s hand, for that was what the dance demanded, and I could see that the King thought my conduct most indecorous.
He did not speak immediately but stood still looking at us. Then he walked over to me. Everyone watched because he seemed to walk very slowly. He took me by the hand and said “Come.” That was all. Then he led me to his apartment, which was next to mine, and when we were there he locked the door.
I looked at him questioningly.
He said: “I have something to say to you. I have been meaning to tell you for some little time that those who came with you from France will now be returning there.”
I stared at him in astonishment. I stammered: “What? When…?”
He answered: “Immediately. It is all arranged. I am sure the trouble between us comes from their influence. The sooner they are back in their own land the better for us all.”
“No!” I cried.
“But yes,” he answered, and added soothingly: “You will see that it is the best thing.”
“I will not allow it,” I said fiercely.
“Now,” he went on in the same soothing manner, “you must not be so foolish.”
I moved toward the door. “It is locked,” he said. “I have the key.”
“Then open the door. I want to go to them. I want to tell them what you are preparing for them. It was agreed at the marriage settlement that they should stay with me.”
“The French have not always adhered to the terms of the marriage settlement, and I am weary of these people who do nothing but cause trouble. Your confessor is all the time stirring up strife. It was he who took you to Tyburn and advised you to act as you did. He is going back to France at once…and the whole pack with him.”
“No,” I said faintly, for a terrible fear was gripping me and I was thinking of all my dear ones but most of all my beloved Mamie.
“Let me go to them,” I pleaded.
“You will not see them again,” he replied firmly.
I stared at him aghast, and he went on: “They are leaving Whitehall today. Even at this moment the carriages are waiting to take them.”
“To…take them where?”
“Where they can be housed until arrangements are made to ship them back to France.”
To ship them to France! He talked of them as though they were bales of wool…my beloved friends…the people who made life here tolerable for me.
“I will not let them go,” I cried.
“My dear wife,” he said, “try to be reasonable. It is better that they go. It is better that you and I learn to love each other so that no others—save the children we shall have—can be of the same importance to us.”
“I cannot believe this. You are doing it to tease me.”
He shook his head. “It is true. They must go. There will never be peace between us two while they remain. Come with me.”
He took me to the window. Carriages were drawn up there and I saw that my friends were being directed into them.
“No. No.” I began to cry. I wrenched myself away from him because I had seen Mamie down there being put into a carriage.
“Mamie!” I whispered. “Oh…Mamie….” Then I started to call her loudly, but she could not hear me. She looked desperately unhappy.
Frantically I beat on the window.
“Don’t go. Don’t go,” I screamed. “Don’t let them do this.”
The window pane cracked. I heard the sound of tinkling glass and there was blood on my hands.
Charles had me by the shoulders. “Stop it,” he cried. “Stop it.”
“I will not. I will not. I hate England. I hate you all. You are taking away from me those I love.”
I slipped out of his grasp and sat on the floor sobbing as I heard the carriages drive away.
I was alone. Charles had gone and I heard him turn the key in the lock. I sat there on the floor, my hands covering my face, more desolate than I had ever been in my life.
I don’t know how long I sat there before the door opened quietly and Lucy Hay came in. She did not speak for a moment but helped me rise and putting her arm about me led me to the window seat. She smoothed back my hair as though I were a child, and when I put my head on her shoulder she held me tightly, saying nothing but somehow giving me the comfort I sorely needed.
After a while I said: “They have gone…my dear, dear Mamie has been taken from me.”
She nodded.
I said: “I hate those who have taken her from me.”
Still she did not speak though she knew I was referring to the King.
We just sat there in that room with the broken window and I told her how Mamie had been with me since I was a child and how she had taught me so much and how we had laughed together.
Finally she said: “It happens to Queens. It is their sad fate.”
I knew then that she understood perfectly and that I could not have borne it if she had told me I must try to forget them. How could I ever forget Mamie?
She went on: “They are being taken to Somerset House and they will stay there until arrangements are made. They are being well looked after.”
A little later she led me back to my apartments and I asked her to stay with me, which she did.
I blamed Buckingham, my arch enemy, the author of my sorrows. It was true that he was in France at this time, making trouble there, but I knew that it was he who had instilled in Charles’s mind the need to rob me of my friends and that he taunted him with allowing me to have too much of my own way. Oh yes, Buckingham was the enemy.
I missed Mamie so much. I realized what wisdom she had tried to pass on to me and I bitterly regretted that I had not paid more attention.
I was turning more and more to my three ladies—oddly enough the Buckinghams—but most of all to Lucy. She was a great comfort to me during those days. She was so much wiser than I and she reminded me very much of dear Mamie. Her advice was very similar. Be calm. Think before you act…before you speak even.