I realized then—and I think so did many others—how important I was becoming in the country. I had had such success with the Pope’s agents; I had done so much to make life easier for our Catholic subjects that I was beginning to be thought of not so much as the frivolous pleasure-loving Queen as the power behind the throne. My husband listened to me because he loved me so much and hated to disappoint me so that I was almost in the position of being his most favored and influential minister.
I heard that Laud had said to Thomas Wentworth, whom the King greatly favored and who had just returned from his duties in Ireland: “I have a very hard task and God, I beseech Him, to make me very good corn, for I am between two great factions very like corn between two mill stones.”
I was made fully aware of the importance of this by George, who came to me in great haste to tell me what was happening at the Council.
“I think we have gone a little too far too quickly,” he said. “Laud has suggested to the Council that the Catholic chapels should be closed down, including yours of Somerset House, and the counselors have agreed with enthusiasm that this should be so.”
“I will never allow that,” I cried.
“I beg of you be careful,” begged Conn. “Do not ruin the good work we have done so far.”
“Nothing can ruin that,” I assured him. “We have saved souls and that is our endeavor. Do not take this threat too seriously. I know Charles. He would never agree to a step which he knows would make me very unhappy.”
When Charles came to me he was really distressed. “Laud wants all the Catholic chapels to be closed down,” he said.
“What!” I cried. “That man is a monster. Let him go back to his father’s clothier’s shop.”
“He is the Archbishop of Canterbury,” he reminded me gently.
“But he loves the ceremonies of the Church. He hates these miserable Puritans as much as I do.”
“He supports the Protestant Church, my love.”
“I will not allow him to shut my chapels. Charles, you will not allow this. You have promised me…. Oh, Charles, promise me now. Not my chapel…!”
He soothed me and swore that my chapel should not be closed, although he added: “There is no alternative for the others. They will have to be closed wherever they have sprung up.”
The controversy went on for a long time and it did show how thoroughly the people disliked the Archbishop. It has always amazed me to see how the common people dislike to see one of their own rise to great heights. One would have thought they would be delighted. But no. His humble birth was continually flung at Laud, more so by the common people than by the nobles. It was said that he was at heart a Catholic and ought to admit it. At least, they said, the Catholics like myself and George Conn made no secret of their idolatrous beliefs.
Poor Charles, he did not know which way to act. He was advised that he could not ignore the growing feelings against the Catholics, and on the other hand, how could he hurt me?
In the end he compromised. He agreed that there should be a proclamation threatening Catholics in the country; but at the same time he had so weakened the laws against them that they did not amount to very much. He tried to do what he had to do without offending either protagonist.
I laughed and told him he was very clever. He was serious though and seemed to be looking into the future with very melancholy eyes.
Dear Charles! He was only vaguely aware of the dangers which were springing up around him—but he was not quite so blind as I was.
There was sad news from my mother. She was in great distress. It seemed that she had quarreled irrevocably with Richelieu, and that he governed France. He had made it clear to her that she was not wanted there; in fact he had actually sent her into exile.
I worried a great deal about her. It was dreadful that she, who had always been such an imposing figure during my childhood, should now be reduced to this.
“Who is this Richelieu?” I cried to Charles. “Merely a priest—a Cardinal it is true—and yet he has set himself up as the ruler of France, and he has decided that there is no place there for my mother.”
The King said something very strange then. It was almost like a prophecy, but he did not know that, and I certainly did not. “Yes,” he said slowly, “it is strange. And what is happening here? I often think there are some who would like to do the same to me.”
I laughed disbelievingly, but he went on seriously: “There is trouble brewing, my dearest. Scotland….”
“That awful country,” I cried impatiently. “Haven’t the Scots always been troublesome?”
He agreed with that. Then he went on: “There is something about these Puritans. I can understand the situation when there is a desire to supplant one king by another who it might be thought has a greater claim to the throne. But these people seem to have set themselves against Kings and all that Kingship means. They seem as though they want to abolish that rule and set up their own.”
I continued to laugh and Charles managed to smile. It was such an incongruous idea. There had always been Kings; and who were these people who went about looking like black crows with their ridiculous haircuts?
If only we could have looked into the future then, perhaps we could have done something to prevent the holocaust. I think we might well have. When I look back I see the way we came was strewn with warnings which we ignored.
But for the time there was the problem of my mother.
Charles knew it would be a mistake to give her refuge in England, but he also knew that it was what I wanted. I could not bear the thought of her going about Europe like a beggar pleading for sanctuary. I wondered how my brother could allow her to be treated so, but I supposed he was under the thumb of that hateful old Richelieu. At least he gave her a pension but he was adamant about her leaving France. To be turned away from one’s home must be horribly humiliating, particularly when one had in the past been its ruler.
She was now in Holland and one of Charles’s agents there had sent a message to tell him that he believed she had plans for coming to England.
“The people would not like it,” said Charles, and he looked at me sadly. It was a great sorrow to him that the people had turned against me. I think he would rather have heard them cheer me than himself. He rarely ever did. I was not only a foreigner, I was a Catholic and that was enough to turn a great many people in England against me. “And,” went on Charles, “you know the state of the exchequer. We can hardly afford to entertain your mother in the manner she would expect.”
“Poor dear lady,” I said. “I daresay she would be pleased to receive any warm welcome from someone who cared about her.”
Charles was very depressed and I knew this was because he had sent a messenger to Holland to tell his agents to do everything to dissuade my mother from coming to England.
She must have known that she was unwanted but, being my mother, that did not deter her. I was her daughter; she imagined that I was rich and powerful. I was after all the Queen of England. Perhaps she did not know that there were certain difficulties in the country now, but even if she did she would sweep those aside. I knew her well. She was the sort of woman who made circumstances fit her needs.
I wondered how she felt about the new baby at the Court of France. There had been great excitement there for months because Anne of Austria, after twenty-three years of infertility, had given birth to a boy.
However I knew that the King was probably right in not inviting her to England but on the other hand I did feel that I had failed her. I decided I would try to persuade Charles to let her come if only for a brief visit. But that would mean that if she liked it here her visit would not be a brief one.