So there I was creeping through the corridors of Whitehall after dark, lighted by the taper I carried, meeting those men whom Lucy arranged should talk to me. They were astonished; they were overawed although they held their stupid uncurled heads high; they were respectful; they listened; but they did not commit themselves to help Strafford, which was what I wanted them to do.
I did not tell Charles what I was doing. It was unconventional and he liked to do things by order. But after a while I began to see that the operation was useless and told Lucy so. She agreed with me.
So the Strafford trial went on and, listening to it every day behind the trellis, I was certain that those men down there were going to insist on his destruction, no matter what the verdict.
But we held the trump card, I told Charles. He had promised Strafford that he would never sign the death warrant and they could not kill him without the King’s authority.
That thought sustained us during those days.
Toward the end of the month our bridegroom arrived with some pomp, escorted by a fleet of twenty vessels in charge of the famous Dutch Admiral van Tromp. Charles dispatched the Earl of Lindsay to welcome him in his name when they arrived at Gravesend and in due course the Prince rode into London in the carriage Charles had sent for him. As the Prince came close to the Tower one hundred pieces of ordnance were discharged as a welcome, and it was about five o’clock in the evening when they arrived at Whitehall. Charles was worried because of the strange mood of the people, who were overexcited by the trial of Strafford and taking sides with the Parliament against the King.
It would have been disastrous if they should riot and attack our visitors, so he had ordered the guards to be out in full force—which looked like a guard of honor but which was really one of protection.
I liked the look of the young Prince. He was fifteen years old—Mary was only ten—and quite good looking. Moreover it was obvious that he was pleased by the match and it was only natural that he should be. He had the sad state of affairs in England to thank for it; it would never have been made in happier circumstances.
Mary was at Somerset House so she was not present at our first meeting and the Prince immediately asked our leave to visit her there. Charles said that the permission was readily granted and he felt sure that the Prince would want to pay his respects to the Queen Mother at St. James’s before making the journey to Somerset House.
The Prince bowed and said that he would first call on the Queen Mother although I knew he was all impatience to see Mary; but as Charles said to me, he thought we should be there when they met and while William was visiting St. James’s we could go privately and with all speed to Somerset House, which we did; and I was so pleased to see the first meeting between the young couple.
It lifted my spirits for they liked each other on sight and I knew from experience how terrifying it can be to be sent to a bridegroom whom one has never seen.
I said to Charles: “I have one prayer to make at this moment and that is that Mary may find almost as great a happiness with her husband as I have had with mine…. I would say, as great, but my dearest, there can be only one most perfect husband in the world and I have already taken him.”
Charles smiled in that rather embarrassed way he had when face to face with my extravagant words and deeds, but he was greatly moved and he did say that his prayer would be worded in exactly the same way except that he would substitute wife for husband.
Whitehall chapel was prepared for the ceremony and the bridegroom appeared looking very handsome in red velvet, adorned by a collar of Vandyke point lace. Mary looked beautiful. She was somewhat simply dressed in a gown of silver tissue and her jewelry was all pearl. Her hair was tied with silver ribbons so that she gave an impression of absolute purity. I myself had chosen her dress and I was glad that I had insisted on such simplicity for I thought that, standing beside her red velvet–clad bridegroom, she looked elegant, while the poor boy looked overdressed, nouveau riche… and to tell the truth a little crude.
I did not participate in the ceremony. How could I since it was Protestant? I sat with my mother and my daughter Elizabeth in a curtained-off gallery from which we could watch the scene below without taking part in it.
The Bishop of Ely performed the ceremony. Our Archbishop, I was reminded with a pang of fear, was a prisoner in the Tower. The King gave his daughter away and the Prince put the ring on her finger.
Then the entire company proceeded to the great chamber where the banquet was to take place. It was an impressive scene with the magnificent tapestries on which was depicted the defeat of the Spanish Armada lining the walls. How different England had been then! I reflected ruefully. How the brave men rallied to their Queen and fought for their country. And my Charles is such a good man. Queen Elizabeth was not always a good woman. How was it that she had bound men to her when my beloved Charles lacked the power to do so?
There followed the farcical ceremony of putting the bride and groom to bed. There was to be no consummation as Mary was too young and she would not go with her bridegroom when he left for home, but stay a little longer with her family.
My little girl was undressed, put in a night robe and lay down in the beautiful state bed adorned with blue velvet which was in my chamber. Then the Prince of Orange came in. He looked very pleasant in a robe of blue and green satin lined with silver. He was put into the bed where he kissed Mary and the two children lay there together, one at each end of the bed with a considerable distance between them. They stayed there for fifteen minutes then Prince William kissed Mary and left the bed.
The ceremony was completed. My daughter was married to the Prince of Orange.
Now we must return to the dismal way of life which we had temporarily left to celebrate the marriage.
During those dark days which followed the wedding I was constantly looking for some ray of hope. I thought I had found it when George Goring came to me with what seemed like a splendid idea.
I liked George Goring. He was the son of the Earl of Norwich and was exceptionally handsome and charming. His looks led him into temptation, however, and he was somewhat profligate and because he was so extravagant he had had to go and live frugally abroad for some time. But he had good friends—among them the Earl of Strafford—and a place was found for him in the Army where he had the rank of colonel with the command of twenty-two companies. He was shot in the leg in battle, which had resulted in his being a little lame.
When he asked for an audience I was delighted to grant it and even more delighted when he laid his plans before me.
“The trial is going against Strafford,” he said, “and the Parliament is striking at the King through the Earl.”
I replied that I feared this was so.
“Well, Your Majesty,” said the dashing man who was about the same age as I was, “are we going to sit back and let them lead us by the nose?”
“It is the last thing I want to do.”
“Well, we must act,” said Goring. “The Army should be in London and the first thing to do would be to seize the Tower.”
My eyes gleamed and I clapped my hands. Action at last. Positive action. It was what I had craved for.
He talked excitedly about how he would achieve the desired effect. He would want to be made Lieutenant General of the Army. That would be essential.
I agreed that this should be.
“Madam,” he said, “I came to you because I know what weight your word carries with the King. I knew I could be sure of your understanding and sympathy. Will you put this plan to the King?”
I said that most certainly I would and I could scarcely wait to see Charles.