The minx! I thought. She is teasing me. The King of Spain! Her aunt’s widower who is now in the marriage market. And he has a crown to offer her…not the promise of one.
Those protuberant blue eyes were laughing at me. She was saying: I see right through you, dear Aunt Henriette. Do you imagine that I do not know how eager you are to find a rich wife for your son?
Perhaps I had meddled again. Perhaps it would have been better to let Charles do his own wooing. If the affair in Jersey was an example he would be able to do that very well indeed.
It was June when my son arrived in Paris. He could not defy his father’s orders even for the sake of the Jersey charmer. He arrived a little resentful but he was soon on the look-out for fresh conquests.
I was delighted to see him and for a few moments we just clung together. He had always been a strong boy. He had grown very tall and had an air of dignity which pleased me. He looked every inch a King. He still had the swarthy looks he had been born with; his features were too big for good looks and indeed if one studied his face he was really quite ugly; but he was possessed of such charm—his smile, his voice, his manner—that in any company he would be distinguished, and his royal bearing was apparent. I was proud of him.
When he arrived the Court was at Fontainebleau and kind Queen Anne immediately sent an invitation for us to join her there.
Charles and I rode together and when we were within a few miles of the palace we were met by the Queen in her coach with little King Louis. She expressed her pleasure to see Charles, and when we alighted at the palace she gave him her arm to conduct him in while I was left to the care of the little King.
It was not long before Charles was engaged in a flirtation with his cousin La Grande Mademoiselle, as she liked to be called, but it was soon clear to me that she was only amusing herself and there could be no official ceremony until England was once more in the hands of its King.
In the meantime the King was in Scotland and I trembled for what was going on.
Life could not be all sorrow—even mine. What a wonderful day it was when Lady Dalkeith—Lady Morton now that her father-in-law had died—arrived in France with my little Henriette. I could scarcely believe this good fortune, so accustomed was I to bad.
Madame de Motteville brought me the news and I ran down to find them there. I snatched up my baby. She did not know me, of course, for she had been only fifteen days old when I had left her and now she was two years. She could chatter a little and she looked at me gravely. I thought how beautiful she was—the most beautiful of all my children and the most beloved—and always would be.
It was a wonderful reunion. I could almost believe that my fortunes had changed. From despair I allowed myself to revel in absolute happiness…for a short while.
Dear Lady Morton—to whom I had not always been kind, for I am afraid I had the common fault of blaming others when misfortune struck me. Who could have been kinder, more loyal, more loving than this good woman! Henriette loved her and would not be separated from her and I welcomed her with all my heart and asked forgiveness for my unjust criticisms of the past, at which she fell on her knees and said she only wished to serve me and the Princess for the rest of her life.
Ah, I thought, if only we had more faithful servants like this dear lady!
I settled down to hear of their adventures, because the clever woman had actually escaped from Oatlands.
“The Commons had decided that the Princess Henriette should be placed with her brother and sister at St. James’s Palace where her retinue would be dismissed and that would have meant me,” Lady Morton told me. “I had promised both you, Madam, and the King that I would never leave the Princess except on your orders so I decided that the only way was to escape to you.”
“Oh, my clever, clever Anne!” I cried.
“We should never have been allowed to leave,” she went on, “so I decided on disguise. I had with me a Frenchman, Gaston, who had been in the household and he posed as a valet and it was arranged that I should travel as his wife and the Princess was to be our child—a little boy. I thought that best in case we should be suspected. I left letters behind with people whom I could trust, asking them to keep our departure secret for three days, which would give us time to get well on our way. And then we left.”
I listened intently. It was the sort of plan I would have worked out myself.
“I told the Princess that she was not a princess anymore. She was a little boy and her name was Pierre, which I thought in her childish chatter sounded a little like Princess if she should let it be known who she really was. She did not like it at all, nor the ragged clothes in which we had to dress her. We had some scares along the road…not the least those resulting from the Princess herself, who was eager to tell everyone she met that she was not really Peter or Pierre but the Princess. I cannot tell you, Madam, what a joy it was to be on that boat.”
“I cannot tell you what joy you have brought me!” I replied.
My little daughter’s coming lightened my days considerably. I had two of my children with me now: Charles and Henriette, my eldest and my youngest. It was a comfort to see how those two loved each other. Charles, whose main interest, I had to admit, was in young ladies, still had time to spare for that very small one, his own sister. He bestowed on her the pet name of Minette; as for her, her eyes would light up every time they fell on her big brother.
But naturally we could not be happy for long. How foolish Charles had been to put his hopes on the Scots. I could not believe my ears when I heard that they had sold him to the English. The price had been four hundred thousand pounds.
“Oh, the base treachery!” I cried and was mad with grief.
In my heart I knew that this was indeed the end, but I knew too that I would go on fighting as soon as I had recovered from the shock. I would always fight…even with death and despair staring me in the face.
Charles wrote to me: “I am almost glad of it. I would rather be with those who have bought me so dearly than with the faithless who have sold me so basely.”
Now the Cavaliers were coming to Paris in large numbers. They came to the Louvre and as the royal family was not there and I had almost the whole of the vast palace to myself I lodged them there. Some of the French criticized me for allowing them to have Protestant services in the Louvre and I reminded them that King Charles had never denied me the liberty of worshipping in my own faith and I could at least do the same for those who came to me with the object of furthering his cause. Rupert came. He was disheartened and somewhat resentful against the King who had reviled him after the loss of Bristol and seemed to have forgotten everything he had done in his service.
I placated him. I begged him to understand the state of mind in which the King must be…a prisoner of his enemies in the country which he had been chosen by God to rule.
My son went to Holland in the hope of getting help, and there his sister Mary, now Princess of Orange on the death of her husband’s father, welcomed him warmly. Poor Charles did not have a very happy time for almost immediately he contracted small pox and was laid low for some weeks. I suppose I must be grateful that he recovered but I did at the time find it difficult to be grateful for anything, so weighed down was I by my misfortunes. My thoughts were all with my husband—a prisoner in the hands of his enemies!
Looking back, I wonder whether there might have been a hope even then of saving his crown and his life, for some people seemed to think that he could have come to terms with Cromwell. Now it is clear that he did not understand the people with whom he had to deal. He had some idea that if he offered them peerages they would agree to set him back on the throne. He never could understand men like Cromwell. I can see the situation more clearly now. When it happened I was as blind as he was.