I stopped short to stare at him. Then I cried out: “How dare you!” And I struck him hard across his face with the back of my hand.
He turned quite white and for a moment I thought he was going to return the blow. Then he turned away and strode from the room.
I was very upset. Of course I was fond of Henry Jermyn. He had been beside me, my faithful friend and helper, for many years. Moreover he was a jolly man, a handsome man who raised my spirits; and heaven knew I had need of a few like him around.
But what was James suggesting? That he was my lover!
I had never been a sensual woman. What I called “that side of marriage” had never greatly appealed to me. It was my duty to produce children and that I had done in full measure. I had loved my husband completely and still did. But to take a lover now that he was dead…I could never do that. It would seem like disloyalty to him.
And yet…had I taken a lover? Not in the physical sense, but the truth was that I did love Henry Jermyn and if I lost him my life would be empty indeed.
I was terribly shaken and was expecting James to come to me with apologies, but he did not.
He had left Court.
It was heartbreaking that he should have gone like that before I had had a chance to talk to him. I wondered where he had gone and speculated that he had joined his brother in Scotland. But no. It turned out that he had gone to Brussels where he had been made very welcome.
This was most embarrassing. Not only had James left me after making that devastating statement but in Brussels he was on territory which belonged to Spain, and Spain was at war with France.
I made up my mind that I would send him no money and as he could not exist without it he would have to return to me.
Then there was Mary. She had always been a good daughter and the marriage to William of Orange had turned out to be advantageous in the end, although at first we had all thought it was a little degrading for the daughter of the King of England to marry a mere Prince of Orange and we should never have allowed it to happen but for the fact that we had wanted to placate the Parliament by a Protestant match. Yet Holland had been our good friend and it was largely due to Mary and her husband.
I had always thought of Mary as a good daughter. She had extended help to Charles—of whom she was very fond—and her Court had provided a refuge for many of our supporters.
And now for the first time she was pregnant. I was delighted at the thought of a child and I wrote to her telling her that if it were a boy she must name him Charles after her father and brother.
There came sad news. The Prince of Orange had been struck down with small pox and within a few days of contracting the disease had died. The Dowager Princess Amelia who took a great pride in forcing her will on others and whom I had never liked, gave orders that Mary was not to be told of her husband’s death until after the confinement.
The news, however, leaked out, but Mary was determined to give birth to a healthy child, and she did. I was delighted when I heard the news. “Our little Charles,” I called the baby.
My chagrin was great when I heard that the Dowager Princess had insisted that the child be named William after his father, and to my disappointment Mary agreed with her.
It was wonderful news that we had the child but his father’s death was a tragedy for us all. When I heard it I said it seemed as though God wished to show me that I should detach myself from the world, by taking from me all those who would lead me to think of it. The loss of my son-in-law made me see this very clearly, for my hopes of Charles’s restoration to the crown were based largely on William of Orange. And my daughter obeyed the wishes of her mother-in-law rather than those of her own mother!
Wherever I looked for comfort there was none.
The Queen of France however was very good to me. She commiserated with me over the deaths of Elizabeth and my son-in-law.
“Life is very cruel,” she said. “One can be happy for a time and then it strikes…and does not always strike singly but many times as though to stress the fact that we are all at the mercy of our fate.”
I told her then how anxious I was on her behalf.
“Believe me,” I said, “I have experience of the people. They are like savages when aroused. I shall never forget Charles standing at my coach door when I came out of the Louvre. They were all around me. I am sure it would not have taken them long to tear me to pieces.”
Anne looked a little impatient. She was easygoing and I was sure she believed that Mazarin was so shrewd and clever that he could do anything. She did not like me to warn her. My criticism of Anne—and Heaven knew I should not be critical of one who had been so good to me in my need—was that she liked to pretend that what was not pleasant was not there.
After all I had suffered I saw the folly of this. One must be aware all the time. Think the worse…and face up to it as a possibility. If only Charles and I had done a little more of that I might not be in the position I found myself in at this time.
But because I felt it was my duty to warn her, her frowns did not stop me, and I went on to give her advice until finally she said in exasperation: “Sister, do you wish to be the Queen of France as well as the Queen of England?”
I looked at her sadly and did not take offense at the rebuke. I merely said gently: “I am nothing. Do you be something.”
I think she saw my meaning and at that moment faced the truth and saw herself possibly in my position—a queen without a kingdom. Perhaps she was realizing what an empty title it was when one had lost one’s throne.
She was immediately sorry for her harsh tone, remembering all I had suffered and most of all the recent death of my daughter, for she was a devoted mother, living for her children, so she could understand the terrible sorrow a child’s death could bring.
She put her hands over mine and said: “Oh, my poor sister, I know your sadness and I know that sometimes you wish to leave it all and go to the Faubourg St. Jacques and stay there with the nuns. Is that what you wish?”
“How well you know me! If I had a choice I would go there and pass the rest of my days in peace. But how could I do that? I have my sons…my little Henriette….”
“I know,” said Anne. “You could not rest there. I have been thinking of you and there is something which I believe could bring you great cheer.”
“It is difficult to think of what could do that. Only my son’s restoration could make me happier and even then there would be so much sadness to look back on.”
“You are indeed the unhappy Queen, my sister. But I know you have always wished to found an order of your own.”
I looked at her in amazement and she smiled at me.
“I was thinking that to found your own convent would bring great ease to your mind and spirits. Am I right?”
“To found my own convent! Oh, what a dream! But how could I? All the money I have from the sale of my jewels must go to the battle for the throne.”
“I would help you with the convent,” said Anne.
I could not speak. I fell into her arms and hugged her.
At length I said: “I bless that long ago day, dear sister, when they brought you to Paris to be my brother’s wife.”
“You did not like me very much at first.”
“True affection is that which grows with the years,” I answered and added, “I shall never be able to show you my gratitude or to tell you what your friendship has meant to me in my adversity.”
“It is in adversity that true friendship is seen,” she answered. “Now let us plan. First we must find a suitable site. Do you know the country house on the hill at Chaillot?”
“I do,” I cried. “It is a fine house. The Maréchal de Bassompierre used to live there. My father gave the house to him. It has been empty since his death.”