“I grow older every day, sir,” I told him with some asperity, “and my vision grows clearer.”

He laughed rather heartily.

“Dearest lady, you are enchanting. I know where the complaint lies.”

“Complaint, sir. Of what complaint do you speak?”

“You are so fresh, so young, so innocent. Naturally, I tell the King you need to be guided in the ways of love.”

I was too astonished to speak.

“Love!” he said. “Ah, one needs to be skilled in the art to discover its full delights. Perhaps the King is more practiced in the realms of state than in the bedchamber. Perhaps…”

He had moved nearer to me and there was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes. Was this, I wondered, how he had approached my sister-in-law? What was he suggesting? That I learn how to be what he called “satisfactory” with Charles through Buckingham?

It was monstrous. What would Charles think of this subject of his if I told him what Buckingham had suggested to me…well, not so much suggested as implied.

“My Lord Buckingham,” I cried shrilly, “stand away from me. Your conduct is atrocious. I wonder what the King will say when I tell him what you have suggested to me.”

He stood back, his eyebrows raised, his face a mask of bewilderment. “My lady, I do not understand you. Suggested? What do you think I have suggested?”

“Your remarks about matters which are completely between the King and myself are offensive.”

“Forgive me…I just thought a little word—That was all that was in my mind. I swear it. What could you have imagined? You must realize that I have no idea why you should be so offended.”

The man was a monster, a snake in the grass and I must beware of his venom.

“I merely wished to talk to you about your attitude to the faith which prevails in this country. I merely wanted to advise you. The matter of the Countess of Denbigh’s service at Tichfield….”

“That is long ago. The Countess bears no rancor and has now become my friend.”

“I am happy about that as it brings me to another matter which I know gives the King a great deal of concern. He wants you to send your French attendants back to France.”

“That is something I shall never do.”

“You would find many English ladies who would be happy to replace them.”

“I am very happy as we are. Thank you for your concern. But it is my affair as to whom I shall choose to serve me.”

“I trust that you speak a little English now that you have three English ladies of the bedchamber.”

“I do, but there again I do not see that it is any great concern of yours.”

“I speak only for your own good. My great wish is to please you.”

“Then,” I said firmly, “I will tell you how you may give me the greatest pleasure. It is very simple. All you have to do is go.”

With that he went, leaving me very uneasy.

I should have realized that we were working toward a climax, but my trouble in those days was that I never looked beyond the immediate moment. If I scored a little victory I thought I had won the war—though why there should be a war between husband and wife I cannot now see.

It was June and we were at Whitehall. The afternoon was warm and beautiful—just the day for taking a walk in the park near the palace. Father Sancy walked with me and he was admonishing me for some petty demeanor. I was not listening to him but thinking how beautiful the trees were and what a lovely day it was. Mamie was walking on the other side of me when we strayed away from the park. We came to the gallows at Tyburn, which had always filled me with horror because so many people had died miserably there—some, I knew, for their Faith. It was not long ago when those good Catholics who had set out to blow up the Houses of Parliament had died most brutally. All they had wished to do was establish the Catholic Faith in this heretic land, which was what I wanted to do.

I mentioned this. Mamie frowned. She hated me to speak in this way. She was a good Catholic, of course, but she was more ready to respect the beliefs of others than I was. Father Sancy grew rather fierce talking of the people who had died for their faith at Tyburn and suggested that we approach and say a short prayer for their souls.

So I agreed and we did so.

I suppose nothing a queen does can go unnoticed. Of course I was seen and as I appeared to have enemies everywhere, the incident was embellished and distorted out of all proportion to what had actually taken place. Stories were circulated about the Court and the city. I heard that I had done penance at Tyburn; I had walked barefoot carrying a candle. I had set up an altar there; I had said Mass; I had prayed to the Virgin and the saints for the souls of those I called Martyrs and whom the English called criminals.

“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.