But it was not so with Strafford and when I overcame my initial dislike, I was grateful to him for the comfort he brought to Charles; and then I found I liked him for himself. There was someone else in my household who liked him very much. That was Lucy Hay. Lucy was ten years older than I which made her bordering on forty, but no one would have believed it to look at her except that the years of experience—and I suspected very great experience—had made her more fascinating than ever; in spite of being no longer young she was still the most attractive woman at Court.

Katherine Villiers and Susan Feilding attended services at Somerset House and were coming out into the open and declaring their conversion to the Catholic Faith, which endeared them to me. But fond as I was of them both, it was Lucy whom I liked best to be with. She was so amusing and bright, and was always in the midst of some intrigue which sometimes she would talk about and at others be so secretive that she fascinated me more than ever.

It was no secret that she had become Strafford’s very good friend. They were a magnificent pair—the cleverest man and woman at Court, I guessed. I wondered what they talked of in their intimate moments.

I impressed on Charles that it was no use letting people know how anxious we were about everything. We should make life seem as normal as possible, and to celebrate the coming of the New Year I arranged a masque and a comedy in which I was going to take the most important part.

Charles thought it was a good idea and we had an amusing time discussing the play and the part I would take—and, of course, my costume. Lewis Richard, who was Master of the King’s Music, composed the songs and we ordered Inigo Jones to make the scenery and design the costumes so that we could make sure to have a dazzling spectacle.

That masque stands out vividly in my memory. I suppose it was because it was the last one I played in at Whitehall. It was a brave attempt and Charles, no less than I, determined to make it memorable. I really did enjoy prancing about the stage dressed as an Amazon in silvery armor and a helmet which sported a magnificent feather.

The winter was harsh and the New Year came in grimly. I was feeling ill because of my condition and my spirits suffered through memories of Catherine’s birth and death.

Strafford called at Whitehall one day and when he left Charles was very depressed. He came to me as he always did to tell me the news for, bless him, he always behaved as though I had a grasp of state matters, which was far from the truth, although I must say that I did try my best to understand.

“Strafford wants to call a parliament,” he said, “because we must have money to prosecute the war against the Scots and that is the only way to set about getting it.”

I frowned. I hated both parliaments and wars against the Scots. One was hard enough to bear but the two of them together were intolerable. Wars took Charles away from me and that was tragic for us both; parliaments made laws and they were nearly always aimed at the Catholics, which meant myself.

“Need it be called?” I asked. “Parliaments always mean trouble.”

Charles agreed that they did. There had always been conflict between him and them because he could never see why a king should not be an absolute ruler since he had inherited the crown through birth and was therefore God’s chosen ruler. No, certainly Charles had no wish to call a parliament. But he needed money to carry on the war and a parliament would have to find a means of raising it.

“I wish they would let us live in peace,” I said.

“I could not agree with you more,” replied the King. “But I suppose Strafford is right. He usually is.”

“So you will call this parliament?”

“I have no alternative.”

“Well then, call it, and let us hope it does not last long.”

As a matter of fact it did not. It lasted only three weeks and it was that one which was called the Short Parliament. Charles was uneasy. There were three men he mentioned to me. One was John Pym, a strict Presbyterian, who was evidently a man of great powers and was becoming the leader of that party in the Commons which was opposed to the King; then there was John Hampden, who had endured a spell in prison for refusing to pay what he called the forced loan—an act which had made his name known throughout the country and turned many a man to his favor; and the other—a man whose name I had not heard before but which was to become engraved on my mind for ever—was a connection of Hampden’s for I believe Hampden’s mother was his aunt; he came from Huntingdon and was the member for Cambridge. His name was Oliver Cromwell.

These were the men whom Charles feared. They were not in favor of imposing a tax to raise money for war on Scotland and they carried the House with them. Charles was in desperation.

At first I was delighted that the Parliament was so short-lived; but it seemed there was little to rejoice about. Then Strafford came forward with a suggestion. Because of the good work he had done in Ireland he had been made Lord Lieutenant of that country and he said he could raise an army there and bring it over to fight for the King.

That was where the mischief started. I do not know even now who our enemies were. Perhaps there were so many of them that it was impossible for me to know them all. I believe that Richelieu was at the heart of many of the conspiracies against us. As a ruler of the French it was to his advantage to see a weak England; he did not want to see the English helping friends abroad who were the enemies of France. It was devious politics—far too involved for me, and I had not then learned the art of unraveling these mysteries. I saw life in bright light and dark shadow…with little shading between. For me there were the good and the bad and there was no wrong in the good, no right in the bad. I am afraid my emotions not my mind guided my thoughts.

Charles was a saint; I was his devoted wife; and any who were against us were villains. It was as simplified as that.

If we had our enemies abroad, heaven knew we had enough living close.

Strafford was firm beside the King and there were many who agreed that he was the most able statesman in the land. For that reason there were many more waiting to destroy him.

They seized their opportunity. Soon after the dissolution of the Short Parliament rumor was sweeping through the country like wildfire. Strafford was going to bring over an army of Irishmen on a pretext of fighting the Scots but actually to subdue the English.

London was in an uproar. Charles came riding with all speed to Whitehall where I was, for being six months with child, and somewhat melancholy, not only worried about the country’s affairs, but still brooding on the death of little Catherine, I was spending a great deal of time resting.

Charles told me of his fears. “They are against Strafford,” he said. “And if they are against him it is because they are against me.”

“You are the King,” I reminded him.

“That is so,” he answered, and looking at me fondly he asked about my health and said he wanted to go over to St. James’s on the next day to see the children.

We spent a pleasant evening until one of the guards came in with a board he had found attached to the gates of the palace. On it was written: “Whitehall to Let.”

There was a sinister implication in the message which made Charles turn pale.

He said: “I think you should leave for the country while you are still able to travel.”

“I wanted the child to be born in Whitehall.”

“No,” said Charles gently. “It would be better to go to the country.”

While we were talking a letter was brought to him.

“Who sent it?” he demanded of the guard.

“One of the serving men said it was passed to him by one of the guards at the gate who did not recognize the man who handed it to him.”

I looked over Charles’s shoulder and read: “Chase the Pope and the Devil from St. James’s, the lodging of the Queen Mother.”

Charles and I looked at each other for some seconds without speaking. Then I said: “What does it mean?”

“Our enemies have done this,” said Charles.

“It is a threat…to my mother.”

“Someone is raising the people against us,” said the King.

“I must go to St. James’s without delay,” I cried. “They are unsafe there.”

“We will go together,” said Charles.

We rode to the palace and were relieved that we met no hostile crowds on the way. I think we were prepared for anything.

When we arrived at St. James’s it was to be greeted by my distraught mother. She looked wild-eyed. “I have not been fed,” she cried. “How could I be? They have been sending notes calling us idolaters. They should be hanged, all of them. Charles, what are you thinking of to allow such conduct from your subjects!”

I silenced her, bidding her remember that she spoke to the King, but Charles just smiled and said: “There are times, Madam, when a king…or even a queen…is not powerful enough to stop the cruelty of enemies. They must first be found and then condemned.”

She turned away. I guessed she was wishing herself far from here and I could not help thinking that there was a little good in all evil for if this decided my mother that she could not live in troubled England that was not entirely to be deplored. This sounds heartless. I loved my mother. I wanted to see her happy and comfortable, but I did realize that she was causing friction here; she was interfering with the way in which the children were brought up and I knew she was in secret teaching them to become Catholics. I had turned a blind eye to this but recent events had taught me to be a little more watchful; and I could guess at the fury which would be unleashed if it were thought that the Prince of Wales and his brother and sisters were being brought up outside the Church of England.

The children were concerned, particularly Charles, who was very solemn. Lady Roxburgh told us that he had had several nightmares and she thought he had something on his mind. She had asked what troubled him and he would not answer though he did not deny that there was something.

Charles and I were determined to find out what was worrying him and I said that I did not think he could possibly be aware of the depressing state of affairs outside St. James’s; but it seemed he was.

Charles called the boy to him and my son stood before his father, his dark eyes alert, his expression attentive.

“What is wrong?” asked the King. “You know you can tell me or your mother anything. Come. Don’t be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” said Charles.

“Then what is worrying you?”

“How many kingdoms did my grandfather leave you?” He did not wait for the answer but supplied it himself. “Four,” he went on. “There are troubles in the country. I know of them. I listen to the people talking. They think I am too young to understand and that is an advantage because they do not lower their voices or choose their words. Yes, I am anxious because although you, my father, were left four kingdoms, I greatly fear that I, your son, may find myself without one.”

I broke in and cried: “What a wicked thing to say to your father!”

Young Charles regarded me from under that black fringe and said: “You asked for the truth, Mam. I but gave it. If you do not wish to hear the truth it is best not to ask for it.”

The King put his hand on the boy’s head and said: “You do well, my son, to speak what is in your mind on these matters. I am having trouble. That is true. I have enemies who send out rumors. People listen to them and learn half truths. Have no fear. I shall fight for this kingdom, so that when the time comes it shall be yours.”

I was too overcome to speak, for when my son talked of what he would inherit I could only see the figure of my beloved husband lying dead before me and that was more than I could bear at that moment.

Charles saw this and understood. He said: “I shall take your mother to her bedchamber. She is not well.”

“She is pregnant,” said young Charles. “I hope it is a little girl. I would prefer a sister.”

“Now you go back to the nursery,” commanded the King. “I can assure you that I know how to defend my kingdom and when the time comes it shall be handed…intact…to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said young Charles gravely.

When we were alone the King said: “He is a bright boy. One to be proud of.”

“I liked not his words.”

“Sweet wife, do not blame the boy for looking to his inheritance. I would rather he did. He would be ready to fight for his rights, though I pray he will never have to. Oh God, how I pray for that! And now, my love, all this unpleasantness is bad for you. Will you promise me that you will make preparations to leave London at once?”