“I cannot bear to hear such talk. I wish you were like your father…both of you.”

James looked solemn then as mention of the late King could always make him. He was going to make some bitter retort, I think, but he did not do so. I felt more gentle toward him and said: “Take care, James.”

He softened too. The moment when his temper was about to flare up had passed.

“Don’t fret, Mam,” he said. “I can take care of my own affairs. You should not concern yourself with them.”

It was tantamount to what Mary had told me. Keep out of my business. It is no affair of yours. Oddly enough both incidents revolved about Anne Hyde. It was foolish to allow such a silly simpering creature to make trouble for me. She was not very bright, I gathered, though I had to admit she had a certain feminine appeal.

It would pass, I promised myself; and I did not want to quarrel any more with members of my family.

Soon after that came news from Holland. Little William had developed measles and very reluctantly Mary tore herself away from the delights of Paris to go to him.

The time was passing and nothing seemed to change much except that I was growing poorer. I found it so hard to exist on my pension for I felt I owed it to Charles to live as royally as possible. I did not want anyone to lose sight of the fact that I was the mother of the King of England.

I was growing tired of ceremonies—not that so many came my way, but I disliked sitting with Queen Anne watching some ballet or dance. She was not the most exciting of companions, although God forbid that I should criticize one who had shown me such kindness. I often wondered how I could go on without her help, and sometimes I thought longingly of the life of some noble lady who was not close to Court and did not have to worry constantly whether she was receiving the respect due to her, who did not have to provide certain clothes that she might not appear shabby, who did not have to keep a retinue of servants whose wages she could not afford.

Yes, it would indeed be pleasant to retire to the country, with Henry Jermyn, of course—that dear faithful man who was getting so fat now but still retained his healthy complexion and was quite handsome for his years. I should like to find little Geoffrey again. I often smiled to think how he had stepped out of the pie and come to me. What a happy and amusing introduction and what a sad parting it had been!

Yes, I should like to retire to the country, but I had a daughter for whom I must find a husband. Henriette was my main concern—the only one of my children to be a Catholic and to live close to me. I watched her all the time, worrying about her fragile looks—the child was so thin and looked so pale often—and marveling at her grace when she danced, delighting when she received invitations to assemblies at which the King would be present. But when she went to these entertainments I was always anxious as to whether she would receive her due respect and whether it would be remembered that she was a princess, a king’s daughter, next in precedence to the Queen and myself.

Nothing ever went smoothly and there were so many upsets. For one thing Louis was in love and because he was so inexperienced the whole Court knew it. Marie Mancini was one of the seven beautiful nieces whom Mazarin had brought to France from Italy and no sooner had they arrived than they had become prominent because of their outstanding good looks. Marie I thought the least beautiful; her sister Hortense was quite startlingly so. However it was Marie who caught Louis’s attention and he was quite obsessed by her. Anne told me that he had come to her and told her that he wished to marry Marie.

“Marry her!” I cried indignantly. “He must be mad.”

Anne was thoughtful and I was alarmed. “He says he cannot live without her,” she said.

“He is but a child!”

Anne was staring ahead of her and I was suddenly filled with horror. What of all those stories I had heard about Anne and Mazarin? Some said she had actually married him. Could she really be considering a marriage between the King of France and the niece of the Cardinal?

She looked at me helplessly. “He will clearly have to marry soon.”

“I have great hopes that Charles will recover his crown. I heard only yesterday that a wise man had prophesied that he would be back within the next few years.”

“I should like him to marry an Infanta of Spain from my own country,” said Anne frankly. “But if that failed my next choice would be Henriette, whom you know I love as a daughter. He has a will of his own.” Her eyes shone with pride. She admired this quality in her son which I deplored in my children. “I have spoken to him.”

“Of Henriette?”

She nodded.

“He loves her I believe,” I almost whispered.

“Yes he loves her…as a sister. He says he is sorry for her because she is so frail and poor and unwell…. His heart is set on Marie Mancini.”

“That is quite impossible.”

She hesitated and then said: “I have spoken to the Cardinal.”

I stared at her in horror. She had spoken to the Cardinal! She must be mad. Of course the Cardinal would do everything he could to bring about the marriage.

Her next words surprised me. “The Cardinal says it is impossible.”

“His own niece!”

“Yes. He is such a wise man. He said it would go against royal tradition. The people would never agree to it and would probably rise against it. And they would blame him. He says unthinking people always blame their rulers for anything that goes wrong even when it is in no way connected with them. He said a marriage between Louis and Marie Mancini would be disastrous for the country…and for the Cardinal himself.”

“He is a very wise man.”

“The wisest,” said Anne fondly. “But Louis is angry. Oh, sister, I shall have to find a bride for him soon.”

I thought: It must be Henriette. I have set my heart on Louis for Henriette. If I could see Henriette Queen of France I would go away, live quietly and leave the rest to fate.

There came another irritation and once more it concerned the Grande Mademoiselle. Wherever she was there was trouble. She was no longer banned from Court on account of activities in the Fronde and was now to be seen at functions as flamboyant as ever, though perhaps a little faded. Cardinal Mazarin had invited us to a supper party at which the King and the Duc d’Anjou would be present. I was always so delighted to take Henriette where the King was, and it was a pleasant evening apart from one incident. As we were leaving Mademoiselle walked out ahead of my daughter, which was tantamount to saying that she came before Henriette in precedence.

I had gone out just ahead of them and had expected Henriette to be immediately behind me and was very angry when I discovered what had happened and inwardly railed against Mademoiselle, wishing that she could be exiled forever.

That was not the end of the matter for what had happened came to the Cardinal’s ears. He was a stickler for etiquette and was most annoyed, first because one of the laws of protocol had been ignored and secondly because Henriette and I had been at the supper party as his guests.

A few days later there was a party at his apartments to which the King, the Duc d’Anjou and Mademoiselle had been invited. Fortunately neither I nor Henriette were present but there were plenty of people to report to me what had been said.

The Cardinal asked Mademoiselle if it was true that she had taken precedence over the Princess Henriette while the King and the Duc d’Anjou were listening.

It was the Duc d’Anjou who answered. He said very loudly so that all could hear: “And what if my cousin did? Why should people who rely on us for their food and lodging take precedence over us? If they do not like the treatment they get here, they should go somewhere else.”

I was terribly upset. So they regarded us as beggars! And this to come from the brother of the King—and Louis stood by and did nothing about it. It was more than I could endure.

The horrible realization came to me that they were getting tired of us.

I was so upset that I went to see the Cardinal and I told him that it was humiliating to accept a pension from the Queen. She was bountiful and had been a wonderful friend to me; I could never repay her for all she had done in my times of need; but I would like to be independent of her. I thought that as I was the Queen of England who had brought a dowry with her when I married the King, I should have some of that dowry back now. It was not the Queen of France who should be paying me a pension, but the English Parliament.

Mazarin shook his head. “Your Majesty cannot really believe that the English Parliament would give you a pension!”

“I don’t know. You have become friendly with this Oliver Cromwell. You say he is a man of integrity. Let us see something of that quality.”

“Such a request could only end in failure.”

“Will you make it?”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” I told him.

The result was more than failure. It was insulting. As I had never been crowned Queen of England the Parliament did not consider me as such.

When I heard those words I was so furious that I lost my temper with the Cardinal.

“Are they suggesting that I was the King’s concubine? Is the King of France going to stand aside and hear that said of his aunt, the daughter of his grandfather….”

Mazarin said quietly: “They have merely said that as you were not crowned you lack the rights of a queen. I believe the reason that you were not crowned was your own objection to the ceremony.”

“I can see,” I said, “that you are ready to accept the logic of your dear friend Oliver Cromwell.”

Anne asked me to see her. She was a good kind woman and I wished that she did not bore me so much for I should be truly grateful.

She said: “I know how you long for a place of your own…somewhere not too large…somewhere where you could get away from Court and live quietly when you are in the mood to do so.”

“I have Chaillot.”

“I did not mean a convent. I meant a little home. I do understand for I often feel I should like to do the same myself. It is impossible for me, of course, though perhaps later when Louis is married and has growing children…who knows? But I have been thinking of you, sister. Life is very hard for you.”

“You speak truth there. I am poor and dependent, and I and my daughter are the targets for insults.”

“Oh, that affair of the Grande Mademoiselle. I do not take her very seriously.”

“Her behavior touches me little. It was the remarks of the Duc d’Anjou….”

“Philippe sometimes speaks without thinking. I have reprimanded him strongly for his lack of courtesy. I think he was contrite. Let us look round for a suitable place. Do you remember the pleasure we had over Chaillot?”

“Oh, Anne, dear sister, you are so good and kind.”

“I understand your feelings so well,” she replied. “I should like to make life a little easier for you.”

“I could never afford to buy such a place if I found it.”

“Let us first look for the place and then consider that.”

The dear generous creature was comforting me again.

The outcome was that together we discovered the small château in the village of Colombes. It was only seven miles from Paris and yet in the heart of the country. The village was beautiful and peaceful as only such villages can be, brooded over by the church with its twelfth-century tower. The château was small, like a country house rather than a castle and I knew that I could be happy in it.

I was considerably cheered when Anne and I planned together what furniture would be put in it and when the place was completed it was indeed a haven.

Perhaps that was the beginning of better days. It was not long after—a beautiful September day in the year 1658—when the messenger came to Colombes where I was staying.

I knew he had some exciting news to tell me for he could scarcely wait.

“A message for the Queen,” he cried. “Oliver Cromwell is dead!”

So England had a new Lord Protector—Richard Cromwell, son of Oliver.

The Court was buzzing with the news and messages were coming all the time from England. Richard was not the man his father had been; he lacked authority; he had no desire to govern; he was too soft; some said he was more like the martyred King than Oliver’s son.

What now? everyone was asking.

After the first months the excitement died down and it seemed as though Charles was no nearer winning his rights from Richard than he had been from Oliver.