Several people were with them, and they all seemed to be making much of the boy.

A few days later I saw him again. We were at Somerset House, visiting the Queen Mother, and he was still in the company of Lady Castlemaine. I thought he must be some protégé of hers.

I said to Donna Maria, who had recovered from her illness sufficiently to be with me: “Who is the young man over there?”

She peered ahead, and it was brought home to me how quickly she was losing her sight. Poor Donna Maria, she was trying to hide how blind she was becoming. I turned to one of the women and said: “I should like to speak to the young man who is over there. Do you know who he is?”

“I believe him to be Mr. James Crofts, Your Majesty,” said Lettice Ormonde, one of the women who had joined my service. “It is said that he has been long in France and has recently returned to England.”

“He seems to be very popular. He has the dignity of a man though he can be little more than a boy.”

Lettice Ormonde made her way to the group of which the young man was a part. She spoke to him. I heard Lady Castlemaine laugh and give the boy a little push. He looked slightly embarrassed and immediately walked to me with Lettice.

“Mr. James Crofts, Your Majesty,” said Lettice.

He knelt with the utmost grace. I held out my hand and he put his lips to it, and lifted his very attractive dark eyes to my face.

“Please rise,” I said. “You may sit beside me. I have seen you here on one or two occasions.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Are you with your family?”

“I am with Lord Crofts, Madam.”

“He is your father?”

“No, Your Majesty, but I live with him.”

“I see.” I thought I must be misunderstanding, for though I was improving rapidly, there were occasions when I was baffled.

“And you have recently come to England?”

“Yes, Madam, I came with the household of Queen Henrietta Maria.”

“And Lord Crofts…your guardian…he is here today?”

“Oh yes, Madam.”

“You seem to know a number of people.”

“Oh yes, Madam.”

“And particularly Lady Castlemaine.”

“The lady is a friend of mine, Your Majesty.”

“Tell me how old you are.”

“I am thirteen years old, Your Majesty.”

“You have a tutor?”

“Oh yes, Madam, Thomas Ross. He is the King’s librarian. Before that it was Stephen Goff. He died, and when I came to England, it was Thomas Ross.”

“So great attention has been given to your education.”

“Yes, Madam. I want to grow up, though. I want to be done with education.”

Thirteen, I thought! At times he seemed much older, and then suddenly he was just a boy. I felt myself to be far more unworldly than he was.

“Is Lord Crofts a friend of the King?” I asked.

“Oh yes, Madam.” He went on to tell me that Lord Crofts had been with the King at the Battle of Worcester. “Do you know, Madam,” he cried with enthusiasm, “our forces were only thirteen thousand and Cromwell had thirty to forty thousand? It was small wonder we had to retreat.”

He spoke as though he had been there.

“You would have been a loyal supporter of the King,” I said.

“Of a surety, Madam. I could not have been aught else. Alas, I was not born then. I wish I had been with the King…riding through the country…disguised…to Whiteladies…to Boscabel. I never tire of hearing of it.”

“I, too, like to hear of it. The King has told me the stories…”

I was transported to those honeymoon days when, like the simpleton I was, I had thought Charles cared for me as I did for him.

“The King has been good to me,” said the boy almost shyly.

“It delights me to hear it.”

I looked up and saw that the King himself was coming toward us.

“Well met!” he cried. He smiled from me to James Crofts. “So, sir, you have been entertaining the Queen.”

The boy flushed slightly and lowered his eyes.

“I trust you found him amusing,” said Charles to me.

“I found him interesting company,” I replied.

“Then that pleases me. Well done, James Crofts. I am leaving now,” he went on. “Come.” He took my arm. “Perhaps you would care to share our coach, James Crofts.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled.

“Then let us go,” said Charles. “I trust, sir, that Thomas Ross will give a good account of your diligence?”

I marvelled that he knew so much about the boy, and I was very pleased that he had suggested I ride with him.

My joy was short-lived, for as I was about to step into the gilded coach which was to take us to Whitehall, I saw Lady Castlemaine sitting in it.

I was taken aback, although I knew that now and then she rode in the royal coach. I hoped the King would ask her to leave, as I was to ride with him, but he did no such thing, and I could not make a scene by refusing to ride with her. I had had my fill of scenes.

Everything that happened to us was noted, and as we passed along the road, I saw surprise in the passersby to see me riding in the royal coach with the King, James Crofts and Lady Castlemaine.


* * *

I WAS SOON TO DISCOVER why the sight had aroused such interest. There was something else besides the fact that Lady Castlemaine and I were riding together.

It was Lady Suffolk who, after some pressure, enlightened me. She was my friend, I believed, and in this country I had need of friendship, so I treasured hers.

While she was preparing me to retire for the night, I said to her: “Do you know the boy, James Crofts?”

She paused for a moment with the brush in her hand and said, “Oh yes, Your Majesty.”

“I found him interesting.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“I could not quite understand…though he spoke very good English…I believe he is English…but he has been a good deal in France.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“He is called Crofts and seems to be related to Lord Crofts, but I gathered Lord Crofts is not his father.”

“No, Madam.”

“The King seems to know him.”

“Oh yes, Madam.”

I turned and looked at Lady Suffolk intently. I saw that puzzled look in her face which, knowing her of old, indicated to me that she might be asking herself whether she should tell me something.

I said: “What do you know about James Crofts, Lady Suffolk?”

“Well, Madam, he is well known at court.”

“So I gathered. I learned that Lord Crofts was at the Battle of Worcester.”

“He has always been a loyal supporter of the monarchy and spent years in exile with the King.”

“And the boy is not his son. Who is his father, then?”

Lady Suffolk had turned away. I caught her hand. “You know,” I said. “Please tell me.”

She said after a pause: “Your Majesty will know in time, and before long, I’ll swear. The King is his father.”

“The King?”

“Yes. His mother was a certain Lucy Walter. She is dead now. James was put into the care of Lord Crofts. The King has always been interested in his welfare.”

I felt the room spinning round me. I clutched the table. I feared I was going to faint again.

Why was it that I was always in the dark when others knew? Those people who had seen me riding in the coach knew; Lady Castlemaine knew; the whole court knew. I was the only one in ignorance.

I had ridden in the royal coach with the King, his mistress and his bastard. It seemed significant in some way.

I was shocked and bewildered.


* * *

I COULD NOT SLEEP. I lay on my bed turning from side to side, imagining Charles with Lady Castlemaine. She had been giving birth to a son when I arrived. It was the reason why Charles had given so much time to me. Because she was unavailable.

It was most shameful and humiliating.

Could I endure it? I must. There was no going back. I remembered his voice with a hint of sarcasm: “You should discover first whether your mother would have you.” No, there was no turning back. I should have to accept my fate. And the question was in my mind: If I could go back to Portugal and never see him again, should I want to?

The truth was that I wanted to stay. Unhappy, jealous as I was, I would rather be near him than apart. It was hard to set aside my pride and admit this, but it was true.

I had an opportunity of talking to Queen Henrietta Maria about it. She loved to talk to me and give her advice; and, moreover, she was by now very fond of me.

I told her that I had discovered that James Crofts was Charles’s son.

“It’s true,” she said. “Mon Dieu, and who could doubt it! He has a look of the King…and the manners at times. Young James cannot forget that he is the son of a king. I like the boy. I advised Charles as to his education and he is being well cared for.”

“And his mother?”

“A slut without doubt…though not ill-born. Her father had a castle in Wales…Roch Castle, I think it was. She was just Charles’s age. They must have been about eighteen when they met. She was a beauty…though without much wit. But who looks for wit at eighteen? And Charles had enough for the two of them. She was no blushing virgin. Her favors had been somewhat freely dispensed. James once told me that Algernon Sidney had given fifty gold pieces for her, and was very aggrieved because no sooner had he paid the money than he was called away to his regiment and his brother stepped in and took the prize. She had had many lovers before and since Charles. The family’s castle had been destroyed by the Roundheads and Lucy had come by stages to the continent. It was at the Hague where they met.”

“And he fell in love with her?”

“Well, perhaps. It was something more than a passing fancy. Jemmy — James Crofts — was born in ’49…that terrible year when my husband was murdered.”

“And did Charles acknowledge James Crofts as his son then?”

“Charles is by nature…accommodating. Is that the right word? But it seems certain Jemmy is his. I suppose one can never be absolutely certain…even in the most respectable circles.” She gave a light laugh. “But there seems little doubt. Jemmy is every inch a Stuart.”

“And what happened to his mother? Where is she now?”

“Where sinners go when they leave this earth. She stayed at the Hague while Charles went to Scotland, and when he came back she no longer attracted him. The boy was put with Lord Crofts, and Lucy slipped back into the life which suited her best. She was given a pension and returned to London. But her connection with Charles was known and Cromwell’s men soon discovered her whereabouts. She was arrested in some lodgings near Somerset House and spent a time in the Tower, so I heard. But they must have realized she would not have had the wit to spy, so they sent her back to the continent. She died in Paris about two years before the restoration. My son James told me that he has always been uneasy about James Crofts. There was once a rumor that Charles married Lucy Walter. Quite absurd, of course, but it alarmed James. Well, well, until you produce the heir to the throne, James is there…next in line…and if Jemmy were Charles’s legitimate son, as he would be if Charles had married Lucy Walter…well, you see what I mean. But do not fret. There was no marriage. Charles would not be such a fool…and Lucy is long since dead. James Crofts is a delightful boy…like his father in many ways. Let us hope that he does not take after his mother.”

“I see that I have a great deal to learn.”

“Ma chérie, we all have much to learn. When I think of the mistakes I have made in my life…poof!” She made a gesture as though to blow them away. “I could spend my time saying, ‘What if I had not done this, that?’ Oh, it is no good. Sacré bleu, one must not regret too much…concern yourself with what is…now. Make up your mind. Is this what I want? you say. Forget all that has gone before. It is now that matters.”

“You are so good to me, so understanding.”

“Ah, life is so short. Let us live as best we can. It is the life hereafter that is important.”

I said: “I was so unprepared. Since I have come here I have had many shocks.”

“You mean with Charles?”

“Yes, with Charles.”

“I know him well. He is…is he not…my son? There is much that I would alter if I could. He is a man governed by the love of women…or perhaps I must say…the need of women. Some are like that. My father was. Charles inherits this…through me.” She lifted her shoulders and grimaced. “They will have their women, no matter what. For the rest, they are wise and witty, and at heart kindly…a little lazy…hating trouble. Charles is fond of you. He likes you very much…but he will never be faithful to you. It is not in him to be faithful…not to any woman. My father was like him. I saw how my mother lived. So I understand. Accept this weakness in him and he will be grateful to you, he will be kind. You will give him the son which is so necessary…and that son will be King. But do not try to interfere with those women of his. Remember, they are not important. I tell you before. You are the Queen, and the wife of the King is the mother of the King-to-be. Accept this and all is well. You say you had romantic dreams…but, chérie, life is not made of dreams. Yet it can be good. I have learned some wisdom in spite of all my follies. Would to God I had learned earlier. Bah…but it is always easy when solving the problems of others. It is only one’s own that are so difficult.”