I said: “My country is a Catholic country. It deserves the support of the Pope.”

“My dear Catherine, Spain is a Catholic country…a rich country. It can afford the support of the Pope.”

“If my brother were acknowledged King, the Pope could not support even a rich country in its aggression.”

He looked at me soberly. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

“I want to write to the Pope. I want to tell him that I am a good Catholic. I will work for the Holy Church. I will do everything I can…if he will acknowledge my brother.”

“You will never bring the Catholic faith to this country. The English would not have it. They had a taste of it with Mary Tudor, and they have said never again. Don’t be deluded by them. They are godless in the main, I fear, liking to be merry, thrusting aside what they do not like. I am one of them, Catherine, and you know my failings.”

I put out my hand to stop him, and he took it. “They would never have it, my dear.” He went on: “But it may be that the Pope is not as sure of that as I am.”

“If he would acknowledge my brother as King of Portugal…”

“Perhaps you have a point there.”

“Spain would hesitate. It is because they insist that he is only a duke that they dare.”

He touched my cheek and stroked it.

“It means much to you, little Catherine,” he said. “Does it not?”

I nodded.

“My ministers would not be pleased if they knew my wife was corresponding with the Pope.”

“It is only one letter.”

“That would be enough. They would say you are carrying the Catholic banner into this Protestant land. You are trying to influence your husband to acknowledge that faith. That is so, is it not?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not in so many words, but that is the implication.”

I was silent.

Then his arms were about me.

“You ask for so little,” he said. “And when you do, it is for others. I like that well.”

“It means so much,” I murmured.

“It is hard for me to refuse you. Bellings would be a good man to send. He is the soul of discretion.”

I drew away from him that I might study his face. He was laughing, well pleased. Then, with a joyous gesture, he picked me up and threw me onto the bed.

“There,” he said, “you do with me as you will. Such is my desire to please you. You shall write your letter to His Holiness, and Bellings shall convey it to him. It must be done with the utmost secrecy…no, let us say discretion. That is a far more diplomatic way of expressing it, and you have become a diplomat, Catherine. In the meantime I think our soldiers will be more effective than your little missive. Now…to weightier matters.”

If only I could always have believed in his love for me as I let myself do then…briefly, how happy I could have been!


* * *

THERE MUST ALWAYS be something to disturb me. So often, when I was with Charles, I allowed myself to forget that affection played a small part in his emotional life. This attitude, I think, was partly due to his long exile; he had learned to shrug aside what could not be avoided. I was not by any means unattractive to him; he liked my innocence, I supposed; and connoisseur that he was, he would be completely aware of my feelings for him. Again and again I told myself I must not be deceived by his loving attitude, and the graceful compliments which tripped so lightly from his tongue. But still I was unprepared for this little disturbance.

A new beauty had arrived at court, much to the chagrin of Lady Castlemaine. This was Frances Stuart.

She could not have been much more than sixteen years old, and she really was outstandingly beautiful. Her features were perfectly formed in every way, and in a court where beauty was so admired, she was fêted wherever she went.

She had come over in the Queen Mother’s retinue, and Henrietta Maria had talked to me about her.

“Louis was very anxious to keep her at his court. He tried to persuade her mother to let her stay. But I put a stop to that. After all, her mother was my servant, not Louis’s. Louis’s manners are always perfect, and he would not go against the wishes of his aunt. So I brought the girl with me. I was not going to leave her at the court of France.”

I was a little puzzled, since it occurred to me that, if she had wanted to preserve the girl from licentious surroundings, would it have been so different to leave her in France?

“She is a witless creature…frivolous. The good God has compensated her with beauty for what she lacks in brains. Poor child. She would be easy prey. So…I brought her with me.”

Frances was indeed a simple creature. She loved childish games, such as Hunt the Slipper and Blindman’s Bluff; and it astonished me that she could induce these sophisticated courtiers to indulge in these infantile activities just for the pleasure of being near her.

One of her favorite games was building up cards to what she called houses, balancing them one on another, to see how high she could make them. She would sit delicately placing the cards on each other, shrieking with delight when her card house was bigger than that of the one with whom she was competing.

I had seen Charles watching her with brooding eyes for he, who so admired beauty, could not be immune to her.

Lady Castlemaine, who was aware of this, was by no means pleased. She was not a woman to hide her feelings. I can imagine the temper that was displayed in her apartments and I pitied her servants.

She sought to discountenance the new beauty, but her efforts fell on stony ground. Frances did not understand the shafts; she greeted them with tinkling laughter.

Sometimes I wondered whether anyone could be so devoid of sense, and being more accustomed to the ways of the court than I had been when I arrived in it, I asked myself whether Frances Stuart’s innocence was assumed.

However, in spite of many attempts to seduce her, she remained aloof.

Charles was seeking her out. She might have been flattered to be noticed by the King, but somehow she made it clear to all her admirers that she would become no man’s mistress.

She smiled sweetly on those who could amuse her with childish acts. I remember seeing Anthony Hamilton, a connection of the Ormondes, win her approval by putting a lighted taper in his mouth and holding it there. She clapped her hands and told him he was wonderfully brave. Young Hamilton had gone on performing the act for the joy of her approval until someone — I think it was the Duke of Buckingham — told him not to be such an idiot unless he wanted to kill himself.

Buckingham himself was another of Frances’s admirers. He was such a subtle seducer that many thought he would be the one to succeed. But he did not; and Frances remained the simpering, unseducible virgin.

I knew that Charles was deeply interested in her and I marvelled that beauty could mean so much to him that her witless chatter did not deter him any more than it did her other admirers.

When they had first seen her — so pretty and so silly — they had thought she would be an easy conquest. That was why I wondered whether La Belle Stuarte, as she was called, was really as stupid as she made out to be.

The King was neglecting Lady Castlemaine. There was no doubt of that. He was spending more and more time with Frances. How could he appear to be so absorbed in those ridiculous card houses!

The Lady herself assumed an air of indifference and gave her attention to James Crofts.

Were they lovers? I could not believe it. He was such a boy. Was she really attracted by him? There had been so many to share her bed that I supposed one more made little difference — and perhaps she would find his youth rather piquant.

I guessed that the King was not pleased by this growing friendship between his mistress and his son.

James Crofts and Charles were often together and Charles clearly showed his affection, as though he wanted everyone to know in what esteem he held the boy. He wanted him to have the respect of everyone and to be treated almost as royalty.

Once when James Crofts was dancing with me, hat in hand, according to the custom of showing respect to royalty, Charles called out that he might put on his hat. James did so with a smile of pleasure. It was tantamount to a public declaration of his royal birth.

James Crofts was in some ways similar to the King. He lacked Charles’s wit and wisdom, of course, but then he was very young. though I fancied Charles had been born with his. James Crofts was very handsome, although he had none of Charles’s charm, but in looks he resembled the Stuarts and that was enough, for it meant that no one could doubt he was the King’s son.

Charles said to me one day, and there was an alert look in his eyes as he spoke and I, who was beginning to know him well, guessed that there was something more than the words implied: “It is time I did something about James Crofts.”

I asked what he had in mind.

“He is my son,” he said. “There is no doubt of that, and he should have some standing at court.”

“He has already.”

“That is so. As my son, he is received by all. But I thought of a more tangible sign.”

“You are going to endow him with titles and estates.”

“Exactly so. And I think it is time he married.”

“Is he not somewhat young?”

“He is old enough. He is a Stuart. It will keep him out of mischief.”

He was no doubt thinking of James Crofts’s involvement with Lady Castlemaine, I guessed.

“Does marriage do so?” I could not help saying.

“I think it might absorb him…for a while…until he gets older…wiser…more able to conduct his life. So he shall be made a duke.”

“A duke!”

“The titles of the Duke of Orkney are now available.”

I felt a sudden shiver of alarm. Did Charles think of giving his bastard son such honors because there was a possibility of his coming to the throne? I had been Charles’s wife for some months…nine or so…and there was no sign that I was to have a child. Perhaps it was early yet. But was that in his mind?

Charles was saying: “He will be Baron Tyndale, Earl of Doncaster and Duke of Monmouth.”

“That will set him very high, will it not?”

Charles was smiling. “Indeed yes. He will take precedent over all the dukes who are not of royal blood…so my brother James cannot object. He will still come before Jemmy.”

“It will be a great honor for the young man.”

“He is a good boy. I have high hopes of him. And when he is the Duke of Monmouth, he shall be married.”

“You have selected the bride?”

“Yes. It is Anne Scott, the Duchess of Buccleuch. She came into the title on the death of her father…together with a goodly fortune.”

“I see.”

“You look doubtful. Do you not think it is a good arrangement?”

“Yes…from James’s point of view. I wonder what the bride is thinking.”

“She will be thinking how lucky she is to get such a handsome young fellow for a bridegroom.”


* * *

ON A BLEAK FEBRUARY DAY James Crofts became the Duke of Monmouth and less than eight weeks later he was married in the King’s Chamber to the Duchess of Buccleuch and took the name of James Scott.

Lady Castlemaine was displeased. She would have to be more careful how she behaved with the Duke of Monmouth than she had been with simple James Crofts. As for myself, I felt a return of melancholy.

Charles was accepting his bastard son. He was giving him great honor; they were often in each other’s company. Monmouth could not have been treated with more deference if he had been the King’s legitimate son.

True, Charles liked the boy, but his actions I felt showed something more than that.

I was failing. So far I had not produced an heir. The King was saying, see what a handsome boy I can get. It is only the Queen who fails me.

My spirits were lifted by the news from Portugal.

There had been a great victory at Amexial, which was largely due to the efforts of the English whom Charles had sent to fight beside my countrymen.

My mother’s letter was ecstatic. She blessed my marriage. She had always known how important it would be, she wrote:


My dearest daughter,

You cannot know how happy my people are. We shall always be grateful to our wonderful ally and for you who have done so much to make this possible.


I was proud and happy. I forgot the slights and humiliations then. Charles was my husband. No one could change that…not even Lady Castlemaine or La Belle Stuarte. I was his wife and it was his soldiers who had saved my country.