Виктория Холт - The Merry Monarch’s Wife

“I can see that the difference between Lady Castlemaine and her cook can amuse some, but what was so particularly entertaining about the flood?”

“It was last night. Their shouting could be heard in the palace. Lady Castlemaine was expecting a guest and the kitchen was flooded so Mrs. Sarah could not cook the chine of beef. Well, there was this important supper party. ‘Cook that chine of beef,’ cried the Lady. ‘The only way I can cook that beef will be by setting the kitchen on fire,’ replied Mrs. Sarah. ‘Then set the kitchen on fire, but cook the beef!’ screamed the Lady. The shouting went on and on and in the end Mrs. Sarah took the beef to her husband, who cooked it in Lord Sandwich’s kitchen.”

I could not understand why this incident should have caused such hilarity.

The King was absent the following night.

Then I learned why they were all so amused. I heard two ladies talking together, and this time I understood what they said.

“He has supped with her these last four nights.”

“Does that mean…?”

“She’s back. Well, he wasn’t the sort to wait forever.”

“The Lady saw her chance and, depend upon it, once she’s back, she’s back for good.”

“Well, if Madam Frances…”

“Madam Frances won’t. And the Lady is back…and there she will stay.”

“And the whole court knows it…thanks to that chine of beef. Everyone’s still talking about that. They knew who her guest was that night. She couldn’t have the supper spoiled for the King, could she? She’d have the kitchen burned down rather…”

They went off into giggles.

So then I understood.

I hated the very sound of the woman’s name; and a terrible bitterness enveloped me. I felt I was choking. I could not bear it. I had grown used to her; I had forced myself to accept her, grudgingly it was true. I had almost welcomed Frances Stuart. I had thought I was free of Lady Castlemaine. And now, here she was, back…and it was all going to start again…her brazen insolence, her patronage of me.

I was tired. I should be resting, but my fury overcame me. I would not endure it all again. I slipped to the ground. I felt the blood on my face. It was like the other occasion when Charles had presented her to me and I discovered who she was.

* * *

I FELT VERY WEAK and was not quite sure where I was. For a moment I had thought I was in my cell-like room in the convent. Then I knew that I was in my bed and someone was kneeling at my bedside, holding my hand. It was Charles.

I tried to smile but I felt too tired.

As though from a long way off, I heard him say my name. I wanted to answer him but no words came. Then Donna Maria was saying something, shrilly, disapprovingly.

“She must not be disturbed, Your Majesty.”

Charles seemed to drift away.

I thought I was hand in hand with him. We were in Hampton Court. He was explaining the benefits to be derived from certain herbs, and the spaniels were barking. Then I was in the convent. The Mother Superior was saying: “You must work harder. You must remember your place. You must not disappoint your mother.”

My mother was there. “When you get to England, you may have to see that woman. Ignore her…never let her come near you.”

I was thinking of a chine of beef. It had to be cooked for the King, even if the house burned down in the process.

Then I lost all sense of anywhere. I was floating in space and then came…oblivion.

I was very ill for days. I did not know what was wrong with me. Vaguely, I remembered falling. I was aware of the blood on my face and then I must have fainted. I confused it with that other occasion. I kept hearing a whisper: “Do you know who that woman is? She is Lady Castlemaine.”

It had all happened before…and I was too tired to think.

Alas, it was more than an ordinary faint. I had fallen and lost my child.

I did not know this then. I think if I had I should have lost my will to live.

They thought I was dying. I was vaguely aware of Donna Maria, who would not leave my room, I heard later, and was with me night and day. The King was constantly there too. Often I would open my eyes and see him sitting there, but I was too tired to speak to him. When I looked at him, he would press my hand. Sometimes I heard him murmur my name. He looked at me as though imploring me to speak to him. I tried to, but no words came.

There came the day when I learned what had happened…I knew that I had lost my child and that the agony I had seen in Donna Maria’s face meant that she had thought I was dying.

But at last I knew. I was here in my bed at Whitehall. I was the Queen and I was going to die. I was sure of it, and so were all those about me.

I heard voices.

“She is conscious, Your Majesty.”

“Then let me see her.”

He was kneeling by the bed. “Catherine…my dearest Catherine. You know me…now?”

“Yes, I know you, Charles.”

“It has seemed so long.”

I smiled.

“You must not tire her, Your Majesty.” That was Donna Maria.

“I will not, I promise you. I will sit with her…quietly.”

He had taken my hand. I pressed his to let him know that I was glad he was there.

“My love,” he said. “My little love.”

I smiled again. “I want…” I began.

“Tell me what you want. It shall be yours. Just tell me, dearest.”

“I want you to be happy. I am going to leave this world…I am going to leave you.”

“No,” he said. “No.”

“It will be best. You will marry.” I was going to say Frances…but I could not. That would hurt him. It would remind him how he had neglected me while he watched her making her houses of cards. I loved him. I did not want him to reproach himself. I understood him now. He could not curb those violent sexual desires; he had to behave in the way he did. I guessed, of course, that he was reproaching himself for his treatment of me. I had rebelled at first, and then had accepted my fate…but I had not done so readily…only with bitter resignation. But that was an end of it. The time had come to say good-bye and I did not want the occasion to be marred by reproaches and regrets.

“You will marry again,” I said. “Someone better than I.”

“There could be none better.”

I could almost have believed he meant it. He looked so earnest, so desolate at the prospect of losing me.

“Someone who can give you the healthy son you must have.”

“You will, Catherine,” he said. “You will get better. I command it.”

“Even kings can have no control over life and death,” I said. “If my child had lived…”

“In your delirium you thought it had,” he said. “You talked of him. You said he was an ugly boy, but that he had great charm.”

“Did I say that?”

He nodded and I saw that there were tears on his cheeks.

I could not bear that he should weep for me. I suppose that was true love, for I would rather he did not mourn for me than it should make him unhappy to do so.

“Charles…,” I murmured. “I am sorry…not to have been good enough…”

“My dearest,” he said, “it is I who have not been good enough. It is I who should ask your pardon.”

I smiled at him. I wondered how I could bear to leave him. But perhaps I could because at that moment he really did love me. He meant what he said…for that moment. But in my heart I knew that he must be himself. He wished me well. He was fond of me. He loved me in his way. I had my little niche in his life. Perhaps he loved me more than he had ever loved Lady Castlemaine or Frances Stuart. But he did not desire me as he did those women. That was something I must understand. And the desire in such a man was so overpowering while it lasted that it overrode a quieter, gentler love.

I said to him: “You have taught me much. You will be happy now. Do not grieve for me. Do not reproach yourself. I did not understand at first. I think I do now.”

“I loved you the moment I saw you,” he said. “I shall always love you. You must not leave me.”

I replied: “I am not afraid to die. There is only one thing I regret and that is leaving you; and now that I understand so much, I would wish to stay. I would be better.”

“Please,” he begged, “do not talk so. It is not you who must be better; it is I. You must live for my sake. You must give me a chance.”

“I love to hear you say that.”

“You must get better, Catherine,” he said. “You must…for me.”

He pressed his face against my hands and I felt his tears on them.

“You will forget me,” I said, “and marry some princess who will give you sons, and bring much good to the realm. That is what you must do.”

He was too moved to speak and Donna Maria was at my bedside.

“The Queen is becoming exhausted,” she said. “This must not be.”

“I will not talk,” said the King, “but I cannot leave her. I shall sit here with you, my love, unless you wish me to go.”

“I want you to stay,” I said.

So he sat by my bed. My hand was in his, and every now and then I would open my eyes and smile at him.

I HAD BEGUN TO GET BETTER BUT MY RECOVERY WAS VERY slow. I was desolate to have lost the child, and yet at the same time Charles’s grief at the thought of losing me had made me so happy that I was in a measure compensated. I think it was the sight of his sorrowful face, tortured by genuine love and remorse, which gave me the extra willpower I needed.

I saw Charles every day during that time. He would sit by my bed amusing me with tales of what was happening at the court. He told them so wittily that we laughed continuously and I was very happy.

I was also deeply touched, for his hair had gone gray.

“You are to blame for these gray hairs,” he told me. “They are the sign of my anxiety over you.”

There was a fashion among some of the courtiers, whose hair was not as they would have liked it to be, of wearing periwigs of magnificent curls. When Charles appeared in one I clapped my hands.

“It is splendid,” I said.

“I feared you might not like it.”

“Oh,” I replied. “Since you told me the gray hairs grew out of your concern for me I loved them.” On the other hand, I had to admit that the wig was becoming. Whereas on someone of shorter stature it could have seemed overpowering, with his height he could carry it off beautifully.

“Well,” he said, “the nation would not want an old grayhead for their King. At least now they will be less aware of it.”

As I grew stronger I walked in the park with him. We would, as he said, “saunter.” Sauntering was a habit he liked well. We would be surrounded by courtiers, and with Charles at the center of the group the conversation was invariably merry.

When the weather was warm the ladies carried fans. These had become fashionable since my marriage. Most of the fans came from Bombay and there were all kinds — some most beautifully painted. The ladies fluttered them coquettishly and they were becoming an essential part of a lady’s equipage.

That could have been a happy time for me, but for the fact that Lady Castlemaine and Frances Stuart were at court and there was scarcely a day when I did not see them.

The Lady’s animosity toward Frances Stuart caused great amusement; and although Charles remained kind and tender toward me, it was clear that he was deeply infatuated with Frances Stuart.

Donna Maria gave thanks to God every day for my recovery. In spite of the fact that she exasperated me at times, I was deeply conscious of her devotion to me; and besides, being my only real connection with my native land, she was the best friend I had ever had.

Alas, she was getting more and more feeble every day. It was sad to see her peering at me, for her eyesight was rapidly fading. She must have been lonely, for she had little contact with other people; yet when she had had an opportunity of going home with the other members of my household, she had refused to take it. In fact she had fought against it and clung to me.

She knew, of course, how matters stood at court. She understood that, in spite of his protestations of love for me when he believed I was on the point of death, Charles was now spending his nights with Lady Castlemaine and sighing for Frances Stuart.

It was now considered at court that Frances meant that she would not become any man’s mistress; some believed that this was her way of leading the King on and that he was approaching such desperation that he would promise her anything in exchange for her surrender.