I was hurried to my bed and the doctors were sent for.

And then it happened. I lost my child.

It was sufficiently developed to show that it would have been a boy.

No one knew why I should have failed to carry it through to the end of the term. I was sunk in depression.

“It is a pity,” said Lady Suffolk, “that Lady Castlemaine should seem to be so well.”

“When is her child due?” I asked.

“Very shortly now, Your Majesty.”

“She has so many. It is unfair.”

“Very unfair, Madam.”

When her child was born they did not mention it to me but it could not be kept from me for long. I could read Charles’s bitter disappointment in his eyes. Did I fancy there was a certain resentment? That would be quite unbearable.

Lady Castlemaine was delivered of a fine boy.

Why…oh why…could I not have just one? And did not the fertility of the Lady prove that I was the one at fault? It was being asked if the King had married a barren Queen.


* * *

THE SPRING HAD COME. People were filtering back to London for the plague had virtually vanished.

Charles went back for periods but he said that I must stay in Oxford as there might be some remains of plague in London and I must remember that I was in a delicate state of health and would be more susceptible to disease.

He did not reproach me as some might have done, but I could not help knowing how bitterly disappointed he was. I could imagine how he felt when he saw Lady Castlemaine’s boy in his cradle. At least he could have been sure mine was his, as he never could with hers.

But the fact remained that she was capable of bearing strong and healthy children — one after another — and this was my second attempt which had failed.

There seemed no end to the blows fate was dealing me. I did not hear of this until some days after the news had come to England. Lady Suffolk told me afterward that the King had ordered that I was not to be told until he considered it would be wise to do so.

“He said that Your Majesty would have to know in time but the blow would be too great for you, your health being what it is just now…”

He was right. It was a great shock to me. My mother was dead.

It was, of course, some few years since I had seen her, but I had never thought of her dying. She had seemed indestructible…immortal.

Charles himself broke the news to me.

He came in looking very sombre, threw his hat aside and, taking my hands in his, led me to a sofa where we sat close together.

He said: “I have sad news for you, Catherine. You are going to find this hard to bear.”

I looked at him fearfully.

“It is your mother.”

“She is ill?”

He hesitated and I stared at him in horror.

“She has had much to trouble her. She worked too hard. We none of us are here forever, you know.”

“But she…”

“I know how you cared for her. But she is gone and your home is here now.”

I turned to him and he put his arms about me and held me against him.

I felt bereft…alone. She had meant so much to me, and although I had not seen her for so long, I had always known that she was there…and now she was there no longer.


* * *

WHEN I HAD RECOVERED A LITTLE from the initial blow, I began to ask myself what this would mean to Portugal.

True, Alfonso was King — a fact which my younger brother Pedro had always resented, feeling that he himself was more suited to wear the crown — but it was my mother who had ruled, and I knew that Alfonso was incapable of doing so.

The Spaniards would immediately realize the country’s vulnerability. England, engaged in war with the Dutch and suffering from the effects of the plague, would be a feeble ally. I feared disaster; and in addition to my overwhelming grief was this added anxiety.

Charles ordered that there should be mourning for my mother throughout the court. The ladies were to wear their hair in plain styles without adornments and they were to stop using patches for the period.

Lady Castlemaine was very put out. Her artificial aids meant a great deal to her. I could not help but be amused and somewhat pleased at her discomfiture. It might have relieved a little of the gloom.

The King had caught a chill. When he had been inspecting the ships at Chatham, he had taken off his coat and wig because of the heat. The temporary relief he had felt had not been good for his health. He caught the cold, which had persisted.

I think everyone was out of humor…even Charles. He was usually in such perfect health that he found it more difficult than most to endure the little discomforts; as for myself, I was deeply depressed by the loss of my mother and fears for my country. The only one who could have comforted me then was the child I had lost, and with the calamity came the fears that I might be destined never to have children.

I think people’s tempers were a little short at that time. There was quite a scene one day when someone commented that the King was finding it difficult to throw off his cold.

Lady Castlemaine was sitting close to me at the time and her presence intruded on my thoughts which were with Pedro, my brother. I was wondering whether he would try to oust Alfonso from the throne.

Someone remarked on the King’s inability to shake off his cold, and, in a sudden burst of irritation, I said with some asperity: “The King’s condition does not improve because he stays so late at the lodgings of Lady Castlemaine when he sups with her, and the cold air of the early morning is not good for him.”

Lady Castlemaine’s eyes glittered. She said: “The King does not stay late at my house, Your Majesty. Methinks he must stay at the house of someone else.”

I was taken aback. Was she suggesting he had a new mistress?

I said: “I am of the opinion that it is at your house that he stays so late.”

“The King is gracious to so many,” retorted Lady Castlemaine, her eyes glinting mischievously. “He bestows his honor on so many ladies that it is not always easy to know which of them is in favor at any moment.”

Charles had come in and heard that last remark.

He, too, shared the general dissatisfaction with the court at that time and was less indulgent than he was wont to be.

He stood close to Lady Castlemaine and said quietly, but in a voice which I and those nearby could hear quite clearly: “You are insolent. Please leave the court and do not return until I send for you.”

Lady Castlemaine stared at him in amazement.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“I have said leave the court. I will send for you if I decide to, but leave now.”

She did not lower her voice, but said in such a way that all could hear her: “You dare to talk to me like that?”

“You dare to talk to me like that,” he repeated. “Go and do not return until I send for you.”

She had turned white with rage. I had known for some time that if Frances Stuart responded to his advances, Lady Castlemaine’s days would be over.

She said: “I shall go. I do not remain where I am not wanted. But you have not heard the end of this. I shall publish your letters.”

I was amazed at her impertinence. She forgot she was talking to the King. Of course, theirs had been a long and intimate relationship and he had always given way to her when she flew into a temper.

She had forgotten that her hold on him depended on the surrender of Frances Stuart; she must have been furious that no woman had impressed him so much as that foolish girl — not even herself, with all the fury of a virago and the magnificence of a mythical goddess.

She suddenly seemed to realize that he meant what he said. She turned from him and flounced out of the room.

Charles was perfectly calm. He behaved as though nothing unusual had happened.

I was exultant. Surely this must mean the end of Lady Castlemaine.

For a few days my hopes were high. Then she came to the Cockpit to collect her belongings. There were many gifts from the King among them and she asked if he would advise her as to the disposal of them.

It was an excuse to see him. He must have known this as well as any. But he went to the Cockpit to see her.

What happened when he was there, one can only guess. I suppose she exercised that overwhelming sensuality, of which she had an abundance to match his own. This must have resulted in an encounter which made them realize that, although the King’s affection had been strained to breaking point, the attraction was as potent as ever; and while he failed to receive the satisfaction he craved from Frances Stuart, there was still a place for Barbara Castlemaine in his life.

So she did not leave court after all and she and the King were friends again, though even she must have realized that her hold on him had become somewhat tenuous.


* * *

THAT WAS A GLOOMY SUMMER. True, there was no return of the plague, but there was deep anxiety throughout the court. We were at war and the whole of Europe was turning against us. My fears about what might be happening in Portugal were overshadowed by the reality of what was taking place in England. France and Denmark were against us. Charles was particularly depressed by the deterioration of his friendly relationship with Louis XIV. He complained continually of having to beg for money. The effects of the plague had been more devastating than had at first been realized.

It was six years since the Restoration and people might be asking if life had not been better under Cromwell.

There were rumors that certain Roundheads were on the continent conspiring how to oust the monarchy and bring back the protectorate. They were indeed anxious days, and although Charles was outwardly serene, he was a very worried man.

In July I went to Tunbridge Wells, for I had not yet recovered fully from my miscarriage.

Since my earlier visit the place had become fashionable. There was a simplicity about it which I found appealing, and to be there with a few trusted friends was agreeable. We would all gather together round the wells during the morning while we drank the beneficial waters. If the evenings were warm we would sit in the bowling green, and there would be dancing on the smooth turf, which all declared was better than any ballroom. I found great serenity there.

In the afternoons a few ladies would assemble in my rooms, which were not large for there was no grand palace in the town and our lodgings were comparatively humble. We would drink tea, for I had brought this custom with me from Portugal. For a short time people had thought the beverage very strange, but they were soon aware of the pleasure of taking that soothing drink, and my ladies quickly became as ardent tea drinkers as I myself. Indeed the custom was spreading all over the country.

We were passing out of the summer, and after a stay of a few weeks we reluctantly left Tunbridge Wells for London.

I SHALL NEVER FORGET — nor will the rest of England — that night in September.

It began in the early morning of the second day of the month. The wind had been fierce all through the previous night and this played a large part in what happened.

The King’s baker — a Mr. Farryner, I believe — lived in Pudding Lane where his kitchen would naturally be stored with wood faggots which would be needed for the baking of his bread. No one was sure how it started, but in a few seconds the house was on fire. It might have been possible to extinguish this, but the house was made of wood and the wind blowing so gustily that in a matter of minutes the fire was out of control to such an extent that, before any action could be taken, the whole of Pudding Lane was ablaze.

We were all awakened, and as we rose from our beds, we saw a strange light in the sky. The wind was sending hot ashes swirling through the air so that they descended on more buildings, causing more fires. People were panic-stricken. There was one aim: to get away from the fire. The river was crowded with crafts of all descriptions and crowds were piling their belongings into these.

Charles was out in the streets. The Duke of York, who was at Whitehall on some navy business, was with him. Everything was forgotten in the need to stamp out the fire.

“The whole of London will be burned down if nothing is done,” cried Lady Suffolk. “If only that dreadful wind would drop.”