He made the messenger repeat what had happened. He was completely distraught. He paced up and down the apartment, his eyes wild; now and then he stopped to clench his fists and wring his hands.

“This is my sister, Catherine,” he said. “The one I loved best. We were always good friends. She should have stayed here with me. Then this would never have happened.”

He seemed to find comfort in going over it and told me what he had heard.

“It was soon after she returned. Someone has done this. It is Philippe…that creature. She should never have married him. He is unworthy. My sister…given to that…dandy! He put the Chevalier de Lorraine before her. They have killed her. And Louis…what has he done? Why does he not find the murderers? Because he knows his own brother is involved! He pretends to accept this stupid doctor’s verdict.”

I pieced the story together. Henriette had returned to France. She had been at Versailles…with Louis. Of course, Louis would want her to tell in every detail what had happened in England. She had come here in his service, but against Philippe’s wishes. Philippe could not bear to think that the King placed more confidence in his brother’s wife than in his brother.

At Versailles, Philippe had come upon his wife and the King in deep conversation. He had stamped his foot and flounced away in a state of pique.

Shortly afterward — it was the afternoon of the twenty-ninth of June, and Henriette had left England only on the twelfth of that month — she had asked for a cup of chicory water. She drank this and was immediately sick.

She said: “I have been poisoned.”

There was great concern, the doctors were summoned and ten hours later she was dead.

There was a postmortem. The doctor who conducted it was young and unpracticed. Charles swore that he had been procured by Philippe. His verdict was that death was due to natural causes.

There were the inevitable whisperings and rumors throughout the court of France, for there had been every indication that Henriette had been poisoned. What was in the chicory water? people asked. A servant had brought it but that servant could not be the one who had put the poison in the cup. There was no reason for a servant to do so. But there were others.

Charles was certain that the Chevalier de Lorraine had killed Henriette with Philippe’s connivance. The Chevalier de Lorraine was jealous of her; Philippe greatly resented her friendship with the King and the fact that she could be trusted with special missions. Philippe could have been in the plot to kill Henriette, and almost certainly was. Philippe’s squire D’Effiat and the Count de Bevron, the captain of Philippe’s guard, could easily have poisoned the chicory water. They had been on the spot at the time. Charles wanted them brought to trial with Philippe.

But Louis would not interfere. He thought he could compensate by giving Henriette a grand funeral at St. Denis.

Charles was consumed by grief and anger. He shut himself in his apartments and refused to see anyone. When he did emerge he was pale and subdued.

“I shall never feel the same toward Louis,” he said. “He has allowed my sister’s murderers to go free because they are in high places.”

Louis would know what effect his sister’s death would have on Charles. He tried to make amends in a special way. I could wish he had chosen some other method.

Charles told me he was giving a place in my household to a lady who, he was sure, would be useful to me. Louis had heard that Mademoiselle Louise de Keroualle was much liked at our court and he was sending her over to join us.

I must have shown my dismay.

Charles put his hand on my shoulder. “She is very young, and I am sure will be most eager to please,” he said.

I guessed whom she would be eager to please. I was no longer the innocent girl I had been.

This was how it would always be.

Barbara Castlemaine was no longer in the ascendant; Frances Stuart, poor girl, had lost her appeal; Nell Gwynne was not cultivated enough to hold him; so now there would be a new one: a lady from the court of France — Louise de Keroualle.


* * *

CHARLES SENT one of the royal yachts to meet Louise de Keroualle when she came to England. He was considerably cheered by the prospect of a new mistress.

Louise undoubtedly had a social appeal. There was a childishness about her. She reminded me in some ways of Frances Stuart. But Frances’s innocence was not assumed, as I was sure was that of Mademoiselle de Keroualle. I sensed those demure looks covered a certain shrewdness and self-interest. I guessed that Louis had sent her over for a purpose other than to present Charles with a new toy as consolation for his grief over his sister’s death. Louise would be watchful of the situation in England and, if she were as close to the King as Louis would expect her to be, she would be well qualified to pass on vital information to Louis.

Moreover, I guessed that Louise would make sure that she, besides Louis, profited from the arrangement.

She did not take up her apartments in Whitehall immediately. She had met the Arlingtons and had accepted an invitation to stay with them for a while until she “became accustomed to England, improved her knowledge of the language and was able to converse with ease.”

Arlington was suspected of being a Catholic, or at least of having sympathy with the faith. Louis had at one time tried to bribe him but Arlington — as a member of the Cabal — was too wise to accept bribes from a foreign king. He was married to Isabella von Beverweert, daughter of Louis of Nassau; and Isabella had accepted a gift of ten thousand crowns from the French King. It seemed possible that Arlington had formed a friendship with Louise de Keroualle and offered her hospitality because he was aware of the work she would be expected to do for France.

I must admit that this did not occur to me at the time, but it emerged later.

Louise de Keroualle was Louis’s spy. He and Charles had become wary of each other since Henriette’s death. Louis was well aware that Charles resented his lack of energy in unmasking his sister’s killers. All the same, I knew that Louise would consider her own good before that of anyone else. What plans she had for her relationship with Charles, I could only guess. But she would have heard of the King’s obsession with Frances Stuart and might have thought there was a chance of becoming Queen of England.

CAPTAIN BLOOD

IT WAS ABOUT THIS TIME WHEN CAPTAIN BLOOD CAME INTO prominence and seemed to arouse many of the young gallants to a spirit of adventure. One of these was the Duke of Monmouth.

Jemmy, as he was invariably called, was very much aware of his position, and the more unpopular the Duke of York became, the more Jemmy flaunted himself, not only at court but throughout the capital.

He was determined that no one should forget that he was the King’s eldest son. He was disappointed that Charles would not go along with the plan to pretend he had married his mother. At the same time, Monmouth behaved as though he were indeed the Prince of Wales.

There was great antagonism between him and the Duke. Anne, the Duchess, was very worried about it. Every time I saw her I grew more concerned for her health, and the anxiety she was feeling was not helpful to her.

The Duke of York was, of course, without subtlety and completely devoid of diplomacy. I knew Charles constantly despaired of him, but Charles had a habit of shrugging aside unpleasant possibilities and while he was on the throne Monmouth and York could be kept in check. It was only after he had gone that trouble might arise. That was why he could shrug his shoulders and thrust the matter aside.

Meanwhile, the Duke of York was somewhat ostentatiously making sure that everyone knew he was a Catholic and would like to see the whole of the country of the same persuasion. Monmouth was a constant reminder to us all that he was a Protestant and that I, the Queen, seemed unlikely to produce a legitimate heir.

It was then that Captain Blood, the dashing adventurer, made the city aware of him.

He must have been quite fifty years of age. He was of humble origins — and Irish — an adventurer without doubt; he lived for excitement. He was a leader who had a talent for taking people along with him to support him in his various exploits.

One of his associates, a Captain Mason, had been arrested and sent to Doncaster. A guard of eight soldiers had been chosen by the Duke of York to guard the man, and Blood, with only three helpers, rescued Mason, killing several soldiers during the process.

Captain Blood was discussed everywhere and with a certain awe and admiration.

His latest escapade had been to attack the house of the Duke of Ormonde, for when Ormonde had been in command in Ireland, he had arrested several of Blood’s friends. They were brought in for trial and several of them had been hanged. Now, Captain Blood decided to avenge the death of his friends.

He and some of his accomplices waylaid Ormonde’s coach and, after disabling the coachman, were planning to take the Duke to Tyburn and hang him there. Fortunately for Ormonde, his coachman was able to give the alarm and guards arrived in time. Consequently Blood and his men were forced to flee for their lives.

The adventure was much talked of.

Shortly afterward Sir John Coventry was badly injured when his nose was slit in a street brawl.

Sir John had made some remarks derogatory to the King and his mistresses, Nell Gwynne and Moll Davis.

It had all begun when some members of Parliament wished to levy a tax on playhouses. The King and many of his friends were against this, being ardent supporters of the playhouses. During the debate Sir John Coventry asked whether the King’s interest was in the playhouses or the women who played in them.

This was considered to be an insult to the King and there was an uproar. The following day when Sir John’s carriage was taking him to his home in Suffolk Street, it was set upon by a band of young men and his nose was slit for his insolence.

There was a great deal of indignation over the affair, and it seeped out that the Duke of Monmouth had been a member of the gang which had attacked Sir John.

Because of this, Charles was anxious that the matter should be hushed up. He himself would talk to Jemmy.

I could imagine that interview, with Charles gently admonishing Monmouth and Monmouth vehemently declaring that he would allow no one to insult his father.

However, an act was passed that the slitting of noses and any other mutilation was a felony. The act was called Coventry’s Act.

Before long, there was another incident in the streets. Monmouth and the young Duke of Albermarle, who had recently succeeded to the title on the death of his father, were involved in a drunken brawl in which a beadle, who had tried to restrain them, was killed.

This was serious because it was a case of murder. Charles was outraged by the incident until he learned that Monmouth was one of the group concerned.

I said: “That young man is becoming notorious. It is not long since he attacked Sir John Coventry.”

“I must speak to him,” said Charles.

I could not help replying: “Do you think the people will be satisfied with that? A man has committed murder and he is merely given a talking to?”

“I shall speak to him very severely. This has to be stopped.”

“The people will expect him to be punished.”

“I can hardly punish Albermarle without punishing Jemmy.”

“Well then…”

He did not answer. But later he pardoned all the young men involved with the excuse that there was insufficient evidence against them.

After that Monmouth was a little quieter, so I supposed he had been “spoken to very severely.” But it was just another example of the King’s indulgence toward him.

And Jemmy was behaving more royally every day.


* * *

IT HAD BEEN A COLD WINTER, and during it Anne’s health had declined. I had always liked her. She lacked certain courtly graces, but I was always aware of her sincerity. She had been hurt by James’s infidelities, as I had been by those of Charles, and that had made a bond between us.

Anne had suffered her husband’s neglect with less stoicism than I had, and James was completely lacking in Charles’s charm. She had had a hard time from the beginning when she had had to face so much disapproval.