All my defenses had gone. I could only stand there with the tears on my cheeks. I had to tell the truth. I had to jettison my pride.
“I never want to leave you, Charles,” I said. “I love you.”
“You must regret…”
“Never. Never. I would rather be here with you…whatever you did…than anywhere else on earth.”
He kissed me with tenderness. “Do you think I would ever agree to part from you?” he said. “I know it is difficult to understand. I know my weaknesses, but whatever I am, Catherine, I love you…with all my heart and while you want to stay with me you shall.”
I was happy. He did love me, I knew…in his way.
I HAD REASON to be grateful to Lady Castlemaine, because I believed that, had I not spoken to Charles and made him aware of the deep affection I had for him — and perhaps reminded him of his for me — he might have been persuaded to divorce me for the sake of the country.
Lady Castlemaine had naturally been thinking of her own interests. She could not have believed that the end was in sight for her.
She was growing old; her reputation had become scandalous, even for this era; and she had ceased to be amusing.
One of the prime movers in the plot to persuade Charles to divorce me was my old enemy Buckingham.
He was a strange man; there were so many contrasts in his nature. He was clever, erudite, witty and brilliant. At the same time he could be foolishly impulsive, reckless beyond belief and could conceive hare-brained schemes which most people would have seen from the moment of their inception were doomed to failure.
He was fierce in anger and if he thought anyone was working against him he would go to any lengths to destroy that person. He had shown this in the case of Shrewsbury, whom he had murdered…for it was murder, even though Shrewsbury had agreed to face him in the duel which had resulted in his death. Buckingham was quite outrageous — not unlike his kinswoman, Lady Castlemaine. It was said that after the duel, Lady Shrewsbury’s page-boy’s garments were splashed with her husband’s blood and the pair made love while she was wearing them.
Of course, there were many stories about Buckingham, but I believed some of them were true.
Ashley and Lauderdale were his special allies in the Cabal. In fact, people said that the Cabal was split and there were two factions. These three had schemed for the divorce. The main reason was not their antipathy to me, for to them I was of little importance, just a pawn in the game. The real enemy was James, Duke of York, and they were determined at all costs to prevent his coming to the throne. The best way of doing this was of course for Charles to have an heir. That was why they planned my exit from the scene, for it seemed unlikely that I should have a healthy child.
After that scene with me, the King had firmly said that he had no intention of divorcing me; and Buckingham was furious.
It was impossible to keep secrets from him, for he had his spies everywhere. He had discovered that Lady Castlemaine had visited me, and that after her visit I had spoken to the King.
Buckingham immediately understood Lady Castlemaine’s reasons for not wanting a change. Or it may have been that he had taxed her with interfering. I am sure she would have quickly lost her temper and told him of her interview with me. She would see no reason to keep up a pretence with Buckingham, and would doubtless have told him to keep out of her affairs. So…Buckingham was intent on revenge.
He knew that Barbara entertained handsome young men in her lodgings and, as Barbara had once in the case of Frances Stuart, he had the idea of taking the King to visit her, catching her in a compromising situation.
He therefore suggested that it would be amusing to call on Barbara unexpectedly, and Charles allowed himself to go along.
I heard the story of what happened. It was passed on by the servants and there were several versions, but they all agreed on the salient points.
When the King and Buckingham arrived, Mrs. Sarah was in a state of great dismay. She knew, of course, that Barbara was entertaining that evening and it was no time to let visitors in, particularly the King. According to the stories, Mrs. Sarah blustered and insisted that Lady Castlemaine was ill and could see nobody. I could imagine Buckingham’s response to that. He pushed Mrs. Sarah aside and bounded into Barbara’s bedroom.
At the door of the room Buckingham stood, the King beside him. On the bed, in the most compromising position, was Barbara with a young ensign.
The young man was known to the King because his sister Arabella Churchill was the mistress of the Duke of York. He was John Churchill, who had been a page of the Duke of York while his sister had been lady-in-waiting to Anne Hyde. The Churchills had been loyal during the Civil War, hence the favor shown to them.
Arabella had caused quite a stir, for she was the most unlikely girl to have been noticed by the Duke. But then everyone knew the Duke’s strange tastes. I had never seen her, but I had heard she was tall and thin, all skin and bone, someone had remarked, and not in the least beautiful. But she had apparently pleased the Duke, for she had had a child by him and was still in favor. Charles was always amused by James’s poor taste in women. However, this was the girl’s young brother, and he was destined for promotion and he would get it, people said, as long as his sister continued to please the Duke.
I could imagine the young man’s terror when he saw the King, his hope of advancement doubtless evaporating.
He did not know what to do. Half naked as he was, he leaped from the bed and jumped out of the window.
Charles and Buckingham burst into laughter. Charles shouted: “Don’t worry, Churchill, I know you only do it for the money!”
From the bed Barbara let out a stream of abuse. She was furious with Buckingham, for she suspected immediately that he had arranged this for her discomfiture, because she had meddled in the matter of the King’s divorce.
Buckingham had had his revenge; and that event seemed to have its effect on the King, for after it Barbara lost the King’s favor. She had had years of power, but that had been coming to a close for some time and this really seemed to be the end.
I HAD RARELY SEEN Charles in such good spirits, and the reason was that his sister was coming to England.
He had talked now and then of Henriette — Minette was his name for her. She was the youngest of the family and when she was born the Civil War had already started.
“Poor Minette,” said Charles. “She never knew peace in England. When she was about two years old, the situation had become dangerous and she had escaped to France with her governess, Lady Dalkeith, she who became the Countess of Morton later. She was a wonderful woman of great courage. Had they stayed in England, they would have become Cromwell’s prisoners.”
“I suppose she would not remember much as she was so young.”
“Oh yes, she does. Or it may be that she has heard the story so vividly told that she thinks she remembers, but Minette always says that what she recalls so clearly is the tattered gown she was forced to wear.” He smiled. “Minette is beautiful and always aware of her appearance, so that was natural. It must have seemed strange to a child accustomed to living in a palace to find herself tramping along the road to Dover. Lady Dalkeith was pretending to be the wife of a valet and one of the grooms was posing as her husband. Minette was supposed to be their child. Minette, of course, knew that she was a princess and expected to be addressed as such. Poor Lady Dalkeith must have been sorely tried to pass off this haughty little creature as the daughter of a valet. They decided that she must be called Peter, which was as near ‘Princess’ as she could get.”