“You’ll feel better in time. One always does. It seems difficult at first. We most of us have to leave our homes and families…just as you are doing. I had to.”
“But you were coming to England…I am going away from it.”
“But England was not my home.”
“You came to my uncle the King. I have to go with…Caliban.”
“You must not call him that. You will find him a loving husband when you get to know him.”
“I have to leave it all…my dear, dear father…Anne. What of Anne? She will get better, will she not?”
“Of course she will get better. She is already improving.”
“But I shall not see her…and we have always been together.”
“Dear Mary, you have to accept your fate.”
“How I wish I could see Anne…say good-bye to her.”
“Your father has given instructions that this must not be. It is for your sake.”
“But to go right away…without saying good-bye.”
“You will come back on a visit.”
“It is not the same.” She threw herself into my arms. “Oh…I want to stay. I want it to be like it used to be.”
What was the use of trying to comfort her? She would not be comforted.
We heard that Frances Villiers, who was to have accompanied Mary, had caught the smallpox. That was a further blow for Mary. She looked so young and lonely, and fervently she prayed that the wind would not change.
But it did and the time for departure had come.
Mary was weeping profusely. She threw herself into her father’s arms. She took a tender farewell of the King. She and I embraced, and she gave me two letters which she asked me to give to her sister Anne as soon as I was able to see her.
“Tell her I love her and pray every night for her recovery.”
“I will,” I assured her.
“Tell her that I wish more than anything on earth that I could be with her.”
“I will tell her that.”
Frances Villiers was to die a few days later, and I was glad that Mary did not know this. Three of Frances’s daughters were in the suite going with Mary to Holland. They were Mary Villiers, who was now Lady Inchiquin, Anne Villiers, and that other sister Elizabeth who had been Mary’s companion at Richmond.
At least Mary would have some familiar faces around her. Fortunately she did not know then what trouble Elizabeth Villiers would cause her.
My heart was smitten with pity when I looked at the poor child’s blotched face, and I was sure it could not have given much pleasure to her surly husband.
The Duke of York was greatly distressed. I thought at one stage he was going to refuse to allow her to go.
But that, of course, was out of the question. She was now William’s wife.
The last farewells were said. The time had come for Mary to embark on her new life as Princess of Orange.
TITUS OATES
I WAS OFTEN AT SOMERSET HOUSE NOW. I DID NOT CARE TO be at Whitehall where it seemed that Louise de Keroualle was Queen rather than I. She was so much cleverer than Barbara Castlemaine had been. She had the dignity of a queen and I was more sure than ever that she was a spy for Louis. Charles must have known that and still he kept her at his side, which was evidence of the strength of her attraction.
Of course, she was not the only one. It amazed me that Nell Gwynne had kept her place so long. I realized, of course, that these two women had special qualities, and in a way I was glad of the King’s fidelity to Nell, and heartily wished he would dispense with Louise altogether.
She had become quite a personage at court, playing a part in state affairs. Ministers knew they must tread warily with her. She worked secretly; she never interfered in the King’s amatory adventures, and did not make scenes as Barbara had done. Decorously she held her place. There was some powerful and sinister quality about Louise which I was always aware of — and because of her presence at Whitehall, I found the seclusion of Somerset House very desirable.
Soon after Mary had left, Anne recovered. Her father had visited her every day. He knew how sad she would be at the loss of her sister. While she was very ill he would not allow her to be told that Mary had left; and when he considered she was well enough he told her himself.
I think she took the news in her usual placid manner.
I saw Charles now and then. He was always affectionate, and I had learned never to reproach him for his neglect. When he came, I received him with a mild show of pleasure and never referred to his absence. He appreciated that.
It was some months after the Orange marriage — a lovely August day, I remember — when those events which were to place me in the utmost danger were set in motion.
Charles loved to walk in St. James’s Park…sauntering, as it was called. He would go there to exercise his spaniels and it was one of the sights of the town to see him strolling along with the dogs at his heels, chatting with one or two of his friends.
On this day he called in to see me at Somerset House, and I noticed at once that he was looking a little perplexed.
“A strange thing happened in the park this morning,” he said.
He was staring ahead, and I waited expectantly until he went on: “A fellow came up and told me that there was a plot afoot to kill me.”
I caught my breath in alarm.
“I am still here, as you see,” he said. “And I think likely to remain for a while. But this was the wildest thing I ever heard.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, there was I, sauntering beside the lake, watching the water fowl. Rochester was with me and one or two others…suddenly this fellow was beside me. ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I crave the honor of speaking to Your Majesty.’ I replied that it appeared to me that that was exactly what he was doing. He said ‘Alone.’”
“You did not allow it,” I cried.
He looked at me, smiling indulgently. “We were in the park. It’s true he was an ill-kempt-looking rogue. I told Rochester and the others to stand back and leave us.”
“Was that wise?”
“You are too fearful, Catherine. There was something about the man. I thought I had seen him before.”
“And had you?”
“Yes. He had worked in one of my laboratories. When he told me his name was Kirby, I remembered him vaguely.”
“And what did he have to tell you?”
“It was a wild story of a plot to abolish the Church of England, murder all the Protestants…a sort of St. Bartholomew’s Eve…then murder me and set up a Catholic monarch in my place.”
“James?” I said.
“Who else? The government was to be replaced by the Jesuits. The plot was already in progress and at any moment I might be shot.”
I could not hide my alarm.
“They had planned it to the last detail…according to Kirby. They knew of my sauntering habits. Perhaps someone was hiding in the bushes at this moment ready to set all in motion by my instant demise.”
“Charles, this is not a joking matter!”
“Ah, as soon as a man puts a crown on his head, there will be some seeking to remove it. This is just another tale. The man Kirby has fallen on hard times. That much was obvious. He wanted a reward for saving me from murderers who existed only in his own mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“They already had the silver bullet which was to send me into oblivion. You see how aware they were of protocol. Silver out of respect for royalty. You cannot accuse them of lèse-majesté.”
“Charles…I am afraid.”
“Poor Catherine. What anxieties I have caused you, and now I add this to them. I should never have mentioned this madman’s diatribe to you.”
“I believe it has disconcerted you more than you would have me believe.”