I said: “I have heard what you did…”
“Oh, you mean that villain and his familiar, Bedloe, do you?”
“The Commons…and the Lords…,” I began.
He shrugged his shoulders. Then he came to me and put his arms about me, holding me tightly, protectively.
I said: “Thank you…thank you…for what you have done for me.”
“What have I done?” He laughed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Very little that is good, I fear. Now I want you to come back to Whitehall with me. I like not this long sojourn at Somerset House.”
I forgot that I was in danger. I forgot all that I had suffered through his preoccupation with other women. He was taking me back to Whitehall…to be close to him. I knew why he wanted this. It was to show them all that I was his Queen and he was there to protect me against all those who wished me ill. They should not succeed because he was there to care for me.
WE WERE TOGETHER NOW. I sauntered with him; we rode together; and I was happier than I had been for a long time. It was because he was afraid for me. I was fully aware of that, though he shrugged his shoulders and spoke contemptuously of the plotters.
I was overcome with joy when I overheard someone whisper mockingly: “The King has a new mistress. It is his Queen.”
It was wonderful that his aim should now be to protect me, to show the court that any who attacked me must first deal with him.
I had my fearful moments. There were cries of, “No Popery!” in the streets; and I knew that Charles would like to keep Oates and his associates in the Tower. But even he dared not do that. When he talked of what he called his wandering years, I often saw the determination in his eyes. He would never go wandering again.
I knew the mood of the people. They would not have a Catholic king. Charles himself leaned toward the Catholic faith, but he was never going to admit it…for none knew better than he that it would be the first step toward that fate which he had determined should never be his again.
He often said that James was a fool. Why could he not do his worshipping in secret? Why did he have to proclaim his faith to the world?
During that time he and I grew close together and there were occasions when he implied that if he were free to make a choice it would be for my faith. It appealed to him. It had been his mother’s faith, and he had French blood in his veins. His grandfather had begun life as a Huguenot and his well-known assertion that Paris was worth a Mass would never be forgotten.
“My grandfather was a wise man,” Charles once said. “He wanted the crown, so blithely he changed his religion to keep it. I have the same respect for my crown as he had for his.”
He told me that we were in a precarious situation. These men would stop at nothing. They were adventurers. If one looked into their history one saw clearly that they would do anything for gain. Why could not the people see this? It was the old story. They would not because they did not want to. They wanted to believe in Oates because they wanted a Protestant country.
“We must be watchful,” he said. “This man Oates will strike again.”
How right he was! A few days later I heard that one of the silversmiths in my household had been arrested.
This was Miles Prance — a meek and inoffensive man who, I was sure, was far more interested in his silver work, cleaning it and generally keeping it in good order, then becoming involved in any state plot.
Poor Miles! How could be withstand the torture Oates insisted should be applied to extricate his “confession.” What they did to him exactly I never heard, but they reduced him to a gibbering wretch ready to say anything they demanded of him.
Had he been involved in a plot to poison the King? they asked.
Poor Miles! How could he endure the pain?
“Yes, yes,” he cried.
“At the Queen’s command?”
“Yes, yes,” if that was what they wanted to leave him alone.
He must name other accomplices. He called out all the names he could think of.
More arrests. More executions.
Miles had confessed and was freed; and no sooner was he at liberty than he repented so earnestly of what he had done that he proclaimed to everyone that he had lied and lied and knew of no attempt to poison the King. He would never rest again if he did not put right what he had done. He had spoken against the Queen which was false…all false. They had tortured him so fiercely that he did not know what he was saying.
He disappeared and we heard that he was back in Newgate. It was not enough to let him disappear. He had done enough harm to Oates, so he was chained to the floor in a cell where he was tormented. He did not admit to more misdeeds; he simply went mad. He was no use to them — so they hanged him with those whom he had accused.
In the streets people went on shouting, “No Popery!” Shaftesbury was “discovering” several people who declared they had witnessed the marriage of the King to Lucy Walter. In the taverns Monmouth’s health was drunk. People were calling him the Prince of Wales. This was done so frequently that Charles publicly made a declaration stating that he had never been married to Lucy Walter. He had been married only once in his lifetime and that was to Queen Catherine. It was not what the people wanted, but it was amazing how popular Charles remained. He had the gift of making people love him. I sometimes thought that if he decided to become a Catholic they would still have wanted him to rule them.
His grace and charm won their hearts, and always had. His infidelities were laughed at and looked upon as the waywardness of a charming boy. He was everybody’s darling.
If this had not been so, events might have turned out very differently. Even so, the people were determined, and even Charles had to be watchful.
I heard that Sir George Wakeman was about to be tried, and I knew that this could be of the utmost importance to me. If the court found my physician guilty of trying to poison the King, that would be tantamount to condemning me.
The trial, I guessed, would not be fair. Many people had been executed on the evidence of Oates and Bedloe…innocent people. Why should Sir George Wakeman be different from those?
And if he were declared guilty, in the minds of the people so should I be.
I knew that Oates would do everything in his power to bring about Sir George’s downfall; and if he were successful, could even the King save me?
THOSE ABOUT ME WERE in a state of tension…but none more so than I. I felt light-headed. I wondered how much longer I could endure this persecution. It was only my innocence — and Charles’s support — which kept me from collapsing, I believed. I tried to tell myself that they could not prove anything against me because there was nothing to prove. But what of others equally innocent? When had these people cared for the truth?”
I often wondered how a man with such a record as Titus Oates behind him could so delude the people. But, as Charles always said, they believed because they wanted to. Oates was the enemy of Catholics and that was at the heart of the matter. If I had had a child, if James had not publicly acclaimed his conversion, all this would not have arisen. But these were the facts, and out of them had come Titus Oates and his criminal associates who were destroying so many, including myself.
So Sir George Wakeman was indicted for High Treason and was to appear at the Old Bailey to be tried by Lord Chief Justice Sproggs, and never was the outcome of a trial awaited with such excitement and interest as this one. So much hung upon it…and especially for me.
I felt that Titus Oates was rubbing his hands with glee. I guessed that in his imagination I was already imprisoned in the Tower awaiting execution, for once my physician Sir George Wakeman was found guilty, the implication must be that I was too. Members of my household had already been found guilty because of the insistence of Oates…poor innocent people…but this was my physician, a friend, one who would be in my confidence.