Monmouth was affable to me and I fancied Charles must have told him that he owed his reception to my good graces.
Charles was slipping into a routine which he enjoyed. He had ceased to concern himself with the calumnies of Titus Oates. The man had been discredited so many times, but even now his reign of terror persisted and people were afraid to offend him. But events were turning against him. When he accused a priest of complicity in his plot, the priest was tried and found guilty, but Charles intervened and the priest was reprieved. Oates was foolish. He did not seem to be aware that people were turning against him.
A certain Isaac Backhouse, a schoolmaster by profession, had, according to Oates, called after him: “There goes that perjured rogue.” Oates immediately took action against the schoolmaster, but the case was dismissed. Some months later he brought an action against a writer named Adam Elliot whom he accused of being a Jesuit priest. The case was disproved and Oates was forced to pay damages. Indeed, the tide was running against him. His pension was reduced and he was forbidden to come to court.
It was remembered that thirty-five people had been executed on account of the charges he had brought against them.
It was gratifying that Oates was being recognized for what he was.
These were happier times. Charles had for some years devoted himself to the rebuilding of London, so much of which had been destroyed during the great fire. One of his passions was a love of architecture, and he spent hours with his architect, Christopher Wren, whose work was now transforming London. Instead of the overhanging gables, which had almost met across the narrow streets, we now had wide thoroughfares, and the wooden houses, which had been so easily burned, were replaced by brick and stone. Fifty-three churches had already been built, as well as many houses. The building of the great cathedral had begun and Charles was interested in the construction of a Royal Observatory at Greenwich.
London was growing into a fine city. We heard that all over Europe people were talking of the beauty of its buildings and the speed with which the old city was being transformed.
Charles said we were fortunate to have such a fine architect as Wren; and I think we were lucky to have a king who cared so much about the grace and beauty of buildings, so that he could work in close cooperation with such a man.
Charles took his saunters in the park and was as merry as he had ever been. There was laughter about him and people walking past saluted and cheered him.
It was more than twenty years since he had returned, and they loved him as much as they had on the May day when he had come home after his long exile.
I began to feel happy, with a serenity I had not known since before that day when Barbara Castlemaine had been presented to me.
The power of Titus Oates was waning fast and Charles had stood by me through my troubles. He had learned that he had a strong enough hold on the affections of his subjects to stand out against tyranny. He was their King and they wanted his benevolent rule to continue.
It would have been wonderful to record that I had attained perfect happiness, but the Duchess of Portsmouth had returned to court, radiant after the Bourbon waters. Charles found her irresistible; and, of course, through all our troubles, there had been Nell Gwynne.
DEATH IN WHITEHALL
THE PRINCESS ANNE, DAUGHTER OF THE DUKE OF YORK AND Anne Hyde, was now eighteen years old and a possible bridegroom had been found for her.
Anne had been very sad at the departure of her sister, Mary, but that was some five years ago, and during that time her friendship with Sarah Jennings had grown even stronger. Sarah had now married John Churchill but had remained in attendance on Anne. Indeed, Anne would not hear of her going and had created such a scene when it was suggested, that it was decided that Sarah must stay.
Sarah herself was not averse to this. I was sure she enjoyed her position. I had seen right from the first that she was one of those people who enjoyed dominating others — particularly when they were in a position higher than her own.
There had been talk of a union between Anne and Prince George of Hanover, a proposition which did not greatly delight Anne. She had heard rumors that he was a boorish young man who spoke no English. Moreover, she would have to leave England and, as Sarah was married to John Churchill, how could she accompany her?
This she confided to me, for I was on good terms with her. She was delighted when George of Hanover married Sophia Dorothea of Celle, so that she need concern herself with him no longer.
“They have now found Prince George of Denmark for me,” she told me. “I think I shall like him better. Besides, he will have to stay in England and so I shall not have to go away. Sarah could scarcely go to Denmark.”
Her conversation was filled with comments about Sarah.
I was glad for Anne. She was a pleasant girl…comfortable…homely in a way. There was nothing haughty about her. I found her easier to get on with than her sister Mary had been. There had been rumors of some sort of romance between her and John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave. Charles had not approved and Mulgrave had been exiled from the court for some time. However, Anne seemed quite ready now to accept Prince George.
It appeared that he was something of a hero, having distinguished himself in battle during the troubles between his country and Sweden. His brother, King Christian, had been taken prisoner by the Swedes and George, with his cavalry, had broken through the Swedish lines and rescued him.
But what made him most acceptable in Anne’s eyes was that he had very little income — not much more than five thousand crowns — and only a few possessions in Denmark, so it would be necessary for him to stay in England, and she would be able to keep Sarah Churchill with her.
He was quite handsome and of a mild disposition, all of which recommended him to her further. He was given the Order of the Garter and the marriage was celebrated in St. James’s Chapel. Charles gave Anne away, and I was there with the Duke and Duchess of York.
I could not help remembering poor Mary, who had been bathed in tears during her wedding to William of Orange.
By contrast this was a very merry occasion; everybody seemed happy. Anne appeared completely to have recovered from her flutter with the Earl of Mulgrave; the bridegroom was obviously very happy to be so welcome in his new country; in the streets the bells rang out; the people made bonfires and there was rejoicing everywhere. A Protestant marriage was very desirable — not that there seemed any chance that Anne would ever come to the throne. But she was the daughter of the Duke of York, and it seemed certain that he would be the next king.
Oates was in decline and the King had clearly shown that he would never consent to a divorce.
AT THIS TIME, there was consternation first over Shaftesbury and then the discovery of a plot to murder the King and the Duke of York. We had heard so much of plots over the last years through the machinations of Titus Oates that at first we had thought this was just another version of the old story. But this proved not to be the case.
Shaftesbury was not the man to give up. Charles had frustrated him over the Exclusion Bill and he was determined on action. For some time he had been urging Monmouth to start a rebellion. Since the scheme for the discovery of the box containing details of a marriage between Lucy Walter and the King had failed, it must have seemed to Shaftesbury that the only chance was to take the crown by force.
He was playing a very dangerous game, and, as Monmouth was showing great reluctance to take part in such a risky adventure, Shaftesbury decided to leave the country and work from abroad.
I cannot imagine what this would have led to, but soon after he left the country Shaftesbury had suddenly died. So that was the end of that dangerous enemy.