Yet, in spite of everything, James had time to spare for me.
“Dear sister,” he said. “I know you loved him well. I loved him too. He was the best brother a man ever had. I cannot hope to be like him.”
We wept together and James went on: “You must stay here in your apartments at Whitehall until you feel well enough to move.”
I remembered then that I was no longer Queen of England. The Duchess of York bore the title now, and I was occupying those apartments set aside for the Queen. I had become the Queen Dowager.
“I had forgotten,” I said apologetically. “I must leave them.”
“No…no, not until you are prepared to do so. The Queen joins me in saying that she hopes you will act on your inclination and not feel there is any need for haste.”
“That is gracious,” I said. “How is the Queen?”
“She is well enough,” he said. “As well as any of us can be at this sad time. She hopes that when you have recovered a little you and she will meet.”
I thanked him and forgot a little of my own sorrow in my deep pity for him. He was so overwhelmed with cares; and I wondered how he would fare…a proclaimed Catholic king of a Protestant country.
I tried to arouse myself. Life must go on. I must make up my mind what I should do without Charles. What place had I here? I had lost my poor Donna Maria, but for a long time she had been ailing and she had never made any attempt to adjust herself to the English way of life. She had been very critical of Charles’s infidelities. Poor Maria. But at least she had been a link with my native land.
I wondered if I ought to return there. What should I do? There had been so many changes. My mother dead, Alfonso too. There was only Pedro and his wife…who had been Alfonso’s wife. Would there be a place for me?
I discussed the matter with Lord Feversham, who controlled my household affairs. He was a handsome man, dignified and sympathetic.
“It is perhaps a little early to make plans, Your Majesty,” he said. “You are not well enough to think of traveling, and His Majesty, King James has given you permission to use these apartments until you wish to move. May I suggest that you go to Somerset House? It has always been a favorite residence of Your Majesty.”
“You may be right, Lord Feversham,” I said.
“Then, of course, if Your Majesty wished to retire for a while from the court, there is the convent at Hammersmith.”
“Oh yes,” I said, thinking of the convent with which I had been connected for some time. A sojourn with the nuns would be very desirable. There could be complete peace. I could pray and ask for guidance. I could perhaps reshape my life.
“Thank you, Lord Feversham,” I said. “You understand so well.”
“Madam,” he said earnestly, “I would give my life to serve you.”
He looked at me with great affection, and in that moment he reminded me of Edward Montague who had shown a similar care for me…and perhaps because of it had lost his life, for if people had not noticed it and commented on it, he would have remained my Master of Horse and never been present at the battle during which he had been killed.
For two months I remained undecided at Whitehall, and then I moved my household to Somerset House.
I WAS RELYING more and more on Lord Feversham. He would talk to me of state affairs and was very frank, knowing that he could safely be so with me.
“There is a certain uneasiness,” he said. “The Whigs remain quiet…which could be ominous. In my opinion, they will be watching very carefully for any sign of Catholic influence in the country. That is something they will try hard to prevent.”
“How can they?”
“There are means.”
“They will be loyal to the King.”
“Let us pray for that, Your Majesty.”
“But he has given his support to the Church of England,” I said. “Did he not announce this in his speech to the Privy Council?”
“He did. But on Easter Sunday he attended the Catholic Church openly.”
“But he has long made clear his support of it.”
“That is so, Your Majesty. But he is now the King, and the ceremony of that visit to the church was noted. It was an official occasion.”
“You sound apprehensive, Lord Feversham.”
“I fear conflict, Your Majesty. The last is not long behind us, and we know the effects of that one.”
“The late King often spoke of it. He was determined the like should never happen again.”
“He was wise. I pray God that…”
He did not finish, but I knew he feared for James.
I wanted to know what was happening, which showed I was being taken out of the lethargy which had been with me since Charles’s death. I was no less unhappy, but at least I was interested in what was going on about me. My own future was hazy and bleak. For so long Charles had dominated my life…even before I had met him. I could not believe that those days were over forever.
I was very grateful to my Lord Chamberlain, who was doing so much to draw me out of my melancholy.
IT WAS ONLY LOGICAL THAT, now we had a Catholic monarch on the throne, the position of Titus Oates must be a little uncertain. He had been very quiet of late and had indeed lost a great deal of his popularity over the last few years.
Yet I was entirely surprised when one day Lord Feversham came to me and said: “Oates has been arrested.”
“On what charge?” I asked.
“On that of perjury, Your Majesty.”
“There must be a wealth of evidence to support that,” I said.
“Your Majesty speaks truth.”
“Who is prosecuting him?”
“Judge George Jeffreys.”
“I have heard of him, I think.”
“That does not surprise me, Your Majesty. He has dealt with several cases in which Oates has appeared, and always seemed to favor him. He is a clever judge — amusing, witty…but a hard drinker, often seeming to relish the punishments he has to inflict. I think he is open to seek advantages for himself and has little sympathy for those who can be of no use to him. He likes, it is said, to ‘give a lick with the rough of his tongue’ to those he has to sentence.”
“He sounds most unpleasant.”
“I am in agreement with Your Majesty, but it is said that he can show a certain charm to those with whom it would be an advantage to do so.”
“And he is to try Oates?”
“It would appear so.”
“I shall be most interested to hear the verdict.”
“I will report to Your Majesty if I discover anything.”
As a compliment to the new King, Judge Jeffreys found Titus Oates guilty. Not that that needed any great effort.
Oates was fined, stripped of his ecclesiastical robes and sentenced to stand in the pillory; he was whipped through the streets, starting at Aldgate and finishing at Newgate. That was not all. Two days later there was to be a further whipping from Newgate to Tyburn. For the rest of his life he was to be a prisoner.
It was harsh, but it had to be remembered that he had caused the deaths of thirty-five innocent people.
I felt almost sorry for the man when Lord Feversham told me how Jack Ketch, the notorious executioner, known for his delight in prolonging the suffering of his victims, together with his men, laid a whip of six thongs on the bare back of Titus Oates, and the people flocked into the streets to see this once proud man brought low.
He must have been almost dead when they brought him to his cell; but James had refused to stop the second flogging, although it was said that at the first Oates had been almost flayed alive.
A just reward perhaps for all the misery he had caused to countless people, besides those who had lost their lives because of him.