Although she had gone into her marriage with great reluctance, she now seemed devoted to her husband, and was urging the nation to pray for his success in Ireland, and caused a prayer to be circulated throughout the country which she ordered to be said in all churches.
I could not pray against James. I regarded him as my brother and he had always been a good friend to me.
“I will not have it said in my chapel,” I said to Lord Feversham.
“Then,” he replied, “it shall be excluded.”
All might have been well but for the gossip. There were a number of Protestants in my household since the expulsion of my Catholic servants, and it was not long before Mary heard that prayers for her husband’s success had not been said in my chapel.
Questions were asked and the priest in charge was arrested.
He confessed that he had acted on the orders of Queen Catherine’s Chamberlain.
As a result of this Lord Feversham was summoned to an audience with the Queen.
How I wished she had asked me to visit her instead of Lord Feversham. I was very anxious that he should not be blamed for what was entirely my decision.
Lord Feversham returned in a state of some concern.
“Queen Mary is very angry,” he said. “Alas, she blames you. She says a closer watch should be kept on you because she doubts your loyalty to King William and herself.”
“Why does she behave so?” I cried. “She used to be so different. She sounds as though she hates me.”
“She stands beside her husband now,” said Lord Feversham. “Everyone who is not his friend is her enemy. Your Majesty will have to act with care.”
How right he was.
I must get into touch with my brother. I knew most definitely now that there was no place for me here.
IT WAS THREE YEARS before I was able to leave.
During that time William was victorious in the famous battle of the Boyne and James retired to France. His defeat was final. William and Mary were the acknowledged King and Queen of England. The country settled down. The people had determined they would not be ruled by James and they had had their way.
Indeed, there was no place for me in England, and I knew I must leave as soon as possible.
But it was not until the March of that year 1692 — thirty years after I had first set foot in England — that I was able to leave.
PORTUGAL
IT WAS WITH MIXED EMOTIONS THAT I WENT. I WAS TORTURED with memories of my arrival all those years ago, and Charles was often in my thoughts.
It was hard to accept that I wanted to leave — but England was a new country under William and Mary. It was no longer Merry England. Morals had changed. If the King did have a mistress this was discreetly hidden. He was never seen dallying with her in the apartments or sauntering in the park. That behavior belonged to another age. There were many who said the change was good for the country, and they may have been right.
Yet how I longed for those earlier days — but I had to look ahead.
I was taking a few of my household with me, among them the Countess of Fingall. It showed the depth of their affection for me that they wanted to come. They could not be sure what would happen in my native land — and I was not able to tell them.
On landing in France, I was received with honor at Louis’s command. He invited me to break my journey with a stay at his court.
I sent a grateful message back to him, but I told him I could not stay with him, as I must not disappoint my brother who was expecting me. I knew Louis’s methods. He would want to control me in matters of state.
I must be free of that. I wanted peace. I often thought of the Villa Viçosa and how my father had longed to return to it. I understood his feelings well — more now than I ever did. I, too, just wanted to live quietly.
Moreover, I had not been in the best of health. During the journey I suffered from an attack of erysipelas — a most distressing, disfiguring disease which made me feel that I wanted to shut myself away and see no one.
My brother had sent a party to meet me and accompany me across Spain, so when I felt so ill I had help at hand. Pedro had had news of my indisposition and sent Dr. Antonio Medes, his chief physician, to me. That was a great relief, for I soon recovered under his care, and by the time I reached Lisbon I was entirely well.
I was greeted with great acclaim by the people of my homeland. I was deeply moved. It was wonderful to know that they wanted me here. The people of England had never really liked me. How different this was! Here they still remembered that it was my marriage to England which helped free Portugal from the grip of the tyrant Spain.
And there was Pedro. He had changed…naturally he would, in thirty years. He had become a man with cares and responsibilities, and this had left its mark. There was a new dignity about him, though.
We gazed at each other in silence for a few moments before we embraced.
“Catherine,” he said. “I am so happy to see you. At last you have come home.”
“And you, little brother, you have become a king.”
He lifted his shoulders…and a look of regret crossed his face. I guessed he was thinking of Alfonso — as I was.
He said: “There is much to talk of. First I must present you to the Queen.”
This was not the wife of Alfonso, whom he had married when Alfonso was sent to the Azores, leaving his kingdom and his wife to Pedro. She had died some years before, and he was now married to Maria Sophia of the Palatinate of Neuburg.
We exchanged greetings. She was very pleasant and I felt that I could be her friend.
Then Pedro insisted that I must sit in his coach with him and his Queen so that we might ride into the capital together.
What a triumph that entry was! I knew then that I had been right to come.
Later my brother and his Queen took me to the palace they had prepared for me. I was delighted with the Quinta de Alcantara, and when I saw how eager my brother and his wife were that I should have every comfort there, I believed I could be at peace.
AND SO I CAME HOME.
The years are passing, as they do quickly as one grows old.
I am surrounded by good friends. My dear Countess of Fingall left me at the turn of the century. She was longing for her home but she wept at our parting. I shared her sadness, but I understood her need to return. In her place there came my dear Donna Inez Antonia de Tavora, who has become very close to me.
My brother’s wife, Maria Sophia, has become a dear friend, and we spend much time together. Pedro is determined that I shall have every comfort and be treated with honor wherever I go. He need have no concern about this. The affection shown me by my countrymen and women is spontaneous and comes from the heart. They have known the horrors of war and they can never be grateful enough to me, for they always consider that it was due to my marriage that we emerged from the yoke of oppression.
I am happy now…in my way. Frequently I think of Charles. It is almost as though he is with me. I often say to myself: “What would he have said to that?” And I try to conjure up some witty remark. But of course, I could never match his wit.
I try not to think of him, laughing with Barbara Castlemaine, joking with Nell Gwynne, gazing longingly at Frances Stuart, in deep conversation with Louise de Keroualle. Instead I remember him by my bedside when he thought I lay dying. I remember his tenderness when my enemies sought to destroy me. I would think of the song he once wrote, and I felt that the last verse was meant for me: