Now here was Charles more devoted to Lady Carey than to her; and Henry—beloved Henry, a son of whom any parent might be proud—while affectionate, depended on her not at all.
She never saw Henry without remembering her joy at the time of his birth, when she had believed herself the most contented woman alive; but what anger and frustration had followed when she had learned that she was not to be allowed to bring up her son. That he should be taken from her and given into the care of the old Earl and Countess of Marr had been more than she could endure. James, always the most affectionate and tolerant of husbands, had commiserated with her, but had insisted that the custom of Scotland was that its kings should be brought up in Stirling Castle under the care of an Earl of Marr, and there was nothing he could do about that.
She had stormed and raged, and perhaps her relationship with James had changed from that moment. She had pointed out that a King should be the one to decide how his son should be brought up and, when his Queen passionately desired to nurture her own son, he should have thrust aside custom.
How she had hated the Marrs! She had never lost an opportunity of showing that hatred; and as there had been many turbulent lairds who were only too pleased to make mischief, James, who could be very clear-sighted, reprimanded her gently.
“I lived through a troublous childhood,” he told her, “and ambitious men used me in their schemes against my mother. I beg you, wife, do not seek to bring discord into this kingdom.”
Anne had been young and heedless, and not prepared to have her wishes set aside. There might easily have been trouble had James been of a different nature; but while he sought to please the Queen by arranging for her to see as much as was possible of her son, he never allowed her to poison his mind against the Marrs.
She had never forgiven James; she had continued to fret for her son; but soon she was pregnant again and Elizabeth was born, only to be taken from her to be given into the care of Lord Livingstone and his wife.
There had followed other pregnancies and Anne was in a measure resigned. The children were growing up now and she contrived that they should be at Court as much as possible; they were fond of her; and she tried to forget the grudge she bore against their guardians and gave herself up to the pleasures of ball and banquet.
She had become frivolous; there were some who declared that she had had a hand in the Gowrie plot, but that was nonsense. Anne would never bestir herself to plot against a husband who had been indulgent to her; there were others who said that she had preferred the Earl of Murray to the King; that was again not true. Anne was no intriguer; she was a thoughtless, somewhat spoiled woman, who, when she became a mother wanted to devote her life to the children she adored.
Now, as she gave herself up to the pleasure of talking to them, Anna Kroas came close to her and whispered: “The King has entered the Cockpit Gate, Your Majesty. He is on his way to the nursery.”
Queen Anne’s expression scarcely changed. “Is it so, Anna,” she said mildly.
Anna wanted to tell her that she had seen from the window that he had the new young man with him, the one who had broken his arm in the tiltyard and of whom the whole Court was talking. But her mistress would discover that soon enough; Anna hoped the Queen would not show too openly her dislike of the new favorite.
The door was opened and James came into the room, not as a King should come; he was quite without dignity, thought the Queen angrily. Sometimes when his young men were in high spirits she heard his voice weak with laughter. “You laddies will be the death of old Dad.”
Old Dad! And sometimes Old Gossip! A fine way for a King to behave. It was small wonder that the English sighed for the days of the Tudors when a King or a Queen was a being, far above them, whose smiles were coveted, whose frowns were feared.
“The family is assembled here then,” cried James with a chuckle.
He was leaning heavily on the arm of Robert Carr who had flushed and was uncertain how to behave when he saw the Queen.
He bowed in an embarrassed way but Anne did not look at him.
“Henry,” said James, “it does me good to see you so bonny. And Elizabeth.”
The children, Anne noticed with pride, ignored their father’s crude behavior and showed the respect due to a great King.
“Well, well,” laughed James, “get off your knees, lad. This is no state occasion. Why, Elizabeth, you’re taller every time I see you.” He smiled at Anne. “’Tis true, eh, Majesty?”
“’Tis true, Your Majesty,” Anne answered, and her tone was warm as it must be when she talked of her children.
“And I must not forget my youngest. Well, how’s my mannie?”
Lady Carey, who was at Charles’s side, took his hand and pressed it reassuringly while James came close to his youngest son and took his chin in his hand. Charles looked into his eyes, unafraid; no one could be afraid of James unless they had offended him deeply, and even then he would be calmly judicious.
“Prince Charles is walking a little now, Your Majesty,” Lady Carey told the King.
“Good news. Good news. And he is talking?”
Lady Carey whispered to the boy: “Say, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’”
Charles opened his mouth and did his best, but the words were strangled. James nodded and patted the boy’s shoulder.
“Well done,” he said. “Well done.”
Then he laid his hand on Henry’s shoulder and pushed him toward the table on which young Charles was sitting. “Talk to your brother, lad,” he said. “And you with him, Elizabeth.”
Then he took the Queen by the arm and walked, away from the group round the table, toward the window, calling over his shoulder to Lady Carey to follow him.
When they had reached the window he said quietly to Lady Carey: “The lad does not improve.”
Lady Carey’s face puckered. “But, Your Majesty, he does, indeed he does. He is much better.”
“He is no longer a baby.”
“But he can speak a little. Forgive me, Your Majesty, but he is overawed by your presence.”
“He’s the only one in this Court who is then,” said James with a laugh.
Lady Carey was afraid, for the Queen was regarding her with the dislike she had for all those who took her children away from her.
“It cannot go on,” mused James.
“Your Majesty, he is improving. I do assure you of that.”
“I’ve been consulting my physicians about him, Lady Carey, and they believe he should be put in iron boots to strengthen his bones, and the string under his tongue be cut.”
“Oh no, Your Majesty. I implore you. Why, do you not see how he has improved since he has been in my care? The boots would be too heavy for him and he would never walk. He has a horror of them. Your Majesty, I beg of you, do not do this.”
Lady Carey’s eyes were full of tears; her lips twitching, her hands trembling. She looked imploringly at the Queen.
“Why should she have the care of my baby?” Anne asked herself. “She behaves as though she were his mother.”
Lady Carey was so overwrought that she laid a hand on the King’s arm. “Your Majesty, he is speaking more clearly than he was a month ago. He needs confidence … and loving care. To cut the string might mean that he would never speak again or at best have an impediment for the rest of his life.” Her eyes were shining with faith. “I know I can make him well. I am certain of it.” She looked from the King to the Queen and seemed suddenly aware of her temerity. “Your gracious pardons,” she murmured, lowering her head; and the King and the Queen saw that she was fighting to control her tears.
James looked at his wife, but she would not meet his gaze. She was thinking: This woman loves my Charles as though she were his mother in truth. And I hate her because she has taken him from me. But it is good for Charles to have one who loves him so.