“You were always a gambler.”
“But like all good gamblers I don’t take a risk until I see the chances of a win to be in my favor.”
“And so …”
“This is a secret, James. Our sister will shortly be coming to England. My sweet Minette, how I long to see her! It is so long since I have done so. She will be Louis’s ambassadress. Even my closest ministers will not know what the treaty contains.”
“And you will sign this treaty?”
“I shall think on it, James.”
“You need to turn to the truth, Charles … you need this fervently.”
“I need money even more,” answered Charles lightly.
Charles and James were more friendly than they had been for a long time. The plans which the King was considering and which were known to his brother brought them close together; but the fact of their sympathies in religion was an even closer bond.
James was reconciled to his brother’s flippancy, Charles to James’s sentimentality. They were bound together in a common endeavor: to bring Catholicism back to England and—though James did not feel as strongly about this as Charles—never to go wandering again.
They were together on a hunting expedition in the New Forest when a messenger from France presented himself to Charles.
It was clear from his attitude that he brought bad news; and when they heard it it stunned them.
Their mother, Henrietta-Maria, was dead.
They thought of her—the dynamic little woman, whom many people said had in a large measure helped Charles I to his end. James remembered her raging against his marriage, refusing to receive Anne, doing everything she could to make their lives wretched. Yet, she had been his mother and she had suffered deeply.
Charles thought of her as she had been in the days of his childhood. “Mam,” who had imperiously guided her children, and sought to rule their lives. He had never been her favorite, and on his restoration she had wanted to rule England through him. They had had their differences; but she was his mother. Then he thought of Henriette—his Minette—who had been the Queen’s favorite child. Poor Minette, what must she be suffering now! And his grief was more for his sister than for his mother.
The brothers returned to Hampton and the Court went into mourning.
There was mourning at Richmond too, where the Duchess remained with her little son and daughters.
Charles came to see them there; he told Mary how her grandmother had had to leave England and how her Aunt Henriette, who he hoped would shortly come to visit him in England, had escaped to France with her governess, Lady Dalkeith, dressed in tattered clothes, and how she had been called Peter by her governess during this perilous journey because she was too young to understand and referred to herself as Princess, which on her baby tongue might be mistaken for Peter.
Mary never tired of hearing stories of her family’s adventures; and indeed she believed that no other family could ever have experienced such stirring events.
Whenever Uncle Charles came, the occasion seemed a gay one, even when it was a time of mourning.
The Duchess was pleased to see the King’s interest in her eldest daughter. James loved the children too; they would have two powerful people to look after their interests, she thought.
And when she retired that night she said to herself: “Death is in the air.”
She was right. The following May Charles met his sister Henriette at Dover. There he secretly signed the treaty with Louis XIV, pledging himself to join France in an invasion of Holland and to confess his conversion to Rome. There was one clause which had decided Charles to sign. He could declare his conversion at a time of his choosing. That was what he clung to, for who was to say when was a good time to make such a declaration. It might well be that there would never be a good time.
But Louis would pay his pension all the same.
He was distressed that he could not spend longer with his beloved sister; but her husband the jealous Philippe, would not allow her to tarry even on the business of his brother, Louis XIV.
So Charles must content himself with this brief glimpse of his beloved sister; and even while he mourned to lose her, his eyes alighted on one of her beautiful maids of honor. Her name he learned was Louise de Kéroualle and she was a Breton; he begged his sister to leave her in England, but this Henriette told him she could not do because she was responsible to the girl’s parents.
However, Louise and Charles exchanged looks and he knew that when he sent for her she would come to him.
So Henriette left in triumph, having received the signature for which she had come, to return to the King of France whom she loved and to her husband whom she hated; and she was a little sad to be leaving the brother whom she loved, for she knew that for the sake of the King of France she had persuaded him to do a reckless thing.
Charles was gallantly gay, knowing that he would not suffer because he was determined not to. He would receive Louis’s money and keep his side of the bargain—in the words of the treaty—“when he considered the time had come to do so.”
It was not such a bad arrangement, to let the King of France finance him for the sake of a vague promise. The only risk was that what he had promised should become known to his subjects. But he doubted not that he would know how to deal with an emergency should it arise.
Henriette returned to France and almost immediately news came that she was dead. Poisoned, said the rumors, through drinking iced chicory water.
When Charles heard the news he went to his apartments and stayed there. Never had the Court seen the King so stricken, and there was an air of melancholy everywhere.
The Duchess of York murmured: “Another death in the family. Oh, yes, indeed, death is in the air.”
The Duke and the Duchess were reading letters which had been brought to them at Richmond, where they now spent the greater part of their time. The Duchess found it difficult to conceal her illness and kept to her apartments for days at a time. When the pain threatened she took sedatives containing opium and thus kept it at bay. But she knew that she was coming near to her end. For this reason her main preoccupation was with the future life. She was reading a letter from her father—a sad man in exile—for she had thought it necessary to tell him that she had become a Catholic.
He was disturbed. She knew that he believed the source of his troubles had been her union with the Duke of York, but she was convinced that this was not so. His overbearing manner, his criticism of the King’s way of life had become unsupportable to Charles; moreover it was natural that the King should want younger ministers, men such as Buckingham, more like himself.
She was a foolish woman, wrote Clarendon. She should take great care. In every way was the Church of England superior to that of Rome. He knew her obstinacy, however, and he could understand from the mood of her confession that she was convinced and would stand firm. Therefore he was giving her a word of advice. If she wanted to keep her children at her side, then she must keep also her secret. Once she confessed that she was a Catholic, the King would be forced by the will of the people to take them from her.
These words made her ponder, for she knew there was much truth in them.
In his apartments James was also receiving disturbing news. This had been carried to him by a Jesuit, Symond, who had brought it from Pope Clement IX.
James had wanted to know whether the Pope would give him a dispensation if he, a Catholic, kept his religion secret and worshipped openly in the Church of England.