“For the love of the Virgin, daughter, let me not hear such nonsense from you. I thank the saints that we shall soon be in England and that I may be able to stop this folly.”
“Mam, if Charles wishes to receive James’ wife at his Court …”
“He must be made to see his folly. Does he want to lose that which he has just gained?”
Henriette shook her head sadly. How could she say to her mother: Nay. It was you with your bad temper, with your insistence on having your way, who lost your crown. Charles’ kindness will make him popular with the people.
One did not say such things to Henrietta Maria. One let her rave and rant, and if one were like Charles, one avoided her as much as possible.
How regrettable this was! It seemed as though the visit to England would be spoiled. There would be trouble with James; and Henriette had been wondering what would happen when her mother and her brother Henry met again.
“Ah, it is high time I was at your brother’s Court,” continued Henrietta Maria. “I have had this news from your sister Mary. She and I see eye to eye in this. She is incensed that that Hyde girl … her maid of honor … should have dared marry your brother. She blames herself. She remembers that she brought the girl with her when she visited us. She remembers that it was in her retinue that your brother first set eyes upon her. She knew they were meeting; but she—considering the girl’s lack of rank—thought her to be but the mistress of a few weeks. But to marry the girl … to legitimize her bastard!”
“Please, Mam, do not speak of them. Let us wait and see what Charles has to say. It is his Court after all. He will finally decide what has to be done.”
Henrietta Maria’s eyes narrowed. “He was never one to listen to his mother’s advice.”
“Mam,” said Henriette, “I have been thinking of my brother Henry.”
Henrietta Maria’s face grew darker still. “You may consider you have a brother of that name. I have no son called Henry.”
“But, Mam, you cannot at such a time continue to turn your face from him.”
“I swore that I would not look at his face again while he persisted in his heresy. I have no reason to believe that he has discarded it.”
“Please, Mam … he is but a boy. He swore to our father the day before he died, that he would not change his religion. You must receive him. You must love him. You must remember that he is young and eager for the love of his family … and in particular he would wish his mother to love him.”
“Then he knows what to do.”
“He was separated from you for so long. He looked forward so eagerly to be with you and then …”
“You make me angry, Henriette. I do not want to be disappointed in all my children. Would you have me break my vow?”
“Would you have him break his vow to his father? God would forgive you, Mam, if you broke your vow in order to make him happy.”
“You horrify me, daughter. Have my nuns of Chaillot … have Père Cyprien and the Abbé Montague not taught you better than that?”
“Are we not told by God to love one another?”
“You think strange thoughts, child. Listen to me. I have sworn I will never look on Henry’s face until he changes his religion. I shall keep my word.”
Henriette turned away. Was the stay in England going to be so happy after all?
She need not have worried about the future of her brother Henry. They were on their journey to Calais when a message concerning him was brought to them.
Henry, Duke of Gloucester, had died the day before. He had been ill with the smallpox and had seemed to take the sickness lightly, so that all had hoped for a speedy recovery. He had been in the care of the King’s doctors, who did all they could for him; he had been profusely bled and assiduously attended; but in spite of their efforts—or perhaps because of them—his illness had ended in death.
Henriette went to her mother, who was staring blankly, before her.
This is terrible for her, thought Henriette, for she will be unable to forget the last time she saw Henry.
She threw herself into her mother’s arms and they mingled their bitter tears.
“Mam, you must not grieve,” cried Henriette. “What you did you did for your Faith. You believed you were right, and perhaps we cannot be blamed for doing what we believe to be right.”
Henrietta Maria did not seem to hear her. “So …” she said slowly, “I have lost my son. My daughter Elizabeth … my son Henry … They are both lost to me, and they both died heretics.”
Then she burst into bitter weeping, moaning that she was indeed La Reine Malheureuse.
It may be, thought Henriette, that her regrets will make her lenient with James.
But this was not so. Henrietta Maria could not regret that she would never now have an opportunity of breaking her vow; she saw her action as the right one, the only one a good Catholic could take. All human emotions were subdued in her quest for converts. Now she wept, not because her son had died, but because he had died a heretic.
James met them at Calais with a squadron of ships—the first outward sign of the glories which awaited them. Henriette anxiously watched her mother’s greeting with her son, but it was formal and affectionate. The Queen had no quarrel with James; providing he would repudiate Anne Hyde she was ready enough to forgive him.
James was a good seaman, but in spite of his prowess they spent two days in crossing the Straits on account of the calm; and when they arrived at Dover, Charles, with a brilliant retinue, was waiting to receive them.
Henriette looked into his face and saw the difference which the restoration of his kingdom had made to him. He was jauntier than ever; but the cynicism with which the years of exile had endowed him would be with him forever; he was very affectionate with his dearest Minette, warning her that, even as a King returned to his throne, he would not tolerate too many “Your Majesty”s from her.
To his mother he was graciously polite and showed all that affection which was demanded of him. The people, who had gathered to watch the royal meeting, were a little cool in their reception of Henrietta Maria; the population of Dover was largely composed of Puritans and Quakers, and they looked with distrust on the King’s Catholic mother; but the young Princess they thought charming, and they cheered her loudly, much to the delight of Charles.
“You see how my people wish to please me in all things,” he whispered to her. “It seems they know that their appreciation of you pleases me far more than that which they have for any other.”
He led his mother and sister into Dover Castle, where a great banquet was prepared for them. Charles placed his mother on one side of him, his sister on the other.
“This gives me great happiness,” he whispered to Henriette. “Soon Mary will join us and then we shall all be together.”
Later Henriette expressed the wish that Henry could have been with them.
“If he were here,” said Charles, “we should have Mam turning her back on him.”
“How did he die, Charles?” she asked. “Was he heartbroken? Did he long to speak to Mam before he died?”
“I was with him, Minette. I persuaded him not to grieve. You see, I am a profane man, and I said to him: ‘If you side with Mam, you break your word to our father; if you do not break your word you are banished from our mother’s favor. Side with yourself, brother. Do nothing that can offend yourself, and then, surely, in God’s eyes, you have taken the right side.’”
“You are a good man, Charles—the best in the world.”
“You joke, Minette. I am the world’s biggest rake—or one of them. I doubt whether there is a man living who could compete with me. Now were my grandfather alive …”