So it was wonderful to be with this affectionate little sister; she was so frail but pretty, and she had the Stuart eyes and the promise of Stuart gaiety. It was good, Charles decided, to have a family.
He had escaped from his companion, his cousin Prince Rupert, who spoke French perfectly and was considered to be a fine soldier in spite of his defeat at Marston Moor. He had escaped from his mother and her continual prodding, her many instructions as to how he must set about wooing his cousin, Mademoiselle of France.
“I love you, little sister,” he whispered, “oh, so much more than haughty Mademoiselle.”
“Charles,” murmured the little girl, as she pulled his black hair and watched the curls spring back into place, “will you stay with me, Charles?”
“I shall have to go away soon, Minette.”
“No! Minette says no!”
He touched her cheek. “And Minette’s commands should be obeyed.”
Lady Dalkeith left them together; she was very fond of the Prince and rejoiced to see the signs of affection between the brother and sister. She thought: Perhaps I could speak to him about her religious instruction. He knows the wish of his father. But how could I go against the Queen? How could I carry tales of his mother to the Prince? The child is too young to absorb very much at this stage. I will wait. Who knows what will happen?
“Were you little once?” Henriette asked her brother when they were alone.
“Yes, I was little, and so ugly that our mother was ashamed of me; I was very solemn, so they thought that I was wise. Dear sister, when in ignorance remain silent and look wise. You will then be judged profound.”
Henriette could not understand what he meant, but she laughed with him; her laughter came of contentment.
He talked to her as he could not talk to others. He talked wistfully of his youth. He talked of England, where he had once been the most important of little boys; he told of playing in the gardens of palaces with his brother James and his sister Mary; they had played hide-and-seek on wet days through the great rooms of Hampton Court and Whitehall, and on fine days in the gardens, hiding among the trees, stalking each other through alleys of neatly trimmed yews. Best of all he loved to watch the ships on the river; so he told her how he used to lie in the grass for hours at Greenwich, watching the ships pass by.
“But, Minette, you do not know of these things, and I am a fool to talk to you, for in talking to you I am really talking to myself, and that is a foolhardy thing to do when such talk brings self-pity; for self-pity is a terrible thing, dear Minette; it is the sword which is thrust against oneself; one turns the blade in the wound; one revels in one’s own pain, and that way lies folly.” He stopped, smiling at her.
“More! More!” cried Henriette.
“Ah, my little Minette, what will become of us … what will our end be, I wonder?” But it was not in his nature to be sad for long. He did not believe that his father could be victorious, but he still could turn a nonchalant face to the future. He could live in the moment, and at this moment he was discovering what a delightful sister was his; he was discovering the pleasures of family life. “Dearest Minette, you do not tell me I must go and court the haughty Mademoiselle, do you! You laugh at my maudlin talk as though it were precious wit. Small wonder that I love you, sweet Minette.”
“Minette loves Charles,” she said, putting her arms about his neck.
Then he told her of Mr. Fawcett who had instructed him and his brother James in archery. His mind raced on; he thought of his French master and his writing master, and the tutor who had made him read from his horn-book; he remembered, too, his mother, who had smothered him with her affection, and had impressed on him the importance of his position. “Never forget, Charles, that one day you will be King of England. You must be as great and good a King as your father.” He smiled wryly. Would the people of England now say that his father was a great and good King when they were doing their utmost—at least thousands of them were—to rid themselves of him? Would they ever welcome young Charles Stuart as their King?
“Poor Mam,” he said softly, “I have a feeling that she will never be satisfied. She is one of the unlucky ones of this world. It is a comfort to talk to you, sweet sister, because you are too young to understand all I say.” He put his lips against her hair. “You are lovely, and I love you. Do you know, I would rather be with you than with all the fine ladies of the Court—or with the King and Queen, and Mam … all of them.”
Then to amuse her he told her of the piece of wood which he always took to bed with him when he was a boy of her age. “In vain did they try to take it from me, for I would not let them. I loved my wooden billet, and I confess I kept it until it had to be taken from me by very force—and I knew then that I had long outgrown it. One day, Minette, I will tell you more. I will tell you of the fun we had—my brother and sister and I—and I’ll tell you how we thought we should go on forever and ever, laughing, playing our games; and then, suddenly, we grew up, all of us on the same day. It was worse for them, as they were younger than I; Mary only a year younger, James four years younger, and little Elizabeth five years younger. I was the big brother. Henry was the baby then, and there was no little Minette in our family, for she had not yet put in an appearance.”
“No Minette!”
“You cannot imagine a world without her, can you? Come, Minette, let us play a game together. I weary you with my talk.”
“No. Stay like this!” she said.
And thus it was that Mademoiselle, accompanied by his cousin Prince Rupert, found them.
“Your mother would not be pleased that you should spend your time playing with a baby in the nursery,” said Mademoiselle coquettishly. She told herself that she had little time to spare for this boy whose fortunes were in the balance, but she was never averse to a light flirtation, and there was something about him—in spite of his youth and inexperience—which interested her more than his cousin Rupert did.
“You must forgive me, Mademoiselle,” said Charles. “My French is not good enough to answer you in that language.”
She tapped his arm with her fan. “Are you not ashamed, cousin? You cannot speak French!”
“It is remiss of me. I fear I occupied myself riding and shooting at the butts when I should have been studying French, just as you, Mademoiselle, doubtless indulged in some pastime when you should have been studying English.”
Rupert translated, and Mademoiselle pouted.
“What would you say if I said you might wear my colors, Charles?”
“I should say you are very gracious,” he answered through Rupert.
“I might allow you to hand me into my coach.”
“Mademoiselle is most kind.”
“And perhaps to hold the flambeau while I am at my toilette.”
“Pray tell Mademoiselle that I am overwhelmed by her generosity.”
Mademoiselle turned to Rupert. “Do not translate this I only do these things because I am sorry for the poor boy. I would never marry him, as his mother hopes I will. I have set my aim higher … much higher.”
“I am sure,” said Charles, “that Mademoiselle is talking sound sense.”
Rupert smiled. He knew that the Prince of Wales understood every word, and that it was only his shyness which prevented his speaking French with Mademoiselle.
“Tell him,” said Mademoiselle, “that he may come to my apartment and sit at my feet while I am with my women.”
When Rupert translated this, Charles replied: “Mademoiselle is overwhelmingly generous, but I have a previous engagement with a lady.”
“A lady!” cried Mademoiselle.
“My little sister, Mademoiselle. My friend Minette.”