… [T]he joy I shall have in going, hoping to see you in a month … I fear to become mad with it for I do nothing in the world but think of this, the only pleasure which remains to me in this world, for without you I would desire to remain in it not one hour.
—Letter from Henrietta to King Charles I in February 1643
7 March 1643
By the time they reached the hunting lodge in Londesborough, Henrietta’s strength was failing. Her head ached from the jostling of the coach, and the small brazier at her feet did not chase away the numbing cold. An ageing groom, sheltering a torch, hastened out to take charge of the horses and carriage as Lord Denbigh helped her alight.
She recognized the lodge, a shadow of the one in memory. She and Charles and the children had hunted here once in mid-winter. It had been alive with light and laughter and music.
‘We are honored to receive you, your majesty, but we are embarrassed by our poor hospitality. We have not opened the lodge this season. When we received notice a few hours ago that your secret lodging had been compromised, we thought only of your safety. I fear you find us short-staffed and ill-provisioned.’
‘Do not think your hospitality less than sufficient. A roof over our heads and succor from our enemies—is all that is required. Be assured that your courage and your loyalty will be rewarded by the King.’
As they entered the hall the smell of disuse made her nostrils flare. Dust hovered everywhere, on the stairs and in the corners, coating the great mantle and painting the rich woods of the furnishings with a gray patina. Cobwebs decorated the mounted antlers of proud bucks, which in her memory had been adorned with greenery and bright candles. Faint with weariness, she sucked in her breath, dragging the musty air of neglect into her lungs. But as she gazed into the shadows of the great hall, she almost gasped in delight.
With wide staring eyes she watched as Charles, still in his hunter’s garb, descended the stairs with a ghost-like grace. He raised his glass to the success of the hunt, gesturing at a feast laden with succulent pheasant and confectionary delights, then held out his hand to her. So real was her vision she smelled the scent of his hair as he bowed before her. She reached out her hand. He faded into the stale air. A little cry escaped her lips. Not Charles. Just some figment of her weary brain, mere image conjured by a longing so intense she could not name it.
‘Majesty, are you unwell?’
With scarcely breath enough to answer, she said, ‘Je vais bien. Un moment, s’il vous plaît.’ She shook her head, shutting out the images, as she tried to regain her composure. When she opened her eyes, Lord Denbigh was holding out a glass taken from the meager board set only with a flagon of wine and a platter covered with a linen cloth.
Beside him the steward spoke apologetically. ‘Your majesty, please forgive this poor hospitality. The house has been unused. You will find England much changed in the year you have been away.’
‘Mon Dieu. C’est un changement triste.’
‘Oui, it is a very sad change,’ Denbigh said gently.
A woman who looked vaguely familiar offered a deep curtsy from behind the small table. ‘I am Constance, your majesty. I would be pleased to attend you in the absence of your ladies.’
‘Oui, Constance. I remember. You are married to the seneschal.’
The woman’s smile showed her pleasure at being remembered.
Denbigh held out his hand. ‘Come, sit by the fire, your majesty. Let Constance give you food and drink before you retire to your chamber. It is the one you shared with the King when you were here before. Constance has cleaned it and prepared fresh linen. I think you will be comfortable.’
Henrietta remembered that chamber, a love nest in a forested glade. Charles had been in a convivial mood at the evening fête. But the child they conceived that afternoon had been stillborn. The bleakness of the place recalled that early sorrow.
She sat down by the fire, and took the food and the drink, letting the warmth from the fire ease her aching body. When she had finished the bread and cheese, the bit of candied fruit that had probably come from Constance’s own kitchen, she asked, ‘Has the King been informed of our safe escape? Will he be at Sheffield to meet us?’
‘I am afraid not, your majesty. Not immediately. He is at Oxford, preparing for a cessation of hostilities negotiation. The fighting in the Midlands has been fierce. Heavy losses on both sides. Parliament has taken Litchfield by blowing up the wall around the cathedral close. A marvelous feat of battle engineering—from the enemy unfortunately.’
Mon Dieu. Charles must not give in to the negotiations because of one defeat. She must get to him soon to convince him.
‘Don’t despair, your majesty. There is good news. Lord Brooke was killed.’
‘Lord Brooke? He was their general in the North, n’est pas?’ At Denbigh’s nod, she said, ‘That devil deserved to die. He called the Holy Father the Antichrist. This is to Parliament a great loss. It will give the King a stronger footing in the talks with Parliament, oui?’
‘Oui. They will feel his loss keenly. Brooke’s death was an inglorious one. He was spying on the fortifications surrounding the cathedral when he took an arrow to the eye delivered from none other than the village idiot.’
She shrugged. ‘A merciful death for a heretic. Many have suffered worse deaths. Where is my convoy and men at arms?’
‘Your army is under the direction of the Earl of Newcastle. He will accompany you to Oxford as soon as Rupert of the Rhine or his brother Maurice is free to provide cavalry escort. Rupert is presently fighting in Bristol and Maurice is in Gloucestershire.’
‘His mother told me that Rupert was here, but I did not know Maurice had joined him. This is good. They bring with them many skills learned in the wars on the Continent. With their help and the resources I bring, I am sure the King will put an end to this insurrection soon. Now, I wish to retire.’
‘Constance will attend you. Your maid Genevieve is already at Handsworth, your next stop. I am sorry there was not enough time to fetch her.’
She nodded, and tried to smile through her fatigue. She didn’t really care if she had to sleep in her clothes.
‘One more thing, your majesty,’ Denbigh called as she ascended the stairs. ‘The Queen’s Guard are on their way. We can leave for Sheffield tomorrow, if you wish. Will you be ready, or do you want to rest here another day?’
‘I will be ready,’ she said.
Lucy Hay eyed her guest with a mixture of desire and appreciation. He was a fine specimen of manhood. She must be getting old, she thought, for somewhat astonishingly, his lustful gaze on her cleavage as she poured the wine was satisfaction enough. Almost.
‘The proofs as you call them are satisfactory, Lord Whittier. Indeed, you seem to have included a morsel or two that I do not recall sharing. Have you another source of information about the Queen’s children?’
He laughed, lifting his glass in a salute. ‘That was direct. But just as I would not reveal your name to my other source I shall not disclose his name. It seems that is the easiest way to build trust among those providers upon whom I rely. Would you not agree, Countess? I mean a man must have integrity in matters of business.’
Reluctantly she ceded the point. There were more ways to trap a fox than one. She abruptly changed the subject. ‘Rumor says that Lord Brooke has been killed at Litchfield and the Queen is in Yorkshire.’
‘Indeed, I heard the same rumor, which at this stage, I can neither confirm or deny. Many rumors swirl in a vortex of misinformation.’
‘But if this one is true, it is quite a blow to Parliament. I once visited Litchfield with my first husband,’ Lucy said wistfully. ‘It was beautiful then with its towers reaching to Heaven.’
Lord Whittier smirked. ‘I suppose it is now reduced to a pile of rubble. Parts of it at least. The gods of war are blind to beauty.’
‘As they are also blind to goodness and mercy. Why traffic with them at all, I wonder.’
‘Why indeed?’
‘Who holds Litchfield now?’
‘That appears a muddle. But the story emerging is that the King’s nephew had to withdraw his cavalry from Litchfield to shore up the Crown’s main garrison at Reading. Without Rupert, if Parliament hasn’t already taken the fortress at Reading, it soon will.’
‘Is that the story you are going to write?’
He considered for a moment. ‘I think not. At least not until I investigate further. I like to think I have more integrity than the other broadsheet and pamphlet-pushers who will publish any rumor as fact.’
‘Speaking of that. How is your little enterprise doing?’
‘Surprisingly well. The pace of the war feeds hunger for news in isolated London. I have a ready audience. Too much work for a one-man shop. I have hired a young man, a veteran from the war who lost his arm. He helps run the shop and manage the press.’
‘With one arm?’
‘He is smart and resourceful. And able-bodied young men are hard to find.’ Then changing the subject, he asked, ‘Have you more news from the Queen? Parliament intercepted a letter from her saying she is returning in May when the storms recede. But it was not in code, so they are skeptical of it. The rumor is that she is returning sooner than that, perhaps alone and in disguise. Is she coming to London to see the children?’
‘I am sure I do not know. But that would be very foolish of her, would it not? I suspect her spies have already informed her that Henry and Elizabeth are with me. I hope that gives her some ease, given our history. Her appearance in London would only endanger herself and them. I expect wherever she is, she will eventually seek the temporary court at Oxford.’
‘You have not heard from her, then?’
‘I have not heard.’ She shook her head and sipped her wine. A smile, a lift of the eyebrow—the courtier’s expression of one who traded in secrets.
‘May I see the children?’ he asked. ‘I would like to report on their good health.’
‘You mean you wish to report that you have seen them? That seems foolish.’
‘Not at all. Parliament knows they are with you. Leader Pym reports to them about the children’s welfare, I am sure. My information is for those who are less invested but no less curious. Frankly, it may even engender some sympathy for them, should things take a more dangerous turn. Poor little lambs abandoned by their parents, etc.’
‘Very well. You may see Elizabeth. She is with her tutor. But I warn you. Bathshua Makin is a dedicated scholar and considers Elizabeth a protégé. She will not welcome the intrusion. Henry is in the nursery. He still naps in the afternoon. But I grant permission only on one condition. You do not ask Princess Elizabeth any questions about her mother. It will avail you nothing and will only upset the child.’
He nodded his agreement, as rising, she led him down the hall and into the salon turned schoolroom.
‘Excuse us, Mistress Makin,’ she said opening the wide doors.
The woman frowned. ‘This is an untimely interruption, Lady Carlisle. Princess Elizabeth was reciting her Cicero.’
‘We will be only a moment,’ Lucy answered apologetically. She was more than a little intimidated by the woman said by scholars to be the most learned lady in England. Lucy would have thought that title would surely go to Lucy Hutchinson, but she was young yet. Quickly turning to the princess, Lucy said, ‘Your royal highness, this is my friend and yours, Lord Whittier. His name is James, like your grandfather’s name. He wishes to convey his good wishes to you.’
Whittier bowed deeply, a bow worthier a queen than a child. The little girl’s shoulders straightened and she lifted her chin confidently at the homage. Bless, you James Whittier, Lucy thought.
The girl’s voice was high and excited. ‘Did you know our grandfather, Lord Whittier?’
‘I did indeed have the honor of meeting his Majesty. You have his intelligent eyes, if I may be so bold.’
Here at last was a family friend, the girl was thinking. Lucy could see it in her eager eyes. She almost feared the child would rush into his arms. Apparently, he had that effect on females of all ages. Royalty though she was, she was still a child who missed her father. And he was not above taking advantage of that.
‘Have you any news of our mother?’ the girl asked.
‘Alas, I’m afraid not,’ he said. Have you any—?’
Lucy steeped closer, grinding her heel as hard as she could into his boot. ‘We must interrupt your Cicero no longer, your grace, lest Mistress Makin become annoyed with us. Lord Whittier has to depart. He is going on a journey.’
‘A journey? If you see our father or our brothers, will you tell them to come and visit us? Our mother has promised to—’
‘Lord Whittier really must leave, now, your grace. We would not want to delay him, would we? There are sometimes brigands on the road at night.’
James bowed again. ‘I wish you a good lesson, your highness, and I hope to see you again soon. Perhaps I will have more time to visit when I return. You can recite your Cicero for me. And if I should encounter your father on my journey north I will tell him how much his daughter misses him.’
‘And Henry too. He cries out for him at night. He loved to pull on Papa’s beard.’
‘And Henry too,’ he said clicking his heels and backing out of her presence as though he were Raleigh and she the old Queen Elizabeth.
‘You rogue. You have quite enchanted her and given her false hope. Her nagging will not cease until you visit us again. But that was your intent, wasn’t it? I am warning you, James Whittier.’
He laughed and chucked her under the chin as if she were no older than the child whose chin he could not stroke, then said soberly, ‘You have nothing to worry about, my lady. The girl’s plight arouses my sympathy. She looks to be quite frail. I suppose she takes after her mother in form. If you should need help with her protection from either side, you have only to call me. Children should not be pawns in men’s ill-begotten schemes of war.’
‘I almost believe you, my lord,’ she said as she reluctantly removed his hand from beneath her chin. ‘Now what is all this about a journey?’
‘See how prescient you are. But it was not a lie. You put the thought in my head with your maneuvering. I need to investigate rumor for myself instead of relying on rumor. I have to go to Reading anyway to order supplies.’
As he was putting on his cloak and hat, she followed him to the door. ‘Do be careful. Rogue that you are, the world would be a much duller place without you.’
‘I shall keep my eye out. I have been told there are brigands on the road at night,’ he grinned.
She watched him ride away. The man was an enigma. Whatever he was, he was not a man to be trusted, and yet oddly enough she did.