Виктория Холт: Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

But I had an irrefutable case on this occasion and I let my rage simmer. “What of our mother, eh? She is a Queen and the most important person in the land. She is greater than the Duc de Sully who used to be so important and is no longer so. Why? Because our mother does not like him. A Queen can be as great as a King…greater perhaps. What about wicked Queen Elizabeth of England who defeated the Spanish Armada?”

“You mustn’t speak of her. She was a…” He put his lips to my ear and whispered the terrible word: “Heretic!”

“Queens can be as good as Kings and this is my throne, so kneel to me or I shall send you to the torture chambers. But first I will tell our mother that you think Queens are of no importance.”

It would have been wiser to play at puss-in-the-corner or blind-man’s-buff.

But for all our quarrels we were fond of each other.

Monsieur de Breves, who was a very learned man, came each morning to give us lessons in the nursery. These were for my elder sisters Elizabeth and Christine, but Gaston and I took part. Perhaps Monsieur de Breves was too learned to understand young children; perhaps Gaston and I were incapable of giving our minds to anything for long. (My sister Elizabeth said our minds were like butterflies flitting here and there and seemed incapable of settling anywhere long enough to absorb everything.) In any case Gaston and I were not academically inclined and while we sat listening to Monsieur de Breves and making futile attempts to grapple with the problems he set us, we were waiting impatiently for the time when we could go off to our dancing lessons.

At least our dancing master was pleased with us—and particularly with me. “Ah, Madame Henriette,” he would cry folding his arms across his chest and raising his eyes to the ceiling, “but that was beautiful…beautiful. Ah, my dear Princesse, you are going to enchant the Court.”

I was never happier than when dancing—unless it was singing.

I noticed one day when we were in the schoolroom listening—or trying to listen—to Monsieur de Breves, and I was thinking how pretty Christine’s dress was and wondering whether I might ask Madame de Montglat if I could have one like it, that Elizabeth was looking rather sad and very preoccupied and was not paying any attention at all to Monsieur de Breves.

I thought: I believe she has been crying.

How strange! Elizabeth was seven years older than I. She and Christine were great friends although Christine was a good deal younger than she was. Elizabeth had always treated Gaston and me with a kindly tolerance. She had always seemed far beyond us—almost grown up. It was difficult to imagine her crying. But yes. Her eyes were red. Something had happened. I wondered what.

Monsieur de Breves was standing close to me and had picked up the paper on which I was supposed to have written something—I was not sure what and I had been so concerned with Elizabeth that I had not thought to look at Gaston’s and copy his, although this was always risky for what he wrote invariably displayed as great an ignorance as mine.

“Ah, Madame la Princesse,” said Monsieur de Breves sadly, shaking his head, “I fear we are never going to make a scholar of you.”

I smiled at him. I had for some time realized that when I smiled in a certain way I could melt the anger or disappointment of a number of people. Alas, neither my mother nor Madame de Montglat was among them.

I said: “No, Monsieur de Breves, but my dancing master says that my dancing will delight the Court.”

He smiled faintly and patted my shoulder. That was all. No reprimand. What a smile could do! If only I could turn the magic on Madame de Montglat.

My thoughts went back to Elizabeth and later on I came upon her sitting alone.

She had gone back to the schoolroom expecting no doubt to find no one there at this hour, and she was sitting on a window seat, her hands covering her face.

I was right. There were tears.

I put my arms about her neck and kissed her.

“Elizabeth,” I said. “Dear sister. What ails you? Tell Henriette.”

There was a brief silence during which I thought she was about to order me away angrily. I gave her my conquering smile and suddenly she put her arms about me.

“There!” I said. “There!” I patted her back, marveling that I, the baby, should be comforting my elder sister.

“Dear little one,” said Elizabeth, more kindly than she had ever spoken to me before—not that she had ever been unkind, only seeming to be unaware of my existence.

“You are unhappy. What is wrong?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I would. I would.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I am going away…. Away from you all.”

“Away? Why? Where?”

“To Spain.”

“Why are you going to Spain?”

“To marry the King’s son.”

“The son of the King of Spain! Oh, Elizabeth, when the King dies you will be the Queen of Spain!”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No,” I said. “I know we all have to marry. What surprises me is that you are sad when you are going to be Queen of Spain.”

“And you think that is worth…losing everything else for?”

“It must be wonderful to be a queen.”

“Oh, Henriette, what of your family? Suppose you had to go and leave us all…. Go to a new country…”

I considered it. Giving up everything…Mamie, Gaston, Madame de Montglat…my sisters…my mother…. And all in exchange for a crown!

“You are too young to understand, Henriette,” went on Elizabeth. “It will come to you one day. You must be prepared for it.”

“When?”

“Oh there is a long time to wait yet. How old are you? Six. I am seven years older than you. In seven years your time will come.”

Seven years! It was too far in the future to be considered. It was longer than the time I had been on Earth.

“Louis will be married too,” said Elizabeth. “Lucky Louis, he will not have to leave his home.”

“Do you hate going so much?”

“I don’t want to leave my home. To go into…I do not know what. It’s frightening, Henriette. It will be easier for you. You will have seen my going…and Christine’s before your time comes, so it won’t be such a shock.”

She set me down and blinked away the tears.

“Don’t tell anyone that you found me like this. Not even Mamie or Gaston.”

I promised.

“Our mother would be angry. She thinks it is wonderful that she has brought about this match with Spain. Some of the people are not too pleased.”

“Who isn’t pleased?”

“The Huguenots.”

“Huguenots! What concern is it of theirs?”

She took my face in her hands and kissed me. It was rare affection from Elizabeth.

“You are so young,” she said. “You don’t know anything of what is going on outside.”

“Outside where?”

“In the world…beyond the Court. Never mind. You will in time.”

She had stood up and, straightening her dress, became the Elizabeth I knew, inclined to be disdainful of her little sister’s youth.

“Run along now, dear,” she said, “and forget what I have said.”

But of course I was not going to forget. Many times I was on the verge of telling Mamie or Gaston. I felt it very difficult to restrain myself for I should have felt very superior for once to have discovered something they did not know. But I remembered my promise.

I did not have to wait long, for a few days after my encounter with Elizabeth our mother arrived in the nursery. Gaston and I did our ceremonious bows, and when she held out her hand to us we approached and stood one on either side of her. I found myself staring at her bosom, which always fascinated me. It was one of the biggest bosoms I had ever seen and very different from that of Madame de Montglat, which was almost nonexistent.