His Last Mistress: The Duke of Monmouth and Lady Henrietta Wentworth Read online

  “My mother told me often that she had been married to my father. My mother wouldn’t have lied to me. I refuse to believe it. My father was forced to hide the marriage certificate, I am sure of it.”

  “Jemmy, please, you are lying to yourself…”

  “Henrietta, darling, let us not quarrel. You shall be my Queen consort and sit beside me upon the throne of England.” Even if that could be true, he would have to divorce Anna first, and Henrietta did not think that would be possible.

  “Jemmy,” she said quietly, placing her arms around his neck from behind, “I may have despised you in the beginning of our acquaintance, but I could not live without you now. Please…I pray you’ll take no more heed of what these men say to you and remember what Prince William said-”

  He chortled. “Again with William! He said what he did only because his wife has a claim to the throne, and he, after her. It would be convenient for them both to have me settled in god-forsaken Hungary or the Palatine.”

  “I cannot believe he warned you simply for that – he does not strike me as a liar, nor as a man to be blinded by ambition.” Which I fear you have become, my love…

  “Oh, but he is. He said there was talk that my father had turned Papist before he died. My father would never have done that. Never. He was a Protestant, through and through. If it happened, it was because of that villain, my uncle. He will not stop until every Englishman is a Catholic.”

  Henrietta said nothing at this, but the idea of Charles converting to Catholicism upon his deathbed did not surprise her. Charles had supported his wife, Catherine of Braganza, his mistress Louise de Kérouaille, his obstinate brother, James, Duke of York, all devout Catholics. Perhaps Charles’s conversion to Catholicism was not as far-fetched as Jemmy thought it was…

  “But, Jemmy, you cannot…”

  “I must! I must do something – it is a matter of honour.”

  “Jemmy…”

  “Why ever not?!”

  “I am with child.”

  Chapter 24

  It was true: she was going to bear his child. They had for some months stopped using his sheath for, in the throes of passion, Henrietta had whispered, “Nay, I wish to feel only you inside me.” Since then, his unrestricted seed had effused enthusiastically within the confines of her luscious body, as her voice cried out in rapturous delight.

  “Oh, Harriet,” he said, tenderly, enfolding her in his strong embrace, “Why did you not tell me before, my love?” he asked.

  She breathed in his familiar, dear scent. “I could not,” she replied, “I was not certain, and we were only just settling in. It’s been a few months now, perhaps more, from when we were lodged at the Mauritshuis.”

  Monmouth briefly imagined his future if he remained in exile. This child would be born, and then many others would follow after him, but what kind of life would that be for them? His new family would lead the lives of wanderers, doomed to move from one city to the next.

  But the Duke’s mind had been filled with more thoughts of what could be. Of what should be. The country was largely Protestant, and the people would rise up against the Papist King James and he would be king.

  “I am very happy with this joyous news, but I would be more content were this child born where it deserves to be born – in England. Those who support me have no money, I only have my plate, which I intend to use; and so I ask you, my love, will you help me in this mission? Would you be willing to loan me your jewels so we can raise the necessary funds? ”

  “I don’t have any other money but my jewels, but I will do anything you ask if it be of use to you. If you are certain of this.”

  “I’m assured that we won’t even have to fight. All of England shall rise up against her foe, and Argyll will come down with Scotch rebels and we will take back our country.”

  A strange presentiment came upon her. “Jemmy, with what army do you plan on invading England?”

  “I do not need an army, there won’t be any fighting as soon as my men know that I am returned, they will naturally flock to my side. No one need die in this – it shall be a bloodless revolution. It is very simple. Come now, there’s no need for so gloomy a countenance, my love. Surely anyone who calls himself an Englishmen will rise up in arms against my uncle? Once I land in the West Country, everyone will join me and we will march to London and I will exile my uncle at once. And when all is safe, I will send for you, my love, and then you can have the child at Hampton Court, or St. James’s – wherever you choose.”

  “But, Jemmy, you are not listening to me!”

  “What’s there to listen to? My mind is made up. Fear not, I have been given good counsel. I trust my friends with my life.”

  ***

  He was as stubborn as every Stuart before him, and no doubt, every Stuart after, and Henrietta begrudgingly accompanied him to pawn her jewels.

  The Dutchman closely examined the necklaces, earrings, and rings with his long, bony fingers, “These are very good, very good, indeed.”

  The man gave them the money, and Monmouth quickly bought flintlock guns, gunpowder, and hired out ships and crew. He threw himself into the preparations with gusto and dedication, for he had always been good at warfare. Underneath all the bravado, however, he was frightened, but refused to tell Henrietta of his fears.

  ***

  “Where will you sail from?” she asked him, as she walked down their little garden path towards the stables. Other men were already waiting for him, Lord Grey, a man name Nathaniel Wade, Andrew Fletcher, his paymaster, Thomas Dare, and Robert Ferguson, whom he named his Chaplain-General.

  “Argyll has already gone, as you know, for Bevil Skelton was threatening to seize his ships. He’ll make ready the Scots. I shall depart from the Texel. From there to Lyme, then North through the West Country, towards Oxford, and then to London.”

  He looked at her, a mixture of his inherent self-assuredness tinged with a shade of excitement.

  “Thanks to thee, my darling love, we have a goodly supply of weaponry and gunpowder. Argyll has assured me that the gentry are ready for a fight, if it should even come to it, and have plenty of flintlock, powder, and lead shot.”

  “Pray for me, my love, and I shall see thee soon – and a whole kingdom I shall lay before your beloved feet.”

  “All I want is you, James, I need you,” she said, and then she brought his hand to her growing belly, “We need you. Please, stay.”

  He bent forward and kissed the bump and said, “Do not fear, my sweet-hearts, my arrival in Lyme will be as a drop of water in a still pond, as the ripples become larger, so will more people know of my coming, they will join up in arms with me against our common foe; and together we will stamp out the superstitious nature of the Papists from this land for one and for all!” His voice rang out clear with his conviction, with his passion. He now believed fervently in his ability to become the Protestant saviour of England.

  He arose, his hand still tenderly stroking her belly.

  “Here,” she said, handing him a blue velvet pouch. “This for you. I found a charm for it, so keep it with you always, so that you will be protected from harm.”

  He unfolded the pouch. There lay an exquisite clear-jewelled buckle. “I shall treasure it, thank you.” With his hand, he cupped her face and lifted it up for one last kiss. “I’ll see you very soon, my Harriet, I can feel it. Never forget how much I love thee.”

  “As I love thee. Goodbye, my love,” she said, though a hideous dread came upon her.

  “Remember,” he called to her as he mounted his brown horse, “we’ll every moment our pleasures renew, our loves shall be flaming, and lasting and true!”

  She tried to smile, as he jabbed his horse lightly with his silver spurs, and began to ride off. He blew her a kiss just before he faded from view. She stood there, hands upon her belly, as his horse sauntered on and faded from view.

  “Please God, watch over him!” she exclaimed fervently.

  Chapter 25

&nb
sp; Three of Monmouth’s ships, carrying the Duke and his eighty odd followers, dropped anchor on the eleventh of June in breathtakingly beautiful Lyme Regis, a prosperous fishing and shipbuilding town. He, resplendent in royal purple garments, the Garter star gleaming upon his chest, and a fabulously curled dark brown periwig upon his head, was rowed to shore, where his boots crunched over the rocks and pebbles on the ground. He knelt upon the stony beach, and prayed, “Thanks be to God for our safe arrival in our beloved country.”

  There he was met with the peasants who adored him, they waved their hands and hats in their air, and smiled with great excitement. Monmouth surveyed the area, his blue eyes drifting over the area, from where the ocean spray burst over the stony Cobb and the hot summer’s sun shone off the Blue Lias cliffs, filled with fossils from a time long ago.

  “We have supporters from all over the West Country, from Colyton, Honiton, Chard, and of course, here in Lyme, though it appears the Mayor has fled.”

  “But these aren’t fighting men, Grey – these are shoemakers, weavers, and farmers. I daresay they haven’t fought a day in their lives.”

  “We’ll have more men than James, especially when the army deserts James for you. Besides,” he said, gesturing towards the crowds, “they have it in them to fight for you, Monmouth, if it even comes to that,” replied Lord Grey.

  “Nevertheless, we must prepare for any eventuality. These men must be trained in basic musketry at the very least.”

  “It shall be done.”

  Hundreds of volunteers, hearing of his arrival at Lyme, journeyed thither to join him. The rebels were mostly comprised of artisans, lay preachers, and others normally not involved in any kind of fighting. What joined them together under Monmouth was the fear of what Catholic King James II would do. And Monmouth was a great leader in their eyes, an affable man, a Protestant, someone who would maintain their way of life. With his brave heart and formidable military prowess, they were assured of victory.

  Things were going well, and the men gathered in the pub and soon were drunk and boisterous, singing bawdy songs, banging their tankards, and groping the comely wenches at the bar. Thomas Dare, Monmouth’s paymaster and an excellent silversmith, was in his cups and stood up, “I’ll be back, by-and-by. I must see to a man about a horse.”

  One of Monmouth’s best men, Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, a brilliant Cavalry officer, arose from the table, wiping away the dribble of ale from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Whither are you going, Fletcher?” asked Monmouth, chuckling, for the man did not look like he would be able to manage going very far.

  He stumbled away, “I need to take a piss,” he mumbled, almost incoherently, for he was thoroughly intoxicated by drink. Monmouth cheerily returned to conversation with Wade and Grey when suddenly…

  Bang!

  A shot reverberated through the hollow of every ear, and one of the men ran in, “Fletcher’s just killed Dare, in front of me own eyes!”

  Dare lay with a terrible expression upon his face, his blood and brains splayed out upon the ground. Fletcher had shot him in the head.

  “What in God’s name happened here?” asked Monmouth, furiously.

  “I heard them quarrelling about the horse,” said one man, pointing to the beautiful chestnut horse nearby.

  “Father!” cried a young man who ran out and held Dare’s lifeless body in his arms as he wept.

  “Who did it? Why? Show me the bloody villain who did this to him.”

  “He deserved it!” slurred Fletcher. “Idiot wouldn’t let me have the horse.”

  “Your Grace, that man must be punished. I demand you dismiss him, or else let me kill the rogue myself!”

  Monmouth, seething, “Fletcher – get thee gone, you bloody dunce, before I blow your brains out!”

  “Damn you, fools!” exclaimed Monmouth, as he thought of Dare and Fletcher. They were the best men he had, and now one was dead and the other dismissed before they had even begun. Such a waste!

  Chapter 26

  Preparations continued at Lyme. Monmouth’s green standard was raised; the words Fear Nothing But God emblazoned upon it, flapped in the wind. With certainty of success in their hearts they gathered, with their pikes and muskets, bill hooks and swords, they marched out of Lyme to Charmouth, to Chideock, then on to Bridport. All the while, more and more men from the neighbouring villages and towns came out and joined them.

  It was there at Bridport that the rebel army had its first skirmish with a Royalist militia, and, after some confusion, had won.

  At Axminster, they defeated the Royalist militia and some deserted to join Monmouth’s army, and from thence onwards to Chard, Ilminster, and up to Taunton.

  Thousands of men now followed him.

  As soon as he and his supporters had entered Taunton, great crowds full of happy faces surged to greet him. The men adorned their caps and hats with green boughs, and the streets were equally festooned with garlands in support of Monmouth.

  In the midst of his followers was a spirited young man who had travelled all the way from London to join the rebellion, and his name was Daniel Defoe. He yearned to be part of the greatest event of his lifetime. He witnessed with fascination how the lovely Maids of Taunton honoured the Duke of Monmouth with flowers and praise. One schoolmistress gifted Monmouth with a precious Bible and a magnificent sword, which he received gratefully.

  Monmouth was there declared king. They could not call him King James, for that would be easily confused with his uncle, so they called him King Monmouth.

  “A Monmouth! A Monmouth!” they cried in jubilation.

  “Long live King Monmouth and the Protestant cause!” they chanted.

  The County of Somerset was heavily populated and boasted of some of the finest lace-making in England. The dairy cows, of which there were many, masticated the green nutrient-rich grass and whose nourishing milk was used to produce delicious cheeses, especially at the town of Cheddar. The landscape of this county with its majestic rolling hills, its limestone quarries, and its dramatic valleys was like no other.

  It was a glorious land, well worth fighting for.

  ***

  The mayor of Lyme had, in fact, left in haste once he knew that Monmouth had arrived. He sent a messenger to London and soon King James came to know of Monmouth’s treachery. James was already in a meeting with John Churchill, whose wife Sarah Jennings had been in Calisto with Henrietta all those years before, when he was given the news.

  All of his life, James believed that no one should rise up against a king. His father’s brutal death in 1649 caused this belief to rise to extremes, and he took Monmouth’s actions as a personal affront. Immediately, he gathered forth his ministers. He was not going to let that impudent boy continue disrespecting him.

  “Churchill,” he ordered, “we want you to take your regiment of Royal Dragoons to crush this pitchfork rebellion,” the King said with derision. “Muster all the local militias, take Kirke’s Regiment of Foot as well. Send the artillery train and any munitions necessary from the Tower. We want those rebels broken!”

  Within days, town criers throughout the land read out the Act of Attainder against Monmouth: “His Majesty James the Second has offered a reward of five thousand pounds for the capture of the traitor Duke of Monmouth, dead or alive.”

  ***

  “Feversham will now be commanding instead of Churchill,” stated Monmouth.

  “Lord Feversham?” asked Grey, “Is he not the same man who was to marry your Wentworth lady?”

  “Aye, he was. Thank goodness the other one’s dead,” he responded, referring to the late Earl of Thanet, “Lest I have two scorned lovers after my head.”

  “Also, Your Majesty’s half-brother, the Duke of Grafton, is commanding Royalist troops.”

  “That surprises me not. He is, after all the Lord High Constable.”

  “I like this not - brother against brother is surely a crime.”

  “My dear fellow, there have b
een many such crimes in my family. Why do you suppose ‘tis oft said that we Stuarts are accursed.”

  ***

  The rebels proceeded from one town to the next, gaining momentum until they reached Keynsham Bridge, but the rains poured down heavily upon them, making the road to Bristol impassable. Once it had cleared, the Royalists were ready to defend and so they retreated, muddy, miserable, and wet, and made their way towards Bath. Monmouth had little money, and many of his troops were hungry.

  “We should advance towards London, this is our chance!” exclaimed Nathaniel Wade.

  “We cannot!” argued Monmouth. “Look at the men, Wade, look at them! Look you how weary they have been since Norton St Phillip.”

  “But we risk losing our initiative; we must not go back to Shepton Mallet.”

  But to Shepton Mallet they did return, and word soon spread like wildfire of the Royal pardon for rebels, and more men began to desert Monmouth’s cause, and as a result of this and Frome, morale was sinking fast, and Monmouth’s confidence also began to waver.

  More bad news came. He read the letter with increasing dismay.

  “Argyll has been captured…and has been beheaded on the maiden. There will be no assistance from Scotland now.” He crumpled the paper and threw it down on the floor with disgust.

  Grey, open-mouthed, was horrified. “But, but, he was certain – he assured us that Scotland was ready!”

  “It is lost!” Monmouth exclaimed, his head in his hands. “There is no hope – nothing has come about as it ought to have. Where are the men rising up against James in London? Cheshire? Nay, I see that I have been most foolish.”

  He shook his head, and took another swig of strong cider from his mug. “Gentlemen,” he said, rising to his feet. “I have made my decision – we will end this tonight, and I shall make my way back to Holland, and to my lady.”

  Lord Grey arose and passionately declared, “If you go now, the peoples of this land will never forget the injury you have done to them. To give them false hope in their hour of need. To leave them to James’s inevitable wrath – he will be merciless.”