But there was no time to grieve long over any single annoyance, for trouble succeeded trouble, one treading fast on the heels of another. Moreover, as the spring wore on lesser sorrows tended to become swallowed up in the terrible anxiety as to Strafford's fate. On March 16th it was decided that he should be tried for high treason; and it struck like an evil omen on the Queen's heart that on that very day the Lords and Commons agreed to petition the King for the removal from Court of all Papists, and particularly of her four chief friends, Sir Kenelm Digby, Sir Tobie Matthew, Walter Montagu, and Sir John Winter. A few days later the trial began. It dragged along while, day after day, its course was watched by the King and Queen of England, who sat in a gallery, closely screened from curious eyes, looking down on the stern faces below them, and on the majestic figure of the man who was there to answer for his life. Not all the persuasions of the Commons could keep the royal couple away. It was the only thing they could do to encourage their faithful servant. With them sat their eldest son, the boy of whom it was said that he had been found weeping because the father who had received three kingdoms as his heritage would leave him never an one.
It is needless to repeat the story of Strafford's trial: how all turned upon an alleged plot to bring over Irish troops to subdue England; how it was found to be impossible to convict him of conduct which could be brought within the scope of the Treason Act; how his enemies, determined that he should not escape, turned the impeachment into an attainder. All that is necessary is to indicate the Queen's action through these weeks of terror and struggle.
Everything that she could she did to save the man whom once she had regarded almost as an enemy. Day after day she found opportunity for secret interviews with the Puritan leaders, in which she offered all (and perhaps more than all) that it was in her power to give in exchange for Strafford's life. Evening after evening, when the dusk had fallen, she sallied forth alone, lighting her steps with a single taper, to seek her foes in their own quarters.[249] Such efforts deserved success, and she at least believed that to them was due the remarkable conversion of Lord Denbigh, the husband of her dear and faithful lady-in-waiting, who, after being one of Strafford's bitterest opponents, turned round and defended him with all his ability in the House of Lords.
Nor were these exertions the sum of Henrietta's activities. The marriage between little Princess Mary and the Prince of Orange, which took place in the middle of May, bringing as it did the hope of help in money and perhaps in soldiers, cheered her spirits and roused her to fresh efforts. It was now that the army plot was formed, the main object of which was to bring up to London the army which had been raised against the Scots, and by means of it to overpower Parliament and to release Strafford.
The plot seems to have originated with two soldiers, the younger Goring and an officer named Wilmot. These two separately conceived the idea of turning the discontent of the army, whose wages had not been paid, to the profit of the King. Charles and Henrietta, who were consulted, thought that the best plan would be to endeavour to bring about an understanding between the two officers, each of whom wished to be commander-in-chief. The difficult task was assigned to Henry Jermyn, whose gentle manners made him specially suited to such a mission. But then the Queen's heart began to fail her. She knew only too well the danger of meddling with such matters, and she was greatly attached to Jermyn, who was, besides, one of the last of her faithful servants left to her; for Windbank, Montagu, and many another had been forced to find safety in flight. "If Jermyn too is lost, we shall be left without friends," she said piteously to her husband. Charles considered deeply for some time, for he was struck by this argument; but in the end he said that he thought the risk worth running, and Jermyn, whose fidelity was unimpeachable, was asked to undertake the dangerous mission.
Henrietta's courage was indeed giving way. The insults of the mob, the undisguised hatred of the Puritans whom she believed about to impeach her of high treason, the wild rumours afloat which culminated in the report of an imminent French invasion (this time in the royal interest), terrified her so much that, in spite of her proud boasts of a few days earlier that she was the daughter of a father who had never learned to run away, she determined to leave London for Portsmouth. She was only stayed by the entreaties of the French agent in London, of the Bishop of Angoulême, and of Father Philip. At Portsmouth was not only the governor, the younger Goring, but Henry Jermyn, and the Queen's precipitate flight would have given colour to the scandals which her enemies were industriously spreading, and to gain evidence for which they did not scruple to cross-question even her ladies of the bedchamber.
In London, therefore, Henrietta remained to hear that same day that the army plot, which was already suspected by Pym, had been betrayed by Goring, whom she trusted almost beyond any of her servants.[250] Neither he nor Wilmot could reconcile himself to giving up the first place, and the former, goaded by ambition, opened the whole matter to Parliament. Henry Percy, who was also concerned in the affair, fled, leaving a letter for his brother, the Earl of Northumberland, which was read before Parliament. In spite of the closure of the ports, he managed, after considerable difficulty, to reach France, while others of the conspirators, among whom were two poets, D'Avenant and Suckling, made good their escape. Henry Jermyn ran perhaps the greatest risk. He had set off for Portsmouth at the Queen's request, knowing that the plot was betrayed, but unwitting that Goring was the traitor. When he reached his destination he was asked wonderingly why he had come.
"In obedience to His Majesty's commands," he replied. Goring looked sadly at his friend. "You have nothing to fear," he said at last, "either for yourself or for me, for I have sufficient credit to save you. I am sorry to have done wrong, but I will atone for it with regard to you, and I will die rather than fail you."
Jermyn perhaps distrusted the man who had already betrayed so grave a trust; but in this case Goring was as good as his word. He put the orders sent down by Parliament into his pocket, and helped his friend to escape in a small boat which took him to join the other exiles in France.
That which the Queen had feared had come upon her, and she was left almost without friends. Besides, she winced as at the lash of a whip when she heard the vile attacks upon her honour.[251] But again bad griefs were to be swallowed up by worse.