Ormonde was now reduced to the greatest straits, having but one pistole a week for his board, and being obliged ‘to go afoot, which is not considered reputable in Paris;’ added to which, his wife found it impossible to live on at Caen, even in the modest style to which she had lately been accustomed; and the King had nothing to spare out of his scanty pittance to assist his friends. In these trying circumstances, it was arranged that Lady Ormonde should go to England in person, and endeavour to gain some redress from Parliament. It was no agreeable errand, but the lady was well qualified to act with spirit and determination, tempered by tact; and she did not shrink from the undertaking.
Her dignity of demeanour and her courage were proverbial. It had been said of her that she had the spirit of old Earl Thomas; and she knew how to inspire Cromwell with respect. In her interviews he always treated her with the greatest consideration, and accompanied her downstairs to her coach or chair, although she was kept long in suspense about her financial demands, and the great man often answered her arguments by a shrug of the shoulders. It may not come into the proper place, as far as dates are concerned, but, speaking of her relations with the Protector, we must allude to an audience she had of him later. Cromwell was very jealous of the growing power and popularity of Lord Ossory, and although he had already granted him a pass to travel beyond seas, he suddenly thought it safer to have him seized, and sent to the Tower. His mother immediately proceeded to Whitehall, or wherever Cromwell was holding his reception at the time, and asked her son’s freedom, saying she knew not who were his accusers, or of what crime they accused him, but that she would answer with her life for her son’s innocence. Cromwell begged to be excused giving her an answer, but observed he had much more reason to be afraid of her than of anybody else.
‘I desire no favour,’ said the noble petitioner aloud, before the hundreds who were present on the occasion, ‘but do consider it strange that I, who have never been implicated in any plot, and never said a word against the Protector, should be considered so terrible a person!’
‘No, madam, that is not exactly the case,’ replied Oliver; ‘but your worth has gained you so great an influence over all the commanders of our party, and we know so well your power over the other side, that it is in your Ladyship’s breast to act what you please.’
The incident speaks well for both parties, and Oliver, with all his faults, had learned to respect a noble woman when he encountered one, being blest as he was in his wife and mother. After many delays and heartburnings, the Parliament authorised Lady Ormonde to receive from the Irish Commissioners a yearly income for herself and children of £2000 out of her own inheritance, together with the house of Donnemore, near Kilkenny, for their residence.
Here she took up her abode, and never saw her Lord again till the Restoration. The treaty which was concluded between the Protector and the Court of France rendered it imperative on the English King to leave Paris, and, accordingly, accompanied by Ormonde, he proceeded to Spa (to meet his sister, the Princess of Orange), and afterwards to Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne.
From the latter place he despatched Lord Ormonde to Paris on an errand of trust and difficulty. The young Duke of Gloucester had been sent to the French capital with a hardly-wrung permission from Oliver to pursue his education under the auspices of his mother, who had pledged her word to the King not to tamper with the boy’s religion,—an oath which Henrietta Maria evidently thought ‘more honoured in the breach than the observance.’
She accordingly separated the Duke from his Protestant tutor, and placed him under the care of a Jesuit priest, where she frequently visited him, and by alternate coaxing and threatening strove to bring her child over to her own creed. The boy stood firm, and declared he would never disobey his father’s last injunctions, but the Queen’s menace of never seeing his face again grieved his affectionate nature so much as to injure his health. Ormonde arrived in Paris, armed with the King’s authority to convey the Duke of Gloucester to Cologne, but the necessary funds for travelling expenses were not forthcoming, so the Duke went to reside for a time in Paris with Lord Hatton, a firm Royalist and faithful Protestant. Lord Ormonde was not one to be baffled in any undertaking in which he was engaged: he pawned his Garter, and the jewel which the Parliament had given him, to defray the cost of the journey; and he set out with his young charge, travelling for safety via Antwerp, where he was like to have died of a fever. At length, however, he placed the youth under the protection of the King, his brother, and they remained together till the Restoration took them to England.
So temperately and judiciously had Lord Ormonde conducted this affair, that the King was deeply grateful to him, and he still kept a tolerable hold on the good graces of the Queen, and was, indeed, afterwards instrumental in bringing about a reconciliation between mother and son. He was now employed in several diplomatic missions of importance, especially with the Court of Spain, and he ventured into England, at the risk of life and freedom, in order to communicate with the Royalists at home. He landed on the coast of Essex in disguise, and went to London, where he lay perdu, only venturing out at nightfall, and running the gauntlet of many dangers and adventures, which were not without some charm for a man of his spirit.
We cannot refrain from alluding to an incident, which, though in reality trivial, has a laughable side, and there has been little that is laughable to record in the life of Lord Ormonde. He often changed his lodgings, and was constantly reconnoitring the premises with a view to escape, changing his clothes, generally lying down dressed. He had an aversion to wearing a periwig, so a friend gave him a dye to turn his own hair black, but the lotion was badly mixed, and the ingredients deleterious, so that poor Lord Ormonde’s head was not only scalded, but his hair came out in party-coloured patches of every variegated hue, more likely to attract than elude observation.