"A pretty Puritan maiden; I didn't know they were so smart," he thought. "It will not be my fault if we do not meet again before long, Mistress Ann." And so he too went his way.
That same afternoon the princess and Agnes, with Patience, entered the royal coach, and were driven back to Somerset House. They were neither of them very cheerful, and the way seemed long and cold, for the air was heavy with snow ready to fall. London looked dark and sombre when they entered it, with only the great torches flaring as the torch-bearers held them on high in front of the coach to guide the driver through the narrow streets of the city. The courtyard of Somerset House was also lit up; but it was a sad home-coming, nevertheless, and the queen-mother welcomed them with tears.
"I do not know how it is," she said to her daughter. "I loved this country once and I was happy; now I am miserable here. I would go back to France; this death of your brother is an evil omen."
"Nay, Mother, do not go just yet," said Henrietta. "We have come home at a bad season of the year. You tell me that the spring is lovely in England; let us wait and see;" then, sitting before the fire, she and Agnes told her what good sport they had at Hampton Court, and they spoke of Reginald and Ann.
The queen frowned. "Patience is over-indulgent to you," she said. "You have no right to make the acquaintance of strangers, especially of these upstarts. You say the father is Colonel Newbolt; he was one of Cromwell's men. Now, because it suits himself and his purse, he is a king's man. To-morrow, if it suits him, he will be the people's man again. I am sick of it all."
"Do you not think it well, Mother, to encourage these people to become faithful lieges to the king?" said Henrietta.
"Faithful!" said the queen, with a mocking laugh. "I have ceased to look for faithfulness anywhere. As soon as you are married, Henrietta--and that will, I trust, be before long--we will go back to France. Your brother's court does not suit me, and his friends do not suit me. Your brother, the Duke of York, is enamoured of Clarendon's daughter, Ann Hyde, and there has been much scandal--a secret marriage. It has set the people talking. I tell you I am sick of it all. There is a vulgarity which savours not of kings in the whole tone of England now."
Her daughter did not answer her; she could not--she did not understand what was amiss. She was but a girl still. When she was a woman she understood better.
Fortunately it was nearly Christmas time, and so that season brought a certain amount of gaiety and brightness. They were not accustomed to make as much of it in France as in England, where, then as now, everyone rejoiced, everyone made merry. It had gone out of fashion to a great extent during the Commonwealth, but people were glad to go back to their old ways and drag the Yule-log into the great hall. It was a good season for the poor, when before great fires bullocks and sheep were roasted whole in the streets. There were mummers, and morris-dances, and all manner of sports.
To Agnes's great disgust a week or two before Christmas she received a letter from Ann, telling her that they were going away down to their country place, because their mother could not abide in London. She was willing to feast the poor in the country and those who needed help, but the frivolities of London did not suit her, and she would not stay there. Indeed, she was afraid her mother would not let her come back, which grieved her sorely, for she loved her friends, and would have gladly served the Princess Henrietta.