The Queen was in great anxiety. Not only had her name been brought forward in this affair, but she was being attacked in other ways. It was suggested that her beautiful chapel at Somerset House should be closed, and that she should only be permitted the little chapel at Whitehall, which was more like a private oratory. Wild stories were abroad as to a great design among the Roman Catholics of the three kingdoms to subvert the Protestant religion by force, and the terror was so great that some fanatical spirits proposed that Catholics should be forced to wear a distinctive badge whenever they left their houses. This absurd proposition was rejected by the good sense of the many, but even so it was an ominous token of hatred. The Queen was new to danger, either for herself or for her friends. She cared a great deal more to avert the wrath of the House of Commons from herself and from Montagu than for the welfare of the English Catholics, or even of Rosetti, who, at this time, was not on good terms with Montagu. She could think of nothing better to do than to send a message to her enemies, humble in tone and dwelling on the great desire which she had "to employ her own power to unite the King and the people"; she apologized for the "great resort to her Chappell at Denmark House," and promised that in the future she would "be carefull not to exceed that which is convenient and necessary for the exercise of her religion." She took upon herself the responsibility of the Catholic contribution, justifying and explaining it by "her dear and tender affection to the King and the example of other of His Majesty's subjects," and pleading her ignorance of the law if inadvertently anything illegal had been done. She completed her submission by promising to remove Rosetti out of the kingdom "within convenient time."[240] The wrath of the English Catholics, who already looked upon the Queen's proposed journey to France as a threat of desertion, blazed forth at this surrender. They remembered, no doubt, that their mistress was a princess of France, the daughter of the heretic Henry of Navarre. Had she merely permitted the Parliament to wreak its evil will upon the Church of God, it would have been bad enough; but had she not gone far beyond this, showing herself ready to execute its persecuting edicts even before they were promulgated? The House of Commons, on the other hand, was greatly pleased at the Queen's submission, and her gracious message was "very well taken." But had that assembly known the hopes with which the discomfited lady was consoling herself, its satisfaction would hardly have been greater than that of the Catholics. One day some weeks earlier Henrietta, in the quiet of her own apartments, had taken up her pen and, without the knowledge of husband or friend, had written one of the most remarkable letters ever indited by a Queen of England.