Plaidy, Jean - Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

• Название: Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II
• Автор: Plaidy Jean
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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“He offers it because he must. He is giving nothing away.”

“I am sure you are right, but it would be pleasant to be in St. James’s once more.”

“But to return to my Lord Marlborough. He should be given a chance to use his great talents.”

There was a knock at the door, and Sarah swept to it in indignation. “Do you not know that the Princess and I wish to be alone together. What disturbance is this? Go away.”

“My lady, there is news from Campden House.”

“I have told you …”

Anne’s voice broke in imperiously. “News from Campden House! Pray bring the messenger in. I trust my boy is well.”

“Your Highness, the Duke is in a fever. We fear he has been poisoned by the smell of leeks.”

“Poisoned!” cried Anne. “Call my chair, Lady Marlborough. Send for Dr. Radcliffe. Quickly … without delay. I must go to Campden House.”

“Radcliffe is in Oxford,” began Sarah coldly.

“Send to Oxford. I know Radcliffe to be the best man. My chair. Send for it at once and tell my bearers that I must be carried without delay to Campden House.”

Sarah obeyed, fuming. How maddening these delays were. When, oh when, would she be able to get her John where he deserved to be!

Dr. Radcliffe arrived in due course, and pronounced that the little Duke was suffering from a fever. The boy was bled and in a few days began to recover.

Dr. Radcliffe, however, recommended rest for a week or more, for the little patient after the first recovery developed a slight fever again.

“Keep him in bed,” said Radcliffe, “and keep him amused there.”

When Anne, at the bedside of her son, asked what her darling wanted most, the answer was prompt: “My soldiers. Let them guard the bedchamber. Let Harry Scull come to me. I wish him to do a tattoo on his drum and I will select those who shall build the fortifications about my bed.”

“My dearest boy, should you not rest?”

“How can I, Mama, when I have to be protected by my men.”

“There is nothing to protect you from.”

The boy’s face crumpled then brightened. “Those who will one day wear the crown are always in need of protection.”

Dr. Radcliffe said in his brusque way: “These amusements will do no harm, if he stays in bed.”

“Send my men,” said the Prince, “and I promise to stay in bed.”

So at the Prince’s door were posted his guards, who marched back and forth and challenged all those who would enter. Enough, said Mrs. Buss, to drive you mad, when you came along with a posset to find a wooden sword flourishing under your nose and the basin all but knocked out of your hands.

“Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe?”

“Friend, you silly boy. I’ve a posset for His Highness.”

“Pass, but you will have to make your way through the fortifications.”

“Drat the fortifications!” said Mrs. Buss.

She and others would have complained, but they knew it was no use. Dr. Radcliffe had wanted the patient to be amused and so they had rowdy boys, playing soldiers all over the place.

Not content with his soldiers, Gloucester called in his attendants and coachmen to take messages as he said through the lines. Lewis Jenkins was always ready to throw himself into the game; Mr. Pratt, Gloucester’s tutor, was pressed into service; and the two that amused Gloucester most were coachmen Dick Drury and Robin Church.

The language of these two was full-blooded and Gloucester liking it, learned it quickly.

“Confound you!” Gloucester would cry. “God damn you, man, can’t you see that gap in the fortifications? By God, I damn you to hell.”

All the young soldiers took up such cries to the concern of Lady Fitzharding, Mrs. Buss, and others.

Mrs. Buss remembered that a short time ago the Duke had delighted to receive wooden figures of great soldiers in battle-dress; and she believed that if he were presented with a very fine specimen, he might play with this and be lured from his rougher games.

She bought a magnificent figure of a soldier and summoned one of the Duke’s coachmen, a man named Wetherby, to take it to the sickroom with her compliments.

When Wetherby arrived, the Duke was sitting up in bed surrounded by a dozen or so of his “men.”

The Duke heard his guards outside his door halting the arrival, demanding to know whether he was friend or foe and what his mission was.

Wetherby said in a voice which was audible in the sickroom: “I’ve brought His Highness a toy from Mrs. Buss.”

All the young soldiers clambered off the bed and stood at attention.

“Bring him in,” ordered the Duke.

Wetherby came in and laid the doll on the bed. “Mrs. Buss thought Your Highness would like this to play with.”

Gloucester lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes. “Escort the messenger from my apartments,” he said coldly.

Wetherby, agreeing with Mrs. Buss that these boys’ games were enough to drive you mad, left as soon as he could.

As soon as he had gone, Gloucester said: “This is an insult from the enemy. Call a Council of War without delay. Confound it, this is an insult which shall not pass unheeded. A toy to play with! I gave up toys last year!”

The Council was held about the bed, and the order for execution given; the doll was immediately torn to pieces with shouts which echoed through the Palace.

“The bearer was insolent,” said the Duke, thinking regretfully that he dared not punish Mrs. Buss. “He should not go unpunished. Let us decide on his sentence.”

It was decreed that Wetherby should undergo the water torture; and the next day when he appeared at the Palace he was seized by some fifty small boys. They dragged him to the floor, clambered all over him, and bound his feet and hands together. Then they brought water with which they doused him until, breathless and panting, he begged them to desist.

They then tied him on the great wooden horse which they wheeled into the Duke’s bedroom, headed by Harry Scull’s drumbeats.

“Your Highness’s orders have been carried out,” announced the herald. “Here is the prisoner for your inspection.”

Gloucester sat up in bed, shaking with laughter—a supreme commander.

Dr. Radcliffe was anxiously questioned by the Princess.

“He is recovering,” said the doctor, “but I think what he needs most is a change of air. Get him away from Kensington and his noisy friends for a while. Keep him interested and occupied, but these soldier games are too rough for him.”

The Princess was thoughtful. She knew how he hated to be separated from his “army”; but she did see that horseplay in the sickroom, although much to her son’s taste, was not what was needed for his convalescence.

She thought longingly of Richmond—the home of her childhood. It would be pleasant to return there; but she remembered how she had once asked for Richmond and been refused. Perhaps Epsom or Hampstead? And she had always been very fond of Twickenham.

The news that the Princess was seeking a house in Twickenham where her son might recuperate in the salubrious air, was circulated and several people, remembering the change in the Princess Anne’s position, begged her to make use of their houses.

Anne hesitated; and one day Lord Fitzharding, who with his wife shared the governorship of young Gloucester, came to her and told her that his great-aunt, Mrs. Davies, who had long retired from Court life, had heard of the Princess’s need and would welcome her, the little Duke, and a few of their attendants to stay with her.

It would be a quiet life in the country and his aunt, who was then eighty years old, lived on fruit and vegetables which she grew herself, and was certain that these would be of great benefit to the little Prince.

It was comforting to receive this offer, for Anne remembered the old lady, who was related to the Berkeleys, was gentle, devoted, strong-minded, and she was certain that this was the place to which she should go, so she accepted the invitation without telling Sarah; and for once Sarah made no protest, deciding that she would spend the time with her own family.

So while Sarah went to St. Albans to plan earnestly with her husband, Anne, her son, and very few of their servants and attendants set out for Twickenham.

“What shall I do?” asked the Duke, “without my soldiers to command?”

“You will eat fruit and herbs and vegetables.”

“But, Mama, one does not eat all day.”

“You have to get strong and well.”

“But to be right away in the country!”

“You cannot command your soldiers forever from your sickbed. Whoever heard of a general doing that? No, if generals are ill they take care to grow well quickly … and then they are welcomed back with a guard of honor and …”

“A guard of honor,” said Gloucester and he was silent, planning the great occasion of his return.

In the meantime for four weeks—or perhaps more—he must eat fruit, vegetables, and herbs; he must live quietly and grow strong because it seemed that was what a general must do to get well quickly.

She was an old, old woman. Gloucester had never seen anyone so old; her face was rosy and wrinkled and her eyes bright blue; she was quiet, but she would answer questions if one caught her alone. She would sit in her garden on her rocking chair and the sun shining on her white hair made it seem like the halo on the heads of saints if you half closed your eyes and imagined it was there.

Her estate was large and it was given over almost entirely to the cultivation of fruit trees, vegetables, and herbs. When Gloucester arrived with his mother and her retinue some of the trees were laden with red cherries. He had never seen so many before.

The old lady stood in the hall when they arrived to receive them; he had stared up at her curiously, wondering what it was like to be so old. Perhaps he would ask her one day.

She smiled at him and told him that he would soon be well and strong enough to return to his army. Meanwhile he could eat as much fruit as he liked from her trees but he must always remember that trees were living things and must not be harmed.

It was an interesting thought. He liked the old woman.

He was put to bed in a room smelling of lavender and herbs which seemed small after his apartments at Campden House. Lewis was with him and asked how he liked the place.

“It is early to say yet, Lewis,” he answered. “But I feel like an ordinary boy, not a Prince.”

“Then Your Highness won’t like that.”

“But I do like it, Lewis. I like it for now.”

He fell asleep quickly, wondering about the old lady.

There was little ceremony at Twickenham. The Princess Anne’s servants joined those belonging to the house; Anne, herself, spent much of her time in the rooms which had been allotted to her; and the little Duke liked to explore the house and grounds.

When he saw the old lady gathering fruit or herbs or sitting in her rocking chair he would go and stand by her, watching. She would smile at him, but not always speak. He found this refreshing; she seemed to understand that he did not always want to ask or be asked questions. Sometimes she would show him the herbs she was gathering and tell him what uses they could be put to, how they cured this and that. He listened intently and sometimes he himself would pick a leaf and hold it out to her. She always had something interesting to say about it.

He looked for her every day; and when he found her on her rocking chair he would sit at her feet.

Sometimes they would talk and sometimes be silent. He enjoyed both moods.

He asked her one day what it felt like to be so old, and she answered that it felt very much the same as being very young; the young thought highly of some things, the old of others.

“Like battles,” he said, “and gathering herbs.”

She nodded and went on rocking.

Then he told her about his soldiers and the wonderful battles they fought; and she told him how when she had been at Court his great-grandfather had been King.

“Tell me about him.”

“He quarreled with the Parliament and had to go away.”

“Where?”

“Far away where he could not come back.”

“My grandfather has gone far away where he can’t come back. At least not while William has the crown. But they are not supposed to tell me that.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I listen. I am always listening. You see, I always want to know … everything. Is that wrong?”

“I think it is good to want to know.”

“Well I want to know everything … except Scripture. I don’t want Scripture. I won’t listen when Mr. Pratt tries to teach me.”

“Why don’t you like it.”

“Because I don’t like going to church.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Davies and was silent for a long time.

Soon it seemed to Gloucester that he had always lived at Twickenham; it seemed that the sun shone every day and strangely enough he could always find something to do. His chief pleasure was the company of the old lady. The affection between them was noticed and it was remarked how strange it was that the very old woman should attract the young boy.

When she talked she told him of the Court of his great-grandfather who had been gentle and of his French great-grandmother who had been fiery; she told him of the wars between the King and Parliament; and he listened avidly.

She talked to him of the Bible and told him stories from it; he had never heard the stories told in such a way before. She could quote from the New Testament and she told him that she loved the Bible which had been a great comfort to her.

“It has never been a comfort to me,” he said. “I will tell you something: I do not like going to church and I have sworn never to say the psalms which I do not like.”

“But they are so beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

“Yes,” she said. “Listen. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord which made Heaven and Earth.’ ”

“Go on,” said Gloucester.

He watched her mouth as she spoke the words; and although he had heard them before they had never seemed beautiful until then.

“It is you,” he said, “who make them beautiful.”

“I only repeat what is in the book.”

“You love them; you believe them and you make them good.”

“They comfort me. There is much in the book that comforts me.”

“It does not comfort me.”

“But it could.”

“You mean if I loved it … and believed it as you do?”

“You can. Say it with me.”

He did, and he found that the words were beautiful. He wanted to know them so well that he would be able to say them when he was alone without her to prompt him.

He learned quickly. Then he learned other psalms and to say the Lord’s Prayer.

And each day he was more and more with the old lady.