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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“What do you think of my dress?” asked Mary Beatrice, her lovely dark eyes shining; she was always happy on such occasions because she liked to see honor bestowed on her husband.

“Worthy of a Queen,” declared Anne. “Tell me, how do you feel … now that you are a queen?”

Mary Beatrice looked a little sad. “I should feel happier if I were in your condition.”

“You will be … ere long,” said Anne.

Ten days later Anne’s daughter was born. She seemed healthy and although Anne and her husband had longed for a boy they now declared themselves to be completely delighted.

“Soon she shall have a brother,” George promised Anne; and she was sure he would be proved right.

“I shall call her Mary after my dearest sister,” said Anne. “Poor Mary. I feel so guilty to be happy here in England while she must remain in Holland with Caliban.”

John had returned from a mission to France whither he had gone ostensibly to tell Louis of James’s accession, but actually to attempt to obtain further loans from Louis. This he failed to do, but when he returned there was an opportunity of spending a few weeks with Sarah in the house he had built on the site of that old one near St. Albans where Sarah had spent part of her childhood.

Then came the news that Monmouth had landed in England. And John knew he must return to Court without delay.

“So,” said Sarah, “you will fight for the Catholic against the Protestant?”

John smiled. “This is the King against the bastard,” he said. “Until James changes the religion of this country he is still the King as far as I am concerned.”

Sarah agreed that this must be so.

“We should never bow to Monmouth,” she said. “You will defeat him, John.”

“Feversham will be in command,” John replied sardonically, “and I see that the trouble will be mine but the honor will be his.”

“It shall not always be so,” declared Sarah firmly.

The defeat of Monmouth was due to Churchill, for when the battle of Sedgemoor began Feversham was in bed, having, with many of his cronies, drunk rather heavily, and the command was left to John Churchill who started a strong offensive and secured victory for the King’s men.

Monmouth was discovered in a ditch and brought as prisoner to London. There followed his trial, death on Tower Hill, and the great scandal of Judge Jeffrey’s Bloody Assizes.

That affair was ended and James II was firmly on the throne.

Everyone in England seemed aware of the King’s unpopularity except himself. Like a true Stuart James had an inherent belief in the Divine Right of Kings and it was inconceivable to him that his throne could be threatened by the people. He had had two enemies in his nephew Monmouth and his son-in-law William; now Monmouth was dead and only William remained. He had always disliked William and had never ceased to deplore the fact that his beloved daughter Mary had married him. He himself had been against that marriage, but Charles had insisted on it, pointing out that because William was a Protestant it was more necessary to James than to anyone else, for if James did not allow his daughter to marry a Protestant, Charles believed that the people would insist on excluding him from the succession.

So there had been this Dutch marriage—but he never trusted his son-in-law and what was so heartbreaking was that he believed William was trying to influence his daughter against him.

Rake and libertine that he could not prevent himself being, James had a great desire for a happy family life to which he could retire for a short rest from his mistresses. He had convinced himself that he had enjoyed this for a time with Anne Hyde, the mother of his daughters, and the two girls themselves. He remembered several occasions when they had sat on the floor and played childish games together. He looked back—sentimentalist that he was—with great yearning to that period.

He sincerely loved his daughters. In her childhood Mary had been the favorite, but she was far away and William’s wife, whereas Anne was at hand and he could see her frequently. Moreover he had written to Mary in an endeavor to convert her to Catholicism, and her replies had been cool; she implied that she was firmly Protestant.

William’s wife, he thought sadly, scarcely James’s daughter now.

So he turned to Anne. He increased her allowance, for the dear creature had no money sense at all and in spite of her enormous revenue she was constantly in debt. He enjoyed those occasions when she sought his help; it was a pleasure to see her woebegone face break into a smile when he told her that she could rely on her father to help her in any difficulty.

“You are the daughter of a King now,” he was constantly telling her. “The beloved daughter.”

Anne thought what a pleasure it was to be a sovereign. So much homage; so much adulation. Sarah had grown even closer because that year they had both given birth to daughters: Anne’s Mary and Sarah’s Elizabeth.

Sarah would whisper to her: “And think, dear Mrs. Morley, one day you may be the Queen of England.”

“I do not like to think of that, Mrs. Freeman, because my father would have to die first.”

“H’m!” retorted Sarah. “He is a papist, you know, and that is not good.”

“Alas no.” Anne was a staunch Protestant, as she had been brought up to be, for her uncle Charles had taken her education and that of Mary out of their father’s hands. “But he is firmly convinced that he is right.”

“Mrs. Morley must never allow herself to be converted. That would be dangerous. They would never allow you to be Queen if you became a papist. These papists are a menace.”

“I know, I have heard from my sister.… She is not very pleased with my father.”

“Nor is it to be wondered at. He is under the thumb of his wife. She is the real culprit.”

Anne looked puzzled as she thought of her lovely stepmother with whom she had always been on good terms.

“I have never trusted Italians,” went on Sarah. She thought of the Queen sweeping through the Cockpit and showing no respect for Lady Churchill. Her influence with the Princess must not be allowed to grow; it was too great already.

“She always seems to be kindly.”

“Oh, but so proud, Mrs. Morley. She pretends that she is gracious to all, but have you noticed the change in her since she became Queen?”

“Hush, Mrs. Freeman, your voice carries so. If anyone heard you speak thus of the Queen.…”

“We should give her a name, so that no one would know of whom we were speaking.”

Anne was very fond of giving people nicknames; she had always done so throughout her life; so she fell in with the suggestion at once.

“It ought to be something like Morley and Freeman,” she said. “An ordinary sort of name. I have it. Mansell. My father shall be Mr. Mansell and the Queen, Mansell’s wife. How’s that?”

“Mrs. Morley, you are a genius! I cannot think of a name that would suit them better.”

“Mansell!” said Anne savoring it; then she burst out laughing. “It is absolutely right.”

And from then on the King and Queen became Mansell and Mansell’s wife; and it was extraordinary how the change robbed them of dignity. Mrs. Freeman could talk more contemptuously of the Mansells; and Anne found that she could listen, and as usual, she began to share Sarah’s opinions.

Anne was soon pregnant again and as little Mary was surviving happily, she let herself dream of the large family she would have.

This time, she told George, it should be a son.

They were happy days and Anne was able to indulge herself in all her favorite pastimes, to which one had been added: gossip—more than gossip, intrigue.

Wherever Sarah was, there was drama; and Anne found that her friend’s racy conversation and pungent criticisms of almost everyone about them were so diverting. The only people who were good and reasonable were Mr. and Mrs. Morley and Mr. and Mrs. Freeman. Others were perhaps misguided. Anne did not care to hear criticisms of her sister. But there was Caliban to be slandered. As for the King and Queen, Anne was already beginning to dislike her stepmother and see her through Sarah’s eyes as arrogant and dangerous on account of her religion. With regard to her father, Sarah had to tread warily, but Anne was forming a different picture of him. He was immoral; she had always known that; and all men should be like Mr. Morley and Mr. Freeman—moral. Perhaps before their marriages they had had their amours; but all the more credit to them that, being married to good wives, they should forsake their follies.

Anne was changing; she was as placid as ever, but she could be spiteful. The fact was she so enjoyed the scandalous conversations and Sarah was so amusing that sometimes Anne was quite helpless with laughter.

It was so comfortable, to be stretched out on a divan, a dish of sweets beside one, while the talk was all of intrigue and the day when Anne would be Queen. To adventure without stirring from the couch suited Anne.

What would she do without her dear Mrs. Freeman to divert her? She had no notion of the immense and driving purpose behind Mrs. Freeman’s discourse.

THE PRINCESS BEREAVED

t was May and the sun streamed into Windsor Castle.

Anne lay in her bed, her new baby in her arms. The child had just been christened Anne Sophia and it had been such an impressive ceremony with Lady Roscommon and Lady Churchill as godmothers.

It was a healthy baby, but Anne was disturbed because little Mary was not progressing as she wished. The child was pale and listless and she was worried, for so many royal babies did not reach maturity. It was as though there was some blight on them from the day they were born. One could comfort oneself with hopes of a large family, but when a child had been lost and another seemed ailing, fear crept into the heart; and there were memories of Queens and Princesses in the past who had prayed for children—whose whole future depended on the ability to bear children—and who had failed.

Anne’s future did not depend on her children; but she had discovered that she was by nature a mother. She yearned for children as she did for nothing else. She wanted to see a whole brood of them, laughing and healthy about her fireside, with good, dear, dependable George loving them in his genial way as she did in hers.

Sarah bustled into the apartment and took the child from its mother’s arms; she rocked it with a gentleness rare in her, while Anne looked on smiling benignly.

“The next,” prophesied Sarah, “must be a boy.”

“I pray so,” answered Anne.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “A boy,” she said, “who will one day be our Sovereign Lord the King.”

Sarah noticed with pleasure that Anne’s eyes were shining with a determination she had never seen there before.

Anne was worried. She had noticed that George had not seemed well during the passing weeks. He had lost his interest in food which could only mean that he was ill.

“My dearest,” she cried, taking his hand, “you have a fever.”

He did not deny it and she called his attendants to help him to his bed while she sent for the physicians.

George had a restless night and in the morning his condition appeared to have worsened.

The doctors shook their heads. “He is a little heavy, Madam,” they told Anne, “and he breathes with difficulty.”

Anne had not been so distressed since she had heard that Mary was leaving England; and an additional anxiety was her eldest daughter who was coughing and spitting blood. The sight of that blood terrified her. If her little girl was going to die and her kind George would not be well enough to comfort her, what would she do! She could only turn to her dear Mrs. Freeman, but in the meantime she must do all she could to save them.

She insisted on nursing her husband, and astonished everyone, for never had she exerted herself to such an extent before. He was very weak, but he lay quietly smiling at her and she knew that her presence comforted him.

Sarah was annoyed, but managed not to show it.

“Madam,” she said, for others were present, “I like not to see you wearing yourself out in this way. Any of your women could do what you are doing.”

“You are wrong, Lady Churchill,” was Anne’s answer. “He is comforted by my presence and there is no one but myself who could give him that comfort.”

Sarah withdrew angrily, but she managed to give Anne the impression that her anger was a sign of fear for her mistress’s health.

Anne could be stubborn on occasions, Sarah was discovering. Perhaps it was a warning that she should not take too much for granted. But Sarah was usually in too much of a hurry to heed warnings, too sure of herself to believe she could ever be wrong.

Meanwhile Anne sat by her husband’s bed while he held her hand and although he could not speak, his eyes told her how happy he was to have her there.

Anne was melancholy, for she, like everyone else, believed that he was going to die. She thought of the day they had met, of their immediate liking which had made both of them accept the marriage calmly. Rarely could strangers have contemplated marriage with such serenity. But they were serene people—both of them—perhaps that was why theirs was such a happy marriage.

From George’s bed, she went to that of her elder daughter. The child lay, panting for her breath, racked now and then by fits of coughing.

Anne wept, then hastily dried her eyes that she might go to her husband’s bedside with a smile.

Hourly she was expecting the death of husband and daughter and never in her life had she been so unhappy. She had her baby; she would hold the child in her arms and wonder how long it would be before little Anne Sophia would be the only member of her family left to her.

She was sitting by her husband’s bed one day when Sarah came into the room. There was a closer bond between them because Sarah had a boy now whom she had christened John after her husband and as a mother Sarah could understand and sympathize with the anguish Anne was now enduring. Sarah had three healthy children. Lucky Sarah! Her successful motherhood endeared her to Anne. It seemed yet a further proof that Sarah would always be successful.

Now Sarah was subdued which was startling because it was so unlike her.

“Mary …?” whispered Anne.

Sarah drew her outside and put an arm about her.

“It is the little one,” she said.

The child was lying in its cradle; her face was scarlet, its limbs distorted.

“No!” cried Anne. “This is too much.”

She looked wildly about her, calling for the doctors; but there was nothing they could do.