Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II (37 page)

Marlborough was almost hoping for an invasion of England that would give him an opportunity to show his skill. He had hoped that it might happen because there had been rebellions in Deal and Rye, and as far north as Berwick. Scotland was always suspected of being firmly behind the Stuarts and therefore for James against William. But French folly in making the hit and run attack on Teignmouth had quelled all thoughts of rebellion against William and Mary because of a need to stand against England’s enemy: France.

They must wait in patience, said Marlborough; but patience was not one of Sarah’s virtues.

She looked about for some light diversion and found one.

She was playing cards with Anne and a few of the Princess’s women when they began to discuss the effects of the victory in Ireland.

Sarah commented that this would probably mean that there were estates in Ireland which would come to the King’s faithful supporters. Then she noticed that Lady Fitzharding was looking a little smug.

Sarah could guess what this meant.

It was an astonishing thing that Elizabeth Villiers should have received so little from the King. She supposed it was because he hoped to keep his relationship with her secret. What a fool Elizabeth was not to feather her nest while she had the chance. Little Hook-Nose was not going to last forever, and if she could believe her spies, which she could for they would not dare deceive
her
, he was spitting blood. And what would Elizabeth Villiers have when he was gone? Would Queen Mary offer a pension to the lady who had served her husband so well?

Sarah snorted with amusement.

Impatiently she played her cards, bringing the game to an early end; then she sought an opportunity of cornering Barbara Fitzharding.

“It would not surprise me,” she said, “if your sister did well out of this Irish business.”

Barbara’s lips closed quite perceptibly tighter.

Does she think I’m blind! thought Sarah.

“Well,” said Sarah, “have you lost your tongue?”

“His Majesty has not taken me into his confidence,” replied Barbara.

“I didn’t think His Majesty had. But it’s no use pretending your sister isn’t his mistress when we all know it. I think she’d be a fool not to get what she can out of Ireland and I don’t think she’s all that much of a fool.”

“I agree with you on that. I do not think my sister is a fool either.”

“She will be rich in a short time. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Earl of Portland has his picking.”

“It may well be,” answered Barbara.

May well be! thought Sarah. It is.

She told Anne about this. “It is quite funny. That Dutch Abortion. Such a clever general, my dear! Why wasn’t Marlborough sent to Ireland? He would have settled them long ere this. No, Caliban must go! He must be the great hero.”

“They say he is a great soldier.”

“Great soldier indeed. Ha! Great soldier and great lover! Do you know he has the Irish estates to dispose of now? He is going to shower them on … whom do you think? Two guesses, Mrs. Morley. I should have thought he was neuter. But he teeters half one way half the other. There is Betty Squint-Eye on one side and his dear Bentinck on the other, with Keppel waiting for his turn. It will be pickings for Betty and Bentinck.”

“My sister will not be pleased,” said Anne.

“They hope to keep it secret from her.
I
think she should be told. After all, think to what good use she could put the Irish estates.”

Mary sat alone
in her apartment weeping.

Life was too difficult. There had been the dreadful affair of Torrington and the disaster of Beachy Head; then all the trouble over Haddock and Ashby and she knew Killigrew was a most unwise choice; dear Shrewsbury had become so ill over the matter that he had retired to Tunbridge Wells; she had been frantic with worry as to what was happening to William in Ireland; and when she had visited her dear little nephew for solace, her sister Anne had been there and had hinted that William was going to bestow Irish estates on Elizabeth Villiers.

Often she was able to dismiss that woman from her mind. It is not so, she had told herself. It used to be, but it is no longer. But for all that, she knew that Elizabeth continued as his mistress.

Why? she demanded. Why?

William was not a sensual man like her uncle Charles and her father. Women were essential to them—not so to William. Why then could he not be contented with his wife?

She understood his affection for Portland. She herself had once loved Frances Apsley better than anyone else in the world; it was for this reason that she no longer saw her; she did not want to be tempted again into passionate friendship with a woman.

She accepted Portland’s influence with William. She could tell herself that it was good for a man to have ministers whose fidelity he could rely on.

But Elizabeth Villiers was his mistress and while he was in Ireland he was thinking of her.

She would not allow it. She was after all the Queen and should have some say in matters.

She thought of gentle Shrewsbury and she wondered whether he would have been a faithful husband.

What an extraordinary idea! Her thoughts then skipped to the visit of Monmouth to The Hague. How they had danced and skated together, and if Monmouth had not been so devotedly attached to Henrietta Wentworth at that time and she married to William, there might have been gossip about them. Perhaps there had been, for who knew where gossip was? Did William know how there were always men and women to discuss his relationship with … that woman.

She took up her pen and wrote:

You will have Irish estates of which to dispose. I believe it would be an excellent idea to set up schools on these estates and instruct the Irish. If you will give me leave I must tell you I think that your wonderful success and deliverance should oblige you to think of doing what you can for the advancement of the true religion and the promoting of the Gospel …

She reread what she had written. Would he be angry that she sought to dictate to him. She wanted to cry out: “This you must do and not shower such gifts on your mistress while all London, all the Court, all the country titters behind your back.

“I will not endure it,” she said aloud.

But she knew that when she was face to face with him she would do exactly as he wished.

He would be
home soon. Her great plan now was to have Kensington Palace ready for him. In her frequent letters she had told him how progress was going on and she knew that he would consider her very incompetent if it were not ready for him to take up residence when he arrived.

But there was so much to be done; she looked with dismay at the apartments not yet painted. Every day she was at Kensington urging the workmen to work faster, while at the same time they made sure that all the skill of their craft was put into practice.

“The King’s homecoming will be spoilt if Kensington Palace is not ready for him,” she complained.

She herself was planning the gardens with feverish activity. She longed for William’s return and yet at the same time she was terrified that he would come too soon.

She was at Kensington when the news of fresh trouble reached her. The Jacobites were rising in Scotland.

The pleasant trips to Kensington were over; now it was no longer a matter of, Will it be finished in time? It was And who are these Scottish traitors?

There were Scotsmen in London and the Scottish songs were sung in the streets.

Ken ye the rhyme to porringer?
Ken ye the rhyme to porringer?
King James the Seventh had a daughter
And he gave her to an Oranger.
Ken ye how he requited him?
Ken ye how he requited him?
The dog has into England come
And taken the crown in spite of him.
The rogue he shall nae keep it lang
To budge we’ll make him fain again
We’ll hang him high upon a tree
King James shall hae his ain again!

Was there to be no end to it? Would there always be the “Jacks” lurking behind every corner? And how could she sleep peacefully at night when she heard threats against William?

There was a scare when a man and woman were overheard in Birdcage Walk plotting her assassination. The woman was thought to be Catherine Sedley, although there was no real evidence of this. The Queen was guarded but no attempt was made on her life; and the rebellion in Scotland was ended by the capture of the ringleaders. Catherine Sedley was involved with them, but Mary could not allow her to be punished very severely for, after all, had she not been James’s mistress and she must have had some affection for him. How difficult it was to punish those men whose crime was that they were loyal to her own father?

Several of them were in the Tower. She did not want to think of them. How she longed to be back in Holland, tending her gardens, living quietly, peacefully. How she wished that she had never been drawn into this conflict between her father and husband.

Each day she rose wondering what new crisis would be brought to light. She had always been one to form habits and her days ran to a pattern; she awoke at six, had tea brought to her and worked at her papers until eight when she went to prayers; then she worked again through the day until evening when if there were no public engagements she relaxed at her favorite cards; she rarely went to bed before two of the morning. Each day she wrote to William; she had always been a great letter writer and she found it so much easier to write to him than to talk to him.

She had had no reply to her letter about the Irish estates, but William was no letter writer. He was a soldier with serious business to occupy his time; and she, good ruler though she had proved herself to be, was first of all an emotional woman.

Her success as a ruler would have meant nothing to her if William’s campaign had been a failure. She was constantly turning attention from her own achievements to point to his. If the people cheered William, which they never did, that would have given her greater pleasure than their cheers for herself. She longed for the people to appreciate him, to understand why he had taken the crown. It was not for his own glory, she would have them understand; it was to save England for Protestantism.

He would soon be home now. She had heard that he was on the way.

She drove home from Kensington where she had been to see how the building was progressing and there was an anxious frown between her eyes. It would not be ready—she was certain of it now—and he would be very disappointed.

I should have made sure, she scolded herself.

As her coach had turned into the courtyard, the horses shied suddenly; they reared and plunged … onto the statue of James II.

Her hand on her throat, she alighted. She stood for a moment staring at the remnants of her father’s image, which her coach had destroyed. She was shivering, seeing in everything that happened a symbol.

William was home
, and as Kensington Palace was not ready the meeting took place at Hampton Court.

She smiled at him, her face illumined with great joy.

The bells were ringing and the people were giving him a welcome. He was uncouth and Dutch with a hooked nose and crooked back, but he was a conqueror for all that. He took Mary’s hand and managed to smile at her. She had done well and her letters with their adulation and deep sincerity had been a comfort to him. He had molded her until she had almost become the wife he wanted; and he was well pleased.