The Merry Monarch's Wife (29 page)

It was always interesting to go to Richmond and on this occasion I wanted to see them, particularly Mary, because I knew of the secret negotiations which were in progress, now we were at peace with Holland, for a marriage between her and Prince William of Orange. Mary was only fifteen, and I could guess how disturbed she would be at the prospect of leaving her comfortable home.

Moreover, from what I knew, William was not the most attractive of young men. He was a Protestant, though, and the country would approve; and it was very necessary to have that approval.

I remembered, some years ago, William had paid a visit to our court. He had probably been about twenty then, for he was twelve years older than Mary. His mother was Charles's sister Mary, who had been the Princess Royal of England, and his father, the Prince of Orange, had died at the time of young William's birth, so in his cradle the boy became Prince of Orange.

He must have been amazed by what he discovered at his uncle's court. Young, inexperienced as he was, he attracted the interest of the courtiers and they decided to amuse themselves at his expense.

I remember the occasion well, for I felt sorry for the young man.

They had made him drunk—a condition which was new to him. They had caroused with him…leading him on to such mischief that he tried to force his way into the quarters of the ladies-in-waiting, and when he met resistance, broke a window and attempted to climb in. The jokers then thought that was enough and took him away. I recall how Charles laughed about his sober nephew's drunken attempts at depravity.

And this was the young man whom it would be expedient for Mary to marry.

I came to Richmond with some trepidation, for I was sure I should find Mary very apprehensive.

As soon as I arrived I realized that she had heard the rumors.

Everything was much as usual in their apartments. Mary and Anne had always been together, Mary being the more dominant of the two, and they were surrounded by their close friends and attendants.

Their governess was Frances Villiers, daughter of the Earl of Suffolk. I had heard from her how difficult it was to teach Anne.

“Mary is different,” she said. “She is quite interested in learning. Of course, the Duke adores her, and she does not want him to think she is ignorant like her sister. Anne does not care. The only one who can tell her what to do is Sarah Jennings. They are very close friends and you would sometimes think Sarah was the mistress. It is pleasant to see the friendship between all the girls.”

I joined them. Anne was sitting next to Sarah Jennings, a very bright-looking young woman, the kind who would stand out among others…not necessarily because of her looks…but perhaps because of her somewhat imperious manner. I could well believe in her mastery over her lazy mistress.

They rose when I entered and came to do homage to the Queen—Mary first. I felt a pang of anxiety. She was so young and rather pretty with her dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. She had the Stuart look, and she was a sensible girl. I knew that the Duke was passionately devoted to her and indulged her greatly. She could have been spoiled but, to her credit, she was not, and was a very pleasant girl.

“Your Majesty,” she began.

I smiled and took her into my arms.

“Dear Mary,” I said. “You are well, are you?”

“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty, and you?”

“I am well, thank you. And here is Anne.”

Anne looked at me with that rather vague expression which was due to her short-sightedness.

“Anne, my dear, you are well?”

“I thank Your Majesty, yes.”

I smiled at the attendants: Anne Trelawny, Mary's special friend, and Elizabeth Villiers, Frances's daughter, and, of course, Sarah Jennings.

They rose and curtsied, then retired so that I was apart with Mary and Anne.

I wished there need not be this ceremony. I would have liked to talk naturally to all the girls. I was particularly interested in Sarah Jennings and Elizabeth Villiers.

“Madam, has the new baby come yet?” asked Mary.

She was referring to the expected child of her stepmother, the new Duchess. Birth was always a rather depressing topic for me. Mary of Modena had already borne three children in the short time since her marriage. The first, a girl, had been named Catherine after me, but had died almost as soon as she was born. There was a son who had died and a daughter Isabel…and now the prospect of another.

“Not yet,” I told them.

“It would be nice to have a little stepbrother,” said Mary. “Though it is not the same as if it were our mother.”

Both she and Anne looked mournful. They had loved their mother and I fancied they both resented their father's remarriage.

Anne took a sweetmeat from a bowl beside her.

“Oh, Anne,” said Mary with a little laugh. “You should not eat so many of those.”

“I like them,” said Anne.

“She eats them all the time,” Mary told me.

“Do they not spoil your appetite?” I asked.

Anne said they did not. Nibbling sweets was a habit she had acquired from her mother. Anne had become very fat in the last months of her life. I could not forget her lying on her deathbed…searching for the truth…worrying about the future of her girls.

“Sarah will be getting married soon,” said Anne. “John Churchill is always coming here to court her. His family think she is not good enough for him.”

“Sarah will certainly not agree with that, I am sure,” I remarked.

“Sarah is wondering if she is too good for him,” said Mary.

“I am not surprised at that,” I said. “Well, is she going to marry him?”

Anne nodded. “She really wants to. But she is saying…not yet. She thinks they ought to wait.”

I wonder,” said Mary, “what it is like to be married?” There was a faint note of fear in her voice.

“In time you will know,” I told her.

“Yes…a husband will be found for each of us.”

“That is certain to be so.”

“Sarah must not go when she marries,” went on Anne. “I could not do without Sarah.”

“You are very fond of her,” I said.

“So is my stepmother. She knows that John Churchill wants to marry Sarah. She likes to help them. She thinks it is romantic.”

“In my opinion,” I commented, “from what I know of Sarah, if
she
wants a marriage, a marriage there will be.”

Anne smiled and nodded.

“My stepmother was not very happy when she was told she must marry,” said Mary.

“She was very young. It was a shock. It can be a shock when you are very young.”

“When you married the King you were old.”

“In comparison, yes. I was nearly twenty-four.”

“That is very old. My stepmother was fifteen.”

“That is very young.”

“I am fifteen,” said Mary, almost pleadingly.

I thought, she wants to talk to me, alone. I decided I must arrange this.

“When my stepmother heard she was to marry my father,” went on Mary, “she wept all day. She screamed and kicked and refused to leave her bed.”

“Did she tell you this?”

“Yes. She is not very much older than I am. Four years only.”

“Then she is like one of you girls.”

“She is happier now,” put in Anne.

“I think she does not mind our father so much. I think she quite likes him. She loves the King. She says he has been kind to her…always.”

“The King is always kind,” I said warmly.

“Yes,” agreed Mary. “And when you came to England, were you frightened?”

“A little. But I wanted to come. I had heard of the King.”

“Oh yes, my uncle is a very nice man. The nicest man in the world…next to my father.”

She looked at me steadily and I wondered how much a fifteen-year-old girl knew of what happened in a court like this one.

“And now she has one baby,” said Mary. “That must be nice.”

“Nice! I thought what a mild way of describing the experience! What joy it must be! If only it had happened to me.

I felt sorry for Mary groping in the dark, aware that it was going to be her turn very soon.

When I was taking my leave, I kissed Anne but I held Mary close.

I said quietly: “I would speak with you, Mary.”

We looked at Anne who was peering at the box of sweetmeats, and Mary followed me out of the room into the small antechamber.

“What is it, Mary?” I asked.

“They are talking about my cousin, the Prince of Orange.”

“Do you know him?”

“No, not well.”

“And there is often talk…”

“Are they arranging a marriage?”

“People in places like ours will always have plans made for them. Sometimes…quite often…they come to nothing.”

“I do not want to go away. I want to stay here always…with us all together. My friend Anne Trelawny, and Elizabeth Villiers and Sarah Jennings…and most of all my sister. I want it to go on like this.”

“There is always change, my dear.”

“But if this Prince of Orange…”

“You will probably like him. Your stepmother did not want to come here but she is happy now.”

“The Prince of Orange is old.”

“Oh no…he is a young man.”

“He is twelve years older than I.”

“That is not so very much for princes. Think of your stepmother and how much older your father is than she.”

She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears.

I took her in my arms and comforted her. But what could I say? Mary would be sacrificed as thousands like her had been before.

         

POOR MARY!
I was so sorry for her.

The Prince of Orange had arrived in England. From what I heard from Charles, he was not a very attractive young man.

“Plain spoken, as you would expect,” said Charles. “Not given to courtly manners.”

“Perhaps he has other qualities.”

“I have no doubt he has. He is a very serious young man. He has informed me that, before he proceeds with the marriage, he wishes to see the Princess. Ah well, it is one of the terms of the peace treaty between us. To my mind, he is an ambitious young man. Mary has a chance…a faint one…of reaching the throne.”

I winced and Charles, realizing why, laid a reassurign hand on my arm. He was reconciled to the position and he wanted me to be. I must drop this habit of mine of reproaching myself every time this matter was hinted at.

He went on: “We shall see what the Duchess of York gives us this time. It is likely that the infant may entirely spoil Mary's chances. But who is to say? I was telling you that young Orange is a very serious young man.”

“I am thinking of Mary.”

“I also. Poor child! James dotes on her, and I think she will not be happy to leave her home.”

“I know she is frightened.”

“They are all frightened when they have to go away to a strange man and a strange court. You know that, Catherine.”

“I was not frightened. I wanted to come.”

He looked melancholy. “Your disillusion came after.”

“Oh no…no.”

“I understand, my dear. We were not so unfortunate, you and I. Certainly not I. But the ordeal now lies before my poor little niece. She has confided in you?”

“A little.”

“And her stepmother too, I'll swear. 'Tis a pity she has had such a good home, as it gives her the more grief to leave it. Well, the young man wishes to make his inspection. He is quite blunt about it. He does not get his manners from the Stuarts. It's the stolid Dutch influence coming out.”

When Mary heard the news, she was smitten with grief and she was in a state of fright when she was presented to her prospective bridegroom. I did not know what happened at that interview, and I believe for Mary it was mercifully brief. He appeared to be satisfied with her; she was less pleased with him.

She took to her bed and gave herself up to futile tears. In vain did Anne and the other girls try to pacify her. Nothing could turn her from her melancholy.

I went to see her. There was a note of cheerfulness then because negotiations were lagging a little and Mary's eyes shone with the hope that the marriage might come to nothing.

William was insisting that it take place immediately, but Charles wished the peace terms to be dealt with first.

He said: “The young man behaves like an impatient lover. I can scarcely believe that of him. He is an astute fellow. He wants to make sure of the marriage. There will be a close bond between our countries if it is settled, which it would not be easy to break. Well, he is my sister's son and soon now he will be my brother's son-in-law. He is clever, you know. I wish I could like him as much as I respect him.”

“He certainly does not resemble the friends you like to have around you.”

“There you have it. There is no wit in him. He is all sound common sense and honesty. A stern Protestant. That is why the people like this marriage. It really is a desirable match from all sides.”

“Except poor Mary's,” I said.

“Mary will get used to him. After all, she has to marry one day. Why not Orange?”

“She is so very young.”

“James was hoping to get the Dauphin for her, but she'll do better with Orange than at the court of France.”

“Let us hope so.”

Mary's tears availed nothing. On the Sunday of the fourth of November she was married. I could have wept for her. She looked such a child.

An altar had been set up in her bedchamber. The King was beside me; the Duke of York and his Duchess Mary Beatrice, so heavily pregnant that she looked as though she would give birth at any moment, and the Bishop of London who was to perform the ceremony.

Mary looked dejected and I longed to comfort her.

Charles took her to the altar. He smiled at the pregnant Duchess and said: “We must make haste, lest my sister the Duchess gives us a boy.” Smiling roguishly at William, he added: “And the marriage should be disappointing.”