Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II Page 11

  Throughout England that tense autumn it seemed that everyone was singing Lilliburlero, singing it with fervor and indignation.

  William set out from Holland, his fleet was scattered by bad weather and he had to return to his own country; but this was only a temporary respite. The next time William made the attempt he reached Torbay in safety; and when the people saw the Orange flags with the motto “Protestant Religion and Liberty,” they welcomed William and drank to his success.

  It was the 5th of November. A significant day because this was the anniversary of the Catholic plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament.

  James now realized the need for action and marched west with his army. John Churchill was one of his leading generals, but Churchill had his own ideas as to what would be the outcome of the battle. As he saw it, there could be victory for either side; but Churchill was a Protestant; he was also an extremely ambitious man; Sarah and he were pledged to Anne and if James were the victor, then the Prince of Wales would follow him.

  So here was Churchill, the King’s general, secretly hoping the King’s enemy would be victorious; and if the King was defeated those who had served him could not expect favors from the new King and Queen. Exile would more likely be their lot.

  Churchill was a brilliant soldier; but there was one cause for which he would always fight—the cause of the Churchills.

  Churchill left the King at Salisbury and joined William at Axminster. Prince George followed him.

  When James heard the news, he knew that he was defeated.

  John’s great concern was for Sarah who, at the Cockpit, would be in danger. As soon as he reached Axminster he sent a message telling her she must make her escape from London for he was certain orders would be given for her arrest.

  When Sarah heard this news she sprang into action.

  “We are in danger,” she told Anne. “William is going to be victorious, for Mr. Freeman and Mr. Morley are now with him, and we are both in danger of arrest.”

  “What can we do?” cried Anne.

  “There is no need for you to be afraid, dear Mrs. Morley. I will arrange everything. You must tell no one, though. This must be our secret. But we must escape from the Cockpit before our enemies can make us their prisoners.”

  Anne nodded, but she was a little disturbed. It had been so much more fun to gossip about plots and intrigues than to be caught up in them; but Sarah was at her best on occasions like this.

  “Not a word to Danvers, or your old nurse Buss,” warned Sarah. “Fitzharding will come with us. We can trust her because she is an Orange woman since her sister is Caliban’s mistress.”

  “Sometimes,” said Anne apprehensively, “I do not think we are going to like Caliban as much as my father.”

  “It will be your sister who is the Sovereign. Caliban is only her consort and we must remember that this is a religious cause and however hateful the Dutch Monster is, he is a Protestant.”

  “Yes, I understand,” agreed Anne.

  “You’ll see now,” went on Sarah, “how wise I was to have our private stairway made. We can use it and very few people know of its existence.”

  “Oh, Sarah, you are clever! Had you something like this in mind when you had the staircase made?”

  “I have always something like this in mind. As you know, my dear Mrs. Morley’s safety is always my first concern.”

  Sarah did not think it necessary to point out that Anne was not in any danger for James would never allow his daughter to be harmed and this elaborate escape was for Sarah’s benefit.

  But where Sarah was, Anne wanted to be, and she found herself caught up in the excitement.

  Sarah’s eyes were brilliant with excitement. This was adventure such as she loved; and after it she and Anne were going to be closer than ever. She was certain of William’s victory for now he would have John on his side and they could not fail. This was going to be the end of Catholic James and his son; it would be William and Mary and afterward … Anne. And Anne meant Sarah. What a future would be hers as uncrowned Queen! The Kings of France were ruled by their mistresses, so shouldn’t Anne be ruled by Sarah? There should be no one in Anne’s life to compare with Sarah. Sarah had at times been a little anxious about the devotion between Anne and her husband. But George was a bore and Anne’s nature was to be more fond of her own sex than the opposite. She had married and as soon as she had borne one child—which unfortunately did not live—she was pregnant with another, and this order of things was becoming an expected pattern; not once during her married life had Anne looked at another man. There had been the abortive affair with Mulgrave, but that, Sarah told herself, had been Anne’s desire not so much for a man but to imitate her friend who was happily married. Anne was placid, accepting life as it came. She had married because that was expected of her; she loved her husband because it was impossible to dislike him; she lived a normal married life because it was planned for her. Had she made her own way it would have been to women she turned.

  Sarah had no such love for her own sex. Sarah loved herself and her husband and children, and her love was the sort which expressed itself, not in tenderness or unselfish devotion but in getting the best in life for them all.

  Sarah saw herself the strong and dominant figure with complete understanding of Anne who could not understand herself.

  The plot was laid. Anne was to go to her chamber assisted by Mrs. Danvers and Mrs. Buss and afterward when she was alone Sarah would creep up the private stairway and help her dress; then they would join Lady Fitzharding by the same staircase and escape.

  Anne could hear the rain beating against the windows of the Cockpit. It was a wild night, a night of adventure. She was trying to appear normal but she was very anxious; Mr. Freeman had gone over to William; so had Mr. Morley; and of course they had not gone alone but taken their men with them. The country was rising against her father; and she, lying comfortably on her couch, munching her sweetmeats, had helped to bring about this situation.

  Of course he was a Catholic. He had imprisoned the Bishops which was a wicked thing to do; he had tried to force Catholicism on a country which did not want it; he had led a scandalous life—as scandalous as his brother Charles’s. Charles had loved beautiful and attractive women; James had seemed to choose the most unattractive. Charles had once said that James, in spite of being so devout, loved women even more than he did, but chose such women as his priests might have provided for his penances. Now he had a Queen who was a beautiful creature but he preferred plain Catherine Sedley and others. He was a most immoral man, Anne assured herself. Yet at the same time she did not wish to face him when he came back to London. He would know, of course, that she was with his enemies. There came a time when it was impossible not to show which side one was on; and for that reason she did not want to see him again because she would never be able to look him in the face.

  All this she was thinking while she listened to the rain and thought of escape. All would be well because Sarah had planned it. Sarah would see that nothing went wrong.

  All the same it was very difficult to hide how excited she was from Danvers and Buss.

  Mrs. Buss, who had been her nurse as a child and regarded herself as a specially privileged person came bustling in.

  “Oh, my dear Madam! Sitting by the window in the cold … and no shawl about your shoulders!”

  “I’m not cold, Buss.”

  “Not cold indeed! Why I saw you shiver.”

  “Buss, I am not your baby now, you know.”

  “You will always be my baby.”

  “Buss, I should like to get to bed quickly. I am rather tired.”

  “Come then, Madam dear. Let Buss take off your shoes. Danvers, Her Highness is tired. Has the bed been warmed?”

  They fussed about her, divesting her of clothes which she would have to put on again. But Sarah would help her dress. It was all set for one o’clock, and it was not yet midnight, so there was plenty of time.

  When they had covered
her up she said: “Draw the curtains. I am tired.”

  They obeyed and soon she was alone, lying there, awaiting the summons from Sarah.

  At the appointed time the bed curtains parted and there was Sarah with her clothes. Hurriedly she dressed, and taking Sarah’s hand went to Sarah’s apartment by way of the secret stair so that Danvers and Buss sleeping in the anteroom did not hear them leave.

  In a short time they were at the door of the Cockpit.

  “Your Highness.” It was Lord Dorset whom Sarah had commissioned to conduct them to the hackney coach which Henry Compton, the ex-Bishop of London would have waiting for them. Compton had been the governor of the Princesses Mary and Anne in their childhood and had been chosen by King Charles when his brother was becoming so unpopular that it had been necessary to take his children’s education out of his hands. Compton had fallen out of favor with James when he came to the throne and lost his offices, for the Bishop was a sturdy Protestant, but he had kept in touch with his old pupil and heartily approved of her attitude toward her father.

  Sarah said: “What a night! Let us make for the coach with all speed, my lord.”

  “It means crossing the park,” Dorset replied.

  Sarah made an impatient noise with her lips and Dorset turned away from her to offer his arm to the Princess.

  “If Your Highness will honor me …”

  Anne took his arm, hoping that he had, as she heard, reformed his ways. It was true he was no longer a young man; he had been a great favorite of King Charles, for in his youth he had been one of the wits of the Court; he had taken part in many disgraceful scenes which some members of Charles’s Court had seen fit to call frolics, but that was long ago in his wild youth and he must be fifty now. James had always disliked him and Dorset was not one to curb his exuberance to seek favor; he had written satires about Catherine Sedley; and when the Bishops had been imprisoned had openly declared his sympathy with them. This had necessitated his retirement from Court. So both Compton and Dorset were her father’s enemies.

  More than ever Anne wanted to get away; she was afraid now that their flight would be discovered and they be brought back. “Yes,” she said, “and let us hurry.”

  The rain which had been falling all day had turned the soft soil of the park to mud, and Anne was not equipped for walking—a pastime in which she never indulged if she could help it.

  On Dorset’s arm with Sarah and Lady Fitzharding beside her they started across the park; but they had not gone far when Anne gave a cry of dismay; her high heeled shoe had slipped off, and she was up to her ankles in mud.

  “Where is Her Highness’s shoe?” asked Sarah imperiously.

  They all peered down into the mud for the delicate slipper, but the night was dark and they could not see it.

  “I can only hop,” Anne suggested.

  But Dorset had taken off his long leather gauntlet and begged leave to slip it on the Princess’s foot.

  This was done and Anne was half carried by Dorset across the park to where Henry Compton was waiting for them as arranged.

  “Now,” cried Compton, “to my house by St. Paul’s.” He turned to his old pupil who laughingly showed him her foot encased in Dorset’s gauntlet.

  “We will take a little refreshment at my house,” said Compton, “and find shoes for Your Highness. But before dawn we must be away.”

  Before dawn the party set off for Copt Hall, Dorset’s house at Waltham, but on his advice and that of the Bishop they did not rest there long. Nottingham was their goal; and there they were received by Compton’s brother, the Earl of Northampton.

  In Nottingham, Compton dressed himself in a military uniform and riding through the town carried with him a banner.

  He cried out: “All people who would preserve the laws and liberties of England, rally to the Princess Anne, the Protestant heiress to the throne.”

  The people ran out of their houses; they stood in the streets and cheered.

  “No popery!” they cried. “A Protestant Sovereign for a Protestant people.”

  On the morning after Anne had made her way through the rain and mud from the Cockpit to the waiting hackney coach, Mrs. Danvers went to awaken her mistress.

  She knocked at the door and, receiving no command to enter, was bewildered.

  She went to call Mrs. Buss.

  “Her Highness does not answer me,” she explained.

  “She is fast asleep,” said Mrs. Buss. “Open the door and go in. I will come with you.”

  But when they tried to open the door they found it locked.

  “Locked!” cried Mrs. Buss. “I never heard the like of this. Anything might have happened to Her Highness. We must force the door.”

  “Wait a moment,” cautioned Mrs. Danvers and called out: “Your Highness. Are you there?”

  There was no answer. “I am going to force the door,” said Mrs. Buss. “I take full responsibility.”

  With that she threw her weight against the door and with Mrs. Danvers to help her they soon had the door open. Dashing in they saw that the Princess’s bed was empty.

  “She has been abducted,” cried Mrs. Danvers.

  “Murdered more like.” Mrs. Buss began to tremble. “The Queen’s priests have done this. We must not delay. Go and tell my Lord Clarendon. He was her friend. Go and tell him at once.”

  Mrs. Danvers ran to do her bidding; but Mrs. Buss, who looked upon the Princess as her baby, ran out of the Cockpit to Whitehall.

  When the guards asked her business she cried: “I want the Princess Anne.” And they, astonished, stood aside and allowed her to force her way into the Queen’s apartments.

  Mary Beatrice, who was living in hourly fear of what would happen next, could only stare at the distracted woman.

  “Give me the Princess Anne,” demanded Mrs. Buss. “You have brought her here against her will.”

  “The woman is mad,” said the Queen. “Pray take her away.”

  Guards seized Mrs. Buss who shouted: “I tell you the Princess has been abducted. You will find her hidden here. Release me, if you value your lives. If you are for the Princess Anne, release me.”

  “Take here away,” ordered the Queen distastefully. “Send her back where she came from.”

  When she was ejected from the Palace Mrs. Buss began to shout: “You have taken the Princess Anne. What are you doing to her?”

  And very soon a crowd had collected.

  “The Queen has made a prisoner of the Princess!” was the comment.

  “For what reason?”

  “Because she is a wicked Catholic and knows the Princess is a good Protestant.”

  “Shall we stand aside and allow this Italian to harm our English Princess?”

  “By God no! We’ll pull Whitehall to pieces to find where she is hidden!”

  The news spread through the City and soon people were verging on Whitehall from all quarters. The foreigner would have to be shown that she could not harm their Princess.

  It was Mrs. Danvers who found the letter on Anne’s table. It was addressed to her stepmother and said:

  Madam,

  I beg your pardon if I am so deeply affected with the surprising news of my husband’s being gone, as not to be able to see you, but to leave this paper to express my humble duty to the King and yourself and to let you know that I am gone to absent myself to avoid the King’s displeasure, which I am not able to bear, either against the Prince or myself, and I shall stay at so great a distance as not to return until I hear the happy news of a reconcilement; and as I am confident that the Prince did not leave the King with any other design than to use all possible means for his preservation, so I hope you will do me the justice to believe that I am incapable of following him for any other end. Never was anyone in such an unhappy condition, so divided between duty to a father and to a husband, and therefore I know not what I must do but to follow one to preserve the other. I see the general falling off of the nobility and gentry who avow to have no other end than to
prevail with the King to secure their religion, which they saw so much in danger from the violent councils of the priests, who, to promote their own religion, did not care to what dangers they exposed the King. I am fully persuaded that the Prince of Orange designs the King’s safety and preservation and hope all things may be composed without bloodshed by the calling of a Parliament.

  God grant a happy end to these troubles and that the King’s reign may be prosperous and that I may shortly meet you in perfect peace and safety till when, let me beg of you to continue the same favorable opinion that you have hitherto had of your most obedient daughter and servant.

  Anne.

  This letter was immediately published that riots might be averted.

  It was a letter, said the people, of a dutiful daughter and a devoted wife. How good was the Princess when compared with her dissolute father!

  The mob dispersed. The Queen should not be molested.

  But the people were more firmly than ever behind Protestant William, Mary and Anne.

  James, a sick and disappointed man, came back to London. It had been necessary to bleed him in Salisbury and he felt not only sick at heart but in body. He was thinking of that dismal supper when the news had come to him that one by one his generals were deserting him. Churchill gone—Churchill whom he had believed was his man, Churchill whom he had favored because he had loved his sister Arabella; then George—not that he had a high opinion of George or that he considered him a great loss—but his own son-in-law! Anne’s husband!

  Anne! His beloved daughter. She was the only one to whom he could turn for comfort. At least he had his younger daughter. He had been deeply wounded by Mary’s coolness; but he told himself it was understandable. She had been away from home for so long and was completely under her husband’s influence; her choice had been between husband and father and she had chosen her husband. Yet once she had been his favorite child.

  But there was still Anne. He smiled lovingly. She would always remember the closeness of their relationship. To whom had she come when she needed help? Always to her father because she knew that there she would find it.