Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II Read online

  Sarah Churchill, Countess of Marlborough, insulted by a wet nurse!

  And that was not all. The sisters were together again. “Dear Anne, how is my little darling today? I could not rest until I had seen him.”

  “Dear Mary, I am sure he knows you. See how he is smiling?”

  Bah!

  “Now that you have given them the heir to the throne your allowance should be increased,” said Sarah firmly.

  “Oh?” murmured Anne.

  “It is disgraceful. Here you are at Hampton—dependent on the King and Queen. Should you not have your own establishment? Yet you are asked to live on a pitiable sum.”

  Anne was not listening; she was dreamily reaching for one of the sweetmeats and thinking of going into the nursery and wondering if Mrs. Pack would allow her to hold the Duke of Gloucester for half an hour.

  Sarah ground her teeth in anger.

  One must be patient, she supposed, but it should not go on.

  Because her child was thriving Anne was happy; all she wanted was to talk of him. She and Sarah would chat together of Sarah’s children and they decided that when the little Duke of Gloucester was older, Sarah’s son John should be his companion. But Sarah continued to talk of Anne’s wrongs and persuaded her that something should be done to right them; consequently with Anne’s permission Sarah sounded certain ministers as to methods of increasing Anne’s allowance.

  When William discovered this he discussed it angrily with the Queen, and Mary went to see her sister to reproach her with her duplicity.

  “And I thought that we had become good friends again,” complained Mary.

  “So did I,” replied Anne.

  “And all the time you were going behind our backs … trying to get more money. Don’t you realize how generously you have been treated?”

  “There is my son now …” pointed out Anne.

  “Anne, there is a war in Ireland which is draining our resources.”

  Anne wiped a tear from her eyes. “A war against our own father,” she said.

  “This is not the time to go into all that. You must be sensible. We are all together on one side.…”

  Anne knew vaguely that that was just what Sarah did not want. Anne was not on their side; neither was she on her father’s; she was somewhere in between—ready to jump either way, depending on what happened.

  “I think I should have the money,” she said.

  “You are … stupid!” cried Mary.

  And she left her.

  Sarah who had been listening came into the room.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Morley. You dealt admirably with Mrs. Dutch Abortion.”

  “Oh, Sarah, you’ll be the death of me. What a name for her.”

  “I do not think we should stay here at Hampton Court,” went on Sarah. “The Duke of Gloucester, as heir to the throne, should have his own establishment. I was speaking to Lord Craven and he would be delighted to lend his house at Kensington Gravel Pits. It would make an excellent nursery for the Prince because it is a very fine house.”

  “I must see Lord Craven at once.”

  “I fancy Mrs. D-A will not be very pleased to have her little darling taken from her, but people who will not oblige us cannot expect to be obliged.”

  Very shortly afterward the little Duke of Gloucester was set up in his nursery at Kensington Gravel Pits.

  While Mary had been worrying about the health of her little nephew and rejoicing at Mrs. Pack’s success with him it had been becoming obvious that the conflict between the reigning sovereign and the Jacobites was not going to be easily settled.

  The Battle of Bantry Bay had been fought against the French who were supporting the Jacobites and the result had been defeat for the British fleet.

  Clarendon had come to William and Mary and begged to be allowed to go to Ireland where he believed he could be of service to them, but Anne had so poisoned her sister’s mind against their uncle in her letters that both William and Mary failed to see that the very fact that he had supported James pointed to his loyalty, and regarded him with suspicion.

  Clarendon’s great desire was to save the Protestant community in Ireland who were in danger of elimination, and much as he disliked William, much as he abhorred the manner in which he—and he blamed him rather than his niece Mary—had treated James, he believed that this was not the time for partisanship. Peace in Ireland was necessary and he was sure that he, as a former Lord Lieutenant, could persuade the present Lord Lieutenant, Lord Tyrconnel, to declare for William.

  But William and Mary turned their backs on him and looked about for some other ambassador whom they could trust. They favored Count Hamilton and when John Temple—son of Sir William—who had been made Secretary of War, recommended that Hamilton should be sent to Ireland, he was given the commission instead of Clarendon.

  Hamilton was the brother of Frances Jennings’s first husband, and Tyrconnel was now that lady’s husband; so that the relationship should, it seemed, prove helpful.

  The result however turned out to be disastrous, for Hamilton persuaded Tyrconnel to stand firm for James. They had sent the wrong man, but it was too late to alter that now.

  The situation in Ireland was worsening; John Temple, having made such an error of judgment in advising the sending of Hamilton, filled his pockets with stones and jumped into the Thames near London Bridge. There was great public interest when his body was found and the reason known.

  “We have nothing but ill luck,” said the people. “This is the curse of a father on his ungrateful daughter.”

  “There is only one thing to be done,” said William. “I myself must go to Ireland.”

  The little Duke of Gloucester, although frail, continued to survive. Crowds collected to see him taken out each day in his tiny carriage which had been made especially for him. Four of the smallest horses ever seen had been chosen to draw it; and Prince George’s coachman held the reins and drew it along. There were cheers as the baby with his little retinue passed by; and no matter how cold the weather he always went out. Mrs. Pack had brought her children up to face all weathers, so little Gloucester must do the same.

  No matter what criticism was thrown at the King and Queen, and even the Princess Anne, royal babies were always assured of public acclaim; and this little one who had survived when so many of his brothers and sisters had failed to get a grasp on life was regarded as something of a phenomenon.

  He was a good baby, rather solemn but very interested in everything and at an early age his eyes would light up at the sight of soldiers.

  The Queen sent eager inquiries as to his health and there were presents too. Even William was interested in his progress. As for George and Anne they could think of nothing else; and Anne deserted even Sarah that she might be with the baby and marvel at his intelligence.

  It was all most irritating to Sarah, and as Marlborough was away she could confide her rage to no one.

  This, she thought, is the biggest trial of patience I was ever called upon to endure.

  But it would not last. Soon the arrogant Pack would be told to do what her name implied and get out of Court. When she was no use she would soon be forgotten, and Sarah would come into her kingdom once more, ruler supreme of the Princess Anne’s household.

  Mary was desolate. The thought of William’s going away terrified her. She was obsessed by the fear that her father and husband would meet and that one would kill the other.

  He talked to her of his plans as they walked about the gardens of Hampton Court. He had bought the Earl of Nottingham’s house in Kensington and planned to build a palace there. It seemed astonishing to some that while he was so anxiously thinking of the war he must carry on in Ireland he could at the same time be planning Kensington Palace, but Mary understood that building was his hobby and relaxation and while in his mind he planned the apartments of Kensington Palace and the gardens he would have, he was giving his mind that rest which it needed if he were to succeed in the difficult tasks which lay
ahead.

  While he was away, the government of the country would be in her hands, he reminded her grimly.

  “Oh, William, how can I govern without you?”

  “It is something you will have to learn. If you have doubts of yourself the people have none. They have shown clearly that they prefer you to me.”

  “Only because of their ignorance, dear William. Oh, this is a great tragedy. To be left here alone … unable to ask your help!”

  “You are a Queen and must perforce shoulder your burdens.”

  “If you could but stay at home …”

  “I have stayed too long. Think of Bantry Bay. Of Hamilton and Tyrconnel. Who knows what next.”

  She thought sadly of the days ahead when she would not have him beside her. Those who saw them smiled at the picture they made. She so large; he so small; and they quoted the lines which had caused so much amusement throughout the country.

  Man and wife are all in one, in flesh and in bone,

  From hence you may guess what they mean.

  The Queen drinks chocolate to make the King fat

  And the King hunts to make the Queen lean.

  Neither of them knew what was written of them; and if they had they would not greatly have cared.

  William saw himself as a great hero, and Mary saw through his eyes.

  And all she could think of at this time was that soon she would have to be without him; and he could only turn over in his mind whether it was wiser for him to stay in England than to go to Ireland and settle the Jacobites once and for all. It must be done, he was sure of that; but to do so he must leave the reins of government in the plump white hands of his wife.

  How would she fare without him? And even if he settled affairs in Ireland, what would happen in England during his absence?

  Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, that staunch supporter of William and Mary who had enjoyed their hospitality in Holland before they had come to England and had so often given them the benefit of his wisdom, now called on the King and Queen.

  The interview was for the three of them alone and as Mary greeted him there were tears in her eyes for the occasion recalled those happy ones in Holland when she and Burnet had chatted together, while she knotted her fringe close to the candles the better to see, and William sat a little apart listening to their conversation. Such happy days! thought Mary. Never perhaps to be equaled, for in those days her father had been King of England and although they had talked of deposing him, until the deed was accomplished the guilt did not have to be so acutely suffered.

  “What I have to say is for our ears alone,” said Burnet, speaking lower than was his custom. “It must not go beyond these walls.”

  “Speak on,” commanded William.

  “There will never be peace while Ireland stands against us,” went on Burnet. “And when I think of the Protestants there I feel very melancholy. That is why I am bringing this to the attention of Your Majesties. A certain captain has approached me and I promised I would tell you what he suggests. He is a true and loyal subject. That I can vouch for.”

  William nodded and Mary found that her heart was beating so fast that she feared it would be heard.

  “What is his suggestion?” asked William coolly.

  “That he takes a ship to Ireland. Aboard her will be men whom we can trust. They would have to be very carefully selected. No more Hamiltons. They will sail to Ireland and when they reach Dublin will declare for James. The captain will invite him aboard. He would go, not suspecting a trap …”

  Mary gave an exclamation of dismay which made Burnet halt and William frown at her.

  “Pray go on,” said William testily.

  “When he is aboard, the ship sets sail and James is taken away from Ireland.”

  “Where to?” demanded Mary sharply.

  “To Spain perhaps.”

  “And then?” said Mary.

  “Then, Your Majesty, he would be put ashore with say twenty thousand pounds.”

  William shook his head.

  “Oh, William!” murmured Mary, and there was a sob in her voice.

  “Your Majesty does not like the plan?” said Burnet.

  “James was a misguided man, but he was a King and is my father-in-law. I could not agree to this.”

  Burnet nodded slowly. “I understand, Your Majesty. I merely thought that to end this miserable war … to save lives and money and to restore the peace …”

  “There is much in what you say,” said William. “I think the plan might well succeed. But I want no hand in treachery.”

  “There was no harm to the King intended,” said Burnet.

  “Picture it,” interrupted William. “James stepping aboard—perhaps with a few attendants. When he realized that he was to be a prisoner he would attempt to escape. What if he were killed in the struggle? No, no. I like that not.”

  “I see that the scheme would not fit in with Your Majesty’s honor.”

  “That is what I feel.”

  “Then I will tell this captain of Your Majesty’s decision.”

  “Yes,” said William. “But send him to me for I would compliment him. Although it is a plan I do not wish to follow yet this captain is a man who should be thanked for his services. Clearly he wishes to serve us well.”

  “I will send him to Your Majesty.”

  “Pray do so quickly, for soon I shall have little time to spare as the day of my departure grows nearer.”

  When Burnet had left them Mary threw herself on to her knees and taking William’s hand kissed it.

  William, who disliked dramatics, looked at her with distaste, but she did not notice, for her eyes were blinded with tears.

  “William,” she cried, “it is small wonder that I adore you. You are the noblest man alive. Oh, how fortunate is my father that it is you who stand against him. Who else would have been so good and honorable as to reject such a proposition. We were right to come here. England needed you, William. Oh, how happy this has made me.”

  “Get up,” said William. “You are too large to grope on the floor.”

  She rose abashed and he looked at her sardonically.

  “Spain!” he muttered. “Twenty thousand pounds! What nonsense! He should be delivered to the Dutch sailors. They will remember how often he has fought against them.” William almost smiled as he said softly, “Yes, to the Dutch sailors, to be disposed of as they think proper.”

  Mary stared at him in horror, but he scarcely seemed to see her; he had seated himself at the table and begun to write.

  William was on the point of departure. He was disappointed for the scheme to abduct James had come to nothing. James was too wary to be caught like that. He was evidently full of hope, for the campaign was going in his favor so far. The French were behind him as the battle of Bantry Bay had shown; but for the fact that he was sick in body for he was no longer young, and sick at heart because of the defection of the daughters he had loved, he would have been a very much more formidable adversary.

  The Duke of Schomberg, William’s friend and favorite, had been sent to Ireland with a small army, inadequately armed, and inadequately fed; whereas James had one hundred thousand Irish Catholics behind him.

  It had been decided that Prince George should accompany William to Ireland, and this pleased Anne, although she was constantly declaring how much she would miss her husband. Sarah and she discussed the campaign. Marlborough had returned to London yet he was not to go to Ireland, but would remain in England as a member of Mary’s Advisory Council and to be in command of the remnants of the army which would remain behind.

  Sarah was pleased to have him at hand; and at the same time saw a further means of fermenting more trouble between Anne and Mary.

  “Mr. Morley should have a high command in the Army,” she said. “Why, he should take precedence over everyone—under the King; and he should accompany William wherever he goes. It is his due.”

  “It is, but I do not believe these privileges will be gra
nted him.”

  “Oh, no! Caliban will be surrounded by Dutchmen. You mark my words. Unless of course the King’s duty is pointed out to him.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “The Queen of course.”

  “Do you think she would?”

  “Dear Mrs. Morley, it is her duty, and if this were pointed out to her, she might well realize it.”

  So there was a further estrangement between the sisters.

  George to have a position of trust! cried William. Were they mad. Of what use was George to any campaign but to provide light relief with his perpetual bleating: “Est-il possible?”

  Anne was sulky and refused to speak to the Queen except in public.

  Sarah looked on, amused.

  The day of William’s departure came.

  Mary wept openly.

  “You must take the greatest care of yourself,” she cried. “I fear the climate. They say it is very damp. It will be bad for your chest. I shall pray for you …”

  “Pray rather for yourself,” suggested William. “You will need prayers, for you have a mighty task before you.”

  “Oh, William, is it too late to beg you to stay behind?”

  “Too late and quite foolish,” said William, but not unkindly for it pleased him to see her distress. “Going into a campaign is no unpleasant thing compared with governing this country, I do assure you. I pity you. Indeed I pity you.”

  “William!” she threw herself into his arms and he kissed her almost gently.

  He had an affection for her which increased as he grew older.

  “Those who have some regard for you must help you all they can. I must speak to them … impress on them … the difficulties of your task.”

  “William, I trust I shall act as you would have acted. That is what I shall try to do.”

  “I am sure you will govern wisely.”

  She was overcome with joy at such praise and almost immediately plunged into despair because of his departure.