Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II Page 28

  “You are young yet. All in good time.”

  “Some people have been Prince of Wales when they are babies.”

  “I think Duke of Gloucester a better title.”

  “I don’t,” said the boy.

  “Well, come and look at the men working on the masonry. You will be interested and I want to see how they are getting on.”

  “It is good.”

  “What?”

  “To be a mason. I would like to be a mason.”

  Mary smiled. Prince of Wales one moment, a mason the next.

  “I think,” she said, “you enjoy these little jaunts to the Palace.”

  “It is good to escape from them all. There is Lewis, my governess and her husband, and Mama as well as Pack. They are always there to see I do not tire myself, or if I need the leeches. Of course I wish I could walk better.”

  “You will when you’re older.”

  “There is so much to wait for. I wish I were older.”

  “Most of us grow up too quickly.”

  That was a point which made him pause to consider. Later he would inform someone that most of us grew up too quickly—that was as if he had convinced himself that it was so.

  But when he watched the masons he was a child again, crying out with pleasure when one of the masons gave him a tool and showed him how to work with it. His big head on one side, an expression of deepest concentration on his face, he did as instructed and then turned to Mary, his eyes alight with triumph.

  “I wish I were a mason,” he said.

  “You are all wishes.”

  “And you are not?”

  She was silent and he went on: “But then you are the Queen. You can have everything you want so you don’t have to wish long.”

  She looked at him wistfully and thought: If you were my son I should be very happy.

  When she left him she told him that a surprise would be coming to him.

  In a few days he received a set of exquisite ivory tools. They had cost twenty pounds, which was a large sum, but worth it, Mary thought, to give him pleasure.

  He played with them for a few days; then he saw the soldiers when he was out on one of his trips in the carriage with Lewis Jenkins, his Welsh attendant. He insisted on stopping to watch them drill, and spoke to them.

  Then he knew that more than anything on earth, more than a mason, more than Prince of Wales, he wanted to be a soldier.

  There was consternation at Campden House. The Duke of Gloucester had whooping cough—not a serious complaint in itself, but when one considered the delicate state of health of the little boy every ailment struck terror into his family.

  Anne, whose greatest quality was her devotion to her family, went to Campden House and stayed there. Sarah was with her. Mrs. Pack resented the intrusion into the nursery but could do nothing about it and silent enmity reigned between her and Sarah.

  Mary was worried, but knowing Anne was in the nursery could not face the embarrassment of calling and coming face to face with her sister, who had so disobeyed her by keeping Sarah Marlborough and, moreover, had the woman with her at this time.

  She therefore sent Lady Derby to inquire after the child’s health and to bring her back an account of how he was getting on.

  “Go straight to Mrs. Pack,” said Mary. “She will give me a truthful account; and try not to have any conversation with either my sister or Lady Marlborough.”

  Lady Derby, informing the servants that she came from the Queen, went straight to the nursery where Anne was seated in a room next to that in which Gloucester was sleeping. With her was Sarah.

  Lady Derby walked past the Princess and Sarah into the nursery where she found Mrs. Pack, while Sarah and Anne exchanged glances before Sarah’s fury burst forth.

  “You might have been a rocker, the way she behaved. You know whose doing this is!”

  Anne nodded. “I know,” she said, “and I pray you, Sarah, say nothing to Lady Derby who but does what she is told. I care nothing for my sister’s attitude at this time. There is only one thing I pray for; and that is my boy’s recovery.”

  Anne the mother had a dignity which she lacked in other roles. Sarah recognized it and, although it was a great strain, forced herself to be silent.

  In the nursery, Lady Derby was questioning Mrs. Pack.

  “He’ll get better,” Mrs. Pack assured her. “He’s over the worst. He wants to be a soldier, he told me today. He wants his own company and he does not want to wait till he is grown up. That’s a good sign.”

  “I will tell Her Majesty and she will be pleased.”

  “Tell her too that I am keeping that Churchill crow out of my nursery.”

  “I will tell her,” Lady Derby promised.

  When she walked out Anne and Sarah were sitting together, and they ignored each other.

  Mrs. Pack was right; the Duke of Gloucester began to recover quickly.

  To mark the occasion and because she had heard of his desire to be a soldier, Mary sent him a toy sword which was set with real jewels.

  “If you will eat this,” Gloucester was told, “you shall be a soldier.” Gloucester would do anything to become a soldier—even eat the hideous potages that were put before him to build up his strength. “If you will wear this, you shall be a soldier.” He wore what they wanted him to.

  He went out for rides in his carriage when he would have preferred to stay in, because a soldier must go out every day.

  He was not one to allow these promises to go unfulfilled.

  “Mama,” he said, “I was promised that I should be a soldier and it is not good to break promises.”

  “My boy shall be a soldier when he is old enough.”

  “Mama, he is five years old.”

  “It is a little young to be a soldier.”

  “Not when promises have been made.”

  Anne consulted with George. “He will have his way,” she said fondly. “And we promised him to make him get well quickly.”

  “We must get him a toy musket, cannon, and a uniform. That will please him.”

  Anne smiled at George; no one could have had a kinder husband. He never interfered with what she wanted to do; they supped and drank together; he had taught her to like the same wines that he did; and the pleasures of the table delighted them both. There was no excitement to be had with George; for that one had to go to Sarah; but the fact remained that he was the kindest husband in the world and as devoted to their boy as she was.

  The cannon, the musket, and uniform pleased the little boy, but he said: “I am the Duke of Gloucester and cannot be a soldier on my own. I need a company. I have to drill them and lead them into battle. I shall start recruiting immediately.”

  The parents exchanged glances. This was an extraordinary child they had begotten. He was full of energy in spite of his physical weakness. What a King he would make when he grew strong!

  Even they were surprised when they saw him drilling five or six boys in the gardens.

  When they spoke to him about it he shook his head. “It is not enough,” he said. “I need many more for a company of soldiers. And I must have more uniforms and muskets and swords for them all, for they can’t be soldiers without.”

  Naturally they wanted to please him; and it was so pleasant to see him well again. The Queen heard of the new project and muskets and cannons began to arrive. It seemed that to serve in the Duke of Gloucester’s army might be a good opening for many little boys. So it did not take the little Duke long to form his army and soon he had ninety boys to be drilled each day. He had his drummers and his pipers—all of the ages of six and seven, a little older than himself but he was old for his years.

  This occupied his thoughts to such an extent that he could talk of little else. The people could come and watch him drilling his army and they laughed and cheered.

  The most popular member of the royal family was the Duke of Gloucester.

  Mary was forced to reign alone while William was on the Continent and both s
he and William greatly regretted that Shrewsbury was not in office.

  William had taken the seals of the Secretary of State from Nottingham and offered them to Shrewsbury before he left, but Shrewsbury would not accept them. Shrewsbury was piqued because he supported the Bill for three-yearly parliaments which William was against for he sensed that this would curtail the royal prerogative. The Tories opposing the Bill in the Commons enabled the King to refuse his assent; thus it was thrown out. William, however, believed he and Mary needed Shrewsbury and while he offered him the office of Secretary of State he hinted at a Dukedom. Shrewsbury, ever ready to plead ill health, retired to the country, expressing indifference to the King’s offers.

  William was harassed. His defeats on the Continent had depressed him; he had heard the rhymes about himself and Mary and the continual fear that he would be regarded merely as her consort—and which had been with him ever since their marriage, souring it and filling it with misunderstandings—returned.

  He believed he needed Shrewsbury, and he was afraid that if he did not bind him with high office, Shrewsbury would go to the Jacobites. This affair of the Bill for triennial Parliaments was unfortunate, and he consulted one who never failed to comfort him and give him sound advice.

  Elizabeth nodded shrewdly. He wanted Shrewsbury and there might be a way of persuading the Earl that he should become a member of the Government.

  “He was completely without interest, but when I mentioned a dukedom there was the faintest flicker and then that died and he seemed adamant.”

  “Would you like me to try to see what could be done?”

  “My dear, do you think you could?”

  “He has a mistress—Mrs. Lundy. She is a foolish woman, but he is devoted to her. It might be possible to persuade her. Have I your permission to try?”

  He took her hand.

  “I know you to be completely discreet.”

  “You can trust me always to work … as you would yourself … and what higher compliment can there be than that?”

  He wondered what he would do without her. Fortunately the Queen never mentioned her now. She knew of his relationship with her and accepted it. That was well.

  And it was largely due to the cleverness of Elizabeth who never irritated the Queen, never intruded. She should be rewarded; yet how could he reward her without calling attention to their relationship.

  She never asked for rewards. Incomparable woman!

  He had forgotten that she had her small rewards. Bentinck was falling out of favor, although William would always have an affection for him; Keppel was rising in power; and Keppel had been the protégé of Elizabeth. They stood together while Bentinck had been the enemy who had dared criticize her.

  Elizabeth had her power. It was enough.

  It was absurd, said the Princess Anne, for her boy to be dressed as a child. One only had to look at him drilling his soldiers to realize how advanced he was.

  Sarah yawned. She was a little weary of Anne’s obsession. She would tell her so, but for the fact that John had warned her; and it was true their fortunes were not very bright at the moment. As soon as that child was a little older she would have her own son brought to be a companion to him; but not yet; she did not want her young John to be drilling with that band of boys. When Gloucester had a worthy post to offer her son he should have it.

  The Princess Anne went on: “Mr. Morley and I were talking of him last evening …”

  I’ll swear you were! thought Sarah. What else do you talk of but food and drink.

  She was getting very restive and finding Anne more boring than ever; and she was often angry at the way things were going. William was spitting blood and looked as if he would soon be in his tomb; but Mary recovered from her illnesses and in fact seemed a great deal more healthy than Anne. Life was madly frustrating at this time. But she was subdued—for her; Marlborough’s sojourn in the Tower had had a very sobering effect.

  “So we have summoned Mr. Hughes to make him a suit in white camlet and the loops and buttons are to be of silver thread.”

  “I am sure the little Duke will look charming thus attired.” Poor little monster, thought Sarah, complacently, thinking of her own handsome son. Then her expression clouded when she remembered little Charles lying in his coffin. There was no safety anywhere now, it seemed. Tragedy could hit the Churchills just as any other family. They were meant for distinction, she was sure; but they had their troubles.

  “When Mr. Hughes comes I want to take him to my boy for I wish to discuss with him how the clothes shall be made.”

  Sarah hid a yawn; and was rather pleased when Mr. Hughes came so that she could be rid of Anne.

  “Mrs. Pack,” said the boy, “I do not like Mr. Hughes.”

  “Why not. He’s a good tailor.”

  “My stays are so tight, they hurt me.”

  He looked incongruous with his enormous head and his bright darting eyes which seemed as though they should be on the body of a boy in his teens instead of that fragile little creature.

  He pulled at the stays under his waistcoat. “Do stays always hurt like this, Mrs. Pack?”

  “They are meant to make you straight so they are bound to restrict a little.”

  “They do not make me feel very friendly toward Mr. Hughes,” said the Prince.

  Mr. Hughes the tailor called at Campden House on the orders of the Duke of Gloucester. As he entered the hall he was almost knocked over by a noisy crowd of small boys—ninety of them. One stood apart shouting orders.

  “This way. Bring him here. Hurry, men.”

  “What the …” gasped Mr. Hughes as his legs and arms were seized by small hands and he was dragged to the floor; for small as his attackers were, they were numerous and they swarmed over him.

  “Over here,” was the order. “This way. We’ll teach him to make stiff stays.”

  “Help me!” cried Mr. Hughes, so bewildered that he could not imagine what was happening to him.

  A voice said: “Your Highness, what is this?”

  “My men are in control,” was the answer.

  “It’s Mr. Hughes, the tailor. Why Mr. Hughes, what has happened to you then?”

  Mr. Hughes gasped his thankfulness to hear the voice of his friend and fellow Welshman, Lewis Jenkins.

  “I do not know. These … imps fell on me as I came into the hall.”

  “We are taking him to the wooden horse,” said a high pitched voice. “He is to be punished for making stiff stays that hurt.”

  “Mr. Hughes,” said Lewis Jenkins, “get you up then, man. Now stand away, you boys.”

  “They take orders from none but me.”

  “The wooden horse, Mr. Hughes, man, is the punishment they use for soldiers who disobey. Take no notice. Mr. Hughes is not one of Your Highness’s men.”

  “He makes stays that hurt. They’re hurting me now.”

  “Why don’t you ask him to remake them for Your Highness. That would be more sensible than this game you’re playing.”

  Mr. Hughes was on his feet, but hands still pulled at his clothes. He said: “I’m sorry the stays are too tight, Your Highness. You must allow me to alter them.”

  “You can alter them?” asked the Duke.

  “Certainly, Your Highness. I can make them so that you won’t feel you’re wearing stays at all, and would have done so, had you asked me.”

  “Men … dismiss!” cried Gloucester. “Mr. Hughes, to my apartments quick … march.”

  So Gloucester went off with the tailor and in a short time the stays had been altered to fit comfortably.

  Lewis Jenkins laughed at the affair with his fellow attendants. “He’ll get what he wants, that little one,” he commented, and it struck him that they were fortunate to be in the service of the Duke of Gloucester. It was time he was acknowledged the Prince of Wales, for the more honors that befell him, the more they would all benefit.

  THE END OF A LIFE

  rs. Lundy, daughter of Robert Lundy, who had be
en Governor of Londonderry, where he had served with little distinction, and had betrayed William and deserted the town during the siege—smiled at Elizabeth Villiers and wondered why the woman was being so gracious to her.

  “You have great influence with my lord Shrewsbury,” said Elizabeth, “and I can well understand that.”

  Mrs. Lundy, a vain and pretty woman, laughed. “He’s an obstinate devil,” she said, “once he has made up his mind.”

  “What man is not?” asked Elizabeth. “But sometimes—nay, often—it is possible to use a little gentle persuasion.”

  “You think Shrewsbury would listen to me?”

  “If he would not listen to you he would listen to no one.”

  That pleased the woman; she tossed her head. No doubt she was proud of her conquest, for Shrewsbury was reckoned to be a fascinating man. He had a damaged eye which some people found repulsive; yet that seemed but to add to his attractions where others were concerned. Elizabeth herself knew the value of some slight imperfection and how it could be turned to an asset.

  She must get Shrewsbury to take office. William would be so delighted if she did; and she was eager to bind him closer and closer to herself.

  “A Dukedom. That is worth having,” went on Elizabeth. Surely, she implied, you would rather be the mistress of a Duke than an Earl? As the mistress of a King, Elizabeth could show that the rank of one’s lover was of the utmost importance.

  “He doesn’t seem to care for titles.”

  “He is well equipped in that direction,” added Elizabeth. “But I have yet to know the man who was not ready to take a little more. I’ll warrant you will make him do as you wish.”

  Mrs. Lundy was not at all sure that it was her wish; but Elizabeth was subtly convincing her that it was.

  Well, Mrs. Lundy was thinking, Secretary of State, a Duke … that was rather pleasant. And the King—and the Queen—would know that it was Mrs. Lundy who had persuaded that obstinate man to change his mind. They ought then to be very respectful toward Mrs. Lundy.