Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II Page 7

“I have never trusted Italians,” went on Sarah. She thought of the Queen sweeping through the Cockpit and showing no respect for Lady Churchill. Her influence with the Princess must not be allowed to grow; it was too great already.

  “She always seems to be kindly.”

  “Oh, but so proud, Mrs. Morley. She pretends that she is gracious to all, but have you noticed the change in her since she became Queen?”

  “Hush, Mrs. Freeman, your voice carries so. If anyone heard you speak thus of the Queen.…”

  “We should give her a name, so that no one would know of whom we were speaking.”

  Anne was very fond of giving people nicknames; she had always done so throughout her life; so she fell in with the suggestion at once.

  “It ought to be something like Morley and Freeman,” she said. “An ordinary sort of name. I have it. Mansell. My father shall be Mr. Mansell and the Queen, Mansell’s wife. How’s that?”

  “Mrs. Morley, you are a genius! I cannot think of a name that would suit them better.”

  “Mansell!” said Anne savoring it; then she burst out laughing. “It is absolutely right.”

  And from then on the King and Queen became Mansell and Mansell’s wife; and it was extraordinary how the change robbed them of dignity. Mrs. Freeman could talk more contemptuously of the Mansells; and Anne found that she could listen, and as usual, she began to share Sarah’s opinions.

  Anne was soon pregnant again and as little Mary was surviving happily, she let herself dream of the large family she would have.

  This time, she told George, it should be a son.

  They were happy days and Anne was able to indulge herself in all her favorite pastimes, to which one had been added: gossip—more than gossip, intrigue.

  Wherever Sarah was, there was drama; and Anne found that her friend’s racy conversation and pungent criticisms of almost everyone about them were so diverting. The only people who were good and reasonable were Mr. and Mrs. Morley and Mr. and Mrs. Freeman. Others were perhaps misguided. Anne did not care to hear criticisms of her sister. But there was Caliban to be slandered. As for the King and Queen, Anne was already beginning to dislike her stepmother and see her through Sarah’s eyes as arrogant and dangerous on account of her religion. With regard to her father, Sarah had to tread warily, but Anne was forming a different picture of him. He was immoral; she had always known that; and all men should be like Mr. Morley and Mr. Freeman—moral. Perhaps before their marriages they had had their amours; but all the more credit to them that, being married to good wives, they should forsake their follies.

  Anne was changing; she was as placid as ever, but she could be spiteful. The fact was she so enjoyed the scandalous conversations and Sarah was so amusing that sometimes Anne was quite helpless with laughter.

  It was so comfortable, to be stretched out on a divan, a dish of sweets beside one, while the talk was all of intrigue and the day when Anne would be Queen. To adventure without stirring from the couch suited Anne.

  What would she do without her dear Mrs. Freeman to divert her? She had no notion of the immense and driving purpose behind Mrs. Freeman’s discourse.

  THE PRINCESS BEREAVED

  t was May and the sun streamed into Windsor Castle.

  Anne lay in her bed, her new baby in her arms. The child had just been christened Anne Sophia and it had been such an impressive ceremony with Lady Roscommon and Lady Churchill as godmothers.

  It was a healthy baby, but Anne was disturbed because little Mary was not progressing as she wished. The child was pale and listless and she was worried, for so many royal babies did not reach maturity. It was as though there was some blight on them from the day they were born. One could comfort oneself with hopes of a large family, but when a child had been lost and another seemed ailing, fear crept into the heart; and there were memories of Queens and Princesses in the past who had prayed for children—whose whole future depended on the ability to bear children—and who had failed.

  Anne’s future did not depend on her children; but she had discovered that she was by nature a mother. She yearned for children as she did for nothing else. She wanted to see a whole brood of them, laughing and healthy about her fireside, with good, dear, dependable George loving them in his genial way as she did in hers.

  Sarah bustled into the apartment and took the child from its mother’s arms; she rocked it with a gentleness rare in her, while Anne looked on smiling benignly.

  “The next,” prophesied Sarah, “must be a boy.”

  “I pray so,” answered Anne.

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “A boy,” she said, “who will one day be our Sovereign Lord the King.”

  Sarah noticed with pleasure that Anne’s eyes were shining with a determination she had never seen there before.

  Anne was worried. She had noticed that George had not seemed well during the passing weeks. He had lost his interest in food which could only mean that he was ill.

  “My dearest,” she cried, taking his hand, “you have a fever.”

  He did not deny it and she called his attendants to help him to his bed while she sent for the physicians.

  George had a restless night and in the morning his condition appeared to have worsened.

  The doctors shook their heads. “He is a little heavy, Madam,” they told Anne, “and he breathes with difficulty.”

  Anne had not been so distressed since she had heard that Mary was leaving England; and an additional anxiety was her eldest daughter who was coughing and spitting blood. The sight of that blood terrified her. If her little girl was going to die and her kind George would not be well enough to comfort her, what would she do! She could only turn to her dear Mrs. Freeman, but in the meantime she must do all she could to save them.

  She insisted on nursing her husband, and astonished everyone, for never had she exerted herself to such an extent before. He was very weak, but he lay quietly smiling at her and she knew that her presence comforted him.

  Sarah was annoyed, but managed not to show it.

  “Madam,” she said, for others were present, “I like not to see you wearing yourself out in this way. Any of your women could do what you are doing.”

  “You are wrong, Lady Churchill,” was Anne’s answer. “He is comforted by my presence and there is no one but myself who could give him that comfort.”

  Sarah withdrew angrily, but she managed to give Anne the impression that her anger was a sign of fear for her mistress’s health.

  Anne could be stubborn on occasions, Sarah was discovering. Perhaps it was a warning that she should not take too much for granted. But Sarah was usually in too much of a hurry to heed warnings, too sure of herself to believe she could ever be wrong.

  Meanwhile Anne sat by her husband’s bed while he held her hand and although he could not speak, his eyes told her how happy he was to have her there.

  Anne was melancholy, for she, like everyone else, believed that he was going to die. She thought of the day they had met, of their immediate liking which had made both of them accept the marriage calmly. Rarely could strangers have contemplated marriage with such serenity. But they were serene people—both of them—perhaps that was why theirs was such a happy marriage.

  From George’s bed, she went to that of her elder daughter. The child lay, panting for her breath, racked now and then by fits of coughing.

  Anne wept, then hastily dried her eyes that she might go to her husband’s bedside with a smile.

  Hourly she was expecting the death of husband and daughter and never in her life had she been so unhappy. She had her baby; she would hold the child in her arms and wonder how long it would be before little Anne Sophia would be the only member of her family left to her.

  She was sitting by her husband’s bed one day when Sarah came into the room. There was a closer bond between them because Sarah had a boy now whom she had christened John after her husband and as a mother Sarah could understand and sympathize with the anguish Anne was now enduring. Sarah had three hea
lthy children. Lucky Sarah! Her successful motherhood endeared her to Anne. It seemed yet a further proof that Sarah would always be successful.

  Now Sarah was subdued which was startling because it was so unlike her.

  “Mary …?” whispered Anne.

  Sarah drew her outside and put an arm about her.

  “It is the little one,” she said.

  The child was lying in its cradle; her face was scarlet, its limbs distorted.

  “No!” cried Anne. “This is too much.”

  She looked wildly about her, calling for the doctors; but there was nothing they could do.

  Anne stood at the window watching the snowflakes falling. She was not weeping; but her limbs felt heavy. She had lost her baby—little Mary was desperately ill and her dear George was sick with a fever.

  It was Sarah who came to stand beside her, miraculousy silent for once, but conveying so much by that silence.

  “How can I tell him, Sarah?” she asked.

  Sarah took her hand and pressed it firmly and it seemed to Anne that Sarah’s strength and vitality flowed into her body.

  “No matter what happens … there will always be you. You’ll never change.” She added: “Mrs. Freeman.”

  “Mrs. Freeman will always be at hand to comfort her dear friend Mrs. Morley.”

  One of the women approached them.

  Anne took one look at her and flew to the bedside of her daughter Mary.

  It was incredible; fate could not be so cruel. But it was so. Anne had lost both her children.

  Strangely enough from that day George began to improve.

  They said that he saw he was needed to comfort his heartbroken wife. She would sit by his bed and hold his hand; and they often wept quietly together.

  He told her that he had known all the time that she had been in the sickroom, and it was that knowledge and that alone, which had pulled him through.

  “I cannot bear to see you unhappy,” he said.

  “And it grieves me to see you sad.”

  “Then, my dear wife, we must smile for the sake of each other.”

  He was growing better every day. This was clear for when Anne brought delicacies to his bedside his eyes lit up at the sight of them.

  “Try this, my love,” she would say.

  And he would take a tidbit and put it into her mouth instead.

  They would sample the food, discuss it; and talk of what they would eat tomorrow.

  It was a return to the old life.

  “Do not fret,” he said. “We have lost three but we shall have others.”

  And as soon as the Prince was about again sure enough Anne became pregnant; and she was sure that if she could only hold a healthy child in her arms she would be ready to forget the anguish of her previous loss.

  Anne miscarried, but almost immediately she was again with child.

  Sarah was supreme in the Princess’s household. She was getting her own way in almost everything, but there were minor irritations. She was shaping Anne’s mind and was determined that Mansell and Mansell’s wife should go. She was aware that secret intrigues were afoot; that spies were both at Whitehall and The Hague and that William of Orange—and Mary—were waiting for the opportunity to come over to England and take the crown from James. This was what Sarah hoped for. She did not believe that Mary would live long; William, too, was a weakling and there were no children of that marriage. It need only be a few years before the Princess Anne became Queen Anne.

  Mrs. Morley, the Queen and her dear friend Mrs. Freeman to guide her in all things! What a happy state of affairs! And she and John were becoming rich. It was so easy, for everyone knew of Sarah’s influence and she was approached by many who sought to find favor with the King through his beloved daughter. There were financial considerations but these were willingly paid for a word of the right sort of advice dropped into the Princess’s ear by her loving friend.

  “Very good, but it could be better,” was Sarah’s verdict to John. “If only I could rid myself of old woman Clarendon, I should be the first Lady of the Bedchamber. Of course I have more influence with Morley than anyone else, but always that old woman bars my way, reminding me of who she is. Clarendon! Who were the Clarendons? The upstart Hydes, that’s all—the family which gave itself airs because one of the daughters was made pregnant by the heir to the throne and was clever enough to make him marry her. That’s the Clarendons for you!”

  John replied it was all true of course, but she must be careful of the Clarendons. The Princess’s two uncles held much influence with the King, and his dear Sarah must not forget that.

  “I’ll give the old hag influence!” muttered Sarah.

  She did not have to scheme against Lady Clarendon because at this time Lord Clarendon became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland—there was general gossip about this in the Cockpit.

  “What I want to know,” said Sarah, “is whether he’s taking her with him—or is he going to think of some excuse to leave her behind.”

  Lady Clarendon herself answered the question a few hours later.

  “I shall have to say good-bye to you all for I am accompanying my husband to Ireland.”

  Sarah gave a great sigh of relief. This was a heaven-sent opportunity.

  It was inevitable that the whisperings which went on in the Cockpit did not entirely escape attention. The King had no idea that his daughter was disloyal to him and his wife; no one told him, simply because he would not have believed it if they had and, moreover, he would have been seriously displeased with the informer. All through James’s life he had failed to see what was significant and important to his own well-being. He wanted a loving, loyal daughter and he would convince himself he had one no matter what evidence was produced to the contrary.

  There was more than the spiteful gossip at the Cockpit. Deep plans were being laid at The Hague. Even those men such as Lord Sunderland, James’s Prime Minister, whom James trusted completely, had eyes on The Hague. While James acted with caution, he was safe; but one false step could send him hurtling from his seat; these men knew it, and they wanted to be on the right side when that moment came. Back and forth between Whitehall and The Hague went the Protestant spies and the Catholic spies. Anne was writing frequently to her sister in Holland. Anne was a staunch Protestant and when she rode through the streets the people cheered her with more fervor than the Catholics thought desirable, so they decided that a watch should be kept on the Princess Anne and spies should be placed in her household without her knowledge.

  As a result of this, two men met along the riverbank not far from Whitehall.

  The elder drew the younger into the shadow of a tree and said: “You know what is expected of you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your task should not be difficult. The Princess and her familiar are not discreet. Memorize what you hear and we will meet frequently … though not always in the same place … and you can make your reports to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you spoken to Gwin?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He has been some time in the employ of the Princess so may have to be handled with a little care. But he is a good Catholic and therefore we may rely on him.”

  “There is one thing, sir. These places are going to be costly. Lady Churchill has the disposing of them and she is a greedy woman.”

  “We have considered that. You need have no fear. We will pay her prices for you and Gwin to get these pages’ places. Then … to work.”

  Sarah was smug. John had been delighted when he had heard; she was his clever wife, but never yet had she made a bargain like this one.

  “It is but a beginning,” she told him airily. “I sold the two places for one thousand two hundred pounds. It shows what can be obtained for the favors I shall have to dispose of.”

  “And what manner of men are they to be able to pay such prices?”

  “Pages merely, whose tasks will be to stand at the doors of the rooms awaiting order
s. They must have rich friends.”

  “Doubtless, which is our good fortune as well as theirs.”

  But Sarah’s pleasure did not last.

  Anne sent for her a few weeks after the two pages had been installed and Anne was clearly shaken.

  “News from Holland which is most disturbing,” cried Anne. “Those new pages are Roman Catholics. My sister’s friends over here have informed her of this and she says they must be dismissed at once.”

  “Dismissed!” fumed Sarah. “And since when has the Princess of Orange commanded this household?”

  “She says that it would be dangerous to keep them, that they would spy on us and could prove to be very harmful.”

  “They are innocent enough.”

  “But did you know when you found them for the posts that they were Catholics?”

  “They did not tell me so.”

  “They will have to go,” said Anne more firmly than she usually spoke.

  “Go!” blustered Sarah, thinking of the twelve hundred pounds which had been paid to her. “But, Mrs. Morley, they have already been accepted.”

  “My sister is very determined that they shall go.”

  Sarah’s eyes blazed suddenly, but she saw that Anne’s mouth was determined. Anne was growing more and more involved in conspiracy every day. She knew that the Prince and Princess of Orange deplored her father’s religious leanings; her sister’s letters brought a great excitement into her life. Mary and William were coming to England as soon as an opportunity offered itself. Mary would be Queen, for the people would not endure a Catholic on the throne and after Mary … Queen Anne! She put her hands on her swollen body. Who knew, she might be carrying the future King of England! She must be careful—for the sake of the child, for her own sake. She must show no favor to Catholics; nor would she have them in positions in her household where they could spy on her.

  She guessed what happened. Sarah was always in need of money and had sold the places for a high future. That was legitimate enough, for it was a custom at Court. But she reckoned Sarah had bargained more advantageously than most were able to.