The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II Read online

  We were back on the old theme which seemed to be running through my life, and which was soon to be brought home to me in the most significant manner possible. But I suppose this was the case with many people at that time. It certainly affected my father’s life more than any.

  The matter of Luzancy was taken so seriously that it was brought before the House of Commons and Lord William Russell, the ardent Protestant, who hated the French and deplored the licentiousness of the court, took the opportunity to bring in new laws against Catholics, and as a result no English subject might officiate as a papist priest in any chapel whatsoever.

  This was a criticism not only of Mary Beatrice but the Queen herself, who had been subjected to suspicion since she came to the country.

  Even when witnesses to Luzancy’s criminal career in his native France were produced and he was completely discredited, this law persisted.

  I believe that Mary Beatrice did not realize the extent of her unpopularity. She was very young and was beginning to grow fond of her husband, whom she found to be so gentle and kindly; she was very fond of her royal brother-in-law; and she had her baby.

  What a tragedy it was that little Catherine Laura should only live ten months!

  I talked to Anne Trelawny about it. I said: “It is so strange. The King has several children by women other than his wife, but the Queen cannot have one. And my father ... well, he has only Anne and me, although he has had others . . .”

  “And strong ones too,” Anne reminded me.

  “Why is it, Anne? Do you think it is a judgment on them?”

  I could see that Anne thought this might be so but was afraid to say so.

  “Because,” I went on, “they are not faithful to their wives.”

  I thought how sad it was, how difficult to understand. The King loved the Queen, but he loved others, too. And I was forced to admit that my father was like his brother in this respect.

  I did not want to think of Arabella Churchill and people like that. But they existed and there were several of them.

  We tried to comfort poor Mary Beatrice over the loss of little Catherine Laura. It was not easy. I heard it whispered that the little girl’s death was an indication. It was going to be the King’s story all over again. Illegitimate children were easy to come by for the royal brothers. It was only legitimate ones who were denied them.

  It was very strange indeed and I was convinced that it was indeed a judgment on their immorality. I wondered why two of the most charming people I had ever met should be afflicted in this way.

  There was no long period of mourning for Catherine Laura and it seemed to me that her death was quickly forgotten at court.

  Perhaps because my uncle now shared the view that it was very possible that my father, like himself, would never get a legitimate son, he decided that Anne and I should be brought into prominence. We had achieved a little attention with our play and ballet and we went to the Lord Mayor’s banquet and sat with the King and Queen that all might see us.

  I was confirmed by Henry Compton, Bishop of London, to make it clear to all that I was not following my father’s religion, and I believe this event was viewed with great satisfaction by the people. They cheered us enthusiastically. They always cheered the King. I had heard it said that, in spite of the immoral life he led, the people loved him more than any king since Edward IV, who was a little like him. Licentious indeed, tall as Charles and very handsome. My uncle could not be called that, but he had that overwhelming charm to make up for it.

  I enjoyed being cheered and knowing that the people approved of me.

  “There is nothing the people like more than a beautiful young girl,” said my uncle.

  And that was very comforting.

  So ... life was changing. I loved Frances as dearly as ever. True, we only met on Sundays and Holy Days, and then in the company of others, but my great joy was writing to her and knowing that she was there. I wished sometimes that we could go off together and live quietly in a country cottage, surrounded by a garden full of beautiful flowers. I should want Anne Trelawny, of course, and my sister Anne — and she would not come without Sarah Jennings. And my father and Mary Beatrice must be there ... and one or two more.

  I laughed at myself. I was just living in an impossible dream.

  Mary Beatrice was considerably comforted because she was pregnant again and in the August of the following year, only ten months after the death of little Catherine Laura, she gave birth to another daughter.

  There was the usual disappointment over the sex of the child, but at least she seemed strong and Anne and I were delighted to have a stepsister. She was called Isabella after Mary Beatrice’s great-grandmother.

  Life seemed very good at that time and then came the bitter blow.

  I was fifteen years of age in April of that year. I was so innocent in many ways. Life was good; I was surrounded by affection and I believed it would go on like that forever.

  I knew there were trials, but I did not take them seriously. There was the continual harping on the religious theme. It kept cropping up, but I did not think it was any great concern of mine.

  How wrong I was!

  I knew there was trouble on the Continent. There was constant talk of wars and treaties. That had nothing to do with me, so I thought. The Dutch were our enemies, then the French were; then we were friends with this one or that. What had that to do with life at St. James’s and Whitehall? A great deal, I was to discover.

  And then one day we heard that the Prince of Orange was to pay a visit to the court.

  * * *

  I HAD HEARD THE NAME of this Prince mentioned now and then — and more frequently of late. He was some kinsman of ours. His mother had been the eldest daughter of my grandfather, Charles the Martyr, so he was the nephew of the King and my father — and my cousin.

  He had a Dutch father and I had been brought up to hate the Dutch, though I learned later that the people liked them better than they did the French. My father and the King had always preferred the French, but then they were half French themselves.

  We had been at war with the Dutch, so therefore the Prince of Orange would have been our enemy — but enemies of yesterday were today’s friends and it appeared that we were making treaties with the Dutch, and it was for this reason that Prince William of Orange was coming to England.

  There was a certain amount of gossip about him among the girls of the household. He had visited Whitehall seven years or so before. I had hardly been aware of it, but the older girls like Elizabeth Villiers and Sarah Jennings remembered it very well.

  “He caused some interest when he was here last,” commented Elizabeth.

  “Notoriety,” added Sarah Jennings. “Such a virtuous young man he was. He was very serious.”

  “And very religious,” added Elizabeth.

  “Of course,” went on Sarah, “it was his aim to maintain the Protestant faith throughout Europe. He hated the French King because his aim was exactly the opposite. He wanted to crush the Protestants and make the whole continent Catholic. So you see how it was between them.”

  “Some would have thought,” put in Anne Trelawny, “that, with all his might, Louis would have triumphed and soon silenced the Dutch.”

  “Oh, but the Prince would not give in,” said Sarah. “He was determined and has the reputation of being a clever commander. His small country stood out against the French ... and now here he is, talking peace with England.”

  “Which the French won’t like,” said Anne Villiers.

  “But the people here will,” added Elizabeth. “They like the Prince ... not for his charm ... he is a little lacking in that ... but because he is such a good religious man with ideas that appeal to the English. But in spite of his solemn ways, he caused a good deal of amusement on his last visit.”

  “What did he do?” I asked.

  Sarah and Elizabeth exchanged glances and laughed.

  “It was really very funny,” said Sarah, “and they sho
uldn’t have done it. But he was such a virtuous young man that the temptation was too strong. He must have been about twenty then. He did not drink ... only schnapps, a sort of Holland gin; he liked to retire at ten o’clock, so that he could be at work early in the morning. You can imagine what the King and the courtiers thought of that! Virtue is a challenge to them — a fortress to be stormed and overcome. So they decided to have some fun with him.”

  “They might have tried to be a little more like him,” I said.

  “Oh, Lady Mary!” cried Anne Villiers. “You could surely not expect that!”

  “I will tell you what they did,” added Sarah. “They took him to supper at the Duke of Buckingham’s apartments, for they had this plan. They were going to make him very drunk and see what he would do.”

  “Surely he would not allow that,” I suggested. “I thought he only drank that mild stuff they have in Holland and very little of that.”

  “Ah, but he was not in Holland, was he, Lady Mary?” went on Sarah. “They filled up his glass with something very strong — he did not realize how strong — and even when they refilled his glass he did not realize what they were doing to him until it was too late.”

  “And perhaps he enjoyed it when he tried it,” said Elizabeth Villiers. “You have not said that they talked about the charms of the Queen’s maids of honor and how they liked and expected attention from the courtiers and were very free with their favors. The Prince listened. He could never have heard anything like it before and it must have seemed to him that customs were very different in England from those in Holland.”

  “So they made him drunk!” I said. “I do not think that was a very kind or clever thing to do.”

  “You haven’t heard what happened,” said Sarah. “When he went back to Whitehall, he was so inflamed with the drink and the stories he had heard of willing maids of honor that he tried to get into their apartments. He was so angry when he found them locked against him and was told by the older ladies to go away that he broke a window and tried to climb in. So, there was your virtuous young man. Virtue had been defeated by strong drink and the hope of the pleasure he would get from the ladies.”

  “I think it was a very unkind trick to play on a visitor,” I said.

  “So did he,” said Elizabeth. “Next morning he was very ashamed and contrite, but at least it shows that underneath this cloak of virtue he is just like most other men.”

  “That is not quite true,” protested Anne Trelawny, “because he was sorry for what happened, and it was not his fault really.”

  “But,” insisted Elizabeth, “he had always been so disapproving of other people’s weaknesses and it was revealed that when intoxicated he was just like the rest.”

  “But he did not ask for the drink in the first place,” said Anne.

  Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “You are determined to defend him. The King was very much amused and liked him better for ‘his normality’ as they called it.”

  “That was a long time ago,” said Anne Trelawny. “He will be on his guard, I dare say.”

  “Oh yes,” agreed Sarah. “He will be watchful of what he drinks. I look forward to seeing him.”

  “I doubt not you will ere long,” said Elizabeth.

  * * *

  I WAS SURPRISED when my father told me that I was to be presented to the Prince of Orange. I had supposed that I would meet him sometime but it appeared from my father’s manner that there was something special about this meeting. He seemed a little apprehensive.

  He said: “It is the King’s wish that you and your cousin should meet and be friends.”

  “I hear he is very serious.”

  “He is greatly respected throughout Europe,” replied my father.

  He himself came to escort me to the Prince. The King was with him and, when my father led me to them, my uncle came forward and, taking both my hands, kissed my cheek.

  “This is my dear niece,” he said to the Prince. “Mary, here is my nephew William, the Prince of Orange, a very welcome visitor to our court.”

  William of Orange bowed rather stiffly, and I curtsied.

  “Now,” said the King, “you have met. I do not think you had the pleasure of meeting my niece when you were last at Whitehall, nephew.” He looked faintly mischievous and I knew he was thinking of the solemn young man trying to break into the quarters of the maids of honor. William’s face was impassive. I guessed that he dismissed that incident as unimportant.

  He had penetrating gray eyes which I was sure missed little, thick brown hair, an aquiline nose and thin lips. There was something rather formidable about him, although he was of small stature, very thin and stooped slightly. His skin was mildly pockmarked, but he had such dignity that, in spite of his physical disabilities, one knew at once that he was a man to be reckoned with.

  The thought occurred to me as he stood by the King that there could not be two men more unlike each other.

  There were very few people present, which surprised me, and I only realized why this was so much later.

  The King said: “My dear Mary, why do you not sit down and talk to your cousin? Tell him about our court and I am sure he will tell you about his.”

  My father was watching me, half-uneasily, half-proudly. I thought I detected a certain anger in his look, but not against me, nor against the Prince of Orange. He looked frightened, unhappy and frustrated.

  It was a strange experience, sitting there with this young man beside me while my father and the King stayed some way apart, talking quietly, so that I could not hear what they said. I wished the Prince would not look at me so intently. He did not seem to take his eyes from me.

  I am not sure what we talked of. In fact, all the time I was wondering how long this interview was going to last and when I should be able to escape. He asked me about the household, how I spent my time, about the customs here. I wanted to ask him about his but that seemed out of the question. I was not sure why. I was, after all, an inexperienced girl of fifteen; he was a man of twenty-seven and a ruler of a country, an important ruler, or he would not have been received at Whitehall with such respect.

  I was glad when the session was over and I could leave them.

  My father took me to the door and kissed me gravely. He still seemed upset.

  * * *

  ON THE AFTERNOON OF THE FOLLOWING DAY my father came to me. He looked very serious and took me into my closet so that we could be entirely alone. I knew now that he was very unhappy.

  We sat side by side and he put his arm about me and held me tightly against him before he spoke.

  Then he said: “Mary, my dearest daughter, there is something I have to tell you.” He hesitated, as though it hurt him to go on. I was getting alarmed. Something rather terrible must have happened.

  “Yes, dearest father,” I said faintly.

  “You are growing up, Mary. You are no longer a child and people in our position ... well, sometimes it is necessary for them to do something which might seem rather unpleasant at first ... until . . .”

  “Please tell me, father, what this is all about.”

  “Well, sometimes we have to do something which we would rather not do. It is our duty, you see. Everybody has to do something ... uncongenial ... at times, and for people in our position . . .”

  “Please tell me quickly what I have to do.”

  “You will like it ... when you get used to it. It is just that, at first ... well, I could have wished it could have been a little later. You are young yet ... but not too young. My child, you are going to be married.”

  “Married!” I cried in horror.

  “You are fifteen years old. People such as we are ... well, it has happened to many. Your stepmother . . .”

  I felt blank, unable to grasp this stupefying fact. Then I burst out: “Who is it? Whom shall I marry?”

  “Oh, it has not been arranged yet,” said my father. “These things ... you know ... certain preparations. Documents have to be drawn up.”r />
  “Please tell me who it is.”

  “It is a kinsman of ours. You have already met him and I see that you like each other. It is William, the Prince of Orange.”

  The Prince of Orange! That cold little man with the penetrating, critical eyes, who had asked all those questions. Marry him! He was too old. He was quite different from my father and the King and the men that I had seen about my uncle’s court. All the time he had been talking to me he had not smiled once. He came from a far-off country. Holland! The thought struck me with sudden force. I should have to go away with him, that strange cold man, to a strange cold country, far away from my sister, my father, from Frances and Anne Trelawny. I thought of poor Mary Beatrice’s arrival in this country, come to marry an older man. But he had been my kind, good father and I was for William of Orange.

  This was too much to be borne. To be married to that strange man — to leave my home! I put out my hands as though to ward off this cruel fate.

  “No, no, no!” I cried.

  My father put his arms round me and rocked me to and fro as though I were a baby.

  “Don’t let them send me away,” I begged.

  “I shall be as unhappy as you, my dearest.”

  “Then you must stop it!”

  He said slowly: “My poor Mary, my poor child. You must understand. You were born into royalty, and we all must needs do what is asked of us. That is our destiny and duty. We have to face it. The people will like this marriage.”

  “It is not they who will have to endure it.”

  He sighed. “You see, it is your position, my child.”

  “You mean the throne . . .”

  “Oh, I know your stepmother and I have hopes of a boy, but there have been so many disappointments, and in view of your position, my dearest, the people want a Protestant marriage for you and there could not be a more ardent Protestant than Prince William. He has upheld that faith on the Continent of Europe and he is a very clever man. He is youngish yet, but he will make his mark on the world, never doubt it. He is a great man and you will be proud to be his wife.”