He had heard talk too that Charles was thinking of taking the education of Mary and Anne out of their father’s hands since the Catholic marriage. All to the good. Let the people understand that the King was aware of the dangerous influence of Catholicism which had tainted the York branch of the family. It would help them to think more kindly of Protestant Jemmy.
“Hail, cousins,” cried Monmouth, as the sisters hurried to him to be embraced.
“Great news. Can you dance? Can you sing?”
Anne smiled and nodded but Mary replied: “We are not very good, I am afraid, cousin Jemmy.”
“Well, we will soon remedy that. Now listen. I am arranging for a ballet to be performed before His Majesty. How would you like to play parts in it?”
Anne said: “It will be wonderful, Jemmy.”
“But we are not clever enough to perform before His Majesty,” added Mary.
“My father is lenient toward those he loves.” Jemmy, Mary noticed, always referred to the King as “my father,” as though he were afraid people were going to forget the relationship.
“But he does not care to be wearied,” put in Mary sagely. “And I fear that we might do that.”
Monmouth put his head on one side and studied the girls shrewdly. Mary was wise for her age; and there was truth in what she said.
“Suppose,” he suggested, “you danced and recited for me now. Then I could judge whether you were good enough to perform before my father.”
Anne was willing enough. It never occurred to her to worry what people thought of her. If they did not like what she did, she would shrug her shoulders and forget. Mary was different; she hated not to be able to please.
Anne performed carelessly and badly; Mary made too much effort and was equally bad.
“I have an idea,” said Monmouth, “you shall have lessons. Then I think you will be very proficient. I’ve set my heart on your dancing with me before the King. In fact, this has been written with parts for you in mind. So it has to be.”
“Shall we need many lessons, Jemmy?” asked Mary.
“Very many and with the best teachers. Leave this to me.”
It was wonderful, Mary told Anne afterward, to be part of Jemmy’s ballet. Jemmy said that they would be at Court and that it was time they were there.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Court,” Anne answered. “Sarah says we should be there. Sarah would enjoy it … and of course if we were there so would she be.”
“We must do our best to improve our dancing,” said Mary.
“So that we may be invited to go often to Court?” murmured Anne.
“So that we do not disappoint Jemmy,” added Mary.
As a result of Monmouth’s plan, Mrs. Betterton, the principal actress at the King’s Theater, arrived at Richmond in order to instruct Mary, Anne, and their friends on how to speak on a stage, how to walk on to one, how to conduct themselves with grace, charm, and utter naturalness.
James had readily given his consent to her appointment because he knew how much Charles enjoyed theatrical performances and he thought it a good idea that his daughters should shine before their uncle.
The girls enjoyed their lessons and adored Mrs. Betterton who seemed so gay and amusing to them and made their lessons more of a game than a task.
Mary was happy. Her new stepmother had proved to be a gentle creature who seemed to want to please her as much as she, Mary, wanted to please her stepmother. The grim creature Elizabeth Villiers had tried to conjure up had no likeness to her at all; and it was good to prove Elizabeth wrong. The days when she practised dancing with Jemmy were for her touched with a kind of bliss. Every night when she said her prayers she mentioned Jemmy; she told herself that next to her sister Anne she loved Jemmy; but she was not sure whether, in her secret heart, she did not love him best of all.
He whispered to her that he was going to command John Crowne, the poet, to write a play with a ballet and the principal part should be for her. The part he had chosen for her was that of Calista, a nymph of Diana.
John Crowne was in despair.
He went to the Duke of Monmouth to remonstrate with him.
“My lord, how can I write Calista for the Princess Mary. Have you forgotten that Calista is raped by Jupiter?”
Monmouth laughed. “It will do me good to watch the effect of that on His Grace of York. His dear little daughter raped!”
“Nay, my lord. I would not wish to place myself in jeopardy. The King would not be pleased.”
“You can trust me to put my father in a good mood.”
“Indeed yes, my lord. We know how he dotes on you, but I fear this would not be suitable for a young girl. May I suggest that the rape does not take place, and that Calista succeeds in escaping from Jupiter in time.” He hurried on before Monmouth could protest. “And I could write in a part for the Princess Anne, for I know how the Princess Mary loves her sister to do everything with her. For the younger Princess there will be the part of Calista’s younger sister Nyphe. And for Jupiter …”
Monmouth said sharply: “I have the girl for Jupiter. She will play the part well.”
“Your lordship …”
“Lady Henrietta Wentworth,” said Monmouth smiling. “She will be perfect.”
The proposed play and ballet was being discussed throughout the Court and the King himself had expressed his interest. Jemmy was in charge and Jemmy was probably the best dancer at Court; moreover, Charles was pleased that he was interesting himself in Mary and Anne, who now that they were growing up, would have to take more and more part in Court life. Calista, Charles decided, should provide the Princesses’ introduction to Court.
In Queen Catherine’s apartments, Margaret Blagge, one of the Queen’s maids of honor, was on her knees praying that she might be spared the need to play in Calista. Monmouth had seen her and selected her for the part of Diana the goddess of Chastity. She feared that he was considering the possibility of making an onslaught on her virtue and because he had seen in her one of the few chaste women at his father’s court he would not be satisfied with anyone else to play Diana.
Margaret had been maid of honor to the Duchess of York before her death and after that event had joined the Queen’s household. The laxity of morals practised by those about her made her long to escape from Court. It was not that she wished for life in a convent; she could visualize a future with a husband and children—but away from Court, far, far away.
This revulsion had caused her to find great comfort in seclusion. And now to have been chosen to appear to dance and act before the King—something which she considered immoral in itself—horrified her.
But it was no use protesting. Monmouth insisted. She had refused him what he desired; well, now he would refuse her.
Lady Henrietta Wentworth burst into the apartment—a lovely creature, some years younger than Margaret.
“Why, Margaret, what are you doing? Not on your knees again? And what are you weeping about?”
Margaret stood up. “I am to be Diana in Calista.”
Henrietta smiled. “I can see no reason for mourning. I am to be Jupiter—the bold lover. Do you know I almost rape the Princess Mary. According to Ovid I did, but John Crowne fears the wrath of the Duke of York if aught ill befalls his daughter, so she is going to be allowed to escape me.”
“I would that I could be released from this.”
“Released! My dear Margaret, how many girls do you think would not give all they possessed for your opportunity.”
“Opportunity … to sin!”
“Margaret. What sin is there in dancing?”
“I see it as a sin.”
“You should have been born years ago. You would have enjoyed living under Oliver Cromwell. This Court life is not for you.”
“Then why should I have to take part in it?”
“Because, my dear, in spite of your seriousness, you are very pretty. And the part of chaste Diana was made for you.”
“I have told the Duke
that I do not wish to take the part.”
“And what said he?”
“He waved my reluctance aside. He would have none of it.”
“The Duke of Monmouth,” said Henrietta slowly, while a smile touched her lips, “is a man who will always have his way.”
“Not always,” insisted Margaret. “And I cannot play this role. The players are to be most sumptuously clad and covered in jewels. My lord Monmouth must realize that I am not rich. I have no jewels. So therefore he must find someone else to play Diana. I think that will be the answer, don’t you?”
She looked at Henrietta, who did not answer. She was staring into space smiling—her thoughts far away.
Charles summoned his brother and when he arrived told him that he was distressed to have been obliged to come to a certain decision but he believed James would see at once that it was inevitable.
“Since your marriage to your little Catholic, the people have not been pleased with you, James. We may as well face it. You have shown yourself to be too good a Catholic. Even though you don’t profess your Catholicism publicly, all know that you are devout enough in secret. They are complaining that your girls are being brought up to be little Catholics too.”
“But this is not true.”
“Maybe not. But we don’t have to consider what is true but what is being whispered. Whispering can be as damning as the truth. You’ll have to pass over the girls’ education to my jurisdiction, James. There’s no help for it.”
“But they are my daughters.”
“And if neither of us get a son Mary could be Queen and Anne could follow her. It’s for this reason that the people want to see them taken from the care of a Catholic and given a good Reformed preceptor. There’s no help for it, brother. Grin and submit with a good grace. You will see them constantly. It will merely be that I shall put someone in charge of their education.”
“And whom have you in mind?”
“Compton, Bishop of London.”
“Compton. I hate the fellow.”
“A pillar of the Reformed Church, brother; and for that reason I select him. The people will find pleasure in my choice.”
“The people?”
“Yes, brother, they by whom we retain our crown; and unless you have a taste for the wandering life, never let us underestimate their importance.”
James was sad and angry; but there was no help for it. The care of his children was taken from him and given to a man whom he neither liked nor admired.
Elizabeth Villiers was furious because she had not been given a part in Calista although that pushing Sarah Jennings had.
“Why do you think John Crowne has written that part for you?” she asked Mary.
“Jemmy says it is because I should be at Court and this is an introduction.”
Elizabeth blew between her lips. “He wrote the part because until your father has a son you are second in the line of succession and he wants to be sure of your patronage if ever you are Queen. It is as simple as that.”
“What nonsense!” said Anne Trelawny. “Parts are often written for people. Why shouldn’t the Lady Mary have a part written for her?”
“One doesn’t have to be royal to have a part written for one.” That was Sarah Jennings executing a difficult step. It was obvious that she believed the company would be enchanted by her performance and sooner or later someone would be writing a ballet especially for Sarah Jennings.
One had to smile at Sarah, who clearly believed herself to be the most important person in the schoolroom, for all that she was the most humbly born. The Princess Anne, her constant crony, was beginning to agree with her; and her outrageous conceit baffled Elizabeth Villiers.
The Princess Anne, taking the part of Nyphe, sister to Calista, practised indolently, and looked, Mary thought, very pretty in her costume which set off her round fresh-colored face and chestnut brown hair. Unfortunately the eye complaint which had been troubling her for a long time had had the effect of contracting her lids and this gave her a look of vagueness; but even this was not unattractive because it made her seem helpless, which was appealing. Mary, with her dark hair, long, almond-shaped eyes, and lovely skin was very attractive; no one could doubt that she was a Stuart.
There was great excitement in the Palace when the Princesses and their suite were preparing to leave for Whitehall. Sarah Jennings said that it was the beginning of change; and even Elizabeth Villiers, a little subdued since the coming of Sarah, accepted this. Lady Frances spoke seriously to her daughters. They might not be appearing in the ballet, she reminded them, but any change in the fortunes of the Princesses was a change for them.
Elizabeth Villiers, who was now quite a young woman, was beginning to realize that she had been rather foolish. Sarah Jennings had taught her a lesson. Sarah had chosen the docile Princess Anne for her friend and although she dominated Anne, at the same time made herself so pleasant that the Princess never wanted Sarah to leave her side. Thus Sarah Jennings was becoming more prominent in the circle than any of the others—largely due to her forceful character. It was too late now to ingratiate herself with Mary, for Mary already disliked her heartily; and in any case Mary had chosen Anne Trelawny for her friend.
Elizabeth Villiers therefore decided that she must be more cautious now; because once Mary was in command of her own household she would certainly dismiss those whom she had no reason to love. But although Elizabeth grew more pleasant, her hatred had not diminished at all, and secretly she greatly enjoyed seeing Mary discomfited.
Riding to Whitehall from Richmond was in itself an adventure. The people came out to cheer the little cavalcade because they already knew that the King had taken the girls’ education under his care and that the Protestant Bishop of London was in charge of them. That the Bishop was no scholar was unimportant; he was a Protestant and in view of their father’s unfortunate leanings those poor children were in need of protection.
Moreover, the fact that Charles was having the girls brought up in the Protestant religion could mean that the evil rumors concerning his own convictions were false. This conjecture gave pleasure to the people.
Arriving at Court, the Princesses were warmly welcomed by all. And what a gay and colorful scene it was! Everyone wanted to do honor to the girls and sought ways of pleasing them—their father and stepmother, the gentle kindly Queen, Jemmy, and their benign and witty Uncle, Charles, the King himself.
Mary in the shimmering dress in which she was to play Calista was both nervous and exalted. She was so anxious to please her father, who wanted her to be a success at Court, but feared that she might disappoint him. When she confided these fears to Jemmy, he laughed at her.
“Why, cousin,” he said, “you look so beautiful that my father and his Court would forgive you however badly you danced. But you won’t dance badly. You’ll enchant them all.”
Jemmy kissed her lightly on the forehead; and she thought earnestly: I must not fail. I must not disappoint Jemmy.
Anne suffered no such qualms. She would do her part and if she was a failure, well then, it would soon be forgotten. Sarah had said so and Sarah was invariably right. All the same Sarah was determined to make a success of Mercury; and Sarah knew she would.
When they were preparing to go on to the stage they were joined by Margaret Blagge and Henrietta Wentworth, the latter radiant in contrast to her companion.
Mary attempted to comfort Margaret.
“Why,” she said, “you look very beautiful. I am sure everyone will say you are a perfect Diana. Your dress is so lovely. What brilliant stones.”
Margaret said: “They terrify me. I had no diamonds to wear and the Duke induced the Countess of Suffolk to lend me these.”
“They become her well do they not?” asked Henrietta.
“So well,” said Mary, “that everyone’s eyes will be upon her.”
Margaret shivered.
“Oh, come,” said Henrietta impatiently, “there is no harm in dancing.”
“I
prefer not to,” replied Margaret.
“Is she not foolish, my lady Mary?” asked Henrietta. “Here she has a chance to look beautiful in all those diamonds, to dance before the King and she is ungrateful.”
“I am sorry,” said Mary earnestly.
“You are very good.”
“Nonsense,” cried Henrietta. “This is meant to make everyone happy and surely that is good. You must smile as a compliment to the lady Mary. This is her ballet.”
“You alarm me,” murmured Mary. “I feel everything depends on me.”
“There is no need to fear,” Henrietta soothed her. “Jemmy will be supporting you. He will look after you and see that all is well.”
“I am so grateful to dear Jemmy.”
“As we all are,” added Henrietta.
They turned, for a girl had come into the room.
“I wondered,” she said, “if I could be of help.”
“We can do with help, Frances,” replied Henrietta.
Frances Apsley, maid of honor to Queen Catherine, seeing the Princess, made a deep curtsy. Mary felt a sudden excitement for she had never seen anyone so beautiful and wanted to keep looking at her; the lovely dark eyes were serene; the beautifully shaped head so gracefully bowed, the smooth dark hair so shining; the expression kindly and intelligent.
“My lady,” said Henrietta, “this is Frances Apsley.”
Mary said: “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“It would be an honor to serve you,” answered Frances.
They stood smiling, each completely conscious of the other’s charm.
“Margaret is never satisfied,” Henrietta was saying. “She is complaining that she has one of the best parts in the ballet and is laden with diamonds.”
Margaret was speaking in response to Henrietta’s taunts, but neither Mary nor Frances Apsley were listening.
The Three Crowns Page 12