The Three Crowns

by Виктория Холт

  William liked that description. He sent for his good friend Bentinck.

  “There is no one else whom I would trust with this mission,” he told him. “I wish you to set out with all speed to London. There it will be necessary to negotiate with the Lord Treasurer, Lord Danby. He is the man. I doubt not that your mission will be successful for I know that you always work tirelessly for my good. I want this marriage with England.”

  They discussed each point in favor of such a marriage while they considered the disadvantages.

  “Providing the Duke and Duchess of York do not have a son, this could be a most brilliant marriage for Your Highness,” said Bentinck.

  “It is a chance we have to take,” was William’s answer. “They have tried and failed before.”

  Bentinck agreed that apart from the brilliant prospects of William’s ascending the English throne through his wife, the marriage would still be a good one.

  “Holland is fighting a desperate battle for survival,” said William. “The bravery of the Dutch cannot stand out against the power of Louis. Our Spanish allies are unreliable. Bentinck, we need England. The crown … that is a matter for later.” His eyes glowed. “It will come. In the meantime England, standing with us—as the King will do if his niece is Princess of Orange—can save us.”

  Bentinck, who knew his friend very well, understood that William had no doubt that one day the English crown would be his. He was a man who believed in predestination and he was certain that he was born to rule not only Holland but England, Scotland, and Ireland.

  To be with him was to feel that certainty. Bentinck set off for England with high hopes of success.

  Shortly afterward William of Orange received an invitation from Charles to visit England.

  THE RELUCTANT BRIDE

  The King was smiling across the table at Lord Danby. Poor Danby! he thought lightly. His position is not a happy one.

  “In the circumstances, Your Majesty,” Danby was saying, “the Dutch marriage is greatly desirable.”

  Charles agreed. “The people hate the war with Holland and marriages are the best guarantees of peace.”

  The eyes of the King and his Lord Treasurer met. There were so many secrets which they shared and which it would be advisable, both knew, should never leak out. Danby had helped in those transactions with France which some might consider shameful and which would certainly shock the King’s subjects if they were aware of them; Charles’s secret leanings toward Catholicism, his monstrous promise to Louis, could lose him his throne if they were known. They had much to hide, these two. But the King was nonchalant; he had an infinite belief in his ability to extricate himself from the difficult situations into which he could not resist falling in his continual attempts to provide himself with money which his Parliament would not—and indeed could not—grant him.

  Danby, on the other hand, trying hard to appear calm, could not hide his disquiet. His fall could be imminent. In the streets they were singing lampoons about him. He was the most hated man in England. He had not sinned so deeply as his master; but he would be blamed. Charles had only to flash his famous smile—which was merry and sardonic at the same time—on his subjects and they would forgive him his lechery, and his treachery. Such was not the case with Danby. He could not charm them with his unromantic appearance—his lean figure, his pale face, and his obvious ill health. Moreover, he knew that if Charles’s secret dealings with the King of France ever came to light, it would be Danby who would be blamed for them, not Charles.

  And now the people were restive largely because they hated war. Charles would show them that he was prepared to put an end to the war and that he was no friend of the King of France because Louis would be furious at a match between Holland and England. Perhaps of late his subjects had begun to suspect Charles favored Catholicism.

  “Very well,” said the King. “We will send for Orange. We will show the people that we are anxious for peace with Holland, for can we want to be at war with the husband of our own Princess Mary?”

  “Your Majesty,” said Danby, “the Duke of York will not consent to this marriage.”

  “You must make him understand the importance of it, Danby.”

  “Your Majesty, the Duke of York has not your understanding of affairs. I feel sure he will remind us that you once promised not to dispose of his daughters without his consent.”

  Charles was thoughtful. “It is true I made such a promise. But God’s fish, he must consent.”

  Danby bowed his head. Consent or not, he thought, the marriage should take place. He, Danby, was rushing headlong to his ruin, as Clarendon had some years before. It was not easy to serve a King such as Charles II, a clever man who was in constant need of money and not too scrupulous as to how he acquired it, a man who was ready to conduct his own foreign policy in such a manner that his Parliament knew nothing about it.

  For them both the marriage was a necessity.

  Charles’s shrewd eyes met those of his statesman. He knew what Danby was thinking.

  “You see the need as I do, Danby,” he said. “So, it shall be done. Tomorrow I leave for Newmarket.…”

  James, furious, stormed into his brother’s apartments.

  “I see you are speechless,” said Charles, “so I must help you out of your difficulty as I have so many times before by speaking for you. You have doubtless seen Danby.”

  “This marriage …”

  “Is most desirable.”

  “With that Dutchman!”

  “A dour young lover I will admit, but our nephew, brother. Forget not that.”

  “I will never give my consent to this marriage, and I am her father.”

  Charles raised his eyebrows and gazed sadly at his brother.

  “Without my knowledge Danby has dared …”

  “Poor Danby. He has his faults, I doubt it not … and many of them. All the more sad that he should be expected to carry those of others.”

  “You promised that my daughters should never be given in marriage without my consent.”

  “And, as ever, it grieves me to break a promise.”

  “Then Your Majesty must be constantly grieved.”

  “I fear so, James. I fear so. My dear brother, do try to be reasonable. This marriage must take place. It is more necessary to you than to any of us.”

  “To me! You know I dislike that Dutchman.”

  “He is of our flesh and blood, James, and we loved his mother. Families should live in amity together. He is a dull fellow, I’ll be ready to swear, but he did once try to get at the maids of honor.”

  James shrugged impatiently.

  “And you, James,” went on Charles, “are far from popular. This ostentatious popery of yours is a constant irritant.”

  “And what of yourself?”

  “I said ostentatious popery. You should learn to show proper respect to words, James, if not to your King. Now listen to me. If Mary marries our Calvinist the people will say: How can the Duke of York be such a papist if he allows this Protestant marriage! You need this Protestant marriage more than any of us.”

  “Your Majesty has always been for tolerance.”

  “I am more tolerant than my subjects are prepared to be. You have always known that.”

  “And Charles, is it not your dealings with the French which make you so eager for this marriage?”

  Charles smiled wryly. “As I have said before, I have no wish to be like a grand signor with mutes about him and a bag of bowstrings to strangle men if I have a mind to it. At the same time I could not feel myself to be a King while a company of fellows are looking into all I do and examining my accounts. There, James. That is your brother and King. Tolerance, yes. Let every man worship as he pleases and let the next fellow do likewise. Thus if I wish to be a papist I’d say I’ll be one and that is my affair. And if I make agreements with foreign kings because by so doing I can get what my Parliament denies me—well then, that is my affair too.”

  “And because of
this my daughter must marry the Dutchman?”

  “Because of this, James—my follies, your follies, and the follies of those who want to go to war when they could live so much happier in peace. You’ll give your consent, James. Then … we must see that we get the better of our little Dutchman.”

  When William arrived at Newmarket the King greeted him cordially.

  “It is long since we met, nephew, too long. And now you come as a hasty lover.”

  “I would wish first to have a sight of the Princess Mary,” replied William cautiously.

  Charles laughed. “Do you think that we would ask you to make an offer for what you have not seen? Not a bit of it. You shall see her and I will tell you this: there is not a more charming young girl at this Court, nor in the length and breadth of England I’ll dare swear—perhaps not in Holland!”

  William did not smile. He knew that they would attempt to make fun of him as they had before; he had always suspected that Charles had played a part in the maids of honor episode.

  “I shall be delighted to meet her.”

  “And in the meantime, my dear nephew, we will discuss less agreeable matters. We will save the tasty tidbit until the last which I believe is a very good habit. There are the peace terms which I suppose we should consider of the utmost importance. We will go into council here at Newmarket, and then it may be that there will be two great events to be celebrated.”

  William’s lips were tight as he said: “Your Majesty, I could only discuss the terms of peace after the Princess Mary was affianced to me.”

  “Oh come, nephew—business before pleasure you know.”

  “I can do no more than explain to Your Majesty my intentions.”

  Charles showed no sign of annoyance.

  “What did I say,” he appealed to his friends. “Here we see the eager lover.”

  The Lady Frances Villiers sent for the Princess Mary. She was fond of the Princess and yet relieved that very soon she would not be in charge of her. Mary had always been eager to please and gave little trouble; her passionate friendship with Frances Apsley was the only real anxiety she had felt on her behalf; and now there would be no need to worry about that.

  “My lady,” said Lady Frances, “your cousin, the Prince of Orange, has come to Court and His Majesty is anxious for you and your sister to be presented to him.”

  “I heard that he was in England,” replied Mary lightly. She was wondering whether Sarah Jennings would show her a new seal she had. It would be amusing to use it for her letter to Frances.

  “Tomorrow you and your sister will be presented. The King and your father wish him to find you agreeable.”

  Mary wrinkled her brows. “I have heard that he himself is not always considered so.”

  “Who said this to you?”

  Mary lifted her shoulders; she would be careful not to betray the offender. Lady Frances, who knew her well, was also aware that Mary had no realization of the reason behind her cousin’s visit.

  Poor child, thought Lady Frances. She will have a great shock, I fear.

  Mary was pleasant enough to look at, thought Lady Frances. She was trying to see the child with the eyes of a stranger and a would-be lover at that. She would most surely please him. Her complexion was unusually good; her nose well proportioned and her almond-shaped eyes really beautiful. She scarcely looked marriageable; but she had always seemed young for her years—and in any case she was only fifteen.

  While Lady Frances scrutinized her charge Mary was looking anxiously at her governess.

  “You are pale, Lady Frances,” she said. “Have you one of your headaches?”

  Lady Frances put a hand to her brow and confessed that she had been feeling unwell for the last few days.

  “You must go and lie down.”

  Lady Frances shook her head. “And you must tell the Princess Anne of the appointment for tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes,” replied Mary, “I shall not forget.”

  Face to face with William she thought that the stories she had heard about him might well be true. He looked as though he rarely smiled.

  “Welcome to England, cousin,” she said; for the King and her father seemed to wish that she be the one to talk to him.

  He inclined his head and she asked him how he liked England.

  He liked it well enough, he answered.

  What a dour creature he was. She would remember this conversation and report it all in her next letter to Frances. Better still keep it until they met. She smiled as she visualized that meeting.

  “Very different, I’ll swear, from your Court at The Hague.”

  “Two Courts could hardly be expected to be the same.”

  She was thinking: But, Frances, it was so difficult to talk to him. He makes no attempt to carry on the conversation at all … and it simply dies out. I had to keep thinking of fresh subjects.

  “Do you … dance much at The Hague?”

  “Very little.”

  “I love to dance. I love playacting too. Jemmy … the Duke of Monmouth, excels at it all … dancing, playacting …”

  “Is that all he excels at?”

  Flushing, suddenly remembering Jemmy with Henrietta Wentworth and Eleanor Needham, she did not answer the question but said, “Pray tell me about Holland.”

  That forced him to talk and he did so briefly. It sounded a dull place to Mary; she was watching Anne, who was with their father, out of the corner of her eye, while she longed to be rescued from William who was so dull.

  She was pleased when it was over and she could escape.

  William was pleased too. She had perhaps been brought up to be too frivolous, but that was something he would soon remedy.

  She was not without beauty; she was young, very young, and he believed that he could mold her into the wife he wanted.

  James and Charles were well aware of the impression Mary had made on her cousin. William was eager for the marriage, and Charles delivered his ultimatum: Peace terms agreed on first and after that the marriage should be discussed.

  William had betrayed his desire for the marriage and his uncles might use his eagerness to their own good and the detriment of Holland. That must never be. The marriage contract must be settled first so that he might not be forced into accepting disadvantageous terms in order to secure it.

  William now stood firm. The contract must be completed before the peace terms were discussed.

  James was angry; Danby was terrified; and Charles lifted his shoulders in a significant gesture. Orange was not the most charming of men; tact was a quality which had not been bestowed upon him; but, God’s fish, the marriage was important. Charles was never a man to cling to his dignity when he found it expedient to dispense with it.

  “Our lover shall have his bride,” he declared. “It shall be as he wishes. Wedding first; business after.” He turned to his brother and momentarily his eyes were sad. “Now, James,” he went on, “there can be no further delay in breaking the news to Mary. You’re the man to do that.”

  Mary started at her father. She could not believe she was hearing him correctly.

  Marriage! But she did not want marriage. All she wanted was to go on as she was now. Marriage was something she had never considered seriously because she found the subject distasteful. Married people were rarely happy. She knew how her uncle the King deceived the Queen again and again and she was aware of the Queen’s unhappiness. She remembered the quarrels between her father and her mother; and even now that he was married to the beautiful Mary Beatrice he was not faithful to her. Mary Beatrice wept often because she was so hurt by his infidelities.

  And now it was her turn! And the husband they had chosen for her was that little man, her cousin William, who looked as though he had never learned how to laugh. If she had to marry he was the last husband she would want.

  “So you see, my dearest,” James was saying, “you are no longer a child and it is time you married.”

  “I do not wish to marry.”

&n
bsp; “That is often the case, but when you are married you will be content.”

  “I never shall. I never shall.”

  “Now, Mary.”

  She turned away from him for the tears were already on her cheeks.

  “Please, Mary, you must be sensible. This is difficult I know. You have had such a happy time and perhaps some would say have been a little spoilt … but now you must realize your duty. You see, my dear, you are in a position of great importance …”

  She was not listening. Marry Orange. Go to bed with Orange. It was shocking. It was distasteful. She hated it.

  Then another thought struck her. He did not live in England. He had a kingdom over the seas. So she would not only have to endure him, but she would leave home. Leave her dearest Frances … Frances, her true husband! She would leave Anne, her sister, from whom she had never been separated in the whole of her life. How could she be happy without Anne to scold, to laugh at, to play with. She could not endure it; she would not endure it.

  She flung herself at her father and began to sob wildly.

  “Father, do not make me leave home. Do not make me marry. Let me stay at home. I cannot bear to go away.”

  James stroked her hair and tried to comfort her.

  “Oh, my dearest, alas that this should be.”

  The Princess Mary was inconsolable.

  The Queen came to her to try to comfort her, but Mary would not be comforted.

  “It happens to us all, my dear,” said Catherine. “I came to England to marry the King.”

  “The King is not like Orange.”

  Catherine had to admit that. Charles was the most charming man in the world and she loved him dearly; in spite of his constant infidelities she considered him a good husband for he never spoke an unkind word to her and all she had to suffer was his neglect and the pain which his preference for other women gave her.

  “You will feel better later,” Catherine assured her. “It is the first shock.”