Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of Frances Stuart

by Jefferson, Marci

  It took an age to get his body shipped back to England. When I finally stood on the docks at Gravesend to receive my husband’s remains, the chilled wind whipped my black mourning cloak around my body. The Danes sent Richmond in a ship painted black, harnessing the wind with black sails. Watching it approach, all sense of purpose blew out of me.

  He lay in state at Cobham for a few days so the neighbors could pay respects. I had him shipped by barge, coffin draped in black velvet, up the river to Westminster Abbey. Most of England’s nobility proceeded in the extravagant funeral parade. They placed him in the Richmond vault. With his other wives, his daughter, my stillborn child, and my fragile dreams.

  EPILOGUE

  Richmond House

  October 1688

  I stood before the full-length Venetian mirror in the bedchamber of my home and studied the rows of curls stacked over the forefront of my head. Little gems and pearls glimmered in the fontange hairpiece while my natural strands, long and thick, curled down my shoulders and back.

  My favorite old style of gown, the mantua, had altered through the years to form a day garment. The one I wore hugged my shoulders and fell down my backside in bustled, red silk drapes. A stacked row of bows, red and silver échelles to match the silver flowers embroidered on my skirts, ran down the stomacher that joined it in front. I tightened a sash around my waist and straightened the ruffled sleeves.

  Fat pearls gleamed at my neck, and I saw a flash of my younger self, wearing men’s pantaloons, posing for the king. I chose to remember mostly the happy memories from my years at Whitehall. But since King Charles passed away, too much reminiscing was an invitation to longings and regrets. Old ghosts were better left to yesterday. I pinched my cheeks and decided I still looked fashionable for a forty-year-old dowager duchess in retirement. And certainly sharp enough to face King James’s Privy Council to discuss the controversy surrounding his newborn prince.

  Autumn sun filtered through the windows and twinkled against the gold braid on my bed, lit the tapestries and paintings on my walls, and made the toilette set shine on my new chest of drawers. I’d finally achieved my haven, where everything reminded me of the independence I’d struggled so long to attain.

  St. Albans had been so proud of his building project. Though he’d never extended affection, he’d offered me one of the first houses at St. James’s Square. I’d sold Cobham Hall, and Mother joined me there, grasping that offering as if it were acceptance by St. Albans himself. But Whitehall, the rambling old palace by the river, the court life, soon called to me. Richmond House was mine for my lifetime, and I couldn’t stay away. Besides, Sophia’s quarters weren’t large enough to house her six children, and she needed our extra eyes to watch them.

  Mary, slow and gouty with age, padded in. “Milady, your mother wants to know when you are taking her riding in the park.”

  “Tell Mother we won’t ride today. I’ve been summoned to the Privy Council.”

  Sophia and young Anne entered as Mary left. Anne stopped to raise an almond to old Sir Ment. He stretched his little body and spread his wings, stirring feathers from his perch. Anne then pointed to my flat slippers. “You’re wearing those simple things?”

  “Certainly. The toes aren’t pointy and vain. They fit well.”

  She considered this. Sophia had named one son Francis, after me, but of all her children, this one daughter was most like me. She watched, waited, and learned the fastest. If the nurse laid out plans that were disagreeable, she entered into negotiations like a miniature ambassador, securing better terms while her brothers and sisters sat back with blocks and dolls. Whatever came of today, even if Sophia had to take them all into exile, I knew this child would grow to do as I had done. She would ever work to protect her family.

  “A letter arrived,” she said.

  I took it from her, put it in my hanging pocket. “Now, go to the nursery. No telling what mischief is going on in there.”

  She paused. “Very well. But may I take the kittens?”

  I pretended to think hard on it before nodding. She fetched the basket from the corner and carried Miss Ment’s granddaughters, mewing adorably, back to the nursery like a prize.

  Sophia watched Anne go before she spoke. “Our cousin Lord Blantyre is sure to side against King James.”

  “He once sought favor with King Charles,” I said. “But he is an opinionated Scottish nobleman, we mustn’t quarrel with him over it. He is the noble head of our family.”

  “You have always been the head to me. But you won’t go, will you? If the worst happens, you will stay here.”

  I nodded. “Don’t worry for me, sister, I will have Lord Blantyre’s aid if I need it. I have my Lennox estate. Mother and I will prosper.” I paused. “You know, if King James is deposed, he will likely go to France. You remember what it was like before.”

  “My place is at my husband’s side, and his place is in service to King James.”

  I embraced her so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. “Then you must take every farthing we can muster, for they won’t allow me to send it to you later.” And in my mind I started planning to build a larger estate for the Blantyres in Scotland, where Sophia’s family might slip in easily from France if they needed a haven.

  Walking through the Bowling Green to the Stone Gallery, I peered at the scratchy handwriting on the letter and smiled. It was the first word I’d had from Prudence in a few years. I broke the battered seal and a long, shiny, black-brown feather slipped from the paper folds, fluttering to the ground.

  Years earlier, King Charles had granted her old friend William Penn a mass of land in the colonies. They named it Pennsylvania, and Penn drew up a constitution of governance to promote religious toleration. Prudence now prospered in the new colony. Her first letter from there had said, “May God bless it and make it the seed of a new nation.”

  Today’s letter spoke of a great eagle. It reminded her of me, she said, because she knew I loved such creatures of God that could soar the heights and live free above the valleys. With a dark body and white head and tail, its striking coloring was the most beautiful she’d ever seen. When she’d found an eagle feather, she thought it the perfect gift to send me.

  I picked up the feather, touched it to my lips, testing the delicate firmness of its edges. When I breathed in, it had no scent. That was how the sky must be. Clear and clean with whiffs of cloud and blue expanse and never a care. I smiled for Prudence, for the freedom she’d found, and tucked the feather into my hanging pocket. Until we all lived in a world like hers, we must embrace liberty any way we can.

  But in England, my old fear of another war had nearly come to fruition before King Charles died. During the Popish Plot, Londoners had gone mad and accused everyone of trying to return England to the Catholic Church. Since James, the widowed Duke of York, had converted to Catholicism and taken a Catholic Italian princess as a second wife, Parliament wanted to exclude him from the succession. King Charles, for all his merriness, managed to block Parliament. He might not have attained the tolerance he wanted in England, but he refused to let the monarchy be dashed again because of bigotry.

  I could hardly remember feeling so light. Golden leaves danced on the trees in the Bowling Green and seemed the most beautiful sight, richer than a thousand nations. I patted my hanging pocket, and I realized I was hardly worried about the Privy Council.

  My Charles lived his last four years without having to call a Parliament. Trade ports were established, money flowed to his treasury, and he happily dispersed my late husband’s titles to his beloved illegitimate children. But his brother was never careful like him. By the time James inherited the throne, England’s politicians had learned how to work together peacefully. Yet King James was willful enough to disturb the most tolerant of men. Today’s Privy Council meeting was proof of that.

  I reached the Privy Gallery, and my pages ran before me toward the councillors’ hall. Inside, just as they turned a corner, they tripped to a halt and
bowed low. King James stepped into view. The pages backed away, and I dipped a low curtsy. The king extended his hand, and I kissed his ring.

  Time had preserved his looks—he still seemed a lighter version of Charles—but every action was pomp and tedious formality. Though I loved him as a cousin, I was glad he did not expect me at court often.

  “So good to see you, Cousin Frances,” he said firmly, waving away his Life Guards. “I could call you la belle still today as ever I did. I presume your mother is in good health.” He raked his eyes up and down the length of me in that old, ogling gaze.

  I grinned. He had not changed one whit. “Perfectly well, thank you. She would have me express our gratitude in continuing to keep my sister and her husband at service in your household.”

  “With your brother no longer living, it is the least I can do for your family. Stuarts must help one another where they can. You, though, you’ve never needed my help.”

  “I’m thankful to say, your brother and my husband left me in a fair position.”

  He nodded. “I am glad I’ve been able to continue that annuity—the one my brother established for you. As I said, Stuarts must support one another.”

  The hair on my neck rose, and I bowed my head instinctively. “You are a most generous king and kind cousin.”

  A satisfied smile spread across his face, and he stepped closer to me. “I’ve never asked anything of you before, Frances.”

  I immediately held up my finger, both to throw him from his suspicious tone and to tease him. “Ahh. There was one thing. You asked me to become your mistress. Remember?”

  All at once he looked flustered. “B-but that was ages ago. How can you even remember such a trivial thing? Not that it was trivial at the time. I meant it when I professed my devotion to you. You were so beautiful—I mean, you are beautiful still. Ahh—” He scratched his neck.

  “Be at ease. As you said, it was an age ago, after all. Now,” I said, daring to turn slightly from him, “won’t you show me into the Privy Council?”

  “Wait.” He grabbed my arm. “I need to tell you what to say.”

  I held my breath.

  His face was stern and very serious. “They are going to ask you about my newborn son, James Edward.”

  “I arrived too late to witness his birth, remember?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You must tell them you arrived just in time. You must tell them you saw him brought from my wife’s body so his legitimacy cannot be disputed. You’re the Duchess of Richmond. I need you to use your rank, your honorable reputation, to help me.”

  “Your Majesty, those who were there already when I arrived could refute my testimony. It would not be prudent—”

  “Frances!” He glanced around quickly to make sure no one was near. When he went on, his voice was strained. “Everyone is saying she was never pregnant or our child was stillborn, and we smuggled a babe into her bed on a warming pan. It’s ludicrous! These doubts are causing a madness among the people, and they’ll try to cast me from the throne.” Droplets of sweat sprang to his forehead. He dropped his hand from my arm. “Help me prove his legitimacy.”

  I shook my head. “That is not why they want to overthrow you. They cannot accept the Catholicism you are reestablishing in this country. Open your eyes and see that England will not tolerate absolutism. She strives for her freedom. To rule herself.”

  “Don’t think me a fool. Of course I see. But my beliefs force me. I cannot allow my country to languish in heresy.”

  “Your Majesty, please consider the consequences. I visited your daughter in Holland not long ago. William and Mary will not hesitate to use the strength of their Protestant army to turn you out of England.”

  He studied me carefully. “I once tried to stop a war to win your love,” he lied. “It is not my fault I failed to do as you demanded at Oxford. Do this for me in honor of the love I once had for you. I beg you.”

  I’d stood up to powerful kings, managed the largest dukedom of England, and my image was on the back of every English farthing as a symbol of Britain herself. I’d failed to embrace my own liberty in many ways. But I would not fail in my answer to this king. “I, too, tried to stop a war. For love and in spite of love.”

  “I command you.” His eyes narrowed.

  I searched his face. “Please, my king, my cousin, believe my love for you. I know the child is your own son. I know your wife was truly pregnant. But I did not see him emerge from the womb. Please do not blame me if I feel I must tell the truth.”

  He brought his face within an inch of mine.

  I refused to tremble. He was the king. He could lock me in the Tower, stop my annuity, dismiss my sister from service, and seize my property. But he could not make me lie. He could not break my spirit. He could not make me help him force England to do something she didn’t want to do. I was bound by nothing. No matter the price, I would never be cowed again.

  The stern lines in his face slowly softened, and he backed away. He nodded his head a fraction. My signal to go. I curtsied carefully and deeply, sidestepped while I was still low, and rose to walk toward the council.

  * * *

  Fifty peers of the English aristocracy, the prince of Denmark, the archbishop of Canterbury, officers of the crown, the lord mayor, and aldermen of the city of London jostled and shifted in the Great Council Chamber to witness the deposition. Even my sister stood among the queen’s ladies. We were two of forty women who had entered the royal birthing chamber. Because of my high rank, space was made for me to stand close to Dowager Queen Catherine’s place, which was at the right hand of King James.

  She approached her seat, and I knelt to arrange her train. She sat, giving me a quick, dignified smile, full of the affection of years of friendship, which I returned. Then I glanced at King James, who had seen our quiet little greeting, and backed to stand behind her chair.

  King James gave a rousing speech and explained his purpose. Dowager Queen Catherine then gave her word. She had arrived to Queen Mary Beatrice’s chamber a little after eight of the morning and never left until after the little prince was born. She signed her name to the transcribed oath, and King James looked to me.

  The threat of consequence loomed over my head, yet I was not afraid. In my pocket was a reminder of the strength I’d garnered. A blackish-brown eagle feather.

  I had never felt more free.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  King Charles II understood the need for tolerance and was skilled in playing one power against another, but King James II failed to win England’s confidence. Despite James II’s Privy Council depositions, important members of Parliament invited his daughter Mary and her Protestant husband, William of Orange, to invade England. When James fled, Parliament declared his abdication, crowned William and Mary, termed the change “the Glorious Revolution,” and composed the first Bill of Rights. This shifted the balance of power from crown to Parliament and, therefore, the people. American revolutionaries followed this model when forming the United States Constitution.

  James spent the rest of his life maneuvering to reclaim his throne, as did his son (the Old Pretender) and grandson (Bonnie Prince Charlie). All failed, despite bloody, tragic battles. The crown passed from William and Mary to Mary’s sister Anne, and then to the Protestant Hanovers.

  The late Lady Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales, was a descendant of Charles II through the illegitimate son who inherited Frances Stuart’s Richmond and Lennox titles. If either of Diana’s sons, William and Harry, succeeds to the throne, the Stuart line will finally regain the British crown.

  FACTS BEHIND THE FICTION

  While writing this novel, I sorted through references, biographies, historical documents, and contemporary accounts, many of which were apocryphal and full of gossip. I used as many facts as possible to fictionalize gaps and address unanswered questions about Frances Stuart’s life.

  I aimed for accuracy in timing and placement of historical figures, with at least two notable excep
tions. First, the Duke of Richmond’s and the Earl of Rochester’s terms of imprisonment in the Tower of London did not overlap. They were imprisoned three weeks apart, and Frances did not visit the duke there. Second, though Charles II and Isaac Newton did observe the same comet, Newton’s observation took place from Cambridge. He did not interact with the king until several years later.

  The only fictional characters in this novel are the maids, Mary and Prudence. Prudence’s father, Mr. Pope, was real, but he didn’t have a Quaker daughter.

  The Earl of St. Albans claimed biological relation to Frances in a letter he wrote to the Duke of Richmond, as published in La Belle Stuart by Cyril Hartmann. They are not connected through the Blantyre Stuarts, and Hartmann believed the relationship existed on Frances’s mother’s side. Mrs. Sophia Stuart’s parentage is unknown, perhaps because she was born out of wedlock. The Earl of St. Albans was accused of fathering an illegitimate child with Eleanor Villiers before the civil wars. Carola Oman states in Henrietta Maria that St. Albans’s father sent a midwife for the birth, so it is possible the child connected with the governor of Jersey and made her way into France with the exiled court. Based on the considerable favor shown to Sophia by St. Albans and the Queen Mother, it is not difficult to theorize that St. Albans was Sophia’s father.

  According to Bryan Bevan in Charles II’s Minette, Frances spent the glamorous summer of 1661 with her friend Henriette Anne and the French court at Fontainebleau. Though Louis’ affair with Henriette Anne received more attention in history books, diarist Samuel Pepys recorded Louis XIV’s declaration of love for Frances. I designed Frances’s ruby necklace based on a similar jewel adorning her effigy on display at Westminster Abbey. Her stuffed African gray parrot is also on display, but its name and how she obtained it are not known.