When they arrived they wanted to come and see me. I was very eager that they should do so, and it was arranged. Once again, it would not be a state visit, for, in view of my father’s position as an exile, that would be undiplomatic. I think William was loath to receive him, wondering what effect this would have when the news reached England that the exiled Duke had been received at The Hague.
My husband was in a delicate position. He was certain now that I would be Queen and he, as my consort, would share the throne. No, not consort. If I were Queen, he would insist on being King. After all, he had a claim in his own right. But he had to remember the importance of my position. He had certainly changed toward me since I had begun to show a little spirit.
So I wanted to see my family and he could not deny me that. Nor did he wish to make his ambitions too plain. He had a difficult path to tread.
So they came and he greeted them with a certain amount of warmth. As for myself, I was overcome with joy. We embraced and clung together, mingling our tears. We Stuarts have a streak of sentiment in our natures.
There was one irritation. Anne had brought Sarah Churchill in her suite and as Sarah had refused to be parted from her husband, Colonel Churchill was of the party.
Anne was growing up. She was nearly as old now as I had been at the time of my marriage. So far there had been no one selected for her and she was blithely unconcerned, and she doted on Sarah; she seemed completely subservient to her. It was, still “Sarah says this …” “Sarah does it this way… .” I was tired of Sarah. Anne seemed unable to make a decision without her. But then she had always been too lazy to make decisions.
Sarah was quick to see my irritation with her and she was too autocratic to accept it. I wondered what John Churchill thought of his wife, for I was sure she attempted to control him as she did Anne. I was amazed when I saw them together, for he seemed almost slavishly devoted.
Anne said: “Oh, Sarah is so clever. I am not surprised that he is her devoted slave.”
“Does she seek to make you one?” I asked.
Anne blinked at me with her shortsighted eyes. “How could she? She is my attendant.”
My dear, simple Anne; she had not changed. She was as ready to accept Sarah’s domination as ever and, of course, I noticed, Sarah always couched her orders to Anne in diplomatic terms, for indeed Sarah was at heart a diplomat. But she did not please me.
One day Anne said to me: “Sarah thinks the Prince does not treat you as he should.”
“Sarah does?”
“Yes. She says she would not endure it if she were you.”
“That is very bold of her.”
Anne giggled. “Sarah is always bold. Well, she is Sarah. No one would get the better of Sarah. And she says you are really more important than he is, or would be if …”
I said: “Our uncle, the King, will live for a long time yet, and so will our father. My husband is the Stadholder and Prince of Orange, and it is only if our father has no sons that you or I could ever sit on the throne of England.”
“Sarah thinks the people will not have our father, nor perhaps a son of his.”
“If Sarah were as wise as you think she is, she would look to her own business and leave that of her peers to them.”
“Mary,” cried Anne incredulously, “do you not like Sarah?”
“I think Sarah Churchill takes too much on herself. She should remember her place as the wife of a man who has yet to make his way in the King’s army.”
I guessed she would tell Sarah what I had said and Sarah would not like it. I was glad of that.
On another occasion, Anne said: “Sarah thinks Elizabeth Villiers gives herself airs.”
I agreed with her but said nothing, and Anne went on: “Sarah thinks she has a reason for it.”
“What happens in my apartments is no concern of Sarah’s,” I said. “I think it would be a good idea, sister, if you made that clear to her, and if I discovered her making any trouble in the household it might be necessary to send her away.”
Anne looked at me in amazement.
“Send Sarah away! You couldn’t do that!”
“Very easily,” I replied. “This is my household. I do what I will here.”
“Sarah thinks you cannot do anything that the Prince wouldn’t want.”
“Sarah is mistaken. I am the Princess of Orange and our father’s elder daughter. I can do as I will.”
I was proud of myself. I remembered my power and I was going to exert it. I was my father’s eldest daughter and that put me in a very special position. I was going to make sure that people remembered it.
I knew that Anne would have reported this conversation to Sarah Churchill, for I heard of no more comments; but Sarah Churchill and I never liked each other after that.
The visit, like the other, had to be a short one. My poor father could not forget that he was an exile. He was a very sad man. I could understand that. I had hated to leave my country, but at least I had done so in an honored fashion. I had not been forced out.
It was a sad occasion when I said good-bye to my father, my stepmother, my sister Anne and little Isabella. There were tears as we assured each other that we should soon be together again.
THERE WAS TENSION throughout the court at The Hague. Messages were coming from England. King Charles had suffered from a series of fits—one after another. He was no longer young and, in view of the life he had led, it seemed unlikely that he would go on much longer.
There were accounts of the people’s grief, not only in London but throughout the country. None of the blatant peccadilloes could change their affection for him. His many mistresses, his scandalous liaisons, made no difference. They loved the Merry Monarch. There had never been a king so loved since King Edward IV, tall and handsome, had roamed the streets of London, casting a roving eye on the handsome women.
There were more gatherings at the supper parties in the apartments of the maids of honor, and William was often present in the company of those discontents from England; and now none of them could suppress their excitement.
I wondered what my father was feeling, shut off from it all in Brussels. Then news came from that city that he had left in haste for some secret destination, leaving his family behind.
I was filled with anxiety when he arrived in England, for I knew it was because of popular feeling that he had been sent away.
Meanwhile, we were all tense, waiting for developments.
Anticlimax came. The King had recovered. The ague had disappeared and he was his old self. I could imagine his amusement at all the excitement and his sly comments that he had cheated them out of the fun.
He received my father with affection. Charles was truly fond of his family in his lighthearted way: and it was only because of his determination “never to go wandering again” that he had given way to popular demand for his brother’s exile.
Even those who loved my father must agree that it was his own fault. If he had only set aside his scruples, worshipped as he wanted to in secret, none of this would have arisen.
That was a thought which occurred to me again and again. And I must confess it produced a certain impatience with him when I thought of the havoc he was causing.
Well, he was back in England. But would he be allowed to stay?
Everyone at The Hague was watchful and alert. Every messenger who arrived at the palace was immediately taken to William. Everyone was waiting for the outcome.
At length it came. My father was returning to Brussels.
He was going to take his family back to England and would call at The Hague on his way.
In the meantime we heard the news. The people of England would not allow my father to stay there. I wondered what his plans would be and it was with mingled joy and apprehension that I greeted him when he arrived; and as soon as I was alone with him, I demanded to know what had happened.
He told me with great emotion of his reunion with his brother.
“This is no fault
of Charles,” he said. “In spite of his ministers … in spite of the people … he would not have me go away.”
“Then … you will stay?”
“He cannot have that either. There is too much pressure. Only those who have been in London can understand the trouble that has come out of this infamous plot. Only they can realize what harm has been done. The people have been roused to fury. They are shouting ‘no popery’ in the streets. They are accepting Titus Oates as though his word is gospel. He has inflamed hatred of Catholics.”
“And you have let them know that you are one of them,” I said with a hint of reproach.
“I am what I am.”
“Tell me what will happen now?”
“I am being sent to Scotland.”
“To Scotland! Exiled to Scotland!”
“No. Not exiled this time. This time I go in honor. I am to be High Commissioner there. So I shall have work to do.”
I could not help feeling relieved.
“Charles thinks the family should stay in London. He says he will care for them. Anne would, of course, be expected to, but Mary Beatrice will insist on accompanying me.”
“Well,” I said. “It is better than exile here.”
He smiled ruefully. “This will be exile in a way … diplomatic exile. How I wish we could go back to happier days!”
I felt another flicker of impatience. So might we have done, but for your open declaration of your faith, I thought.
Again there was the sadness of departure and I wondered when I would see them again.
I was to remember that parting all through the years to come.
A HASTY MARRIAGE
Dr. Ken, who had taken Dr. Hooper’s place, although slender and of small stature, was a man of great presence and strong character. He made no concession to fashion, wore no wig and his thin hair grew long, falling down on either side of his face. He was somewhat quick of temper, but good-natured, and, like his predecessor, Dr. Hooper, quite fearless, and would state any view that his conscience told him was the right one.
I felt an immediate liking for him, and I think he did for me; so I was pleased that he had come.
He and William did not take to each other. In fact, William disliked him even more than he had Dr. Hooper. I soon saw that he would like to be rid of these priests who came from England and were put in the place of the Dutch clergy of his choosing. I understood why it rankled.
Dr. Ken was quick to see that William was not as respectful toward me as he should have been. He wrote to my uncle, expressing himself “horribly unsatisfied with the Prince’s behavior toward his wife.” He added: “I shall talk to him of this, even at the risk of being kicked out of doors.”
He did. William was annoyed, but he must have realized there was little he could do. The position in England was very delicate and he had to consider the effect of his actions there. He had continually to remember that his claim to the throne came through me and that I should be the one who was welcomed, if that longed-for day came. It might seem a small matter to ask Dr. Ken to leave, but who could say what repercussions it would have?
William could accept the pinpricks of a little man like Dr. Ken for the sake of expediency.
Then something happened which demanded a great deal of courage on my part, and I think perhaps it was a turning point in my relationship with my husband. It could never have happened if William had been at court, but he was often absent and in another part of the country on state business, and this was one of those occasions.
I had noticed for some weeks that something was wrong with Jane Wroth. She was naturally a lively girl, given to frivolity. That was why the change was noticeable.
I sent for her. She came to me, quiet, subdued, and then I noticed the change in her figure.
“Jane,” I said, “you had better tell me what is wrong.”
She cast down her eyes and was silent.
I said: “It is rather noticeable. Is it not time that you were married?”
Poor Jane. She lifted her woebegone eyes to my face.
“I am afraid, Your Highness, it is not possible.”
“Why not? Is he married already?”
She shook her head.
“Then why not?”
“Because, Madam, of who he is.”
“Tell me,” I said.
She was silent and I said in my commanding tones: “Jane, I am asking you to tell me.”
“It is William Zulestein, Your Highness.”
Zulestein! This was William’s kinsman, of whom he thought so highly. And who was Jane Wroth? Of no great family, she had been extremely lucky to get a place at court.
“How could this have happened?” A stupid question. How did such things happen? They happened all the time and often in most unexpected quarters. William would want Zulestein to make a good marriage, one which would be important to the House of Orange, for, illegitimate as he was, he was recognized as being a member of it. Oh, what a fool Jane had been!
“How could you have allowed it?” I cried. “So you were seduced by him. He could not have promised you marriage!”
“Yes,” she insisted, “he did.”
“So he promised. And now?”
“He says the Prince would never allow it. He would … but for that.”
“Are you sure he promised?”
“Yes, Madam, I am.”
“You should know better than to listen to promises. So … what will you do now?”
Jane looked at me piteously. She would have no choice. She would be sent home and her family would be filled with anger against her. She had spoilt her chances: with great difficulty a place had been found for her and she had behaved like a fool, allowing herself to be seduced, and was about to bring an unwanted infant into the world to ruin her prospects of a good marriage. Poor Jane! To go home, despised, taunted all her life for this misguided action of her youth.
I liked Jane and I felt very sorry for her.
“Jane,” I said, “I do not know what we can do.”
She began to weep silently. “I shall go away,” she sobbed. “I shall no longer serve Your Highness. I can’t bear it.”
“Have you talked to Zulestein?”
She nodded.
“And he is prepared to desert you. Is that so?”
“He dare not do aught else. He says the Prince has made plans for him.”
“He did not tell you that before?”
“He said he loved me. We would have married … in spite of everything.”
“Jane,” I said. “Go to your room. I will think what must be done.”
She left me then. I was filled with pity for her and anger against this man who had thoughtlessly taken his pleasure and lied and cheated to get it.
Dr. Ken found me in a reflective mood. He asked if aught ailed me. I could see he was thinking that, as the Prince was absent, it could not be due to an unkind action on his part.
I said: “Dr. Ken, I am deeply disturbed. This is due to one of the maids of honor, Jane Wroth. She is with child and in great distress.”
“The man responsible is at court?”
“Yes.”
“Then he must marry her.”
“There is a little difficulty there. It is William Zulestein.”
“The Prince’s kinsman. That has nothing to do with the matter. He has got the girl with child and he must marry her.”
“The Prince will not allow it.”
“This is a matter of right and wrong and this man’s duty is clear. He has seduced this girl; she is with child and he must marry her.”
“I believe the Prince will not agree to that.”
Dr. Ken’s smooth face was set in firm lines. “Then,” he said, “the Prince must disagree.”
“He will not allow it.”
“He is not here, so he cannot stop it; and when they are married there is nothing the Prince can do about it.”
“Do you mean you would … ?”
“Marry them? Indeed. Giv
e me your blessing and I will do so.”
“But the Prince …”
“Your Highness, you are the Princess of Orange. The woman is in your service. It is a matter for you. It could happen that you will be Queen of England. The Prince would in that case only share with you as far as you would allow. You are inclined to permit this man to dominate you. At the moment you are merely the Princess of Orange and he is the Prince. But you are also heir to England. Do not allow yourself to be set aside. You should be strong. If this man is allowed to leave his promises unfulfilled, if that young woman is to go through life in shame because the man who sinned with her is allowed to shirk his duty, and if we do not do everything within our power to prevent this, we are neglecting our Christian duty. Pray for guidance and I will come to you tomorrow morning and we will make it clear to these erring young people what must be done.”
“But the Prince …” I began.
“This is not a matter for him. He is away. It is our duty to act without him.”
“I dare not.”
He smiled at me sadly. “Because he forgets your position; you must not.”
I said I would think of it.
And I did. All through the night I thought of his anger when he knew what we had done, being fully aware that it would have been against his will. Then I considered Jane, sent home in disgrace. It occurred to me that Zulestein might refuse to marry her even if Dr. Ken insisted that he should.
I am ashamed to say that I felt a glimmer of hope at this. It would be a way out of the dilemma. I realized then that I was a coward. I was afraid of William’s wrath. I grappled with myself. I must remember my position. I thought of how his treatment of me had aroused the indignation of Dr. Ken … and others.
No, I would stand against him. If any other man had seduced a girl, after promising marriage, he would be made to keep his promise. So why not Zulestein?
I believed the man should marry Jane; and so did Dr. Ken.
I had made up my mind.
DR. KEN WAS DELIGHTED when he knew my decision.
Jean Plaidy - [Queens of England 10] Page 14