by Jean Plaidy
“A union with the lady would be very agreeable to me,” he murmured.
William nodded dismissal. That was one matter settled. That would quieten gossip; and when he was in Holland Elizabeth should come to him and it would be almost as it had been in the old days.
It became clear to William that it was a mistake to think that he could afford to flout Anne. No matter how many victories he might win abroad, to the English he was still a foreigner, and they resented a foreign King. Yet when Anne was carried out in her chair they cheered her; they looked upon her as the heiress to the throne and on Gloucester as her successor. He could not hope for a peaceful existence while he was outwardly not on good terms with her.
He renewed his promise of St. James’s Palace and this time Anne was able to move in. Then he made a gesture which gave Anne more pleasure than anything else could have done.
Lord Strafford, Knight of the Garter, died; and William wrote to Anne to say that it would give him the greatest pleasure to bestow the vacant ribbon on his nephew.
Anne went at once to her son’s apartment where he was having breakfast. In spite of her excitement she was shocked to see that Lewis was sitting beside him spooning the food into his mouth.
“That,” she said, “is no way for a Prince to eat. Lewis, stop it at once.”
“Your Highness it is the only way in which we can induce him to eat.”
Anne looked at her son with the familiar mingling of pride and terror. She had lost the last child as she had all the others, and Gloucester was her great hope. And he did not like food when his father and mother had such a delight in it! Was it a sign of delicate health?
“My boy,” she said, “do you not like the food which is prepared for you?”
He considered this and said: “I like crumbs on the table but I do not care much for food on plates.” He then wet his finger and picked up some of the crumbs about the table.
“You eat like a chicken,” she said.
“Oh, Mama, I am a chick of the game.”
His bright eyes, his quick smile were enchanting. Oh God, she prayed, preserve my darling. Keep him well. Take anything from me but leave me my precious boy.
“I have good news for you. You are to have the Garter.”
His eyes shone with pleasure. “The Garter. But I have long wanted it and do you know, Mama, Harry Scull dreamed he saw me wearing it. Pray, Lewis, bring Harry to me without delay. I must tell Harry.”
Back to Campden House came Gloucester, eyes brilliant with triumph, wearing the blue ribbon. He paraded before his parents telling them about the ceremony. “There were eleven knights with the King,” he said. “William knighted me with the sword of state and then put the ribbon on me with his own hands, and that, Papa—are you listening Mama?”
“To every word, my dearest.”
“Well that is most unusual, for one of the knights usually does it, but William wanted to do it for me. It was a special occasion. I am a favorite of his.”
“Well, you are an heir to the throne.”
“Yes, but it is a most unusual thing to be a favorite of the King’s, Mama.”
Anne exchanged glances with her husband. How could anyone help but make him a favorite? she was asking.
“Now may I go to my men. They are all anxious to see me in the Garter. I shall always wear it … until the day I die.”
“We will not speak of that,” said Anne sharply; and George laid a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
They were silent, listening to Gloucester’s voice shouting orders to his soldiers.
It had been wonderful to see the boy wearing the ribbon, but the mention of his death could plunge them both into deepest melancholy.
There was a visitor for the Princess Anne. This was John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave. Anne could never see him without remembering that love affair of her youth when she and John Sheffield had planned to marry. She still remembered the poems he had written to her. He had been sent away on her account and she had been given her dear George who was the best of husbands; but that did not mean she had not still a tender spot for Sheffield.
He was handsome; he was an excellent poet; and she believed he was at heart a Jacobite, for he had remained loyal to James longer than most men.
“My lord,” she said, “it does me good to see you.” He kissed her hand with a lingering tenderness. He was married and so was she, but memories lingered.
“I came to congratulate you on the Duke’s honor.”
“It was good of you.”
“I thought you would like to hear an account from an eye witness. I never saw the like. One would have thought he was a mature man. Such dignity! Such grace!”
“He is a most unusual boy.”
“Which is only to be expected.”
Their eyes met. He was thinking: He might have been ours. And if he had, she wondered, would he have been stronger? She compared John with George. Poor George, who was so fat and ineffectual; and John, tall, handsome, a man who would leave his mark on the world with his literary achievements and his parliamentary career.
“My lord,” she said, “I would that you would watch over the Duke. Sometimes I feel that his education is not in the best hands. His mind is so alert; he picks up such odd pieces of information. And we find it so difficult to make him eat nourishing food. His servants feed him … to entice him. It causes me anxiety.”
“If Your Highness would wish me to keep an eye on the boy …”
“It is what I do wish. I can trust you as I can few people. Will you do this?”
“With all my heart.”
She sat smiling to herself after he had gone. It was pleasant to sit dreamily contemplating what might have been. She could do this without heartbreak. She had her dear husband, her beloved boy, her hopes of inheriting the throne; but romance was sweet.
Sarah came in and found her thus.
“Mulgrave was here, so I learn.”
“Why yes.”
“And what did he want?”
“He came to tell me how my boy conducted himself at the ceremony. Why, Mrs. Freeman, he said that the child behaved like a mature man. I do not think there is another boy in the world to compare with him and that is the truth.”
“My young John must come to be his companion. I am sure they would be good for each other.”
“It shall be so. John Sheffield is a charming man, I think.”
Sarah grunted. “Not much guts I’d say. Remember how he fled at the first sign of trouble?”
“He did not fly. He was sent away to Tangier by my uncle.”
“Some men would have refused to go.”
“Refused to go? Refused the King’s command?”
“Some would have found a way.”
Sarah did not notice the slightly sullen expression about Anne’s mouth, nor the hint of firmness in her voice as she said: “He is going to superintend the Duke’s education.”
“What?” cried Sarah.
Anne had turned away, murmuring: “Oh, not in an official capacity, of course, but I confess I shall be glad to have such an excellent man at hand.”
What of Marlborough? thought Sarah, with difficulty suppressing her anger. If the Duke was to have a Governor naturally it should be Lord Marlborough. But at least Sheffield had not been offered the post officially.
Marlborough should have it, decided Sarah. And I shall see that he gets it.
The Princess Anne was preparing to leave for Windsor Castle. William had been unusually gracious. Not being content with seeing her installed in St. James’s Palace, he offered her Windsor Castle in which to spend the summer with her husband and their son.
Having seen Anne’s interest in John Sheffield, Sarah had decided that if she could do nothing for her husband it was time she brought her son forward, and before they left for Windsor she suggested to Anne that the little Duke should have some boys, near his own age and rank, to play with.
“My John is a little older than he is, but I am
sure your boy would find him a good companion.”
Anne who was sorry that Sarah had been put out over the favor she had shown to Sheffield, readily agreed; and it was decided that John Churchill together with three other boys, who were all studying at Eton, should be the companion of the Duke at Windsor.
It was inevitable that Anne should remember her dear Frances Bathurst’s boys; there were two of them of suitable age and they with another named Peter Boscawen were invited to Windsor.
Gloucester was delighted at the prospect of going to Windsor, a castle he had never before visited, and expressed the hope that there would be many towers and bastions to be defended. And what were the fortifications like? he wanted to know.
As they drew nearer to the castle he was clearly pleased with the impressive towers and immediately began planning a battle which should be fought between the new companions he was to have, since his army had not accompanied him to Windsor.
He explored the castle looking for suitable spots to defend, and was delighted when his four companions arrived. John Churchill was a charming boy who had been well prepared by his mother to make himself agreeable to the young Duke; Peter Boscawen was a little older than the others and more serious, but the Bathursts were mischievous and ready for some good sport.
Gloucester immediately called a meeting and explained the plans for the campaign. He had, he said, chosen St. George’s Hall for the action; then the music gallery and the stairs which led to it would represent a castle which had to be defended on one side and taken on the other.
This would be a new kind of game for he would not have all his soldiers to command; but he sent at once back to Campden Hill for his weapons which consisted of swords, muskets, and pikes.
He was eagerly explaining the plans of battle to his parents as he walked with them in Windsor Park. Anne and George exchanged glances; they were both wondering whether the boys understood that they must not be too rough with the young Duke.
Gloucester went on ahead of them as Anne said, “I must speak to Lewis. He must explain to them when our boy is not present. I wish that he did not so love these rough games.”
“You would not have him girlish, my dear,” George soothed.
“No, I would not. But how I wish that he were as strong and healthy looking as those others. I almost wish I had not asked them here. John Churchill is so big and strong.”
“He is several years older than our boy.”
Anne took her husband’s hand and pressed it. “You are a comfort to me,” she said; and she was suddenly angry because of the cruel lampoons which were written about this good man. The latest one which came to her mind explained that he was not quite dead but had to breathe hard to prevent being buried because no one saw any other sign of life in him. He was not stupid, as they implied, thought Anne angrily. He was just good and kind, a lover of peace.
She caught her breath in dismay, for she saw her precious son rolling over and over on the grass; he had come from the top of a steepish slope and there was earth on his face and the stains of grass on his clothes.
“My dearest …” she cried.
George had gone to the child as quickly as his overplump body would allow him; but before he could reach him Gloucester was on his feet.
He stood, legs apart smiling benignly on his parents.
“I must be able to descend hills quickly if I am to defend castles,” he told them with dignity.
Lewis took Peter Boscawen aside and said to him: “Now look here, my boy, you must be the enemy, and you must see that no harm comes to His Highness.”
Peter Boscawen nodded.
“Lose the game, rather. His mother’s orders are that he is not to be hurt on any account. Who will you have on your side?”
“I’ll take young Peter Bathurst.”
Lewis nodded. “I shall be near to give a hand, but be careful. He’s full of fire, but he’s not strong.”
“His head is too big, I think,” commented Peter Boscawen.
“He’s a game one. Won’t say when he has any sort of pain. Think generals have to forget all that. But as I say, have a care.”
Peter Boscawen was a cautious defender of the gallery and stairs, all the time giving way when in combat with Gloucester. But Peter Bathurst could not restrain himself; he became over excited and determined to hold the gallery at all costs. He had slipped the sheath from his sword and as Gloucester began to mount the steps dealt him a blow on his neck which started the blood to flow.
Lewis, horrified, saw what had happened and called: “Truce! Truce for the wounded!”
Gloucester looked at him in astonishment. “What wounded?”
“You, General, are wounded in the neck.”
“I shall not give up for a scratch, man,” cried Gloucester and charged up the stairs sending young Bathurst sprawling.
By the time the fortress was taken, Lewis was at hand with a doctor. The wound was slightly more than Gloucester would admit until the battle was over.
When his mother saw the bandage about his neck she was worried.
There was no way of protecting him, she told George, for he was the bravest boy in the world.
“My dear,” said George, “there must be other children. If you had another son … two other sons … you would not fret so much over him.”
“Perhaps next time we shall be more fortunate.”
Next time! Since her marriage she had been pregnant for most of the time—to what avail? Continual disappointment—and one boy who, while he was the most precious thing in her life, was a continual anxiety.
With the passing of summer Anne and her family returned to St. James’s. Two events occurred which caused consternation, not only in Anne’s household but throughout the country.
The first was the affair of Sir John Fenwick, the well known Jacobite who had insulted Queen Mary when she was riding in the Park by refusing to take off his hat. Fenwick was suspected of being involved in the Assassination Plot with Sir George Barclay and Robert Charnock. The plot was that with forty men they were to ride out to a lane between Brentford and Turnham Green and when William came past in his coach-and-six on his way from Richmond to London, set upon him and kill him. The plot was divulged before it could be carried out; Barclay escaped to France and Charnock was captured, found guilty of treason and hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn. Fenwick’s name was mentioned in papers which were captured on Charnock and he was named as a general in the army which was to be raised after William’s assassination in order to put James II back on the throne. Fenwick getting wind of his danger at once went into hiding and made efforts to leave the country. These failed and he was captured and made a prisoner in the Tower while investigations went on. Realizing that he must eventually be found guilty he accused some of the leading Whigs of being implicated. Among these was Marlborough.
Sarah was in a panic. Just as she had brought her son to Court and was hoping to have her husband proclaimed Governor of the Duke of Gloucester, there was this fresh scare.
So far William had given no honors to Marlborough and although he was allowed to come to Court he was almost as much in the shadows as ever. This could be a further check to her hopes—and as she knew that her husband had been corresponding with the King over the Water, she was terrified of further revelations.
William, however, was well aware of Marlborough’s Jacobite tendencies. But he knew that Marlborough would work for the winning side, and at the moment William was on that. He was turning over in his mind whether Marlborough should be given a post, for he was certain that hope of advancement was the best way of making sure of his loyalty.
William ignored Fenwick’s accusations; the man was found guilty and beheaded on Tower Hill. His goods were confiscated and William took possession of them. One of these, it was remembered later, was a particularly spirited horse named Sorrel, which became one of William’s favorite mounts.
The King returned to Flanders and because of his successes there the Treaty o
f Ryswick was signed and this, to a war-weary people, caused great rejoicing.
But the event which was somewhat startling to so many was a rumor that William was considering bringing home a bride.
William returned to England, minus a bride. It was only necessary to take a glance at him to realize that there could scarcely be truth in a rumor of that sort. He looked old and wizened; his asthma was noticeably worse; his cough was troublesome and his intimate servants knew that he frequently spat blood; he suffered torments from hemorrhoids and during the last months had begun to feel pains in his legs which had begun to swell alarmingly. He was more irascible than ever, and more liberal with his use of the cane; many of those close to him whispered hopefully together that he could not last much longer.
There was a revival of the old Jacobite songs and often William heard them whistled, although none of them dared sing the words in his hearing. The favorite at the moment was one which had come from Scotland, where most of them originated and called Willie the Whig.
He whiggit us out of our right
And he whiggit us out of laws
And he whiggit us out of our King
Oh, that grieves us worst of all.
Popular favor was turning more and more to Anne, and this was largely due to young Gloucester. Crowds gathered to see him drilling his soldiers in the parks; they applauded and called “God bless the Prince.” They were looking forward to the day when he would be their King; they were weary of Dutch William; he would like to have told them that he was weary of them.
Elizabeth Villiers was now the Countess of Orkney and seemed satisfied with her marriage. He met her at Loo, but it was not the old relationship which he had enjoyed for so many years. He was tired and very sick; yet still some belief in his own destiny drove him on and he knew he would never give up his three kingdoms until death overtook him.
It was written that they should be his; and his they had become and should remain until death took him.