The Jacobite's Wife

by Morag Edwards

  ‘So which of the boys here, in this house, would you want to do it with?’ I asked.

  Grace shook her head, then touched my arm and put her fingers to her lips. ‘Listen … horses … in the stable yard. It must be your brother.’ She smiled a soft, secret smile. ‘If I had my pick, it would be him.’

  I leaned over the bed, pretending to vomit. Grace pushed me onto the floor. ‘It’s time you got ready for dinner. Remember I have to dress your sisters as well.’

  We hurried to my room and Grace brought a jug of rose water from Mother’s stillroom and hung my favourite dress to air before the fire. It was a deep pink with an embroidered bodice and turned-back sleeves. She said I should wear it in honour of my brother’s safe arrival and chivvied me to wash and dress.

  Grace hurried away to help my sisters and I sat in front of my own fire trying to read. It was dark and the candles only helped to make the room seem cold and secretive beyond the circle of fire. I thought I might try to find my brother because he often teased me in a way that was fun and not cruel. He could be funny about our parents too, making me laugh by copying their voices and gestures, although afterwards I often felt ashamed.

  I heard the raised voices from Father’s study when I was still some distance away. There was no need to try and hide my approach as both men were shouting at full pitch. Never had I heard men bellowing as if they were bulls in a field and I listened at the door, ready to flee.

  First my brother’s angry voice: ‘You’re nothing but a bloody, selfish old fool.’

  ‘And you are betraying your religion and your monarch,’ my father shouted.

  William yelled back, ‘And you’re betraying this family and our inheritance. Your misplaced loyalty will mean the loss of our estates … everything we’ve worked for. You’ll put our lives at risk … again.’

  ‘Some things are more important. There are principles that must be upheld, justice for our monarch, the future of this country for people of our faith!’

  My heart pounded and jumped in my breast and the tight bodice threatened to make me faint.

  ‘How can you do this to us? Have you gone mad? Did six years in the Tower teach you nothing?’ William demanded.

  Outside the door, I cheered him.

  ‘I have no choice.’ My father sounded weary, as if he had lost the will to fight. ‘He is my king, chosen by God. It’s my duty as a member of the Privy Council. Can you imagine how the king feels, to be betrayed by his daughters?’ Father’s voice drifted for a moment, as if he had turned away.

  I would betray you, I thought.

  I guessed they had moved away from the fire towards the tapestry hangings on the opposite wall. Anxious to miss nothing, I leaned closer to the door but their voices had become indistinct. I ran back to my room and waited, crouching by the fire until the gong echoed in the empty hall.

  At dinner we ate in silence. William smiled at me when I entered but kept his eyes focused on the carvings around the fireplace, as if they were of unusually great interest. I was glad to see that father was wearing his wig. It helped him look more authoritative, as if there was a chance he might still be a man we could rely on. But he sat in his place at the end of the table and chewed his food as if we weren’t there. His eyes were in a far-off place and occasionally he muttered aloud, conversing with someone who wasn’t present. He was already in France.

  Chapter Two

  Without Mother in the house, my sisters were determined to keep me occupied by teaching me how to run a household. Mary, the eldest, spent much time with our father. I’m sure, like me, he would have preferred to be left alone but I imagined she kept him busy with lists and plans about how we would manage once he was gone. When he wasn’t with Mary, Father spent time at Whitehall with the king, no doubt also with lists and plans.

  Anne had decided that she would be in charge of Christmas and had ambitions to have a turkey, since it was the new thing and she spent hours trying to track down a supplier, with me trailing along behind her. We always had goose at Christmas and I resented her changing things, as if she had already replaced our mother. My brother William disappeared every day on business but Grace said that she saw him go into Jonathan’s Coffee House in Change Alley.

  One morning, Father called us to his study after breakfast with news from Mother and Lucy. They were safe but the royal party were being treated as hostages by the king of France. I couldn’t understand why our king would send his wife and baby son to somewhere they weren’t welcome and risk the lives of my mother and sister as well.

  ‘Weren’t the French expecting them?’ I asked, looking between the adults. ‘Shouldn’t the king have checked first before sending my mother and sister off to be taken hostage?’

  My father sighed and shook his head.

  I turned to William but he stared out at the garden beyond the study window. My sisters exchanged a glance beneath their lowered lids.

  Angered by the adults’ refusal to acknowledge me, I ran outside and stumbled along the paths of the parterre until I found my favourite bench in the rose garden. It was a still, damp morning and mist drifted around the statues, so that they formed and disappeared like apparitions from the next world. The garden was drained of colour but birds searching for insects amongst leaf litter sounded like gravediggers. I missed Lucy. Together, we would have talked about what all this meant. Lucy listened to me and thought about her answers, as if my questions mattered. She never said things just to sound as if she knew, when she didn’t.

  I heard my brother’s footsteps long before I saw him. The pattern of his footfall sounded like searching; he was looking for me and I wanted to be found. ‘Hello,’ I called out like a bell. William shouted back and I saw his shape form and vanish in the fog until he appeared distinct and solid. His head was bent inside the hood of his hunting cloak and his hands were wrapped in its folds. He sat down beside me and nudged me with his elbow, so that I would look at him.

  ‘I thought you might want some company?’

  I kicked hard at a stone. It arced towards a robin, who flew only a few paces and studied me with one eye.

  ‘Why is the French king treating Mother and Lucy as hostages?’ I hoped William would notice that I was indifferent to the fate of the queen and her brat.

  ‘Some people say James is very wise. Some say he’s very stupid.’ William shrugged. ‘In trying to please everyone he has managed to make enemies of all, including the French king. The gossip in the coffee shops is that Louis doesn’t know where he stands with our king, he doesn’t trust him.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he trust him? They’re both Catholic kings. They’re cousins.’ My only teacher, our priest, had a simple view of political matters.

  ‘Win, I’ll try to explain. You know that the king’s son-in-law marches on London. Louis has been warning James for months that William of Orange was arming his fleet but our king’s answer was to throw the French envoy into the Tower of London. Our Catholic king has managed to anger the very monarch who should have been his closest friend. Not well done. Also, why on earth did he allow his daughter to marry William, a declared enemy of France?’

  Such talk was treason and I glanced behind me, horrified that we might have been overheard. Father had been imprisoned during my childhood for less than this. ‘Don’t say such things … we can’t talk like this.’

  ‘We’re safe here, no one is listening.’ William gripped my upper arm. ‘Try to understand. There is much you have to know or whatever happens next will make no sense. You will have to make decisions too, starting with where your loyalty lies.’

  I hesitated. ‘So why does Father admire James?’

  William leaned back and stared into the fog. His lids drooped and his eyes were emptied of colour, like the mist around us. ‘Because our father is a fool, like James II. Fools attract other fools.’

  It felt as if William was addressing some other audience, not me. These were words he had rehearsed.

  ‘Catholic families like o
urs should live quietly and not attract attention. We’ll lose everything, absolutely everything.’ William slammed a fist into a cupped hand. ‘When news of our family’s involvement in the king’s desertion gets out, the mob will come again, like last time. You remember when Father was released from the Tower? I’ll never forget seeing our house burn, Winifred, never.’ William leaned forward and pressed his brow into his fists.

  I was frightened. I wanted to be reassured, not treated like an equal. I didn’t want an older brother who reminded me of the terror of that night, fleeing through flames and choking smoke. I shifted along the bench to be closer to him but felt no warmth as he linked his arm through mine. I pulled my cloak tightly around me and shivered. The fog was heavier and the robin’s busy presence could only be guessed at by the sound of leaves turning.

  My movement roused William and he lifted his head. His eyes widened as he turned to me. ‘Don’t worry about Mother and Lucy. It’s just posturing. As soon as the king arrives in France they’ll all be freed. I’m quite sure they’re being treated well. Louis XIV is a gentleman and I’m told he likes pretty women, so he’s not likely to treat the queen badly, or even our mother.’ William winked at me but there was a bitter edge to his words.

  This sounded worse. How could Lucy and Mother be safe if their security relied on a powerful man finding them attractive? ‘I thought Mother had been chosen by the queen to look after the prince; not because she’s beautiful, but because of her healing skills. I hate hearing you talk about her like that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Win,’ William moved his hand and squeezed my elbow. ‘I was trying to make you smile but it wasn’t funny.’

  I had another worry. ‘What if the king is captured by William of Orange and kept prisoner? Or he might even be beheaded. What will happen then?’

  ‘He’ll be allowed to escape. William and Mary don’t want to imprison him, he’d just attract rescue attempts and they won’t behead him either. Mary would never kill her own father.’ He shook his head, ‘Once he’s gone, the story will be that he abdicated. That means he gave up the crown willingly.’

  William was trying to make me feel better but anger threaded through his words and there was something else.

  ‘Are you frightened?’ I dared ask. William stared into the depths of the fog, struggling with his answer. I saw his shoulders drop. ‘I’ll be imprisoned, Win. I don’t know what will happen to the rest of you. And it’s all because of our mother’s interference.’

  ‘How can you blame Mother?’

  ‘She saved the life of the baby. Think about it, Win, a Catholic prince, James Francis Edward Stuart.’ William’s voice rose and cracked with emotion, as it had when he was fifteen. ‘Parliament wanted the child to die. If our mother had let nature take its course, if she hadn’t meddled, we would still have James II on the throne. Yes, a Catholic king but one who would have passed on the throne to a Protestant daughter. William would never have invaded. Our family might have lived in peace for generations.’

  I had a memory of a mewling child down in the bowels of the house. The maids had rushed around with hot water and towels, everyone had frowned and whispered and meals were late.

  ‘The baby prince was here, wasn’t he? She brought him to our home to cure him. What was wrong with him?’

  ‘He wouldn’t take the nurse’s milk. The country’s most learned physicians couldn’t help him. He was dying. But our mother saved him. There’s even a rumour that she swapped him for another child.’

  I jumped from the seat to face him. ‘Mother wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t trying to save a prince, she was trying to save a baby. Grace says that she’s learned how to do it, to help dying babies and heal other things as well.’

  ‘So Grace knows everything … it must be fact then.’ William’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘Cook told her.’

  William stood and tossed the folds of his cloak across his shoulder, his eyes dark and blank. ‘Well that settles it, Win. Perhaps the king should take Cook to France, not our father.’ He turned from me and disappeared into the hoary mist.

  Alone again on the cold bench I removed my glove to feel the warmth vanish from where my brother had been. I knew he spoke the truth. My mother’s loyalty lay not with us but with her faith and her monarch. I understood, finally, why people would hate us in the months to come. We were finished.

  On Christmas morning, our father was gone. Nothing was said. Father’s place was empty at breakfast but at dinner, my brother took his seat at the head of the table.

  For once, the house was warm and scented with the sap of fresh-cut logs. Mary had instructed that there should be fires in every room. In the dining room and drawing room, the fireplaces trailed with foliage from the garden. Anne hadn’t been successful in finding a turkey so we had goose as usual and Christmas pottage and later, some sugarplums in the drawing room. We tried to laugh and pretend that everything was the same but our efforts flickered and then died away, like the ash in the grate. William sat slouched in his chair, his wig at an awkward angle, from the effects of too much wine. My brothers-in-law smoked pipes and murmured over a game of cards and my sisters were at either side of the fire, working a tapestry.

  By late afternoon, I felt restless and walked the long, silent corridors of the house. Anne had decided that after dinner was served, servants who had family in London would be free to visit them, so the lamps were unlit and fires now smouldered untended in empty rooms. My father would never have allowed the house to be left in darkness. The familiar corridors seemed full of shadows and I hurried to Mother’s room. Some remnant of late, grey afternoon light filtered through the small window panes and I pulled from her closet the gowns, petticoats and stays she had left behind. I piled them onto her bed and burrowed deep into the scented mound of cloth.

  I woke, stiff and chilled, to hear muffled sounds from the street. At first it was just a murmur, as if two men were passing the time of day. I sat up and listened, pushing the clothes from me and allowing my eyes to adjust to the moonlight slicing through the un-shuttered windows.

  A soft whistle rose from the street, like a man calling a dog. The uneven glass of the window panes sparkled and lights flickered from below. I tiptoed across and knelt on the box under the window to look down. It was men with torches. I ran back across the room, tripping on the edge of a rug and falling hard against the fender around the dead fireplace. I stumbled out of the door, nursing my bruised elbow and ran down the empty corridor, my voice echoing ahead of me. ‘They’ve come! They’ve come!’

  Candles guttered in the galleried landing. I lifted my petticoats and ran down the stairs, calling to my brother, ‘William! They’re here.’

  William opened the door of the drawing room, staggering backwards as I pushed past him. ‘For heaven’s sake, Win, what on earth’s the matter?’ His voice was slurred and he had to prop himself upright against the doorframe. My sisters and their husbands froze like a tableau as I fell into the folds of their tapestries, wiping the soot and tears from my hands and face.

  ‘Men are outside,’ I wailed. ‘I saw them from Mother’s room. They’ve got torches and sticks.’

  My sisters’ husbands, neither of them fit men, rose in alarm from their game of cards and looked first at their wives and then across to my brother, now slumped forward in a chair, rocking and moaning. In that instant we all understood. We had no idea how many manservants remained. Apart from the men in the room, we were undefended.

  William rose, holding himself steady against the back of his chair. ‘We have to fight them. Let’s fight them. Come on, Carrington! Are you scared, Molyneux? Are you both cowards?’

  Viscount Carrington pushed my brother back into his chair. ‘Sit down.’ He steered Lord Molyneux towards the door by his elbow. ‘All of you remain where you are. We’ll judge the situation, determine what to do.’

  But I knew that our situation was beyond any judgement. I’d already seen it all. At least twenty men in the
street and more to come, here to destroy us just like before. But we waited, silent, listening to small cracks and shifts from the dying fire. Anne rolled up the tapestry and William cradled his head beneath his folded arms.

  The two men returned, their ruddy complexions glistening with exertion and fear. ‘It looks like we’re outnumbered,’ wheezed Viscount Carrington. ‘Are there any records of which servants remain or those who might have returned?’ Mary exchanged a glance with Anne who frowned and pursed her lips. ‘But what shall we do?’ Anne asked her husband and both sisters looked towards their husbands for help. In turn, Carrington and Molyneux glowered at my sobbing brother.

  Someone had to act. I stood up and caught my reflection in the mirror, as tall as any of the men. We must flee and I knew how to lead us to safety. ‘We need to check the servants’ quarters and rouse any who are here. Carrington and Molyneux should go to the men’s quarters and Anne and I will do the women.’

  Everyone turned towards me, even William lifted his head to listen. ‘Tell them to gather in the hall. Mary, you count heads. We’ll escape through the garden. There’s a gate at the back that only the gardeners use. Be quick,’ I clapped my hands. ‘There isn’t much time.’