The Jacobite's Wife

by Morag Edwards

  ‘What did you think of Mother?’

  What could I say? That she seemed old, that I had felt nothing? I hesitated. ‘It was wonderful to see her again. I thought she looked tired.’

  There was another silence, we both held our breath, then Lucy spoke again. ‘I wondered if you’d notice. I thought it might just be me, imagining things. She’s looking more and more tired. I’ll speak to Father Innes tomorrow. I think she should see a physician.’

  I nodded, even though it was dark. ‘Who’s Father Innes?’

  I felt Lucy shift onto her elbow. ‘He’s Lewis Innes, the most wonderful man. He’s principal of the Scots College in Paris but he spends a lot of time here because the king trusts him. He has a room on this floor and has stayed with us since the king returned from the war. I talk to him about my faith and it’s through his help that I’m going to Bruges. Mother adores him too so she’ll listen to him.’

  I could feel a change in the warmth of Lucy’s body as she spoke of her friend Lewis Innes and wondered whether she should be going into a convent. Perhaps that was why she had to go, she loved someone who would never love her in return. I turned over and sighed, enjoying the sadness.

  ‘Another really important person here is John Drummond, the Earl of Melfort. He’s just back from Rome. The queen likes him but no one else does. Keep out of his way. I’ll point him out tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you know everyone here?’

  ‘It’s a very small place and we can’t go anywhere else except Rome. So yes, you do get to know everyone, at least by sight. It’s harder now that so many Irish are here but they’ll move on soon.’

  ‘Why are there so many Irish? They thronged the quayside at Calais.’

  ‘I’m sure you heard that James was defeated at the Battle of the Boyne by your king?’ I felt there was an accusation in this, a suggestion that I had some personal responsibility for the actions of William of Orange but I also knew from the Jacobite meetings at Anne’s that her king, James, had fled the battlefield after only a few hours and run back to France.

  ‘Well,’ Lucy continued as if this were a history lesson, ‘William of Orange and the king of France have just signed a treaty ending the Irish campaign and all the Irish officers who fought for us have been allowed to leave Ireland. Of course, they’ve all come here but I’ve heard that Louis is creating a new regiment for them. He’s calling them the Wild Geese. Don’t you think that’s lovely?’

  I didn’t answer. My mind had already drifted to a sunsetred sky behind Powis Castle, veined with the dark symmetry of wild geese in flight. The lonely sound of their leaving filled my head and I turned away from Lucy, pulling my bolster over my ears.

  Book 2: 1691–1699

  Chapter 5: 1691

  Despite my exhaustion, any sleep was broken by the unfamiliarity of another person moving beside me and restless, wakeful dreams of searching for something I had lost. Just after dawn, Grace moved quietly around the room, picking up underclothes from the floor and hanging our dresses in the closet. She threw more wood on the fire and noticing I was awake, hurried across to my bedside.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I whispered in case I woke Lucy.

  ‘I’m fine, Lady Winifred,’ Grace pushed the hair back from my face. ‘This is an adventure for me. There isn’t room here, so I’m billeted with the other servants in the town. I’m sharing with two girls from Wales. John has gone home already. Everyone is impressed by my French but they say I’ve an odd accent.’

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘I saw my mother last night. She looks very old and Lucy says she’s ill.’

  ‘I met her this morning,’ Grace frowned. ‘She does look tired. She said I was to be a lady’s maid to you and Lucy and run errands for her to the town. Don’t worry about me, my lady. This is easy work. From what I hear, I think you’ve drawn the short straw having to help with the prince.’

  I sat up and pulled my knees towards my chin, guessing at what words might have passed between Grace and my mother. ‘Tell me about the prince, is he that bad?’

  ‘The other servants tell me he brings new meaning to the word brat.’

  Lucy turned over and sighed so Grace put her fingers to her lips and walked over to the closet. ‘Your mother,’ she whispered, ‘says I’ve to dress you in something of Lucy’s when you meet her later. All your old dresses are to be mine. You’re going to be fitted for some new gowns.’ She clenched her fists in excitement then waved farewell.

  I waited for Mother in her private rooms, which were luxurious apartments with walls of duck-egg blue, panelled with frames of embossed gold plaster, like the crimped edges on Cook’s pies. Framed within these panels were paintings of decorative bunches of grapes and sheaves of corn, covered in gold leaf. Faded silk curtains were bunched and draped at the windows, with gold and blue shutters behind to match the interior of the room.

  I sat on a chair covered in matching silk and shifted uncomfortably to stop from sliding off. A servant brought coffee and I shuddered at its intense sweetness and bitter taste. From the window, I watched the endless scurrying activity in the courtyard below until footsteps told me that my mother was on her way. I lifted my petticoats and hurried back to my seat.

  Mother was still in her night clothes, a white embroidered shift with a grey, silk robe draped across her shoulders. She gave a slight bow of her head and sat at her dressing table, a frothy affair covered in white silk, with frills that fell right to the floor and a mirror veiled in matching drapes. Mother observed me in her reflection while her maid brushed her hair. She must have seen my eyes dart around the room.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Winifred, but we haven’t spent a thing since we arrived. This suite of rooms was used by the French king before he generously gave St Germain to our king. I’m told he’d only just finished this apartment before he left. It’s not to my taste but we’re lucky, others have had to wait for their apartments to be decorated and the king and queen have had terrible disruption with theirs. The queen keeps changing her mind on where she wants to live and with another baby expected, I’m sure she’ll be on the move again. She might even want these apartments.’

  I nodded, uncertain whether I was expected to comment. It seemed that Mother found it easier to speak with her back towards me. I couldn’t imagine this mother humming amongst the terraces at Powis, filling a basket of figs and peaches for the kitchen and lifting me to reach the fruit. I remembered her kissing me as she put me down and telling me that my cheeks were as soft as the peaches.

  I watched the maid arrange my mother’s long grey hair, weaving the strands precariously on top of her head and fastening it with ribbons and feathers. I was so fascinated by the intricacies of her hairstyle that I only half listened to Mother’s description of my duties but I did grasp that I was to spend my time with the young prince, perhaps help him to practice his French and once the infant was born I was to help with the baby.

  Mother stood to be dressed and I turned my head while the maid removed her robe, but in the mirror I caught sight of her sagging breasts and the bones standing out from her back like angel’s wings.

  ‘So can you dance, Winifred?’ She was seated back at her dressing table, applying layers of powder and rouge to her skin.

  ‘I have been taught some English and Scottish country dances but have had no opportunity to dance outside my lessons.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Our family isn’t welcome at court. Other Catholic families made their peace with the king but we were never invited to do so.’ I saw my mother frown. ‘Sorry, I meant William of Orange.’

  ‘We are not just a Catholic family, Winifred,’ my mother explained. ‘We’re a Jacobite family, dedicated to the restoration of James II to the crown of England. You should have had plenty of opportunity to mix with other good Jacobite families. ‘

  How could I tell her that too many of the Jacobite families of England had given up on James II and were pinning all their hop
es on the brat; that they sat around in stuffy rooms and drank too much and bored each other with past glories?

  I looked around at the glittering façade of St Germain. ‘Yes Mother,’ I replied, ‘but we didn’t have any dances.’

  ‘What musical instruments do you play? Do you write any Latin?’

  ‘I can read and write some Latin and play the harpsichord. I think I’m a fair singer. Anne has taught me embroidery and I’m fine with simple sewing but I’m too clumsy to make my own clothes, or so I’m told.’ Mother seemed satisfied but she didn’t tell me what use this knowledge might be to her.

  Satisfied with her toilet, Mother stood and brushed her hands across the folds of her gown, adjusting the creases. She dismissed the maid with a stream of French too fast for me to follow. ‘One more thing, Winifred. You may not be aware but your father is now the Duke of Powis and I am the Duchess, just in case you accidentally refer to me as the Countess.’ She saw me smile and frowned, snapping her fan. ‘Did I say something amusing, Winifred?’

  ‘Mother, our estates have been taken by the government of England. How can you have forgotten? You are a Duchess only in this building. At home you aren’t even a Countess.’

  Mother stood quite still, as if I had slapped her and her face coloured in patches beneath the thick powder. I felt ashamed, this was my mother and she was ill. Why had I said those words?

  I watched as red blotches crawled up her décolletage and spread across her neck. ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry too, Winifred. We left you too long in England. You have been ruined.’

  I lay on my bed crying and raging between self-pity, anger and shame. I wanted Lucy or Grace to find me but no one came and I had no idea how to look for them. I was hungry and didn’t know how to get food. This miserable place was a prison, nothing more than a prison. I hated it. I hated Mother and I wanted to go home.

  There was a tap on the door. I sat up, wiping my nose on my sleeve. ‘Go away!’ I shouted.

  There was another tap, louder this time. ‘Please, my lady, I have to measure you for a gown. It’s an order from the Duchess. I have to make you something to wear for dinner tonight.’

  I opened the door and a small woman in a white cap pushed her way in, trailing fabric samples and ribbon. She looked up at me with small, screwed up eyes then quickly looked away.

  ‘Are you alright, my lady?’ The seamstress spoke English, with a Welsh accent, and to my shame, I started to cry again. She kept her back to me, laying her bundle of fabrics on the bed and pulling pins and measures from her apron pocket.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ I pleaded. ‘I haven’t had anything to eat.’ I heard the whining petulance in my voice.

  ‘Now, now,’ she fussed, still not looking at me but surveying the room with her hands on her hips. ‘I’ll need to find a boy to light the lamps, it’s too dim to work in here now the light’s gone. You come with me and I’ll show you where to get your meals. You’ll still be able to get something. They never stop cooking down there. Everyone eats together, you see. Servants in one hall, gentry in another. It saves money in the long run. Except if there’s a special dinner, like the one the Duke and Duchess are having tonight. You’re to be there at eight. You and Lady Lucy.’

  She bustled out of the room and I followed close behind, trying to memorise the way. We went down to the ground floor and crossed the courtyard, entering the chateau again through an arched doorway. The smell of food – baked bread, roasting onions, frying meat – caught in my throat, growing stronger as we turned down a spiral staircase into the basement. Here was a long, wood-panelled room, lined with tables and benches. The seamstress told me to sit down and she disappeared. I waited, watching boys light candles and men lay a fire in the great fireplace in readiness for dinner. The seamstress appeared again, only her white apron visible, making her seem like a headless apparition, followed by a girl carrying a tureen of soup and a platter of bread.

  ‘You eat that, my lady, and I’ll make sure the room is lit and warm for your return. You can find your own way back?’ She patted my arm.

  I nodded and began shovelling huge spoonfuls of fragrant meat broth into my mouth, dipping the heavy bread into the liquid and allowing the juices to run down my chin. I was glad no one could see me. I had never felt so hungry.

  In the bedroom, Lucy arrived as my new friend, her lips tight around a row of pins, fastened swathes of embroidered silk around me. I could see that Lucy was angry but neither of us spoke until the seamstress was satisfied and left us alone. I pulled a robe over my petticoats and sat on one side of the fireplace. Lucy moved another chair to the fireside and sat opposite me, staring at the burning logs.

  ‘Where have you been today?’ I asked her.

  ‘With our mother, helping with her work. It’s what I do every day. Mother says you are to join us tomorrow.’

  ‘She told you what I said?’

  ‘She did. I can’t imagine why you said that. Mother was so upset. You should have spent the day with us and met the women of the queen’s household but she didn’t want you near her.’

  ‘I didn’t know where anybody was. I didn’t know how to get any food.’

  ‘Mother would have explained all that if you hadn’t been so stupid. The dinner tonight is in your honour, so please don’t let the family down. The Earl of Melfort and his wife will be there and Lewis Innes. Mother and Father are very important people here. Don’t forget it.’

  I felt my cheeks redden but I needed her to understand that the people here were living a fantasy.

  ‘Lucy,’ I explained, hoping she would listen if I spoke like an adult, ‘at home you’re not Lady Lucy Herbert you’re just Lucy Herbert. Our titles have been taken from us.’ I paused to gauge her reaction. ‘And you know that our brother was imprisoned in the Tower of London.’

  ‘Winifred, I’m warning you, let it drop or ask Father to send you home.’ Lucy’s eyes were bright and round in the light from the fire. ‘Our mother is ill. I’ve spoken to Lewis and he will try to persuade her to see a surgeon.’

  ‘Lucy, you can’t ignore me. Why did Mother and Fat her make no attempt to have William released?’

  She stared at the fire for several more minutes and with too much care, placed a fresh log onto the already generous flames. ‘Because of what you say. There are no estates left for him to manage so what could he do? I overheard Father say to Mother that William was better off where he was. What was the alternative, to get drunk in London with his disinherited friends?’

  ‘That’s dreadful, Lucy. Couldn’t he have come here?’

  ‘There’s no role for him and I’ve heard he’s not to be trusted. But I’ve already said too much. Please, Winifred, we must never speak of this again.’

  The formal dining room in my parents’ apartment was grander even than the dining room at Powis. Tall, arched windows draped with heavy curtains and plaster columns rose to the cornice. The ceiling was decorated with a lively fresco of cherubs trailing garlands and the walls covered with cameos of even more cherubs playing with wild animals. Triple candelabra blazed from every wall, making the room as bright as daylight.

  My new dress was gathered tightly across my chest and round my back. The bodice ended in a bow just above my bottom from which the fabric fell in generous waves. The sleeves were gathered three times, ending in lace just above my elbow. Underneath the gown, which parted at my waist in the French style, I showed layers of petticoats trimmed with the same fabric as the dress. Grace had woven my hair high on top of my head and pinned it with ribbons to match.

  I felt beautiful and elegant and turned my head to catch my reflection in the many mirrors that circled the room. I had plenty of time to admire myself because, after I had been introduced, no one spoke to me.

  The table was set with a confusing collection of glasses and cutlery that danced with the flickering light from the candles. I knew I would have to watch Lucy closely to make sure I made no mistakes. Mother sat at o
ne end of the table and was her usual gracious hostess. Father sat at the other end, next to me. He took my hand and patted it but on the one occasion he tried to speak to me, he struggled to remember my name, running through Mary, Anne, Frances and Lucy before abandoning the attempt altogether. One daughter too many, I thought.

  Everyone listened when Lewis Innes entertained us with stories and reflections in his soft Scots accent. I could see why Lucy loved him. Although almost forty, he was a handsome man with warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, which he did a great deal. She kept her eyes downcast but every so often, she raised her head and smiled at him, colouring as she did so. Poor Lucy. I could see that her feelings were not returned. Lewis Innes was generous and entirely without prejudice in his distribution of affection. He made everyone feel special. Even the tiny, bird-like wife of John Drummond, the Earl of Melfort, flushed in the glow of his attention. It was the high-coloured, silent Melfort that I watched. Although he rarely spoke, he missed nothing, settling steel grey eyes on whoever was talking. He answered whenever Mother asked him a question but his accent was so thick, I found him impossible to understand. There were others at the table whose names I forgot as soon as I had been introduced.

  The huge bow at my backside made it impossible to lean back in my chair and my neck and shoulders ached with the strain of sitting on the edge of my seat. I ate little, constricted by my corset, and my head throbbed with the unfamiliar wine and the effort to hear over the clatter of glasses and porcelain. The servants demanded attention with an ever-changing menu of food, so I didn’t notice immediately that the Earl of Melfort had addressed me until Father touched my arm.

  ‘My dear, the Earl is asking you a question.’

  The conversation around the table had stopped, and everyone waited as I strained to understand him.

  ‘Lady Winifred,’ he said in his broad accent, ‘what support is there at home for the return of the king to his throne? I’m told that he will only have to step on to English soil and the people will rise up to support him.’