The Jacobite's Wife

by Morag Edwards

  ‘Yes indeed, some business for the queen!’

  I felt her eyes on my back as I crossed the courtyard and was relieved to reach the staircase without William having made an incriminating appearance. There was already a fire in the hearth, so my room was warm and I lit one candle, placing it on the table by the bed. In a fumbling panic I stripped to my stays, checking myself for unpleasant smells and cursed Grace, for there was no scented water. I put my dress back on, as well as I could without help, changed my mind, pulled it off and unpinned my hair. I slipped into the bed, shivering between the ice-cold sheets and spread my hair across the pillow. I couldn’t find a place to arrange my arms and got out of the bed to put more logs on the fire. I checked myself again for odours and waited for him on the edge of the bed. I felt too naked, so took my chemise from the cupboard and wrapped it around me, then moved the candle to a table under the window. I had chosen to sit by the fire when William tapped at the door.

  I closed the door behind him and we kissed again. William slid his hands inside my chemise and pulled me close. My skin tingled as he ran his hands across my back. He pulled away and looked at my body, lifting the chemise away from my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Without taking his eyes from mine, he removed all of his clothes. I felt the full length of his warm body against mine as we kissed again. Without a break in the kiss, we were on the bed and I was lost inside our love.

  When I woke, the candle had burned low, the flame spitting and guttering. Wax had flowed and spread across the table. It was dark and I could see a single star through my small window. William was still beside me, making noises in his sleep like whistling sighs. My eyes adjusted to the dim light and I lay down again, my face next to his, so that I could trace his full lips with my finger. I stroked his cropped hair and round head with my hands. He stirred and rolled onto his back as slowly, gently, I woke him with my touch.

  Two weeks later, when my bleeding failed to come, I spoke to the queen.

  ‘Your majesty, I think I am with child. I beg for your leave to marry the Earl of Nithsdale as soon as possible.’

  The queen’s eyes narrowed and her skin flushed but she spoke with a measured formality that was more worrying than her anger. ‘You have let me down, Lady Winifred. We had plans for a wedding, one that would have included the French royal family. It would not have gone unnoticed in Jacobite circles in both England and Scotland.’

  I knew that relations with Louis remained cool and it was rumoured that our presence in France was becoming an embarrassment but I hadn’t realised that she had hoped I would play a small part in changing our fortunes. Mary Beatrice must be desperate if she believed that a wedding would allow her to regain something of her old relationship with Fontainebleau.

  ‘You should have been more careful,’ she snapped. ‘I showed you how.’ My disregard of her advice seemed to annoy her as much as her disappointed plans.

  ‘I am sorry, your majesty. I didn’t choose to be careful. I wanted to be with child.’

  ‘So you’ve trapped him? That might not lead to a successful marriage, Lady Winifred, although I am sure he will do his duty by you.’

  ‘I am sure of him in every respect. It’s true that he did not expect a child but he is pleased. We would have married regardless but perhaps not so soon. It suits me that it has happened now. Your majesty, I am in love with the Earl of Nithsdale and he loves me in return. We want to be in Scotland, together.’

  Something dark flickered across Mary Beatrice’s face. James was ill, probably dying, and she had not seen Louis for some months. She was used to being loved, not just adored in the abstract as she was by many, but loved physically by men. She was jealous.

  ‘Is he aware that you are four years older than him?’

  ‘Of course he is.’ I did not lower my gaze. ‘It makes no difference to him or to me. I am my mother’s daughter, young and healthy, and likely to remain so for many years.’

  Mary Beatrice knew there was nothing more she could do. We both understood that I had to be married within days, so that the birth of the child would be credible within marriage. I spent three days in a convent, where I was expected to repent my sins. Instead I lay in bed until late, already nauseous and listened to the singing of the nuns. I walked in the gardens, excusing myself from any tasks on the grounds of my poor health. The nuns, who had not been told why I was there, saw my pale face and left me alone. At night, in my dark cell, I tossed on my hard straw mattress in a fever of desire for William.

  We were married at night in the queen’s private chapel, the ceremony attended only by the Duke and Duchess of Perth who knew both our families. Although we were in disgrace, in the flickering candlelight, with William by my side and the familiar words of the nuptial mass spoken by the priest, I felt only joy and a peace that promised to hold me in his love for ever.

  Chapter 10

  William was as excited by the royal court as much as I had tired of it. Without him, I might have been brought down by the uncertainty that clouded those tied to St Germain but being in love made every familiar corner seem fresh and expecting a child renewed my hope for the future, despite my daily sickness. Marriage into a respected Jacobite family, and more importantly a Scottish family, changed the way I was treated and I never tired of the low curtsies to the new Countess of Nithsdale, a title that meant something beyond the closed world of the exiled court.

  I felt as if France were as new to me as it was to William and as a married woman I was able to explore Paris, where William ordered several new coats and I some gowns and together we accompanied the royal household to a summer party at Versailles. As my beautiful new clothes began to tighten, I told the household of the forthcoming child and apart from the occasional raised eyebrow, the pregnancy was accepted as a child conceived within marriage.

  A letter arrived from my sister Frances:

  Dearest Winifred,

  I am delighted, as are your other sisters, to learn of your marriage and the expected child. We were naturally disappointed to miss the ceremony and were puzzled by the urgency but whatever your situation, it is not unusual and will be quickly forgotten by those who choose to gossip. I am glad your life at St Germain will now end, as you have been too long without family around you. My husband and I welcome you to a future in Scotland and hope that we will be able to become friends as well as sisters once you have settled at Terregles House.

  Your loving sister,

  Frances

  I had been released from the queen’s Bedchamber on my marriage and she remained distant from me but this did not diminish my happiness. Mary Beatrice was preoccupied with James’ failing health and there was open talk that Louis XIV might not recognise the young James as king after his father’s imminent death but I knew that the queen had the love and companionship of Princess Louise-Marie who, unlike her brother, had grown into a delightful child.

  Since I no longer had any royal duties and William was free from responsibility for as long as his family could spare him, the days grew long and warm and we walked and slept and ate and loved, lying together at any hour of the day in our large bed, exploring our perfect young bodies. I had no fears for the baby as the queen had once whispered to me that sex could not harm a child in the womb. William would rest his head on the growing mound of my belly and we would talk about our lives before we met, as if there could ever have been such a time. I wanted to hear every detail of the family I was to join, his mother Lucy and his beloved sister Mary. I understood why William so enjoyed St Germain once I learned of their isolation in the covenanting stronghold of south west Scotland, where a Catholic family must live quietly and with discretion. An accomplished and fashionable young man like William, generous with money, must have been starved of society. If he thought of going back to Scotland, we never spoke of it.

  Early one morning, chilled under the crumpled sheets, I shivered and swung my legs over the edge of the high bed. William lay on his stomach, his face turned away from me and
I leant over on my elbow and brushed his back with my lips. Pulling my robe over my naked body, I walked barefoot to the open window and saw a cobweb shimmering with early morning dew. I took a deep breath and smelt the vanilla scent of autumn. We had to leave.

  ‘William!’ I shook him but he turned over and rested an arm across his eyes to keep out the light. His breathing returned to the measured tread of sleep. I smoothed the sheets, brushing away crumbs from last night’s meal and climbed back in. I was already making lists, my arms folded across my belly. Grace knocked on the door and pushed her way in, carrying a bowl of warm water.

  ‘Oh …’ she startled. ‘You’re already awake.’

  ‘Grace, we have to leave,’ I whispered. ‘We’ll need to start packing today.’ I didn’t question that she would want to come too.

  ‘Of course, but why today?’

  ‘It’s autumn. I can smell it in the air. We must travel while the weather is fine and be settled in Scotland before the baby’s born.’

  ‘But what will the Earl of Nithsdale say? Is he ready to leave?’

  ‘He will see the sense of it.’

  William did see the sense of it and we were gone within days. The pall of sadness that hung over the court because of the king’s poor health meant that we left without ceremony but we ate with the queen in private on our last night and at the moment of our parting, she traced my cheekbones with one finger. I knew I was forgiven.

  We left through the high arch of the courtyard, a train of two carriages and five carts. William had doubled the size of his wardrobe and in Paris had bought books, furniture and other fine goods for the castle at Terregles. I had all my gowns, in the hope that French fashions would not be out of place in Scotland, and all the infant clothes from the royal household, pressed on me by the princess’ governess who couldn’t bear to see waste. Then there was Grace and her possessions gathered over nine years and William’s servants who appeared to share his passion for fine things. While William’s enthusiasm for St Germain had exceeded mine, he had no sadness in leaving, but I needed a few moments with Grace to stand together and look up at the high walls and empty windows and remember our arrival and the years that had seen us become women.

  Our progress was slow, as I found the jolting and rocking movement of the carriage uncomfortable and we stopped frequently to feed and water the horses. Although I had insisted it was autumn, it was still late August and the heat in the carriage was stifling. I found that I couldn’t look out of the windows as focusing my eyes on the bright, shaking landscape made me nauseous. At Calais, we boarded in cramped, dirty inns close to the port as we waited two weeks for a packet with enough space. I became lethargic and quarrelsome, desperate to rest in a place I could call home. We had our first row about money and I blamed William for not finding better accommodation. He insisted he had done his best. We called each other unforgivable names and then he walked out on me and was gone for two days. When William returned we forgave each other but the memory of the words we used and his absence made Calais a hateful place.

  The journey to London from Kent was equally torturous and worse, being recognised as émigrés from St Germain brought silence or even sneering asides from those we met on the way. My health became a concern for William and Grace and, as we approached London, William ordered Grace and most of his servants to make haste to Scotland with all our goods. We travelled on alone into London, to the safety of a trusted household, where I might rest.

  A young friend of William’s mother, Mrs Mills, was welcoming and kind but I didn’t disclose even to her that I had spilled some blood, in case a physician was called and I was kept in London until the birth. I knew enough from my mother and the talk of the women at St Germain that I must lie on my back and take total rest for several days. If that didn’t help then the baby was lost. By November I wanted to be in my new home and that meant we should be on our way within two weeks.

  At night I lay with William but worried about the discomfort of his weight on my belly and for the first time since our marriage, discouraged his intimacy. During the day I rested on my bed and watched the maids lay fires, change the flowers and empty my pisspot, while listening to their chatter in an accent now unfamiliar to me. When they left me alone, I heard noise drift up from the street, the roll of carriages on the uneven ground, the yelps of children smacked by their mothers and snatches of conversation from the street below the window.

  Once I was sure the pregnancy was secure I dressed and sewed baby clothes by the fire in the drawing room. William went out almost every day, saying that he was conducting estate business but I heard that he also met friends in the coffee houses and inns. I missed him but I had married a young man, barely out of his youth, and I wanted him to stay in love with me. I could not put strictures around my husband when I had indulged all my senses in France with complete freedom.

  When Mrs Mills considered I was strong enough to venture outside, we visited both of my elder sisters. I clung to her arm as she pushed her way through traders, beggars and groups of dirty, unsupervised children that plucked at my robes. Everyone seemed to shout above the clatter of horses’ hooves and I had to turn away in shock as children as young as three narrowly escaped the churning wheels of coaches. After nine years, London was as unfamiliar to me as Paris and I felt dizzy with the noise and smells and clamour. I felt homesick for the quiet order of St Germain and I missed Mary Beatrice’s peaceful household where women sewed and talked in low voices.

  My sisters were polite and enquired about William and his family but I saw that our tenuous family bonds were now strained beyond repair. Mary had married again and she was now the wife of Viscount Montague. Neither of her marriages had produced an heir. Anne was also childless. To my older sisters it must have seemed that the least deserving child had somehow grasped everything that ought to have been theirs; time with our parents, the luxury of life at St Germain and worse, I was now pink and round with the joy of a young husband and a baby to come. There was so much I wanted to tell them about Mother and Father’s last years. They could have shared with me some news of my brother and his family, now living in a house in Great Ormond Street, but in the end we left each household after little more than an hour.

  The baby was due, by my reckoning, sometime between December and January. William would have been happy to extend our stay in London but I felt desperate to reach Scotland, to be with Grace and meet his mother. We chose to continue the journey on horseback, accompanied by two manservants. Horses were better able to pick their way across the rutted surface of the highways and their gentle, rolling movement suited my heavy belly. The weather stayed warm and dry and early morning mists that required cloaks and hats could be discarded by midday. The forests glowed with the colours of an ancient tapestry and at times formed an arch above us that shone with a light more pure than the finest coloured glass. The roadside bushes were heavy with berries and whenever we found a bush that had not been stripped clean by the forest dwellers, William ordered his servants to stop and pick sloes for his mother. Occasionally we stopped and spoke to these local men, charcoal burners or farmers running their pigs through the trees. I found that William had an easy way with men who worked the land and they were comfortable with him despite his fine clothes and Scottish accent. The forest would thin as we reached pockets of cultivated land. Women and men tilling their strips ready for autumn planting stood still and watched us pass, raising their hats in greeting. Farmed land meant that soon we would reach a village or town where we could seek some rest and shelter. We attracted little attention beyond the deference given to people of rank travelling with two burly servants.

  Gradually, the forest gave way to open heath and hills and the settlements became less prosperous. Our final night before Scotland was spent in Carlisle where we sat by the fire in an inn empty of customers. The landlord’s dislike of both Catholics and the Kirk was equalled only by his passionate hatred of Scots in general. The women, he said, were all prostitutes an
d the men thieves, although he did concede a grudging respect for the fighting skills of the clans. William was careful to reveal nothing. We spoke to each other only in French and claimed to be a French couple on our way to Edinburgh to conduct some business and while his wife cast a sceptical glance at my belly, the landlord accepted this. He told us that the people of Scotland were starving and that dead bodies lay at the side of the road, their mouths filled with grass to keep them from crying out in their final moments. Gangs of border raiders stole sheep and cattle from the English farmers and their women, too, if they weren’t careful. The landlord’s wife rolled her eyes at this but that night, in our small, cold room, kept awake by the rustling of rats in the thatch, I clung to William, fearful of the strange land I was about to enter.

  I woke early. This is our last day alone, I thought and rolled over towards William, resting my head on his chest. He opened his eyes and brushed the hair from my face.

  ‘Winifred,’ he spoke my name as if he had heard it for the first time.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ I admitted. ‘What if your mother doesn’t like me? What if I hate Scotland?’

  ‘Is this my brave girl, who travelled alone to France and became the friend of royalty?’ William teased. ‘Is she afraid of my little old mother?’

  ‘But there seems to be so much hatred.’

  ‘So far we have been safe at Terregles. The Covenanters are zealous in their Protestant principles but we keep the priest well-hidden when he visits. If we live quietly, as we do, we’ll come to no harm. My mother has good relations with our neighbours. She will love you and our child. She works hard to sustain the estate but it’s been a lonely place for her without children to care for.’

  These words brought little reassurance. I imagined battles ahead with my mother-in-law over the care of the child, as my mother’s ideas on raising children might well clash with hers. I said nothing but searched around in my discomfort for other fears. ‘I’ve been very happy with you on this journey. It’s as if we’re back at St Germain, spending our days alone together. When we get to Terregles, I’ll have to share you.’