I was wearing an orange-colored velvet skirt and my page stood by holding my coat of the same colored velvet. My pearl decorated bodice was low cut and there were pearls and orange ribbons in my hair.
I walked to the richly caparisoned horse which was waiting for me and mounted the purple velvet saddle.
The people cheered me as I rode with my entourage to Greenwich Palace.
There I was greeted by my sister Anne, and I could not restrain my joy on seeing her. We discarded all ceremony and clung together in rapturous joy.
“I have missed you, sister,” I said.
“I am so happy that you have come home,” replied Anne.
She was eager to present her husband to me. I could see at once that she was happy in her marriage and that she and George of Denmark were suited to each other. He had an open face and the reports I had heard of him appeared to be true. He was good-looking, good-natured and easygoing. My father had said he was no conversationalist and was given to repeating certain phrases at intervals, which could be rather irritating. “Est-il possible?” was a favorite one. In fact, my father had named him “Est-il possible.”
It was clear that George of Denmark had made little impression on the court. I was prepared to like him, for he had obviously won Anne’s affection, and she his; and it was good to see how happy they were together.
I talked a great deal to Anne while she listened. I had forgotten how fat she was. I, myself, had put on a certain amount of flesh. We were like our mother in that respect. But beside Anne I looked almost slender. Moreover, she was pregnant.
We were all going to Whitehall together and the royal barge was waiting to take us.
As I stepped into it I experienced another pang of conscience. This was now my barge ... the royal barge, but a short time ago it had been my father’s. I braced myself. I must stop these foolish thoughts. The old refrain kept hammering in my mind. It need never have happened. It was his fault.
He could not really have wanted to rule. If he had, he would never have thrown his crown away. He would go to some quiet retreat where he could practice his religion in peace. That was what he wanted.
I must rejoice. William had succeeded and I had come home.
The people cheered as we sailed along the river to Whitehall.
I ascended Whitehall Stairs and walked into the palace. How familiar it was! How memories flooded back! I was smiling brightly. I must show no emotion but pleasure, for I was being closely watched. So I exclaimed with delight as I walked through those familiar rooms.
Anne was beside me, smiling.
“You are home now, sister,” she said.
“And happy to be here.”
I was aware then of Sarah Churchill. She had never been one to hide her feelings, and there was a look of cold criticism in her eyes.
How dare she! I thought. She was thinking how heartless I was. She knew how much my father had cared for me, and here I was, exulting in taking his possessions which were now mine because my husband, with me at his side, had turned my father from his throne.
It was she who had persuaded my sister to desert him! Her husband had led the army to revolt against him! And Sarah Churchill could stand by with that look of condemnation in her eyes!
I hated Sarah Churchill. She might have domination over my sister, but she would have to remember that I was Queen of England.
So I took possession of the royal apartments. I remembered going to see Mary Beatrice there. I recalled her kindness to the poor frightened child who was to be married and sent away from home. Poor Mary Beatrice, how was she faring now? I thought of her with her little baby — the Warming-pan Baby, as malicious people called him — and her futile husband. What was she thinking now? She had loved and trusted her “dear Lemon” who was now flaunting orange petticoats and had come in to take possession of her apartments.
Now that I was installed at Whitehall, William came to see me. It was the first time we had met since we had said good-bye in Holland. He looked tired and strained, and stooped more than I remembered. But it was always like that when I saw him after an absence. I think in my imagination I changed my image of him — making him taller, straighter, more amiable.
After our last parting I expected more tenderness from him, but he seemed to have reverted to the man he had been. I was hurt and disappointed.
It occurred to me, in one of those flashes of disloyalty which I had known in the past, that he wanted me to come to Whitehall before he did because, unsure of the people’s reaction, I should be the one to take possession of it.
Nonsense, I told myself. This was the natural way; and yet I had hoped that he would be at Gravesend to meet me.
I wanted to tell him how pleased I was to see him and for him to say the same to me. He did nothing of the sort. He merely kissed me coolly.
I said: “William, you are well? Your cough?”
It was tactless. He hated references to his weaknesses. He said: “I am well.”
“You do not ask how I am?” I said a trifle archly.
“I can see that you are in good health,” he replied.
“It has been such an anxious time.”
“It was what we expected.”
“And now you have succeeded all is well.”
“We cannot yet say that all is well.”
“But the people want us, William. They know that you will rule them well.”
“They were not so eager. They wanted to make you the Queen and me . . .” He shrugged his shoulders in disgust.
“I know. But I made my wishes clear, did I not?”
He nodded. “The sooner we have their Bill of Rights and are proclaimed King and Queen the better. I want to get out of this city. It oppresses me. I believe there is a fine palace at Hampton.”
“Hampton Court. Yes, I remember it well.”
“As soon as this matter is settled, I shall leave for Hampton, and if it is all I heard — and the situation, I know, is away from the city — we shall take up residence there.”
* * *
THE CEREMONY TOOK PLACE on the next day. It was Ash Wednesday — not perhaps the best day for such an occasion, but William was anxious that there should be no delay — and with him I went to the Banqueting Hall in the Palace of Whitehall where we were proclaimed King William and Queen Mary.
There was rejoicing in the streets. People put lighted candles in their windows and bonfires were lighted before the doors of the houses. Some of the bonfires were very big and I was told that that was a good sign, for the size of the fire was an indication of the owners’ loyalty to the crown.
I had a feeling that night that the people wanted us. William might be austere, as unlike King Charles as a man could be, but he had a reputation for wisdom: he was a Protestant — the most important reason of all — and I was his loyal wife, even if I had betrayed my father to support him.
The new reign had begun; the country was at peace, and we should go on from there.
* * *
WILLIAM WAS EAGER to get on with ruling the country and establishing the Protestant faith throughout the land. He was impatient of all the pomp and ceremonies that were thrust upon him. I was beginning to understand that this was because he had not the physical stamina to endure them. He grew very tired standing. I knew that his bones ached and his body was too frail to endure that which affected those around him not at all. William’s mind was active, shrewd, brilliant, but his body was frail.
I made excuses for his behavior. His terseness bordered on rudeness, but it was due to pain and discomfort. I wished that I could explain to these people but, of course, that would be the last thing he wished.
Now that I had grown buxom, and I was in fact slightly taller than he was, his meager statue was emphasized when he stood beside me; and my healthy looks accentuated his pallor and fragility.
He was often morose and rather graceless, which did not endear him to the people, and wherever we went together there were cries of “Long live Queen
Mary” while King William scarcely received a mention. He was deeply aware of this. He complained bitterly of the London air. It had improved considerably since the Plague and Great Fire and the coming of the wide new streets and new buildings of Sir Christopher Wren, but William found it stifling, malodorous and not good for his health.
He had liked Hampton Court from the moment he saw it. The river and the open country reminded him of Holland and one of his great interests — as with my uncle Charles — was architecture.
Bentinck was anxious; he must have wondered what effect William’s demeanor would have on his new subjects. They had been accustomed to a colorful court. I remember how they used to see King Charles sauntering in the park with one of his mistresses on his arm, surrounded by witty courtiers, and how the King’s remarks were commented on and passed round for all to enjoy. And this new king, whom they had invited to their shores to restore the Protestant faith, was small, without charm, without grace. It was a great price to pay for ridding the country of the Catholics.
However, it was said that he was a clever man and it was early yet; and William did make Bentinck realize that his health would not permit him too public a life. For that reason, Hampton seemed just what was needed, for it was not too far from London and ministers could easily travel there. The air suited William, and he could make the place his headquarters, for a time at least.
He was very critical of the old Tudor palace and soon decided he was going to demolish the main apartments and rebuild them.
The gardens were unattractive and he made plans for these which he allowed me to share.
We spent some time — when he could spare it from state duties — looking at plans, and I was delighted to be able to join in this and even offer suggestions which, on some occasions, were considered. I found a great interest in the gardens, on which work was started immediately, and they were laid out in the Dutch style.
But of course our main occupation must be with the coming coronation, for William said that a king and queen were not accepted by the people as such until they had been crowned.
Therefore it was important that there should be no delay in performing that ceremony.
* * *
THE CORONATION WAS FIXED FOR EARLY APRIL — the eleventh in fact — but it was not going to run as smoothly as we had hoped. In the first place, Archbishop Sancroft, whom we should have expected to officiate, declined to do so.
He declared that he had taken an oath of allegiance to King James II and in no way could he break that oath. Four of those bishops who had been sent to the Tower by James took the same view as Sancroft, even though my father had been no friend to them, and their imprisonment, as much as the birth of the young Prince, had been the final blow which had unseated the King.
William was more silent than ever. He did not like the English and their ways. He had longed for the crown; he had been invited to take it; and now they were making him as uncomfortable as they could.
In due course Compton, Bishop of London, agreed to perform the ceremony in place of the Archbishop of Canterbury; but I think incidents such as this made us feel very uneasy from the beginning.
We were dressed and ready to set out for Westminster Hall when the messenger arrived.
William came unceremoniously into my chamber. He looked paler than usual and very agitated. He was waving a paper in his hand.
“What has happened?” I cried in alarm.
William looked at me blankly for a moment. Then he said: “James has landed in Ireland.”
My first words were: “Is he safe?”
William looked impatient. He went on: “He has taken possession of the island and has been welcomed by the Irish. Only Londonderry and one or two other smaller towns are holding out against him.”
I stared aghast. “What does this mean?” I asked.
“That he will rally forces against us. This is not the end.”
I felt sick. Such news, to come at such a time! It seemed significant that this should happen now, when I stood there in my coronation robes, preparing to receive the crown which was his.
“What must we do?” I murmured.
William said tersely: “We must get those crowns on our heads without delay and then we will consider.”
He left me and no sooner had he gone than a messenger arrived with a letter for me. I felt faint as I saw that the writing was my father’s.
I took the letter, sat down and began to read. The words danced before my eyes. I wanted to tear off those robes, throw myself on my bed and weep.
He wrote that hitherto he had made all fatherly excuses for what I had done, and had wholly attributed my part in the revolution to obedience to my husband, but the act of being crowned was in my power, and if I were crowned while he and the Prince of Wales were living, the curse of an outraged father would light upon me as well as that of God, who had commanded duty to parents.
I reread the words and then put my hands over my eyes to shut them out.
I could not move. I could only picture my father’s face when he wrote those words.
How could I do this? He was right. It was betrayal. If I were crowned Queen I should be thinking all the time of my father who had loved me so dearly and whom I was betraying by this ceremony.
I sat there with the paper in my hand. William must have heard something had happened, for he came to my chamber. He saw me sitting there and took the letter from my hand. His face grew pale when he read it.
“To send this at such a time!” he murmured. Then, briskly: “Come. The time is passing.”
“You have read what he says?”
William lifted his shoulders wearily. “Of a certainty he does not want the coronation to proceed.”
“It is right ... what he says to me.”
“The people do not want him,” said William firmly. “He does not please them. They have chosen us.”
“I cannot . . .”
“You will,” he said, looking at me coolly.
“I shall never forgive myself ... never forget.”
I put my hands over my face. He must have thought I was about to weep, for he said sharply: “Control yourself. They are waiting for us. You cannot refuse now. You have given me your word. The people are expecting you.”
“My father . . .”
“Your father is a defeated old man. He has gone to Ireland and at this time that is ... inconvenient. But this day you are going to be crowned.”
“You, William, but . . .”
I saw the contemptuous smile curve his lips.
“What folly,” he said, and there were angry lights in his eyes. I understood my presence was necessary. The people would not accept him without me.
I was bitterly hurt, deeply wounded and I felt angry with myself ... with my father and with William.
I lost my fear of my husband at that moment.
I cried: “You should not have let him go as you did. The fault is yours. If he regains his authority, you will be to blame.”
I was aghast that I could have spoken so to William, but surprisingly he was not angry. He looked rather pleased.
He nodded, as though agreeing with me.
“Yes,” he said, “he should never have been allowed to get away.” He put an arm round me. “Never fear. We shall know how to act. It is very important that we should be accepted as King and Queen without delay. Come, we are late already.”
* * *
DRESSED IN MY ROBES LINED WITH ERMINE, I was carried in my chair across Palace Yard to Westminster Hall, and there the people assembled were asked whether they would accept William and me as their King and Queen. I fancied there was a pause, but that may have been due to my state of uncertainty.
The acclamation came as was expected and there was none to say the crown should not be ours.
The ceremony proceeded and I noticed that there were fewer people there than had been expected. It would probably be due to the news from Ireland, and there might be some who did not want to show
themselves joining in our coronation in case our reign should be a short one, and in that event it would be wise not to be associated with it.
The news of my father’s arrival in Ireland would have spread and people would be saying there was something significant about its arriving on the day of the coronation. I sensed the uneasiness in the air.
We were nervous throughout the proceedings, and when the moment came at the altar to make our offering of gold pieces, neither William nor I had the money with us to do so. There was a long pause when the gold basin into which the coins should be put was handed to us. I was aware of the dismay in those about us. We had known what would be expected but I suppose we had been so unnerved by the news as to forget such a detail.
Lord Danby, who was close by, hastily produced twenty gold guineas and the little matter was over, but on such occasions people look for omens.
Gilbert Burnet, now made Bishop of Salisbury as a reward for his services, proceeded with the sermon. His voice rang out through the hall. William was gratified. He could trust Gilbert Burnet to stress the faults of my father while he extolled the virtues of the new monarchs who, with God’s approbation, had been set up in his place.
He took his text from the passage in Samuel: “He that rulest over men must be just, ruling in the fear of God.”
It was a day of mishaps and I think it all stemmed from the news we had had that morning. It had affected us all deeply. There had been delay in starting the proceedings, the absence of the fainthearted who feared there might soon be a change of monarchs and did not want to show allegiance to the wrong ones, and we were late in arriving at the banquet.
Then came the traditional challenge when Sir Charles Dymoke rode into the hall and flung down his glove to challenge any who would deny the right of William and Mary to the crown. This was all part of the coronation ritual, and I believed there had never been a time when the challenge had been taken up.
The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II Page 23