The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II

by Виктория Холт

  He had to act with care, but he prided himself on being a very subtle man. He called attention to the displacement of the earth on one of the pots. He did not wish to discover the paper himself — only to lead someone else to do so.

  And indeed there it was.

  Thus, as a result, those who signed the document — including Marlborough — were taken to the Tower.

  * * *

  IT DID NOT SEEM POSSIBLE that Anne could keep Sarah with her now. If Marlborough were found guilty of treason, it would be impossible for her to remain.

  I received a letter from Anne.

  I had heard the sad news of her confinement and had contemplated going to see her. She had given birth to a little daughter who, like so many of her predecessors, had died a few hours after she was born.

  I was sorry for Anne and felt very miserable. How sad it all was! I had been happier in Holland.

  William said we should have no communication with Anne until she dismissed Lady Marlborough, but I had to see her at such a time.

  She lay in her bed and was clearly pleased that I had come.

  “I am sorry,” I said.

  She smiled wanly. “I feared it would be so,” she answered. “It seems ever so.”

  “You have dear little William.”

  “My treasure! But I fear for him. I watch him constantly.”

  “He will stay well. There are many to care for him. There is good Mrs. Peck.”

  Anne looked a little sullen and I guessed Sarah was bothering her about dismissing the woman.

  “I have made the first step in coming to see you,” I reminded her. “I like not this trouble between us. It should not be. Nor would it but for Lady Marlborough. She must go now.”

  “The charges against Lord Marlborough are false.”

  “Who told you so? Lady Marlborough?”

  She did not answer.

  “You must take the next step,” I insisted. “You must send Lady Marlborough away.”

  “I have never in my life disobeyed you except in one particular, and I believe in time that will seem as reasonable to Your Majesty as it does to me.”

  “You mean to say that, in spite of everything, you will not let Lady Marlborough go?”

  “I mean that,” said Anne, her lips set in the well-known stubborn line.

  I went away very sorrowfully.

  William was angry because I had been to see her and more so because I had been unable to persuade her.

  Shortly afterward Anne’s guards were sent away and she moved from Sion House to Berkeley House; and Sarah continued to stay with her.

  Then, when Robert Young’s documents were examined by experts, the signatures were proved to be forgeries; and Marlborough and his fellow prisoners were released from the Tower.

  But William still suspected him of treachery.

  * * *

  MRS. PACK HAD LEFT ANNE’S SERVICE by her own desire. Lady Derby, one of my trusted ladies, told me what had happened.

  “It seems, Your Majesty,” she said, “that Lady Marlborough caught her actually reading the Princess’s letters. She did not deny it. She said it was her duty to make sure there was no treachery against the Queen.”

  “She had always been a faithful servant to me,” I said with gratification. “What happened then?”

  “Lady Marlborough went straight to the Princess.”

  “In triumph, of course.”

  Lady Derby smiled in agreement.

  “The Princess was very upset. She was thinking of the little Duke, of course. He dotes on Mrs. Pack and all know that it is for his sake that Lady Marlborough has had to endure her all this time. The Princess was most unhappy, for the woman’s reading her correspondence was a very grave matter indeed. Mrs. Pack herself then asked for an audience and, before the Princess could speak — Your Majesty knows Mrs. Pack’s way — she said she could no longer remain in the Princess’s service.”

  “The Princess must have been very relieved,” I said. “I suppose Mrs. Pack realized she could not stay after what she did had been discovered.”

  “It may have been that she thought her usefulness was at an end. But, of course, there was the little Duke to be considered. Mrs. Pack said her health was not good. I think this may be the truth, because she would never tell a lie. However, she insisted on going. Lady Marlborough is delighted and the Princess, of course, is happy to please her friend.”

  “And what of little William?”

  “He has been strangely quiet about the matter and did not protest as he was expected to.”

  “He is a strange child — so unusual. I have never known another child like him. There are times when I think he is wise beyond his years.”

  There was something strange about the child. There were occasions when he spoke like a young man and then a few seconds later would become a child again.

  The unusual qualities of the boy were brought home to me afresh by an astonishing story.

  He was grave after the departure of Mrs. Pack, but he had not cried, and seemed to accept the story that she had to go away to Deptford for her health.

  “She is not well,” he was reputed to have said. “I would not have her ill.”

  In his grown-up way, he sent over to Deptford every day to inquire about her health.

  He went about his daily life, giving a great deal of attention to his favorite game of soldiers. He had now several boys a year or so older than himself whom he called his “men.” His mother was so anxious to please him in every way and the boys were fitted out as soldiers in miniature uniforms and William took them to the park and exercised them. People used to come and watch. It was one of the most popular sights.

  There he would command them — this little boy of four years or so — just like a general shouting orders as they marched to his direction.

  I always felt there was something strange about him.

  His head was long and there was a mature look in his eyes. Anne told me proudly that his hat was the same size as a man’s. His face was oval, his hair, doubtless inherited from his father, very fair; and his complexion was a glowing pink and white. His body was well-made and seemed to be strong, but he had difficulty with some movements; he always needed a rail when he went up stairs, and help to get up if he had been sitting on a low stool. In addition to this, he had an air of extreme gravity which accompanied certain remarks so that they seemed more like those of an adult than a child.

  So when I heard the story I was a little shaken, yet not altogether surprised.

  Lady Derby said the whole court was talking about it.

  “It is very strange, Your Majesty. But ... how could he have known?”

  I waited for an explanation and Lady Scarborough, who was also in attendance, said: “Your Majesty knows how fond he always was of Mrs. Pack.”

  “Indeed I know.”

  “They were all amazed at how calmly he took her departure. The Princess had expected him to refuse to allow her to go, and in that case, she would have had to remain.”

  Lady Derby put in: “But he always sent every day to see how she was.”

  “Yes, I heard that.”

  “This is the strange part of it, Your Majesty. Two days ago, when the messenger, in accordance with the practice, was about to take the message to her, the Duke said he would not send that morning. Mrs. Wanner — Your Majesty may remember her, she was in his household — asked him why he did not send. He just looked past her, as though he were staring at nothing, and said, “There is no need. She will be dead before the messenger arrives there.”

  “What a strange thing for a child to say!”

  “Stranger still, Your Majesty, he was right. It transpired that Mrs. Pack had died.”

  “He must have heard it.”

  “No, Your Majesty. It seemed she died just at the moment he was speaking.”

  “How could he have known?”

  There was silence.

  I was thinking of the little boy and Mrs. Pack. There had b
een a very special bond between them. I believed that without her he would never have survived.

  He was indeed a very strange little boy.

  * * *

  I WAS UNWELL and had been for some months. I think it was due to the strain of perpetual war, William’s comings and goings, the burden of greater responsibilities taken up and then taken away. This was all having an effect on me. Sometimes I felt old and tired. I was only thirty years old and never free of remorse on account of my father.

  I was beset by continual anxiety. Every time a messenger came I would tremble and wonder what ill news he brought. If only there had not been this coldness between my sister and myself. My great consolation was little William. He seemed to be the only one who could lift my spirits. He did visit me often, and I could always be brought out of my melancholy to smile at his droleries.

  I looked back over the last months and thought of the torments I had suffered over the Grandval plot.

  Grandval was a French officer who had been hired to assassinate William. Fortunately, his design had been discovered in time and he was arrested by the English.

  At his trial it was revealed that, before he left Paris, he had had a meeting with my father and stepmother and that my father had told him that if he carried out his plan successfully, he, personally, would see that Grandval never wanted for anything as long as he lived.

  So ... while I could rejoice in William’s escape, I was overcome with sadness because my father had given his blessing to this murderous plot.

  It made me very weary of life.

  I suffered from the ague, from heavy colds, from a weakness of the eyes and a swelling in the face. I longed for the war in Europe to be over; I wanted William to come home. Sometimes I felt myself drifting into fancy and believing that our troubles were over. William would come back a hero, the people would be cheering in the streets, my father would come home and announce that he realized he could never reign as a Catholic and it was right for William to take his place, William loved me, Elizabeth Villiers had married and gone far away and we all lived happily together. What a fantasy! What a dream! But dreams were useful at times when reality was hard to bear.

  There was no end to disaster.

  It was June when one of the greatest of them occurred. This was the expedition to Brest. It had been essential that this should be a surprise attack, but the plan had been foiled and the French had had warning and strengthened their defenses so that when the English landed they found the enemy waiting for them. General Tollemache was mortally wounded and four hundred soldiers were lost.

  It was a major disaster. But the most shocking feature of the affair was that the French had been warned, and there was a strong suspicion by whom. Lady Tryconnel, Sarah Churchill’s sister, was with my father and stepmother in France, and Sarah, it appeared, had written to her telling her of the activity in London concerning the coming attack in Brest.

  It was an act of treachery and left no doubt in my mind as to what the defeat was due to.

  When William questioned Marlborough on the matter, he swore that he had had no part in the betrayal. His wife? Well, women will gossip. She may have mentioned, casually, to her sister, that there was much activity in progress. These things happened.

  I knew William would like to have sent Marlborough back to the Tower for trial. But Marlborough had many friends and there was a lack of evidence against him.

  What a melancholy state of affairs! So many deaths, so many disasters, suspected treachery all round us, and worst of all, my family in conflict. I was tired. I suppose it was because my health was deteriorating, and there was no end to the aggravation.

  When I think of my idyllic youth, I see that already in the household were those who were to plague me. Strange that they were already there, a part of my childhood. Elizabeth Villiers, who had caused me great grief, and Sarah Churchill, who had done her share.

  They were clever, those Marlboroughs. How could they be so blatantly treacherous and escape? They were devious, and Marlborough was undoubtedly powerful, so William must be careful when dealing with him, otherwise he would have been safe in the Tower and found guilty — as he undoubtedly was, and his wife with him.

  She was a malicious woman, and I was sure she was responsible for the scandal which arose about Shrewsbury and myself.

  It was quite unfounded.

  Charles Talbot, Duke of Shrewsbury, was about two years older than I. He was very charming, tall, well-made and reckoned to be one of the most attractive men at court. He was very handsome, in spite of the fact that there was an imperfection in one of his eyes. This did not however detract from his charm — but rather added to it, and made him more distinguished.

  His early life had been overshadowed by the conduct of his parents. His mother, Countess of Shrewsbury at the time, was the mistress of the notorious Duke of Buckingham, who had created such a scandal during the reign of my uncle Charles. The Countess had lived openly with Buckingham after he had killed her husband in a duel.

  It had been one of the great scandals of a scandalous age.

  I liked Shrewsbury because he was a good, honest man, not afraid to state his opinions. After the disastrous defeat of Beachy Head, when he was out of office, he came to me and offered his services; and in March of that year, he had accepted the post of Secretary of State, which meant that I saw him frequently in the course of the country’s business.

  We had a great deal to discuss together; and in addition to state affairs, he liked to talk about his health and he was very interested in mine, and at that time, when I was suffering from a great many ailments, I found that comforting.

  And so Sarah Churchill circulated rumors that I was in love with Shrewsbury. She said that when he came into my presence it had been noted that I turned pale and trembled. If I did, it must be because I feared what news he might bring.

  It was a trivial matter and I suppose there will always be unfounded rumors about people in high places; such will always have their enemies and Sarah Churchill was, without doubt, one of mine.

  Of course, it was not all gloom. There were times when I could feel almost happy. At last I had begun to realize that I could be successful in my role. The people were growing more and more fond of me. Indeed, I think they no longer cared that the King was so often away fighting battles on the Continent. They had Queen Mary. She was a good Protestant; she was English and their rightful Queen; they had never wanted a Dutchman to rule over them. If only he had been different, they might have been reconciled. I knew he suffered pains in his back and arms, but he looked quite magnificent on horseback when his low stature was not evident. If he would have taken a little more care to make a more acceptable image of himself, it could have been so different; but he would consider such things frivolous and unimportant. I knew he was wrong.

  It began to dawn on me that I could have been a good queen. I understood the people. I had had my successes when I had been in charge. That was why the people chanted: “God bless Queen Mary. Long life to her.” Silence was usually what greeted William. Perhaps if I had gone my way, doing what I thought was best, with my ministers to help me, of course, the monarchy might not merely have been tolerated, but loved.

  After the action at La Hogue, which must have been a crippling blow to my father, I had made sure that the people realized what a great victory it was.

  We had had so many defeats, so much depression, that when there was something in which we could rejoice, I was determined this should be done wholeheartedly.

  I made it a great day when the ships, bringing the victorious men, arrived at Spithead. I sent £30,000 to be distributed among the common soldiers, and the officers received gold medals. I wanted them to know that their loyalty and bravery were rewarded. I would persuade William that it was money well spent, though I was sure he would not agree with me.

  I arranged rejoicing in the streets of London and I myself, attired in all my regalia, rode among the people.

  They cheered
me delightedly. There were no complaints at that time.

  It was during William’s absence that the question of new coins arose. These were to have our heads — mine and William’s — engraved on them.

  There was a very fine artist named Rotier, who had made the engravings when they had last been done during my father’s reign, but, when approached, he said that he worked for the King, and as the King was across the water, he could not work for him. He had a son, Norbert, who offered to do the work in his father’s place, and as I was aware what trouble might grow out of disloyalty to William and me, I decided to forget the father and employ the son. I was rather horrified when I saw the result, for William’s likeness had certainly not been flattering. He was made to look satanic. I was disturbed, not only by the coins, but by the hostility of the people toward William.

  I did hear a little later that the Rotiers had fled to France, fearing some kind of retaliation.

  William returned from the Continent and I handed over the reins to him. Although I had felt some confidence in my own government, I was not sorry to do this, for I was beginning to feel quite ill and tired.

  I had hoped that William might compliment me on my rule, for I knew there were many who were pleased with it, but he did not. He just nodded without comment when I explained certain of my actions to him, and I was expected to slip back into my old place of consort.

  * * *

  THERE WAS ONE HAPPY OCCASION which gave me great pleasure. Little William had, for some time, had his band of soldiers — youngsters of his own age with whom he played his game of soldiers. Every day he would drill them in the park.

  He had persuaded his mother to procure a uniform for him — and of course this request was granted. Mr. Hughes, his tailor, arrived and William was fitted out in a white camlet suit with with silver buttons and loops of silver thread.