*
Maurice and his daughters were still in Yorkshire when the news came that Queen Anne had died in the early hours of Sunday i August. There was tension all over the country as to what would happen next; but the Whigs of the ministry were more prepared and more active than the Tories. The Elector was proclaimed King, immediately in London and within days in the principal cities. Almost with her dying breath Anne had passed the rod of office to Shrewsbury, who took control of the army and the militia, forced Bolingbroke to flee, and sent for the Elector. Whether that was what the Queen had intended it was impossible to say, though it was widely reported that she had called upon her brother's name in her last agonies. Another, sadder story was soon being repeated. Anne had had a thick bundle of papers which for years she had carried about with her, placing them under her pillow at night, and replacing the envelope when it grew worn or soiled. After her death it had been found, sealed with her own seal, and with the instruction on the outside that it should be burnt unread. Her close attendants had obeyed her wish and flung the bundle on the fire, but as the flames had consumed the envelope the bundle had sprung open, and many there were to swear that they had seen King James's handwriting upon the pages.
The Elector arrived in England a month later, and to Annunciata's unconcealed annoyance Maurice immediately left with his household to London to seek his favours.
‘It's very well for you, mother,' he said calmly, 'but a musician depends on patronage. As soon as the true King comes back, I shall seek his patronage in place of the Elector's.' Annunciata thought of forbidding him to use her house, but at the last moment repented of it. For one thing, she did not want to alienate her son from her, since she was already so lacking in close relatives; and in the second place she reasoned that the less he was in need, the less he would disgrace her by dancing attendance on the Elector.
She remained in Yorkshire, writing letters and waiting on events. The Elector was crowned in October, and there were riots in Glasgow and Edinburgh and in some other major cities in England, but there seemed to be no one to organize the rebellious elements into a proper force. Yet the time would come, she knew, and she must be ready. She wrote to Edmund at St Omer, to Karellie, Aliena, the King, Berwick, to Sabina and Allan Macallan in Scotland. People moved and thought slowly, but the time would come. Bolingbroke had fled England and was at St Germain, and he and Berwick were in charge of the correspondence with the leading Jacobites in England and Scotland. The Elector, who arrived with his two ugly mistresses, having left his wife still imprisoned at Ahlden, where she had been shut up alone for twenty years, had already made himself unpopular with many of the principal courtiers, and the old scandal of his treatment of his wife was revived and circulated in many 'secret histories' with much circumstantial detail. Since he had brought an entire German household with him, it seemed likely that frustrated place-seekers would soon join the ranks of whose who favoured the King over the Water, along with those offended by the Elector's obvious reluctance to have come at all.
Something would happen, not yet, for winter was closing in, but next year, next spring. Annunciata would not be downcast. Next year she would be seventy years old -surely an important landmark? - and England would have a King again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When the Venetian ambassador arrived in London in July 1715, it was natural that Maurice Morland should call to pay his respects to that emiment personage, even had the ambassador's party not included his old patron, the Duke di Francescini and his daughter Diane. It did not, however, divert the attention of the Whig spies from the fact that the tall, soldierly blond man who was evidently a friend of the duke's was Charles Morland, Earl of Chelmsford. His presence in London caused a ripple of surprise, for though he had never officially been exiled, he was known to be a firm Jacobite. Yet within hours of his arrival, other rumours had begun to circulate: the earl was tired of exile, especially as his mother and brother had now come back to England, and as the Elector was his cousin, he had come to make peace.
‘Diane's servant Caterina makes an excellently innocent gossip,' Karellie explained to Maurice when they were alone together for a moment. 'In fact she is a very sharp and intelligent young woman, and we had not been here an hour before she spotted the Whig spy — a footman with a predilection for lounging idly near closed doors. Fortunately, the man is handsome, or at least fancies himself so, and did not find it strange that the empty-headed lady's maid should find him attractive.'
‘And he thinks it most convenient,' Maurice smiled, ‘that she should give accidental vent to the very information he is seeking?'
‘Caterina says she always knows when he is more than usually interested in an answer of hers, because he looks down at his fingernails as if he really can hardly be bothered to listen.'
‘So you are here to make your peace with your cousin, in the hopes of ending your days pleasantly in England,' Maurice said. 'And in reality?'
‘To make contact with Mar,' Karellie said, lowering his voice instinctively. 'The Chevalier St George has charged him with bringing out the Highlands, and I am to help him. There was no possibility of my arriving unnoticed in England, so we thought it convenient to make this reason. Mar is in London too. We will both attend the Royal Levee tomorrow. We don't know how much they know about our plans, though it's certain they know something, so we want to divert their attention by making an appearance of loyalty.'
‘And then?' Maurice asked.
‘Away to Scotland. Maurice, will you come with us?' Maurice met his eyes steadily, 'No, Karel, no. I am not like you. I have begun good things here in London, and I cannot leave them yet.'
‘Good things? Your music? How can you care about that when here's the throne of England at stake?' Karellie cried with some bitterness. Maurice only looked sad.
‘Oh, brother, I wish I could make you see. How can I care about something as unimportant as who sits upon the throne, when there is music at stake?' Karellie looked at him with stormy, uncomprehending eyes. 'Kings and princes all will come to dust one day, but music lives for ever. I love you, Karellie, and I don't blame you for being different from me. Do you not blame me.’
Karellie hesitated only one moment and then flung his arms round his brother in a hard embrace. 'Maurice, when it's known I am gone, they may come after you,' he said, his voice muffled by Maurice's shoulder. Maurice patted Karellie's shoulder and marvelled at the thickness of muscle under the silk coat.
‘Don't worry about me, I shall be all right. The Wee German Lairdie that has your King's throne has only one grace in him, and that's the love of music. I have already made myself welcome at Court. I cha'n't be troubled much.’
Karellie straightened up. 'Can you get a letter to our mother, without its being found out?'
‘I think so. I'll let her know somehow.’
*
The Levee was well attended, and Karellie had no difficulty in picking out John, Earl of Mar, despite never having seen him before, for the earl had a hump-back which gave him an odd gait - 'Bobbing John', the common folk called him. He was a small, stocky, fair man, pleasant-faced, but with that slight over-fullness of the lower eyelids that is often seen in those who have been ill a great deal. His eyes met Karellie's in the ante-room, and flicked away again. They must not shew too much interest in each other yet.
The Elector, when he arrived, looked to Karellie little different from the last time he had seen him in Hanover, only older and stouter. Karellie's hands were sweating with nervousness - suppose the Elector shouted for the guards and had him clapped in the Tower? - but when the moment came the little fat man looked up at him with a complete lack of interest, and the dull eyes passed over his face with no apparent recognition.
With Mar it was different, however: the Elector knew who he was, and when Mar went down into his bow, the Elector deliberately turned his back on him and walked away, leaving Mar crouched ridiculously before the empty air. There was a stirring of interest and laughter amongs
t the courtiers, and Mar looked outraged and aggrieved. But when the royal party had moved on, Mar caught his eye once more with a small nod of satisfaction.
When they returned, later, to the Venetian ambassador's lodgings, Diane took Karellie aside and said, 'Was that the man, the little crooked one?' Karellie hesitated to give her any information that she might later regret having but she snapped her fingers in impatience. 'What, do you think they would put me to the question, my lord? Besides, I know so much already, it were better I knew all, not to give something away out of ignorance.'
‘Yes, that was the man. We leave tonight, Principessa, in disguise.’
Diane laughed. 'How can you be disguised, when you tower above ordinary men?’
go as one of Mar's servants. Dull clothes, a shabby cloak, and a dark wig.'
‘But you walk like a lord, like a soldier. Come, we have a little time, let me teach you how to walk like a servant. And you must hunch up a little, let your knees and shoulders sag so that you don't look so tall. Look, like this.’
Karellie watched, bemused, and allowed her to teach him. 'How can you know such things?' he asked.
‘I am an opera singer, my lord, you forget. And as such I am half an actress already. Don't you remember in Aricia I had to disguise myself as a servant-girl to get out of the palace?’
He came close and took her hands, and for once she allowed him. 'What will you do when I am gone?' he asked. She held her head high, but looked at him without haughtiness; her eyes were bright, but kind.
‘There is a great deal to do and see in London. I shall certainly visit the Court again, and Maurice wil take me to the play and the opera. Who knows, perhaps when it is known I am in London I shall be asked to perform? You may come back and find me the toast of London.'
‘I shall only be surprised if I don't,' Karellie said. ‘Listen, Diane, I must say something. You know that we go tonight to raise the standard in Scotland for the Chevalier? Every year Mar has a great hunting party at Braemar, to which he invites all the leading Highland lords; this year, when they are assembled, he will make the proclamation and raise the standard. It is a dangerous thing we do, and if battle and death do not claim us, there is still the danger of capture and execution. I may never come back -'
‘You will come back,' Diane said defiantly, her eyes bright.
‘But if I do not,' he went on firmly, 'I want to have the satisfaction of having told you that I love you. Which I do, Diane, my Principessa.' She looked at him steadily, this tall, handsome man with the great dark eyes, and suddenly saw what a tribute it was to her that he should look so humble before her. 'I am more than twice your age, and perhaps it seems absurd to you, but —'
‘It does not seem absurd,' she said gently, and turned her face up to him. It was a very quiet, gentle kiss, not passionate, but the kiss of two adults, not man and child. Afterwards there was nothing more to say, and he went away to prepare himself, leaving Diane thoughtful.
That night Mar slipped out of London and took passage on a collier brig from Gravesend, accompanied by General Hamilton and several servants, including Karellie and his man Sam. At Newcastle they transferred on to a boat owned by one John Spence of Leith, who sailed them to Elie in Fife, and from there they continued on horseback. From that moment, letters began to pass back and forth between the great lords of Scotland, and on the 26th the annual hunt took place at Braemar. After each day's sport there would be feasting and drinking, and Mar would make his stirring speeches about the Cursed Union, the sorrows and miseries of the Kingdom, and the hope of deliverance when the Chevalier was restored to his rightful throne. A month after he had slipped away from London, Mar raised the standard, and the rising had truly begun.
*
Birnie Castle was cool, a refuge from the heart of August, but Sabina felt as though she was burning up. They had all come as usual from Aberlady to spend the summer there, but this year there was no hunting-party, partly because of the events taking place to the north at Braemar, and partly because Sabina had been great with child and likely to give birth at any moment. This was her eighth pregnancy, and her only surviving child was Hamil, who was now ten years old. Allan Macallan had been doubtful as to the good sense of her journeying to Birnie at such a time, but Sabina had longed for the fresh air and freedom of the moors.
‘Besides,' she said, 'the first thing that will happen will be the taking of Edinburgh, and you surely cannot want me to be close to that?'
‘But Birnie is close to Stirling, where the army camp is,' Allan had pointed out. 'If you want to be safe, we must travel up to the Glens.'
‘We'll be safe enough at Birnie,' Sabina said. 'Our own people will be loyal to us.’
Allan had to give in at length; throughout their lives together, Sabina had always commanded him. Theirs had been a happy marriage, except for the death of all their children but one, for their temperaments were suited: Allan adored Sabina, and loved to serve her, while Sabina liked best of all to be adored, and if there was some part of her heart she could not give him, she never let him know it. They were united in loving Hamil and in worrying over his health, and in relying on Mavis for sensible advice.
Mavis still lived with them, along with her daughter Mary, who was fifteen and growing beautiful. In her black gowns and white caps she looked a little like the portraits of Mary Queen of Scots, and Sabina sometimes teased her about it, saying that she was so vain of her beauty that nothing would satisfy her but that she should be mistaken for a queen. In the last year, however, Mavis had lost a great deal of her beauty, though those around her had grown too accustomed to thinking of her as beautiful to notice it. But her gowns hung loose on her, and the bones of her face seemed more prominent. She complained now and then of feeling the cold, and had taken to wearing a thick black shawl; if this had the secondary effect of hiding the thinness of her neck and shoulders, only Mary noticed it.
Sabina went into labour on the last day of August, the hottest day of the year, and between her groans she said to Mavis, 'You see I was right to come. I should have died of the heat at Aberlady.’
Allan had been out about his estates at Braco, and Mavis sent a messenger after him to say Sabina's time had come, and he came hurrying back, bringing news of Mar's hunt, and the support it had gained.
‘Lord Tullibardine has gone over to Mar, taking most of his father's men with him,' Allan said, ‘so there is not much thought but that Perth will fall to Mar.'
‘That would be a great thing,' Mavis said. 'It must be the only town in the Highlands where an army could assemble, besides being a greater matter of prestige.'
‘And it would make a good centre for the Chevalier to base himself — good roads and communications, and centrally placed. But the news is not all positive. The Elector has not been idle. Three regiments have arrived from Ireland, and are moving towards Stirling; Edinburgh and Glasgow have armed; and Admiral Byng has the Jacobite ships blockaded in Le Havre with all the powder and ammunition and guns we've been hoping for.'
‘Perhaps they might slip away,' Mavis said. 'Blockades are meant for escaping.’
Allan smiled. 'You are always so cheerful. But now King Louis is dead, there is no doubt that the Regent is less sympathetic to the Chevalier, and the likelihood is that he will not wish to provoke Admiral Byng when he has the entire Channel fleet pointing its guns at Le Havre.'
‘We shall see,' Mavis said calmly. 'I must go back to Sabina now. I will tell her about Lord Tullibardine, but not about Le Havre. She asks continuously after you, and she will be glad that I can tell her you are here.'
‘I wish I could see her,' Allan said wistfully, but Mavis looked stern.
‘Nonsense! You'll see her in good time. And don't worry,' she added more gently, 'everything looks well this time. There is no reason to fear.'
‘No reason more than usual, you mean,' Allan said. Mavis shook her head at his pessimism.
‘Play a game of chess with Mary, and try not to think about it. Please d
o — it will be a service for me. Mary is too sensitive and needs to be occupied.’
Before evening more news came in that Allan would have liked to keep from Mavis, but could not. The Earl of Breadalbane, who was eighty years old, had been arrested. He was a distant cousin of Mavis', but more importantly was the head of her clan and the overlord of her family and all their estates. An order had been passed by Parliament naming sixty-two peers and gentlemen whose loyalty to the Elector was suspected, and demanding their attendance in Edinburgh to be judged. Only two of those named went to Edinburgh, and they were clapped into prison, whereupon most of the rest declared for the Chevalier. Some of the more important, like Lord Breadalbane, had escorts sent to them to bring them to Edinburgh; and the news that, as soon as he had gone, his men all joined General Gordon in declaring for Mar, did not lessen the worry about the old man's safety and health.
That evening just about dusk, Sabina at last was delivered of a son, whose size and strength accounted for the length of her labour. As soon as the cord had been cut, the baby seemed to be looking about him with interest, and his thumb crept to his mouth and was sucked with a vigour that suggested he would have no difficulty in discovering how to take nourishment from his nurse.
Allan was delighted with him, and knelt beside Sabina's bed with great tenderness to thank her for giving him such a fine son.
‘What shall we call him?' he asked her. 'Whatever is your pleasure, it shall be.’
Sabina looked at him for a moment with bright, tired eyes, and then turned her head away. 'Oh, call him after yourself. I am too tired to think of names.’
The news passed around the servants and tenants, and the next day they began to come up to the castle to pay their respects. A few days later a deputation came from the town of Braco, bringing a silver cup for the baby, inscribed with his name and date of birth. They had spelled the name
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