Plaidy, Jean - Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

Certain repairs were in progess on her apartments at St. James’s at this time and she gave instructions that they should be hastily finished and her bedroom made ready.

Every small action, every word she spoke, was seized on by her enemies, and made to seem full of significance. Still neither she nor James—least of all James—were aware of the dangers which were overshadowing them, and it never occurred to them that the danger was heightened by the Queen’s condition, for those who had been waiting for an opportunity to depose James saw that they could use the birth of a son for doing so. The cry was: “If there is a son, that son will be brought up as a Catholic. A Catholic King; a Catholic Queen; a Catholic Prince of Wales! There can be no doubt then what the fate of England would be. It must never be allowed to happen.”

There was a whisper in some circles that if a son was born to the King and Queen, William of Orange would come to England and make a bid to take the crown from him on behalf of his wife.

This was a time of tension and great danger—realized by all except the King.

James, with his penchant for falling into trouble just at the time when it could bring him most harm, sent the Archbishop of Canterbury and six bishops to the Tower for asking to be excused from ordering the reading of the Declaration of Indulgence in the churches. The country was filled with horror, and feeling against the King increased.

Anne was growing alarmed at the speed with which tension was rising. Her sister had said that she must be present at the birth and see for herself that the child was genuinely the Queen’s.

This was disturbing because secretly she knew that the Queen was pregnant, and if she were present at the birth how could she continue with this pleasant fantasy? She, who had never had any great desire for action, was becoming too deeply involved. What she liked was to lie on her couch, with Sarah sitting beside her, while she made the most fantastic accusations against anyone they cared to slander. That was quite different from taking an active part.

“I feel very unwell,” she told her father. “I think I shall go to Bath at once.”

He was immediately concerned. “You should be here for the birth,” he said, “but I do not wish you to run any risk of a return of your fever.”

“I fear I should if I remained.”

“Then, my dear, you must go. The Queen will be sorry, but I am sure she will understand.”

The Queen was not in the least sorry. When Anne told her of her decision to leave, Mary Beatrice looked at her coldly. They both remembered the incident of the glove.

“So I shall not be here when Your Majesty lies in,” said Anne demurely.

“It may be that you will have returned by then. I think my confinement will be after July.”

“Oh, Madam, I think you will be brought to bed before I return,” replied Anne.

The Queen did not answer and shortly afterward Anne left.

Repeating the conversation to Sarah, Anne explained: “You will see, the child will be born while I am away.”

“One less witness,” said Sarah. “You can depend upon it.”

This idea pleased them both and they refrained from reminding each other that there was no need for Anne to leave London and it was entirely her own wish that she should go to Bath.

Shortly after, Anne, with a few of her women including Sarah, left London.

The repairs to the apartment in St. James’s Palace were not completed by June and the Queen was growing anxious.

“I am determined to lie in at St. James’s,” she said.

“Your Majesty, there is some work to be completed yet,” she was told.

“Please ask them to hurry,” she replied.

As the days passed she became more and more concerned, seeming to be very fearful of not being able to get to St. James’s in time. Her aversion to Whitehall was unnatural, said her enemies.

All during Saturday, the 9th of June, she was very restless, and she sent to St. James’s to ask how the work was progessing.

“It will be finished, Your Majesty, by the end of the day,” she was told.

“It must be,” she said, “for I believe my time is near and I am determined to lie at St. James’s tonight if I have to lie on the boards.”

Her remarks were noted and her enemies were ready to see deep meaning behind them. Before the Queen settled down to cards once more she sent to St. James’s and the reply came back that the work would be finished before night; her bed was being set up and word would be sent as soon as her apartment was ready.

The play was a little wild that night; the Queen’s eyes were on the door and the eyes of almost everyone else were on the Queen.

It was about ten o’clock when the message arrived breathlessly from St. James’s, to announce that the Queen’s apartments were ready now.

Mary Beatrice half rose in her chair; then she remembered that etiquette demanded the party should not be broken up until the game was completed. She sat impatiently while the play went on as though in fear that the child would be born before she had time to make the short journey from palace to palace.

Her relief was apparent when at eleven the game was completed and she declared her intention of leaving at once. Her sedan chair was brought and because of the solemnity of the occasion, when she was carried from Whitehall through the park to St. James’s, her Chamberlain, Sidney Godolphin, walked beside her chair. James joined the party and contentedly Mary Beatrice took possession of her apartments, there to await the birth which, before it was taking place, was causing more speculation throughout the country than any other had before.

On Trinity Sunday , the 10th of June, the Queen awoke and remembered with relief that she was in her apartments in St. James’s Palace. She found that she was trembling; the child would be born today she was sure. It was not that she was afraid of the pains of birth; heaven knew she longed for the child to be born; but there were too many enemies about her, and those who should have been her friends were turning against her. Anne, her stepdaughter, had, in the last months, grown sly and secretive. What did Anne say of her when she was not there to defend herself? And there was Mary, she whom she had affectionately called her “dear Lemon” because she was married to William of Orange. Had she really detected a coldness in Mary’s letters? She called to one of her women.

“Send for the King,” she said, “and have everyone summoned who should be present when my child is born.”

She left her bed then and sat down on a tabouret to wait.

Margaret Dawson, one of her most trusted women, who had been in the service of the first Duchess of York and had attended the births of Anne and Mary, came hurrying in.

“Your Majesty,” she cried, “has your time come then?”

“It is close, Margaret,” said the Queen.

Margaret saw that the Queen was trembling, and asked if she were cold.

“Strange, is it not?” answered Mary Beatrice. “Cold on a morning in June. Margaret, I am so … uneasy.”

“Your Majesty, it is often thus at this stage.”

“So much depends on this, Margaret. Is the pallet ready?”

“It is not yet aired, Your Majesty.”

“Then have it aired immediately and when this is done I will go to it.”

The pallet was in the next room and as Margaret went to do the Queen’s bidding, the King arrived.

“My dear,” he said, taking the Queen’s hand and kissing it, “has the time come then? Then all those who are at church must be sent for without delay.”

She nodded; for those at church were their enemies, the Protestants, and it was imperative that they should be present at the birth.

“Let me take you to your pallet,” said the King.

“They are airing it now.”

“Then I will make sure that all those who should be here are summoned.”

A warming-pan was being carried into the Queen’s lying-in chamber. Margaret Dawson threw back the quilt, the pan was placed in the bed, and the covers drawn over it.

“The bed must be thoroughly aired,” said Margaret, “before her Majesty gets into it.”

Shortly afterward Lady Sunderland arrived.

“How is it?” she said to Margaret Dawson.

“All well so far. The Queen is in her own bedchamber and will occupy the pallet as soon as it is thoroughly aired. I fancy her time is near.”

Lady Sunderland nodded. “I was in the chapel preparing to take the sacrament,” she said, “but I was told I must come to the Queen at once.”

“It is well that you came,” answered Margaret. “She was sitting on her tabouret shivering when I went in so I want the bed thoroughly warmed.”

“It is a warm morning.”

“But in that state a woman can feel anything. She is so wrought up that I fear the shock will be too much for her—be it boy or girl.”

“Much depends on this child,” agreed Lady Sunderland. “She has asked that just at first none should say whether it is a boy or girl for she feels that the pleasure or the disappointment would be unbearable. This should be made known.”

Margaret nodded.

The King came into the apartment accompanied by Dr. Walgrave and the midwife.

James was clearly anxious. He was talking earnestly to the doctor, making anxious inquiries as to the state of the Queen’s health. The doctor thought that all should go well, but he was a little perturbed by the Queen’s anxiety.

Seeing Lady Sunderland James came to her and expressed his pleasure to see her there.

“We are all anxious about Her Majesty,” said Lady Sunderland. “She is more excited than she has been at previous confinements.”

“She longs so much for a boy,” replied James.

“I have asked the midwife to pull at my dress, Your Majesty, if the child should be a boy, so that no word shall be spoken to excite Her Majesty.”

“You must give me a sign,” said James. “I shall be watching you eagerly. Touch your forehead like this … if it is a boy. If there is no sign I shall know it is a girl. Then I trust the Queen will be able to rest and recover a little before she hears what is the sex of her child.”

It was agreed that that should be the sign and the group broke up as the Queen, accompanied by some of her ladies, came into the apartment.

She got into the bed and it was clear that her pains had started.

Now the room began to fill. The doctors, nurses, midwife, the Queen’s ladies and officers of the household with eighteen members of the privy council came into the room.

Mary Beatrice lay back on her pillows groaning.

By half past nine the atmosphere was stifling because of the crowd assembled there. At the foot of the bed the Privy councillors stood watching.

“Margaret,” called Mary Beatrice.

Margaret came to her mistress and took her hand.

“I cannot endure this,” cried the Queen. “These men staring. Draw the bed curtains.”

Margaret firmly did so.

“Pray stand back,” she said to the men. “It is unseemly that you should crowd about the bed at such a time.”

Shortly afterward the child was born. James was watching Lady Sunderland.

The midwife was bending over the bed. She turned and quickly pulled Lady Sunderland’s dress, and when Lady Sunderland touched her forehead the King gave a cry of joy. But he could not restrain himself, and must have the joyous information confirmed.