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

Of course he was a Catholic. He had imprisoned the Bishops which was a wicked thing to do; he had tried to force Catholicism on a country which did not want it; he had led a scandalous life—as scandalous as his brother Charles’s. Charles had loved beautiful and attractive women; James had seemed to choose the most unattractive. Charles had once said that James, in spite of being so devout, loved women even more than he did, but chose such women as his priests might have provided for his penances. Now he had a Queen who was a beautiful creature but he preferred plain Catherine Sedley and others. He was a most immoral man, Anne assured herself. Yet at the same time she did not wish to face him when he came back to London. He would know, of course, that she was with his enemies. There came a time when it was impossible not to show which side one was on; and for that reason she did not want to see him again because she would never be able to look him in the face.

All this she was thinking while she listened to the rain and thought of escape. All would be well because Sarah had planned it. Sarah would see that nothing went wrong.

All the same it was very difficult to hide how excited she was from Danvers and Buss.

Mrs. Buss, who had been her nurse as a child and regarded herself as a specially privileged person came bustling in.

“Oh, my dear Madam! Sitting by the window in the cold … and no shawl about your shoulders!”

“I’m not cold, Buss.”

“Not cold indeed! Why I saw you shiver.”

“Buss, I am not your baby now, you know.”

“You will always be my baby.”

“Buss, I should like to get to bed quickly. I am rather tired.”

“Come then, Madam dear. Let Buss take off your shoes. Danvers, Her Highness is tired. Has the bed been warmed?”

They fussed about her, divesting her of clothes which she would have to put on again. But Sarah would help her dress. It was all set for one o’clock, and it was not yet midnight, so there was plenty of time.

When they had covered her up she said: “Draw the curtains. I am tired.”

They obeyed and soon she was alone, lying there, awaiting the summons from Sarah.

At the appointed time the bed curtains parted and there was Sarah with her clothes. Hurriedly she dressed, and taking Sarah’s hand went to Sarah’s apartment by way of the secret stair so that Danvers and Buss sleeping in the anteroom did not hear them leave.

In a short time they were at the door of the Cockpit.

“Your Highness.” It was Lord Dorset whom Sarah had commissioned to conduct them to the hackney coach which Henry Compton, the ex-Bishop of London would have waiting for them. Compton had been the governor of the Princesses Mary and Anne in their childhood and had been chosen by King Charles when his brother was becoming so unpopular that it had been necessary to take his children’s education out of his hands. Compton had fallen out of favor with James when he came to the throne and lost his offices, for the Bishop was a sturdy Protestant, but he had kept in touch with his old pupil and heartily approved of her attitude toward her father.

Sarah said: “What a night! Let us make for the coach with all speed, my lord.”

“It means crossing the park,” Dorset replied.

Sarah made an impatient noise with her lips and Dorset turned away from her to offer his arm to the Princess.

“If Your Highness will honor me …”

Anne took his arm, hoping that he had, as she heard, reformed his ways. It was true he was no longer a young man; he had been a great favorite of King Charles, for in his youth he had been one of the wits of the Court; he had taken part in many disgraceful scenes which some members of Charles’s Court had seen fit to call frolics, but that was long ago in his wild youth and he must be fifty now. James had always disliked him and Dorset was not one to curb his exuberance to seek favor; he had written satires about Catherine Sedley; and when the Bishops had been imprisoned had openly declared his sympathy with them. This had necessitated his retirement from Court. So both Compton and Dorset were her father’s enemies.

More than ever Anne wanted to get away; she was afraid now that their flight would be discovered and they be brought back. “Yes,” she said, “and let us hurry.”

The rain which had been falling all day had turned the soft soil of the park to mud, and Anne was not equipped for walking—a pastime in which she never indulged if she could help it.

On Dorset’s arm with Sarah and Lady Fitzharding beside her they started across the park; but they had not gone far when Anne gave a cry of dismay; her high heeled shoe had slipped off, and she was up to her ankles in mud.

“Where is Her Highness’s shoe?” asked Sarah imperiously.

They all peered down into the mud for the delicate slipper, but the night was dark and they could not see it.

“I can only hop,” Anne suggested.

But Dorset had taken off his long leather gauntlet and begged leave to slip it on the Princess’s foot.

This was done and Anne was half carried by Dorset across the park to where Henry Compton was waiting for them as arranged.

“Now,” cried Compton, “to my house by St. Paul’s.” He turned to his old pupil who laughingly showed him her foot encased in Dorset’s gauntlet.

“We will take a little refreshment at my house,” said Compton, “and find shoes for Your Highness. But before dawn we must be away.”

Before dawn the party set off for Copt Hall, Dorset’s house at Waltham, but on his advice and that of the Bishop they did not rest there long. Nottingham was their goal; and there they were received by Compton’s brother, the Earl of Northampton.

In Nottingham, Compton dressed himself in a military uniform and riding through the town carried with him a banner.

He cried out: “All people who would preserve the laws and liberties of England, rally to the Princess Anne, the Protestant heiress to the throne.”

The people ran out of their houses; they stood in the streets and cheered.

“No popery!” they cried. “A Protestant Sovereign for a Protestant people.”

On the morning after Anne had made her way through the rain and mud from the Cockpit to the waiting hackney coach, Mrs. Danvers went to awaken her mistress.

She knocked at the door and, receiving no command to enter, was bewildered.

She went to call Mrs. Buss.

“Her Highness does not answer me,” she explained.

“She is fast asleep,” said Mrs. Buss. “Open the door and go in. I will come with you.”

But when they tried to open the door they found it locked.

“Locked!” cried Mrs. Buss. “I never heard the like of this. Anything might have happened to Her Highness. We must force the door.”

“Wait a moment,” cautioned Mrs. Danvers and called out: “Your Highness. Are you there?”

There was no answer. “I am going to force the door,” said Mrs. Buss. “I take full responsibility.”

With that she threw her weight against the door and with Mrs. Danvers to help her they soon had the door open. Dashing in they saw that the Princess’s bed was empty.

“She has been abducted,” cried Mrs. Danvers.

“Murdered more like.” Mrs. Buss began to tremble. “The Queen’s priests have done this. We must not delay. Go and tell my Lord Clarendon. He was her friend. Go and tell him at once.”

Mrs. Danvers ran to do her bidding; but Mrs. Buss, who looked upon the Princess as her baby, ran out of the Cockpit to Whitehall.

When the guards asked her business she cried: “I want the Princess Anne.” And they, astonished, stood aside and allowed her to force her way into the Queen’s apartments.

Mary Beatrice, who was living in hourly fear of what would happen next, could only stare at the distracted woman.

“Give me the Princess Anne,” demanded Mrs. Buss. “You have brought her here against her will.”

“The woman is mad,” said the Queen. “Pray take her away.”

Guards seized Mrs. Buss who shouted: “I tell you the Princess has been abducted. You will find her hidden here. Release me, if you value your lives. If you are for the Princess Anne, release me.”

“Take here away,” ordered the Queen distastefully. “Send her back where she came from.”

When she was ejected from the Palace Mrs. Buss began to shout: “You have taken the Princess Anne. What are you doing to her?”

And very soon a crowd had collected.

“The Queen has made a prisoner of the Princess!” was the comment.

“For what reason?”

“Because she is a wicked Catholic and knows the Princess is a good Protestant.”

“Shall we stand aside and allow this Italian to harm our English Princess?”

“By God no! We’ll pull Whitehall to pieces to find where she is hidden!”

The news spread through the City and soon people were verging on Whitehall from all quarters. The foreigner would have to be shown that she could not harm their Princess.

It was Mrs . Danvers who found the letter on Anne’s table. It was addressed to her stepmother and said:

Madam,

I beg your pardon if I am so deeply affected with the surprising news of my husband’s being gone, as not to be able to see you, but to leave this paper to express my humble duty to the King and yourself and to let you know that I am gone to absent myself to avoid the King’s displeasure, which I am not able to bear, either against the Prince or myself, and I shall stay at so great a distance as not to return until I hear the happy news of a reconcilement; and as I am confident that the Prince did not leave the King with any other design than to use all possible means for his preservation, so I hope you will do me the justice to believe that I am incapable of following him for any other end. Never was anyone in such an unhappy condition, so divided between duty to a father and to a husband, and therefore I know not what I must do but to follow one to preserve the other. I see the general falling off of the nobility and gentry who avow to have no other end than to prevail with the King to secure their religion, which they saw so much in danger from the violent councils of the priests, who, to promote their own religion, did not care to what dangers they exposed the King. I am fully persuaded that the Prince of Orange designs the King’s safety and preservation and hope all things may be composed without bloodshed by the calling of a Parliament.

God grant a happy end to these troubles and that the King’s reign may be prosperous and that I may shortly meet you in perfect peace and safety till when, let me beg of you to continue the same favorable opinion that you have hitherto had of your most obedient daughter and servant.

Anne.

This letter was immediately published that riots might be averted.

It was a letter, said the people, of a dutiful daughter and a devoted wife. How good was the Princess when compared with her dissolute father!

The mob dispersed. The Queen should not be molested.

But the people were more firmly than ever behind Protestant William, Mary and Anne.