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

To Whitehall! There would be too many memories for comfort, thought Mary. She could not forget that a very short time ago her father and stepmother had held Court here. It was here that Mary Beatrice had very recently waited for her apartments at St. James’s to be made ready that she might give birth to a prince—or pretend to.

As yet Mary had not seen William; she believed that he would be waiting for her at Whitehall and together they would enter the Palace. She hoped so, for she would feel happier if he were at her side.

But when she reached Whitehall William was not there, and she must enter the Palace alone, knowing that everyone was watching her, asking themselves how a daughter would feel who had driven her father from his home.

She must forget she was James’s daughter and remember only that she was William’s wife. So she smiled gaily.

“Whitehall,” she said. “I have thought of it so often. But it does not bear comparison with some of our Dutch Palaces.”

“Your Majesty will wish to go to your apartments without delay.”

She agreed that she would.

To the royal apartment then. Here was the bedchamber in which Mary Beatrice had lain. It was prepared for her, Mary, now. There were the chairs on which her father had sat; his hands had touched those hangings.

Jemmy’s murderer, she murmured; then it was easier.

She laughed gaily.

“It is pleasant to be home in Whitehall,” she said.

She could not sleep that night—alone in the royal bed. There were too many memories. She dreamed of her father; she was a child and he had taken her on his knee and was looking at her with mournful reproachful eyes from which tears flowed. And there was Mary Beatrice crying: “I cannot believe it … not of our dear Lemon.”

“It had to be, it had to be.…” She was talking in her sleep. “William said so and William is always right. It was the Papists against the Protestants. It was your own fault, father. And there was Monmouth.… How could you. He called himself the King I know, but he was a King’s son, and he was your nephew. How could you?”

She awoke and heard herself say: “It had to be. It had to be.”

Where was she? In her room in the Palace in the Wood, waiting for William, who would not come because he was spending the night with Elizabeth Villiers? No. She was in Whitehall, in the bed which had been used by her father and stepmother.

This was nonsense. It had to be. He had brought this on himself. William had had no wish for it. It was only because it was his duty to come that he came.

In the morning she chatted gaily as she was dressed.

William would want to hear how she had behaved on her arrival and she must please William. Moreover, it was pleasant to chat. How she loved to gossip; and being back in England reminded her of those carefree gossiping days of childhood.

“I want to go into all the rooms,” she announced. “I want to see how much things have changed.”

So as soon as she was dressed she went from room to room, opening cupboard doors, turning down the quilts on the bed, laughing and chatting all the time.

Even her friends were a little shocked. They said: “She seems to be quite insensible of her father’s tragedy.”

Her enemies talked freely to each other. “What unbecoming conduct!” they said. “What an ungrateful daughter, for however misguided he was, he was always a good father to her .”

As for Mary, she was thinking of him all the time as she went from room to room; she was resisting with all her might the desire to burst into tears, to ask these men to help her plead with her husband to bring her father back. Let them rule together, let William modify James’s policy; surely that could have been done.

But William had said: “Smile and be gay. Show no remorse, for that would do ill to our cause.”

So she smiled and was gay; and Sarah Churchill watching said to herself: “She is a woman of stone. She shows no remorse for her father. This is most unbecoming. She is behaving like a woman in an inn, peering into cupboards, spying into the beds.…”

Sarah disliked keeping her opinions to herself, but on this occasion she would. William and Mary would reward those who helped them and the glorious Marlborough title was not yet won.

Only when Mary was installed in Whitehall Palace did William come to her.

She returned his cool greeting with suppressed exuberance. After the long separation she had forgotten how withdrawn he could be.

“William,” she said, “I am so happy to be with you. But you look ill. I fear this has been a great strain on your health.”

He shook his head impatiently. Had she not learned yet how he hated references to his infirmities?

“You appear to be in good health,” he said shortly. “As for myself, I am well enough. The sooner we are recognized as joint sovereigns the better; and I have arranged for the ceremony to take place in the Banqueting room.”

“Yes, William. Tell me, are you happy now that all is well?”

“We cannot be sure that all is well. It is early yet.”

“But the people want us, William. They have shown that clearly.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Your fame is known throughout the world,” she went on. “The English know that you will rule them well.”

“They were not eager to accept me in the beginning, suggesting that you should rule as Queen and I as Consort.”

“I would never have allowed that, William. I would have made them understand that I could not tolerate such a position. You are my husband and I regard it my duty to obey you.”

She was looking at him almost piteously, begging for some affection. He felt angry because she was taller than he was and had to look down at him; he was angry because these people wanted her and grudgingly accepted him. There were always these considerations between them. With Elizabeth it was different. With her he could discuss state affairs, make a little play at lovemaking; and he could feel the superior male all the time.

He was eager for the ceremonies to go forward with all speed, for he would not feel safe until he had been publicly proclaimed and crowned King of England.

“I wish the ceremony to be performed with all speed,” he said.

“But of course, William.”

“I have a great desire to get out of this city. I like not the air and I have seen a palace at Hampton which I think would suit me better.”

“Hampton Court Palace! Ah, yes, I remember it so well.…”

“It is unsightly and needs alterations; the gardens are a disgrace.…”

She began to smile. “Oh, William,” she cried, “we must plan alterations. I lack your inspiration in these matters, but I hope you will allow me to help.”

She had clasped her hands about his arm; he stood rigid for a while. Then he twisted his lips into something like a smile.

“That might be so,” he said.

Then he shook her off and left the apartment.

Dear beloved husband! she thought. I had forgotten how dignified, how remote, how utterly noble he is!

The ceremonial recognition of the new King and Queen took place in the Banqueting room of Whitehall.

Mary, resplendent in state dress, took her place with William on the canopied chairs of state, their attendants ranged about them.

Lord Halifax then asked them if they would accept the crown, and they both declared their willingness to do so.

Were they a little too willing? Those watching thought so; for they did so without expressing the slightest regret at the unfortunate circumstances which had put them into this position.

Those watching had not wanted James but they did not like William’s coldness and Mary’s apparent indifference. For all his sins James was her father. Was not Mary’s blithe acceptance of the crown which could only be hers because of her father’s downfall, a little heartless? They would have liked a little reluctance, a little remorse. But there appeared to be none.

The ceremony in the Banqueting room was in February and the Coronation was fixed for April; but William had no intention of remaining at Whitehall until that time.

He said peevishly that he could not endure the London air and he saw no reason why there should be ceremonies and banquets; he considered them an extravagance.

He wanted to explore Hampton Court, and thither he went with the Queen.

The people were not pleased. This was going to be a very dull reign if there was no Court. They remembered Charles sauntering across the park with his dogs and ladies; they remembered him at the playhouse, or playing pell mell. Even James had kept a Court. But within a few days William had retired to Hampton Court; and the Queen had gone with him.

The Queen, however, had shown signs of gaiety, and they were certain that if she were in control there would be a gay Court. It was the Dutchman who was spoiling everything. Perhaps after the Coronation there would be a Court. In any case the Princess Anne would not wish to live in obscurity; she would surely continue with her card parties; and they had heard that the Queen was fond of dancing.

But during those weeks the King and Queen remained at Hampton Court and only came to London for necessary business. Mary felt happier at Hampton, where there were not so many memories; and William, who had already started to plan alterations to the Palace and gardens, was more friendly toward her when he was thus engaged than otherwise; he even allowed her to share his preoccupation.

It was the day of the Coronation and bright April sunshine streamed into the Palace of Whitehall and the Cockpit.

Outside the bells were ringing and the people were crowding into the streets; but this was no ordinary coronation, for it was rarely sovereigns were crowned while their predecessors lived. There were many who shook their heads and said no good would come of it. They had been against James; but when they saw his daughter and her husband calmly taking what was his, their sense of justice revolted. It was so unnatural, they declared.

Many of the Bishops would not take the oath of allegiance, declaring that they had sworn allegiance to a King who still lived. Even some of those Bishops whom James had sent to the Tower were among those who declined to take the oath; and the Archbishop of Canterbury refused to crown them.

The Coronation must not be delayed because of these obstinate men, declared William.

Mary was being dressed in her coronation robes; she looked very regal in purple velvet edged with ermine, a circlet of gold and precious stones gleaming on her dark hair.

Elizabeth Villiers was present, her eyes secretive; she was still William’s mistress, Mary knew.

William came into her apartment; he was already dressed and she would leave Whitehall for Westminster Hall an hour after him.