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

His face was white and set and he came to her and said without ceremony: “I have had bad news.”

“Oh, William!”

“Your father has landed in Ireland and taken possession of it. Only a few towns—among them Londonderry—are not in his hands.”

“Oh, William!” Her face was ashen and he looked at her with distaste, remembering her childish habit of repeating his name in moments of crisis.

“I have a letter for you. It is from your father.”

Mary took the letter in her shaking hands, and as she did so she pictured him sitting down to write to her, the tears streaming down his cheeks while he remembered how once he had loved his dear daughter.

“You should read it,” commanded William coldly.

The words danced before her eyes for she could not concentrate. Sentences seemed to leap from the page to wound her.

Hitherto I have made all fatherly excuses for what has been done. I attributed your part in the revolution to obedience to your husband, but the act of being crowned is in your power, and if you are crowned while I and the Prince of Wales are living, the curses of an outraged father will light upon you, as well as those of God who has commanded duty to parents …

The letter fluttered to the ground. Mary stood very still staring at it while William with a gesture of disgust picked it up and read it.

“It was well timed,” he said; but for once he was unable to hide the fact that he was shaken. James in Ireland—intending to fight for one of the three crowns—meant that his position was very insecure. The Archbishop and Bishops refusing to take the oath of allegiance! James calling down curses on them!

What had he done? He had driven his father-in-law from the throne, that he might take it. Had he not always—ever since the midwife, Mrs. Tanner, had declared she saw three crowns about his head at birth—had his gaze directed on his father-in-law’s throne?

He saw that some of those who had come with him into the chamber and those who had already been there were looking significantly at each other.

He said firmly: “This was brought about by the King’s ill conduct and what I and my wife have done was forced on us. I would say that I have done nothing which did not have my wife’s approval.”

This was one of those rare moments when Mary refused to be guided by her husband. It was the second of truth when she saw him not as the supreme being but as a man without charm, without love for her.

She said sharply: “If my father should gain his authority, you have none but yourself to thank for it. It was you who let him go as you did.”

For a few moments husband and wife stood staring at each other. William felt a coldness touch his heart. It was occasions like this—and there had been but a few in the course of their married life which brought home to him that he was unsure of his wife. He could never be certain when her docility might drop from her—like her great orange cloak—and she show clearly that she was a Stuart ruler.

It was for this very reason that he kept coldly aloof from her; it was the very pivot on which their strange relationship revolved.

He said: “It is time I left for Westminster Hall.”

And signing to his attendants he left the apartment.

In the Cockpit Anne was being dressed for the Coronation, though she could take no active part in it, being so heavily pregnant.

Sarah was given instructions as to how the Princess’s jewels should be worn when one of the women hurried in in some excitement.

“You have heard the news?” she asked.

“What news is this?” demanded Sarah.

“King James has landed in Ireland. They say the whole of that country is welcoming him.”

In the mirror Anne sought Sarah’s face and she saw it so transformed by fear that she trembled.

“I cannot believe this,” blurted out Sarah.

“It’s true, Lady Churchill. King James has written a letter to Queen Mary. I heard that she is mighty upset on receiving it and that she has even accused King William of letting her father go.”

“This is … terrible!” said Sarah, and wished that she could find John at once to discuss the matter with him. What of their fine title now? What would King James have to give the Earl of Marlborough who had deserted to the other side just at that moment when he could have been of greater help to him than ever before?

Anne was thinking: If he comes back, he will forgive me.… He always forgave me.

She turned to Mrs. Dawson and asked: “Do you believe the child they call the Prince of Wales is my brother?”

“I do, Madam,” said Mrs. Dawson rather sharply, for she had often assured Anne of the falseness of the warming-pan story. “I am as sure that he is your brother as I am that you are the daughter of the late Duchess of York.”

There was a deep silence in the apartment; and for once even Sarah had nothing to say.

The ceremony was late in starting. The people were restive. There was whispering in the streets. Was it true that James had landed in Ireland? What would happen next? Would there be a bloody civil war?

Queen Mary was being carried in her chair into the state room of Westminster Hall; she was pale and clearly shaken. What news to receive on the day of one’s coronation! How disquieting for a daughter to hear a father’s curses in her heart while she took the crown which had been stolen from him!

When they stood together—she and William—and the question was asked: “Will you accept William and Mary for your King and Queen?” It seemed to them both that there was too long a pause before the acclamation.

It was an uneasy coronation. When the offering should have been made William discovered that on account of the upset he had omitted to provide himself with the necessary money and Lord Danby had to count out twenty guineas which he would put into the gold basin on behalf of the King.

An evil omen? asked those who were only too eager to look for evil omens.

Mary and William were fervent in their promises to maintain the scripture and the Protestant religion, holding up their right hands as they did so; between them they carried the sword. It was unlike any other coronation and the absence of the most important figures of the Church—the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of Durham and of Bath and Wells—was constantly remarked on.

All the principal participators were relieved when it was over. But that was not the end, for later during the banquet in Westminster Hall the champion of the King and Queen failed to arrive to throw down his gauntlet and challenge any to a duel who would not accept the sovereigns. Uneasily they waited; and it was dark when Sir Charles Dymoke made his appearance.

“Why so late?” was the whisper.

“It is because he is the son of James II’s champion. He is unwilling to champion those who dethroned James.”

But the glove was thrown and a dark figure which looked like an old woman ran to it and picked it up. As she was allowed to disappear among the crowd there was a gasp of horror through the hall.

A challenge!

This threw a gloom on the banquet which the very presence of William in any circumstances would have prevented from being very gay.

The Coronation day was over. What next? asked the people. They would not have been surprised to hear that James had landed in England in order to defend his crown.

On the following day a tall man was seen pacing up and down in Hyde Park at a well known dueling spot. Many people saw him, but Sir Charles Dymoke did not go out to meet him.

There were no cries of “No popery” in the streets now, but were the people satisfied? If Mary had seemed a little contrite, if William had not been so dour, they would have been more ready to accept them.

What had they done? they asked themselves. It was true they wanted no popery; but was it going to be the days of Oliver Cromwell all over again? They did not like sour Dutchmen; they did not like ungrateful daughters. Someone produced a verse which appealed to many, and all over the city it was being quoted. It was written after the Coronation and ran:

There through the dusk-red towers—amidst his ring

Of Vans and Mynheers rode the Dutchman King;

And there did England’s Goneril thrill to hear ,

The shouts that triumphed o’er her crownless Lear .

A DISH OF GREEN PEAS

here was little time now for dallying at Hampton Court and making exciting plans for its reconstruction. Ireland was almost entirely in the hands of James; and certain areas of Scotland had declared for him. There was discord in Parliament between Whigs and Tories; William was unpopular with the English who admired a colorful King like Charles II; France had taken the opportunity to increase activity against Holland.

“I wish,” said William to his dear friend Bentinck, “that I were a thousand miles away. I am not wanted here. The Queen is regarded as the ruler so I am of a mind to return to Holland and leave her here to govern.”

Bentinck regarded him sadly. William had greatly desired this crown and having married Mary for it, it seemed impossible that, now that he had attained it, he should return to Holland.

Bentinck himself would have been delighted to go home; but he did not believe that William would so lightly abandon a lifetime’s ambition.

Yet William summoned a Council of Ministers.

“I have made a mistake in accepting this crown,” he said. “I can do nothing more for you when you are warring with each other and resent me. The Queen pleases you, so I will leave the government in her hands and go to Holland.”

There was an immediate protest from the Council.

“I have been ill-used,” William reminded them, “and in such circumstances have no wish to remain. I told you when I took the crown that I did not attach such importance to it as some men did.”

So vehement were the protests that William saw how strong his position was.

“If I remained in control of this realm, I should depart at once for Ireland,” he said; but there was further protest at his suggestion, for they said they needed his services in England and begged him to remain.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I am a Protestant,” he said, “So I must do my duty, for this country could so easily be lost to the papists.”

When Mary heard that William had threatened to leave for Holland she was distraught, and went to William with tears in her eyes and begged him not to leave her.

“You have succeeded in making yourself popular with the people,” he told her. “They want you, but they are not inclined to accept me.”

“They are so foolish, William.”

“The Council of Ministers have begged me to stay. So they appear to think I may be of use to them.”

“Then I join my pleas with theirs, William.”

He looked at her coldly, remembering her outburst on the morning of the Coronation. Deep within her there was great pride, and occasionally it asserted itself. He could not forget the manner in which she had upbraided him for letting James go. What had she wanted? Him to murder her father? Hold him a prisoner? Have him brought to trial?