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

She thought longingly of Richmond—the home of her childhood. It would be pleasant to return there; but she remembered how she had once asked for Richmond and been refused. Perhaps Epsom or Hampstead? And she had always been very fond of Twickenham.

The news that the Princess was seeking a house in Twickenham where her son might recuperate in the salubrious air, was circulated and several people, remembering the change in the Princess Anne’s position, begged her to make use of their houses.

Anne hesitated; and one day Lord Fitzharding, who with his wife shared the governorship of young Gloucester, came to her and told her that his great-aunt, Mrs. Davies, who had long retired from Court life, had heard of the Princess’s need and would welcome her, the little Duke, and a few of their attendants to stay with her.

It would be a quiet life in the country and his aunt, who was then eighty years old, lived on fruit and vegetables which she grew herself, and was certain that these would be of great benefit to the little Prince.

It was comforting to receive this offer, for Anne remembered the old lady, who was related to the Berkeleys, was gentle, devoted, strong-minded, and she was certain that this was the place to which she should go, so she accepted the invitation without telling Sarah; and for once Sarah made no protest, deciding that she would spend the time with her own family.

So while Sarah went to St. Albans to plan earnestly with her husband, Anne, her son, and very few of their servants and attendants set out for Twickenham.

“What shall I do?” asked the Duke, “without my soldiers to command?”

“You will eat fruit and herbs and vegetables.”

“But, Mama, one does not eat all day.”

“ You have to get strong and well.”

“But to be right away in the country!”

“You cannot command your soldiers forever from your sickbed. Whoever heard of a general doing that? No, if generals are ill they take care to grow well quickly … and then they are welcomed back with a guard of honor and …”

“A guard of honor,” said Gloucester and he was silent, planning the great occasion of his return.

In the meantime for four weeks—or perhaps more—he must eat fruit, vegetables, and herbs; he must live quietly and grow strong because it seemed that was what a general must do to get well quickly.

She was an old, old woman. Gloucester had never seen anyone so old; her face was rosy and wrinkled and her eyes bright blue; she was quiet, but she would answer questions if one caught her alone. She would sit in her garden on her rocking chair and the sun shining on her white hair made it seem like the halo on the heads of saints if you half closed your eyes and imagined it was there.

Her estate was large and it was given over almost entirely to the cultivation of fruit trees, vegetables, and herbs. When Gloucester arrived with his mother and her retinue some of the trees were laden with red cherries. He had never seen so many before.

The old lady stood in the hall when they arrived to receive them; he had stared up at her curiously, wondering what it was like to be so old. Perhaps he would ask her one day.

She smiled at him and told him that he would soon be well and strong enough to return to his army. Meanwhile he could eat as much fruit as he liked from her trees but he must always remember that trees were living things and must not be harmed.

It was an interesting thought. He liked the old woman.

He was put to bed in a room smelling of lavender and herbs which seemed small after his apartments at Campden House. Lewis was with him and asked how he liked the place.

“It is early to say yet, Lewis,” he answered. “But I feel like an ordinary boy, not a Prince.”

“Then Your Highness won’t like that.”

“But I do like it, Lewis. I like it for now.”

He fell asleep quickly, wondering about the old lady.

There was little ceremony at Twickenham. The Princess Anne’s servants joined those belonging to the house; Anne, herself, spent much of her time in the rooms which had been allotted to her; and the little Duke liked to explore the house and grounds.

When he saw the old lady gathering fruit or herbs or sitting in her rocking chair he would go and stand by her, watching. She would smile at him, but not always speak. He found this refreshing; she seemed to understand that he did not always want to ask or be asked questions. Sometimes she would show him the herbs she was gathering and tell him what uses they could be put to, how they cured this and that. He listened intently and sometimes he himself would pick a leaf and hold it out to her. She always had something interesting to say about it.

He looked for her every day; and when he found her on her rocking chair he would sit at her feet.

Sometimes they would talk and sometimes be silent. He enjoyed both moods.

He asked her one day what it felt like to be so old, and she answered that it felt very much the same as being very young; the young thought highly of some things, the old of others.

“Like battles,” he said, “and gathering herbs.”

She nodded and went on rocking.

Then he told her about his soldiers and the wonderful battles they fought; and she told him how when she had been at Court his great-grandfather had been King.

“Tell me about him.”

“He quarreled with the Parliament and had to go away.”

“Where?”

“Far away where he could not come back.”

“My grandfather has gone far away where he can’t come back. At least not while William has the crown. But they are not supposed to tell me that.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I listen. I am always listening. You see, I always want to know … everything. Is that wrong?”

“I think it is good to want to know.”

“Well I want to know everything … except Scripture. I don’t want Scripture. I won’t listen when Mr. Pratt tries to teach me.”

“Why don’t you like it.”

“Because I don’t like going to church.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Davies and was silent for a long time.

Soon it seemed to Gloucester that he had always lived at Twickenham; it seemed that the sun shone every day and strangely enough he could always find something to do. His chief pleasure was the company of the old lady. The affection between them was noticed and it was remarked how strange it was that the very old woman should attract the young boy.

When she talked she told him of the Court of his great-grandfather who had been gentle and of his French great-grandmother who had been fiery; she told him of the wars between the King and Parliament; and he listened avidly.

She talked to him of the Bible and told him stories from it; he had never heard the stories told in such a way before. She could quote from the New Testament and she told him that she loved the Bible which had been a great comfort to her.

“It has never been a comfort to me,” he said. “I will tell you something: I do not like going to church and I have sworn never to say the psalms which I do not like.”

“But they are so beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

“Yes,” she said. “Listen. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord which made Heaven and Earth.’ ”

“Go on,” said Gloucester.

He watched her mouth as she spoke the words; and although he had heard them before they had never seemed beautiful until then.

“It is you,” he said, “who make them beautiful.”

“I only repeat what is in the book.”

“You love them; you believe them and you make them good.”

“They comfort me. There is much in the book that comforts me.”

“It does not comfort me.”

“But it could.”

“You mean if I loved it … and believed it as you do?”

“You can. Say it with me.”

He did, and he found that the words were beautiful. He wanted to know them so well that he would be able to say them when he was alone without her to prompt him.

He learned quickly. Then he learned other psalms and to say the Lord’s Prayer.

And each day he was more and more with the old lady.

The Princess Anne liked him to be present while she was at her toilette. She was delighted to see the fair skin, which he had inherited from his Danish father, tanned with the sun and air. There was a sprinkling of freckles across his nose; and his eyes seemed several shades more blue than before: but for the fact that his head was so large he would have been extremely handsome, for he had the Stuart features which matched up charmingly with his fairness of skin.

“So my boy is happy at Twickenham?” asked Anne.

He smiled. “Very, very happy, Mama.”

“Come here,” she said. He came and she kissed him and held him tightly for a moment. He endured the embrace with fortitude. He knew that out of many, he was the only child who had survived, and that made him very precious.

“Confound it, Mama!” he said. “You are not old like Mrs. Davies. You will have many children yet; then you will not have to watch over me with such care.”

Anne wanted to say that however many children she had he would always be infinitely precious to her, but to hide her emotion she said: “And pray where do you learn such language?”

“What language, Mama?”

“ ‘Confound it’, you said.”

“Oh, that is nothing. It is not like ‘God damn you to hell, sir.’ ”

Anne was truly shocked.

“I demand to know where you heard such talk,” she said.

“It was Lewis, I think …”

“Lewis! Then he shall be dismissed.”

“Oh, Mama, no … it was not Lewis. I am remembering now.”

“I want to know where you learned such talk.”

He hesitated then, “Why, Mama, I remember now. I invented it myself.”

He smiled at her disarmingly and once more she had to fight to resist the temptation to embrace him and cover him with kisses.

Anne sent for her treasurer, Sir Benjamin Bathurst, the husband of her great friend, Frances Apsley, whom her sister Mary had loved so dearly. Frances had remained Anne’s dear friend and naturally Anne had wanted to honor her husband and this she did by bestowing on him the post of treasurer of her household.

“Sir Benjamin,” said Anne, “we have been here some four or five weeks and all this time we have enjoyed the hospitality of Mrs. Davies. I want you to pay her a hundred guineas, for although she is a wealthy woman, I and my son and our servants must have been a great drain on her.”

Sir Benjamin said that he would see to the matter without delay and the next day he returned to the house with a hundred gold guineas.

Gloucester was with the old lady when Bathurst came in and when he saw that the treasurer wished to speak to her he retired to a corner, and both seemed to forget that he was present.

“Her Highness wishes to recompense you for your hospitality during the last weeks,” began Sir Benjamin.