Виктория Холт - Royal Sisters - The Story of the Daughters of James II

James acted as William had believed he would; he left Rochester under cover of darkness and a few days later landed safely in France where Louis XIV, implacable enemy of William of Orange, was delighted to give him sanctuary.

Sarah stood beside her mistress and they gazed at their reflections in the mirror. Sarah looked handsome, her lovely golden hair, her best feature, was decked with orange ribbons.

“Now, Mrs. Morley,” she said, “I shall do the same for you.”

Anne, whose childish passion for sharing pleasures was one of her most pronounced characteristics, expressed her delight.

“These ribbons are most becoming,” went on Sarah.

“They are to my dear Mrs. Freeman, but I fear poor Morley is not as handsome.”

“Nonsense,” said Sarah, but she smiled complacently at her reflection.

Sarah was delighted. This was not the end of a campaign; it was only the beginning.

The first battle was won. There was no longer a King James II; there would soon be a Mary II; and Mary had no children, so this fat young woman with the mild expression was the heir presumptive to the throne.

“So you like that, Mrs. Morley? I think it most becoming.”

“Then I am sure my dear Mrs. Freeman is right.”

Indeed it was the beginning.

“Let us go to the coach, now,” said Sarah.

Anne rose obediently.

So while James II battled against the seas on his perilous escape to France, his daughter Anne, in the company of Sarah Churchill, attended the playhouse—both resplendent in orange ribbons.

William of Orange, riding in his closed carriage through the streets of London, was disturbed. The conquest had been too simple. Perhaps if there had been battles to be faced and won he would not have felt this depression; but here he was, come to England to preserve the land for Protestantism, and he was not even sure that he would be accepted as its King.

William was a Stuart on his mother’s side, but he had inherited little of that family’s characteristics. The Stuarts were, on the whole, if not handsome, a fascinating family. William had none of those superficial attractions and he was well aware of it. Short, slightly deformed, a sufferer from asthma, tormented by a hacking cough which worried him at awkward moments, he was aware of his disabilities. He never felt happy except on horseback and when owing to the shortness of his legs he looked nearer to the normal size. His expression was sour, his nose long and crooked; and his huge periwig gave him the appearance of being top heavy. Not a figure likely to find favor with the English who remembered gay Charles, tall, dark, and ugly though he might be, possessed of such charm that he made his subjects love his faults more than they would have loved another’s virtues. James had been unpopular but he was personable; he had dignity, and his numerous love affairs had proved that he was a man.

How different was William. He would have brought an uneasy reminder of Oliver Cromwell but for the fact that he had a mistress. There had been a certain amount of gossip about Elizabeth Villiers to whom he had been faithful for years. When a man had one mistress for some odd reason that seemed a slight to his wife; it was different when, like Charles and James, he had many.

William was wondering what sort of a reception he would receive. He knew that the people had rejected James and were accepting him. But were they accepting him, or was it Mary?

He had long had his eyes on this crown: England, Scotland, and Ireland. To be ruler of these three kingdoms was a higher position than mere Stadtholder of Holland. But would they accept him as their King? They would have to if he were to remain, for he would be no Consort. But it was Mary who was heiress to the throne.

So he was uncertain about his future. He was uncertain too about his private life. His was a strange complex character and perhaps this was because of his physical disabilities. He longed to be a great hero, a fighter of causes, a worthy ancestor of William the Silent. He was a courageous soldier; he was an astute ruler; this he had proved. But he was lacking in the qualities he most longed to possess.

Beside him now was Bentinck—his dearest Bentinck—his first minister who had saved his life by nursing him through the small pox years ago before his marriage. When the disease had been at its most virulent Bentinck had slept in his bed because he believed—as many did—that by sleeping in the bed of a sufferer at such a time it was certain that one would catch the disease and so reduce the severity of the attack. Bentinck had caught the small pox, had come near to death himself; and by a mercy they had both recovered. That was devotion; that was love.

Love? He loved Bentinck and Bentinck loved him; and for neither of them would there be another love such as that they bore each other.

This was uneasy knowledge. Bentinck had married; his wife had died only a week or so ago, but Bentinck had not been at her bedside, because his first duty was to his master. She had left five children, and Bentinck was sad now, but a wife could not mean to him what his master did—nor could any woman take Bentinck’s place with William.

Bentinck had married Anne Villiers and William had taken for his mistress her elder sister Elizabeth. This made an odd kinship between them. For Elizabeth, William had a love he could not give to Mary, and this could be set beside Bentinck’s devotion to his wife. Anne had been docile, devoted to her husband and Bentinck would miss her. Elizabeth was shrewd and clever and the cast in her eyes seemed attractive to William because it was in a sense a deformity.

Their relationships were complicated; but at the center of it all was William’s love for Bentinck; his interest in members of his own sex which was always greater than what he felt for the opposite one, except in the case of Elizabeth.

His relationship with his wife had always been an uncomfortable one for him. Mary was different in every way from himself; she had been brought up in the merry wicked Court of England where people made no attempt to hide their affections. She had infuriated him at the beginning of their acquaintance by weeping copiously when she had heard he was to be her bridegroom—and not in secret either. She had received congratulations with red eyes and an expression of woe which had made him more sullen and uncouth than ever, so that the English had said what an unsatisfactory lover he was, and he knew that in some quarters he had been called Caliban and the Dutch Monster.

And it was Mary’s fault, for had she been gracious he would have been, and the people of England would have had an entirely different notion of him.

And all the years of their uneasy marriage he had wondered what her attitude would be when she were Queen of England. To what position would he be assigned? Recently, thanks to the tact of Dr. Burnet who had visited them in Holland, he had discovered that Mary had no intention of not sharing her crown with him. Like the dutiful wife he had forced her to become she had declared that it was always a wife’s duty to obey her husband.

Very gratifying, but what of the people of England?

In the Upper and Lower Houses of Parliament fierce debates were in progress.

William was aware of this and was angry. He had come from Holland to save this country from papist rule and because he had come James was deposed; yet they were asking themselves whether or not they would have him.

Some were suggesting that Mary should be proclaimed Regent because they did not care to see the line of succession tampered with. Mary Regent for how long? Until the Prince of Wales was of an age to return?