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

There was a whisper in some circles that if a son was born to the King and Queen, William of Orange would come to England and make a bid to take the crown from him on behalf of his wife.

This was a time of tension and great danger—realized by all except the King.

James, with his penchant for falling into trouble just at the time when it could bring him most harm, sent the Archbishop of Canterbury and six bishops to the Tower for asking to be excused from ordering the reading of the Declaration of Indulgence in the churches. The country was filled with horror, and feeling against the King increased.

Anne was growing alarmed at the speed with which tension was rising. Her sister had said that she must be present at the birth and see for herself that the child was genuinely the Queen’s.

This was disturbing because secretly she knew that the Queen was pregnant, and if she were present at the birth how could she continue with this pleasant fantasy? She, who had never had any great desire for action, was becoming too deeply involved. What she liked was to lie on her couch, with Sarah sitting beside her, while she made the most fantastic accusations against anyone they cared to slander. That was quite different from taking an active part.

“I feel very unwell,” she told her father. “I think I shall go to Bath at once.”

He was immediately concerned. “You should be here for the birth,” he said, “but I do not wish you to run any risk of a return of your fever.”

“I fear I should if I remained.”

“Then, my dear, you must go. The Queen will be sorry, but I am sure she will understand.”

The Queen was not in the least sorry. When Anne told her of her decision to leave, Mary Beatrice looked at her coldly. They both remembered the incident of the glove.

“So I shall not be here when Your Majesty lies in,” said Anne demurely.

“It may be that you will have returned by then. I think my confinement will be after July.”

“Oh, Madam, I think you will be brought to bed before I return,” replied Anne.

The Queen did not answer and shortly afterward Anne left.

Repeating the conversation to Sarah, Anne explained: “You will see, the child will be born while I am away.”

“One less witness,” said Sarah. “You can depend upon it.”

This idea pleased them both and they refrained from reminding each other that there was no need for Anne to leave London and it was entirely her own wish that she should go to Bath.

Shortly after, Anne, with a few of her women including Sarah, left London.

The repairs to the apartment in St. James’s Palace were not completed by June and the Queen was growing anxious.

“I am determined to lie in at St. James’s,” she said.

“Your Majesty, there is some work to be completed yet,” she was told.

“Please ask them to hurry,” she replied.

As the days passed she became more and more concerned, seeming to be very fearful of not being able to get to St. James’s in time. Her aversion to Whitehall was unnatural, said her enemies.

All during Saturday, the 9th of June, she was very restless, and she sent to St. James’s to ask how the work was progessing.

“It will be finished, Your Majesty, by the end of the day,” she was told.

“It must be,” she said, “for I believe my time is near and I am determined to lie at St. James’s tonight if I have to lie on the boards.”

Her remarks were noted and her enemies were ready to see deep meaning behind them. Before the Queen settled down to cards once more she sent to St. James’s and the reply came back that the work would be finished before night; her bed was being set up and word would be sent as soon as her apartment was ready.

The play was a little wild that night; the Queen’s eyes were on the door and the eyes of almost everyone else were on the Queen.

It was about ten o’clock when the message arrived breathlessly from St. James’s, to announce that the Queen’s apartments were ready now.

Mary Beatrice half rose in her chair; then she remembered that etiquette demanded the party should not be broken up until the game was completed. She sat impatiently while the play went on as though in fear that the child would be born before she had time to make the short journey from palace to palace.

Her relief was apparent when at eleven the game was completed and she declared her intention of leaving at once. Her sedan chair was brought and because of the solemnity of the occasion, when she was carried from Whitehall through the park to St. James’s, her Chamberlain, Sidney Godolphin, walked beside her chair. James joined the party and contentedly Mary Beatrice took possession of her apartments, there to await the birth which, before it was taking place, was causing more speculation throughout the country than any other had before.

On Trinity Sunday , the 10th of June, the Queen awoke and remembered with relief that she was in her apartments in St. James’s Palace. She found that she was trembling; the child would be born today she was sure. It was not that she was afraid of the pains of birth; heaven knew she longed for the child to be born; but there were too many enemies about her, and those who should have been her friends were turning against her. Anne, her stepdaughter, had, in the last months, grown sly and secretive. What did Anne say of her when she was not there to defend herself? And there was Mary, she whom she had affectionately called her “dear Lemon” because she was married to William of Orange. Had she really detected a coldness in Mary’s letters? She called to one of her women.

“Send for the King,” she said, “and have everyone summoned who should be present when my child is born.”

She left her bed then and sat down on a tabouret to wait.

Margaret Dawson, one of her most trusted women, who had been in the service of the first Duchess of York and had attended the births of Anne and Mary, came hurrying in.

“Your Majesty,” she cried, “has your time come then?”

“It is close, Margaret,” said the Queen.

Margaret saw that the Queen was trembling, and asked if she were cold.

“Strange, is it not?” answered Mary Beatrice. “Cold on a morning in June. Margaret, I am so … uneasy.”

“Your Majesty, it is often thus at this stage.”

“So much depends on this, Margaret. Is the pallet ready?”

“It is not yet aired, Your Majesty.”

“Then have it aired immediately and when this is done I will go to it.”

The pallet was in the next room and as Margaret went to do the Queen’s bidding, the King arrived.

“My dear,” he said, taking the Queen’s hand and kissing it, “has the time come then? Then all those who are at church must be sent for without delay.”

She nodded; for those at church were their enemies, the Protestants, and it was imperative that they should be present at the birth.

“Let me take you to your pallet,” said the King.

“They are airing it now.”

“Then I will make sure that all those who should be here are summoned.”

A warming-pan was being carried into the Queen’s lying-in chamber. Margaret Dawson threw back the quilt, the pan was placed in the bed, and the covers drawn over it.

“The bed must be thoroughly aired,” said Margaret, “before her Majesty gets into it.”

Shortly afterward Lady Sunderland arrived.

“How is it?” she said to Margaret Dawson.