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

But where Sarah was, Anne wanted to be, and she found herself caught up in the excitement.

Sarah’s eyes were brilliant with excitement. This was adventure such as she loved; and after it she and Anne were going to be closer than ever. She was certain of William’s victory for now he would have John on his side and they could not fail. This was going to be the end of Catholic James and his son; it would be William and Mary and afterward … Anne. And Anne meant Sarah. What a future would be hers as uncrowned Queen! The Kings of France were ruled by their mistresses, so shouldn’t Anne be ruled by Sarah? There should be no one in Anne’s life to compare with Sarah. Sarah had at times been a little anxious about the devotion between Anne and her husband. But George was a bore and Anne’s nature was to be more fond of her own sex than the opposite. She had married and as soon as she had borne one child—which unfortunately did not live—she was pregnant with another, and this order of things was becoming an expected pattern; not once during her married life had Anne looked at another man. There had been the abortive affair with Mulgrave, but that, Sarah told herself, had been Anne’s desire not so much for a man but to imitate her friend who was happily married. Anne was placid, accepting life as it came. She had married because that was expected of her; she loved her husband because it was impossible to dislike him; she lived a normal married life because it was planned for her. Had she made her own way it would have been to women she turned.

Sarah had no such love for her own sex. Sarah loved herself and her husband and children, and her love was the sort which expressed itself, not in tenderness or unselfish devotion but in getting the best in life for them all.

Sarah saw herself the strong and dominant figure with complete understanding of Anne who could not understand herself.

The plot was laid. Anne was to go to her chamber assisted by Mrs. Danvers and Mrs. Buss and afterward when she was alone Sarah would creep up the private stairway and help her dress; then they would join Lady Fitzharding by the same staircase and escape.

Anne could hear the rain beating against the windows of the Cockpit. It was a wild night, a night of adventure. She was trying to appear normal but she was very anxious; Mr. Freeman had gone over to William; so had Mr. Morley; and of course they had not gone alone but taken their men with them. The country was rising against her father; and she, lying comfortably on her couch, munching her sweetmeats, had helped to bring about this situation.

Of course he was a Catholic. He had imprisoned the Bishops which was a wicked thing to do; he had tried to force Catholicism on a country which did not want it; he had led a scandalous life—as scandalous as his brother Charles’s. Charles had loved beautiful and attractive women; James had seemed to choose the most unattractive. Charles had once said that James, in spite of being so devout, loved women even more than he did, but chose such women as his priests might have provided for his penances. Now he had a Queen who was a beautiful creature but he preferred plain Catherine Sedley and others. He was a most immoral man, Anne assured herself. Yet at the same time she did not wish to face him when he came back to London. He would know, of course, that she was with his enemies. There came a time when it was impossible not to show which side one was on; and for that reason she did not want to see him again because she would never be able to look him in the face.

All this she was thinking while she listened to the rain and thought of escape. All would be well because Sarah had planned it. Sarah would see that nothing went wrong.

All the same it was very difficult to hide how excited she was from Danvers and Buss.

Mrs. Buss, who had been her nurse as a child and regarded herself as a specially privileged person came bustling in.

“Oh, my dear Madam! Sitting by the window in the cold … and no shawl about your shoulders!”

“I’m not cold, Buss.”

“Not cold indeed! Why I saw you shiver.”

“Buss, I am not your baby now, you know.”

“You will always be my baby.”

“Buss, I should like to get to bed quickly. I am rather tired.”

“Come then, Madam dear. Let Buss take off your shoes. Danvers, Her Highness is tired. Has the bed been warmed?”

They fussed about her, divesting her of clothes which she would have to put on again. But Sarah would help her dress. It was all set for one o’clock, and it was not yet midnight, so there was plenty of time.

When they had covered her up she said: “Draw the curtains. I am tired.”

They obeyed and soon she was alone, lying there, awaiting the summons from Sarah.

At the appointed time the bed curtains parted and there was Sarah with her clothes. Hurriedly she dressed, and taking Sarah’s hand went to Sarah’s apartment by way of the secret stair so that Danvers and Buss sleeping in the anteroom did not hear them leave.

In a short time they were at the door of the Cockpit.

“Your Highness.” It was Lord Dorset whom Sarah had commissioned to conduct them to the hackney coach which Henry Compton, the ex-Bishop of London would have waiting for them. Compton had been the governor of the Princesses Mary and Anne in their childhood and had been chosen by King Charles when his brother was becoming so unpopular that it had been necessary to take his children’s education out of his hands. Compton had fallen out of favor with James when he came to the throne and lost his offices, for the Bishop was a sturdy Protestant, but he had kept in touch with his old pupil and heartily approved of her attitude toward her father.

Sarah said: “What a night! Let us make for the coach with all speed, my lord.”

“It means crossing the park,” Dorset replied.

Sarah made an impatient noise with her lips and Dorset turned away from her to offer his arm to the Princess.

“If Your Highness will honor me …”

Anne took his arm, hoping that he had, as she heard, reformed his ways. It was true he was no longer a young man; he had been a great favorite of King Charles, for in his youth he had been one of the wits of the Court; he had taken part in many disgraceful scenes which some members of Charles’s Court had seen fit to call frolics, but that was long ago in his wild youth and he must be fifty now. James had always disliked him and Dorset was not one to curb his exuberance to seek favor; he had written satires about Catherine Sedley; and when the Bishops had been imprisoned had openly declared his sympathy with them. This had necessitated his retirement from Court. So both Compton and Dorset were her father’s enemies.

More than ever Anne wanted to get away; she was afraid now that their flight would be discovered and they be brought back. “Yes,” she said, “and let us hurry.”

The rain which had been falling all day had turned the soft soil of the park to mud, and Anne was not equipped for walking—a pastime in which she never indulged if she could help it.

On Dorset’s arm with Sarah and Lady Fitzharding beside her they started across the park; but they had not gone far when Anne gave a cry of dismay; her high heeled shoe had slipped off, and she was up to her ankles in mud.

“Where is Her Highness’s shoe?” asked Sarah imperiously.

They all peered down into the mud for the delicate slipper, but the night was dark and they could not see it.