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

But there was still Anne. He smiled lovingly. She would always remember the closeness of their relationship. To whom had she come when she needed help? Always to her father because she knew that there she would find it.

Her husband had deserted him—but he was a weak fellow and never of much account. It would be different with Anne. When he was with his daughter he would be rejuvenated; together they would stand against his enemies.

As he came near to London he said: “I shall go first to the Queen and then to the Cockpit.”

He found Mary Beatrice in a state of great anxiety and terror that the mob would rise against her as they had when they believed she had abducted the Princess.

Unceremoniously she threw herself into her husband’s arms and wept while she embraced him and told him how happy she was to see him alive.

“We are surrounded by traitors,” she informed him.

“All will be well,” he replied. “I am going to see Anne and we will talk of this together.”

“Anne!” cried Mary Beatrice. “Did you not know then?”

“Know?” The fear was obvious in his voice and eyes.

“She has gone, like all the others,” said Mary Beatrice passionately. “She like all the others is against you.” He stared at her and she went on passionately: “You don’t believe it. You have blinded yourself. She and Sarah Churchill have long been your enemies. They are for Mary and Orange. She has forgotten her father because she does not want my son to have the crown which she hopes one day will be hers.”

“It cannot be true,” whispered James.

“Is it not? She has flown from the Cockpit. She has gone to join her husband, she says. She has gone to join them . She is against us as Mary is … as William is.”

James sank on to a stool and looked at his boots; then slowly the tears began to form in his eyes.

“God help me,” he said, “my own children have forsaken me.”

The conflict was over; it had been a bloodless revolution. A victory for Protestant England against the intrusion of Catholicism.

William of Orange had ridden to St. James’s Palace in a closed carriage. It was true it was raining but crowds had gathered expecting a little display; and there was William, with his long twisted nose, his great periwig that seemed too big for his little body, his stooping shoulders, his pale cold face. Not a King to please the English. How different from his merry Uncle Charles who on his Restoration had seemed all that a merry monarch of a merry country should be. But William was a Protestant and religion was more important than merrymaking; and in any case it was his wife Mary who was to be their Queen.

Mary Beatrice had escaped to France with the little boy who was called the Prince of Wales by James’s supporters, known as the “Jacks,” or Jacobites; but there were many who preferred to believe that the child had been introduced into the Queen’s bed by means of a warming-pan.

Anne had joined Prince George in Oxford where the people made much of them and called Anne the heiress to the throne. James had left Whitehall by means of a secret passage and had made his way to Sheerness where he intended to take a boat to France and join his wife and son; but he was captured and brought back to Whitehall.

The position was a delicate one. James had friends in London and even those who had been against him were moved to pity because his daughters had deserted him. He was a prisoner but on the orders of Orange, who was eager to avoid direct conflict, many opportunities were given him to escape.

James took advantage of this.

Only when James was sent out of London did Anne return with Sarah and Prince George.

The people came out into the streets to welcome the Princess who was so much more to their liking than grim William. Having no idea of the intrigues which had gone on at the Cockpit they declared their pity for her—poor lady to be torn between her duty to her father and to her religion. She had chosen rightly though and they were glad of it. This was the end of James; and the fear of Catholicism was over.

James meanwhile had been taken to Rochester, but his guards had had secret instructions to allow him to escape if possible. His wife and son were in France; William of Orange would be pleased if he were to join them there because he foresaw awkward complications if James stayed in England.

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.

THE UNEASY CORONATION

illiam 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.