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

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?

Others were for making Mary Queen of England and William Consort; and that was something to which William would never agree.

Some had suggested that William should be King, for after all he was the next male in the line of succession; but there was great opposition to this. In spite of his English mother he was a Dutchman, and there were two English princesses who came before him.

Lord Danby, who hoped that if he showed his support for Mary, she would make him her chief adviser when she arrived in England, wrote to her, giving her accounts of all that was happening.

“It is my desire,” he told her, “to set you on the throne alone and I do not doubt that I shall do this.”

So confident was Danby that the Queen would be delighted with his endeavors and so certain was he that he could persuade the rest of the ministers to follow him, that he summoned a further meeting to which he invited William.

On receiving the invitation William sent for Bentinck.

“What do you think of this?” he asked.

“They are going to put some proposition before you.”

“I have no intention of going to hear it. I find it most undignified. I shall remain aloof.”

Bentinck nodded. “It is better so. I believe Danby is going to suggest that the Princess of Orange shall be the sole sovereign.”

William’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly, but Bentinck who knew his beloved friend and master well was aware of the change of expression.

“I shall never be my wife’s gentleman usher!” said William furiously.

“You may rely on me to make that plain.”

So it was Bentinck who attended the meeting on behalf of his master and he made it clear to the assembly that their terms were unacceptable to William.

Danby was furious.

“The only proposition which would be acceptable to my master,” Bentinck explained, “would be a conjunctive sovereignty, and then there would be a condition that he should have sole administration of affairs.”

Danby said there was no point in continuing with the meeting.

But when he received Mary’s reply he was taken aback.

“I am the Prince’s wife,” she wrote, “and would never be other than what should be in conjunction with him; I shall take it extremely unkindly, if any, under pretence of their care for me, should set up a divided interest between me and the Prince.”

Mary sent a copy of this letter to William and when he read it he smiled in triumph. He had known he could rely on her; he had subdued her completely; he had made that shuddering bride into a docile wife.

He showed the letter to Bentinck. “Now I think,” he said, “we can afford to take the strong line and I will see them. Summon them and tell them that I will make my feelings clear to them.”

And when they came he looked at them coldly and there was disdain in his expression for that which they treasured so highly and for which they thought he yearned. He was going to show them the contrary.