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

Yet William summoned a Council of Ministers.

“I have made a mistake in accepting this crown,” he said. “I can do nothing more for you when you are warring with each other and resent me. The Queen pleases you, so I will leave the government in her hands and go to Holland.”

There was an immediate protest from the Council.

“I have been ill-used,” William reminded them, “and in such circumstances have no wish to remain. I told you when I took the crown that I did not attach such importance to it as some men did.”

So vehement were the protests that William saw how strong his position was.

“If I remained in control of this realm, I should depart at once for Ireland,” he said; but there was further protest at his suggestion, for they said they needed his services in England and begged him to remain.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I am a Protestant,” he said, “So I must do my duty, for this country could so easily be lost to the papists.”

When Mary heard that William had threatened to leave for Holland she was distraught, and went to William with tears in her eyes and begged him not to leave her.

“You have succeeded in making yourself popular with the people,” he told her. “They want you, but they are not inclined to accept me.”

“They are so foolish, William.”

“The Council of Ministers have begged me to stay. So they appear to think I may be of use to them.”

“Then I join my pleas with theirs, William.”

He looked at her coldly, remembering her outburst on the morning of the Coronation. Deep within her there was great pride, and occasionally it asserted itself. He could not forget the manner in which she had upbraided him for letting James go. What had she wanted? Him to murder her father? Hold him a prisoner? Have him brought to trial?

She had dared to criticize him! It was for this reason that he had threatened to return to Holland, although in his heart he had no intention of going. Marlborough had been sent to Flanders, and Marlborough was one of the most brilliant of his soldiers, although he was a man completely dominated by self-interest and one must, while making use of his services, never forget that fact and be wary of him.

There was no need for William to go to Holland therefore; and he had no intention of going. He wanted his wife to grovel in her desire to keep him at her side, to pay for her insolence on the Coronation morning; he wanted the ministers to acknowledge that he and he alone was the man to deliver their country from the threat of papistry. Once they admitted this he would give his untiring devotion to their Cause—which was his own. But there must be continual appreciation, because there were times when his physical disabilities were almost unbearable. It was bad enough to be smaller than most men, slightly hunchbacked, far from prepossessing, but when in addition he was cursed with asthma, which was improved by riding in the open air, and by hemorrhoids which made riding often an agony, he must remind those about him constantly that in matters of the mind he towered farther above them, in spite of their physical advantages.

He released himself from the Queen’s embraces. “Very well,” he said. “But I had thought that since you expressed your disapproval of the manner in which I was conducting affairs, you might wish to govern alone.”

“Oh, William, you are thinking of that stupid stupid remark of mine. I was so distressed. It was the letter from my father coming at such a time. I must implore you to forgive me. I must assure you that I could not endure to live here while you were in Holland. You know that I only live for you.”

It was enough.

He said coolly: “Very well, I shall remain. But pray remember in future that I do not care to be treated with disrespect at any time, more especially in the presence of my subjects.”

“I will remember, and I crave your forgiveness, William, on my knees.…”

“Have done. I shall remain.”

He left her and she wept quietly wondering whether he had gone to Elizabeth Villiers or to Bentinck.

The Princess Anne was growing discontented. Looking around her it seemed to her that everyone was benefiting from the new reign except herself.

Sarah and John Churchill had their new title and the revenues that went with it. Mary was Queen of England and William was King, for as long as he should live, which meant that Anne had been set back a place.

This she would have accepted if the new King and Queen had treated her more kindly. All during the years of separation she and Mary had corresponded and deplored their separation; but now that they were together again they found that over the years they had changed. They were not the inseparable companions they had been in childhood. Mary had become the complete slave of that Dutch Monster whom nobody could like because he was so bad tempered and uncouth; Mary was simply not herself. She wanted to talk incessantly and play cards and dance—which was all very well, but at the same time she had to do exactly what Dutch William wanted her to. Mary was, it seemed to Anne, like a shadow of Caliban in spite of her easy manners and love of pleasure. Everything he said was right in her opinion, whereas everything Anne said and did was wrong.

Anne loved cards more than anything; she loved to gossip too, but she found she had little to say to Mary, who did not seem to like Sarah.

Anne was pregnant and she was becoming uneasy because she had had so many disappointments. This time she desired to have a son even more fervently than usual so that she could score over her sister who quite clearly could not get one.

George was pleasant but dull; he provided no excitement. To everything one said, however exciting a piece of gossip, he would murmur: “Est-il possible?” and then nod drowsily. He was getting fatter and slept a great deal of the time, and although Anne was sure he was the best husband she could have, she did not find his company stimulating.

That left Sarah. What would she do without Sarah—dear, violent, amusing Sarah, who could always make her feel alive on her most sluggish days!

Sarah was always fomenting trouble; and now that she had her Marlborough title, she was showing quite clearly her dislike of the Queen.

She came into Anne’s apartments to find her mistress drowsing, but as soon as Anne saw her she felt alert. Something had happened to make Sarah indignant.

“My dear Mrs. Morley,” she cried. “What now do you think? I have had this straight from Dillon, who heard it from Keppel.”

Dillon was a page in the Marlborough household and Keppel one in attendance on the King.

“Pray sit down, dear Mrs. Freeman, and tell me what is agitating you.”

“As you can guess it concerns my dear Mrs. Morley, for it is when I see injustice done to her that I lose my temper.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Anne. “What injustice?”

“Caliban has summoned Godolphin. He is a mean fellow, this King of ours. He cannot bear that money should be spent on anything but building and gardens and wars to set him more firmly on the throne. He asked Godolphin how it was possible for you to spend thirty thousand pounds a year.”

“How possible!” screamed Anne.

“Oh, yes, to mean William that seems a great deal of money.”

Anne’s face puckered. “But how can I manage on it?”

How could she indeed, Sarah wondered, when she gave such magnificent gifts to her friends and lost so much at cards. Wasting it on cards was folly, but it was well for Anne to have some outlet for spending money or there might be an inquiry as to where it all went. Gifts to the Churchills took care of quite a large portion of it; but the money was not wasted, Sarah assured herself; the Churchills were not people to fritter away their money. John was the most cautious of men—some might call him mean—and Sarah was no spendthrift. They wished to grow richer each year and Heaven knew they had begun poor enough.