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

She had been watching that very personable young man Arnold Joost van Keppel who although as yet only a page in William’s service had already attracted his master’s attention. William could almost smile with pleasure when he looked at that fresh young face and it was already clear that he liked to have the boy near him.

Keppel was bright; it was certain that he was ambitious. Poor Bentinck was growing old and showed signs of strain, for he was as deeply involved in state matters as his master. It was not that Elizabeth hoped to oust Bentinck from William’s affections. That would be an impossibility; they would be friends until death parted them; but there was no reason why someone younger, gayer and more handsome, might not take up some of the King’s attention.

When she was next with the King she mentioned Keppel.

“A charming boy,” she commented, “and one I think who is very eager to serve you.”

“I have noticed him,” said William, and in spite of his attempt to hide it there was a gentle note in his voice.

“And of good family and breeding,” added Elizabeth. “Such a young man should hold a higher post than page of honor.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” admitted William.

“There will be a vacant place in the bedchamber soon.”

“He shall have it,” said William, and smiled affectionately at his mistress who had the fortunate knack of anticipating his wishes.

Shortly afterward Arnold Joost van Keppel became Groom of the Bedchamber and Master of the Robes.

During that early summer the city was full of rumors. In Ireland William’s army was fighting against that of James. There were constant reports that James had died; that he landed in England; that he was defeated; that he had beaten the King’s men.

There was frequent secret drinking to the “King over the Water”; the ominous “Squeezings of the Orange.”

William had taken up his headquarters at Hampton Court; he believed that he would soon have to go to Ireland, and he would have been there now but for the fact that his ministers had begged him to remain.

Mary yearned to have a little gaiety, and although this was not possible at Hampton Court when William had to come to London and stayed at St. James’s she accompanied him, and on these occasions made some attempt to make a Court there.

William turned his back on such frivolities, but he realized that it was no bad thing that they should take place. He was so unpopular largely because of his uncouth and retiring manners; the people—who would complain of the Court’s extravagance, yet wanted an extravagant Court—said he was a dullard and they might as well have no King as King William. But whenever the Queen appeared they cheered, for she obviously liked gaiety. She had been brought up in the right way, to laugh and dance and make merry.

Mary declared that during one of her sojourns at St. James’s she would see a play at the playhouse.

Now a play must be very carefully selected because many of them were historical and there must be no references which could apply to the present delicate situation. One which was definitely banned was of course King Lear. That was a play which would never be played during the reign of William and Mary.

Mary discussed the matter excitedly with her ladies of honor: the Countess of Derby, her first lady and Mistress of the Robes, mentioned a play which had been banned under James.

“One of Mr. Dryden’s,” she said. “I believe it is most enlivening.”

“And why was it banned?” asked Mrs. Mordaunt, another of the Queen’s women.

“It was thought to contain slighting references to the Catholics, I believe,” replied the Countess.

“Then,” said Mary, “it might be a good one to have. I have always admired Mr. Dryden’s work. What is it’s name?”

“The Spanish Friar , I think, Your Majesty. Shall I inquire?”

“Pray do,” said the Queen. “I can scarce wait to see it. I have always loved the play. I remember in my uncle’s time how he was constantly at the playhouse.”

They all looked a little wistful for the golden days of the merry Monarch. It was all so different now. So many people were comparing William with Oliver Cromwell, and if he had his way, they were sure there would be a return to puritanism.

But the Queen was different; everyone’s hopes were fixed on the Queen.

There were a hundred little irritations in Mary’s life. Anne who was aloof and rarely spoke to her; Sarah Churchill was as insolent as she dared be; Elizabeth Villiers, sly and retiring, was nevertheless keeping her hold on William’s affections, and as if that were not enough there had to be Catherine Sedley.

Mary had always disliked the woman—no beauty, but like her father, the rake and poet who had been a favorite of Uncle Charles, full of a wild joy in living and a desire to act in such a way as to call attention to herself.

She had been one of the most successful mistresses of James and although he had made several attempts to cast her off, he had never been able to do so. He had made her Countess of Dorchester and given her a fine town house which she now occupied, and she often came to Court which Mary thought was an affront to herself. Such people should have the decency to stay away. It was even said that she was working with the Jacobites to bring James back and that she cared not who knew it.

She was quick-witted and entertained a large company at her fashionable house. There she would talk in an affectionate and slighting way of her lover and drink the health of the King over the Water.

She was almost ugly and she knew it. “One of his penances,” she called herself. “He seemed to choose us for our ugliness,” she added. “Well, he liked us that way. As for wit, if any of us had any he had not enough to discover—so he did not choose us for that.”

These remarks were carried back to Mary. It shocked her sense of propriety that her father’s ex-mistress should be talking so openly of their relationship.

“The Countess of Dorchester indeed!” said Mary indignantly. “If she comes to Court I shall treat her as no higher than her father’s daughter.”

When this was reported to Catherine Sedley she laughed and said: “Then I shall treat the Queen as her mother’s.” An insult, for Mary’s mother, Anne Hyde, was of not such a high rank as Catherine’s father.

These were minor irritations to which one must submit; William’s advice as to how to deal with them could not be asked, for he would not allow himself to be drawn into such trivialities, and Mary must settle them herself.

On this evening she was happily preparing to go to the Theater Royal for Dryden’s Spanish Friar . To be carried to the theater in her chair, to sit in the royal box and receive the acclaim of the people, would make her feel contented, more as a Queen should feel; and perhaps in time she would persuade William to come to the play, to mingle more with the people. Then perhaps she would be able to make them see what a noble hero he was and him to understand how necessary it was to step down from one’s pedestal at times and be a popular hero.

Anne would be present, very far advanced in pregnancy. Surely the child must soon be born! And unfortunately with her would be that odious Churchill woman. Well, it was certainly a royal occasion, for fashionable London had turned out to see the play and it was like the old days. Mary, glittering with jewels, tall, stately, and plumply imposing looking as a Queen should look. The people cheered her, and she smiled her acknowledgment. She had to be doubly charming to make up for William’s moroseness. But William was not here tonight, and she must convey to them that he was engaged on the serious matters of kingship, planning how to win the war in Ireland. Oh, no, an unfortunate subject! He was working hard for the good of them all, to bring them peace and prosperity.