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

She was on the point of explaining; but he had turned. She watched him walk from the room—a little figure of a man, slightly hunchbacked, wheezing as he walked—yet a man, she knew, of brilliance, a great leader, the greatest hero alive.

What would she do? thought William. He wanted to be alone to think. A great deal depended on this. He believed that once she disobeyed him, she would continue to do so. The people liked her; they hated him. They did not want him. It was only the ministers who knew him for an astute ruler who had some notion of his genius, who had seen what he had done for Holland who believed he was necessary to them in this difficult time. Later when things were more settled at home, he would go to Ireland and deal with the troubles there. They wanted him for that. They wanted a working King who could lead them in battle, who would plan at the Council table. And they wanted a decorative Queen who could look regal and stately and move among the people as a symbol.

But it was the people who decided in the end—the mob that wanted to laugh and scream, to love or hate. They wanted Mary and not William.

She did not know—or did she—what power she held over him?

This was more than a visit to the playhouse.

What to do? Mary was bewildered. At the playhouse they would be waiting for her. The crowded audience had gone there to watch the royal box rather than the stage. They would try to read hidden meanings in any slightly ambiguous phrases; and she wanted to be there, calm and regal; she had to show them that she was not afraid. Her father had been deposed, true, but they had forgotten that they had helped to depose him. Had they not set their minds and hearts against Popery? She was merely a figurehead; she and William had been sent for. They had not come of their own desire—or she had not.

Her women had come back into the apartment; they would know what had taken place, for there was always someone to listen at doors and report.

He is the master, they would be saying. She must do as he says.

“Your Majesty, it is time we left?” said the Countess of Derby.

Mary hesitated; then she said: “I am in no mood for the theater tonight.”

She knew that behind her back they were exchanging glances. They would be saying: She dares not because he has forbidden it.

But she was the Queen and she wanted to bring some gaiety into her life. The spark of rebellion flared.

“I have heard,” she said, “that a certain Mrs. Wise has prophesied that my father will return. I have a fancy to go to her and have her tell my fortune.”

They were astonished. The Queen to visit a fortune teller! She laughed at them and her eyes sparkled with the thought of the coming adventure. She would not disobey William by going to the playhouse but at the same time she would do something far more daring.

There was excitement in the apartment, for her women, finding Court life dull, were ready enough to enter into the adventure.

She was reminded of the days of childhood when her Uncle Charles indulged in many an adventure incognito, usually concerned with a woman; but how the people had enjoyed those adventures of his! A King and Queen should go among the people; it was what the people wanted. It was not to be expected that every monarch should be a cold aloof hero, who thought of nothing but his country’s good … except of course when he was enjoying his mistress’s company, or that of his beloved Bentinck. Those were thoughts which Mary tried to avoid, but they were there at the back of her mind; just as was the knowledge that she was the Queen, the first heir; she was the reason why they had been accepted as King and Queen of England. In that case if she wished to have her fortune told, why should she not?

When the royal party arrived at Mrs. Wise’s house on the riverside, she somewhat reluctantly invited the party to enter. The Queen, in the rich gown she had intended to wear for the theater, and with her company of almost as splendidly attired ladies, looked incongruous in the small room.

Mrs. Wise, who seemed to think that her wisdom set her on a level with royalty, made a grudging curtsey and said gruffly that she could not understand the object of Her Majesty’s visit.

“But Mrs. Wise, I have heard of your prophecies. I want news of my father. I want to know if it is true that he has been killed. I want to know if he will return. I want to know what the future holds for me.”

“I will not read Your Majesty’s hand,” said the woman, “for I’d have naught good to tell you.”

“How can you know that until you tell my fortune?”

“The King was driven from his throne. I see nothing good for those who drove him away.”

Lady Derby whispered: “She is a well known Jacobite, Your Majesty.”

“And cares not who knows it,” added Mrs. Wise.

“Then read Her Majesty’s future. That is all she asks of you,” suggested one of the women.

But Mrs. Wise refused.

Mary, who admired the woman’s obvious loyalty to her father laughed lightly and said: “I see our visit is in vain. Come, let us look in at one of the curiosity shops. I hear they are worth a visit.”

So they left Mrs. Wise and went along to a notorious shop where extraordinary curiosities were sold; this was one of many which had sprung up since the Restoration. On the lower floor were the objects to be sold and upstairs were rooms where gallants could entertain ladies or vice versa. The laxity of morals which had become an accepted part of life after the years of Puritan rule had made these shops a commonplace; and the most notorious of them all was Mrs. Graden’s.

Here Mary was led and Mrs. Graden came out with great glee to welcome Her Majesty. It was rather pleasant to be so treated after the rudeness of Mrs. Wise; and when Mrs. Graden ordered her servants to prepare a supper and on her knees implored the Queen to partake of it, Mary agreed.

It was a merry little supper party with good food and music.

Mary felt soothed by the evening’s entertainment, particularly as, while not disobeying William, she had done something of which he would not approve.

That was the beginning of a new kind of entertainment.

The Queen’s visits to the bazaars pleased the people. They liked her to move among them, to show that although married to Dutch William, she was not like him.

Having visited Mrs. Graden’s, she must go to Mrs. Ferguson’s and to Mrs. De Vett’s; she would buy ribbons and headdresses and knickknacks which they had to sell. It was so good for business.

But it was not possible to please everyone, Mrs. Potter who had a house in Exeter Change wanted to know why the Queen did not come to her house. Being a garrulous woman she did not keep her observations to herself.

“Why am I not chosen?” she demanded one day as she stood at the door of her shop. “Is Mrs. Graden any better than I? Does she sell finer ribands? Do higher nobility entertain in her back rooms than in mine? I tell you this much. The Queen has more reason to come to me than to Mrs. Graden’s, because the plot to bring William and Mary to the throne and to send James off was hatched in my house.”