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

Mary assured him that the King would be delighted.

“And now I have a present for you,” she said.

He looked pleased; he was certain that she was going to offer him a blue ribbon. He had heard so much talk about the Garter between his parents that he had begun to regard it with awe and look forward to the day he would wear it over his uniform. All his soldiers must be told in advance that it was a great honor and they must have a special field day to mark the occasion.

So when the Queen’s woman brought in a bird in a cage he was taken aback.

“There!” said Mary. “Is that not a beautiful creature.”

Gloucester regarded the bird intently. “Yes, it is a beautiful creature,” he said.

“I knew you would like it. How much more beautiful than a Garter.”

He looked stonily at the cage.

“I will give it to you,” said Mary. He bowed courteously but distantly.

“Madam,” he said very distinctly, “I would not rob Your Majesty of the creature.”

Then to the astonishment of the Queen he began to talk of other matters.

Sarah had been talking to Princess Anne when suddenly she rose and throwing open a door found Mrs. Pack standing very close to it.

“Ah, Mrs. Pack, I expected to find you there!”

“Did you?” said Mrs. Pack, for the moment abashed.

“Oh, yes. A favorite spot of yours.” Sarah smiled and then let her expression become grim. She shut the door with a bang and went back to the Princess.

“There we have our spy,” she said. “I have told you before, Mrs. Morley, that you should suspect her.”

“I wish she would go.”

“You wish she would go? But in this household your wishes are law.”

“My boy has an affection for her.”

“He cares for nothing but his soldiers. Give him a few more to drill and order about and he’ll gladly exchange Mrs. Pack for them.”

To order about? thought Anne. Sarah liked to order people about.

She dismissed the thought at once; it was so unfair to Sarah who thought only of her comfort. But what to do about this Mrs. Pack? The woman was a spy for the Queen. There would always be spies. If you were rid of one, others took their places. That was why Barbara Fitzharding had remained. She was a good governess to Anne’s boy even though she did report everything to her sister. There must always be spies.

“Pack must pack,” said Sarah facetiously.

But Anne shook her head. “My boy wouldn’t like that. Remember she fed him. I shall never forget the day she came to the nursery. Dear Mr. Morley and I were breaking our hearts because we thought we were going to lose our boy.”

“My dear Mrs. Morley, because Pack was a good wet nurse that does not mean that she should be allowed to spy on your household.”

“The boy is fond of her.”

“Then you will not let her go?”

“I do not care to make a hasty decision on such a matter.” Sarah was quite obviously angry, but Anne was firm.

It was Mrs . Pack who made the decision. She had been found out and she guessed her usefulness was at an end. She told the Queen what had happened and Mary gave Mr. Pack a place in the Custom House which Mrs. Pack gratefully accepted on his behalf. Then Mrs. Pack addressed herself to Anne.

“Madam,” she said, “I am begging leave to retire as the Duke is now growing too old for a nurse and I find my health failing me.”

Anne was pleased. This gave her an opportunity of pleasing Sarah without upsetting a woman to whom she must always be grateful, so she settled an annuity of forty pounds a year on Mrs. Pack who went to join her husband and family at Deptford.

It was true that Mrs. Pack’s health was not as good as it had once been; and the Deptford air did not suit her as Kensington had.

Only a few weeks after she had left she caught the small pox.

The Duke of Gloucester who had been distressed when she left was even more so when he heard that she was ill. He wanted to visit her, but when this was forbidden, he sent messengers each day to inquire for her health.

He was noticeably less exuberant than he had been; and the attendants said that there was a closeness between a wet nurse and a child she had suckled which nothing could break.

The Duke of Gloucester stood staring disconsolately out of the window. Several of his attendants noticed that he had been quiet that day.

Mrs. Wanley, one of the women of the household, asked him if he were feeling ill.

“No,” he told her; and continued to stare out of the window.

There was something odd about the child, yet at the same time lovable. He was so grown up in his mind and yet so physically delicate. Everyone in the household was constantly on the watch for a cold or an ague or fever.

“I know what,” said Mrs. Wanley; “you miss Mrs. Pack. You haven’t been the same since she went.”

He did not answer and she went on: “Poor Mrs. Pack. I always said the Deptford air wasn’t to be compared with this at Kensington. Why, she hadn’t been there a week when she took this small pox. Mind you, I haven’t heard that she’s got it badly …”

Gloucester said slowly: “Mrs. Pack will die tomorrow.”

Then he walked slowly out of the room.

Mrs. Wanley staring after him, murmured: “Lord have mercy on us!” and then shrugged her shoulders.

She remembered the remark the next day, though, for Gloucester did not send to Deptford as he had every day since he had heard of Mrs. Pack’s illness.

Lewis Jenkins, thinking that he had forgotten, reminded him.

“It is no use sending,” said Gloucester gravely, “for Mrs. Pack is dead.”

“Dead!” cried Lewis. “How do you know.”

“That is no matter,” answered Gloucester, “but I am sure she is dead.”

The entire household was discussing this strange incident and Jenkins, out of curiosity, sent a messenger to Deptford to find out the state of Mrs. Pack’s health.

When the messenger returned several of the servants were eagerly waiting for him.

“Mrs. Pack died today,” he said.

They looked at each other. The little Duke of Gloucester was strange in more ways than one.

Oddly enough now that Mrs. Pack was dead he ceased to grieve for her, and it was almost as though she had never existed.

Mary, hearing the story, was struck by the strangeness of her nephew and wanted to know more about the incident and asked him if he were very upset because his old nurse was dead.

His expression was stony suddenly. He looked into his aunt’s face and said coldly: “No, Madam.”

Then in that disconcertingly adult manner, he began to talk of other subjects.

The news from the Continent was not good; Mary was beset by troubles. The Whigs were in revolt against William’s policies both at home and abroad, for they had supported him in the first place—expecting him to take orders from them, and the Tories were naturally dissatisfied. Why, Mary wondered, did men covet crowns? When she thought of the pleasant life she and William might have had, living quietly in Holland she could cry with frustration. But then William was a born leader; he would never have been content with the simple life.