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

This meant two things; there should be no return to that old Stuart love: The Divine Right of Kings; and James’s son by his Catholic wife should be kept from the throne as long as he adhered to the Catholic faith. A constitutional Monarchy and a Protestant King.

William could not live long; Anne was not a healthy woman; in view of the Act of Settlement eyes were turned to the House of Hanover in which James I’s granddaughter Sophia was Electress.

But William still lived and there was Anne, who was a young woman still. She was almost certain to become pregnant again soon and who knew what would happen? She had produced one child. Why should she not produce another?

It was hoped she would. What a lot of trouble that would save!

Death did not come singly to the royal family.

It had not been generally known that, early that year, James had had a stroke which left him partially paralysed. He lived on for a while but by September his condition had weakened and after a short illness he died at St. Germains.

In his last hours he reiterated that he forgave all his enemies and he mentioned specially his daughter Anne. He lovingly took farewell of Mary Beatrice, but he was not sorry to go; sickness and defeat had darkened his life, but what had hurt him most was the treachery of the daughters he had loved so dearly; that was something he would never forget. But the letter of Anne’s, who herself was suffering through a beloved child, had given him some comfort. He was glad that she had asked forgiveness and he had given it before leaving the world.

Louis came to his deathbed and James made a dying request of him.

“Here is my son,” he said. “In a few hours’ time he will be King of England. Will you, my good friend, promise me that you will recognize him as such.”

“I promise,” answered Louis.

William knew that war was inevitable. Louis of France had proclaimed the son of James II and Mary Beatrice, King James III of England.

There was a new King over the Water for the Catholics to drink to.

Only such an act could rouse William from the physical disabilities which were overwhelming him. His body might be failing him, but his mind was as alert as ever. The proclamation of James’ son as King of England was a minor issue. The question of the Spanish succession was involved; Charles II of Spain had named Louis’ grandson Philip of Anjou as his successor. This could only mean that Louis would have a big control over Spain and the balance of power in Europe would be upset. A European war was brewing fast and Holland and England would have to stand together against France and Spain if they were to survive.

Such a project was such to put new life into a great war leader.

William rarely spent an evening drinking Holland’s gin nowadays. He was in consultation with his most able ministers. Marlborough was a good soldier; William had seen enough of him in action to know that. There were Marlborough, Godolphin, and Sunderland … among others.

This was a time for unity. They would all see that.

And at such a time William ceased to be an irritable invalid.

The gateway of greatness was opening to Marlborough; Sarah knew it. And he would always remember whose had been the hand to unlock those gates. He would always remember what he owed to his wife.

She sat at her table in the anteroom to Anne’s bedchamber drawing on her gloves, but she did not see the room; she saw Marlborough crowned with the laurels of success; her lovely daughters queens of their world; and young John, best beloved of all her children, who should have the grandest future of them all.

The door opened so silently that she was not aware that anyone had entered until a soft voice said: “Excuse me, my lady.”

She looked up into the meek plain face of Abigail Hill.

“Good gracious, you startled me. I didn’t hear you come.”

“I am sorry, my lady. But you are wearing the Princess’s gloves.”

Sarah looked down at her hands. She thought they had seemed tight. Anne’s hands were small, her fingers tapering; the only beauty she possessed.

Abigail was regarding her with such awe that she was first amused and then delighted. She supposed these women about Anne realized that she, Sarah Churchill, was of far more importance than their mistress.

She could not resist confirming this opinion or making sure that it existed in case it did not already.

She peeled them off turning up her nose as she did so. “Take them away at once. I do not care to wear something that has touched the odious hands of that disagreeable woman.”

Abigail looked startled as Sarah had expected; Sarah flung the gloves at her; they fell to the floor and the woman meekly picked them up.

“Leave me, please. I am busy.”

Sarah sat smiling as Abigail left. What she did not know was that Abigail had left the door open and that Anne in the adjoining room had heard Sarah’s words, for Sarah had a loud penetrating voice.

She had said that to a serving woman! thought Anne. Mrs. Freeman had called her hands odious and her a disagreeable woman. Sarah was handsome, of course, and however disagreeable Sarah was, Anne could not help being fascinated by her. But to say such a thing to a serving woman! She would not have believed it if she had not heard it herself.

Sarah gave herself great airs since her daughters’ marriages and since Marlborough was back in favor.

She didn’t mean it perhaps. It was a joke. Yes, that was it. It was meant to be amusing. Sarah would never call her hands odious, herself disagreeable.

Abigail Hill brought the gloves to Anne.

“Can I help put them on, Your Highness.”

Such a nice quiet voice, such a nice quiet woman! And she gave no sign of what must have been astonishing to her.

It couldn’t be true. I imagined it, thought Anne. It was more comfortable that way; for in truth, although Mrs. Freeman was overbearing, although she was growing more and more inclined to bully, she was Mrs. Morley’s dear, dear friend and Mrs. Morley could not do without her, particularly now she was suffering so deeply from the loss of her beloved boy.

Abigail Hill was smiling shyly. Such a pleasant creature, but so quiet and self-effacing, one did not notice she was there until one wanted something.

Abigail made her think that she had imagined those words. How comforting! It was just what she wanted.

War! thought William .

The whole of Europe in conflict. But he would win; he was certain of it.

To be on the battlefield again! It was the life for him.

He pressed his heels into his horse’s side. A good horse this, Sorrel, Fenwick’s horse; the only good thing which had come out of that affair.

Before him was Hampton Court—his palace. How different he had made it since his arrival in England! It could be in Holland; there was the Dutch stamp on it—square and gracious and the gardens were a delight.

He was anxious to be there; he went into a gallop; but as he did so the horse plunged its forefoot into a molehill and William was rolling over and over on the grass.