The Three Crowns epub (23 page)

It was a marvel to her that she who had once lain in the nuptial bed shivering at the prospect of his approach, now lay waiting for him, her only fear being that he would not come but decide to stay with one of his mistresses instead. She was passionately jealous of his mistresses; she had remonstrated with him about them, but although he was always kind, and implied to her that they were not as important in his life as she was, he would not give them up.

She had discovered a great deal about her husband’s first marriage—for she never tired of hearing about it and asked numerous questions. She knew that he had loved Anne Hyde his first wife so much that he had defied his formidable mother, his brother, and all his family for her sake. They had made life unpleasant for poor Anne Hyde, except the King who, when he saw that everyone was against her, sought to be kind to her.

She could well believe that. Had he not been kind to her? Looking back now she believed the change in her had begun when she had met the King.

Now she watched her husband and she prayed that he would triumph over Monmouth, because she knew that Monmouth hated James; but she believed James to be too kindly to hate his nephew.

She was pregnant and as she put her hands on her body which was beginning to swell, she was filled with love and tenderness for the child who would be born in five months’ time. Her child and James’s. She longed to have the child; she wanted to protect it from all the misfortunes which could beset a royal infant.

And when she looked at James, there in the mock battle against the King’s bastard, she wanted to protect him too.

The Princess Anne
must follow her sister whenever possible, so as soon as she saw Frances Apsley she became violently attracted by her.

Mary was not altogether displeased; she was delighted whenever anyone admired Frances, and as she loved her sister dearly she found it hard to be angry with her. But she was tortured that Frances might prefer Anne to herself, which she thought might be possible. Anne, with her easygoing nature, was popular; people understood Anne more readily than they did Mary; so it seemed to the elder sister that Frances might very well find the younger more attractive.

Mary had given Frances the name of Aurelia—a character from a Dryden comedy—the Aurelia of the play being a delightful creature, whose company was greatly in demand. Mary herself was Clorine, a shepherdess from one of the Beaumont and Fletcher works—a faithful character who was constantly misunderstood.

When Mary could not see Frances her only consolation was in writing letters to her. To her beloved Aurelia she told of her undying devotion, imploring her always to love her exclusively and to remember that she was the loving husband to her Mary-Clorine.

As Lady Frances Villiers did not approve of this correspondence and Mary was in constant dread that something would be done to stop it, the letters had to be smuggled out of Richmond Palace to St. James’s. The dwarfs, Mr. and Mrs. Gibson, who loved their mistress and wished to please her, conveniently obliged and did the carrying. So a pleasant atmosphere of intrigue had been created and when Mary looked back to those dull days before she had known Frances Apsley, she wondered how she had endured them.

Anne refused to be left out. She even bestirred herself to write to Frances, although writing was an occupation which held little charm for her.

One day Mary found her bent over a letter and looking over her shoulder saw that she was writing to her beloved Semandra.

Anne put her hands over the letter, pretending to hide it.

“Who is Semandra?” asked Mary.

“Well, if she is Aurelia to you she cannot be to me.”

“Semandra! That is one of the characters in Mithridate.”

Anne nodded. “Mrs. Betterton wants me to act in it. And Ziphares is in it too. So while Frances is Semandra I shall be Ziphares.”

“Anne, why do you always have to copy me? Can’t you think of anything for yourself?”

Anne looked astonished. “But why should I, when I have my dear clever Mary to think of everything?”

Mary wanted to feel angry and exasperated; but how could she? She loved Anne and could not imagine ever being without her.

She thought then that she would like to spend the rest of her life in a little house—far from the Court. She and Frances together. They would have cows and she would do the milking; and she would cook like a country woman. Anne should visit them … often, very often.

She was smiling at her sister. “Really, Anne, you ought to try and do something of your own.”

Mary Beatrice was
longing for a son. The people expected it of her; if she had a boy he would be the heir to the throne; it was no wonder that everyone watched her with apprehension during those waiting months.

When she was indisposed her health was the main topic of conversation. Every night she prayed for a son.

Poor barren Queen Catherine spent much time with her and they became good friends, for it seemed that since Catherine could not provide the heir to the throne she was content for her sister-in-law to do so.

It was a great responsibility.

She guarded her health with the greatest care all during the cold dark autumn days, and early in January she went to St. James’s Palace to await the birth.

On the ninth of that month she knew her time was near; and with relief and apprehension waited for the beginning of her ordeal.

Outside the snow had begun to fall and the bitter wind blew along the river. Her women were bustling round her.

This was the most important birth in the kingdom.

She awoke on a dark Sunday knowing that her time had come; she called to her women.

It seemed to Mary Beatrice that all the world was waiting breathlessly for the child she would have.

She was aware
of voices as she emerged from unconsciousness. The room was lighted by many candles and her pains were over.

Someone was bending over her.

“James,” she said.

“My dear.”

“The child?”

“The child is well and healthy. And you must rest now.”

“But I want to see …”

He said: “Bring the child.…”

The child? Why did he continue to say the child? She knew of course. Had it been a boy he would not have said the child.

They brought the little bundle; they laid it in her arms.

“Our little daughter,” said James tenderly.

“A daughter!”

But when she held the child in her arms she ceased to care that it was not a boy.

It was her child. She was a mother. She laughed scornfully at that foolish girl who had believed that the ultimate contentment could only be found within the walls of a convent.

She lay in
her bed, drowsily content. My daughter, she thought. There would be others. Next time a son. But she was entirely content that this one should be a daughter.

She thought of the future of the child. Should she be brought up with her half-sisters? But they were much too old. Moreover they were in the care of the Protestant Bishop of London. The Protestant Bishop! Why should her child be brought up as a Protestant? She was a Catholic, James was a Catholic; even though he was not publicly known as one. Why should they not be allowed to bring up their children as they wished?

When James came to see her she told him that she wanted the child baptized as a Catholic.

“My dear,” said James, “that is not possible.”

“But why? I am a Catholic and so are you.”

“Our little daughter is in the line of succession to the throne. The people of England will not accept a Catholic baptism.”

“This is my daughter,” said Mary Beatrice obstinately.

“Alas, my dear, we are servants of the state.”

He did not discuss the matter further, but Mary Beatrice lying back on her pillows continued to brood. Why, because she was young, should she be continually told what she must do? She had been married against her will and nothing could alter that, even though she was now glad that she had been. She was not going to allow anyone to dictate to her where her child was concerned.

She sent for her confessor and when he came she said: “Father Gallis, I want you to make ready to baptize my daughter.”

Father Gallis raised his eyebrows, but she went on: “I want no interference. Indeed I will have no interference. My daughter shall be baptized in accordance with the rights of
my
Church. I care not what anyone says. That is what I have decided.”

Father Gallis, secretly pleased, obeyed his mistress and the little girl was christened on her mother’s bed, according to Rome.

Charles came to
call on his sister-in-law.

He sat by the bed smiling at her.

“I have come to welcome my new subject,” he said genially.

The baby was brought to show him.

“She is charming,” he said, and he smiled from James, who had accompanied him, to the beautiful mother.

“You are very proud of your achievement,” he went on, “and rightly so. Have you decided on her names?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” answered Mary Beatrice, “she is to be Catherine after Her Majesty.”

“A pretty compliment,” murmured Charles, “and one which will satisfy the Queen.”

“And Laura after my mother.”

“Who, rest assured, will be equally gratified. Now, let us talk about the arrangements for this blessed infant’s baptism.”

Mary Beatrice’s heart began to beat fast. It was one thing to talk defiance to her confessor; another to do so to the King’s face.

“Your Majesty,” she said slowly and she hoped firmly, “my daughter has already been baptized in accordance with my Church.”