The Three Crowns epub (12 page)

When a messenger had entered the room to say that Bishop Blandford was outside, James left the sickroom and went to him.

“Your Grace,” said Blandford, “I trust I am in time.”

“The Duchess cannot see you,” James replied. “She is a Roman Catholic and does not wish to be disturbed now with attempts to bring her back to the Church of England.”

“Your Grace, allow me to see her. I will not attempt to dissuade her. I will speak to her as to a Christian of either Church.”

“If you will swear to do this you may see her. I will not have her disturbed.”

The Bishop promised and went to the Duchess’s bedside.

When he had left, having kept his promise, James sent for Father Hunt and certain people whom he knew to be of the Catholic faith. The last rites were performed and when this was done the Duchess asked her husband to come near to her.

He was holding her in his arms, the tears streaming down his cheeks, when she died.

James asked that
Mary be brought to him; he wanted to see his favorite child alone.

As soon as she entered the room Mary knew what had happened for he stood looking so lonely and desolate; and when he saw her he held out his arms.

“My dearest daughter, we are alone now. She has gone.”

He picked her up and rocked her in his arms as though she were a baby.

“I have my children,” he said. “Thank God she has left me them.” He began to talk about her mother, telling of her virtues and how they had loved each other with a rare devotion; he trusted that when Mary married she would make as happy a marriage as that of her parents.

As happy a marriage as that of her parents? But what of the rumors? What of Margaret Denham … and others? What of the quarrels she had overheard? Had he forgotten? Could it be that he was not truthful?

He talked of when she married. She knew in that moment that she never wished to marry. She would like to live forever with her dear sister Anne.

“I don’t want to marry, Father,” she said.

He smiled and stroked her hair.

“So you will stay with your old father and comfort him, eh?”

It was not what she had meant, but the thought seemed to please him so she said nothing.

The Duchess was buried in Henry VII chapel at Westminster, and it was noticed that the Duke of York looked more and more to his elder daughter for consolation.

S
oon after the death of the Duchess of York
two new girls were introduced to the household at Richmond—Anne Trelawny and Sarah Jennings; and with the coming of these two the power of the Villiers was undermined, Anne Trelawny becoming Mary’s great friend and Sarah Jennings, Anne’s. Elizabeth Villiers was furious but there was nothing she could do about it; and she was beginning to realize that she had not been very clever because now that Mary was growing up she was becoming more important and the attitude of those around her was changing.

Mary herself was aware of this. “When I have my own household,” she confided to Anne Trelawny, “I shall dismiss Elizabeth Villiers.”

As yet she was far from that happy state.

Young Edgar died very soon after his mother, to be followed almost immediately by the new baby Catherine. The Duke was very sad and declared that he could only find comfort in the company of his daughters.

“Why does death always happen to us?” Mary asked him.

He held her tightly and put his cheek against hers. “It is happening all over the world,” he explained. “It is a sad fact that many are born not to reach manhood or womanhood. But we must be good to each other, my little daughter, for you and Anne are all I have to love now.”

She looked steadfastly into his face and thought of the rumors she had heard. “The Duke of York, like his brother, is a great lover of all women.” Whispers. Laughter. There were many women, according to what she had heard. Then how could she and Anne be the only ones he had to love?

“You have been hearing talk of me,” he said, and she felt the blood hot in her cheeks. Now he was going to tell her something shameful, something that she believed she would rather not hear.

“You have heard that I have been ill. It’s true I believe that I was going into a decline; but my health has improved, dearest Mary. I shall be with you for a long time yet.”

Her relief was evident. So he was referring to his ill health not that vaguely mysterious shameful life. He saw it and misconstrued the feeling which prompted it; his eyes became very tender.

“My dear little one,” he said, “it is your love which makes life bearable for me.” He stroked her hair. Then he said: “Mary, have you thought what Edgar’s death means?”

“That we shall never see him again.”

“Something besides. If the King has no children and when he and I are dead, it will be your turn.”

She looked alarmed and he said: “Oh, that is for the years ahead, but your uncle and I will not live forever. And then, Mary, you could be Queen of England, for I shall never marry again.”

She was very grave and he kissed her gently and said: “Do not be unhappy, dear child. We will not talk of the far, far distant future. Here is the present. We have lost dear ones, but let us remember that we have each other.”

Elizabeth Villiers came
into the schoolroom to find Mary there alone. Mary picked up a book and prepared to leave.

Elizabeth was defiant. She had been foolish but she was not going to admit it, for she knew Mary would always consider her an enemy.

“I suppose,” said Elizabeth, “that you are thinking now Edgar is dead you will be Queen of England. That will never be.”

“You seem to know so much. Does His Majesty ask you to share his counsels?”

“You never will be Queen. Your father will marry again.”

“He will never marry again.”

Elizabeth laughed and Mary turned away. But Elizabeth’s words stayed in her mind.

Charles was well
content. He had a new mistress whom he adored in Louise de Kéroualle, the girl who had come to England to comfort him after the loss of his sister; she it was whom he had seen in Minette’s suite and coveted; he guessed of course that Louis had sent her to spy on him, but she was so desirable and the very fact that she was probably working for Louis added a piquancy to her charm. Charles was sure of his ability to look after himself as far as both Louis and Louise were concerned. There had as yet been no occasion to proclaim his faith to his country and he told himself sardonically that there might well never be—and he was receiving the installments of his pension from the King of France. A very satisfactory state of affairs.

A year had passed since the death of the Duchess of York and James was beginning to feel the need of domesticity. Often he thought tenderly of his late wife, recalling all the joys of the conjugal life and forgetting its restrictions. He was, he decided, not a man to live alone. Those days at Richmond, when he had believed himself to be going into a decline, and had lived quietly with his sick wife, their children about them, had been the happiest of his life. He forgot his infidelities, Anne’s jealousy, the scandals and trials. Looking back he saw them all about a great open fireplace playing games such as “I love my love with an A.” How proud he had been of Mary’s quickness, how indulgent of young Anne’s inability to find the right word! How he had prompted little Edgar! Oh, happy days! But how could he enjoy more like them without a wife?

He had soon deceived himself into the belief that his had been the happiest marriage in the world. And the reason? He had married for love. Those early struggles against his family and Anne’s—how well worthwhile they had been.

If I married again, he told himself, it would be for love.

He did not
at first recognize the charms of Susanna Armine, Lady Bellasis. She was neither very young nor very handsome. But one day something in her manner reminded him of his dead wife and the more he saw of her the more pronounced this likeness seemed to become and he began to picture her seated at a fireside with children around her.

From that moment he started to fall in love and his resolutions not to marry again were swept away.

He courted Susanna. At first the Court paid little heed, except to murmur that James had chosen a hard task because Susanna was known to be the most virtuous matron at Court. Charles looked on cynically. How like James, he thought; he would always make difficulties for himself. And why did he always select the least beautiful women!

Susanna appeared at first to regard the Duke of York merely as a friend and because of the nature of his attachment James was content for a while that this should be so. He would talk to her of the loss he had sustained and she confided in him her own troubles.

Her marriage had not been a happy one on account of her late husband’s fondness for drink.

James condoled with her. “I, who was extremely happy in
my
marriage, can perhaps sympathize more deeply with those who had to make do with so much less.”

“I thought I should never live through the disgrace,” sighed Susanna, “when they came home and told me he was dead. Killed in a duel—in itself a criminal act. He had taken too much to drink and … his opponent killed him.”

James put his hand over hers. There were tears in his eyes.

“How you must have suffered!”