The Three Crowns epub (25 page)

“No one could ever love you as I do,” wrote Mary. “Marriage is not a happy state. How many faithful husbands are there at the Court, think you? They marry, tire of their wives in a month, and then they turn to others.”

It was alarming to contemplate. It reminded her of what she had seen when she surprised Jemmy and Henrietta Wentworth; it reminded her of the stories she had heard about her father and her uncle.

Unpleasant thoughts which it was best to avoid, but how could she avoid them when there was talk of Aurelia’s marrying!

For some months her anxiety persisted; and then the matter seemed to have been forgotten and the serene state of affairs continued: meetings with Frances on Sundays and holy days; and always those letters which must be smuggled out to the Apsley home. Her dancing master Mr. Gorley, the Gibsons, and very often Sarah Jennings and Anne Trelawny acted as go-betweens. It was a pleasant intrigue, for it must be carried on without the knowledge of Lady Frances Villiers who did not entirely approve of the correspondence.

So life went on merrily until Mary was nearly fifteen.

It was the
day of the Lord Mayor’s feast and the King was dining at the Guildhall. This was one of the greatest occasions in the City of London and when Charles had told James that he thought Mary and Anne should be present James guessed that his daughters would soon be called upon to play their part in state affairs.

Anne’s favorite form of entertainment was attending banquets; as for Mary she enjoyed the pageantry. Both their uncle and father watched how the crowd cheered the girls; and how charmingly they responded. James was not surprised therefore when, on the day following the banquet, Charles sent for his brother, in order, said Charles, to discuss some small projects concerning the Lady Mary.

“James,” said Charles, “how old is Mary?”

“Fifteen.”

“Old enough, most would say.”

“For marriage, you mean?”

“What else? My dear brother, don’t look downcast. You must have realized that before long it would be necessary to find a husband for her.”

“She seems but a child to me.”

“Still, you would wish a brilliant
parti
for her?”

“I suppose it will be necessary.”

“Then the sooner the better.”

“She seems such a child.”

“It matters not what she seems but what she is. She is fifteen. Time she was betrothed. Have you a husband in mind for her?”

James hesitated. “There is Louis’s son,” he said at length. “I should like to see Mary Queen of France—and France is not so very far away.”

Charles grimaced, and James went on hotly: “Our own cousin, Charles. Why not?”

“Our little Mary is an important person. We must not forget that, as matters stand now, she could follow us to the throne. If you had a son, James, Mary’s marriage would not have been a matter of such deep concern.”

“Where could she make a better marriage than with France? The Queen of France. That is a position I should like to see her hold.”

“Alliance with a Catholic monarch, James?”

“With one of the greatest powers …”

“The people want a Protestant marriage, and I have thought of a likely husband for Mary.”

“And who is this?”

“Our nephew, William. William of Orange.”

T
wenty-seven years before Charles decided to
marry his nephew to his niece, William of Orange was born into a house of mourning. Eight days before his birth his father had died suddenly and his mother had ordered that her lying-in chamber should be hung with black crêpe; and even the cradle was black.

“A dismal welcome for a child,” mused the midwife, and she shook her head for she believed it to be an evil omen.

If the child were a boy, he would be the Prince of Orange; his father was lamentably dead, it was true; but she believed that the entry of a child into the world should be a matter for rejoicing.

The Princess of Orange was English. She was considered one of the most fortunate members of the unlucky Stuart family in those days of exile which had followed the execution of Charles I. She had helped her brothers, Charles and James, by giving them refuge in Holland; she had been devoted to them both and one of her most cherished hopes was to see Charles restored to the throne of England.

And now she had to face her own tragedy. The death of her William, Stadtholder of Holland, only a short time before she hoped to give him a son.

The child must be a son, she was thinking, as she lay in her darkened room. The child must be strong; he would be born ruler of his country. Never, it seemed to Mary of Orange, had a birth been so important; never would one take place in more tragic circumstances.

Mrs. Tanner, the
midwife, bustled about the chamber giving orders. The Princess of Orange lay on her bed waiting.

In the anteroom Mrs. Tanner found several of the Princess’s women, and paused, for she could never resist a gossip.

“The mourning should be taken away,” she said. “It is not good. A little one coming into the world to black crêpe! What a welcome!”

“But he has no father, Mrs. Tanner,” said one of the women.

“Well, there’s no need to greet the baby with that knowledge. ’Tis something the little mite should come to know in time. And don’t call the child
‘he’
before you know the sex. That’s another bad omen.”

“The Princess is praying for a boy.”

“That’s tempting fate. Show as you’ll be pleased with what you get, and like as not you’ll get what you want.”

The women looked with respect at Mrs. Tanner, for she had attended so many births that they felt she knew what she was talking about.

“Then ’tis to be hoped the Princess gets what she wants—for if this little one’s a boy he’ll be the Stadtholder. They’ll call him William after his father and …”

“Hush I say. Hush. The air is full of omens tonight. I sense them.”

The women looked at each other in awe; and Mrs. Tanner left them. “For,” she said, “the child will be with us soon. I know it.”

She was right. Almost immediately the Princess’s pains had begun.

The welcome cry
of a child! How often was that waited for in the palaces of kings? The words: “It is a boy.” How welcome and how rarely they came! It seemed that boys could be born in humble cottages but royal palaces were less favored. This was one of those occasions when wishes were granted.

William Henry, Prince of Orange, was born.

Mrs. Tanner, gossiping afterward to the women, assured them that it was no ordinary birth. Her little William—he was already hers—was destined for a great future. This day was one which was going to be remembered in the history of Orange.

“She was crying out in her anguish, our poor sad Princess; and I knew that the birth was near. Poor soul, she had forgotten the tragedy of her loss; there was nothing for her but the pain and the agony. And then … there he was … the blessed boy. And at that moment all the candles went out. So he came into a world of darkness. Poor blessed royal mite! He yelled; and I took him in my arms and shouted for light. I said: ‘This is a boy.’ And they all took up the cry and I had to remind them that I must have light. And then … while I was waiting for the lights to be brought … I saw it clearly. The darkness helped; and afterward I asked myself did the lights go out that I could see the symbol?”

“What symbol, Mrs. Tanner?”

Mrs. Tanner’s eyes were narrowed. “Three haloes of light … right about the baby’s head.”

“Does it mean he is going to be a monk and holy man, Mrs. Tanner?”

“Monk and holy man indeed! They were
crowns
. He’ll have three crowns, that blessed infant. I saw, I tell you.”

For a few days everyone talked about Mrs. Tanner’s vision. Then it was forgotten. After all, Mrs. Tanner was a romancer, several of them believed, for all that she posed as being such a wise woman. And of course this was an important little boy. He was the heir of Holland; more than that, the tragic death of his father made his birth the more joyous event. The Princess of Orange had a reason for living. The people of Holland had their new Stadtholder.

T
o young William the Palace in the Wood was
home. This was a very beautiful house which his grandmother had had built within a mile or so of the state palace. Here he lived with Lady Stanhope, the governess chosen for him by his English mother—a serious little boy whom none were very sure of because he prided himself on keeping his opinions to himself. The fact that he was not strong was a great anxiety to his mother and those whose duty it was to care for him. William in his grave and serious way decided to make the utmost advantage of everything; therefore his weakness seemed an asset rather than a fact to be deplored. Because he was inclined to be asthmatical, his governess was in perpetual terror on his account. He was delicate and because his father was dead and there could be no other of the same line, he was very precious indeed.

William was aware of this, but in his cool judicial manner he knew exactly the reason why. He was small of stature and this hurt his pride; he could not compete with boys of his own age in sport; for one reason he had not the physique, for another his governors and governesses were always in fear of his overtaxing his strength.

“Oh,” he would say, “they will not allow me to do this or that.… It is because I have no father and am the Prince of Orange.”

That was well enough to say to others; but he accepted the true state of affairs. He had been born a Prince but of such weak body that he could not enjoy rough games. One could not have everything in life; therefore he would try to make up for physical imperfections by cultivating wisdom.

He was alert and missed little; he had heard an account of what Mrs. Tanner had seen at his birth. Three crowns! That sounded wonderful; when he stood beside tall strong boys he reminded himself of what Mrs. Tanner had seen at his birth. He would be ready to take the crowns when they came to him as he was sure they would. It would not matter then that he was not very tall and that he sometimes found breathing difficult.

He quickly learned that a country was not happy when its hereditary ruler was a minor. He was descended from great William the Silent who had won the gratitude of the Dutch because of what he had done for them in their struggle against Spain and the Inquisition, but his father was dead, he himself was a child, and de Witte with his Republicans was ruling Holland at this time. The office of Stadtholder had been abolished by the de Witte government soon after young William was born; and although he was the Prince of Orange and the son of rulers, while de Witte was supreme he could not be regarded as the future ruler.

His mother was a Princess of England; but alas, what help could be expected from a country which had executed its King and was now ruled by a commonwealth under a man such as Oliver Cromwell?

William was serious; William was determined; he realized at a very early age all that was expected of him, all that would be required of him. He had to win back the Stadtholder and make the House of Orange supreme again.

This he was certain he would do.

He was never driven to work at his lessons because it was feared that too much study might be bad for his health. He worked when he thought he would; and this was not infrequently. His mother’s maids of honor would often play games with him which were always sedate.

He would never forget the day when he was summoned to his mother’s apartments and told to expect an important visitor.

“Your cousin,” she told him, “is coming to stay with you for a while. I trust you will like her. She is Elizabeth Charlotte, and I want you to make her welcome.”

He expressed his willingness to do so, and wanted to hear more of this cousin.

“Her great-grandfather was James I of England and he was, as you know, also your great-grandfather, so you are cousins. She is a very gay little girl and I am sure you will enjoy her company. Sometimes, my dear boy, I think you are a little too serious.”