The Three Crowns epub (57 page)

T
here was consternation at The Hague. Mary
Beatrice was pregnant. If she bore a son then he would be heir to the throne and if he lived that would be the end of Mary’s hopes of being Queen of England.

William was in a black mood.

To have come so far and now be frustrated! It was more than he could endure. The three crowns, which Mrs. Tanner had prophesied would be his, had such a short while before seemed almost within his grasp; and now there was this alarming news.

If James had a son, that son would be brought up as a Catholic. How could it be otherwise, when he had a Catholic mother and father? The return of Catholicism to England would be assured.

It should not be allowed to happen.

William secretly believed that the people of England would never allow it to be.

The Princess Anne
wrote from England, for she too was horrified by the news, so horrified that she simply refused to believe it.

“The
grossesse
of the King’s wife is very suspicious,” she wrote. “It is true that she is very big, but she
looks
better than she has ever done which is not usual in the case of women as far gone as she
pretends
to be …”

William read the letter with growing excitement. Envoys were arriving from England with secret messages for him and Mary. There was a rumor being spread through England that there was no truth in the Queen’s pregnancy; that she flaunted it, was over-big and behaved in an exaggerated manner as a pregnant woman as though she was eager to call attention to her state every moment of the day. She was certain that it would be a son. Over-certain some said, as though it had been previously arranged.

The people in the streets were murmuring against the King and Queen. They did not want a Catholic heir and they were determined to prove there was no true one on the way.

As the summer wore on the tension increased. The Princess Anne, unknown to her father and stepmother, was at the head of those who were determined to cast doubts on the Queen’s true pregnancy. Anne, staunchly Protestant, had grown to hate her father, although she had never shown him that she had. She was looking ahead to the day when she would have the throne. Sarah Churchill was certain that she would, and then ultimate power would be hers—or Sarah’s. Anne was fond of her pleasant weak husband, but it was Sarah to whom she listened, Sarah on whom she doted.

Mary had no children so after Mary it would be the turn of Queen Anne; and now there was this child—or this supposed child—to oust them from their place.

Angrily Anne wrote to Mary. “I have every reason to believe that the Queen’s great belly is a false one. Her being so positive it will be a son, and the principles of that religion being such as they will stick at nothing, be it never so wicked if it will promote their interest, makes it clear some foul play is intended.”

Mary took the letter to William. They pondered on it; he dourly, she anxious because of his disappointment. If she could no longer bring him the throne he craved, she feared she would no longer have the same value in his eyes and she knew that that value had been enhanced when she had promised that he should rule her as well as England.

“William,” she said, “why should my father pretend that the Queen is with child?”

“Because,” replied William sourly, “they care for nothing so long as they can bring England back to popery. They will thrust a spurious child on the people—and that child will be a Catholic.”

“Oh, William … my father would not be so wicked.”

“Mary, it is time you looked at truth. It is unpleasant, but no good can come of looking away for that reason. Your father is an evil man. Accept that truth and you will suffer less.”

She turned away from him and there were tears in her eyes.

“He was so good to me when I was a child. He loved me, William.”

“You are a fool,” said William brusquely and left her.

She wept a little.

It was so sad when there were quarrels in families but she must not forget that it was her father who had murdered Jemmy the man she … the man for whom she had had such regard.

Her father was a Catholic. He was trying to foist a child, not his son, on the people of England for the sole purpose of thrusting them back to Rome.

That was wicked. That was evil.

It was something no one should forget or forgive.

James’s flair for
projecting himself into trouble had not left him. While the country was listening to the stories put about by his enemies that his wife was pretending to be pregnant he brought forward his second Declaration of Indulgence which he ordered should be read in church on two Sundays. Seven Bishops petitioned him against the declaration, which James declared was rebellion against the King. These Bishops were sent to the Tower.

There was murmuring throughout the country. In Cornwall, since one of the Bishops was Jonathan Trelawny, the brother of Anne who had been sent out of Holland by the Prince of Orange, they were singing

And shall Trelawny die
Then twenty thousand Cornishmen will know the reason why
.

And all over England there was equal resentment against the King. How much easier it was to believe of a King that he was preparing to foist a child on the nation in order to secure Catholic rule, when he imprisoned his Bishops because they disagreed with him on what should be done in the churches.

While the Bishops were in prison the child was born.

A boy! The son for which the King, Queen, and their supporters had been praying!

There was deep despair among the King’s enemies which could only be tolerated by disbelief.

William preserved his
calm. The birth of this child was the most bitter blow which could have come to him but he gave no sign of this. He sent Zuylestein to England to congratulate the King and Queen.

But before Zuylestein left he was alone with William who said: “You know what I desire of you?”

“To discover the true feelings of the people, Your Highness.”

“Find out what they are saying of the King and the Queen … and the Princess of Orange … and myself. Find out what they think about the opportune birth of this child.”

William waited impatiently for Zuylestein’s return.

The Princess Anne wrote jubilantly.

“The Prince of Wales has been ill these three or four days and if he has been so bad as some people say, I believe it will not be long before he is an angel in Heaven.”

When Mary showed the letter to William, he said: “Let them pray for the Prince of Wales in the churches.”

Mary bowed her head. “How good you are, William,” she said.

And she prayed fervently for the health of the child, for secretly in her heart she wanted him to live. These last weeks had made her look fearfully into a future which filled her with dread.

What was happening in England? Were the people in truth turning against her father? If the child died would they deprive him of his throne and if they did …?

She did not want to be Queen of England through her father’s misfortunes. William desired the crown, she knew that; and she wanted to please William. But not through her father’s misery.

She wanted her father to reform his ways and live in peace with his subjects. And she and William could continue in Holland, which was so much more pleasant since she had told him that she would always want him to rule. That had made him more pleased with her than he had ever been before—and all because she had told him that if ever she were Queen of England he should be the King.

But how could she be happy being Queen of England, even if she could give William his supreme wish and make him King, when it meant that she could only do so through the death or disgrace of her father?

And William, she admitted in her secret thoughts, was still the lover of Elizabeth Villiers.

When Zuylestein returned
from England, he was triumphant.

“Your Highness, the Prince still lives and his health is improving, but there are many who believe him not to be the true son of the King. They are saying that the birth was mysterious, that just before the baby was said to be born the Queen asked to have the bedcurtains drawn about her; that the baby was brought into the bed by means of a warming pan. The temper of the people is high.”

William sent for Mary. He told her that he was certain the King and Queen had deceived the nation. The child they were claiming was the Prince of Wales, was almost certain to be spurious.

Mary wept bitterly, contemplating the wickedness of her father, and William made a rough attempt to soothe her.

“What is,” he said, “must be faced.”

“William,” she cried, “I can bear whatever has to be faced, if we face it together.”

He bent toward her and put a cold kiss on her cheek.

It was as though a bargain had been sealed.

The rumors from
London persisted; there was scarcely a day when a messenger did not arrive at The Hague with a fresh tale. Each day James grew more and more unpopular. The Bishops had been acquitted but their untimely incarceration had increased James’s enemies by the thousand.

There came that day when William sent for his wife. There was a faint glow of triumph on that usually cold face.

The moment had come.

He said: “They have sent me an invitation.”

Mary waited and he who rarely felt an inclination to smile now found one curling his lips. “Danby, Devonshire, Lumley, Shrewsbury, Sidney, Russell, and the Bishop of London. You might say the seven most important men in England at this time. They tell me they will collect forces for an invasion. They are inviting me to go over there … now.”

“To go there, William? But what can you do? My father is the King …”

“I believe that he will not be so much longer.”

She could not look at the triumph in his face. She thought: I am not worthy to be a Queen. I am only a woman.

And she saw her father setting her on his knee and telling those who came to see him how clever she was. She heard voices from the past: “The lady Mary is his favorite daughter.” And his voice: “My dearest child, we will always love each other.”