CHAPTER XVII
FAREWELL TO HOLLAND
Soon after the Groote Kerk had struck midnight, one of the Princess'sDutch ladies came to the chamber of her mistress with the news thatletters from England had come, it being the command of Mary that sheshould always be roused, whatever the hour, when the mail arrived.
She came out now, in her undress--a muslin nightshift with an overgownof laycock, and with her hair, which was one of her principal beauties,freed from the stiff dressing of the day and hanging about hershoulders--into the little anteroom of her bedchamber, where the candleshad been hastily lit and the tiled stove that burnt day and nightstirred and replenished.
There were two letters. She had no eyes save for that addressed in thelarge careless hand of the Prince, and tore it open standing under thebranched sconce, where the newly-lit candles gave a yet feeble lightfrom hard wax and stiff wick, while the Dutch lady, excited and silent,opened the front of the stove and poked the bright sea coals.
The Princess, who had waited long for this letter, owing to theice-blocked river, was sharply disappointed at the briefness of it; thePrince requested her to make ready to come at once to England, as herpresence was desired by the Convention, told her what to say to theStates, and remarked that the hunting at Windsor was poor indeedcompared to that of Guelders.
Mary laid the letter down.
"I must go to England, Wendela," she said to her lady; then sat silent alittle, while the candles burnt up to a steady glow that filled the roomwith a fluttering light of gold.
"Is my Lady Sunderland abed?" asked Mary presently.
"No, Madam; she was playing cards when I came up."
"Will you send her to me, Wendela?"
The lady left the room and Mary noticed the other letter, which she hadcompletely forgotten. She took it up and observed that the writing wasstrange; she broke the seals and drew nearer the candles, for her eyes,never strong, were now blurred by recent tears.
The first words, after the preamble of compliments, took her withamazement. She glanced quickly to the signature, which was that of LordDanby, then read the letter word for word, while her colour rose and herbreath came sharply.
When she had finished, with an involuntary passionate gesture and aninvoluntary passionate exclamation, she dashed the letter down on thelacquer bureau.
Lady Sunderland, at this moment entering, beheld an expression on theface of the Princess which she had never thought to see there--anexpression of sparkling anger.
"Ill news from England, Highness?" she asked swiftly.
"The worst news in the world for me," answered Mary. Then she cried,"This is what M. D'Avaux meant!"
The Countess raised her beautiful eyes. She was very fair in rose-pinksilk and lace, her appearance gave no indication of misfortune, but inher heart was always the sharp knowledge that she was an exile playing agame, the stake of which was the greatness, perhaps the life, of herhusband.
"What news, Highness?" she questioned gently.
Mary was too inflamed to be reserved, and, despite the vast differencein their natures, a great closeness had sprung up between her and theCountess during these weeks of waiting.
"They wish to make me Queen," she said, with quivering lips, "to theexclusion of the Prince. My Lord Danby, whom I never liked, is leadinga party in the Convention, and he saith will have his way----"
Lady Sunderland was startled.
"What doth His Highness say?"
"Nothing of that matter--how should he? But he would never take thatplace that would be dependent on my courtesy--he!" She laughedhysterically. "What doth my lord mean?--what can he think of me? I,Queen, and the Prince overlooked?--am I not his wife? And they know mymind. I told Dr. Burnet, when he meddled in this matter, that I hadsworn obedience to the Prince and meant to keep those vows----"
She paused, breathless and very angry; her usual vivacity had changed toa blazing passion that reminded Lady Sunderland of those rare occasionswhen His late Majesty had been roused.
"My lord meant to serve you," she said.
"To serve me!" repeated Mary, "when he is endeavouring to stir up thisdivision between me and the Prince--making our interests different----"
"You are nearer the throne, Highness----"
Mary interrupted impatiently--
"What is that compared to what the Prince hath done for England? Canthey think," she added, with a break in her voice, "that I would havedone this--gone against--His Majesty--for a crown--for anything save myduty to my husband? What must _he_ think of me--these miserableintrigues----"
She flung herself into the red brocade chair in front of the cabinet,and caught up the offending letter.
"Yet," she continued, with a flash of triumph, "this will give me achance to show them--where my duty lieth----"
She took up her pen, and Lady Sunderland came quickly to the desk.
"What do you mean to do?" she asked curiously.
"I shall write to my lord, tell him my deep anger, and send his letterand a copy of mine to the Prince."
Lady Sunderland laid her hand gently on Mary's shoulder.
"Think a little----"
Mary lifted flashing eyes.
"Why should I think?"
"This is a crown you put aside so lightly!"
The Princess smiled wistfully.
"I should be a poor fool to risk what I have for a triple crown!"
"Still--wait--see," urged the Countess; "'tis the crown of England thatmy lord offereth----"
"Do you think that anything to me compared to the regard of the Prince?"asked Mary passionately. "I thought that you would understand. Can youpicture him as my pensioner--him! It is laughable, when my whole lifehath been one submission to his will. Oh, you must see that he iseverything in the world to me ... I have no one else----" She continuedspeaking rapidly, almost incoherently, as was her fashion when greatlymoved. "At first I thought he would never care, but now he doth; but heis not meek, and I might lose it all--all this happiness that hath beenso long a-coming. Oh, I will write such a letter to my lord!"
"You sacrifice a good deal for the Prince," said the Countess halfsadly.
"Why," answered Mary, "this is easier than going against my father, andgiving the world cause to scorn me as an unnatural daughter----"
Her lips quivered, but she set them proudly.
"I have talked enough on this matter, God forgive me, but I was angeredby this lord's impertinence."
The Countess made some movement to speak, but Mary checked her.
"No more of this, my Lady Sunderland," she said firmly. She took a sheetof paper from the bureau and began to write.
Lady Sunderland moved to the stove and watched her intently and withsome curiosity. The wife of my late Lord President was tolerably wellinformed in English politics, and knew that the Tories would rather havethe daughter than the nephew of the Stewarts on the throne, and that thegreat bulk of the general nobility would rather have a woman like thePrincess than a man like the Prince to rule them.
She did not doubt that Mary, with her nearer claim, her English name andblood, would readily be accepted by the English as Queen, and that thenation would be glad to retain the services of her husband at the priceof some title, such as Duke of Gloucester--which had been proposed forhim before--and whatever dignity Mary chose to confer on him. Shecertainly thought that this scheme, pleasing as it might be to Whig andTory, showed a lack of observation of character on the part of theoriginator, my Lord Danby; Lord Sunderland had always declared that itwas the Prince they needed, not his wife, and that they would neverobtain him save for the highest price--the crown.
Yet the Countess, standing in this little room, watching Mary writingwith the candlelight over her bright hair and white garments, seeing hercalmly enclose to the Prince Lord Danby's letter and a copy of heranswer, could not help some wonder that this young woman--a Stewart, andborn to power and gaiety--should s
o lightly and scornfully put aside acrown--the crown of England.
When Mary had finished her letters and sealed them, she rose and camealso to the stove. She looked very grave.
"The Prince saith not one word of our losses," she remarked--"MadameBentinck, I mean, and M. Fagel, yet both must have touched him nearly.I am sorry for M. Bentinck, who hath had no time to grieve."
"What will happen in England now, Highness?" asked the Countess,thinking of the Earl.
"I suppose," said Mary, breathing quickly, "they will offer the Princethe throne ... he commandeth my presence in England ... I must leaveHolland----"
"You love the country?"
"Better than my own. I was not made for great affairs. I love thisquiet life--my houses here, the people..."
She broke off quickly.
"What will you do, Madam?"
Lady Sunderland indeed wondered.
"Go join my lord in Amsterdam," she answered half recklessly. "An exileremains an exile."
"The Prince," said Mary gravely, "hath some debt to my lord. He neverforgetteth his friends--or those who serve him."
"I thank you for that much comfort, Madam."
"You must return to England--to Althorp," continued the Princess gently;"you have done nothing that you should stay abroad----"
Lady Sunderland shook her head.
"What is Althorp to me, God help me! I think my home is in Amsterdam--Ishall go there when Your Highness leaveth for England."
Mary put her cool hand over the slim fingers of the Countess that restedon the back of the high walnut chair.
"Are you going with Basilea de Marsac?"
"Yes; she is a good soul."
"A Catholic," said Mary, with a little frown; "but I like hertoo--better than I did----"
"She hath become very devoted to Your Highness; she is very lonely."
"What was her husband?"
Lady Sunderland smiled.
"An incident."
Mary smiled too, then moved back to the bureau.
"I must get back to bed; I have a sore throat which I must nurse." Shecoughed, and moistened her lips. "I am as hoarse as a town-crier." Shelaughed again unsteadily and rang the silver bell before her. "I neverpass a winter without a swelled face or a sore throat."
The Dutch waiting lady entered, and Mary gave her the letters.
"See that they go at the earliest--and, Wendela, you look tired, get tobed immediately."
With no more than this she sent off her refusal of three kingdoms. Whenthey were alone again she rose and suddenly embraced Lady Sunderland.
"Do you think I shall come back to Holland?" she asked under her breath.
"Why--surely----"
"Ah, I know not." She loosened her arms and sank on to the stool nearthe stove. "Sometimes I feel as if the sands were running out of me.You know," she smiled wistfully, "I have an unfortunate name; the lastMary Stewart, the Prince his mother, was not thirty when she died--ofsmallpox."
She was silent, and something in her manner held Lady Sunderland silenttoo.
"A terrible thing to die of," added Mary, after a little. "I oftenthink of it; when you are young it must be hard, humanly speaking, butGod knoweth best."
"I wonder why you think of that now?" asked Lady Sunderland gently.
"I wonder! We must go to bed ... this is marvellous news we have hadto-night ... to know that I must sail when the ice breaketh ... goodnight, my Lady Sunderland."
The Countess took her leave and Mary put out the candles, which left theroom only illumed by the steady glow from the white, hot heart of theopen stove.
Mary drew the curtains from the tall window and looked out.
It was a clear frosty night, utterly silent; the motionless branches ofthe trees crossed and interlaced into a dense blackness, through whichthe stars glimmered suddenly, and suddenly seemed to disappear.
The chimes of the Groote Kerk struck the half-hour, and the echoes dweltin the silence tremblingly.
Mary dropped the curtain and walked about the room a little. Then shewent to the still open desk and took up the remaining letter--that ofthe Prince.
With it in her hand she stood thoughtful, thinking of her father inFrance, of all the extraordinary changes and chances which had broughther to this situation, face to face with a dreaded difference fromanything she had known.
She went on her knees presently, and rested her head against the stool,worked by her own fingers in a design of beads and wool, and put theletter against her cheek, and desperately tried to pray and forgetearthly matters.
But ever between her and peace rose the angry, tragic face of her fatherand the stern face of her husband confronting each other, and abackground of other faces--the mocking, jeering faces of theworld--scorning her as one who had wronged her father through lust ofearthly greatness.
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