CHAPTER VII
THE SHADOW
Mr. Matthew Prior, Private Secretary to the Earl of Portland, wasenjoying the winter sunshine in the gardens of Hampton Court Palace.
It was the year 1694, and near Christmas. Many vast events had takenplace since the young poet had been first introduced to the Court by myLord Dorset--plots, counter-plots, change of ministers, of parliaments,the defeat of Landen and Steinkirk, the great victory at La Hogue, theloss of the Smyrna Fleet, four bloody campaigns, four winters of gloom,depression, and internal convulsion, and still, as by a kind of miracle,the two lonely princes ruling England maintained their station and kepttheir faces calmly to their enemies.
Mr. Prior was a grateful soul; he adored the King and worshipped theQueen; he had berhymed both copiously, and was ever ready to use hissword or his wit in their behalf. The last of the King's unendingdifferences with the Parliament was on the matter of the Triennial Bill,and Mr. Prior had his tablets on his knee and his pencil in his hand.
He was engaged in composing a pamphlet in defence of His Majesty'saction in firmly refusing to curtail the regal authority by passing anAct that permitted no parliament to sit longer than three years.
But it was cold, and the neat little secretary found his fingers toostiff to write. He returned his papers to his pocket, rose, and walkedon briskly.
Both palace and grounds were now very noble, being designed closelyafter the King's house at Loo: trees, thirty-five years old, had beentransplanted either side of a wide canal that had been cut opposite thePalace; beds were shaped, walks laid down, shrubs cut after the Dutchstyle; every endeavour had been used to make the place as much likeHolland as possible. Even now, in mid-winter, topiary art had preservedmonstrous box hedges and bushes in the shape of windmills, birds, andanimals.
The day was cloudy, but the sun streamed through in a fine gold light onthe splendid front of the Palace, still unfinished but very imposing.
Mr. Prior turned to the left, where was the privy garden directlybeneath the royal apartments, and the covered walk where the Queen wouldsit in summer with her ladies, sewing and reading. There, too, was asmall sunk Dutch garden, with a fountain in the centre and tiled paths,bare now of everything save a few evergreens, but in the spring a massof blooms from Holland.
Here walked two ladies and a gentleman, all muffled in furs, and talkingtogether with some earnestness.
Mr. Prior took off his hat; he recognized the Queen, his patron, theEarl of Portland, and Lady Temple. He was passing respectfully on whenMary called to him.
He came up to her, and she paused to speak to him.
"My lord tells me you are just returned from The Hague?" questionedMary.
"Yes, Madam."
"I envy you," said the Queen wistfully; "it is, Mr. Prior, such a dreamwith me to see The Hague again."
The ardent little poet thought he had never seen her look so beautiful.There was an almost unnatural lustre in her eyes, an almost unnaturalbrightness on her lip and cheek; the fresh wind had stirred the auburnhair from her brow, and the fitful sunlight touched it to sparkles ofred gold.
"The Hague liveth only in hopes of one day seeing Your Majesty," heanswered. "You are most extraordinarily beloved there, Madam."
"They were always very good to me," said Mary simply. "I still feel anexile here--but you must not breathe that, Mr. Prior," she added almostinstantly.
"Are you returning to Holland?"
"Very soon, Madam."
"Well," smiled Mary, "I hope that when next I see you it may be at myhouse in The Hague--for I have good hopes that I may be free to go theresoon. Let me at least flatter myself so."
She dismissed him kindly and continued her walk, keeping her gloved handaffectionately on Lady Temple's arm.
"What is this of the Duke of Leeds?" she asked Portland.
"They say he is to be impeached in the new Parliament, Madam, for takingmoney from the East India Company."
Mary frowned.
"That is a hit at me," added Portland calmly.
"And at the King," she said proudly. "There is no end to the spite ofthese people. Heard you also that Sir John Dalrymple must go for theGlencoe affair?"
"If the Parliament had their way, it would be his head and not his placehe lost."
"It seemeth to have been a cruel thing," said Mary, "if it is true? ButI am sorry for the Duke of Leeds (Danby he always is to me) for he hasbeen a faithful servant."
"The King would like to employ Sunderland, who lieth quiet at Althorp,"said Portland, with some bitterness. "A villain if there ever was one!"
Mary glanced at him anxiously.
"The King doth not love Sunderland," she said, "but might find himuseful."
"Will he persuade His Majesty to pass the Triennial Bill?" asked LadyTemple.
"No man can do that," answered the Queen. "If any could have done it,it would have been your lord, a year ago--but nothing will move the Kingonce his mind is resolved." She laughed, and added, "You both haveknown him longer than I have--tell me if you ever knew him change hisdecision?"
"Never," said Portland. "When he was a child he was immovable."
"Sir William hath wasted eloquence on him more than once," smiled LadyTemple.
The sun had suddenly gone in, and a greyness overspread the gardens.
"Let us go in," said Mary.
They entered the Palace by the private door that led to the King'sapartments. Portland prepared to leave for Whitehall, where His Majestystayed to open the Parliament, and the two ladies went to the Queen'sgreat gallery, that was fine and beautifully furnished, though but illheated by the one fireplace where the pine logs blazed.
They joined the little company gathered about the fire and protected bytall lacquer and silk screens.
Mary took off her furs and drew close to the flames. She was shiveringviolently.
"The room is too large," she said, "but a noble apartment, is it not?"
She had taken great pride in furnishing Hampton Court and KensingtonHouse, and in introducing and making fashionable the arts and crafts ofHolland--the pottery, the brass-ware, the painted wood, and wroughtsilver.
The ladies answered in eager praises. The Queen's modest court nowconsisted of a set of gentle ladies, Dutch and English, who were herconstant companions; their piety, their charity, their blameless lives,their industry with the needle, made them utterly different to theladies of the two last reigns, and set an example which had madesoberness fashionable, at least in many homes; for Mary had won Englandas, many years before, she had won her husband, and was now nearly asbeloved in London as at The Hague--at least among the common people.
One fashion she set was a rage through the country--this was thecollecting of strange and monstrous pieces of old china.
Above the yellow brocade chair where she now sat was a shelf laden withvases and figures of extraordinary shapes and violent colours. Maryloved them all; she looked up at them with a little smile, then took upthe book from which she had been reading to her ladies, but dropped iton to her lap, and sat with an air of lassitude, gazing into the flames.
"The truth is," she said, "I have a great headache, and have had onethis three days past."
"It is the wind," answered Lady Nottingham.
Mary shivered.
"I have taken cold, I think," she remarked. She laughed; she was morethan usual gay.
She was expecting the King in a few days, and, for the moment, thetroubles and difficulties had a little cleared from his path. For thefirst time since the war began the last campaign had decided in favourof the allies; the weight of England was beginning to tell in thebalance. Mary could not forget that; it coloured her days withpleasure.
"I think the ball will be popular," she continued irrelevantly; "everyone seemeth very pleased----"
"What is the date, Madam?" asked Lady Temple.
"The twenty-eighth--about a week from now," ans
wered Mary. "I am tohave a new dress!" She laughed again; she seemed, for her, to be veryexcited. "I shall put it on presently, and you must judge of it."
She leant back in her chair, and was suddenly silent. The short day wasdarkening; sullen crimson, presaging rain, burnt fitfully in the west,and a gloomy brightness reflected through the windows of the greatgallery, and struck changeful colour from the mother-of-pearl figures onthe black china screens.
Mary coughed and shivered. She turned to Madame Nienhuys.
"When is your cousin coming to Court?" she asked.
"Not yet, Madam. I had a letter from The Hague yesterday from hermother saying she would send her in the spring."
"Why not sooner?" asked the Queen.
"She saith she is frightened by the reports of the plague in London."
"They say it is worse this year," assented Mary. "And the smallpox."
"And the smallpox, Madam. But it is foolish of my cousin to be sotimid."
"Yes," said Mary gravely; "since timidity will save no one. God doth Hiswill, despite our fears."
She opened the work-table beside her and took out a chair-cover she wasworking with a design of birds and flowers on a black ground. She madea languid attempt to thread the needle, then dropped the sewing as shehad the book.
"I will try that gown on," she said, "and then we will make tea in thelittle antechamber--this is so large."
The ladies rose with a pretty rustle of skirts, folded up their work,and followed Mary through Sir Christopher's noble apartments to herchamber, which was very exactly furnished but cold.
On the canopied bed of blue and yellow damask lay the Queen's new gown,and two sewing-girls sat on low stools and stitched the lace into thesleeves.
At Mary's approach they rose silently.
"How cold it is!" shivered Mary. "Put me down a grumbler, but we hadwarmer houses at The Hague."
"But the dress is beautiful!" cried Lady Nottingham, and the five ladiesgathered about the bed with exclamations of admiration.
It was of white velvet, embroidered with little wreaths of coloured silkflowers opening over a silver petticoat trimmed with flounces of lace.The sewing-maidens eyed it shyly, and blushed at the complimentsbestowed.
"I must dance in that," smiled Mary. "Dancing used to be one of myprettiest pleasures, as you may remember, my Lady Temple!"
"Will Your Majesty try it on?" asked Basilea de Marsac.
"Yes," laughed Mary, "the sewing-girls will help me; get you into theother room and make the tea----"
The ladies trooped off, and the two sempstresses timidly helped Mary outof her brown velvet and laced her into the state dress.
A fire was burning, and the Queen stood between it and the bed, facingthe long glass mirror above the mantelshelf that was crowded with chinagrotesques. As they pinned, arranged, and draped the rich silk abouther, Mary felt a sudden great fatigue; her limbs were heavy beneath her,and she gave a little sigh of weariness.
The dress was cut very low, and one sleeve was yet unfinished, so hershoulders and left arm were bare save for her shift, and, as she movedfor her skirt to be adjusted, that slipped. The Queen noticed this inthe mirror, and put up her right hand to draw it up, when suddenly adeep shiver ran through her. She stepped back, clutching the dresstogether on her shoulder.
"It is too dark to see," she said levelly. "There is a silver lamp inmy cabinet--will you fetch that?"
The sewing-girls looked surprised. The light still held, and there werecandles in the room; but they left at once, with respectful courtesies.
The instant they had gone the Queen sprang to the door and locked it,then went back to the bed and leant heavily against the post nearest thefire.
She felt sick and weak; her head was giddy.
"Be quiet--be quiet," she said aloud, and pressed her clenched knucklesagainst her leaping heart.
Only for a second did this weakness endure. She returned to the glassand turned her chemise down; there she saw again what had made her sendthe sewing-girls away--a large purple patch on the white flesh,unmistakable.
For an instant she stood gazing, then sat down in the majestic arm-chairbeside the bed. There was another test she knew of--she winced fromapplying it, yet presently rose and took from a side-table near the tallclock a rat-tailed spoon she used for rose-water.
She put the bowl of this far back into her mouth, and then withdrew it;the silver was covered with bright blood.
Footsteps sounded without. Mary flung the spoon on to the fire andsoftly unlocked the door.
The sempstresses entered with the silver lamp, dutifully lit and placedit on the mantelshelf.
Mary stood holding her garments tightly together on her breast.
"Have you ever had the smallpox?" she asked gently.
They both answered together.
"Yes, Your Majesty; but not the black smallpox, an it please YourMajesty."
Mary looked into their fair, undisfigured faces.
"No," she answered; "the black smallpox is ever fatal, is it not----"
"They say so, Your Majesty," said the elder girl, pinning up the lace onthe silver underskirt. "And there is a deal of it in London now, YourMajesty."
Mary made no reply. They finished with the dress and left her, havinglaced her into the brown velvet.
The Queen put out the silver lamp and went into the antechamber wherethe ladies were chattering over the tea Lady Temple was making in aBurmese silver urn.
Mary seated herself near the fire.
"We will go to Kensington House to-morrow," she said. Then, noticingLady Temple's look of surprise, she added, with a slight tremor in hervoice, "I have a fancy to be near the King."
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