Daughters of England

by Philippa Carr

  “Believe what you will.”

  I turned, but he was beside me, laying a hand on my arm.

  “I have been hearing news of you.”

  “I will say goodbye.”

  “Not yet.” There was a note of authority in his voice and he was holding my arm. “I have heard that you have a child.”

  I forgot my cool dignity for a moment. “Who told you that?” I demanded.

  “My dear, it is not difficult to get news of the rising star actress Sarah Standish.”

  “Yes, it’s true,” I said.

  “A little girl, Kate. She is mine, of course.”

  “She is nothing to do with you.”

  I saw a smile touch his mouth. “So, it was some other. You left me to go to a lover.”

  “I will hear no more of this nonsense.”

  “I know that child is mine as well as yours.”

  I was afraid. He could not take Kate from me. That could not be. Besides, what would he do with a child? Still, I was trembling.

  “You forfeited all rights,” I said.

  “It was you who left me, remember?”

  “You deceived me. You ruined my life for a whim. The kindest thing I could ask you to do to repay me in some small way is to go away and never attempt to see me again.”

  He looked stunned. He was looking at me with a certain sadness in his eyes. I felt myself relenting a little. Then I thought: He is but playing a part. He is only trying to discomfort me. He has no right whatsoever to see Kate. I should not allow myself to be persuaded by him. I should have learned my lesson by now.

  I turned and left him standing there.

  The encounter had shaken me. I went straight home and told Maggie about it.

  Maggie was perturbed. She did not like his bringing Kate into the matter.

  Then she soothed herself. “Such as he are not concerned with children. He was just trying to trick you into taking him back,” she said.

  I noticed that she was very watchful with Kate. Martha and Rose were not allowed to take her out. Only Maggie and I were allowed to do that.

  But after a while, when there were no further developments, we forgot about my encounter with Jack Adair.

  We had slipped into a peaceful routine. Kate had made such a difference to our lives. Maggie said what we had missed before was a child in the house.

  Kate was growing up fast. She was no longer a baby but a sturdy little girl, amusing us all with her quaint observations on life. Kate liked to learn about everything and Maggie and I were teaching her to read and to write, to which she took with great enthusiasm.

  She liked to hear about the parts I played. I would rehearse with Maggie while she looked on. She would clap her hands and mouth the words as I said them, for she quickly had them by heart. Meanwhile Maggie would watch her with delight.

  In due course Rose left to get married. She said she wanted “little ’uns” of her own. She was married to one of the traders in the market and would live close by so that we should not lose touch. In her place came Jane, a thin little creature of about thirteen years, the youngest of a family of ten who needed work and a good home. Greatly appreciating Maggie’s bounty, she was very eager to please and soon became a worthy successor to Rose.

  During those years I was progressing with my career. I had done well in several parts and was now quite well known in theatrical circles. There was a certain amount of gossip about me, as there was about most actors and actresses. Those such as Moll Davis and Nell Gwynne had made the profession somewhat notorious, though I have no doubt that some of these rumors were exaggerated and many of them were not so wild as they were made out to be. At the other extreme were Mrs. Betterton and later Mrs. Bracegirdle, who had a great reputation for virtue, with one or two others, including myself. Mrs. Betterton was married to Thomas Betterton and they played a good deal together; as for me, I had had a husband who had died in Holland and I had never looked at another man since. I had my child and that was enough for me. They sentimentalized about me, as they did about the Bettertons; but it was certainly true that I wanted no amatory adventures and was content to come home after the show to my daughter and friends.

  Maggie had thought everything out so that there should be no embarrassments. I had kept my name. “Actresses often do,” she said. “If you are making a name, you do not want to be known as Mrs. Campbell.” Campbell was the name she had chosen for my fictitious husband. It was there if the need arose, said Maggie practically, “but Sarah Standish is the name for you. And so it shall be for Kate, for it is indeed her true name, and it is as well to keep to the truth if it is possible to do so.” And no one thought to question why I should retain my maiden name.

  Everything ran smoothly under Maggie’s management and I never forgot that, had she not been called away to look after her sister, there would never have been that mock marriage with Jack Adair—but then no Kate either.

  So the years passed. There was always something of interest happening.

  We used to linger over meals at the table in the dining room and talk of things. Kate, at this time four years old, would listen avidly. Perhaps in a more conventional household she would have been in her bed. But she would have hated that. She loved to sit up and watch our lips as we talked and join in our laughter.

  What happy days they were! Sometimes I would look round the table and tell myself I wished for nothing more. But I did, of course. I wished that I had been truly married, for whatever father we produced for Kate, her real father would always be Jack Adair, who was not married to her mother who had borne his illegitimate daughter. That saddened me. Everything should have been perfect for Kate.

  Maggie tossed such nonsense aside when I told her.

  “Kate will always fight her way through. She’ll be all right. Her father is Frederick Campbell, lying on a battlefield, having given his life for his country. He’s Kate’s father until someone proves him not. And who could? My lord Rosslyn? Not a chance. He’s quite content to take what he wants and leave the consequences to others. Nothing to fear, my dear Sarah. We’ve tidied it all up…And if by chance something should come out, do not forget, we stick by Frederick Campbell.”

  Maggie had a way of making everything seem simple.

  There was great excitement when Captain Blood attempted to steal the jewels from the Tower of London. I remember the occasion. It was May and we were already planning the celebrations for Kate’s birthday next month. She would be five years old, but she was more like a girl of seven or eight.

  I remembered how we sat at table, talking of this wild adventure of the daring Captain Blood. All London was talking of it, so we were no exception.

  “Tell me about Captain Blood,” cried Kate, and naturally Maggie obeyed.

  “He tried to steal the King’s jewels. They are in the Tower of London, all locked up, ready for the King when he wants to put them on.”

  “Yes,” said Kate. “Yes.”

  “Well, Captain Blood came to the Tower. Mr. Edwards was the man who had charge of the jewels. He had the keys to the place where they were kept. Captain Blood was dressed as a priest, so they thought he was a good man.”

  “But he was only dressed as a priest,” said Kate. “He wasn’t a real one.”

  It was at moments like that that I had a twinge of fear. My thoughts were naturally taken back to that other occasion when a man had dressed up as a priest in order to deceive his dupe.

  Maggie went on describing the friendship which the Captain struck up with the keeper of the jewels, and how he brought presents for Mrs. Edwards.

  “What presents?” asked Kate, her eyes sparkling.

  “There was wine for the gentleman and white gloves for Mrs. Edwards.”

  Kate repeated, “Wine and white gloves,” while Maggie went on with the story of how Captain Blood wormed his way into the family’s confidence by promises that his nephew—a young man of substance—might make a match with the Edwardses’ daughter.

  “S
o,” went on Maggie, with dramatic effect, “the stage was set. Then the wily Captain asked Mr. Edwards, as a special favor, to show him the Crown Jewels. No one was supposed to go near the jewels unless there was a guard there too, but Mr. Edwards could not refuse this generous friend, particularly as his daughter was going to marry the Captain’s nephew. Well, then it started. Mr. Edwards took him into the room in which the jewels were kept. The Captain had three friends with him and as soon as they were in the room he and his cronies overpowered poor Mr. Edwards and took the jewels. One of them put the orb into the pocket of his breeches. The Captain took the crown under his cloak, leaving poor Mr. Edwards groaning on the floor.”

  Kate’s eyes were wide with excitement.

  “Ah,” went on Maggie, “but that was not the end of the story, was it?”

  “Was it not?” asked Kate.

  Maggie shook her head.

  “Who had just come home from Flanders, where he had been fighting for his King and country? Why, Mr. Edwards’s young son. And poor old Mr. Edwards had not been hurt as much as the robbers thought. He was able to shout for help.”

  “What did he shout?” demanded Kate.

  Maggie shouted: “‘Treason! The crown is stolen!’ And young Edwards came and saw his father lying on the floor. Now, the jewels were very heavy and not easy to carry, and the young soldier had time to rouse the guards, and they caught the villains before they could leave the Tower.”

  “And what was done to them?” Kate wanted to know.

  “Now, this is the odd part of the story. It is not a moral tale for the ears of little ones.”

  Kate hunched her shoulders and looked appealing.

  “Only,” Maggie cautioned, “for very special ones.”

  Kate laughed joyously, and Maggie went on: “Well, he was a very merry gentleman, this Captain, and His Majesty the King is a very merry gentleman too. The King is clever with words, and he likes people who are like that too. When the Captain was brought to the King, he expected this would be the end of him. There he was, caught with the crown under his cloak. There could not be greater proof than that, could there?”

  Kate shook her head vigorously and continued to gaze expectantly at Maggie.

  “‘Well,’ said the Captain. ‘It was a very bold thing to do, I admit. But do not forget, Your Majesty, I did it for a crown.’ Well, the King himself had done bold things for his crown, and it was like saying, ‘You did the same, Your Majesty.’ This made the King laugh instead of being angry. And there is nothing the King likes more than to laugh. Well, thought the King, he hasn’t got the jewels…and it’s all over and it made me laugh. So what do you think? The Captain was pardoned. Not only that, he was given estates to the value of £500 every year and the King became his friend.”

  “And what happened then?” asked Kate.

  “For that,” added Maggie, “we shall have to wait and see.”

  That was a typical scene during that time.

  It seemed then that there was always some dramatic happening going on to give us exciting topics to discuss.

  Maggie certainly had dramatic talents and there was nothing she enjoyed more than using them for Kate. She told her stories with the dramatic skills of an actress and her reward was Kate’s obvious enjoyment. But the gossip we heard was not always as lighthearted as the affair of Captain Blood.

  A few months before, there had been a notorious brawl in the streets, of which Kate had been told nothing. It was an ugly scene and concerned the Duke of Monmouth.

  We heard a great deal about Monmouth during those days.

  The Queen had not so far produced an heir and that meant of course that, if the King should die, the Duke of York, his brother, would be the next King.

  The Duke was charming—though not as charming as the King; he was a good sailor whose love affairs were as numerous as those of his brother, but although he was a good and kindly man, he was not noted for his wisdom.

  An instance of this was his frank and open admission of Catholicism. That would not have been so important but for his position. There was a tremendous aversion to the Catholic faith throughout the country, and it had been so ever since the reign of Mary Tudor, who had sent so many of her subjects to the stake because they did not share her beliefs. Never again, the majority of the people said; and here was the man who could well inherit the throne publicly announcing his adherence to the Catholic faith.

  It was a foolish thing to do. But it seemed that, to a man of James’s faith and honesty, it was necessary to make this known. This might be laudable from some points of view, but it was causing a great deal of disquiet in the country.

  And because of this, the King’s son, the Duke of Monmouth, was showing himself more and more to the people. He was stressing his devotion to the Protestant faith, and implying that they need have no fear, for if the King died without leaving a legitimate son or daughter to follow him, there was always his natural son—the Duke of Monmouth. Indeed, there were many who wanted to believe that there had been a marriage between Charles and Lucy Walter, the Duke’s mother, in which case was he not the true heir to the throne?

  Sometimes I was aware of the uneasiness in the streets of London. The people did not want another civil war—it was not so very long since the Cavaliers and Roundheads had destroyed the peace of the countryside and brought death to many Englishmen with their battles.

  I had never forgotten my first, and at that time only, glimpse of the Duke of Monmouth when he had visited the theater. It seemed years ago now. He had staged his entrance, and had arrived immediately after the King so that all might be aware of him, for he had glanced familiarly up at the royal box and the King had smiled on him.

  Now he had been involved in a vicious brawl, about which Maggie felt terribly indignant. She could not have made a light-hearted charade of this as she had of Captain Blood’s escapade.

  It was a custom among some of the young men of the court to roam the streets after dark in search of adventure and there was a great deal of gossip at this time concerning the King’s interest in actresses—in particular Moll Davis and Nell Gwynne. The government was proposing to levy a tax on playhouses and the theaters had come under discussion in Parliament. During the debate, Sir John Coventry, Member for Weymouth, commented that he wondered where the King’s pleasure in the playhouse lay—was it in the plays or in the women who acted in them?

  Although everyone was aware of the King’s delight in these ladies—and others—Sir John’s remark was considered an insult to the King and many thought Coventry should not be allowed to talk in such a manner. Monmouth was among them, but he did not confine his indignation to words. Like so many whose claim to royalty was somewhat flimsy, he was particularly assiduous in his desire to defend it.

  One night, with a party of young men, including the Duke of Albemarle, the Duke of Monmouth waylaid Sir John’s carriage, set upon Sir John, dragged him from his carriage and slit his nose to the bone.

  It might have been the end of the Member for Weymouth, had not a beadle heard the commotion and hurried over to see what was happening. It was his duty to keep order and, shocked and horrified by what he saw, he attempted to do his duty. In the scuffle that followed, he was killed.

  Sir John had escaped with a mutilated face, but the poor beadle was murdered, a grave matter.

  However, the perpetrators of the crime were never brought to justice, although everyone knew that the Duke of Monmouth was concerned. It was said that it was an example of the King’s great love for his bastard son, and there was an undercurrent of speculation whether, if the Duke of York persisted in his determination to practice the Catholic faith and the Queen failed to produce a child, Monmouth, with his allegiance to the Protestant faith, which he never failed to show, might inherit the throne.

  However, that was far in the future. The King was radiantly happy, stronger than most men. It was one of the sights of the town to see him sauntering in the park with his friends, such as the Duke of
Buckingham and the Earl of Rochester, his little dogs at his heels. People used to say that all was well while King Charles reigned over them. He liked people to be happy; he was not concerned with forcing them this way and that. Let them worship God in whatever way they wished, so long as they caused him no trouble. All he wanted was a pleasant existence and the peace to enjoy it. Most of his subjects agreed with him, and they were very satisfied with their King.

  But the Duke of York was causing more concern. His wife had died and he was seeking a new bride.

  The people loved a royal wedding. It meant ceremony, holidays and revelry in the streets. But they did not want a Catholic wedding. There was something ominous about that. And it was typical of James that he should choose a Catholic bride; he was to marry Mary of Modena, a girl of thirteen. Negotiations had been satisfactorily concluded and she was shortly coming to England.

  “A royal wedding,” murmured the people. “But a Catholic.”

  However, the King was lusty and hearty. He would get an heir soon. Moreover, a wedding was a wedding, and as it was the Duke of York’s, there would be celebrations. They were determined to enjoy them.

  Kate was very excited about the royal wedding. She wanted to hear all about it and why some people did not seem to think it was right.

  “Oh,” said Maggie. “There’ll always be some to find fault. Poor child. Fourteen, they say. It’s too young. And him…why, he must be forty. Well, it is not for us to judge, I will say that. But poor child.”

  Kate was now six years old, more eager than ever to know what was going on around her. I was noticing more and more that Maggie was aging. She was far from young, but she had always been so full of health and energy. She complained, though not very much, more to explain her slowness of movement rather than anything else. There were creaks in her knees, she said, and sometimes I could see that she was in pain. I tried to make sure that she did not carry heavy loads or do too much about the house; but this had to be achieved with the utmost care. The last thing Maggie wanted was that we should be aware of her ailments.

  We heard that the Duke of York was at Dover with his bride and that he was coming overland to Gravesend. Mary of Modena was very beautiful, it seemed, and if she were not pleased with her aging bridegroom, he was with her. He was bringing her personally to Gravesend. The King would go there in his royal barge to meet her, and they would all travel back to Whitehall where the new Duchess would be presented to the Queen.