The Three Crowns

by Виктория Холт

  “I am to be presented to the Princess of Orange,” she said. “Aunt Sophia has warned me that I have to be very careful and remember to speak only when spoken to.”

  “That,” said William, “will put a great tax on your memory.”

  She agreed that it would.

  “Well, I do not see why it should be such an ordeal. After all she is my own kinswoman. Perhaps she will be as pleased to see me as I’m supposed to be to see her. She is English they tell me.”

  “I am too, because she is my mother.”

  “But you are half Dutch, William. You are the Prince of Orange, which is why of course they want you to marry me.”

  She was incorrigible and it was impossible to suppress her.

  Sophia, who had herself been suppressed since her marriage to a minor prince, despaired of instilling the necessary good manners into the child.

  “Elizabeth Charlotte,” she said severely, “I am depending on you not to disgrace me.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte threw her arms about the aunt for whom she was sorry.

  “I never will,” she declared.

  “You must behave very discreetly when you pay your homage to the Princess of Orange. Remember that she is not only the Princess of Orange but the daughter of a King of England.”

  “Oh, him,” said Elizabeth Charlotte. “They chopped off his head.”

  “Hush, my child. Where do you learn such things?”

  “Well, you see, Aunt Sophia, it’s history and you know how they are always telling me I must learn my history. Those are the things I can learn best.”

  “Elizabeth Charlotte, you must try to be more serene. You should be more like William.”

  “Like William! And not be able to breathe properly. And I don’t think, Aunt Sophia, that he stands up very straight. I shall be taller than he is, I am sure; and that is not a very good thing for a wife to be. Should I stoop? Should I wheeze to be a little more like William?”

  “You are deliberately mischievous. I implore you not to be. You must be William’s good friend. If you are and come to love him while you are young, it will be so much easier when you are grown up. But who has told you you are to marry him?”

  “Something in here …” She tapped her heart with a dramatic gesture. “Something in here tells me.”

  “You imagine too much, my dear. And you have imagined this. You should be thinking of how you will conduct yourself before the Princess of Orange instead of dreaming of marriage plans which exist only in your imagination.”

  “I am pleased. I do not think I want to marry William. I want to have a love match like yours. I think they are the best really.”

  “Hush, child, hush. Go now to your room; your maids will prepare you. Remember all I have said.”

  “I will remember, dear Aunt Sophia.”

  From the Palace in the Wood to The Hague. Elizabeth Charlotte riding beside Aunt Sophia and her grandmother the Queen of Bohemia.

  Elizabeth Charlotte sat upright. This was a very solemn occasion because of the presence of her grandmother—the Queen of Bohemia—who had once been so beautiful and was the sister of that poor King Charles I who had had his head chopped off.

  Dreamily watching her, Elizabeth Charlotte was thinking of that King: and how the wicked Oliver Cromwell had not only killed him but driven his family out of their country. They were wandering about on the Continent, she had heard, being entertained by any Court that would have them. She imagined them as gypsies—barefooted, dark-skinned, singing a song or two and for their trouble being given the scraps that were left after the banquet.

  “You must curtsy deeply to the Princess of Orange when you are presented,” Aunt Sophia was reminding her.

  “Yes, dear Aunt.”

  “And when the Queen of Bohemia leaves the Palace you must be ready to leave with her. Do not go off and hide with William, who will be there.”

  “No, dear Aunt.”

  Grandmother, Queen of Bohemia, nodded at her absently, and Elizabeth Charlotte imagined she was thinking of her poor brother having his head cut off.

  When they arrived at the Palace she saw William and immediately called to him. The Queen of Bohemia and her daughter Sophia smiled at each other with gratification; it pleased them to see the friendship between the children.

  “William wishes to show me the gardens,” said Elizabeth Charlotte. “May I go with him?”

  When the children went off together William said: “But I did not wish to show you the gardens.”

  “William,” chided Elizabeth Charlotte, “you will have to be sharper when you are my husband. I wanted to get away. Do you not see?”

  “I see,” said William, a little sullenly, “that you wish everyone to dance to your tune.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte pretended to play a pipe and called: “Dance, William, dance.”

  He was annoyed and went into the palace; she followed him.

  “Now,” she said, “we will play hide-and-seek. I shall hide and you shall seek.”

  “You have come here to pay homage to the Princess of Orange. Have you forgotten?”

  Elizabeth Charlotte clapped her fingers over her mouth.

  “No. But they did give us permission …”

  “Only to look at the gardens. Come along. I will take you to the reception chamber.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte followed him. The reception chamber was an exciting place. The decorations were magnificent and there were so many people, and one woman with a very long nose who fascinated her. She tried not to stare but could not prevent herself.

  That must be one of the longest noses in the world, she told herself. I wonder whose it is? I must know.

  “Who is that woman?” she whispered to a man who was standing nearby. He did not seem to have heard for he took no notice.

  Then she saw William, who had moved some little distance away from her.

  “William,” she whispered. “Come here, William.”

  William regarded her stonily and kept his distance.

  “William,” she said a little louder. “I want to speak to you.”

  This was not the manner in which to speak to the Prince of Orange. When they were alone he endured a good deal; but he would not in public.

  “William,” she cried in a loud voice, “I want to ask you something.”

  Still he ignored her.

  “William,” she screamed, “who is that woman with the long nose?”

  There was a hushed silence all about her. The long-nosed woman did not appear to have heard the interruption.

  Elizabeth Charlotte felt her arm gently but firmly taken by a plump young woman and she was led out of the hall.

  In the anteroom Elizabeth Charlotte tried to struggle free. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Her Highness’s lady in waiting, Anne Hyde,” was the answer.

  “Then how dare you lay hands on me? How dare you force me where I do not want to go?”

  William had come into the apartment; as soon as he entered he smiled, which was strange for it was not a habit with him.

  “William …” began Elizabeth Charlotte imperiously.

  But William interrupted her. “You asked me a question in there. I’ll answer you now. Who is the long-nosed woman? You wanted to know. Well, she is my mother, the Princess of Orange.”

  The Princess of Orange had sent for her son and as he stood before her she studied him intently. She wished that he could add a few inches to his stature. It would later be such a handicap for him if he remained small. She wished too that he could throw off that wheeziness of his, which really alarmed her. He must learn to stand up straight, for his stoop was growing more pronounced each week.

  William guessed what she was thinking; it made him resentful—not against her, but against life which had given him the title of Prince and withheld all that was outwardly princely.

  One day, he thought, I will show them that it is not necessary to be tall to be a king. Small men can be as brave—or braver—
than big ones. He would show them … one day.

  The Princess had no idea that her son read her thoughts; she said: “Pray be seated, William. I wish to speak to you about very important matters.”

  He thought that she was going to reproach him for the behavior of Elizabeth Charlotte, not realizing that when events of such magnitude were happening in her family, the lack of decorum of a child was of small importance to his mother.

  “Your uncle has returned to his kingdom.”

  William said in his correct manner which was more suited to a diplomat than a boy of nine: “Your Highness refers to King Charles II?”

  The Princess smiled, thinking of her brother—so tall and charming, so graciously expressing his gratitude for what she had been able to do for him. As if she would not have given all she had to help him! Fleetingly she wished William was a little more like his uncle Charles … not that she wished William to grow into a libertine; but she would have liked to have passed a little of the Stuart charm to William. Poor William! That was what he had so missed. Charm? That naughty little playmate of his had more than he had. Not that she would have wished her son to have so disgraced himself as Elizabeth Charlotte had. She must speak to the Queen of Bohemia about the child. But it was no great concern of hers, for now that Charles was back on the throne she saw marriage possibilities for her son which did not include Elizabeth Charlotte.

  “Certainly I am referring to your Uncle Charles,” she said. “I hear the people gave him such a welcome as has rarely been given to a King before. They were tired of puritan rule in England. And now … your uncle is back where he belongs.”

  “That is good, Your Highness.”

  She wanted to shout at him: Oh, you little Dutchman. Smile. Do not be so reserved … at least with your mother.

  She wondered whether she might take him to the English Court. It would do him good to learn a little grace. But she would not want him to adopt the manners of his uncle. One forgave Charles his lechery; but one naturally did not want a son to be the same. No, all William needed was to be less serious, more charming.

  “It is very good; and I am going to England as his guest. While I am away I wish you to behave … as though I were here.”

  She paused. He would naturally be well behaved. When had he ever been otherwise?

  She said quickly: “But of course you will, William. I am merely telling you what a matter for rejoicing this is in the family. It was that villain Cromwell who insisted on your exclusion from the Stadtholderate. One of your uncle’s first acts was to repeal that. Do you see what this means? While your uncle is firmly on the English throne … we have a strong ally against our enemies.”

  “Let us pray that he remains on his throne,” said William solemnly, “and that his father’s fate never overtakes him.”

  The Princess smiled. “Oh, William,” she said, “you behave as though you are indeed the Stadtholder. You will be, in due course. I know that your uncle will look after your affairs as though he were your father. He has the kindest heart, and if I ask it as a special favor to me he will look to your interests.”

  “I thank Your Highness.”

  “The King will marry now and doubtless have children. If he does not …”

  William waited, and she went on quickly: “Well, my son, you are in the line of succession to the English throne, though some way back. James’s children come before you, but one can never be sure what is going to happen. When you marry it must be a match which will bring you every possible advantage.”

  William was watching her eagerly. Perhaps, she thought, I am saying too much; but he is so serious that he makes me forget he is little more than a child.

  “Well,” she said briskly, “I shall be praying for you while I am away. And you must pray for me, William. Remember that what is happening in England is a good augury for the future.”

  “I will remember, Mother.”

  “I shall speak of you to your uncle. I doubt not we shall discuss your future.”

  William bowed his head. My marriage? he thought. Whom would they choose for him? He knew that his uncle, James, Duke of York, had two girls—Mary and Anne. Would it be one of these? He hoped that his bride would be tall. She must be to make up for his being so small. She must be the most beautiful woman in the world; she must be witty and clever; but there was one quality above all others which she must possess: Meekness. Having all the virtues, being clever, she must yet realize that there was one whom she must obey. She must be a docile wife ready to adore her husband.

  His mother embraced him. “When I return from England we shall have a talk. I shall tell you what it is like to live at the English Court. Now you may go. And I beg of you do not follow the manners of your cousin. Elizabeth Charlotte is a most undisciplined child.”

  “I agree with Your Highness.”

  The Princess smiled a little wistfully. She was thinking that if a little of Elizabeth Charlotte’s mischief could be transferred to William it might not be a bad thing.

  Elizabeth Charlotte was waiting for him.

  “What did the Princess want?” she demanded.

  “To discuss affairs.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte turned a hasty somersault and William stared at a swirl of petticoats in shocked silence. Her round saucy face, red with exertion, was mocking yet curious.

  “You do give yourself airs, William,” she said. “To discuss affairs!” She imitated him. “What affairs? Come on. Tell me.”

  “You would not understand.”

  “Now, William, if I am going to marry you you will have to learn to treat me with respect.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I shall be your wife. I shall be the Princess of Orange.”

  “You will never be that.”

  “And why not? Why am I here as your constant companion if it is not to prepare me to accept you?”

  William drew himself up to make himself as tall as possible. Mischievously Elizabeth Charlotte came to stand beside him to show that she was taller.

  He knew in that moment that he would never marry her.

  “Do not be too sure that I shall accept you,” he said. “You have not the qualities which I shall expect to find in my wife.”

  “Oh, William, you talk like Grandmamma of Bohemia or your mother or some of her old ministers. If they say we have to marry we shall, and you’ll have to accept me as I shall you.”

  “My wife,” said William, “will be very tall, very beautiful … and …” His voice was suddenly so firm that the grin on Elizabeth Charlotte’s face momentarily disappeared, “She will do exactly as I say.”

  William knew that he would never forget that morning in early January and that it would stand out as one of the momentous occasions of his life. He awoke as usual in his apartments in the Palace in the Wood, rising early, doing the exercises which he never failed to perform because he believed that they would make him grow and develop his muscles. Every night and morning he prayed that he might grow tall and strong so that he would be a worthy war leader. He never forgot that his first ambition was to regain the office of Stadtholder which had been his father’s and which the de Wittes and their party had taken from him. The duty of the Stadtholder was to lead Holland against her enemies; it had been the prerogative of the Princes of Orange and he was determined to regain it. Therefore he must discipline himself every day for the task and learn to excel in the art of war. Holland was a small country which had suffered persecution because it was vulnerable and he was determined to make it great.

  His zeal was beginning to show results. He could manage a horse with any man; and because of his somewhat short legs he looked bigger on a horse than when standing. That again endeared him to horses. In the saddle he forgot to be concerned with his lack of inches.

  He left the Palace for the stables on that morning; his horse was waiting for him and he rode out, galloping with growing excitement. His mother was away at the Court of England making plans for his future. His Uncle Cha
rles was on the throne of England. The de Wittes and their friends had better be wary because he, William, now had some very good and powerful friends who would not be content to see him deprived of offices which were his by right of inheritance.

  When he came back to the stables the groom ran out to take his sweating horse and began to stammer words which the Prince could not understand.

  William waited coldly for the man to overcome his excitement.

  “Your Highness … a visitor to the Palace … They came to the stables searching for you. I told them you had gone out with your horse.”

  “Well? And who wished to see me?”

  “A very great personage, Your Highness. Mynheer de Witte.”

  William did not show that his heart had begun to beat faster. He leaped to the ground and when the groom took his horse left the stables and without hurrying walked into the palace.

  A page who was evidently on the lookout for him saw him approaching and ran out to him.

  “Your Highness,” he stammered.

  “I know,” said William, subconsciously measuring the height of the page—about his own, he reckoned, and the boy younger. “I have a visitor. Take me to him.”

  The man who was waiting for the young Prince stood, hands behind his back looking out of the window across the gardens. He turned as William entered the room.

  William caught his breath and for a few seconds his habitual calm left him. The man who stood before him was the most talked of, the most influential in Holland; John de Witte, the Grand Pensionary, who more than any had been responsible for the abolition of the Stadtholdership.

  John de Witte and his brother Cornelius were names which the Prince had learned to abhor. These two men, brilliant and humane, believed that they could best serve their country by freeing it from hereditary rule; and because the Prince of Holland had died before his son was born they had seen their opportunity to abolish the Stadtholdership which set up one man, the Stadtholder, as supreme ruler. They had affected this because there was no one to defend the title.

  Now John de Witte and the deprived Prince of Orange were face to face.

  “Your Highness,” said de Witte, coming forward and bowing, “I have tragic news to impart to you, so I have come to do this in person and to convey my deep sympathies. There has been an outbreak of smallpox at the English Court and …”