The Three Crowns

by Виктория Холт

  “What now?” whispered Anne Trelawny to Mrs. Langford. “What new tyranny is this?”

  Mrs. Langford, the wife of a clergyman who had been one of Mary’s devoted servants for a long time, shared Anne Trelawny’s dislike of William.

  “He wants to show who is master, that’s all,” she retorted.

  “Your Highness,” said Anne, “what has happened?”

  “I wish to change my dress. Bring out a blue gown and my diamonds and sapphires.”

  “But this is the thirtieth of January, Your Highness.”

  “It is the Prince’s wish that I dine in public with him and show no sign of grief for my grandfather.”

  Anne Trelawny and Mrs. Langford lifted their shoulders and looked at each other.

  What a wretched meal that was! Mary could eat nothing. William watched her critically as the dishes were placed before her and taken away.

  How could he? she was thinking. This was a deliberate insult to their grandfather—his as well as hers. Everyone knew she spent this as a day of mourning and although he had not mourned as she did, he had never before prevented her.

  After the meal he told her that they were going to the theater together.

  “You are going to the theater, William?” she asked.

  “I said we were going together.”

  “But you dislike the theater.”

  “And you love it.”

  “Not on this day.”

  “We are going,” he said.

  This was significant. He was telling the world that she and he dissociated themselves from that policy of Divine Right, which had lost their grandfather his life, which his son Charles had followed and his brother James was threatening to do.

  William wanted the people of England to know that he stood for a Protestant England and an England which was ruled by a Sovereign who worked with his Parliament.

  Thus there was no need to feel regret for one who had done the opposite.

  Anne Trelawny and Mrs. Langford were talking of the affair while the Prince and Princess were at the theater.

  “I have never known a Princess so shamefully treated,” said Anne.

  “He wants to show her that he is master.”

  “Why she doesn’t stand up to him I can’t imagine.”

  “Oh, she’s gentle. She wants him to be a perfect husband. I know my Princess. She pretends he is one—and that she feels is as near as she’ll get.”

  “Caliban!” muttered Anne. “I often wonder what her father would say if he knew the way she was treated.”

  “She’s being turned against him. It’s unnatural, that’s what it is.”

  “I wish there was something we could do.”

  “Who knows, perhaps one day there will be.”

  Mary found it difficult to fall back into the old gaiety after the January day. How could William have behaved as he did? She had been so unhappy. She thought she would never forget the misery of that public meal and afterward going to the theater and sitting there, not listening to the actors, just thinking of her grandfather and all that he had suffered.

  It was like dancing on a holy day.

  Her father would hear of it. Her father! What had happened to their relationship? She knew that she must love and obey William but there were times when it was very hard.

  Monmouth tried to cheer her.

  “You take life too seriously,” he told her.

  “Don’t you, Jemmy?”

  “No, never.”

  “There are times when you seem serious now.”

  “Ah, I have a feeling that this is the turning point of my life.”

  He was looking at her ardently, and although she reminded herself that that was how Jemmy must have looked at so many women, still she was deeply moved.

  She tried to smile when they danced a bransle together, but she could not raise herself from her melancholy. There was something unreal about the strange turn life had taken, she saw now, and it could not last.

  “Jemmy,” she said, “how long shall you stay in Holland?”

  “As long as I am welcome, I suppose,” he answered.

  “You know how long that will be if I have any say.”

  “Tell me,” he whispered.

  “Forever,” she answered; and turned away, afraid.

  On the evening of the sixteenth of February 1685 Mary was in her apartments playing cards with some of her women when a message was brought to her that she must present herself without delay to the Prince in his cabinet.

  She rose at once and as soon as she saw William she knew that he was excited, although his expression was calm as usual. But a nerve twitched in his cheek and when he spoke he found it difficult to control his breath.

  “News,” he said, “which should have been brought to us days ago. On account of the ice and snow it has been delayed. Charles, King of England, is dead and your father has now mounted the throne.”

  “Uncle Charles dead!” she muttered.

  He looked at her forgetting to be exasperated by this habit of repeating his words.

  “You realize,” he went on, “the importance of this to … us?”

  She did not answer. She was thinking of Charles, her kind dear uncle, with his charming careless smile … dead.

  “I have sent for Monmouth,” went on William. “He should be with us soon.”

  No one could doubt the genuine grief of Monmouth. What had he ever had but kindness from the hands of his father? And what would become of him now that his greatest enemy was King of England?

  He remained closeted with the Prince of Orange for many hours; then he went back to the Palace of the Mauruitshuis, which William had lent him during his sojourn in Holland, and there gave way to sorrow.

  Bevil Skelton, the new Envoy from England, asked for an audience with the Prince of Orange.

  This William granted. He had received a cold, somewhat unfriendly letter from Whitehall which ran:

  “I have only time to tell you that it has pleased God Almighty to take out of this world the King my brother. You will from others have an account of what distemper he died of; and that all the usual ceremonies were performed this day in proclaiming me King in the city and other parts. I must end, which I do, with assuring you, you shall find me as kind as you can expect.”

  As kind as you can expect. There was an ominous ring in those words.

  Great events were about to break and rarely had William felt so excited in the whole of his life.

  When Skelton was ushered in he came straight to the point. “His Majesty King James II wishes you to send the Duke of Monmouth back to England without delay.”

  William bowed his head. “I shall do as the King of England demands. And now if you will leave me I will have him informed that he is no longer my guest. Then, when that is done, you may make him your prisoner and conduct him to your master.”

  Skelton was delighted with his easy victory; but when he was alone William immediately sent a messenger to Monmouth with money, explaining that a plot was afoot to carry him back to England and his only hope was to leave Holland with all speed.

  Thus when Skelton went to arrest Monmouth, he had fled.

  Gone were the gay and happy days.

  Mary sat with her women thinking of the dances and the skating, wondering what the future would hold.

  All through the spring she waited to hear news of Jemmy. There was none.

  He will never be able to return to England because my father hates him, she thought.

  But in May of that year there was news. Monmouth had left for England.

  The tension at The Hague had never been so great. Messengers were arriving at the Palace all day. William was shut up with Bentinck for hours at a time; he hardly seemed to be aware of Mary.

  Monmouth was in Somerset. Taunton was greeting him. He had followers in the West of England who would go with him to death if need be for the sake of the Protestant cause.

  To William’s surprise there were many to support
the King, and his army under Churchill and Feversham was a well-trained force. What chance had the rebels against it?

  King Monmouth, they were calling the Duke. King! William gritted his teeth and prayed for the victory of his greatest enemy.

  It came with Sedgemoor and debacle. Victory for King James. Defeat, utter and complete, for King Monmouth.

  In The Hague William secretly rejoiced. Monmouth, you fool! he thought. You deserve to lose your head and you will, King Monmouth.

  Oh, Jemmy, thought Mary, what will become of you? Why did you do this? Why could you not have stayed with us, dancing, skating. We were so happy. And now what will become of you?

  She quickly learned. Before the end of July Jemmy was dead. He was taken to the scaffold from his prison in the Tower. He went to his death with dignity and he did not flinch when he laid his head on the block.

  THE WIFE AND THE MISTRESS

  Those months stood out forever in Mary’s memory; they were the turning point in her life. Jemmy was dead … killed, on her father’s order.

  “He was his uncle,” she said stonily to Anne Trelawny.

  “Monmouth was a traitor, Your Highness.”

  “I do not believe he meant to take the throne.”

  “Your Highness was always one to believe the best of your friends. He called himself King Monmouth. He could not have been more explicit.”

  “Others called him that.”

  She could not be comforted. She shut herself in her apartments and thought of him—dancing, laughing—making love with numerous women. He was no saint. He was not a noble honorable man such as her husband was. But he was so beautiful, so charming, and she had never been so happy as when in his company—except of course on those occasions when William showed his approval of her.

  If he had never come to The Hague, she thought, I should not be mourning him so bitterly now.

  The entire Court was talking of what was called the Bloody Assizes which had followed Monmouth’s defeat at Sedgemoor. They spoke in shocked whispers of the terrible sentences which were passed on those who had rebelled against the new King of England. Death, slavery, whipping, imprisonment. It was a tale of horror.

  And this, said Mary, is done in the name of my father.

  Dr. Covell, who had succeeded Dr. Kenn as chaplain to the Princess of Orange was flattered to receive a call from Bevil Skelton the English Envoy at The Hague.

  Skelton implied that he wished to speak to Covell alone and when he came into the chaplain’s apartment there was an air of secrecy about him which delighted Covell. Covell, an old man, who lacked the courage and personality of Hooper and Kenn, his two predecessors, guessed that some highly confidential matter was about to be communicated to him.

  He was right.

  “Dr. Covell,” began Skelton, “I know that I can rely on your discretion.”

  “Absolutely, my dear sir. Absolutely.”

  “That is well, because I am going to take you into my confidence regarding a very secret matter.”

  “You may have the utmost trust in me.”

  “I believe,” said Skelton, “that you deplore the way in which the Prince treats our Princess.”

  “Scandalous, sir. Quite scandalous.”

  “And you are a faithful servant of King James II, our lawful sovereign.”

  “God save the King!”

  “I must insist that you keep this absolutely to yourself.”

  “I give my word as a priest.”

  “Well, then, this Orange marriage is not satisfactory. Not only is it without fruit but the Princess is treated like a slave. His Majesty knows this; the Princess is his favorite daughter and he is deeply concerned. It is clear that she is unhappy. She must be unhappy. No wife could be otherwise, neglected as she is. The King wishes to have the marriage dissolved and it is my duty to find a way of doing it.”

  Covell was too astonished to speak and Skelton went on: “Oh, I know you are thinking this is impossible. On the contrary it is not so. There is ample reason why this marriage should be dissolved.”

  “You mean the Prince is incapable of getting a son?”

  “I mean that he spends his nights with another woman.”

  “I understand.”

  “The Princess does not seem aware of this.”

  “The Princess is not always easy to understand. At times she seems almost childlike; at others her control is astonishing and one feels that she is very wise indeed.”

  “I believe that if she were made aware of what is going on behind her back her pride would be wounded. She is a proud woman. Remember she is a Princess. Our first step should be to make sure that she is aware that her husband has a mistress to whom he must be devoted considering she has occupied that position since she came into Holland.”

  “Do you wish me to tell the Princess?”

  “We must be subtle. Have a word with her women—those you feel will be most likely to put the case to her … as it should be put. I should not ask either of the Villiers sisters to betray the elder one.”

  Covell nodded. Skelton was referring to Anne Bentinck and Katherine Villiers, who had married the Marquis de Puissars, and were both in Mary’s service.

  “I will have a word with Anne Trelawny,” said Covell. “She loves her mistress dearly and I feel sure she hates the Prince almost as much as His Majesty does.”

  “I see you have the right idea,” said Skelton. “Now … let us go into action without delay.”

  Covell, who enjoyed intrigue and liked to think he was not too old to indulge in it, immediately sought out Anne Trelawny and as Mrs. Langford was with her, and he knew that lady to be as fiercely against the Prince of Orange as the other, he decided to take them both into his confidence.

  He explained the nature of the plot and there was at once no doubt that he would have the assistance of these two.

  “I have always said it was monstrous!” declared Mrs. Langford. “My Princess ignored for Squinting Betty!”

  “What he sees in her, I can’t imagine,” added Anne. “When I think of my beautiful Lady Mary …”

  “See if you can bring what is happening to her notice,” said Covell.

  “It should not be difficult,” said Mrs. Langford.

  “Sometimes,” added Anne, “I wonder whether she knows and pretends it is not so. That would be like her. I am sure she is too clever not to have discovered it. After all it’s been going on long enough.”

  “I don’t know, Squint-eye is clever. Have you noticed since we have been in Holland and she’s been playing the whore how retiring she’s been. She’s never given the Princess any cause to complain about her. Whereas before …”

  “Never mind,” said Anne, “the Princess is going to know now.”

  Anne was dressing Mary’s hair and Mary said: “You are preoccupied, Anne. Is anything wrong?”

  Anne stood still biting her lip. In apprehension Mary glanced at her body, remembering the case of Jane Wroth. Not Anne, surely!

  Anne said: “I … cannot speak of it.”

  “Nonsense. Not tell me! Come! Out with it.”

  “Oh, I get so angry. It is Elizabeth Villiers. How dare she … deceive Your Highness so … and glory in it. There, I’ve said it. It’s been on the tip of my tongue these last six years. Six years! It’s no wonder …”

  Mary had turned pale. That which she had forced herself to ignore and refuse to accept was now being thrust at her; and it was a hateful realization that she could not ignore it any longer.

  “What are you saying, Anne?”

  “What I should have said before. Your Highness does not know. They are so sly. But I hate … hate … hate to see it, and I can’t keep silent any longer.”

  “Anne, you are becoming hysterical.”

  “I feel hysterical. I have to stand by and see your life ruined. You might have dear little children by now. But how can you? He is never with you … or hardly ever. Something will have to be done.”

  Mary called Mrs. La
ngford. She said: “Help Anne to her bed. I fear she is not well.”

  Mrs. Langford came to Mary.

  “Your Highness,” she said sorrowfully, “Anne Trelawny has told me what she said and she is afraid you are angry with her. She said it only out of her love for you.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, my lady, my dear little lady, it’s true.”

  “I do not wish to hear the subject mentioned again.”

  “My lady, I’ve nursed you since you were little. I know you are a Princess but you will always be my baby.” Mrs. Langford began to cry. “I cannot bear to see you treated in this way.”

  “There is no need for you to be sorry for me.”

  “You don’t believe it, do you? You don’t believe he goes to her bed … almost every night. You don’t believe that when he tells you he has state matters to deal with he is there. She is his state matter, the sly squint-eyed whore.”

  “You forget yourself.…”

  “Oh, my little love, forgive me. But I cannot endure much more of this. Something should be done.”

  Mary was silent. It was true. She had always known it. For years she had known it and pretended. No one had ever mentioned it and that had made it easy to live in a world of make-believe. But now they had drawn aside the veil of fantasy and there was the unpleasant and unavoidable truth to be faced.

  “You don’t believe it, do you, my Princess?” went on Mrs. Langford. “It wouldn’t be so difficult to prove. They’ve got careless over the years. Over the years! Years of deceit. Think of it. And you longing for babies!”

  Years of deceit! thought Mary.

  She closed her eyes and saw the little boy who had come to her table to steal sweetmeats. Jemmy had noticed—so had others. They had been sorry for her; and many of them would have said: How she longs for a child; but she is barren. Some say the Prince is impotent. Others that he spends too much time with his squint-eyed mistress.

  Hundreds of pictures from the past crowded into her mind. Elizabeth in the nursery—sly hurtful remarks … always making her uncomfortable … an enemy.

  And now, William loved her. What was the use of hiding the truth. What was the use of pretending that William was a noble hero when everyone knew he was committing adultery under the same roof as that which sheltered his wife.