The Three Crowns epub

by Jean Plaidy

  “I have told you that I take little drink.”

  “For a custom, Your Highness.”

  William felt uneasy; he looked into that circle of faces aware that all eyes were on him. He fancied they were laughing at him, at his lack of worldliness, at his inability to drink as they and most certainly at his meager body—they who apparently worshipped their bodies, decking them out in silks and satins, indulging their appetites.

  “For a custom then,” he said rashly.

  “Done!” cried Buckingham.

  They stood and raised their glasses. “Hurrah for Orange, Stadtholder of Holland!”

  “Hurrah for Orange!”

  There was a slight flush in William’s face; they were all smiling at him as though they were in truth his friends. They would help him to regain his rights. This was what he had dreamed of. Was it not for this that he had come to England?

  The Duke of Buckingham was calling for more wine. Sparkling wine! Now they would drink to the friendship between their two countries.

  “It is our custom, Your Highness, to drain the glass. To leave a little in the bottom is an insult.” He rose to his feet. “My friends, we are greatly honored tonight. Come, the toast! Our Sovereign Lord the King and his nephew the Prince of Orange—friends and kinsmen. May they never forget the bond between our two countries.”

  William drained his glass. He felt a little light-headed, but Buckingham was at his side.

  “Your Highness, this is a happy night for us all …”

  Sedley had leaned forward and filled the Prince’s glass. “I see Your Highness is a man who knows how to hold his drink. Now I propose the toast. Victory for His Highness of Orange in all that he endeavors.”

  William drained the glass.

  He was beginning to feel pleasantly at ease. A warm glow had settled on him; he no longer believed that his companions were laughing at him. Far from it. He felt six feet tall, a man among men; they were his friends, his kind respectful friends. They wanted to please him, Buckingham was telling him. In fact it was the object of this party—in honor of the Prince, to please the Prince.

  No one in Holland had ever accorded him such respect; and never had he felt quite as he did on this day.

  He was lolling back in his chair. Buckingham was telling him how he had fought a duel with Shrewsbury. It seemed very funny, although William had, only that day when he had been regretting that he had accepted Buckingham’s invitation, recalled that incident with distaste.

  Buckingham was talking of his mistresses—familiarly and again amusingly; and he spoke as though William were as knowledgeable in these matters as he was.

  Sedley and Rochester joined in, capping each other’s stories. Every now and then one of them would stand and lift his glass, mention a woman’s name and they would all drink. The more William drank of the wine, the more he liked it; and the less sleepy he became. He heard someone laughing uproariously and to his amazement discovered that it was himself.

  “His Highness is cleverer than any of us,” said Buckingham.

  He liked that. The sense of power was with him. He was cleverer than any of them. He needed to be.

  “So solemn. So serious. Ah, but what is he like in my lady’s bedchamber?”

  William joined in the laughter.

  “Oh, His Highness admits it among his friends.” Buckingham sighed. “Would that I had had the wit to hide my weakness. What a lot of trouble I should have been saved.”

  “His Highness could teach us much.”

  “Oh, depend upon it.”

  “Did you see that pretty maid of honor. The new one. A ripe young virgin, I’ll swear. Not more than sixteen. Ha, I see His Highness is listening intently. I’ll warrant he has already marked her for his own?”

  “Seen her, smiled on her! Then what is the betting she is a virgin no more?”

  “I’ll take you up there, Sedley.”

  “One hundred.”

  “Make it two.”

  “But how test the truth?”

  “I’ll warrant His Highness will tell us how.”

  Buckingham bent closer to William. “Your Highness,” he said, “we promised you good sport tonight.”

  “Lead me to it,” said William in slurred voice.

  The others exchanged glances. The plot was a wild success. Charles was going to laugh at this; and there was nothing that he liked so much as to be amused by the wild adventures of his roystering courtiers. And this one was going to please him more than most. He had said that William was like a eunuch and he often wondered whether those clever de Wittes hadn’t made him one just to make sure of the end of the House of Orange.

  Buckingham had countered. “Would Your Majesty wager on the matter?”

  “Right gladly,” the King had replied. “And to have it proved that my nephew was indeed a man would give me such pleasure that I’d be willing to be the loser.”

  “All in good time. I can see Your Highness is a man who does not like to wait when the urge is on him,” Buckingham was telling William.

  All the others were laughing; so was William. They knew him better than he knew himself. They were sure he was a success with women. He thought of Elizabeth Charlotte who had quite clearly wanted the marriage between them far more than he had. His dear friends knew more about him than he knew himself. He would be the greatest ruler in Europe—wise, shrewd, successful in all campaigns—yes, every one he undertook, on the battlefield or in the bedchamber.

  “As His Highness is in no mood for waiting, let us be gone,” suggested Sedley.

  Buckingham rose and put his fingers to his lips. The others did the same. Then William stood up and he too put his fingers to his lips.

  The room reminded him of the ship on which he had crossed to England, so unsteady was the floor. He laughed aloud. He was so happy to be in England because the English understood him as no one in Holland ever had.

  Buckingham took one of his arms, Rochester the other, and with exaggerated caution they left the apartment.

  “They will be in bed now,” whispered Sedley.

  “All the better,” retorted Rochester.

  “All locked up securely for the night, chastity belts securely fastened, but His Highness the Prince of Orange will know the password. He will have the key.”

  Such laughter—all the more hilarious because it must be suppressed. Buckingham put his fingers to his lips and they all did the same.

  William felt the cool air on his face and this was the only intimation he had that he was out of doors. The fresh air revived him a little, made him feel as strong and brave as a lion.

  He stood with the group looking at the row of lighted windows.

  “How do we get in?” asked Rochester. “My Prince, pray tell us.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” said Buckingham. “Could it be through the windows?”

  “Yes,” said William and his voice sounded muffled. “Through the windows.”

  Sedley pressed a stone into his hands. “You will lead your men, Sire,” he said.

  William had never felt so happy. He forgot that he was smaller than most men, that he suffered from that humiliating asthmatical wheeze, that his clothes had to be cut in a special way to hide his deformities.

  He was a leader of men—and not in battles. These rakes of his uncle’s Court, who were noted for their brilliant wit and fascination were looking to him to lead them.

  He threw the stone. Laughing triumphantly he scrambled up the wall to the broken window.

  There were cries of alarm from within and faces appeared at the windows.

  Buckingham’s voice came from a long way off: “His Highness of Orange … a little merry. Looking for the ladies.”

  William had seen the girls’ faces and they seemed very fair and inviting. He was irresistible. Buckingham and his friends had said so.

  “I’ll not disappoint them,” he cried. “I’m going in.”

  The girls began to scream. There were the sounds of shouting and
a lantern appeared among the revelers below. Then Buckingham seized the Prince’s legs and pulled him to the ground.

  “Your Highness, you are waking the Palace.”

  “I will not disappoint them. The maids are waiting for me. I will not disappoint them.”

  “Your Highness, we know of your reputation, but you are waking the Palace.”

  “I will share the bed of the fairest this night …”

  Sedley and Rochester took his legs, Buckingham and Savile his arms, and he was lifted off the ground.

  Now he was angry. He no longer cared for these men. They had promised him good sport and now they were standing in his way of getting it. He wanted to seduce a maid of honor. He knew now that he did not find women as uninteresting as he had believed; tonight had been an education and he wanted to complete it.

  The governess of the maids of honor had put her head out of the window.

  “Disgraceful!” she cried. “Her Majesty the Queen shall hear of this!”

  “Madam,” answered Buckingham, “we have done all we can to restrain His Highness. We fear he is a desperate fellow where the ladies are concerned.”

  “Then take him away from here,” was the answer. “Rest assured he will have to answer to Her Majesty.”

  The laughing courtiers, the shouting governess, and the struggling Prince of Orange made, declared all those who saw it, as goodly a sight as they had seen outside the playhouse. But what was most amusing was that the solemn prudish young Dutchman should be at the center of it.

  The King smiled sardonically at his nephew. A chastened William this, who understood that the previous night he had, for the first time in his life, become intoxicated and shown himself to be what no one—including himself—had suspected he might be: a budding libertine.

  “Sire,” said William, “I cannot express my sorrow …”

  “Then do not attempt to achieve the impossible, nephew. It is a waste of good time. But let me assure you, this is not a matter which causes me great sorrow—so nor should it you. A broken window is a small price to pay for experience; and last night you learned that nature has not denied you the normal instincts of a man. Would that the old lady had not awakened; then you might have enjoyed the fruit of your labors. I am sure you have made a good impression on the maids and doubtless one—at least—will find some means of assuring you that it is not necessary to break more windows.”

  “I fear, Sire, that my reputation is ruined.”

  “On the contrary, it is enhanced. A little light-heartedness is a blessing on all occasions.”

  “Your Majesty, I believe it is time that I had a wife.”

  “You are young yet. Why not enjoy the advantages of marriage and none of its disadvantages for a while?”

  “I shall not shirk the responsibilities of marriage, Sire,” answered William primly. “An alliance with my mother’s country would I believe be advantageous to both hers and mine.”

  “I’ll warrant you are thinking of your cousin Mary. Yes, of a surety, Mary! God’s fish, man, you would have to wait too long for the child. Do you know she is as yet eight years old?”

  “I would be prepared to wait.”

  Charles pretended to consider. What would his nephew say if he knew that he was on the point of signing an agreement with Holland’s greatest enemy, Louis XIV of France, one clause of which was that together they should declare war on the Dutch?

  “I can see you are a very patient young man.”

  William was excited. The King did not refuse him Mary. His thoughts ran on; he had to have an ambitious goal to help wash out last night’s disgrace. He was after all in the line of succession and marriage with Mary would put him several jumps ahead.

  Ever since he had come to England he had become obsessed by a desire to rule the country. He would sweep clean the Court of all its vice. England was a great country, with advantages denied to Holland, and he could be King of England, Scotland, and Ireland if he married Mary.

  And the King was not dismissing the idea.

  “Your Majesty, could I see my cousin?”

  Charles nodded. “I see no reason why you should not. She is at Richmond with her family. When you see her you will realize how young she is. Oh, William, do you want to wait some six or seven years for marriage?”

  “A good match is worth waiting for, Your Majesty.”

  “I see that you are a very wise young man; and judging by your nocturnal adventures you will know how to amuse yourself during the waiting.”

  Charles began to laugh and William allowed the corners of his own mouth to turn up. He had secretly decided never to come under the influence of wine again; but he was not displeased to be thought something of a gay gallant.

  When the King was riding with the Prince of Orange they found themselves near to Richmond, so it was natural that they should stop there.

  A pleasant family party was being enjoyed. The Duke of York, who had been indisposed, was spending most of his time at Richmond with his Duchess, who was clearly very ill, and their children were with them there.

  Charles strode into the Palace and there was the immediate bustle which was an essential part of a King’s arrival.

  But this, said Charles, was an informal occasion; he wanted no ceremony.

  He embraced his brother and his sister-in-law.

  “And where are the children?” he wanted to know.

  “They had all been playing a game together,” James explained, and sent one of the attendants to bring the little girls to His Majesty. Edgar had a slight fever and was in bed.

  William watched her as she came forward; a pretty girl, with dark ringlets and almond-shaped eyes, she was not in the least shy and appeared to be very sure of an affectionate welcome from her uncle.

  She kissed the King’s hand, at which he drew her to him. It was clear to William which one of the girls was the King’s favorite, although he was obviously fond of both of them.

  “Mistress Anne, you grow plumper every time I see you,” said Charles. “Tell me, what do you do when you are not eating?”

  Anne tried to think. “I wonder what I shall have for dinner, Sire,” she said at length, which made them all laugh.

  “And now I’ll warrant you’re wondering who is this handsome young man whom I have brought to see you.”

  “He is not very handsome,” said Anne.

  “You are not old enough to appreciate his charms, my dear niece.” Charles was smiling at Mary who had seen the tightening of the young man’s lips; she knew what was expected of her.

  “Anne is a child,” she said. “She and I never agree.”

  The King’s hands gripped her shoulder and his dark face gleamed with pleasure.

  “Mary,” he said, “one day you shall have a seat on my Council. I knew that you and your cousin of Orange would be good friends. Take him to sit over yonder and talk to him. He would like to talk to you, and I must perforce speak to Mistress Anne and endeavor to persuade her that honey flavors words as pleasantly as sweetmeats.”

  As Mary smiled up at her cousin she heard Anne protesting: “But, uncle, we should always tell the truth, you know.”

  And Charles’s reply: “The truth is a slippery eel, Anne. When we use it toward others we call it honesty; when they use it toward us we call it bad manners.”

  Mary said: “You are my cousin from Holland. I knew that you were here.”

  “I am glad to meet you.”

  “I hope that you will stay long with us.”

  He liked her. She was tall, but as yet not as tall as he was—being only eight. She was physically attractive with her long almond eyes; a certain gaiety mingled with her gravity which he found pleasant.

  He wondered if she had heard about the escapade with the maids of honor, decided that she had not, and liked her better than ever.

  Her little brother was in bed with a fever; he had heard that he was a sickly child. The duchess was very ill, and looked to have death at her elbow; as for the King, he
had been married ten years and had no child—although he had plenty of illegitimate sons and daughters.

  England was a powerful country; he was in the line of succession, but not so close as this girl.

  As he talked to Mary he made up his mind that, in due course, he might be very pleased to do her the honor of making her his wife. There was only one thing that caused him a little uneasiness. She was rather sure of herself. The manner in which she spoke to the King and her father betrayed that. Of course she had been indulged. Would she be a meek and docile wife, for he would accept no other.

  Yes, he believed he could mold her. Mary would, when she was of age, please him well as a wife.

  THE ORANGE BRIDEGROOM

  During the two years since his return from England William had remained on good terms with his uncles; but he had learned to be wary. His great enemy was Louis of France whom he knew wished to make Holland into a protectorate under France, which was something William would never accept. Spain was now an ally but not a reliable one, and William’s great hope was in England.

  There was one friend with whom he could talk without restraint; this was William Bentinck who resembled him in some ways; they had been drawn together when they had first met and William had found Bentinck serious, intelligent, in fact so much like himself that he might have been his brother. Bentinck, however, was less brusque than William; he was able to couch a demand diplomatically in a manner which William found impossible. He supplied a quality which William lacked and William was beginning to rely on him and kept him at his side.

  It was Bentinck who was with the Prince on that fateful day in the year 1672, two years after William’s visit to England.

  The two friends had been talking uneasily for England and France had become allies and were threatening Holland; there was a smoldering anger in William’s eyes as he faced his friend.

  “Traitors,” he said. “My own uncles! I believe that they had no intention of being my friends.”