The Three Crowns epub

by Jean Plaidy

  While Lady Frances scrutinized her charge Mary was looking anxiously at her governess.

  “You are pale, Lady Frances,” she said. “Have you one of your headaches?”

  Lady Frances put a hand to her brow and confessed that she had been feeling unwell for the last few days.

  “You must go and lie down.”

  Lady Frances shook her head. “And you must tell the Princess Anne of the appointment for tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes,” replied Mary, “I shall not forget.”

  Face to face with William she thought that the stories she had heard about him might well be true. He looked as though he rarely smiled.

  “Welcome to England, cousin,” she said; for the King and her father seemed to wish that she be the one to talk to him.

  He inclined his head and she asked him how he liked England.

  He liked it well enough, he answered.

  What a dour creature he was. She would remember this conversation and report it all in her next letter to Frances. Better still keep it until they met. She smiled as she visualized that meeting.

  “Very different, I’ll swear, from your Court at The Hague.”

  “Two Courts could hardly be expected to be the same.”

  She was thinking: But, Frances, it was so difficult to talk to him. He makes no attempt to carry on the conversation at all … and it simply dies out. I had to keep thinking of fresh subjects.

  “Do you … dance much at The Hague?”

  “Very little.”

  “I love to dance. I love playacting too. Jemmy … the Duke of Monmouth, excels at it all … dancing, playacting …”

  “Is that all he excels at?”

  Flushing, suddenly remembering Jemmy with Henrietta Wentworth and Eleanor Needham, she did not answer the question but said, “Pray tell me about Holland.”

  That forced him to talk and he did so briefly. It sounded a dull place to Mary; she was watching Anne, who was with their father, out of the corner of her eye, while she longed to be rescued from William who was so dull.

  She was pleased when it was over and she could escape.

  William was pleased too. She had perhaps been brought up to be too frivolous, but that was something he would soon remedy.

  She was not without beauty; she was young, very young, and he believed that he could mold her into the wife he wanted.

  James and Charles were well aware of the impression Mary had made on her cousin. William was eager for the marriage, and Charles delivered his ultimatum: Peace terms agreed on first and after that the marriage should be discussed.

  William had betrayed his desire for the marriage and his uncles might use his eagerness to their own good and the detriment of Holland. That must never be. The marriage contract must be settled first so that he might not be forced into accepting disadvantageous terms in order to secure it.

  William now stood firm. The contract must be completed before the peace terms were discussed.

  James was angry; Danby was terrified; and Charles lifted his shoulders in a significant gesture. Orange was not the most charming of men; tact was a quality which had not been bestowed upon him; but, God’s fish, the marriage was important. Charles was never a man to cling to his dignity when he found it expedient to dispense with it.

  “Our lover shall have his bride,” he declared. “It shall be as he wishes. Wedding first; business after.” He turned to his brother and momentarily his eyes were sad. “Now, James,” he went on, “there can be no further delay in breaking the news to Mary. You’re the man to do that.”

  Mary started at her father. She could not believe she was hearing him correctly.

  Marriage! But she did not want marriage. All she wanted was to go on as she was now. Marriage was something she had never considered seriously because she found the subject distasteful. Married people were rarely happy. She knew how her uncle the King deceived the Queen again and again and she was aware of the Queen’s unhappiness. She remembered the quarrels between her father and her mother; and even now that he was married to the beautiful Mary Beatrice he was not faithful to her. Mary Beatrice wept often because she was so hurt by his infidelities.

  And now it was her turn! And the husband they had chosen for her was that little man, her cousin William, who looked as though he had never learned how to laugh. If she had to marry he was the last husband she would want.

  “So you see, my dearest,” James was saying, “you are no longer a child and it is time you married.”

  “I do not wish to marry.”

  “That is often the case, but when you are married you will be content.”

  “I never shall. I never shall.”

  “Now, Mary.”

  She turned away from him for the tears were already on her cheeks.

  “Please, Mary, you must be sensible. This is difficult I know. You have had such a happy time and perhaps some would say have been a little spoilt … but now you must realize your duty. You see, my dear, you are in a position of great importance …”

  She was not listening. Marry Orange. Go to bed with Orange. It was shocking. It was distasteful. She hated it.

  Then another thought struck her. He did not live in England. He had a kingdom over the seas. So she would not only have to endure him, but she would leave home. Leave her dearest Frances … Frances, her true husband! She would leave Anne, her sister, from whom she had never been separated in the whole of her life. How could she be happy without Anne to scold, to laugh at, to play with. She could not endure it; she would not endure it.

  She flung herself at her father and began to sob wildly.

  “Father, do not make me leave home. Do not make me marry. Let me stay at home. I cannot bear to go away.”

  James stroked her hair and tried to comfort her.

  “Oh, my dearest, alas that this should be.”

  The Princess Mary was inconsolable.

  The Queen came to her to try to comfort her, but Mary would not be comforted.

  “It happens to us all, my dear,” said Catherine. “I came to England to marry the King.”

  “The King is not like Orange.”

  Catherine had to admit that. Charles was the most charming man in the world and she loved him dearly; in spite of his constant infidelities she considered him a good husband for he never spoke an unkind word to her and all she had to suffer was his neglect and the pain which his preference for other women gave her.

  “You will feel better later,” Catherine assured her. “It is the first shock.”

  Her stepmother, heavily pregnant, also tried to reassure her.

  “When I came here I was your age. I hated your father and now I love him dearly.”

  “But this is Orange,” persisted Mary. “He is not like my father.”

  “Yet you will come to love him. You must because he will be your husband.”

  They could not understand. It was not only that they had given her this most unattractive man; it was the contemplation of marriage itself.

  Her sister Anne was moved out of her usual placidity.

  She came running to her sister, her face puckered in distress.

  “Mary, they are saying that you will go away.”

  The sisters clung together.

  “But you cannot, you cannot. How can we be parted?”

  “They will send me to Holland … with William, Anne.”

  “It will never be the same again.”

  “They say that nothing ever stays the same forever.”

  “But you are my sister and we have always been together … we always should be.”

  They could only cling together, weeping in their despair.

  That day Mary wrote to Frances. She must find some means of coming to her, for she was so desolate that she thought her heart was breaking. She must talk of her trouble, for the most distressing calamity was about to fall upon her.

  The King sent for his niece. Lady Frances Villiers was anxious because Mary was in no condition for su
ch an occasion; hours of weeping had made her eyes red and swollen.

  She was dazed as she was helped to dress. Elizabeth Villiers watched her in silence. What a child she was! thought Elizabeth. Hadn’t she considered that a girl in her position would be forced into marriage at an early age, and that all these matters were arranged for such as she was. Those like Elizabeth had to look out for themselves. How different she would have felt if a brilliant marriage were being arranged for her! Mary had always been a simpleton.

  “My dear lady Mary,” mourned Lady Frances, “you look so wretched.”

  Mary’s lower lip trembled and for a moment it seemed as though she would burst into further tears. “I am … wretched,” she stammered.

  “You must not look like that or the King will be displeased.”

  “I don’t think he will. I think he will understand.”

  “Come,” said Lady Frances catching at a stool to steady herself, for her limbs felt as though they did not belong to her today. “You must not keep His Majesty waiting.”

  Listlessly, Mary allowed herself to be conducted through the corridors of Whitehall to the royal closet. Those who accompanied her, Elizabeth Villiers among them, waited outside.

  When Charles came into the closet his smile was kind.

  “Why,” he said, “this is an important occasion for my little niece. But I no longer regard you as my niece, Mary my dear. From now on you are my daughter.”

  Mary knew that she should have expressed gratitude for these gracious sentiments but when she opened her mouth to speak, her sobs prevented her.

  Charles patted her shoulder, as the door of the closet was thrown open and William was brought in.

  “Ah, nephew, you are indeed welcome,” said the King. “Now it is not good for man to live alone, so the Scriptures tell us, and even kings should not argue with them. Therefore I have a helpmate for you.”

  The Princess Mary was brought forward and stood before her cousin, her eyes downcast, her mouth sullen.

  William looked at her in astonishment. This was not the same girl who had talked animatedly to him at their last meeting. She was scarcely recognizable. Her lovely eyes were almost hidden by her swollen lids; her expression was forlorn, even sullen. He could not understand what had brought about the change.

  “You two will be well matched, I doubt not,” said the King. “And remember this, nephew, love and war do not agree well together.”

  The King turned to his brother. “The Duke wishes to give his consent to the marriage.” He nodded to James who murmured that he was willing to give his daughter into the care of the Prince of Orange.

  “Then all is well,” said the King. “I doubt not that our lovers will wish to be together. They will have much to say to one another.”

  He signed to Lady Frances to stay with them and all the others left the closet.

  William’s puzzled gaze was on his bride-to-be.

  He said: “Something has displeased you?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is something you want and cannot have?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have been weeping because of this?”

  She nodded and turned her head away.

  “You were different at our last meeting.”

  “I did not know then that I should be forced to marry you.”

  He drew back as though her words were a lash which had cut into his flesh. He could not believe that he had heard her correctly.

  There was a short silence; then the Lady Frances began to remonstrate with the Princess.

  “You should remember to whom you speak, my lady.”

  “I do not forget. I do not want to marry.”

  The Prince was looking haughtily at Lady Frances, who said hastily: “Your Highness, you must understand that the Princess is very young. She had no notion that she was to be married and the idea has shocked her a little, but she will recover from the shock and realize her good fortune.”

  “Good fortune!” cried Mary bitterly.

  Lady Frances looked imploringly at the Prince. “Have I your permission to take the Princess to her apartments?”

  The Prince inclined his head; and Lady Frances, greatly relieved, took Mary by the arm and led her away.

  William looked after them; his cold expression was in contrast to the fierce anger which was burning in him. How dared she! Those red eyes, those sullen looks were there because she was to marry him! When he had last seen her, she had had no notion that she was to be betrothed to him, and therefore she had been gay and clearly happy. Then she had been told of her—as he believed—good fortune; and she had promptly wailed and moaned and, being completely undisciplined, had made it clear to all that she had no wish for the marriage.

  What insolence! What childish tantrums! And this was the one they had given him for his wife!

  He had an impulse to go at once to the King, to tell him that he had decided to return to Holland a bachelor. He wanted no reluctant bride.

  Then he thought of those three crowns. To be King of Britain—well, was it not worth a little sacrifice.

  Besides, she was a child; he would soon teach her the kind of conduct he expected in a wife. He must not jeopardize his future in a moment of pique over a spoilt child—especially as, after the marriage, he would have the whip hand.

  No, he would marry this foolish child; and he would teach her who was master.

  All the same his pride was hurt. She had made him see himself as he must appear to her—a man undersized, who stood awkwardly because his back had grown crooked, and wheezed a little because it was not always easy to breathe. Since the death of the de Wittes he had forgotten that image of himself. He had become a great leader, a man whom the King of England wished to please; he had ceased to think of himself as that pale young man who found it always necessary to assert himself.

  She had brought back that image—that spoilt child!

  He would show her.

  Angrily he strode from the room and as he did so he almost collided with a young woman. He was brought up sharp and looked full into her face. She flushed and lowered her eyes, which he noticed were unusual; one seemed larger than the other and there was a cast in them. In his present mood the slight abnormality seemed to him attractive.

  “I beg Your Highness’s gracious pardon,” she said.

  The sound of her voice, humble, a little alarmed, soothed him.

  “It is given,” he answered.

  She lifted those strange eyes to his face and her look was one of recognizable adulation.

  His lips moved slightly; it was not quite a smile, but then, he rarely smiled.

  She passed on in one direction, he in another; then on impulse—strange with him—he turned to look after her at the very moment when she turned; for a second they gazed at each other; then she hurried away.

  He found the memory of the girl with the unusual eyes coming between him and his anger with Mary. That girl had by a look and a few words restored a little of his lost pride. He wondered who she was; presumably she belonged to Mary’s suite; if so, he would see her again. He hoped so, for she had made quite an impression on him.

  The Prince had made an impression on Elizabeth Villiers.

  She knew what had taken place in the closet. How foolish Mary was! But Mary’s folly might well prove to the advantage of Elizabeth Villiers. She had been anxious. It was hardly likely that the Princess Mary would select her when she was in a position to choose her own household. Elizabeth Villiers would be no favored friend. But if not the friend of the Princess, why not the friend of the Prince?

  Was she arriving at false conclusions, was she seeing life working out a certain way because that was what she wanted?

  Well, that was a necessity which often occurred to an ambitious woman.

  Mary, in her apartment, wept steadily throughout the day. Anne sat at her feet leaning her head against her sister’s knees crying with her.

  Nothing could comfort either of them.
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br />   Elizabeth Villiers had been unexpectedly sympathetic to Mary; she did not attempt to persuade her to try to control her dislike of the marriage.

  She was with her when, red-eyed, her body shaken by an occasional sob, Mary received the King’s Council and listened in silence to the congratulatory speeches.

  The Prince of Orange was often present and although he gave no sign, he was very much aware of Elizabeth. In fact if she were not there he would have felt very angry but, by the very contrast to his betrothed, she made him feel less slighted by the insults Mary was giving him.

  It was gratifying that through the country the news of the marriage was received with wild enthusiasm. The sky glowed with the reflection of hundreds of bonfires; although Mary Beatrice was pregnant and expected to give birth any day, not much hope was given to her producing a son and Mary was looked upon as the heiress to the throne. It was well, therefore, the people of England believed, that she was making a Protestant marriage.

  The King was delighted with the people’s enthusiasm for the marriage. He told James that he should be, too.

  “This is particularly important to you, James,” he reminded his brother. “You will see that people will not hate you quite so heartily when your daughter has married a Protestant. We’ll get this marriage made and consummated here on English soil before our bride and groom leave for Holland. You look ill-pleased.”

  “I was thinking of Mary.”

  Charles was momentarily downcast. “Poor Mary!” he said. “But peace, James … peace abroad and at home. Mary must do what is necessary for the sake of that.”

  James was silent, thinking of his daughter’s unhappiness and the Prince of Orange whom he would never happily accept as a son-in-law.