The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II (29 page)

I pondered this for a while but I came to the conclusion that, as Torrington was Admiral of the Fleet, it would be unwise at such a time to make a change.

“Torrington holds the post,” I said. “I am sure he will do his duty. He is an honest man.”

Meanwhile Torrington reminded us that he had frequently warned us of the growing strength of the French Navy. He was unhappy about the situation for which he was unprepared.

I cannot bear to think even now of the disgrace of that battle. It was a disaster from the beginning. Torrington abandoned the Isle of Wight to the French and retreated up the Channel. When he saw the French hoving into sight, he gave the order to attack. The Dutch fleet were in the van. There were less than sixty ships against eighty French. Only a Francis Drake could have succeeded in such circumstances and Torrington did not have that kind of genius. The Dutch fleet fought bravely, without much assistance from Torrington and his ships. Torrington took refuge up the Thames and the Dutch fleet was shattered.

The only relief which came out of that action was that the French did not take advantage of their victory and contented themselves with merely burning the town of Teignmouth.

But what a disgrace it was! People were saying that there had been no luck in England since the new King came. They blamed William more than they did me. He had left the country in a time of peril; ships which should have been defending England were in Ireland. People were saying that if King James returned he would find it as easy to defeat the Orangeman as the French had.

I knew it was no use to mourn over defeat. I must take action. The ships which had been damaged must be immediately repaired. Who knew when we might need them again? I ordered twelve new ships to be built without delay.

I was ashamed that Torrington had allowed the Dutch to bear the full brunt of the battle, and I sent an envoy to The Hague with my regrets and I gave orders that the wounded Dutch were to be given the best attention and compensated for their losses.

Any dissatisfaction which might have followed was forgotten in the fear that the French would show their strength at sea by attempting an invasion.

Then suddenly our fortunes changed.

There was news from Ireland. William was victorious. He had defeated my father at the Battle of the Boyne.

MY RELIEF WAS TEMPERED WITH ANXIETY
. William had been wounded. There were reports in France that he had been killed. The French went wild with joy at the news. I heard that there were celebrations in the streets of Paris with caricatures of my husband, irreverent and cruel. It was an indication of how important they held him to be. By that time I had heard that William's wound was slight. He had grazed his shoulder blade. My father had escaped to Dublin, which was another great relief to me.

Considering the importance of that battle, the losses were not great. Five hundred of our men lost their lives and one thousand five hundred of our opponents died. But how significant was that battle! My father was in flight. What would he do? Return to France? Wait for another chance? He was getting old and would be losing hope, so perhaps this would be the end of the conflict.

How I hoped so, and how I rejoiced that he had escaped. What I had dreaded most had been avoided. It was good to hear the rejoicing in the streets. William was almost a hero. They would never forgive his solemn ways but at least he had won a great victory and was given credit for that.

The Catholics were lying low; there were expressions of loyalty from several sources. The defeat of Beachy Head was forgotten in the all-important Battle of the Boyne.

My face had ceased to swell; William was coming home; and my father was safe. I was happier than I had thought possible only a short time before.

I was sorry though that Torrington was court-martialled, but that was later—not until the end of the year. I always thought it was unfair to blame him. William did; but he had never liked him, and that was mutual. Torrington defended himself with dignity and said that he had not had the strength to engage the French. The English fleet was not in home waters. If he had imitated the recklessness of the Dutch, the result would have been not only a lost battle at sea but a disaster for England.

I was relieved when he was acquitted. He did not, however, take another command, but went to live in the country.

Meanwhile William was home. Ready to welcome him as the victor of the Boyne, the people expected a triumphant procession through the streets of London. They assembled to cheer and there he was, riding in his carriage instead of on horseback. I dare say he was fatigued. He was indeed recovering from his wound. He wanted only the peace of Hampton Court. He did not raise his arm or give an acknowledgment of the cheers. How I wished he would understand the needs and wishes of the people!

There was another matter which spoilt his homecoming.

I heard about it from Caermarthen just before William's arrival. I fancied Caermarthen's smile was a little sly as he told me.

“Your Majesty must know,” he said, “that considerable Irish lands have fallen to the King. There are some 90,000 acres of King James's estates which are now in King William's hands.”

“That should represent a great deal of money.”

“It does indeed, but King James had given many of the rents away to various ladies.” Caermarthen coughed. “There is but £5,000 in rents left out of some £26,000.”

“Still considerable,” I said.

“Indeed, Your Majesty. The King has already disposed of the 90,000 acres.”

“To whom, may I ask.”

Again that little cough. “To . . . er . . . the Lady Elizabeth Villiers.”

I felt the blood rush to my face as I turned my head away and said: “I see. It would be well for us to turn some of the acquired estates to the good of the Irish poor.”

“Doubtless there will be other means of doing this, Your Majesty. It is a great victory.”

“A very great victory,” I said.

When he left me I sat down and stared ahead of me.

How could he do this! He must realize that I should discover it. Yet he did it, blatantly uncaring. Ninety thousand acres for Elizabeth Villiers!

I knew I should not be able to speak to him of it, so I took up my pen and wrote.

Would he understand the reproof? I was sure he would. I had rarely come so near to criticizing his actions.

I was so angry that he should do this. After all this time he still cared for her. I was his wife, his Queen. I had given him my obedience and what he had wanted most—a crown. All this I had given him—and he had bestowed the Irish estates on Elizabeth Villiers!

TRAITORS

In spite of my diplomatic reproach, William did not mention the matter of the Irish estates and they went to Elizabeth Villiers as arranged. This was tantamount to a public declaration of their relationship and it was hard for me to bear.

I tried not to allow myself to feel humiliated. I had to remember that I was the Queen and for a time had taken over the reins of government—not unsuccessfully, I flattered myself, for I could not be blamed for the defeat at Beachy Head.

I avoided being in the company of Elizabeth Villiers. She was very confident. She was a clever woman, making up for what she lacked in physical beauty in mental ability. She was on good terms with Bentinck. Moreover, she could keep a sharp eye on what was going on at court; she would be able to sort out the important from the trivial and discuss it with William. I was sure he regarded her as an acute statesman and, because her interests were his, he trusted her absolutely—as much as he could trust anyone except Bentinck.

Soon after he returned home, William acquired a mansion in Kensington which he bought from the Earl of Nottingham. It was a fine house in about six acres of park.

William became a different man when he could plan the restoration of a house; and I could share in this enthusiasm. Thus we set about recreating Kensington Palace.

Hampton Court had been completed and was much admired. Now we could turn our attention entirely to Kensington Palace.

We discussed plans; we engaged architects and the work was soon in progress. Grinling Gibbons was called in and did some beautiful wood carvings. I was going to work on William's closet and, with my ladies, began on the tapestry which would line the walls and cover the seats of chairs.

Anne, cheated of Richmond Palace, as she said, had moved to the Cockpit. I was still very sad about the decline in our friendship and I often thought of the old days when she had always wanted to do what I did, when I was the elder sister, to be admired and imitated.

Little William was growing up into a bright, amusing and intelligent child, though his health still gave concern; but Mrs. Pack remained with him and his devotion to her increased. Anne resisted Sarah's urgings that the woman should be sent away. Anne was devoted to her son and his welfare, his happiness, could bring out all the stubborness in her nature and she would fight even Sarah for his sake.

Mrs. Pack and Sarah had naturally become the most bitter of enemies. I was amused to see them together and delighted that Sarah could not get her way this time.

I often took presents to the child. He was very interested in me. I realized it was because he had heard I was the Queen.

He would call me imperiously to his side if he wanted to show me some picture or a castle of bricks.

“Queen,” he would cry, “Here, Queen. Look.”

Anne talked of his cleverness—quite volubly for her. Sarah might grow impatient but it was no use. Anne would go on talking.

The boy had a small carriage made for him. There were miniature horses—the smallest that could be found—and they were attached to his little carriage and led by George's coachman.

People used to come to the park to watch the little boy in his carriage. They would cheer him as he passed along. He would regard them solemnly and then raise his hand and wave. When he did this they laughed and cheered the more, which clearly excited him for he bounced up and down in his seat with glee.

The little Duke was always popular, and so was Anne. She had somehow conveyed her devotion to him and that touched the hearts of the people. Whenever she appeared, the people made it obvious that she was a favorite. They were kind to me, too. It was only William who was received in silence.

Marlborough had gone to Ireland where there was trouble in the south. He did very well there and when he came home, I heard that Sarah thought he should receive an honor.

Anne spoke to me about it. “Sarah thinks that Marlborough's services should be recognized. He should have the Garter or a dukedom.”

“He has already been made an earl.”

“Think what he has done since that.”

“He has done his duty as a soldier, yes.”

“Sarah thinks good service should be rewarded.”

I said tersely: “Sarah does not make the laws in this country, though doubtless she would like to.”

Anne dropped into one of her silent sullen moods, so I began to speak of young William—a subject she could never resist.

I mentioned to William what she had said. “Marlborough thinks he should be rewarded,” I said. “He thinks, as the Garter will soon be available, he should have it.”

“The Garter! Marlborough!” cried William. “That is quite out of the question.”

“I thought you would say that. It is his wife's idea, I daresay.”

“That woman interferes too much.”

That was something with which I could wholeheartedly agree.

He told me then that he would soon be leaving for Holland and it would be for me to take over the government again.

This did not alarm me as it had in the past. I was realizing that I could be stimulated by the prospect of stepping into first place and taking decisions. I was learning that, in spite of the accompanying anxieties, it is exciting to be in command.

“I must attend the Congress of the Powers,” he said. “The French are more to be feared than James, and now he is in France we can be watchful of him. He is weak, but the French are strong, and those nations who are against the French must stand together. We shall make plans to do this during the Congress.”

It was only a few days before he was due to leave when the plot was discovered. It was reckless in the extreme. The plotters were making a proposition to my father. If he would make a solemn promise to rule England as a Protestant country, they would bring him back. He was to gather together a French force which would bring him to England where a secret landing place would be arranged. The French force would then be dismissed and sent back to France. His friends would then rally round him and set him on the throne.

They were rather naive if they thought my father would keep such a promise, even if he made it in the first place.

Three of the conspirators, Lord Preston, Major Elliot and a Mr. Ashton, were selected to take the proposals to France. Suspicions had already been aroused and before their small boat was able to leave the Thames, it was boarded and the papers which were intended for my father were seized.

As a result the three men were now in the Tower.

William said he was pleased that this matter had been settled before he left England.

Now there was another problem. Prince George wanted to go to sea.

“Could he not do so?” I asked William.

My husband looked at me scornfully. “We cannot afford to encumber the service with those who will be no good in it.”

“Surely some position could be found for him?”

“It would have to be a position of some importance because of his rank. That is the trouble. Think of Torrington.”

“Torrington was a good man. He was just short of ships.”

“A good man accepts difficulties and overcomes them.”

“He has to have good luck to do that. Torrington did not.”

William clearly did not want to discuss Torrington. He was concerned with George. He despised George, who was all that he was not; and he was determined that George should not go to sea. How could he prevent him? It must be done.

“For,” he added, “he shall not join the fleet. On that I am determined. But it would be better if he were persuaded not to, instead of forbidden.”

“Forbidden?” I cried.

William's face hardened. “If necessary, yes. He shall not join the fleet which must be manned by only the best. We cannot afford more incompetence.”

“Who will persuade him?”

“Anne, I suppose.”

“She never would.”

“Well, you must persuade her to it. Get the Churchill woman on your side. I am told that you know how to deal with people.”

“This would not be easy.”

“Dealing with foolish people never is.”

He dismissed the matter and the next day he left for Holland.

I was anxious about him for the weather was not good, but he would not delay his departure. It was necessary for him to be in a country where people behaved reasonably, where they understood him and he them.

Poor William! I wondered, as I had before, whether he would have been happier if he had never realized his dream and inherited the crown.

It was a relief to hear that he had arrived safely and emerged with nothing more than a cold. The Dutch had welcomed him warmly—in that undemonstrative way, I supposed, which was so much to his taste.

Before me lay the difficult task of “persuading” George that the sea was not for him.

I made several attempts with Anne but that stubborn look came into her face when I mentioned what George proposed to do and questioned the wisdom of it.

“So,” she cried, “he is to be given no post! He is expected to spend his days sleeping, drinking and sitting around. The King treats him like an usher . . . of no importance at all.”

I could make no headway with Anne. The only way would be, as William had suggested, to get Sarah to try to persuade Anne.

With some misgivings I sought out Sarah.

I said: “Lady Marlborough, I know you have great influence with my sister, and it is for this reason that I wish to talk to you.”

“The Princess honors me with a rather special friendship, I believe, Your Majesty,” she replied complacently.

“Well, I know that she always listens with attention to what you have to say. This is rather a delicate matter. Prince George has conceived an idea that he should take command of the fleet.”

“I believe that to be in his mind, Your Majesty.”

“It is really not possible, and I want you to persuade the Princess that it would not be good for him.”

“Oh?” said Sarah, her eyes widening in innocence.

I tried flattery, to which I suspected Sarah was not entirely immune.

“If anyone can make the Princess see the wisdom of this, it is you. And when the Princess realizes it, she can persuade the Prince. That is all I ask of you, Lady Marlborough.”

She hesitated for a moment and I saw speculation come into her eyes.

“Madame, Your Majesty, I ask your forgiveness for my forwardness, but I am in the employ of the Princess Anne and therefore owe my allegiance to her, and I hold it as a matter of honor. I will tell her that it is your opinion that it would be unwise of the Prince to join the fleet and you have asked me to persuade her to this. I would tell her that this is your command, for I should be obliged to tell her whence it came. I trust Your Majesty understands my meaning.”

“I understand you well, Lady Marlborough,” I said rising. She immediately stood, as she could not remain seated when I was not. “I pray you, say nothing of this matter to the Princess, for I see little good could come of it.”

With that I left the insolent woman. I could see that more harm than good had been done. Now it would be necessary to give an outright refusal to Prince George. It would have been better to have refused him in the first place.

ONE OF MY MOST UNPLEASANT DUTIES
at that time was signing the death warrant. I hated the thought that someone had died because I had penned my name to a paper and ordered it to be done.

I must obey the law, of course, and there were the three prisoners who had been caught in an act of treason. It was harder because that act of treason was one of loyalty toward my father. Aston, with Lord Preston and Major Elliot, had been caught with treasonable documents in their possession. So there was no help for it. They would have to die.

This weighed heavily on my mind. I wished that William had been there. He would have signed those documents without a qualm. He would be contemptuous of me for my soft feelings.

I had read a great deal about my predecessor, Queen Elizabeth, for whom I had a great admiration. She had been a strong woman and had ruled despotically in her own right. She had talked of her proud stomach, and she would never have allowed a man to usurp the smallest part of her power.

And there was I—Queen of this Realm—beside a husband to whom I gave the right to come before me. Elizabeth would have despised me, and perhaps she would have been right.

I did remember that she had suffered pangs of conscience when she had signed the death warrant of Mary, Queen of Scots. These men were not close to me. I did not know them, but I deplored what I had to do, and would have given a great deal to have had that burden taken from me.

The people understood my feelings, I believed. They may have thought me weak, but they liked me as they never could like William.

While I was suffering from these pangs of conscience, I had an experience which made me even more sad. It happened in Kensington Palace, which was now beginning to look very fine. In the great hall, when William and I had bought the place, there hung a big picture of my father looking splendid in all his regalia. It was still there.