The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II (8 page)

“And perhaps he enjoyed it when he tried it,” said Elizabeth Villiers. “You have not said that they talked about the charms of the Queen's maids of honor and how they liked and expected attention from the courtiers and were very free with their favors. The Prince listened. He could never have heard anything like it before and it must have seemed to him that customs were very different in England from those in Holland.”

“So they made him drunk!” I said. “I do not think that was a very kind or clever thing to do.”

“You haven't heard what happened,” said Sarah. “When he went back to Whitehall, he was so inflamed with the drink and the stories he had heard of willing maids of honor that he tried to get into their apartments. He was so angry when he found them locked against him and was told by the older ladies to go away that he broke a window and tried to climb in. So, there was your virtuous young man. Virtue had been defeated by strong drink and the hope of the pleasure he would get from the ladies.”

“I think it was a very unkind trick to play on a visitor,” I said.

“So did he,” said Elizabeth. “Next morning he was very ashamed and contrite, but at least it shows that underneath this cloak of virtue he is just like most other men.”

“That is not quite true,” protested Anne Trelawny, “because he was sorry for what happened, and it was not his fault really.”

“But,” insisted Elizabeth, “he had always been so disapproving of other people's weaknesses and it was revealed that when intoxicated he was just like the rest.”

“But he did not ask for the drink in the first place,” said Anne.

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “You are determined to defend him. The King was very much amused and liked him better for ‘his normality' as they called it.”

“That was a long time ago,” said Anne Trelawny. “He will be on his guard, I dare say.”

“Oh yes,” agreed Sarah. “He will be watchful of what he drinks. I look forward to seeing him.”

“I doubt not you will ere long,” said Elizabeth.

I WAS SURPRISED
when my father told me that I was to be presented to the Prince of Orange. I had supposed that I would meet him sometime but it appeared from my father's manner that there was something special about this meeting. He seemed a little apprehensive.

He said: “It is the King's wish that you and your cousin should meet and be friends.”

“I hear he is very serious.”

“He is greatly respected throughout Europe,” replied my father.

He himself came to escort me to the Prince. The King was with him and, when my father led me to them, my uncle came forward and, taking both my hands, kissed my cheek.

“This is my dear niece,” he said to the Prince. “Mary, here is my nephew William, the Prince of Orange, a very welcome visitor to our court.”

William of Orange bowed rather stiffly, and I curtsied.

“Now,” said the King, “you have met. I do not think you had the pleasure of meeting my niece when you were last at Whitehall, nephew.” He looked faintly mischievous and I knew he was thinking of the solemn young man trying to break into the quarters of the maids of honor. William's face was impassive. I guessed that he dismissed that incident as unimportant.

He had penetrating gray eyes which I was sure missed little, thick brown hair, an aquiline nose and thin lips. There was something rather formidable about him, although he was of small stature, very thin and stooped slightly. His skin was mildly pockmarked, but he had such dignity that, in spite of his physical disabilities, one knew at once that he was a man to be reckoned with.

The thought occurred to me as he stood by the King that there could not be two men more unlike each other.

There were very few people present, which surprised me, and I only realized why this was so much later.

The King said: “My dear Mary, why do you not sit down and talk to your cousin? Tell him about our court and I am sure he will tell you about his.”

My father was watching me, half-uneasily, half-proudly. I thought I detected a certain anger in his look, but not against me, nor against the Prince of Orange. He looked frightened, unhappy and frustrated.

It was a strange experience, sitting there with this young man beside me while my father and the King stayed some way apart, talking quietly, so that I could not hear what they said. I wished the Prince would not look at me so intently. He did not seem to take his eyes from me.

I am not sure what we talked of. In fact, all the time I was wondering how long this interview was going to last and when I should be able to escape. He asked me about the household, how I spent my time, about the customs here. I wanted to ask him about his but that seemed out of the question. I was not sure why. I was, after all, an inexperienced girl of fifteen; he was a man of twenty-seven and a ruler of a country, an important ruler, or he would not have been received at Whitehall with such respect.

I was glad when the session was over and I could leave them.

My father took me to the door and kissed me gravely. He still seemed upset.

ON THE AFTERNOON OF THE FOLLOWING DAY
my father came to me. He looked very serious and took me into my closet so that we could be entirely alone. I knew now that he was very unhappy.

We sat side by side and he put his arm about me and held me tightly against him before he spoke.

Then he said: “Mary, my dearest daughter, there is something I have to tell you.” He hesitated, as though it hurt him to go on. I was getting alarmed. Something rather terrible must have happened.

“Yes, dearest father,” I said faintly.

“You are growing up, Mary. You are no longer a child and people in our position . . . well, sometimes it is necessary for them to do something which might seem rather unpleasant at first . . . until . . .”

“Please tell me, father, what this is all about.”

“Well, sometimes we have to do something which we would rather not do. It is our duty, you see. Everybody has to do something . . . uncongenial . . . at times, and for people in our position . . .”

“Please tell me quickly what I have to do.”

“You will like it . . . when you get used to it. It is just that, at first . . . well, I could have wished it could have been a little later. You are young yet . . . but not too young. My child, you are going to be married.”

“Married!” I cried in horror.

“You are fifteen years old. People such as we are . . . well, it has happened to many. Your stepmother . . .”

I felt blank, unable to grasp this stupefying fact. Then I burst out: “Who is it? Whom shall I marry?”

“Oh, it has not been arranged yet,” said my father. “These things . . . you know . . . certain preparations. Documents have to be drawn up.”

“Please tell me who it is.”

“It is a kinsman of ours. You have already met him and I see that you like each other. It is William, the Prince of Orange.”

The Prince of Orange! That cold little man with the penetrating, critical eyes, who had asked all those questions. Marry
him
! He was too old. He was quite different from my father and the King and the men that I had seen about my uncle's court. All the time he had been talking to me he had not smiled once. He came from a far-off country. Holland! The thought struck me with sudden force. I should have to go away with him, that strange cold man, to a strange cold country, far away from my sister, my father, from Frances and Anne Trelawny. I thought of poor Mary Beatrice's arrival in this country, come to marry an older man. But he had been my kind, good father and I was for William of Orange.

This was too much to be borne. To be married to that strange man—to leave my home! I put out my hands as though to ward off this cruel fate.

“No, no, no!” I cried.

My father put his arms round me and rocked me to and fro as though I were a baby.

“Don't let them send me away,” I begged.

“I shall be as unhappy as you, my dearest.”

“Then you must stop it!”

He said slowly: “My poor Mary, my poor child. You must understand. You were born into royalty, and we all must needs do what is asked of us. That is our destiny and duty. We have to face it. The people will like this marriage.”

“It is not they who will have to endure it.”

He sighed. “You see, it is your position, my child.”

“You mean the throne . . .”

“Oh, I know your stepmother and I have hopes of a boy, but there have been so many disappointments, and in view of your position, my dearest, the people want a Protestant marriage for you and there could not be a more ardent Protestant than Prince William. He has upheld that faith on the Continent of Europe and he is a very clever man. He is youngish yet, but he will make his mark on the world, never doubt it. He is a great man and you will be proud to be his wife.”

“Father . . . dearest Father, I do not like him.”

“Liking comes with marriage.”

“So you want me to do this.”

He shook his head sadly. “I want you to stay with me all my life, but I know that cannot be. Alas, we have our duty. It is the King's wish.”

“I have always found my uncle very kind. Perhaps . . .”

He shook his head. “Your uncle would be kind, but even he could not release you from this. He wants this marriage. He is anxious to strengthen our alliance with the Dutch and this marriage is one of the terms. It is a great opportunity for William. You will learn to understand these things. If you spoke to your uncle he would show great kindness and commiseration, but that is his way. Beneath the kindness he is a wily ruler and this marriage is necessary to the country. William wants it and we want friendship with William. Therefore the King insists. Let me tell you, I have tried to dissuade him, but it is of no avail.”

“Then there is no way out.”

“I think you will find William a good man. He is dedicated to his country's welfare and that is a noble thing to be. And, of course, he has a claim to the throne of England—distant it may be, but there. An alliance with you will make that claim stronger. But this is not the time to talk of these things.”

“I want to know everything. I did not think the Prince would want to marry me unless there were . . . advantages to him.”

“You must not judge him too harshly for that. It is diplomacy. But he wanted to meet you, to see you for himself before he would enter into the arrangement. He has seen you and likes you well. So that is a good start.”

“I hate it all. How can I leave you?”

“It will be a little time yet, but I wanted you to know. It will give you time to get accustomed to the idea. You will find it is not all bad, and I swear that in time you will look back on your fear and realize how unjustified it was. The Prince is a good man and your uncle thinks it will be a successful marriage.”

“But you do not like it, I see you do not!”

“I wanted you for the Dauphin of France,” he admitted.

“I should have had to go away from home then.”

“I had rather it had been an alliance with France. But this is what the people want.”

“But I am the one who has to marry him! I hate it!”

Then the tears came and I could not stop them. I wanted to plead with him, to beg him to stop this monstrous thing happening to me. But I could not speak. My sobs prevented me.

MY SISTER ANNE WANTED TO KNOW
what ailed me.

“I am going to be married,” I said.

She stared at me in dismay.

“I shall have to go away,” I went on piteously.

“You can't go away! I want you here. You've always been here. We belong together. You could not go away from
me.
”

She was deeply upset, poor Anne. She had drifted so happily through life—as we both had, until now. When she had not wanted to do her lessons, she had merely said they hurt her eyes and no one forced her to. Of course, she could not read very well, but that did not bother her. She must not eat so many sweetmeats, they said, but they just smiled and shook their heads when she slipped the delicious morsels into her mouth.

Now she was genuinely distressed. I
must
not go. She could not visualize our household without her elder sister whom she rather slavishly copied and who had been there all her life.

She was twelve years old now and she knew this was a serious matter, for suddenly she started to cry and, throwing her arms about me, clung to me as though to defy all those who would attempt to separate us. We wept together; in fact I had scarcely stopped weeping since my father told me the news.

I wrote a letter to Frances, passionately telling her what they were planning for me. All the girls seemed enveloped in gloom. Lady Frances looked anxious. What would happen to the household? There was still Anne, of course. But it would not be the same. It would be of less importance. I was nearer to the throne than Anne. What would happen to them all?

They whispered together. There was pity for me on account of the bridegroom who had been chosen for me.

“The Prince of Orange!” I heard someone murmur. “And the Lady Mary!”

I knew what they meant. They did not admire him. He was quite different from the men whom they considered to be attractive. He lacked graceful manners; he was brusque, he dressed simply; he had none of that charm which the King possessed in abundance and which most of the men about him sought to emulate.

My misery increased as the days passed and preparations marched inexorably onward. In the streets there were bonfires and signs of rejoicing at the prospect of a Protestant marriage—an indication that there could be a Protestant heir. Charles himself remained acceptable, in spite of suspicions that he had a leaning toward the Catholic faith. He was merry, charming, with a cheerful word for everyone. He had come back to them after his exile, the Merry Monarch. They were as anxious that he should not go wandering again as he was himself. They were happy enough in the present. It was the future which troubled them. Therefore my marriage to a stauch Protestant pleased them. It was only those immediately concerned, like my father and myself, who were uneasy.