Meanwhile Anne sat by her husband’s bed while he held her hand and although he could not speak, his eyes told her how happy he was to have her there.
Anne was melancholy, for she, like everyone else, believed that he was going to die. She thought of the day they had met, of their immediate liking which had made both of them accept the marriage calmly. Rarely could strangers have contemplated marriage with such serenity. But they were serene people—both of them—perhaps that was why theirs was such a happy marriage.
From George’s bed, she went to that of her elder daughter. The child lay, panting for her breath, racked now and then by fits of coughing.
Anne wept, then hastily dried her eyes that she might go to her husband’s bedside with a smile.
Hourly she was expecting the death of husband and daughter and never in her life had she been so unhappy. She had her baby; she would hold the child in her arms and wonder how long it would be before little Anne Sophia would be the only member of her family left to her.
She was sitting by her husband’s bed one day when Sarah came into the room. There was a closer bond between them because Sarah had a boy now whom she had christened John after her husband and as a mother Sarah could understand and sympathize with the anguish Anne was now enduring. Sarah had three healthy children. Lucky Sarah! Her successful motherhood endeared her to Anne. It seemed yet a further proof that Sarah would always be successful.
Now Sarah was subdued which was startling because it was so unlike her.
“Mary …?” whispered Anne.
Sarah drew her outside and put an arm about her.
“It is the little one,” she said.
The child was lying in its cradle; her face was scarlet, its limbs distorted.
“No!” cried Anne. “This is too much.”
She looked wildly about her, calling for the doctors; but there was nothing they could do.
Anne stood at the window watching the snowflakes falling. She was not weeping; but her limbs felt heavy. She had lost her baby—little Mary was desperately ill and her dear George was sick with a fever.
It was Sarah who came to stand beside her, miraculousy silent for once, but conveying so much by that silence.
“How can I tell him, Sarah?” she asked.
Sarah took her hand and pressed it firmly and it seemed to Anne that Sarah’s strength and vitality flowed into her body.
“No matter what happens … there will always be you. You’ll never change.” She added: “Mrs. Freeman.”
“Mrs. Freeman will always be at hand to comfort her dear friend Mrs. Morley.”
One of the women approached them.
Anne took one look at her and flew to the bedside of her daughter Mary.
It was incredible; fate could not be so cruel. But it was so. Anne had lost both her children.
Strangely enough from that day George began to improve.
They said that he saw he was needed to comfort his heartbroken wife. She would sit by his bed and hold his hand; and they often wept quietly together.
He told her that he had known all the time that she had been in the sickroom, and it was that knowledge and that alone, which had pulled him through.
“I cannot bear to see you unhappy,” he said.
“And it grieves me to see you sad.”
“Then, my dear wife, we must smile for the sake of each other.”
He was growing better every day. This was clear for when Anne brought delicacies to his bedside his eyes lit up at the sight of them.
“Try this, my love,” she would say.
And he would take a tidbit and put it into her mouth instead.
They would sample the food, discuss it; and talk of what they would eat tomorrow.
It was a return to the old life.
“Do not fret,” he said. “We have lost three but we shall have others.”
And as soon as the Prince was about again sure enough Anne became pregnant; and she was sure that if she could only hold a healthy child in her arms she would be ready to forget the anguish of her previous loss.
Anne miscarried, but almost immediately she was again with child.
Sarah was supreme in the Princess’s household. She was getting her own way in almost everything, but there were minor irritations. She was shaping Anne’s mind and was determined that Mansell and Mansell’s wife should go. She was aware that secret intrigues were afoot; that spies were both at Whitehall and The Hague and that William of Orange—and Mary—were waiting for the opportunity to come over to England and take the crown from James. This was what Sarah hoped for. She did not believe that Mary would live long; William, too, was a weakling and there were no children of that marriage. It need only be a few years before the Princess Anne became Queen Anne.
Mrs. Morley, the Queen and her dear friend Mrs. Freeman to guide her in all things! What a happy state of affairs! And she and John were becoming rich. It was so easy, for everyone knew of Sarah’s influence and she was approached by many who sought to find favor with the King through his beloved daughter. There were financial considerations but these were willingly paid for a word of the right sort of advice dropped into the Princess’s ear by her loving friend.
“Very good, but it could be better,” was Sarah’s verdict to John. “If only I could rid myself of old woman Clarendon, I should be the first Lady of the Bedchamber. Of course I have more influence with Morley than anyone else, but always that old woman bars my way, reminding me of who she is. Clarendon! Who were the Clarendons? The upstart Hydes, that’s all—the family which gave itself airs because one of the daughters was made pregnant by the heir to the throne and was clever enough to make him marry her. That’s the Clarendons for you!”
John replied it was all true of course, but she must be careful of the Clarendons. The Princess’s two uncles held much influence with the King, and his dear Sarah must not forget that.
“I’ll give the old hag influence!” muttered Sarah.
She did not have to scheme against Lady Clarendon because at this time Lord Clarendon became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland—there was general gossip about this in the Cockpit.
“What I want to know,” said Sarah, “is whether he’s taking her with him—or is he going to think of some excuse to leave her behind.”
Lady Clarendon herself answered the question a few hours later.
“I shall have to say good-bye to you all for I am accompanying my husband to Ireland.”
Sarah gave a great sigh of relief. This was a heaven-sent opportunity.
It was inevitable that the whisperings which went on in the Cockpit did not entirely escape attention. The King had no idea that his daughter was disloyal to him and his wife; no one told him, simply because he would not have believed it if they had and, moreover, he would have been seriously displeased with the informer. All through James’s life he had failed to see what was significant and important to his own well-being. He wanted a loving, loyal daughter and he would convince himself he had one no matter what evidence was produced to the contrary.
There was more than the spiteful gossip at the Cockpit. Deep plans were being laid at The Hague. Even those men such as Lord Sunderland, James’s Prime Minister, whom James trusted completely, had eyes on The Hague. While James acted with caution, he was safe; but one false step could send him hurtling from his seat; these men knew it, and they wanted to be on the right side when that moment came. Back and forth between Whitehall and The Hague went the Protestant spies and the Catholic spies. Anne was writing frequently to her sister in Holland. Anne was a staunch Protestant and when she rode through the streets the people cheered her with more fervor than the Catholics thought desirable, so they decided that a watch should be kept on the Princess Anne and spies should be placed in her household without her knowledge.