These names sent a glow of pride in me for years after because my father was always mentioned in connection with them. He had been in charge of the Fleet which had beaten our wicked enemies, the Dutch. I loved to hear of his successes. I only regretted that he had to go so far away from us to do these wonderful deeds.
I heard one of the attendants say: “These victories will bring a little comfort, and the Lord knows, we need it in these terrible times.”
I had heard only a little of the scourge which was sweeping through the country and devastating the capital. All it meant to me was that we had had to leave in a hurry for York, where I saw more of my parents than I had in Twickenham. It was only after that I heard accounts of the red crosses on the doors with the words “God have Mercy on us,” which meant that there was plague in the house. I did not hear until much later of the macabre death carts which roamed the streets, and the dismal cry of “Bring out your dead,” and how the bodies which were piled into those carts were taken to pits outside the city walls where they were hastily buried.
It was much later when I heard of the terrible tragedy which had followed the plague year, when London faced another monumental catastrophe and was almost completely destroyed by fire.
And when I did hear in lurid detail of the horrors of those burning buildings, of weeping, homeless people, of the crafts on the river into which they crowded with as many of their belongings as they could hope to save, my thoughts were dominated by two men, the brothers who had gone out unceremoniously into the streets, wigless, short sleeves rolled up, sweat streaming from their faces while they gave instructions and supervised the blowing up of buildings to make gaps and so stop the fire spreading further. For those two men were the King and my father, his brother, the Duke of York.
He was a hero, my clever, wonderful father. He had saved the country from the Dutch at Lowestoft and Solebay as he had helped to save London from that all-consuming fire.
Of course, I learned all this later. In the meantime I was kept in my cocoon of safety.
The memories of York were of days of great happiness, broken only by occasional clouds when my father disappeared for a while. Then I heard that his absences would be even longer, because the King had summoned him to attend Parliament, which was now held in Oxford, because of the state of the capital.
Then my dismay was great, but he consoled me by saying he would come to see me whenever he could.
“When you are older, I will tell you all about it,” he said. “Now all you have to do is wait and as soon as I am free I shall be here to see my little Lady Mary.”
“I will come with you to Oxford,” I said hopefully.
“Ah! What a pleasure that would be!” he replied, smiling. “But, alas, there is no place for little girls in the King’s Parliament. But one day ... soon ... we shall all be together ... your little brother, your little sister, your mother ... the whole family of York.”
It was a long time before we were.
And so I was growing up. There were times when I was vaguely aware of trouble. My grandfather Clarendon suddenly disappeared from the scene. We had never seen a great deal of him, but it seemed strange when his name ceased to be mentioned. I knew he had been very important and Lord Chancellor and a friend of the King and my father, having been with them when they were in exile. He was my mother’s father, so it seemed strange that we should stop speaking of him.
I did hear someone say that he was lucky to have escaped to exile before he lost his head. There was enough against him to bring about his downfall, and his continual carping at the King’s way of life meant that even that long-suffering monarch was eager to be rid of him.
I was bemused by these scraps of gossip which I tried hard to understand. I had one grandfather who had lost his head; and here was another who, it appeared, had escaped in time before being deprived of his.
I knew my mother was deeply affected by his departure and I believed my father was, too.
But when they were with us, they were always their affectionate selves. I think my sister, Anne, was my mother’s favorite, though Anne did not resemble her at all except in looks. I had heard it said: “The Lady Mary is Stuart from head to toe. The Lady Anne is a Hyde.” I was tall and at that age slender, dark-haired with rather long almond-shaped eyes. Anne was always plump; her hair was light brown with a reddish tinge in it. I was pale; she was rosy. She would have been very pretty but for a slight deformity of the eyes. Her lids were contracted a little which gave her a rather vague look. It had affected her sight in some way.
Anne was very good-natured, rarely cross and fundamentally lazy. She did not like trouble of any sort and, in her sunny, good-natured way, she made a very good job of avoiding it. When she was tired of doing something, and as we grew older that particularly meant lessons, she made the excuse that her eyes hurt.
We were very happy together in those days. She laughed at me for wanting to learn about everything.
“You do it, sister,” she would say, “and then you can tell me all about it.”
I quickly realized that my mother was reckoned to be clever. It was true that she often decided what was to be done. My father used to say: “You are right, of course, my dear.” She was very friendly with a great number of the serious people at court. I had heard the King refer to her as “my serious-minded, clever sister-in-law.” I was rather surprised that she should have doted so fondly on Anne, who had little to say and refused to learn. Their only common interest seemed to be their love of sweet foods. Many times I had seen them sitting close, a dish of sweetmeats between them, and they would be eating all the time.
There was an occasion when the physicians pointed out that my sister was growing unhealthily fat and could damage her health if she did not give up the habit of consuming sweetmeats at every opportunity.
My mother was frightened. Perhaps she blamed herself for allowing her daughter to share her own weakness. In any case, Anne was sent away for a while with one of my mother’s ladies. She was to be watchful of what Anne ate and my mother could trust her friends to keep a sharper eye on my sister in a different house than in her own, for there she suspected that her friends would give way to her pleadings for more of the sweetmeats she loved so much.
I was very sad to lose my sister. Life was not the same without her good-natured smiles. I pictured her on a strict diet, deprived of her sweetmeats. Perhaps she was taking it all in her good-tempered manner.
It was a happy day when she returned, good-natured as ever and, if not exactly thin, less rotund than she had been.
Everyone declared that the cure had been a miraculous one, but it soon became clear that the temptation presented by a dish of sweetmeats was still irresistible. However, we were all so delighted to have her back that we could only smile at her indulgences.
During Anne’s absence I missed her so much that my parents decided I must have a companion to compensate me for the loss of my sister and, to my great joy, Anne Trelawny joined the household. She was a few years older than I and we were firm friends from the beginning. It was wonderful to have someone to confide in; and Anne was sympathetic, understanding and all that I could ask for in a friend.
My sister Anne must always have what I had and when she came home and saw that I had a friend, she must have one too.
She made this desire known to our mother who immediately set about looking for someone suitable.
She had been particularly interested in one of the maids of honor, a certain Frances Jennings who came from a family of somewhat obscure origins. It was something of a mystery that she should be received at court, but Frances herself was very engaging — not exactly beautiful, but attractive and quick-witted. My mother, herself of a lively mind, liked to have people of her own sort about her, and she was more attracted to intelligence than ancient lineage. Hence she took a special interest in Frances and when a connection of the noble house of Hamilton was attracted by her, my mother helped to advance the match.