Anne rose on her elbows and cried: “You are Margaret Denham risen from the grave.”
With that the figure disappeared and Anne was staring into the darkness not sure whether she had been dreaming this or whether the apparition had actually been in the room. It was so vivid that she made up her mind that she had actually been visited by Margaret Denham’s ghost.
She felt the heat on her chin and putting her fingers to it found they were wet.
She began calling for candles and in a short time several of her women were hurrying into the room. They gasped when they saw the blood on her face.
“Your Grace, what has happened?” cried one.
“Margaret Denham has been in this room,” answered Anne.
“She … has harmed Your Grace?”
Seeing that there was blood on her sheets Anne recoiled from it in dismay.
By this time the commotion had awakened the Duke in the nearby chamber and he came hurrying in and when he saw the blood on the Duchess’s face he cried out in dismay and taking her in his arms demanded to know what had happened.
“Margaret Denham came to me. This is the result.”
The Duke called for more candles, and saw that the blood was coming from the Duchess’s mouth. When closer examination proved that she had bitten her tongue, there was great relief in the apartments.
“It was the fright, Your Grace,” said one of her women.
“Her Grace has had a bad dream,” said the Duke. “Awaken one of the physicians and send him here.”
When the doctor came he was able to assure the Duke and Duchess that no harm was done; she had bitten her tongue, which would be a little sore, particularly when hot food was taken, but it would quickly heal.
The blood had been washed from the Duchess’s face and hands; the sheets had been changed and she lay back while the Duke sat by her bed watching her.
“I fear,” said James, “that you have had this evil dream because Margaret Denham has been much on your mind.”
“She will not be forgotten it seems.”
“Nonsense. In a few months no one will remember her name.”
“Oh, James, make sure that there are no more Margaret Denhams.”
“My dear, how could I know that she would die in such circumstances?”
“It would have been of no account how she died if you had been a faithful husband to me.”
James sighed. “That is a matter we have discussed many times before, Anne. Let us have done with it.”
“It was as though she were here … in this room, James. As though she upbraided me.”
“You are not well. I have noticed that you have been looking tired of late.”
“There is nothing wrong with me.” Her hand imperceptibly touched her breast.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Oh, Anne,” he said, “if you were a humble merchant’s wife and I that merchant, it would have been different.”
“Being humble would not have changed your nature, James. There is a wildness in you … a need for women which is paramount to all else. You inherited it from your grandfather who, I have heard, had more mistresses than any King of France. What more could be said?”
“Yet,” said James, “there is no other that can claim my heart but you.”
“Spoken like a Stuart.” She laughed. “I’ll swear Charles is saying the same at this moment to one of his ladies.”
“But I mean it, Anne.”
“Stuarts always mean what they say … when they say it.” She lay against him. “It is good to have you with me, James. There is much of which I would speak to you.”
He kissed her and she was aware of the passion which was so ready to be aroused. Perhaps it was not for fat Anne Hyde, the mother of his children (two only of whom were strong and healthy and they girls), no, not for that Anne Hyde, but for the young girl whom he had met and loved at Breda, the girl whom he had seduced, making marriage a necessary but still a greatly desired event.
This was how it should have been for all the years of marriage—James forgot his mistresses; Anne forgot the recurring pain in her breast, the secret visits to the priest. Though fleetingly she assured herself that soon she would discuss her views with James, for she wanted to share her faith with him as she had shared her life.
But for that night they were merely lovers as they had been in the days at Breda.
After that night the Duke and Duchess of York were more often in each other’s company than previously. The Duchess’s influence over her husband appeared to have increased and although James visited his mistresses occasionally, he was devoted to his wife. As for Anne, she was more interested in discussing religion than any other subject and it was remarked that in conversation she seemed inclined to veer toward Rome.
James’s great interest was, as it always had been, the navy; he had won great honors at sea but when de Ruyter, the Dutch commander, sailed into the Medway and destroyed several of the King’s ships, including the Royal Charles, and then had the temerity to sail up the Thames as far as Gravesend, the efficiency of the Duke of York began to be doubted.
Clarendon, who had once seemed all powerful, was in exile; and now the Duke of York, whose wife was suspected of being a Catholic, was showing signs of following her lead.
In the midst of rumors and suspicions James had a slight attack of smallpox and as soon as he was ill his virtues were remembered rather than his faults; the Duchess who was expecting a child in three months’ time was constantly with him; and they both prayed for a son because Charles was hinting once more that he would like to legitimatize Monmouth.
Monmouth was the darling of the King and the Court. He often visited Richmond, to the delight of Mary; but what he was most interested in was the health of the Duchess. She had been looking strained and tired of late; her skin was growing sallow, and some of her attendants had reported that she was suffering occasional pain.
If the child was stillborn, reasoned Monmouth, his father might well prevail on his ministers to have him, Monmouth, legitimatized.
“And that,” he repeated to himself again and again, “would be the greatest day of my life.”
He could never see the Crown and the ceremonial robes without picturing himself wearing them and thinking how well he would become them! If only James had no children! The little Prince was sick and it was hardly likely that he would live. The girls were so healthy though—particularly Mary. Anne of course was such a little glutton that she might burst one day through overeating; she was like a ball as it was. And the Duchess did not look like a healthy mother-to-be. There was great hope in Monmouth’s heart that summer.
He was looking about him for friends who would help him to what he so passionately desired, men such as George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham—a wit, a rake, but a shrewd man, and one of the King’s favorite companions. He was a man fond of intrigue and had recently hoped to make Frances Stuart the King’s mistress and govern through her. No plan was too wild to interest him. He had just left the Tower whither he had been sent for fighting with the Marquis of Dorchester—an ungainly scuffle, with Buckingham taking possession of Dorchester’s wig and Dorchester pulling out some of Buckingham’s hair in retaliation. Later he had again been sent to the Tower for, it was said, dabbling with soothsayers concerning the King’s horoscope. But Charles could always find reasons for forgiving those who amused him, and he did not like such as Buckingham to leave him for too long at a time.
Buckingham was no friend of James, Duke of York. Could it be that he might be a friend of Monmouth’s?
He must find powerful friends. Clearly if the King had no male heir and James neither, it would be to his benefit; and when the King died and it was James’s turn? Well, would the people of England accept a Catholic King? Monmouth was certain they would not. Therefore he would show them that he was staunchly Protestant. He would begin now, laying his plans, forming friendships with men such as Buckingham who would be of use to him, letting the people know that if they did not want a Catholic King there was a good Protestant waiting to serve them—the only reason why he was not proclaimed the heir, being the fact that his father had failed to marry his mother—and some said that this was a falsehood.