“We must do our best to improve our dancing,” said Mary.
“So that we may be invited to go often to Court?” murmured Anne.
“So that we do not disappoint Jemmy,” added Mary.
As a result of Monmouth’s plan, Mrs. Betterton, the principal actress at the King’s Theater, arrived at Richmond in order to instruct Mary, Anne, and their friends on how to speak on a stage, how to walk on to one, how to conduct themselves with grace, charm, and utter naturalness.
James had readily given his consent to her appointment because he knew how much Charles enjoyed theatrical performances and he thought it a good idea that his daughters should shine before their uncle.
The girls enjoyed their lessons and adored Mrs. Betterton who seemed so gay and amusing to them and made their lessons more of a game than a task.
Mary was happy. Her new stepmother had proved to be a gentle creature who seemed to want to please her as much as she, Mary, wanted to please her stepmother. The grim creature Elizabeth Villiers had tried to conjure up had no likeness to her at all; and it was good to prove Elizabeth wrong. The days when she practised dancing with Jemmy were for her touched with a kind of bliss. Every night when she said her prayers she mentioned Jemmy; she told herself that next to her sister Anne she loved Jemmy; but she was not sure whether, in her secret heart, she did not love him best of all.
He whispered to her that he was going to command John Crowne, the poet, to write a play with a ballet and the principal part should be for her. The part he had chosen for her was that of Calista, a nymph of Diana.
John Crowne was in despair.
He went to the Duke of Monmouth to remonstrate with him.
“My lord, how can I write Calista for the Princess Mary. Have you forgotten that Calista is raped by Jupiter?”
Monmouth laughed. “It will do me good to watch the effect of that on His Grace of York. His dear little daughter raped!”
“Nay, my lord. I would not wish to place myself in jeopardy. The King would not be pleased.”
“You can trust me to put my father in a good mood.”
“Indeed yes, my lord. We know how he dotes on you, but I fear this would not be suitable for a young girl. May I suggest that the rape does not take place, and that Calista succeeds in escaping from Jupiter in time.” He hurried on before Monmouth could protest. “And I could write in a part for the Princess Anne, for I know how the Princess Mary loves her sister to do everything with her. For the younger Princess there will be the part of Calista’s younger sister Nyphe. And for Jupiter …”
Monmouth said sharply: “I have the girl for Jupiter. She will play the part well.”
“Your lordship …”
“Lady Henrietta Wentworth,” said Monmouth smiling. “She will be perfect.”
The proposed play and ballet was being discussed throughout the Court and the King himself had expressed his interest. Jemmy was in charge and Jemmy was probably the best dancer at Court; moreover, Charles was pleased that he was interesting himself in Mary and Anne, who now that they were growing up, would have to take more and more part in Court life. Calista, Charles decided, should provide the Princesses’ introduction to Court.
In Queen Catherine’s apartments, Margaret Blagge, one of the Queen’s maids of honor, was on her knees praying that she might be spared the need to play in Calista. Monmouth had seen her and selected her for the part of Diana the goddess of Chastity. She feared that he was considering the possibility of making an onslaught on her virtue and because he had seen in her one of the few chaste women at his father’s court he would not be satisfied with anyone else to play Diana.
Margaret had been maid of honor to the Duchess of York before her death and after that event had joined the Queen’s household. The laxity of morals practised by those about her made her long to escape from Court. It was not that she wished for life in a convent; she could visualize a future with a husband and children—but away from Court, far, far away.
This revulsion had caused her to find great comfort in seclusion. And now to have been chosen to appear to dance and act before the King—something which she considered immoral in itself—horrified her.
But it was no use protesting. Monmouth insisted. She had refused him what he desired; well, now he would refuse her.
Lady Henrietta Wentworth burst into the apartment—a lovely creature, some years younger than Margaret.
“Why, Margaret, what are you doing? Not on your knees again? And what are you weeping about?”
Margaret stood up. “I am to be Diana in Calista.”
Henrietta smiled. “I can see no reason for mourning. I am to be Jupiter—the bold lover. Do you know I almost rape the Princess Mary. According to Ovid I did, but John Crowne fears the wrath of the Duke of York if aught ill befalls his daughter, so she is going to be allowed to escape me.”
“I would that I could be released from this.”
“Released! My dear Margaret, how many girls do you think would not give all they possessed for your opportunity.”
“Opportunity … to sin!”
“Margaret. What sin is there in dancing?”
“I see it as a sin.”
“You should have been born years ago. You would have enjoyed living under Oliver Cromwell. This Court life is not for you.”
“Then why should I have to take part in it?”
“Because, my dear, in spite of your seriousness, you are very pretty. And the part of chaste Diana was made for you.”
“I have told the Duke that I do not wish to take the part.”
“And what said he?”
“He waved my reluctance aside. He would have none of it.”
“The Duke of Monmouth,” said Henrietta slowly, while a smile touched her lips, “is a man who will always have his way.”
“Not always,” insisted Margaret. “And I cannot play this role. The players are to be most sumptuously clad and covered in jewels. My lord Monmouth must realize that I am not rich. I have no jewels. So therefore he must find someone else to play Diana. I think that will be the answer, don’t you?”
She looked at Henrietta, who did not answer. She was staring into space smiling—her thoughts far away.
Charles summoned his brother and when he arrived told him that he was distressed to have been obliged to come to a certain decision but he believed James would see at once that it was inevitable.
“Since your marriage to your little Catholic, the people have not been pleased with you, James. We may as well face it. You have shown yourself to be too good a Catholic. Even though you don’t profess your Catholicism publicly, all know that you are devout enough in secret. They are complaining that your girls are being brought up to be little Catholics too.”
“But this is not true.”
“Maybe not. But we don’t have to consider what is true but what is being whispered. Whispering can be as damning as the truth. You’ll have to pass over the girls’ education to my jurisdiction, James. There’s no help for it.”
“But they are my daughters.”
“And if neither of us get a son Mary could be Queen and Anne could follow her. It’s for this reason that the people want to see them taken from the care of a Catholic and given a good Reformed preceptor. There’s no help for it, brother. Grin and submit with a good grace. You will see them constantly. It will merely be that I shall put someone in charge of their education.”
“And whom have you in mind?”
“Compton, Bishop of London.”
“Compton. I hate the fellow.”
“A pillar of the Reformed Church, brother; and for that reason I select him. The people will find pleasure in my choice.”
“The people?”
“Yes, brother, they by whom we retain our crown; and unless you have a taste for the wandering life, never let us underestimate their importance.”