She smiled, recalling those days when she had sat on his knee and he had delighted in her. He had been a good father to her, never showing her the least unkindness. He had never been stern or harsh.…
She flushed. She was thinking hard thoughts of her husband, which was wrong.
William came to her apartment—a thing he rarely did since her pregnancy. She often reminded herself that he believed the sexual act should be performed for one reason only—the procreation of children.
He is right, she thought; he was often right. It was because he lived by a righteous code that others believed him to be harsh; and if he was harsh with others he was also harsh with himself.
“I have news from your father,” he said.
“Oh!” she clasped her hands together delightedly. He wished that she did not betray her feelings so readily—joy or sorrow, it was always the same.
“I have a notion he thinks we ill-treat you here.”
“Oh … no. I have said nothing.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Nor could you in truth.”
“No … no. Assuredly I could not.”
He was eyeing her sternly.
“He is sending over two people to … inspect us, I believe.”
“To … inspect us.”
“Pray do not repeat everything I say. It is both foolish and monotonous.”
“I … I’m sorry, William.”
“And try not to stammer when you speak to me.”
“N … no, William.”
His cold eyes took pleasure in her embarrassment. At least she was in awe of him.
Now he was going to watch the transports of joy.
“You have not asked who these … spies are to be.”
“Oh, not spies, William. How could they be!”
He said: “Your sister and your stepmother are coming to Holland incognito … very incognito, as your father says.”
It came as he expected. The flush to the cheeks, the tears to the eyes. She was half laughing, half crying. When would she grow up?
“Oh, William … I’m so happy.”
“You had better prepare to receive them,” he said.
There was Anne, plump and pink; there was Mary Beatrice, dark and lovely. Mary could not take her eyes from them. She could only embrace first one then the other and kiss them and cry and laugh over them.
“My dear, dear Lemon,” said Mary Beatrice. “You must control yourself or the Orange will be displeased with us for over-exciting you.”
“How can I help being over-excited when you are here … my precious ones, my darlings. Besides, William has gone away.”
“Does he often go away?” asked Anne.
“State affairs occupy him all the time,” explained Mary.
“He should have been here.” There was a hint of criticism in Anne’s voice.
“Do not forget we came very incognito,” her stepmother reminded her.
They were lodged near the Palace in the Wood and would only stay for a few days.
“You see, it is not a state visit,” Mary Beatrice explained, “and how could we stay ‘very incognito’ for longer?”
There must be reunion with the maids of honor. The Princess Anne wanted to chat all the time about what was happening at the English Court. She embraced the Villiers sisters, Betty Selbourne, Jane Wroth, and Anne Trelawny.
“It has seemed years and years since I saw you,” she declared.
She explained to Mary how desolate she had been when recovering from smallpox she had heard that her darling Mary had left for Holland. “What I did without you I cannot say,” she said. “If it were not for Sarah I should be quite, quite desolate. Oh and sister, I have such news of Sarah! It is a secret as yet … Only I and my stepmother are supposed to know. But I must whisper it to my own dear Mary. Sarah is married!”
“Sarah! Married!” cried Mary delightedly. “Her husband must be a brave man.”
“Oh, Sarah would only marry a brave man! She would never tolerate a coward.”
“I meant, dearest Anne, that he will have to be brave to stand up to Sarah.”
“He is, dearest sister, he is. I’ll whisper his name. John Churchill. You remember John?”
“Arabella Churchill’s brother,” said Mary, and her happiness was slightly clouded. Her father’s relationship with that woman was a matter which had bewildered her childhood and turned her to fanciful dreams because reality had seemed somehow unpleasant.
“Arabella found him his place in the army, some say, and Monmouth helped him too. But he is very handsome, Mary, and so charming, and so devoted to Sarah … and she to him, although she does not show it so much. But she is determined to make a great man of him and you know Sarah always has her way.” Anne laughed. “He was very, very gay … and then he fell in love with Sarah and now they are married there will be no more philandering. But it is very, very secret.”
“Why should it be secret?”
“Because the Churchills will be quite furious. Sarah is so fascinating and clever and attractive but she is very, very poor and the foolish Churchills think she is not good enough for John. Sarah will show them.”
“Sarah will, I doubt not.”
“But our friendship will never, never change … even though she is married. We have sworn it.”
“And Frances?”
“Dear, dear Frances. She sends loving messages. She will never, never forget you. I have letters for you.”
Oh, what a happy time this was!
Her stepmother told her how at home they talked constantly of their dear Lemon. The King said he wished they had not married her into a foreign land because he missed her. As for her father, he was more melancholy than any.
“I shall think of you thinking of me when you have gone,” Mary told them sadly.
Anne wanted to examine her sister’s wardrobe; she chattered about the latest fashions in England.
Those were the happiest days Mary had experienced since she had arrived in Holland; and when William came to the Palace in the Wood and was gracious to the ladies she was delighted.
Alas, the stay had only been intended for a short one and very soon the ladies took their departure.
Anne embraced her weeping sister.
“At least, dearest Mary,” she said, “we have proved that we are not so far apart as we thought; I shall come again, very incognito, to see my darling sister, for I cannot be happy for long away from her.”
Mary Beatrice fondly embraced her dear Lemon; and they left Holland for England where they were able to tell the Duke of York that they had found his daughter happy.
Shortly after they had left Mary had her second miscarriage. There was no reason for it.
She was desolate. Sadly she missed her visitors. If they had been here they could have comforted her. She could not understand what had happened this time. Had she not taken every care?
William would blame her. She was young and foolish; and she could not even do what any peasant could: produce a healthy child.
“Oh William, William,” she cried into her pillows, “it seems I am doomed to disappoint you.”
Mary had finished supper when William came to her apartments. Although his expression betrayed nothing, she guessed he had some reason for coming at this hour; she had seen less of him since the second miscarriage and she had begun to wonder whether he believed her incapable of bearing a child and therefore saw no reason why he should not neglect her.
She felt her heart begin to beat faster as with a cold peremptory gesture he waved a hand and dismissed her women.
When they had gone he strolled to a table and picked up a book there, frowned at it and muttered: “I suppose Dr. Hooper persuades you to read these books.”
“Well … he … he gave me that one.”