“You surely do not hold yourself responsible for the behavior of all your maids of honor?”
She met his gaze steadily. “Not all of them,” she said and there was something in her voice which alarmed him. How much did she know? Had she guessed? Was this a reference to Elizabeth?
He wanted to get away, to ponder on this change in her.
He said coldly: “I am most displeased.”
And turning, he left her.
Mary looked after him sadly. He had been away so long and he had no warm affection to offer her on his return. How foolish she was to dream of that ideal relationship!
William had shut himself into his own apartments, to be alone, to think. He did not want to discuss this even with Bentinck yet.
She had changed. Lately she had seemed older, wiser, more serious. She had remained a child for a long time and now she was growing up.
William was visualizing the future: Charles dead; James rejected by the British; Mary the Queen; and William—her consort? That woman who had stood so firmly over the Jane Wroth affair might well decide that since she was Queen of England she would rule her country. He had been counting on her docility; but if she could take a stand over one thing she could over another and much greater issue.
William was really worried. He saw himself the consort of the Queen of England, waiting on her decisions, obeying her commands.
It was no life for him. Mrs. Tanner had promised him the three crowns—not a seat beside a wife who wore them.
What did it mean? He must find out.
For the time being he avoided her. But he was very uneasy.
William did not insist on Kenn’s dismissal. Instead he seemed a trifle more affable to him. Kenn was amused and made it clear that the Prince’s opinion was of no great concern to him since he was in the service of the Princess.
He even remonstrated with William on the manner in which a Princess of England was treated in Holland; and then awaited William’s fury.
It did not come.
William was considering how best to treat his wife. If he gave up Elizabeth Villiers he could pay more attention to her, but he could not give up Elizabeth. She completely fascinated him, although he was not a man to be very interested in women. Elizabeth was the one woman he needed in his life and he was determined to keep her.
But he could not make up his mind how to treat Mary. He was determined to make her realize he was the master; she must remain cowed as she had been in the past. The tears in her eyes when he expressed his displeasure had exasperated him, but it was disturbing that he rarely saw them now.
He believed that her father might try to wean her from him. Several unfortunate possibilities occurred to him. What if she died? Then Anne would inherit the throne.
He must keep Mary healthy, and at the same time he must make her his slave. He had thought he had achieved the last until the Zuylestein affair.
That was a warning.
Perhaps he should take her into his confidence a little, pretend to discuss state affairs with her, turn her against her father, make her understand the importance of preserving Protestantism in England.
That was his difficulty. He had to take her into his confidence over state affairs and at the same time never let her lose sight of the fact that he was the master. He was not sure how to do this.
That was why during that time he scarcely saw her and she, conscious of the widening rift between them, was very sad.
Mary waited for the letters from Frances. She wrote to her “beloved husband” as though she were writing to William. It was a fantasy she clung to.
Then one day there came a letter from Frances. She was to be married to Sir Benjamin Bathurst. It was a marriage desirable on all sides and as Frances was now twenty-nine it seemed to be time she married if she were ever going to.
Mary read and re-read that letter. It was long past the time when that dream of the cottage in the wood should have been forgotten. They would both be matrons now; how everyone would laugh if they knew they wrote to each other as dearest husband and beloved wife!
Frances wrote that she was very busy preparing for the wedding. She seemed very happy. Mary fervently hoped she would be and that they would be friends for the rest of their lives.
“I wish you nine months hence two boys,” wrote Mary, “for one is too common a wish.”
She was seeking ways of pleasing William now; when he talked to her she was delighted; he was building his new brick palace at Loo and if there was anything William could really grow excited about it was building and the construction of gardens. Over the Palace of Loo they grew more friendly. He showed her the plans of the suite of rooms which were to be allotted to her.
“I think,” she said, “I should like flower beds here.”
He considered this and replied: “Flower beds would be pleasant but I have decided you should have a fountain which you will find more agreeable.”
He was delighted with her response. “Yes, of course a fountain would be better.”
He would ask her opinion and then superimpose his own. But he was at least taking notice of her. He showed an interest in the poultry garden she had set up and explained to her that she could have aquatic species of fowls because the canals provided the necessary water.
Mary listened eagerly; William’s anxiety decreased. He was certain that he would know how to keep his wife in order.
She still wrote to Frances but the passionate love was missing from the letters. She wanted to hear all the news from London. What was being worn at the Court? There were certain materials which she could not procure in Holland. Would Frances get them for her?
Frances was quickly pregnant.
“Lucky Frances!” she wrote. “How I envy you!”
And she knew that Frances was now almost entirely preoccupied with her family.
She was turning to William, waiting on those days when he honored her with his company, seeking to please him. He had now begun to talk to her of the unsatisfactory state of affairs in her own country. A great shadow overhung the land: the shadow of Catholicism.
Mary was very unhappy because her father was responsible. She kept remembering how affectionate he had always been and how when she had been a child he had made no secret of the fact that she was his favorite daughter. It was sad to have this conflict between her father and husband; but as a staunch supporter of the English Reformed Church she believed that it would be a disaster if the Catholic Church replaced that of England.
Gradually William was making her see through his eyes; and with each passing week her opinion of her father began to change. She had always been distressed by his infidelity both to her mother and stepmother; but it seemed that he was guilty of even greater indiscretions.
He was actually William’s enemy—her William’s.
Her William was a noble prince of high ideals who served his country loyally, who was a great ruler and had brought Holland away from the disaster which once had threatened her and if he was unfaithful to his wife with Elizabeth Villiers, were not all men unfaithful? And William was but a man.
She assured herself that she loved William. He was stern and seemed unloving, but that was his nature, the same as her nature was to be affectionate and demonstrative.
As she walked by the pond in the Loo gardens, she let herself dream that one day he would dismiss Elizabeth Villiers and remove that sinister barrier which, she told herself, stood between that ideal relationship for which she longed so fiercely that she must believe it was possible.
ROMANCE AT THE HAGUE
England seemed far away. This was her home: The Hague, the Palace in the Wood, the Palace of Loo, and William was at the center of her life. To others he was unattractive; those who thought highly of extravagant manners, of the courtesies which were practised at her uncle’s Court, considered William to be brusque and ungracious, harsh and stern. She had heard all those epithets in connection with him, but believed she had come to understand him, and understanding, to love. He was deeply religious; his concern for the future of England, she told herself, had nothing to do with his own hopes; he sincerely believed that for England to return to Rome would be a major tragedy. He suffered from ill health, which was a fact most people seemed not to understand. He was asthmatical and easily exhausted. Yet he ignored this and drove himself, so naturally he was impatient at times. She was beginning to see everything through his eyes.