The French Ambassador was horrified. A most undignified sight, he commented. The Princess of Orange would only have so demeaned herself at the command of her husband, he was sure.
“We can depend upon it,” he wrote, “that this fawning on Monmouth can mean only one thing. Orange and Monmouth are planning an invasion of England and Orange wishes the world to know that the heiress to the throne is with them in this plot.”
Everywhere Mary went there was Monmouth; there was no need, William implied, of a chaperone. He trusted his dear friend.
“What a gay life you lead here in Holland,” said Monmouth one day.
“It has only been gay since you came,” she told him.
He kissed her on the lips for he was deeply moved. She stood very still and said: “Jemmy, have you ever wanted a certain time of your life to go on and on …?”
He answered, “I have always been one to believe that the best is yet to come.”
“But Jemmy,” she cried, “what could be better than this?”
He took her arm and they sped over the ice. It was firm and strong at the moment; but a little change in the weather and the change would set in. That was inevitable. He felt it was symbolic but he did not call her attention to this.
She was charming, his cousin. They should have married them. But he loved Henrietta, and Mary was bound to William; thus their emotions were continually checked and they were safe from disaster.
But they were so happy together … and life might have been very different for them both.
A feverish excitement caught them. That evening they rode on sleds to Honselaarsdijk where there was a ball in honor of Monmouth.
William insisted that Mary and Monmouth lead the dance; his asthma prevented his taking a part; but he sat, watching them; and he saw his wife’s excitement and he thought: she has honored our guest but she must never forget who is her master.
Shortly after the Honselaarsdijk ball, came that day of mourning which Mary had always observed throughout her life. The thirtieth of January—the day of the execution of Charles the Martyr.
“There will be no dancing today,” she told Anne Trelawny, as she dressed in her gown of mourning. “Today I will pray for the soul of my grandfather and we will pass the time in sewing for the poor.”
“It will do you good to have a rest from all the gaiety,” replied Anne, “although I must say you don’t look as if you need it.”
“I could dance every day of my life,” replied Mary.
“The Duke has done you the world of good. It seems strange that …”
Anne dared not utter open criticism of William before Mary, who was well aware that her friend did not like her husband.
During the day William came to her apartment. She rose delighted to see him and as was their custom her maids hurried away and left them together. She was astonished to see that William was more gaily dressed than usual—not that his garb was ever anything but somber; but she thought he must have forgotten what the day was.
“I like not that gown,” he said curtly.
“Oh, it is dull is it not, but fitting to the day, I believe.”
“Change it at once. Put on a brightly colored gown and wear jewels.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “William, have you forgotten what today is?”
“I have made a simple request and I expect it to be obeyed.”
“William, it is the thirtieth of January.”
“I am well aware of that.”
“And yet you suggest I wear a bright color … and jewels!”
“I do not suggest, I command.”
“I cannot do it, William. It is our grandfather’s day.”
“Enough of this folly. Put on a bright gown. You are dining in public today.”
“But, William, I never do on this day. I spend it in seclusion.”
“Do you mean that you will flout me?”
“William, anything else I will willingly do, but always this has been a day we observed.”
“Let me hear no more of this nonsense. I shall expect to see you differently dressed and ready to dine with me in public.”
He left her and when her women came back they found her silent and bewildered.
“What now?” whispered Anne Trelawny to Mrs. Langford. “What new tyranny is this?”
Mrs. Langford, the wife of a clergyman who had been one of Mary’s devoted servants for a long time, shared Anne Trelawny’s dislike of William.
“He wants to show who is master, that’s all,” she retorted.
“Your Highness,” said Anne, “what has happened?”
“I wish to change my dress. Bring out a blue gown and my diamonds and sapphires.”
“But this is the thirtieth of January, Your Highness.”
“It is the Prince’s wish that I dine in public with him and show no sign of grief for my grandfather.”
Anne Trelawny and Mrs. Langford lifted their shoulders and looked at each other.
What a wretched meal that was! Mary could eat nothing. William watched her critically as the dishes were placed before her and taken away.
How could he? she was thinking. This was a deliberate insult to their grandfather—his as well as hers. Everyone knew she spent this as a day of mourning and although he had not mourned as she did, he had never before prevented her.
After the meal he told her that they were going to the theater together.
“You are going to the theater, William?” she asked.
“I said we were going together.”
“But you dislike the theater.”
“And you love it.”
“Not on this day.”
“We are going,” he said.
This was significant. He was telling the world that she and he dissociated themselves from that policy of Divine Right, which had lost their grandfather his life, which his son Charles had followed and his brother James was threatening to do.
William wanted the people of England to know that he stood for a Protestant England and an England which was ruled by a Sovereign who worked with his Parliament.
Thus there was no need to feel regret for one who had done the opposite.
Anne Trelawny and Mrs. Langford were talking of the affair while the Prince and Princess were at the theater.
“I have never known a Princess so shamefully treated,” said Anne.
“He wants to show her that he is master.”
“Why she doesn’t stand up to him I can’t imagine.”
“Oh, she’s gentle. She wants him to be a perfect husband. I know my Princess. She pretends he is one—and that she feels is as near as she’ll get.”
“Caliban!” muttered Anne. “I often wonder what her father would say if he knew the way she was treated.”
“She’s being turned against him. It’s unnatural, that’s what it is.”
“I wish there was something we could do.”
“Who knows, perhaps one day there will be.”
Mary found it difficult to fall back into the old gaiety after the January day. How could William have behaved as he did? She had been so unhappy. She thought she would never forget the misery of that public meal and afterward going to the theater and sitting there, not listening to the actors, just thinking of her grandfather and all that he had suffered.
It was like dancing on a holy day.
Her father would hear of it. Her father! What had happened to their relationship? She knew that she must love and obey William but there were times when it was very hard.
Monmouth tried to cheer her.
“You take life too seriously,” he told her.
“Don’t you, Jemmy?”
“No, never.”
“There are times when you seem serious now.”
“Ah, I have a feeling that this is the turning point of my life.”
He was looking at her ardently, and although she reminded herself that that was how Jemmy must have looked at so many women, still she was deeply moved.