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She had been one of the most successful mistresses of James and although he had made several attempts to cast her off, he had never been able to do so. He had made her Countess of Dorchester and given her a fine town house which she now occupied, and she often came to Court which Mary thought was an affront to herself. Such people should have the decency to stay away. It was even said that she was working with the Jacobites to bring James back and that she cared not who knew it.
She was quick-witted and entertained a large company at her fashionable house. There she would talk in an affectionate and slighting way of her lover and drink the health of the King over the Water.
She was almost ugly and she knew it. “One of his penances,” she called herself. “He seemed to choose us for our ugliness,” she added. “Well, he liked us that way. As for wit, if any of us had any he had not enough to discover—so he did not choose us for that.”
These remarks were carried back to Mary. It shocked her sense of propriety that her father’s ex-mistress should be talking so openly of their relationship.
“The Countess of Dorchester indeed!” said Mary indignantly. “If she comes to Court I shall treat her as no higher than her father’s daughter.”
When this was reported to Catherine Sedley she laughed and said: “Then I shall treat the Queen as her mother’s.” An insult, for Mary’s mother, Anne Hyde, was of not such a high rank as Catherine’s father.
These were minor irritations to which one must submit; William’s advice as to how to deal with them could not be asked, for he would not allow himself to be drawn into such trivialities, and Mary must settle them herself.
On this evening she was happily preparing to go to the Theater Royal for Dryden’s Spanish Friar. To be carried to the theater in her chair, to sit in the royal box and receive the acclaim of the people, would make her feel contented, more as a Queen should feel; and perhaps in time she would persuade William to come to the play, to mingle more with the people. Then perhaps she would be able to make them see what a noble hero he was and him to understand how necessary it was to step down from one’s pedestal at times and be a popular hero.
Anne would be present, very far advanced in pregnancy. Surely the child must soon be born! And unfortunately with her would be that odious Churchill woman. Well, it was certainly a royal occasion, for fashionable London had turned out to see the play and it was like the old days. Mary, glittering with jewels, tall, stately, and plumply imposing looking as a Queen should look. The people cheered her, and she smiled her acknowledgment. She had to be doubly charming to make up for William’s moroseness. But William was not here tonight, and she must convey to them that he was engaged on the serious matters of kingship, planning how to win the war in Ireland. Oh, no, an unfortunate subject! He was working hard for the good of them all, to bring them peace and prosperity.
A dark thin woman was curtseying before her, and Mary was about to smile when she recognized Catherine Sedley; then she turned her head and looked the other way.
Catherine’s malicious face twisted into a smile. “Your Majesty is cool to me,” she said very audibly. “It is hard on me. For although I have broken one commandment with your father, you have broken another.”
As Catherine had passed on, Mary went white with anger that was touched with uneasiness. How dared the woman! And in a public place! That remark would be repeated all over the Court, all through the city, perhaps throughout the country.
It was true … cruelly true. Catherine Sedley had committed adultery—but at her father’s request.
“Honor thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God givest thee.”
Was there no escape … even at the playhouse?
She turned to the Countess of Derby. “Come,” she said peevishly, “what are we waiting for?”
Mary took her place in the royal box and although she smiled graciously at the audience, all the time she was thinking of Catherine Sedley’s words; and instead of the stage and the players she saw James coming into the nursery, picking her up, sitting her on his knee; she could hear the whispers: “The Duke dotes on his daughters and his favorite is the Lady Mary.” She pictured his bewilderment when he learned that she was with his enemies, at the very core of the rebellion against him which had driven him from his throne and native land.
What were the players saying?
“How now! What means this show?”
“ ’Tis a procession.
The Queen is going to the great Cathedral,
To pray for our success against the Moors.”
“Very good; she usurps the throne; keeps the old King
In prison; and at the same time is praying for a blessing:
Oh religion and roguery, how they go together!”
Everyone was watching the royal box—not the stage. She was horribly aware of Catherine Sedley’s malicious eyes and she felt the hot color rushing into her cheeks. The Queen of England in her box unable to hide her embarrassment, her guilt, from the eyes of a playhouse audience! Tomorrow this would be the main topic of conversation all over the town.
Hastily she put up her fan. There was a slight murmur through the audience. Was it a titter of amusement?
What a fool she had been not to read this play before she came to see it. There was nothing to be done now; she must sit through it and pray that there would be no more such references. Mrs. Betterton had come on to the stage. Dear Mrs. Betterton who had taught her and Anne in their youth how to speak lines. She was back in the nurseries at Richmond. Jemmy was there to show them how to dance in the ballet Calista, which had been written for her that she might make her debut. Handsome Jemmy, who had wanted to be a King and had lost his head because of it … at her father’s command.
Would this play never end? The audience were far more interested in the drama in the royal box than on the stage. Her women were uneasy; they were listening intently for some other reference which could add to the tension in the theater.
It came:
“Can I seem pleased to see my master murdered
His crown usurped, a distaff on the throne?”
There was a hush in the audience. Recently there had been rumors that James had been killed in Ireland. Mary turned to the Countess of Derby.
“Your Majesty is a little cold?”
“My cloak.”
It was placed about her shoulders. The audience watched; Catherine Sedley was smiling: the Queen was uneasy and could not hide it.
“What title has this Queen but lawless force?” came from the stage.
She knew now how the guilty King and Queen in Hamlet had felt as they watched the play staged for their benefit. She was shivering, waiting, tense; and it seemed to her hours before the end.
When it came she rose thankfully. The audience was silent. It had no cheers to offer her. With as little fuss as possible she left the theater.
The next day everyone was talking of the Queen’s visit to The Spanish Friar and the playhouse looked forward to a run of good business. It would be crowded, and when the telling lines were delivered there would be cheers or boos according to the side the audience were inclined to take. A dull King, a Court that was more often non-existent did not appeal to a people who looked to its royalty to provide some excitement; it would be diverting therefore to have a little battle in the playhouse.
Mary, realizing what was happening, gave orders that The Spanish Friar was to be taken off and a new play put on which she would attend.
There was disappointment among those who had hoped to see some sport, but they would all crowd to the theater when the new play was on and when the Queen came it would be amusing to listen and hope for further references which might discomfort her, although it was certain that the script of the play would be well examined beforehand.
It was amazing how difficult it was to find a play in which there was no reference which could be applied to the present situation. But at last something was found and the Queen announced her intention of attending.
She was being dressed for the occasion when William came into her apartment. The very sight of him was enough to scatter her women so he did not have to order them to retire.
“I understand,” he said, “that you are going to the playhouse.”
“Yes, William.”
“I have just heard what happened at The Spanish Friar.”
“I did not tell you before William, not wishing to disturb you with a matter so trivial.”
“I do not think it trivial.”
“It was certainly very uncomfortable.”
“And so you propose to go again and possibly submit the crown to indignity?”
“I thought it best, William, not to show that I am afraid to go to the play for fear I hear something that discomforts me.”
“I do not think that you acted in a queenly manner. Hiding behind your fan, letting everyone see your discomfiture.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “I … could not help it.”
“And now you propose to be a figure of fun once more, should it please them to make you one!”
“I think I should go to the play to show them I am not afraid.”
“You will not go to the play.”
“But William …”
He looked at her in astonishment. Was she going to disobey him? He was afraid; always it was the same. Docility which seemed as though it would be perpetual and then that sudden spark of rebellion for which he must always be on guard because he had to remember that she was the Queen and through her he ruled; and if there was a split between them—which of course there would never be—the people of this country would be with her whom they considered their rightful Queen.
The fear in him made him harden his expression.
“I repeat,” he said coldly, “you will not go to the playhouse. I forbid it.”
“William, I have said I will go. They are expecting me. I am ready.”
“It is the duty of a wife to obey her husband. You know that.”
“Yes, William, but …”
“Then pray remember it.”
The rebellion was there. It was coming. She believed that it was right for her to go to the playhouse. She was English; she had been brought up among these people and she understood them as he could not.
She had been discomfited in the playhouse and she could not refuse to go again because they would think she was afraid.
She was on the point of explaining; but he had turned. She watched him walk from the room—a little figure of a man, slightly hunchbacked, wheezing as he walked—yet a man, she knew, of brilliance, a great leader, the greatest hero alive.
What would she do? thought William. He wanted to be alone to think. A great deal depended on this. He believed that once she disobeyed him, she would continue to do so. The people liked her; they hated him. They did not want him. It was only the ministers who knew him for an astute ruler who had some notion of his genius, who had seen what he had done for Holland who believed he was necessary to them in this difficult time. Later when things were more settled at home, he would go to Ireland and deal with the troubles there. They wanted him for that. They wanted a working King who could lead them in battle, who would plan at the Council table. And they wanted a decorative Queen who could look regal and stately and move among the people as a symbol.
But it was the people who decided in the end—the mob that wanted to laugh and scream, to love or hate. They wanted Mary and not William.
She did not know—or did she—what power she held over him?
This was more than a visit to the playhouse.
What to do? Mary was bewildered. At the playhouse they would be waiting for her. The crowded audience had gone there to watch the royal box rather than the stage. They would try to read hidden meanings in any slightly ambiguous phrases; and she wanted to be there, calm and regal; she had to show them that she was not afraid. Her father had been deposed, true, but they had forgotten that they had helped to depose him. Had they not set their minds and hearts against Popery? She was merely a figurehead; she and William had been sent for. They had not come of their own desire—or she had not.
Her women had come back into the apartment; they would know what had taken place, for there was always someone to listen at doors and report.
He is the master, they would be saying. She must do as he says.
“Your Majesty, it is time we left?” said the Countess of Derby.
Mary hesitated; then she said: “I am in no mood for the theater tonight.”
She knew that behind her back they were exchanging glances. They would be saying: She dares not because he has forbidden it.
But she was the Queen and she wanted to bring some gaiety into her life. The spark of rebellion flared.
“I have heard,” she said, “that a certain Mrs. Wise has prophesied that my father will return. I have a fancy to go to her and have her tell my fortune.”
They were astonished. The Queen to visit a fortune teller! She laughed at them and her eyes sparkled with the thought of the coming adventure. She would not disobey William by going to the playhouse but at the same time she would do something far more daring.
There was excitement in the apartment, for her women, finding Court life dull, were ready enough to enter into the adventure.
She was reminded of the days of childhood when her Uncle Charles indulged in many an adventure incognito, usually concerned with a woman; but how the people had enjoyed those adventures of his! A King and Queen should go among the people; it was what the people wanted. It was not to be expected that every monarch should be a cold aloof hero, who thought of nothing but his country’s good … except of course when he was enjoying his mistress’s company, or that of his beloved Bentinck. Those were thoughts which Mary tried to avoid, but they were there at the back of her mind; just as was the knowledge that she was the Queen, the first heir; she was the reason why they had been accepted as King and Queen of England. In that case if she wished to have her fortune told, why should she not?
When the royal party arrived at Mrs. Wise’s house on the riverside, she somewhat reluctantly invited the party to enter. The Queen, in the rich gown she had intended to wear for the theater, and with her company of almost as splendidly attired ladies, looked incongruous in the small room.
Mrs. Wise, who seemed to think that her wisdom set her on a level with royalty, made a grudging curtsey and said gruffly that she could not understand the object of Her Majesty’s visit.
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