“There will never be peace while Ireland stands against us,” went on Burnet. “And when I think of the Protestants there I feel very melancholy. That is why I am bringing this to the attention of Your Majesties. A certain captain has approached me and I promised I would tell you what he suggests. He is a true and loyal subject. That I can vouch for.”

William nodded and Mary found that her heart was beating so fast that she feared it would be heard.

“What is his suggestion?” asked William coolly.

“That he takes a ship to Ireland. Aboard her will be men whom we can trust. They would have to be very carefully selected. No more Hamiltons. They will sail to Ireland and when they reach Dublin will declare for James. The captain will invite him aboard. He would go, not suspecting a trap …”

Mary gave an exclamation of dismay which made Burnet halt and William frown at her.

“Pray go on,” said William testily.

“When he is aboard, the ship sets sail and James is taken away from Ireland.”

“Where to?” demanded Mary sharply.

“To Spain perhaps.”

“And then?” said Mary.

“Then, Your Majesty, he would be put ashore with say twenty thousand pounds.”

William shook his head.

“Oh, William!” murmured Mary, and there was a sob in her voice.

“Your Majesty does not like the plan?” said Burnet.

“James was a misguided man, but he was a King and is my father-in-law. I could not agree to this.”

Burnet nodded slowly. “I understand, Your Majesty. I merely thought that to end this miserable war … to save lives and money and to restore the peace …”

“There is much in what you say,” said William. “I think the plan might well succeed. But I want no hand in treachery.”

“There was no harm to the King intended,” said Burnet.

“Picture it,” interrupted William. “James stepping aboard—perhaps with a few attendants. When he realized that he was to be a prisoner he would attempt to escape. What if he were killed in the struggle? No, no. I like that not.”

“I see that the scheme would not fit in with Your Majesty’s honor.”

“That is what I feel.”

“Then I will tell this captain of Your Majesty’s decision.”

“Yes,” said William. “But send him to me for I would compliment him. Although it is a plan I do not wish to follow yet this captain is a man who should be thanked for his services. Clearly he wishes to serve us well.”

“I will send him to Your Majesty.”

“Pray do so quickly, for soon I shall have little time to spare as the day of my departure grows nearer.”

When Burnet had left them Mary threw herself on to her knees and taking William’s hand kissed it.

William, who disliked dramatics, looked at her with distaste, but she did not notice, for her eyes were blinded with tears.

“William,” she cried, “it is small wonder that I adore you. You are the noblest man alive. Oh, how fortunate is my father that it is you who stand against him. Who else would have been so good and honorable as to reject such a proposition. We were right to come here. England needed you, William. Oh, how happy this has made me.”

“Get up,” said William. “You are too large to grope on the floor.”

She rose abashed and he looked at her sardonically.

“Spain!” he muttered. “Twenty thousand pounds! What nonsense! He should be delivered to the Dutch sailors. They will remember how often he has fought against them.” William almost smiled as he said softly, “Yes, to the Dutch sailors, to be disposed of as they think proper.”

Mary stared at him in horror, but he scarcely seemed to see her; he had seated himself at the table and begun to write.

William was on the point of departure. He was disappointed for the scheme to abduct James had come to nothing. James was too wary to be caught like that. He was evidently full of hope, for the campaign was going in his favor so far. The French were behind him as the battle of Bantry Bay had shown; but for the fact that he was sick in body for he was no longer young, and sick at heart because of the defection of the daughters he had loved, he would have been a very much more formidable adversary.

The Duke of Schomberg, William’s friend and favorite, had been sent to Ireland with a small army, inadequately armed, and inadequately fed; whereas James had one hundred thousand Irish Catholics behind him.

It had been decided that Prince George should accompany William to Ireland, and this pleased Anne, although she was constantly declaring how much she would miss her husband. Sarah and she discussed the campaign. Marlborough had returned to London yet he was not to go to Ireland, but would remain in England as a member of Mary’s Advisory Council and to be in command of the remnants of the army which would remain behind.

Sarah was pleased to have him at hand; and at the same time saw a further means of fermenting more trouble between Anne and Mary.

“Mr. Morley should have a high command in the Army,” she said. “Why, he should take precedence over everyone—under the King; and he should accompany William wherever he goes. It is his due.”

“It is, but I do not believe these privileges will be granted him.”

“Oh, no! Caliban will be surrounded by Dutchmen. You mark my words. Unless of course the King’s duty is pointed out to him.”

“Who would do that?”

“The Queen of course.”

“Do you think she would?”

“Dear Mrs. Morley, it is her duty, and if this were pointed out to her, she might well realize it.”

So there was a further estrangement between the sisters.

George to have a position of trust! cried William. Were they mad. Of what use was George to any campaign but to provide light relief with his perpetual bleating: “Est-il possible?”

Anne was sulky and refused to speak to the Queen except in public.

Sarah looked on, amused.

The day of William’s departure came.

Mary wept openly.

“You must take the greatest care of yourself,” she cried. “I fear the climate. They say it is very damp. It will be bad for your chest. I shall pray for you …”

“Pray rather for yourself,” suggested William. “You will need prayers, for you have a mighty task before you.”

“Oh, William, is it too late to beg you to stay behind?”

“Too late and quite foolish,” said William, but not unkindly for it pleased him to see her distress. “Going into a campaign is no unpleasant thing compared with governing this country, I do assure you. I pity you. Indeed I pity you.”

“William!” she threw herself into his arms and he kissed her almost gently.

He had an affection for her which increased as he grew older.

“Those who have some regard for you must help you all they can. I must speak to them … impress on them … the difficulties of your task.”

“William, I trust I shall act as you would have acted. That is what I shall try to do.”

“I am sure you will govern wisely.”

She was overcome with joy at such praise and almost immediately plunged into despair because of his departure.

“You will guard your dear person well, William. You will not expose yourself to danger. I trust that you … and my father … will never come face to face.”

“Pray for it,” he said.

BEACHY HEAD AND THE BOYNE

n the morning after William’s departure Mary awoke with a swollen face.

She called for a mirror and looked at herself with dismay. Her expression was dismal; she had a feeling of foreboding. William gone and herself swollen-faced and inadequate without him! She lay back on her pillows carefully touching her face. She hoped it did not mean a return of the ague. She must not, however, brood on her affliction, but call a meeting of the Council at once; and she would have to impress them with her knowledge of affairs; William had been so kind lately and had talked to her so carefully that she had a good grasp of what was going on. Dear William, he had been really concerned on her behalf. People did not understand that beneath that rather harsh exterior was great kindliness.

He is a great good man, the best in the world, she assured herself. And I must be worthy of him. That was what alarmed her—consciousness of her own unworthiness.

She thought of her nine councillors and wished that Shrewsbury was among them. Charming Shrewsbury, with the gentle voice and the noble air, reminded her of Monmouth; not that they were alike, but Shrewsbury was attractive, as Jemmy had been, and there was not one of the nine councillors whom she could really like. Four of them were Whigs and five Tories. How clever of William to assure a good division!

She would speak to them earnestly and sincerely and she would pray that no situation arose which would be too difficult for her to handle.

When the Countess of Derby came to her she exclaimed with horror at the sight of the Queen’s face.

“But Your Majesty is ill.”

“It will pass,” replied Mary.

“I must call the doctors while you rest in bed.”

“My dear friend,” insisted Mary firmly, “I cannot lie abed now. The King is on his way to Ireland and I have the sole responsibility of ruling in his absence. Why do you not know that almost always he is in pain. Do you not know that he is fighting a battle for his breath most of the time, but does he stay in bed? Does he complain?”

The Countess did not reply.

“There is one thing I know I have to do,” went on Mary, “and that is follow his example. Then I cannot fail.”

“I am sure no one ever performed royal duties more graciously than Your Majesty.”

Mary smiled a little sadly. She understood the implication. It was most perverse of those about her continually to defend her against William.

“Graciousness is not a necessary part of greatness,” she reproved gently.

And the Countess of Derby in sudden affection kissed her hand. She wanted to say that it was an asset when a sovereign knew how to win the love of the people. Mary had that asset—William never could.

“The first thing I shall do is to pray for the King’s safety and success,” said Mary. “And then that I may have the help I shall surely need.”

The Council meeting was held in Nottingham’s apartments in Whitehall. Mary sat at the head of the table with the nine members of the Council about her; the five Tories were Marlborough, Danby, Nottingham, Pembroke, and Lowther; and the four Whigs Dorset and Devonshire, Mordaunt and Russell.

They expressed their concern at the Queen’s appearance and she replied that she believed the swelling to have little significance.

“The King worked with greater disadvantages,” she told them smiling.

The Earl of Devonshire said that the strain of the last days had been great, and if Her Majesty wished to retire to bed they would work without her and have sent to her bedchamber any important documents which she would wish to see.

His voice was caressing. Devonshire was a courtier for ladies, she mentally commented; she considered him weak and unfit for the post he now held.

“I shall remain,” she told him pleasantly, “and I pray you cease to think about this ailment, which I know to be trivial.”

There was a touch of command in her voice which they were quick to note; Mary without William was a different woman from Mary with him. She had become a Queen overnight—not merely William’s shadow.

“We must be doubly alert now,” she said. “I trust that we are on the watch for a move which might come from France. Now that the King is away we should be very vulnerable.”

“The King in his wisdom has not taken all his best men, Your Majesty. We are few who remain but some of us do not lack experience.”

That was Mordaunt. She had never liked him, but thought him a little mad. He had visited William in Holland before the revolution and had declared himself willing to help rescue England from popery. He had put forward several plans for William to study. William had laughed at most of them and had said to Mary and Burnet: “This fellow wants to be at the heart of all the adventures which are planned not for the establishment of the Protestant religion in England but for the glorification of Mordaunt. Such a man would be setting himself up as King before long, I’ll swear.”

Marlborough was nodding approval of this speech. Marlborough, Sarah’s husband. The one she trusted least of all. How much was he in league with his wife to turn Anne against her and William? What was their idea? To rid themselves of William and Mary and set up Anne—as William and Mary had made away with James—that they might be the powers behind the throne?

He was a handsome man, this Marlborough—his features clearly cut; his eyes alert, his voice soft and gentle—very different from the somewhat strident tones of his wife—but of all these men who had been chosen for her councillors, Marlborough was the one of whom she must be most watchful.

“What we should look for,” said Marlborough, “is an attack from the French. They might well seize this opportunity while the King’s army is in Ireland.”

“Torrington will look after them,” said Nottingham complacently.

Mary glanced sharply at him. She was uncertain of Nottingham and had heard that he was a secret Jacobite. He certainly had a sinister look; was it because he was as dark as a Spaniard? He was aloof and his expression was melancholy; it was no wonder that he was nicknamed Don Dismallo.

“I believe the Earl of Torrington to be a good admiral and an experienced one, but I believe too that he is over-fond of soft living,” growled Danby.

Danby! thought Mary. He was growing old now; he looked almost like a corpse already; but he was experienced and he was one of the few around that table on whom she felt she could rely. Russell, Pembroke, and Lowther were decent men, she believed; but they were insignificant compared with eccentrics like Mordaunt and self-seekers like Marlborough.

“We will hope for a quick success in Ireland,” said Mary, “and a speedy return of the King. Now let us get to work.”

They were deep in discussion when a messenger arrived and because of the nature of the news he brought was taken immediately to the council chamber.

The French fleet had been sighted off Plymouth.

William on his way to Ireland! The French Fleet on its way to attack! And all about her men whom she was not sure she could trust. Within a few hours of taking her place as ruler—which William had never allowed her to do before—Mary was confronted with this dangerous situation.

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