People noticed the change in me. I was a little aloof with my attendants. I had discovered that I had only to look mildly displeased by their conduct and they became subdued.

Dr. Hooper had come back with his wife. She was a charming woman and I wanted her to know how pleased I was to have her join our circle.

The maids of honor had their own dining quarters. I joined them on occasions. I had expected, of course, to dine with my husband, but he still dined at The Hague Palace and the excuse was that he was busy with his ministers. I knew this was commented on and was one of those facts which gave the impression that I was not treated with the respect due to me.

Dr. Hooper had had his meals with the maids of honor in the past but had declined the invitation for his wife to join them when she arrived. He said that, in view of the “great economy” the Prince of Orange practiced and his dislike of the English, he thought it better for Mrs. Hooper to dine at their lodgings, and, naturally, he would take his meals with her, thus saving the Prince more expenditure.

This was also noted and I had no doubt that the information would reach England.

So William had a reputation for meanness. It was true he paid the chaplains who came over from England very little. Dr. Hooper, being a man of means, supported himself and his wife all the time he was in Holland. The Dutch were so shocked by his extravagent way of life, for their clergy were so poorly paid, that they called him “The Rich Papa.”

This state of affairs had the effect of making Dr. Hooper very independent and he spoke his mind freely in William’s presence and, I think, must have given him some uncomfortable moments. Not that William was the man to allow such trivialities to affect him, but he was concerned that Dr. Hooper might influence me in my religion, for it was a fact that, since his arrival, I had adhered to the rites of the English Church instead of adopting those of the Dutch.

William was heard to say on one occasion that if ever he had a say in the matter (which meant that if ever he were King of England), Dr. Hooper should remain Dr. Hooper throughout his life. He would certainly not get promotion from William.

Dr. Hooper was indifferent to such comments and went on expressing his opinion with the utmost freedom.

He did not stay with us for long, however, and his successor, Dr. Ken, proved to be even more outspoken.

I discovered that something of importance was happening in the quarters of the maids of honor, presided over by Elizabeth Villiers. There was a great deal of entertainment there. This was strange for, as Dr. Hooper had pointed out, William disliked any form of extravagance, and the supper parties which had become a familiar feature of the evenings, must have entailed certain expense.

Then it suddenly dawned on me that there was some purpose in these parties. Some of the maids of honor were attractive and most of them were young; and the most important men at court could at times be seen there.

Among them was William Zulestein, who was a great friend of William’s and was in fact related to him, for Zulestein’s father was the illegitimate son of Henry Frederick, Prince of Orange, my husband’s grandfather, by the daughter of a burgomaster of Emmerich. He had been a faithful friend of William’s father and now there was a close friendship between him and William.

William Bentinck was also a frequent visitor to the suppers, as were others of William’s circle. William himself had been known to be present. Many of the English visitors to The Hague were invited — among them Algernon Sidney and Lords Sunderland and Russell.

On the rare occasions when I was present I noticed that the English visitors were made much of, and the girls were very agreeable to them.

Elizabeth Villiers acted as hostess. When I was there she paid me all the homage due to my rank, but I was constantly aware of her sly smile and watchful eyes; and I could not help feeling that there was something subversive about those supper parties — some purpose behind them.

I watched Elizabeth Villiers in earnest conversation with Algernon Sidney and I wondered what subject they found so enthralling. I did not believe it was lovers’ talk; more than ever, I felt there was indeed something rather sinister behind these gatherings, and that they should be carried on with William’s approval amazed me.

There was born in me then a deep feeling of apprehension. I felt we were moving toward a climax of which others were aware and I was ignorant. I felt a little frustrated and helpless, which was due to the fact that I had a faint glimmer of understanding.

Constantly I thought of my father. I gathered that this plot of which they were all talking was directed not only against the Queen but against him also. He was in danger and I wanted to be with him.

These anxieties had their effect on me. I had another fit of the ague and this time I could not rid myself of it. I had to take to my bed and I was very ill this time. People in my bedchamber whispered together and I believe they thought I had not long to live.

William came to see me. He looked really alarmed. Poor William, I thought with newly acquired cynicism, if I died, what hope would you have of the crown? After my father, Anne; and Anne would marry and very likely have sons. Then the prophecy of the three crowns would not be fulfilled. And when I thought of the way in which he had behaved when I had lost my babies, I wanted him to suffer.

I heard him demanding: “Where is the physician? Why is he not attending the Princess?”

And I thought: he is indeed alarmed.

Anne Trelawny said: “The Prince is sending Dr. Drelincourt to

attend to you. The Prince has more faith in him than in any doctor in the country.”

I said: “He is worried — not for me, but for the crown.”

Anne said nothing, but I knew that she agreed with me.

I was young and did not want to die, even to spite William, and under Dr. Drelincourt I began to improve a little.

He had diagnosed that my listlessness was not helping me and that I must revive my interest in the life around me. He said my ladies should be with me: they should chat and gossip of what was going on at court.

Anne Trelawny was constantly with me, Lady Betty Selbourne too, and Anne Villiers. I was beginning to like her more; she had softened and seemed more interesting. She mentioned William Bentinck frequently. I had noticed that she was with him often at the supper parties and seemed to have a great admiration for him. She told me what a wonderful friendship he had with the Prince. She repeated the story of how he had saved William’s life when he had had smallpox and how the disease had attacked Bentinck himself. He bore the scars of that episode. She said they were like medals for bravery.

One day William came to me.

“You are recovering,” he said.

“I am told so.”

“It is clear that you are. When you are a little better, you shall go to Dieren. The climate is good there and Dr. Drelincourt shall go with you. I wish to see you fully recovered.”

“I know how important that is to you,” I said pointedly.

“But of course,” he replied.

“My sister Anne is fully recovered now,” I went on, marvelling at my audacity, but enjoying it. “She is in perfect health.”

“I gathered so. But she will not be allowed to travel with your father.”

He was looking at me with a certain triumph as though to say, do not try your barbs on me. They are so feeble that they glance off almost unnoticed.

I was very anxious to know what he meant about Anne’s traveling with my father.

He said: “Your father wished to take her with him when he left England, but that was prevented at the last moment. The people would not allow it. They suspected, and with reason, that he would attempt to make a Catholic of her.”

“I do not understand. Where is my father going? Why is he to leave England?”

He smiled almost benignly. “No, of course you do not,” he said, implying that I could not be expected to grasp matters of state. “Your father has left England.”

“Why?”

A look of pleasure briefly fluttered across William’s face.

“Not at his desire. He was asked to leave. You might call it exile.”

I was frightened now and he knew it. More than anything I wanted to see my father and hear from him what had happened. I was getting agitated and, fearing the effect it might have on my health, he said quickly: “Your father is now in Brussels. He has heard of your illness and is coming to visit you.”

I could not help showing my pleasure and relief and he looked at me with that impatience I knew so well.

I closed my eyes. I did not want to ask any more questions. My father was coming to me. I would prefer to hear what had happened from him.


* * *

WHAT A JOY IT WAS TO SEE HIM! We embraced and clung together; we could not bear to let each other go.

“I have been so concerned about you,” said my father; and Mary Beatrice stood by, watching with tears in her eyes.

I noticed how they had changed, both of them. My father looked strained and tired. Mary Beatrice had lost the first glow of youth; she was only a few years older than I was, but she looked at least ten.

She had lost her children, as I had, but mine had not been born and hers had lived, if only for a short while; she had come to a new country, as I had, but the people had not welcomed her as the Dutch people had welcomed me. But my father had been a loving husband, although an unfaithful one.

Our positions were not dissimilar and because of this we could understand each other.

My father was bitter and sad.

I said: “I cannot be kept in ignorance any longer. I must know what has happened.”

“Do you learn nothing then?” answered my father. “There are many here who are no friends of mine. Surely they would spread the news.”

“I learn very little and I must know.”

“We have been asked to leave. Even my brother said it was necessary.”

Mary Beatrice went on: “He appeared to be very grieved when we left. Yet it was he who ordered it. I told him so. I could not stop myself. It was all so false. I said to him: ‘What, sir, are you grieved? But it is you who are sending us into exile. Of course we must go. You are the King and have ordained it.’ ”

I thought she would burst into tears and my father put his hand over hers.

“It was no fault of my brother, my dear,” he said. “He had to do it. It was what the people wanted. It is due to that scoundrel Oates.”

“I know,” she said. “I am sorry I spoke thus. He is ever kind. He understands. He showed me by his looks that he did.”

“Exile?” I said. “How can you be exiled?”

“You do not know what has happened in England. This man, Titus Oates ... he is at the root of it all. He has stirred up such trouble that it has brought us to this.”

“I have heard that man’s name mentioned,” I said.

“I should have thought the Prince of Orange would be deeply interested in what is taking place.”

“He does not talk much to me of state affairs.”

My father looked grim. His feelings toward William had not changed and he had hated the match from the beginning. I knew that, whatever they showed on the surface, there was deep animosity between them.

“This man Oates is a scoundrel. That much is obvious, but the people cannot see it — or won’t.”

“They believe because they want to believe,” said Mary Beatrice.

“He has accomplices. William Bedloe and Israel Tonge and others. Oates claims to have been a clergyman — a Catholic at one time. He professes to have joined the Jesuits and it is because of this that he claims to have knowledge of this plot.”

“What is the plot exactly?” I asked.

“To kill the King, set up a Catholic ministry and massacre the English Protestants.”

“And you?” I said.

“The government thought it wise that I should leave the country for a while, and my brother was obliged to agree with them.”

“It will pass,” I said.

“I do not know,” replied my father seriously. “This is no ordinary plot to be proved false — as it undoubtedly is — and forgotten. He is rousing the whole country.”

I began to grasp the situation. The anti-Catholic feeling was great throughout England and, fomented by this outrageous Titus Oates, it was not safe for my father to remain there. I was very anxious.