He said: “King Charles is dead. He died a few days ago. It has taken some time for the news to reach us. He suffered a seizure on the first of the month and it was thought that he might recover, but this is indeed the end.”

I felt stunned. We had been waiting for it, but when it came it was a tremendous shock. I should never see again that kind uncle who had always had a smile for me, and I was overcome with sorrow, for with my grief came the realization that now the real trouble must start. My father, William, Jemmy; this meant so much to them all and they were all seeking the same goal.

I wanted nothing so much then as to be alone.

William sounded grim. He said: “Well, there is a new king of England now. They have accepted your father as James II.”

I could see his lips were twitching. He had never believed it could be so. They had forgotten James was a Catholic, and because he was next in line they had taken him as their king. It had been a simple passing of the crown from one king to another.

But all I could think of was that kind uncle who was dead and gone forever.


* * *

I SAT ALONE in my bedchamber. I had not prepared for bed. I knew I should not sleep. My thoughts were at Whitehall, and how I wished I were there.

What would happen now? I asked myself. My father was King. I felt we were on the edge of great events and I was filled with fear.

There was a light tap on my door and Anne Trelawny came in. She said: “The Duke of Monmouth is here. He says he must speak with you.”

“So late . . .” I said in alarm.

“He says it will not wait.”

I went through into an ante chamber and there was Jemmy, dressed for a journey, looking distraught and very sad.

He took my hands and, drawing me to him, kissed me.

“Mary, my dear, dear Mary, I am leaving.”

“Not tonight?”

He nodded. “I have been with William for the last hour or so. He says I must go. I cannot stay here. It was different when my father was there. He loved me, Mary, and I cannot tell you how much I loved him. And now he is gone ... and there is no one . . .”

“What are you going to do, Jemmy? Where are you going?”

“Away from here. William has given me money. He says he cannot offend the new King by harboring me here.”

“It is all so sad,” I said.

“Your father is the King now, Mary. I know that he loves you well. If you could plead with him to let me return ... write to him ... tell him I am innocent . . .”

“I will see what I can do. It is not quite the same between us as it used to be. There are differences in religion. That seems to sow so much discord. Jemmy, what is going to happen to you?”

“I do not know. I cannot say. If my father had only lived. While he was there I always knew I had a friend.”

“I am your friend, Jemmy.”

“I know it. I know it well. That is why I ask you this. When the time comes ... you will plead for me?”

I nodded.

“Not yet. It is too soon. He will have other matters with which to concern himself. But you will do this for me?”

“I will,” I said. “I will. But Jemmy, you cannot go tonight.”

“I must. William has said I must. But I had to say good-bye to you. I shall let you know what is happening to me, and you will do that for me ... plead with your father to allow me to come home.”

“I will do that, Jemmy.”

“Dear Mary, dear little cousin.”

“God bless you, Jemmy. I shall pray for you.”

We embraced and he was gone.


* * *

THERE WERE LETTERS FROM MY FATHER — one was for me, telling me of his accession and the last hours of the late King. He had been with him at the end. My father then went on to express his undying affection for me. It was a most tender and moving letter. William received a formal announcement of the accession.

William read the letter which my father had written to me and kept it. I was amazed when he read it to the Assembly, as though it had been addressed to him.

He was evidently accepting the accession of my father, now that it had happened, without opposition and intended it to be thought that it had never occurred to him that it would be otherwise.

Strangely enough, he showed me the letter he wrote in return. He must have realized that during those weeks when I emerged from my solitude and mingled with the members of the court and Jemmy, I had learned something of his hopes and schemes.

It seemed now as if he wished me to believe that he rejoiced in my father’s accession.

He assured my father that Monmouth had come to the court as a suppliant and because he was the son of the late King Charles and he knew of the King’s affection for the young man, he had offered him common hospitality and had now sent him away. He went on to say that nothing could change his affection for my father and he would be the most unhappy man in the world if the King could not be persuaded of it. He would be, to his last breath, King James’s friend with zeal and fidelity.

I was amazed that he could write in such language, which was most unusual to a man of his nature, particularly when I knew his true sentiments toward my father. But William was a man who, when he saw a goal ahead, would let nothing stand in his way of attaining it. I wondered what my father’s reaction would be to such a letter. Perhaps I should know one day.

In the meantime I was overcome by a great melancholy. I could not stop thinking of my uncle and how different it would now be at Whitehall. I was anxious, too, about my father. He had been accepted as King, but what was to come?

Then I was wondering what was happening to Jemmy — and missing him very much.


* * *

THERE WAS A FEELING OF ANTICLIMAX at The Hague. William was certainly bewildered by what happened, for he had obviously believed my father would never have been accepted. But there he was, secure — so it seemed — and there was no one to raise a voice against him. He was crowned on St. George’s Day by the primate; there were a few ministerial changes but nothing to betray the King’s preference for Catholics.

However, on Easter Sunday, he did attend the Catholic service, and I could not help feeling that the calm would not last.

Jemmy was constantly in my thoughts. I knew that he was wandering around the Continent, unable to return home, an exile. William would not longer receive him at The Hague as, since my father had been accepted by the people, his great aim was to assure him of his loyalty to him. So poor Jemmy could hope for little hospitality in Holland. How different he must be finding life from the way it was during those happy days we spent together.

I wrote to my father, as I had promised Jemmy I would, asking him to consider removing the ban of exile. I said I was sure that Monmouth had played no part in the Rye House Plot and he was very unhappy and longed for permission to return home. I reminded my father that he himself knew what it meant to be an outcast from his own country.

My father replied that it would not be fitting for Monmouth to return to England at this time. Later he would consider it.

I could see that he did not trust Jemmy, and however much I pleaded for him, he was not going to give that permission which the poor young man craved.

After leaving The Hague, Jemmy had gone to the Spanish-governed Netherlands in search of sanctuary, but not for long. It was soon made clear to him that he was not welcome.

I could imagine how he would feel, how he would make plans to get home. I hoped he would not do anything rash. Knowing him so well, I feared he was capable of it.

And how right I was proved to be!

When I heard that he was plotting to make war on my father and to claim the throne, I was desperately unhappy. If only I could have talked to him, I might have succeeded in turning him from this reckless folly, I told myself. But he would never have listened to me. He had his dreams of grandeur and he made himself believe in their glorious fruition. I pictured the excitement in his beautiful eyes as he made his plans.

It is well known what happened to those wild dreams. They had little hope of becoming realities. I pictured his exerting that Stuart charm to beguile men to his side. For he did. He made them forget that his was a hopeless cause.

When I heard that he had landed in the West Country, I trembled for him. My father would know him for the thoughtless boy he was. He must not judge him too harshly, but he would, for Jemmy wanted to take my father’s crown from his head and put it on his own. He was declaring that he was the heir to the throne; he was his father’s son and a staunch Protestant; the marriage of his father to Lucy Walter would be proved. Did the English want their country to be the pawn of Catholics?

It was frustrating waiting for news. Messengers were coming back and forth and William was tense, waiting. The outcome of Monmouth’s rebellion could be of the utmost importance to him. There did at one point seem to be a chance of its succeeding. Monmouth’s great asset was his religion.

Anne Trelawny came to me. She was always quick to pick up the news.

She said: “The Duke of Monmouth has been proclaimed King in Taunton marketplace.”

“Can he really succeed against my father?” I asked.

She shook her head dubiously. “I should have said no, but this . . .”

Later I heard that Jemmy had put a price on my father’s head.

“James is a traitor,” he had declared, “and the Parliament is a traitorous convention.”

This was too much. I knew in my heart that he could not succeed. And if he did, what of my father? But he could not. The army was against him, and what were a few thousand country yokels against trained soldiers?

I could imagine the euphoria. In the West Country, they were calling him King Monmouth. But when he marched on Bath, no doubt expecting the same acclaim he had received in Taunton, Bath stood against him, and it must have been at that stage when he began to lose heart.

As far as I could, I followed his progress. I knew when he began to fear defeat and then recognized it as a certainty. I suffered with him. I knew him so well.

Poor, poor Jemmy, with his grandiose dreams which had no roots in reality.

And then had come the battle of Sedgemoor and the defeat of his followers, when Jemmy escaped disguising himself as a farm worker. I could smile wryly at such a disguise. He would never play the part; his constant awareness of his own royal birth would always shine through.

Inevitably there followed his capture and his journey to the Tower.

There was only one end for him. He knew it and his courage deserted him. He was very frightened.

I wrote to my father and begged him to be lenient with Jemmy. He was reckless, I agreed, but he was our kinsman. His father had loved him dearly. He had forgiven him again and again. This was just a reckless gesture doomed to failure; Jemmy would have learned his lesson.

My father’s reply was that Monmouth was a fool. He would never learn his lessons; he was not to be trusted, and fools could be dangerous. He was a coward; he had pleaded for his life; he, who had stressed his loyalty to the Protestant cause when he was recruiting men from the West Country — and many of them had followed him because of this — now he was vowing he would become a Catholic if his life was spared.

There was no hope. They led him out to the scaffold.

The stories I heard of his end were harrowing. Jemmy’s courage had returned when he faced the inevitable. He made a declaration that he was a member of the Church of England, but refused to condemn his rebellion. He held his head high as he mounted the block.

Jack Ketch, the executioner, struck five blows with his axe and still the head was not severed, and he had to cut it off with his knife.

And so died the Duke of Monmouth.

He haunted my dreams. I had loved Jemmy. I kept going over in my mind the wonderful days which we had spent together. I kept imagining him on the scaffold, desperation in his eyes. How different from that young man who had taught me to dance and skate on ice! I pictured Jack Ketch as he wielded the axe and Jemmy’s head bowed and bloody on the block. And I felt a sorrow which was replaced by a burning anger. He was too young to die, too handsome, too charming. And I could not bear that I should never see him again.