But I deceive myself. None of this was at all clear to me at that first meeting.

She was by no means handsome, but there was something unusual about her looks. Perhaps this was because there was a slight cast in her eyes. It was hardly perceptible. I caught it at times. Her hair was of an orange tinge. “Ginger,” Anne Trelawny called it, and Anne, my dear friend, liked her no more than I did.

The other daughters were being presented.

“My ladies, my daughters, Katharine, Barbara, Anne, Henrietta and Maria.”

They curtsied. Anne Villiers reminded me of her sister Elizabeth; she had shrewd eyes and a penetrating look. But she was less impressive — perhaps because she was younger.

And so we were installed in the Palace of Richmond.


* * *

LIFE IN LONDON had settled down to normality. The city had been almost rebuilt and was a much more beautiful and cleaner place than it had been with its reeking gutters and narrow streets.

My father, with the King, had taken a great interest in the rebuilding. They were often in conference with the architect, Sir Christopher Wren, while the work was in progress.

My father at this time was not a happy man. I guessed he was grieving about my mother’s death, and the failing health of my little brother, Edgar, gave him great cause for concern.

He talked to me at this time and I learned more from him than I ever had because I believed he was so distressed that he did not always consider his words, and sometimes it was as though he were talking to himself.

I was glad in a way, though sad because he was, but I did begin to learn a little of what was happening about me.

He was angry on one occasion.

“Bishop Compton will be coming here,” he said.

“To us?” I asked. “But why?”

“The King has appointed him. He is to instruct you and your sister in religion.”

“That does not please you?”

“No. It does not please me.”

“Well, why do you let him come?”

He took my face in his hands and gave me one of his melancholy smiles.

“My dearest child, I have to submit to the King’s wishes in this matter.” He was angry suddenly. “It is that or . . .”

He released me and turned away, staring ahead of him. I waited.

“I could not face that,” he murmured. “I could not lose you.”

“Lose us!” I cried in alarm.

“Well, they would take you from me. Or ... they would restrict our meetings. My own children ... taken from me ... I am unfit to take charge of their education, they say. And all because I have seen the truth.”

This was beyond my understanding. I could only think of being taken from him and I could visualize no greater calamity. He was aware of my concern and was my loving father immediately.

“There. I have frightened you. There is nothing to fear. Anything but that. I shall see you ... as always. I would agree to anything rather than that they should take you from me.”

“Who would take me from you? The King, my uncle?”

“He says it would be for the sake of the country ... for the sake of peace. He says, why do I not keep these matters private? Why do I flaunt them? But you must not bother your little head . . .”

I said firmly: “My head is not little and I want to bother it.”

He laughed and seemed suddenly to change his tone.

“It is nothing ... nothing at all. Bishop Compton will be here to instruct you in the faith you must follow, according to the laws of the country and the command of the King. You must listen to the Bishop and be a good little member of the Church of England. Compton and I have never been great friends, but that is of no moment. He is a hard-working fellow and has the King’s favor. He will do his duty.”

“If he is not your friend . . .”

“Oh, it was a long-ago quarrel. He had the temerity to dismiss a man who acted as secretary to your mother.”

“Did my mother not wish him to be dismissed?”

He nodded.

“Then why? Could you not ... ?”

“This was the Bishop of London and the secretary was a Catholic. It is over. Your mother was not pleased. Nor was I. But ... the people here ... they are so much of one mind and they will listen to no other. Now, my dearest, let us have done with such talk. The fault was mine. Bishop Compton will come to you and he will make good little girls of you both. It is the King’s wish that he should come, and we must needs make the best of it.”

“But you are unhappy.”

“Oh, no ... no.”

“You said that we could be taken from you.”

“Did I? Let me tell you this ... nothing, nothing on Earth will ever take my children from me.”

“But . . .”

“I spoke rashly. I did not want this Compton fellow to be here, but I see now that he is a good man, a religious man. He will obey the King’s commands and make good Protestant young ladies of you. That is what the King wants and you know we must all obey the King. He says it is what the country wants and the country must see it being done. That is important. He is right. Charles is always right.”

“Then you are not unhappy?”

“At this moment, with my dearest child, how could I be unhappy? You are to have a French tutor. You will like that. I believe you are interested in learning.”

“I like to know.”

“That is good. And Anne?”

I was silent and my father laughed.

I went on: “She does not care for books because they hurt her eyes.”

He frowned. “She certainly has an affliction. Poor child. But she has a happy nature and we must keep it so.”

When he left me he had banished my fears.


* * *

I WAS LEARNING MORE of what was happening around us. There was always gossip among the attendants; the girls naturally heard it, and the elder ones, like Elizabeth Villiers and Sarah Jennings, understood what it was all about.

These two had taken a dislike to each other. Sarah, by this time, had complete domination over Anne, and my sister was hardly ever seen without her friend. It was not that Sarah was sycophantic. Far from it. There were times when one would have thought she was the mistress, and Anne the attendant.

I think Elizabeth Villiers resented her. She had not succeeded in forming that sort of alliance with me; and she probably recognized in Sarah one of her own kind. They were both ambitious and knew that to have one foot in a royal household was one step up the ladder to power.

They realized far more than we did then what our position could be and that there was a chance — though remote — of our reaching the throne if certain eventualities were to come to pass. They recognized in each other a rival for power, and that made them natural enemies. In their way they were both formidable, though their methods were different. Sarah spoke her mind without fear; Elizabeth was soft-spoken and sly. I think, on the whole, I preferred Sarah.

We were all sitting sewing one day. I quite enjoyed needlework. Anne would sit idly with the work before her, not attempting to use her needle. It hurt her eyes, she usually said. Sarah would laugh and do hers for her. I liked to do something with my hands while I listened to the music one of the girls would play; and sometimes there was reading.

On this occasion, Elizabeth Villiers said: “The Bishop will soon be here. He will make sure that the Lady Mary and the Lady Anne keep to the true faith.”

“He is a very clever man,” said Sarah.

“And of the right persuasion,” went on Elizabeth, “which is very necessary.”

“Do you think the Duke is happy with the appointment?” asked Anne Villiers.

Elizabeth smiled a little superciliously. “The Duke will realize it is the best possible conclusion.”

Sarah commented that the Duke would know it was what the people wanted and it was always wise to listen to them and let them think they were getting their way.

“They are certainly getting their way on this,” said Anne Villiers. “I am not surprised the Duke does not like the Bishop.”

I must have shown that I was listening intently, for I saw Elizabeth’s eyes on me as she said: “We all know that the Bishop had Edward Coleman dismissed from the Duchess’s household while she was alive and all because he was a Catholic, which the Bishop thought was a bad influence. The Duke held nothing against Edward Coleman for that but, of course, he could not save him.”

I was thinking of what my father had told me and I remembered seeing him with my mother in the company of Father Hunt, the Franciscan. The trouble was all about religion and that was why Bishop Compton was coming here to teach us.

Elizabeth had turned the conversation round to great families. She had succeeded in bringing to my notice that my wonderful father had to bow to the will of the King, not realizing that he himself had already told me that. Now she wanted to attack Sarah in the same oblique way.

She was growing more and more annoyed by the influence Sarah exerted over Anne, and I dare say she thought that if she were not careful Sarah would have more power in the household than she did. She was hinting now that Sarah was of low birth, and she would stress the fact by saying that she was very sorry for those who lacked the advantage of birth and breeding.

“I have the utmost admiration for those who rise above it,” she said, smiling benignly on Sarah. “Of course, we Villiers are of an ancient family. The name is enough to tell you that. We have been known at court through the centuries. Our kinsman George Villiers, the present Duke of Buckingham, is one of the King’s greatest friends. Oh yes, it is certainly good to be of noble lineage. Do you not agree, Sarah?”

Sarah was ready. “That would depend,” she retorted. “It can be of an advantage, of course, but it can also be a disadvantage. When there is a disaster in a family, a little anonymity can be very desirable.”

“Nothing can alter the glory of an illustrious name.”

“Ah, but the higher the family, the greater the fall. One does not have to look very far for an example. A great family such as yours must find the exploits of The Lady very distressing.”

I saw the color rush in to Anne Villiers’s cheeks. Elizabeth looked coldly at Sarah and the cast in her eyes had become almost a squint.

“I don’t understand you, Sarah,” she said.

“Oh, didn’t I make myself clear? I am sorry. You were speaking of your illustrious family name and I was saying what a pity it was that one member of it should make it ... notorious.”

“What ... do you mean?” stammered Anne Villiers.

“I refer to Barbara Villiers, of course. Your cousin, is she not? My Lady Castlemaine, no less. I believe they sing lampoons about her in the streets.”

“She mixes in the highest circles,” said Anne Villiers.

“Indeed, yes.” Sarah obviously could not resist going on. “That is why she has become so well known not only at court, not only in London, but throughout the country.”

“There are many who would be greatly honored by the King’s friendship.”

“Honor?” went on Sarah. “There are times when it is difficult to differentiate. What is honor? What is dishonor? It is for all to make up their minds.” Sarah was smiling triumphantly, because she knew Elizabeth Villiers had been trounced.

I was rather bewildered by this conversation and took the first opportunity of consulting Anne Trelawny.

“It seemed to me that they were talking in riddles,” I said.

“Not they. Elizabeth Villiers does not like Sarah Jennings, so she wants to remind her all the time of her obscure origins, and that it is only by sheer good luck that she has a place here. But Sarah is not going to take that lightly. She retaliates that people in great families can act scandalously, and, of course, Barbara Villiers is the notorious Lady Castlemaine, and is the cousin of these Villiers girls.”

“Anne,” I said, “people seem to want to keep things from me. Don’t you, please. I am not a child any more.”

“I dare say you will be going to court one day and you will know about these matters. You would soon discover that Lady Castlemaine is the King’s mistress, for they make no secret of this. He spends much time with her. She is most indiscreet. And everyone knows what happens between them.”

“But the King is married!”

That made Anne smile. “It makes no difference. It happens with people in high places.”