Archbishop Tenison was often with me. He was a good man and a great comfort to me in those days.

I had known from the moment young William had said those strange words to me that I had not long to live. There was a feeling of unreality all about me.

My father was constantly in my thoughts. I kept going back over those happy days. There were times when I blamed myself. I had had to choose between them. Dr. Ken, Dr. Hooper, all those who had guided me, who had inspired me with the desire to lead a Protestant life, who had instilled in me the virtues of being a good submissive wife, had led the way. But it is also written “Honor thy father.” I had wanted to be a good wife, but a good daughter too ... a good daughter to the best of fathers.

But life had ordained that my duty toward one was my betrayal of the other.

Was anyone ever put in such a position?

I wished I could go to my father. I wished I could explain how it had happened. I think he understood a little but his letters had shown me the depth of his wounds. And William? What had I been to him? An easy way to a crown. And what had the realization been? He was not a happy man. Poor William, I could feel sorry for him.

And then sudden fierce anger came to me. I had brought him the crown. I, the Queen, beloved of the people, had been submissive to a man who had never been faithful to me through all the years of our marriage.

How soon had his passion for Elizabeth Villiers begun? Before we left for Holland? Almost certainly immediately afterward.

I had been the one with whom he must do his duty. I was the one to whom he must cling for all those years.

And for this, I had betrayed my father, for the sake of a man who had never loved me, never wanted me except for what I could bring him, a man who had been unfaithful to me throughout our married life.

If he had been such as my uncle Charles or my father it would have been different. Women had been a way of life to them, and they had always been good and kind to their wives, asking only this one concession. But Elizabeth Villiers had been his only mistress. There had been whispers that he had dallied with Anne Bentinck, but I did not believe that. The four of them, Elizabeth, William and the Bentincks had been close friends because Anne was Bentinck’s wife and Bentinck was the closest of William’s associates.

It hurt more perhaps because he could be faithful, but not to me. I had been the foolish child whom he must take because of a treaty, the tearful bride who had in the beginning been unable to hide her disgust for him and her dislike of the match. So he turned to Elizabeth Villiers.

They had sold me into marriage. My father had hated it and he had tried to save me, but it had been beyond his power to do so.

Could I blame William altogether? Yes, I did. He had never been kind, never understanding; he had always been brusque, insisting on domination. And I was the Queen, the one the people wanted, the one they loved. “Oh, be joyful.” “Oh, be doleful.”

I sat down to write to him.

I said I was going to die. I told him that I had suffered a great deal through his liaison with one of my women. There was nothing he could do now to atone for his neglect of me, but for the sake of his mortal soul, I wanted him to repent of his adultery and give up Elizabeth Villiers. I should not be here to know whether he respected my last wish, but for the sake of his own salvation, I hoped he would.

I sealed the letter.

Then I sat there, thinking of Elizabeth Villiers — her air of superiority, her contempt for me, her sly squinting eyes, and all I had suffered through her.

I wished I did not hate her as I did. I should be thinking of my own sins rather than those of others.

If I could go back, how should I act? I could not be sure. But one cannot go back in life and say, “There was the turning point.” There is no quick turn in the path along which Fate has chosen one shall go.

Archbishop Tenison came to see me. I could see that he was aware of the deterioration in my health.

“I have been writing a letter to the King,” I said.

He looked surprised, no doubt wondering why I should write when he was here and I could speak to him.

“I am entrusting it to you,” I went on. “I want you to give it to him when I am dead.”

“Your Majesty,” he protested with that false note of disbelief which people used to deny they are aware of something which must be obvious.

I lifted my hand. “You will do this for me, Archbishop?”

“I am at Your Majesty’s command. Will you join me in prayer?” We prayed and I asked forgiveness for my sins.


* * *

EARLY THIS MORNING I saw the spots which were beginning to appear on my body. The dreaded smallpox has come to Kensington. I am certain now that death is close.

I lay down my pen. There are certain matters I must put in order, for there is little time left to me now.

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