Виктория Холт - The Three Crowns

In the streets the bonfires burned and the people rejoiced; but it was not the birth of the little girl that the people were celebrating; it was the coming of a new Queen to England—a wife for their merry King, who, they believed, would soon give them the boy who would be heir to the throne.

It seemed in that light that little Mary’s birth was of no great significance to any but her loving parents.

In the nursery of their grandfather’s Twickenham mansion the two little girls of the Duke and Duchess of York played contentedly together. Three-year-old Mary and one-year-old Anne were completely ignorant of the reason why they had been sent to Twickenham; they did not know that the capital of their uncle’s kingdom was becoming more and more deserted every day, that the shops of the merchants were gradually closing, that people walked hastily through the narrow streets, their mouths covered that they might not breathe the pestilential air, their eyes averted from those tragic doors on which red crosses were marked. They did not know that the King and the Court had left the capital and by night the death cart patrolled the streets to the cry of “Bring out your dead.”

They were, Mary told Anne, in Grandpapa Clarendon’s house because it was in the country which was better than being in the town.

Anne listened, smiling placidly, not caring where she was as long as there was plenty to eat.

Mary watched her cramming the sweetmeats into her little round mouth, her fat fingers searching for the next before the last was finished.

“Greedy little sister,” said Mary affectionately.

Mary had felt conscious of being the elder sister ever since she had stood sponsor for Anne at the latter’s baptism. That occasion had been the most important of her life so far and remained her most vivid experience. Her father had impressed upon her the significance of her role and she had stood very solemnly beside her fellow sponsor, the young wife of the Duke of Monmouth, determined then that she would always look after Anne.

Looking after Anne was easy, for there was nothing Anne liked so much as being looked after. Everything Mary possessed she wanted to share with Anne. She had told her sister that she might hold her little black rabbit, stroke its fur, even call it her rabbit if she wished. Anne smiled her placid smile; but in fact she would rather have a share of Mary’s sweetmeats than her toys and pets.

Mary thought Anne the prettiest little girl in the kingdom, with her light brown hair falling about her bright pink face, and her round mouth and plump little hands. She herself was darker, less plump and more serious. Having to look after Anne had made her so.

Two of the nursery women stood in a corner watching them.

“Where would you find a prettier pair in the whole of England?” one demanded of the other.

“It’s small wonder that their parents dote on them.”

“Mary is the Duke’s favorite.”

“And Anne the Duchess’s.”

“Often I’ve seen my lady Duchess take the pretty creature on to her lap and feed her with chocolates. It’s easy to see from where the little lady Anne gets her sweet tooth.”

The two women put their heads closer together. “My lady Duchess is become so fat. If she does not take care …”

The other nodded. “The Duke will look elsewhere? He does that already, but never seriously. She leads him by the nose.”

“She’s clever, I’ll admit that. It surprises me that she gives way to her love of eating. Did you see the new traveling costumes they were wearing when they left London? The Queen looked well enough in hers … but you should have seen my lady Castlemaine. She was magnificent! Velvet coat and cap … like a man’s … and yet unlike and somehow being more like a woman’s garb for being so like a man’s. Most becoming. But our Duchess! I heard some of them sniggering behind their hands. More like a barrel than a Duchess they were saying.”

The other said: “I wonder when the Court will return to London?”

They were both sober.

“I hear it grows worse. They say that now grass grows between the cobbles.”

They looked at each other and shivered.

Then one said solemnly: “We are fortunate to be here in the country.”

“It’s a little too near London to please me, for they say it is spreading.”

“Where will it end? Do you believe it is because God is angry with the King’s way of life?”

“Hush your mouth. It won’t do to say such things.”

“Well, married three years and no sign of an heir and now this terrible plague. Why if our Duke and Duchess were to have a boy, do you realize he could be King of England? Imagine us. In the nursery of the King of England.”

“And if they shouldn’t and the King not either … well, then, our little Lady Mary would be Queen.”

They stared at the children with fresh respect.

The one grimaced. “That’s if we all survive this terrible plague.”

“Oh, we’re safe enough in Twickenham.”

A third woman joined them. It was obvious from her expression that she brought news which she knew was of the greatest importance.

“Haven’t you heard. Yesterday one of the stewards complained of pains. He’d been to the City.”

“No! How is he now?”

“I heard that he was most unwell.”

The two women looked at each other in dismay; the shadow of the plague had come to pleasant Twickenham.

That night the steward died, and the next day two more of the Earl of Clarendon’s servants fell sick. Within a few days they too were dead. Twickenham was no longer a refuge. The plague had discovered it.

When the Duke and Duchess came in haste to Twickenham there was a tremor of excitement all through the house. The Duke went straight into the nursery and picking up Mary kissed her tenderly before looking earnestly into her face.

“My little daughter is well?” he asked anxiously. “Quite well?”

“Your Grace,” said her nurse, “the Lady Mary is in excellent health.”

“And her sister?”

“The Lady Anne also.”

“Begin preparations without delay. I wish to leave within the hour.”

The Duchess was fondling Anne, feeling in the pockets of her gown for a sweetmeat to pop into that ever ready mouth.

“Well, there is no time to be lost,” said the Duke.

He looked at the Duchess who had sat down heavily with Anne on her knee. She held out her arms for Mary who ran to her and was embraced while her Mother asked questions about her daughter’s lessons. But Mary sensed that she was not really listening to the answers.

The Duke watched his wife and their two daughters, and in spite of his anxiety and the need to hurry he had time to remind himself that he was pleased with his marriage. Not that he was a faithful husband. Charles was furious with him at the moment, because he had tried to seduce Miss Frances Stuart whom Charles’s roving eyes had selected for his own. There was not much luck in that direction, either for himself or Charles, he feared. Arabella Churchill was more amenable, so was Margaret Denham. Ah, Margaret! She was an enchanting creature. Eighteen years old and recently married to Sir John Denham who must have been over fifty and looked seventy. Denham was furious on account of this liaison, but what could he expect? The King had set the tone at Court, so no one expected his brother to live the monogamous life of a virtuous married man.

Anne objected of course, but mildly. Anne was clever; her only folly seemed to be her over-indulgence at the table. Nor was her desire to gratify a perpetual hunger obvious at the table only. In her apartments there were boxes of sweets in most drawers and on tables so that she found them at her elbow wherever she happened to be.

He had not been so unwise after all when he married Clarendon’s daughter, although Clarendon was fast falling out of favor. Poor old man! He had suffered real terror at the time of the marriage and now declared that his fortunes had begun to sink ever since his headstrong daughter had married the heir presumptive to the throne.

Anne had been upbraiding him for blatantly indulging in his affair with Margaret Denham when news had reached them of the outbreak of plague in Twickenham. That had sobered them both. Of what importance was her obesity, greed, and dominating ways, or his unfaithfulness compared with the safety of their children!

Perhaps more than anything in the world, he mused, he loved his elder daughter.

“Mary,” he said, “come here, my child.”

He noticed with pleasure how eagerly she came to him.

“My darling,” he said, “you are a big girl now, old enough to understand a great many things.”

He lifted her on to his knee. She was delighted by the satin of his coat, the lace ruffles at his neck and sleeve, his long dark curls which seemed all the more wonderful because they could be taken off and put on a stand.

“We are going away, Mary.”

“Now?”

“We are leaving in an hour. You will like to be with me … and your mother?”

“Anne is coming?”

“Certainly. You do not think we would leave Anne behind?”

She laughed with happiness; and he put his lips to the smooth cheeks. He told himself that he would rather anything happened to him than that that delicate cheek should be raged by plague spots, and a sense of urgency seized him. Every moment might be important. He would not rest until they were far away.

“Where are we going, Papa?”

“To York, my dearest, they are preparing for our departure now.” He called to the nurse: “Is the baggage ready? Then begin to prepare the children. It is a long journey to York.”

“But Papa,” said Mary, “you are York.”

He patted her head; even in his haste marveling at her. What Charles would give for a child like this! he thought. Even though she is a girl.

“My love, York is also a city … our city. And from there I shall be near the fleet and we will watch out for the wicked Dutchmen and keep them from our shores.”

“Tell me about the Dutchmen, Papa.”

“Later,” he said. “When there is time. Now we are leaving at once. See, your nurse is waiting to dress you for the journey. Why, my little one, you and I will have many a talk in the days to come. I want you to know about what is happening to our country. You must never forget that you are my daughter and His Majesty’s niece.”

Mary remembered and believed herself to be the luckiest little girl in England. Her father was the best man in the world; her mother was the best mother; and in addition, she had for an uncle the one to whom everyone must bow and, she was certain although she believed it might be a secret between them, to her he was not a great King at all, only Uncle Charles, who could make her laugh and all the time wished she were his daughter instead of her father’s.

It was a happy family that stayed at York during those months which followed the retreat from Twickenham.

There was reconciliation between the Duke and the Duchess, for the Duke was not near enough to his mistresses to pay court to them, which was a matter of great satisfaction to the Duchess, and since the Duke was ready to concede to her in everything but his affairs with women, the household was harmonious.

They both agreed that it was like returning to those first weeks of marriage when it had seemed the whole world was against them and they had determined to stand together whatever the consequences.

Together now they supervised the education of Mary, who, they believed, was very intelligent. The Duke liked to have her with him when he received officials from the Navy and he would often call attention to her.

“I tell you this,” he said one day to Samuel Pepys, who had come to see him with some Navy estimates, “the Lady Mary of York understands much of what you are saying.”

It was an exaggeration, but Mary always listened attentively, for her greatest joy was in pleasing her father.

She worked hard at her lessons so that she could have his approbation and looked forward to those hours when he came to the nursery to be with her. Often when Anne was with her mother, Mary and her father would be together, and the Duke’s servants said that their master loved his daughter Mary beyond everything in the world.

One day he came to her a little sadly, and lifting her on to his knee and putting his cheek against her hair, told her that he would have to leave her. “But only for a little while,” he consoled.