Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II - Plaidy

He believed he needed Shrewsbury, and he was afraid that if he did not bind him with high office, Shrewsbury would go to the Jacobites. This affair of the Bill for triennial Parliaments was unfortunate, and he consulted one who never failed to comfort him and give him sound advice.

Elizabeth nodded shrewdly. He wanted Shrewsbury and there might be a way of persuading the Earl that he should become a member of the Government.

“He was completely without interest, but when I mentioned a dukedom there was the faintest flicker and then that died and he seemed adamant.”

“Would you like me to try to see what could be done?”

“My dear, do you think you could?”

“He has a mistress—Mrs. Lundy. She is a foolish woman, but he is devoted to her. It might be possible to persuade her. Have I your permission to try?”

He took her hand.

“I know you to be completely discreet.”

“You can trust me always to work … as you would yourself … and what higher compliment can there be than that?”

He wondered what he would do without her. Fortunately the Queen never mentioned her now. She knew of his relationship with her and accepted it. That was well.

And it was largely due to the cleverness of Elizabeth who never irritated the Queen, never intruded. She should be rewarded; yet how could he reward her without calling attention to their relationship.

She never asked for rewards. Incomparable woman!

He had forgotten that she had her small rewards. Bentinck was falling out of favor, although William would always have an affection for him; Keppel was rising in power; and Keppel had been the protégé of Elizabeth. They stood together while Bentinck had been the enemy who had dared criticize her.

Elizabeth had her power. It was enough.

It was absurd, said the Princess Anne, for her boy to be dressed as a child. One only had to look at him drilling his soldiers to realize how advanced he was.

Sarah yawned. She was a little weary of Anne’s obsession. She would tell her so, but for the fact that John had warned her; and it was true their fortunes were not very bright at the moment. As soon as that child was a little older she would have her own son brought to be a companion to him; but not yet; she did not want her young John to be drilling with that band of boys. When Gloucester had a worthy post to offer her son he should have it.

The Princess Anne went on: “Mr. Morley and I were talking of him last evening …”

I’ll swear you were! thought Sarah. What else do you talk of but food and drink.

She was getting very restive and finding Anne more boring than ever; and she was often angry at the way things were going. William was spitting blood and looked as if he would soon be in his tomb; but Mary recovered from her illnesses and in fact seemed a great deal more healthy than Anne. Life was madly frustrating at this time. But she was subdued—for her; Marlborough’s sojourn in the Tower had had a very sobering effect.

“So we have summoned Mr. Hughes to make him a suit in white camlet and the loops and buttons are to be of silver thread.”

“I am sure the little Duke will look charming thus attired.” Poor little monster, thought Sarah, complacently, thinking of her own handsome son. Then her expression clouded when she remembered little Charles lying in his coffin. There was no safety anywhere now, it seemed. Tragedy could hit the Churchills just as any other family. They were meant for distinction, she was sure; but they had their troubles.

“When Mr. Hughes comes I want to take him to my boy for I wish to discuss with him how the clothes shall be made.”

Sarah hid a yawn; and was rather pleased when Mr. Hughes came so that she could be rid of Anne.

“Mrs. Pack,” said the boy, “I do not like Mr. Hughes.”

“Why not. He’s a good tailor.”

“My stays are so tight, they hurt me.”

He looked incongruous with his enormous head and his bright darting eyes which seemed as though they should be on the body of a boy in his teens instead of that fragile little creature.

He pulled at the stays under his waistcoat. “Do stays always hurt like this, Mrs. Pack?”

“They are meant to make you straight so they are bound to restrict a little.”

“They do not make me feel very friendly toward Mr. Hughes,” said the Prince.

Mr. Hughes the tailor called at Campden House on the orders of the Duke of Gloucester. As he entered the hall he was almost knocked over by a noisy crowd of small boys—ninety of them. One stood apart shouting orders.

“This way. Bring him here. Hurry, men.”

“What the …” gasped Mr. Hughes as his legs and arms were seized by small hands and he was dragged to the floor; for small as his attackers were, they were numerous and they swarmed over him.

“Over here,” was the order. “This way. We’ll teach him to make stiff stays.”

“Help me!” cried Mr. Hughes, so bewildered that he could not imagine what was happening to him.

A voice said: “Your Highness, what is this?”

“My men are in control,” was the answer.

“It’s Mr. Hughes, the tailor. Why Mr. Hughes, what has happened to you then?”

Mr. Hughes gasped his thankfulness to hear the voice of his friend and fellow Welshman, Lewis Jenkins.

“I do not know. These … imps fell on me as I came into the hall.”

“We are taking him to the wooden horse,” said a high pitched voice. “He is to be punished for making stiff stays that hurt.”

“Mr. Hughes,” said Lewis Jenkins, “get you up then, man. Now stand away, you boys.”

“They take orders from none but me.”

“The wooden horse, Mr. Hughes, man, is the punishment they use for soldiers who disobey. Take no notice. Mr. Hughes is not one of Your Highness’s men.”

“He makes stays that hurt. They’re hurting me now.”

“Why don’t you ask him to remake them for Your Highness. That would be more sensible than this game you’re playing.”

Mr. Hughes was on his feet, but hands still pulled at his clothes. He said: “I’m sorry the stays are too tight, Your Highness. You must allow me to alter them.”

“You can alter them?” asked the Duke.

“Certainly, Your Highness. I can make them so that you won’t feel you’re wearing stays at all, and would have done so, had you asked me.”

“Men … dismiss!” cried Gloucester. “Mr. Hughes, to my apartments quick … march.”

So Gloucester went off with the tailor and in a short time the stays had been altered to fit comfortably.

Lewis Jenkins laughed at the affair with his fellow attendants. “He’ll get what he wants, that little one,” he commented, and it struck him that they were fortunate to be in the service of the Duke of Gloucester. It was time he was acknowledged the Prince of Wales, for the more honors that befell him, the more they would all benefit.

THE END OF A LIFE

rs. Lundy, daughter of Robert Lundy, who had been Governor of Londonderry, where he had served with little distinction, and had betrayed William and deserted the town during the siege—smiled at Elizabeth Villiers and wondered why the woman was being so gracious to her.

“You have great influence with my lord Shrewsbury,” said Elizabeth, “and I can well understand that.”

Mrs. Lundy, a vain and pretty woman, laughed. “He’s an obstinate devil,” she said, “once he has made up his mind.”

“What man is not?” asked Elizabeth. “But sometimes—nay, often—it is possible to use a little gentle persuasion.”

“You think Shrewsbury would listen to me?”

“If he would not listen to you he would listen to no one.”

That pleased the woman; she tossed her head. No doubt she was proud of her conquest, for Shrewsbury was reckoned to be a fascinating man. He had a damaged eye which some people found repulsive; yet that seemed but to add to his attractions where others were concerned. Elizabeth herself knew the value of some slight imperfection and how it could be turned to an asset.

She must get Shrewsbury to take office. William would be so delighted if she did; and she was eager to bind him closer and closer to herself.

“A Dukedom. That is worth having,” went on Elizabeth. Surely, she implied, you would rather be the mistress of a Duke than an Earl? As the mistress of a King, Elizabeth could show that the rank of one’s lover was of the utmost importance.

“He doesn’t seem to care for titles.”

“He is well equipped in that direction,” added Elizabeth. “But I have yet to know the man who was not ready to take a little more. I’ll warrant you will make him do as you wish.”

Mrs. Lundy was not at all sure that it was her wish; but Elizabeth was subtly convincing her that it was.

Well, Mrs. Lundy was thinking, Secretary of State, a Duke … that was rather pleasant. And the King—and the Queen—would know that it was Mrs. Lundy who had persuaded that obstinate man to change his mind. They ought then to be very respectful toward Mrs. Lundy.

“I will talk to him,” she said.

“I know you will succeed,” Elizabeth assured her.

Gloucester was suffering from the ague and his mother was frantic with anxiety until she remembered that a Mr. Sentiman used to make up a prescription of brandy and saffron which he claimed would cure any sort of ague. Anne’s uncle, Charles II, had dabbled in the making of medicines and she had heard him recommend this prescription. So Anne immediately sent for Mr. Sentiman.

The mixture was brought to Gloucester who, protesting, took it. It cured his ague but made him so ill that his parents feared he was on the point of death.

Anne sat on one side of his bed, George on the other.

“He must not die,” whispered Anne brokenheartedly, and George came to stand at her side and place one of his fat hands on her shoulder. Dear comforting George, who loved the boy even as she did. Gloucester looked weakly from one to the other and smiled faintly.

“You must not fret so, Papa and Mama,” he said. “I shall get better soon. I have to drill the men I intend to offer the King to go to Flanders with him.”

Then he closed his eyes and slept.

He was right; he did improve.

It was a glorious day when Anne and George knew that he was out of danger.

“He should be proclaimed Prince of Wales,” said Anne.

George shook his head, meaning that it would not be wise.

“Mary is fond of him; she gives him almost everything he asks for. I think sometimes she would give everything she has for a son like our boy. George, I have just thought of something. The Duke of Hamilton has died. Does that convey anything to you?”

“No, my dear, only that the Duke of Hamilton is dead.”

“He had the Garter.”

“It’s true,” said George.

“A blue ribbon vacant. Why not for our boy?”

“It should be his. Why not?”

“My lord Shrewsbury to see Your Majesty.”

“Pray tell him to come to me at once.”

Mary was pleasurably excited as always by this man.

He came to her and bowed low. What was it about him that reminded her of her youth in Holland when she had danced with Monmouth? He was not in the least like Monmouth—he had far more to commend him. He was more serious. Poor Monmouth had tried to snatch at office and had lost his head in doing so, and Shrewsbury had been remarkably shy in taking it.

“I hope, my lord,” said Mary, flushing slightly, “that you have come to give me the news I shall best like to hear.”

“Your Majesties have been most gracious to me, most complimentary.”

“I know the King desires you to take office. There are few men here whom he can trust.”

“I once heard it said to him that there was no one in England who could be trusted and he replied, ‘Yes, there are men of honor in England, but alas, they are not my friends.’ ”

Mary nodded. “In his great wisdom he knew that to be true. You, my lord, are one whom he would trust; and if I could write to him and tell him that you have accepted office that would be the best news he could have.”

“It is my desire to serve Your Majesties.”

Mary gave a little cry of pleasure and laid her hand on his arm, then flushing still deeper, removed it.

“I am so delighted that you have made this decision.”

They looked at each other intently. He was suspected of being a Jacobite; but he was also a man of honor. Perhaps he had refused office because he had no wish to serve against the King to whom he had once sworn allegiance. This taking of office, in the case of a man like Shrewsbury, must mean that he had accepted the revolution, that he had decided that it was impossible to attempt to bring back James and would work therefore for William and Mary.

William was right. There were few men of honor who had been his friends. If they had been men of honor they would not readily have deserted the old King in favor of the new. That was why William had had to look for his friends among Dutchmen.

But Shrewsbury was a man they knew they could trust, and the Queen felt a mingling of relief, delight—and excitement.

Gloucester was preparing to visit the Queen; he had recovered from the ague and was as full of vitality as ever. He looked like an odd little man in his white camlet suit with the silver thread decorations and he was pleased now because Mr. Hughes had taken most of the stiffness out of his stays.

His mother put a blue ribbon over his shoulders and stood back to admire the effect.

“But what is that?” he asked.

“Do you not like it?”

“Soldiers don’t wear them.”

“Ah, yes they do, if they are honored enough.”

“I have never seen a soldier in a blue ribbon.”

“It is the ribbon of the Garter.”

“A garter, worn there …”

“They have a garter too.”

“Where is it?”

“You haven’t got that yet. It has to be given by the Queen. Perhaps when she sees how that blue ribbon becomes you she will give you one.”

Gloucester was not greatly impressed, but was always pleased to visit his aunt; and when he was with her he forgot about the blue ribbon for she did not mention it either.

Mary had noticed it though and understood the implication. Anne wanted her to bestow the Garter on her nephew.

She would have liked to do so, for nothing pleased her better than bestowing honors on the little boy; but she had already made up her mind who was to have the vacant Garter.

A Dukedom was not enough for one whom she admired, as she did Shrewsbury; and the Garter should be his.