Margaret Dawson, one of her most trusted women, who had been in the service of the first Duchess of York and had attended the births of Anne and Mary, came hurrying in.
“Your Majesty,” she cried, “has your time come then?”
“It is close, Margaret,” said the Queen.
Margaret saw that the Queen was trembling, and asked if she were cold.
“Strange, is it not?” answered Mary Beatrice. “Cold on a morning in June. Margaret, I am so … uneasy.”
“Your Majesty, it is often thus at this stage.”
“So much depends on this, Margaret. Is the pallet ready?”
“It is not yet aired, Your Majesty.”
“Then have it aired immediately and when this is done I will go to it.”
The pallet was in the next room and as Margaret went to do the Queen’s bidding, the King arrived.
“My dear,” he said, taking the Queen’s hand and kissing it, “has the time come then? Then all those who are at church must be sent for without delay.”
She nodded; for those at church were their enemies, the Protestants, and it was imperative that they should be present at the birth.
“Let me take you to your pallet,” said the King.
“They are airing it now.”
“Then I will make sure that all those who should be here are summoned.”
A warming-pan was being carried into the Queen’s lying-in chamber. Margaret Dawson threw back the quilt, the pan was placed in the bed, and the covers drawn over it.
“The bed must be thoroughly aired,” said Margaret, “before her Majesty gets into it.”
Shortly afterward Lady Sunderland arrived.
“How is it?” she said to Margaret Dawson.
“All well so far. The Queen is in her own bedchamber and will occupy the pallet as soon as it is thoroughly aired. I fancy her time is near.”
Lady Sunderland nodded. “I was in the chapel preparing to take the sacrament,” she said, “but I was told I must come to the Queen at once.”
“It is well that you came,” answered Margaret. “She was sitting on her tabouret shivering when I went in so I want the bed thoroughly warmed.”
“It is a warm morning.”
“But in that state a woman can feel anything. She is so wrought up that I fear the shock will be too much for her—be it boy or girl.”
“Much depends on this child,” agreed Lady Sunderland. “She has asked that just at first none should say whether it is a boy or girl for she feels that the pleasure or the disappointment would be unbearable. This should be made known.”
Margaret nodded.
The King came into the apartment accompanied by Dr. Walgrave and the midwife.
James was clearly anxious. He was talking earnestly to the doctor, making anxious inquiries as to the state of the Queen’s health. The doctor thought that all should go well, but he was a little perturbed by the Queen’s anxiety.
Seeing Lady Sunderland James came to her and expressed his pleasure to see her there.
“We are all anxious about Her Majesty,” said Lady Sunderland. “She is more excited than she has been at previous confinements.”
“She longs so much for a boy,” replied James.
“I have asked the midwife to pull at my dress, Your Majesty, if the child should be a boy, so that no word shall be spoken to excite Her Majesty.”
“You must give me a sign,” said James. “I shall be watching you eagerly. Touch your forehead like this … if it is a boy. If there is no sign I shall know it is a girl. Then I trust the Queen will be able to rest and recover a little before she hears what is the sex of her child.”
It was agreed that that should be the sign and the group broke up as the Queen, accompanied by some of her ladies, came into the apartment.
She got into the bed and it was clear that her pains had started.
Now the room began to fill. The doctors, nurses, midwife, the Queen’s ladies and officers of the household with eighteen members of the privy council came into the room.
Mary Beatrice lay back on her pillows groaning.
By half past nine the atmosphere was stifling because of the crowd assembled there. At the foot of the bed the Privy councillors stood watching.
“Margaret,” called Mary Beatrice.
Margaret came to her mistress and took her hand.
