Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

They all looked a little wistful for the golden days of the merry Monarch. It was all so different now. So many people were comparing William with Oliver Cromwell, and if he had his way, they were sure there would be a return to puritanism.

But the Queen was different; everyone’s hopes were fixed on the Queen.

There were a hundred little irritations in Mary’s life. Anne who was aloof and rarely spoke to her; Sarah Churchill was as insolent as she dared be; Elizabeth Villiers, sly and retiring, was nevertheless keeping her hold on William’s affections, and as if that were not enough there had to be Catherine Sedley.

Mary had always disliked the woman—no beauty, but like her father, the rake and poet who had been a favorite of Uncle Charles, full of a wild joy in living and a desire to act in such a way as to call attention to herself.

She had been one of the most successful mistresses of James and although he had made several attempts to cast her off, he had never been able to do so. He had made her Countess of Dorchester and given her a fine town house which she now occupied, and she often came to Court which Mary thought was an affront to herself. Such people should have the decency to stay away. It was even said that she was working with the Jacobites to bring James back and that she cared not who knew it.

She was quick-witted and entertained a large company at her fashionable house. There she would talk in an affectionate and slighting way of her lover and drink the health of the King over the Water.

She was almost ugly and she knew it. “One of his penances,” she called herself. “He seemed to choose us for our ugliness,” she added. “Well, he liked us that way. As for wit, if any of us had any he had not enough to discover—so he did not choose us for that.”

These remarks were carried back to Mary. It shocked her sense of propriety that her father’s ex-mistress should be talking so openly of their relationship.

“The Countess of Dorchester indeed!” said Mary indignantly. “If she comes to Court I shall treat her as no higher than her father’s daughter.”

When this was reported to Catherine Sedley she laughed and said: “Then I shall treat the Queen as her mother’s.” An insult, for Mary’s mother, Anne Hyde, was of not such a high rank as Catherine’s father.

These were minor irritations to which one must submit; William’s advice as to how to deal with them could not be asked, for he would not allow himself to be drawn into such trivialities, and Mary must settle them herself.

On this evening she was happily preparing to go to the Theater Royal for Dryden’s Spanish Friar. To be carried to the theater in her chair, to sit in the royal box and receive the acclaim of the people, would make her feel contented, more as a Queen should feel; and perhaps in time she would persuade William to come to the play, to mingle more with the people. Then perhaps she would be able to make them see what a noble hero he was and him to understand how necessary it was to step down from one’s pedestal at times and be a popular hero.

Anne would be present, very far advanced in pregnancy. Surely the child must soon be born! And unfortunately with her would be that odious Churchill woman. Well, it was certainly a royal occasion, for fashionable London had turned out to see the play and it was like the old days. Mary, glittering with jewels, tall, stately, and plumply imposing looking as a Queen should look. The people cheered her, and she smiled her acknowledgment. She had to be doubly charming to make up for William’s moroseness. But William was not here tonight, and she must convey to them that he was engaged on the serious matters of kingship, planning how to win the war in Ireland. Oh, no, an unfortunate subject! He was working hard for the good of them all, to bring them peace and prosperity.

A dark thin woman was curtseying before her, and Mary was about to smile when she recognized Catherine Sedley; then she turned her head and looked the other way.

Catherine’s malicious face twisted into a smile. “Your Majesty is cool to me,” she said very audibly. “It is hard on me. For although I have broken one commandment with your father, you have broken another.”

As Catherine had passed on, Mary went white with anger that was touched with uneasiness. How dared the woman! And in a public place! That remark would be repeated all over the Court, all through the city, perhaps throughout the country.

It was true … cruelly true. Catherine Sedley had committed adultery—but at her father’s request.

“Honor thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God givest thee.”

Was there no escape … even at the playhouse?

She turned to the Countess of Derby. “Come,” she said peevishly, “what are we waiting for?”

Mary took her place in the royal box and although she smiled graciously at the audience, all the time she was thinking of Catherine Sedley’s words; and instead of the stage and the players she saw James coming into the nursery, picking her up, sitting her on his knee; she could hear the whispers: “The Duke dotes on his daughters and his favorite is the Lady Mary.” She pictured his bewilderment when he learned that she was with his enemies, at the very core of the rebellion against him which had driven him from his throne and native land.

What were the players saying?

“How now! What means this show?”

“ ’Tis a procession.

The Queen is going to the great Cathedral,

To pray for our success against the Moors.”

“Very good; she usurps the throne; keeps the old King

In prison; and at the same time is praying for a blessing:

Oh religion and roguery, how they go together!”

Everyone was watching the royal box—not the stage. She was horribly aware of Catherine Sedley’s malicious