Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

eyes and she felt the hot color rushing into her cheeks. The Queen of England in her box unable to hide her embarrassment, her guilt, from the eyes of a playhouse audience! Tomorrow this would be the main topic of conversation all over the town.

Hastily she put up her fan. There was a slight murmur through the audience. Was it a titter of amusement?

What a fool she had been not to read this play before she came to see it. There was nothing to be done now; she must sit through it and pray that there would be no more such references. Mrs. Betterton had come on to the stage. Dear Mrs. Betterton who had taught her and Anne in their youth how to speak lines. She was back in the nurseries at Richmond. Jemmy was there to show them how to dance in the ballet Calista, which had been written for her that she might make her debut. Handsome Jemmy, who had wanted to be a King and had lost his head because of it … at her father’s command.

Would this play never end? The audience were far more interested in the drama in the royal box than on the stage. Her women were uneasy; they were listening intently for some other reference which could add to the tension in the theater.

It came:

“Can I seem pleased to see my master murdered

His crown usurped, a distaff on the throne?”

There was a hush in the audience. Recently there had been rumors that James had been killed in Ireland. Mary turned to the Countess of Derby.

“Your Majesty is a little cold?”

“My cloak.”

It was placed about her shoulders. The audience watched; Catherine Sedley was smiling: the Queen was uneasy and could not hide it.

“What title has this Queen but lawless force?” came from the stage.

She knew now how the guilty King and Queen in Hamlet had felt as they watched the play staged for their benefit. She was shivering, waiting, tense; and it seemed to her hours before the end.

When it came she rose thankfully. The audience was silent. It had no cheers to offer her. With as little fuss as possible she left the theater.

The next day everyone was talking of the Queen’s visit to The Spanish Friar and the playhouse looked forward to a run of good business. It would be crowded, and when the telling lines were delivered there would be cheers or boos according to the side the audience were inclined to take. A dull King, a Court that was more often non-existent did not appeal to a people who looked to its royalty to provide some excitement; it would be diverting therefore to have a little battle in the playhouse.

Mary, realizing what was happening, gave orders that The Spanish Friar was to be taken off and a new play put on which she would attend.

There was disappointment among those who had hoped to see some sport, but they would all crowd to the theater when the new play was on and when the Queen came it would be amusing to listen and hope for further references which might discomfort her, although it was certain that the script of the play would be well examined beforehand.

It was amazing how difficult it was to find a play in which there was no reference which could be applied to the present situation. But at last something was found and the Queen announced her intention of attending.

She was being dressed for the occasion when William came into her apartment. The very sight of him was enough to scatter her women so he did not have to order them to retire.

“I understand,” he said, “that you are going to the playhouse.”

“Yes, William.”

“I have just heard what happened at The Spanish Friar.”

“I did not tell you before William, not wishing to disturb you with a matter so trivial.”

“I do not think it trivial.”

“It was certainly very uncomfortable.”

“And so you propose to go again and possibly submit the crown to indignity?”

“I thought it best, William, not to show that I am afraid to go to the play for fear I hear something that discomforts me.”

“I do not think that you acted in a queenly manner. Hiding behind your fan, letting everyone see your discomfiture.”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “I … could not help it.”

“And now you propose to be a figure of fun once more, should it please them to make you one!”

“I think I should go to the play to show them I am not afraid.”

“You will not go to the play.”

“But William …”

He looked at her in astonishment. Was she going to disobey him? He was afraid; always it was the same. Docility which seemed as though it would be perpetual and then that sudden spark of rebellion for which he must always be on guard because he had to remember that she was the Queen and through her he ruled; and if there was a split between them—which of course there would never be—the people of this country would be with her