Royal Sisters: The Story of the Daughters of James II

xlink:href='#_3.jpg' />here was desperation at Hampton Court, for it appeared that little Gloucester, like his predecessors, was doomed to an early grave.

Mary and Anne would sit together by his cradle watching anxiously.

“Why is it?” cried Anne. “How can life be so cruel? Oh, Mary, I cannot bear it if he should die.”

Mary could not answer; she would burst into tears if she attempted to speak and she had to find some way of comforting poor Anne.

“I fancy he is a little better than he was yesterday.”

“Do you in truth, sister?”

“I feel it is so.”

But she did not; and they both knew she was saying it only to comfort.

Sarah was in the apartment, silently resenting the presence of the Queen. Anne had changed; she had forgotten the quarrels with her sister; and merely because the Queen could gurgle over the baby and prattle besottedly, she was ready to call her “dear sister” again. This state of affairs was not going to last, Sarah decided.

Meanwhile the baby did not thrive. He was pitiably thin, would take no nourishment, and lay silent in his cradle.

In the streets they said that it was due to a curse on ungrateful daughters. One was barren and the other, while constantly enduring the pain of childbirth, could only bear children who lived for a week or so.

They were waiting for the announcement of the death of the child.

One morning while Anne and Mary sat with the little boy, who looked more frail than ever, there were sounds of voices outside the apartment.

“I tell you, I will see the Princess.”

“You must ask first for an audience.”

“It is an urgent matter … a matter of life and death … for the baby.” The Queen had risen; so had Anne.

Mary threw open the door. “What is this …?” she began, and even as she spoke a big and buxom woman almost pushed her aside and came into the room.

“I wish to see the Princess Anne.”

“About my child …” began Anne.

The woman looked at her shrewdly and said: “You are she?” Then she strode to the cradle and looked at the child. “And this is the young Prince?”

Mary was beside her. “Who are you and what do you want here?”

“I am a mother,” answered the woman, “and I have never lost a child. I have enough milk in my breasts to feed two, and I have only one. I can save that child.”

The Queen and the Princess exchanged glances.

“How can you be sure?” asked Mary.

“I will answer to the child’s mother and no other.”

“You are speaking to the Queen,” Anne told her.

“Well, Madam,” said the woman, “I am Mrs. Pack—a Quaker woman—and I come to tell you that this child is dying through lack of good milk, of which I have plenty.”

The disturbance had brought Prince George into the room. He was pale through lack of sleep for he, with Anne, had been awake for almost the whole of the night watching the baby from time to time and discussing what they might do to save its life.

He looked at the woman, at her pink healthy face and full breasts.

He murmured: “Est-il possible?”

His eyes had begun to shine with tears as he put his arm about his wife. “We cannot afford to miss an opportunity, my dear,” he murmured.

“Pick up the child,” said Anne, “and see if he will take nourishment from you.”

So Mrs. Pack took the Prince in firm yet gentle hands and he did not whimper as he had when other nurses had handled him. She sat on a stool which George had placed for her and undoing her blouse placed the child’s lips to her breast.

For a second he whimpered; then he was sucking.

Anne had turned to George who put his arms about her. Mary was weeping silently. Perhaps it was not too late.

At last there was hope.

Mrs. Pack, the Quakeress, had saved the baby’s life. He was now taking nourishment regularly and screaming if he did not get it on time.

Anne was delighted; George would gloat over the baby and remind people of how he had looked a little while ago. “Est-il possible?” they would ask him smiling and he would smile with them for he did not know that he was