“The Queen of course.”
“Do you think she would?”
“Dear Mrs. Morley, it is her duty, and if this were pointed out to her, she might well realize it.”
So there was a further estrangement between the sisters.
George to have a position of trust! cried William. Were they mad. Of what use was George to any campaign but to provide light relief with his perpetual bleating: “Est-il possible?”
Anne was sulky and refused to speak to the Queen except in public.
Sarah looked on, amused.
Mary wept openly.
“You must take the greatest care of yourself,” she cried. “I fear the climate. They say it is very damp. It will be bad for your chest. I shall pray for you …”
“Pray rather for yourself,” suggested William. “You will need prayers, for you have a mighty task before you.”
“Oh, William, is it too late to beg you to stay behind?”
“Too late and quite foolish,” said William, but not unkindly for it pleased him to see her distress. “Going into a campaign is no unpleasant thing compared with governing this country, I do assure you. I pity you. Indeed I pity you.”
“William!” she threw herself into his arms and he kissed her almost gently.
He had an affection for her which increased as he grew older.
“Those who have some regard for you must help you all they can. I must speak to them … impress on them … the difficulties of your task.”
“William, I trust I shall act as you would have acted. That is what I shall try to do.”
“I am sure you will govern wisely.”
She was overcome with joy at such praise and almost immediately plunged into despair because of his departure.
“You will guard your dear person well, William. You will not expose yourself to danger. I trust that you … and my father … will never come face to face.”
“Pray for it,” he said.
BEACHY HEAD AND THE BOYNE
She called for a mirror and looked at herself with dismay. Her expression was dismal; she had a feeling of foreboding. William gone and herself swollen-faced and inadequate without him! She lay back on her pillows carefully touching her face. She hoped it did not mean a return of the ague. She must not, however, brood on her affliction, but call a meeting of the Council at once; and she would have to impress them with her knowledge of affairs; William had been so kind lately and had talked to her so carefully that she had a good grasp of what was going on. Dear William, he had been really concerned on her behalf. People did not understand that beneath that rather harsh exterior was great kindliness.
He is a great good man, the best in the world, she assured herself. And I must be worthy of him. That was what alarmed her—consciousness of her own unworthiness.
She thought of her nine councillors and wished that Shrewsbury was among them. Charming Shrewsbury, with the gentle voice and the noble air, reminded her of Monmouth; not that they were alike, but Shrewsbury was attractive, as Jemmy had been, and there was not one of the nine councillors whom she could really like. Four of them were Whigs and five Tories. How clever of William to assure a good division!
She would speak to them earnestly and sincerely and she would pray that no situation arose which would be too difficult for her to handle.
When the Countess of Derby came to her she exclaimed with horror at the sight of the Queen’s face.
“But Your Majesty is ill.”
“It will pass,” replied Mary.
“I must call the doctors while you rest in bed.”
“My dear friend,” insisted Mary firmly, “I cannot lie abed now. The King is on his way to Ireland and I have the sole responsibility of ruling in his absence. Why do you not know that almost always
The Countess did not reply.
“There is one thing I know I have to do,” went on Mary, “and that is follow his example. Then I cannot fail.”
“I am sure no one ever performed royal duties more graciously than Your Majesty.”
Mary smiled a little sadly. She understood the implication. It was most perverse of those about her continually to defend her against William.
